The power surging through Peregrine seemed miniscule compared to the utter terror that was now taking up residency. His hands shook, and his limbs went numb. There’s no way his blood pressure was in an acceptable range, watching the zombie shamble toward him.

  Open wounds and sores on the zombie spewed ooze that ran off its body and dripped to the ground. Its clothes were shredded, and clumps of wet dirt fell off with every clumsy step it took. “Ohhhhh,” a croaked groan escaped its crusted lips as it reached a hand out at Peregrine. A number of decayed teeth were visible through holes in its cheeks.

  [Zombie]

  [Baddie Level 2]

  You’ve encountered a zombie. It might not look like these slow, uncoordinated things pack much of a punch but, be warned, what they lack in strength and speed they make up for with smell. That’s right. A zombie’s primary skill is STENCH. This powerful skill can bring you to your knees and make breathing a real chore, if you’re not prepared.

  “Are you gonna tell me how this shit works?” Peregrine demanded. “I’ve only had it for five minutes, and I have no clue how to use it.” He took a few steps back, trying to maintain the distance between him and the zombie so he wouldn’t encounter the STENCH skill. A health bar, full and green colored, appeared above the zombie’s head. A second health bar appeared at the top left of Peregrine’s vision. He assumed that one was his. It was also full and green … for now.

  The Morrigan responded by not saying a word and, instead, motioned her head toward the zombie, like Peregrine should automatically know what to do. Ass clown, Peregrine said in his head, not wanting to be vaporized for speaking his mind. He rolled his eyes, too, but made sure he wasn’t looking directly at her.

  His attention turned back to the zombie that was still stumbling toward him. The nasty thing was beyond slow, buying him time to figure out how to operate the quill. Or, at least, it should’ve. But he was struggling to get it to work. He held his arm out straight, aiming the bracer with the quill in the zombie’s direction. Nothing happened. Then he tried jabbing, thinking the motion might make the quill fire like a gun. Jack shit. “Abracadabra,” he said with a cringe, praying that wasn’t the correct way to make the magic do its magic. It wasn’t.

  Before Peregrine knew it, the zombie had closed in on him, because he hadn’t been paying attention to its progress while he was busy focusing on the useless weapons and silently cursing the unhelpful deity.

  “Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” Peregrine flailed his bracer-adorned arm wildly. A few yellow sparks erupted from the tip of the quill, but fizzled just as quick as they had appeared.

  “Zombies are not holy,” The Morrigan said. How helpful. “They are of the unholy variety. Perhaps, try your Holy creatives on it.”

  This time, Peregrine snapped at The Morrigan, immediately wishing he could snatch the words out of the air and shove them back in his mouth. “No shit,” he spat. “That's “captain obvious” level. But I can't convert the zombie from atheist to holiness if I don't know how to do it. Can I?”

  The Morrigan glared at him, probably deciding on if she was going to eradicate him, or let the zombie do it. She did supply an answer, however. “Will the magic into existence. Much like you do when you write.”

  Out of all the unbelievable things happening since dying and resurrecting, this made the most sense. He knew writing. And if magic worked the same way, then he could create it. Goodness and light. In his head, he contemplated the meaning of the two words in relation to holiness, and envisioned a halo, blinding and spectacular. He gasped, ever-so-slightly, when the halo manifested in reality. It emerged from the tip of the quill as a small, yellow dot and ballooned into a halo about the size of a beach ball. Peregrine motioned his arm forward and the halo rotated, inching toward the zombie, ready to blast its undead mug.

  The sense of safety from creating the halo was short-lived because its bright glow dimmed fast. Why was it moving so slowly? By the time it reached the zombie, it was barely visible. The halo did land, but it barely did any damage, making the creature stumble back a few feet while scorching fabric and skin, leaving a charred ring on its chest and stomach. The word Weak floated above the zombie when the halo made contact. Was this because the zombie was weak against Holy?

  The zombie’s health bar went down about a quarter of the way, but was still green. Regaining its footing, the zombie continued the unorthodox march. But this time it was much faster than Peregrine was prepared for. He tried creating another halo, but the undead walker lunged, covering a large distance with the effort. It tackled Peregrine to the ground and opened its mouth wide, chomping into his shoulder.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Searing pain radiated through Peregrine, every gnaw of the zombie’s teeth sending a fresh wave. He pushed against its shoulders with all his might, fingers sinking into its rotten flesh, and almost got out from underneath, when the smell hit his nostrils. Stench was an understatement. He downright couldn’t breathe, choking and sputtering on the rancid funk of earth and decay, wanting to scratch at his throat, but not willing to give up his hand position and give the zombie an opportunity to bite his neck.

  A once green, and full, health bar pulsed in his vision. It was now halfway gone and yellow. The putrid stench threatened to paralyze him permanently as the lack of oxygen took its toll. His head pounded and his eyes struggled to stay open. But an idea gave him a brief spark of life. His health bar turned red and flashed rapidly, giving him the warning that his life was in danger—as if he hadn’t realized that already. Using his last ounce of strength, he took one hand off the zombie’s shoulders, sliding it until he found his bracer and quill. With a firm grip, he yanked the quill out of its holder, brought his arm back as far as possible, and stabbed the zombie right in the eyeball. The quill slid in deep, with zero resistance.

  “Ohhhhhhh!” the zombie moaned with a hint of excitement. It clearly had never been stabbed in the head before. What a surprise that must’ve been. It leaned back, arms flailing, managing to snag the feathered end of the quill and pull it—complete with gooey eyeball—out of its head with a sickening suction noise.

  Plop!

  The eyeball splattered when the quill hit the ground.

  A second later, the zombie went rigid and collapsed in a heap to the side of Peregrine.

  Peregrine stayed on his back for a while. Listening to the rapid beat of his heart thumping in his ears. His breaths were heavy. But those things paled in comparison to the absolute agony that was his chewed up shoulder.

  “Ouch,” he muttered while reaching for the Quill of Beginnings. He shook some of the gunk off and snapped it back into its secure holding spot on In Memoriam, noting that the feather was now only partially yellow, with its original color of white returning to the other half. He felt that quick surge of energy again, but it didn’t last long and also didn’t replenish his alarmingly low health bar.

  He worked his way to his feet, feeling like he had a bad case of the muscle flu. Everything hurt. Standing was no better, in fact, it was worse. The headache increased ten fold, but this time it felt like it was in response to the low health bar and not the stench that had faded somewhat. He saw doubles and triples of his surroundings and had a hard time keeping his balance. Was he going to die again?

  What becomes of me if I die in this place?

  “This will restore your life measurement.”

  Peregrine turned and saw The Morrigan holding a small, rectangular-shaped box with a tuft of red ribbon bowed at the top. She held it out for him and he wobbled over, opened the box, and looked inside to see what looked like a glass pop bottle, full of a bubbling, red liquid.

  “What now?” Peregrine sputtered. “You better explain to me how this works.” He was more brazen, being on the verge of blacking out. Having just fought a zombie to the death—and with zero real world battle experience—his patience had worn thin. What could she do to him that the zombie couldn’t?

  [Elixir of Life Acquired]

  Count your blessings! The Morrigan has gifted you a bottle of life replenishing potion. If it wasn’t for her, rolling your ankle would cause you to succumb to your injuries. And with a nasty zombie bite to boot … you don’t want to know what would become of you dying like this. So, drink up and feel your energy return. Cling to life.

  “Bottoms up,” Peregrine croaked. He brought the bottle up to his lips and drank greedily. The red liquid tasted like strawberries. It was ice cold, which was great because he felt like he had a fever. The carbonation tickled his throat.

  As he polished off the bottle, he saw his health bar filling and turning green. At the same time, his symptoms alleviated until disappearing entirely, coinciding with his health bar returning to one hundred percent. He pulled the empty bottle away from his lips and stared at it in shock. “It’s a magical health-restoring pop.” Which was painfully obvious given every bizarre thing happening in this place, and that The Morrigan and the System had both told him it was a life-restoring magic potion. He did a quick inspection of his shoulder to find that not only had the bite disappeared, but his shirt and suit jacket were also intact, with no sign of blood or teeth marks.

  Feeling like it might come in handy later, he pulled the empty bottle in his Inventory. Maybe he’d become a hoarder in a realm with these game-like mechanics.

  That hoarding itch followed not a second later, and he scratched it by taking the empty box—including the red bow—from The Morrigan and shoving the item into his Inventory.

  “You did not defeat the zombie in the appropriate manner.” The Morrigan’s face screamed “I’m not mad, just disappointed.” She shook her head. “The correct method was to use your Holy creatives and disintegrate it.” She glanced at the zombie short an eyeball. “But you did prove that you are resourceful. Perhaps that will aid you in defeating my sister, The Morrigan.”