A few hours after Shara left, Scott panted and heaved laboriously as he trotted along on the treadmill he'd chosen. Fat Buster's Bodywerx was an oddly named gym, but they were open twenty-four hours a day. In this early morning time period there were fewer people in the building who might laugh at his minor jelly rolls. It seemed to be a good time to work out.

Unable to sleep due to the actual sleep he'd gotten earlier, he'd opted to train his body. The process, as before, was a slow and exhausting one.

"I really need to be able to increase my stats here," he muttered between huffs and pants as his thirty minute hiking program came to an end.

He blinked as he heard an incredibly slight noise. *Wha-Ping.*

"The hell?" he asked in a tired tone. "Am I hearing things now?"

The sound that he'd heard was clearly the 'wha-ping' of quest advancement, but it was so light that he might have imagined it. "I really need to get these hallucinations under control. First voices, and now quest noises from another world..."

Scott was no fitness guru, and the personal trainers would not arrive until later in the day. He had no proper knowledge of how to efficiently work out, so he decided to try a little bit of everything in the hopes that something would stick.

Next up was the pull-up machine. He did not know the proper name for it, only that if he set a certain amount of weight to counter-balance his own he could actually perform a pull-up! He set the weight high enough that he could easily perform twenty pull-ups due to the assistance then adjusted it downward. When it got to the point that he could do three with serious effort, he figured he was done with that particular device.

The training adventure continued as he moved from one device to another. He also lifted a few weights and hopped onto a stationary bicycle to watch a movie. His leisurely bike ride was not designed to enhance his fitness at all. He merely wanted to kill a little time while staying active. His true goal was to tire himself out enough that he would be able to sleep through the night without cough medicine. Even if he did end up using the stuff, he did not want to be beholden to it all the time.

Half of the morning passed by before he returned home. His body already ached in several places, a clear sign that he'd over done things.

He did not trust the gym showers enough to use them, so he opted to take one now that he was home. After he cleaned himself up, he wandered over to his couch and turned on the television. While he flipped through the channels, he thought about his situation. "Miraculously, I have two days off... not including today."

Scott did not worry much for his job, actually. Even if he'd gone into work he was already on the verge of forty hours for the week. They would have sent him home only a few hours into his shift. As things stood, they could not bring him in over the weekend without running the same risk, the dreaded possibility of having to pay him overtime pay.

A dark quandary indeed, overtime pay was the bane of all retail establishments. The very thought of paying one of their minions a reasonable wage caused the black and shriveled hearts of the demons who ran the corporate office to contemplate leaping out of a window. Their only salvation would be the cold embrace of the asphalt as their shame exploded outward from the impact zone like the finest of chunky salsa mixes. Pay a basic employee double digit income for an hour's work? Preposterous! Suicide was the only answer for such a disgraceful situation. The concept ran counter to the natural order of things! Dogs and cats would start to live in sin. Shrimp would learn how to speak Mandarin Chinese. Anarchy would reign. Overtime pay? Never!

"This again?" asked Scott curiously.

"You have jerin? You need car? I have solution!" exclaimed the Asian-y looking man on television. "You pay me in dream! You get dream car! Fancy! Fancy! You like it!"

"That's how it works, huh?" asked Scott with an amused chuckle.

It wasn't just the weird probably Chinese infomercial guy who seemed to be everywhere on television lately. There were several other advertisements for companies that accepted jerin as payment.

"These people are crazy," said Scott. Who would pay them money in the dream when there would be no way to prove it in the real world? It was a ridiculous set-up as far as he was concerned. The few places that he saw popping up online where a bit different, however. They conducted business in the dream, but kept it solely to business in the actual dream. They offered escort services, sold information, or traded loot drops.

Scott watched the infomercial come to an end then asked in a bemused tone, "I wonder if he really talks like that in person?"

He was hard-pressed to believe the man really sounded like a stereotype, but he also had to admit that it was great for business. People loved that weird infomercial guy.

"You buy now! You like it!" cried Scott excitedly.

He barked out a laugh at his own expense then changed the channel. Daytime television did not offer him much to do. Eventually he turned off his television and went to check on the various forums he frequented.

Roughly an hour after beginning his trolling of the boards through inane comments and random bullshittery he happened across an interesting post that no one believed for even a moment.

[Post]

I couldn't believe it, but it's true! My brother died during the dream, but he popped up earlier at the graveyard naked as the day he was born!

[--]

Scott stared at the post for a moment. There were many strange things happening in the world, but this one was a bit hard for even him to believe.

No one else believed it either, outside of a few trolls who seemed to want to stir the pot a bit. The thread was eventually locked by the moderators due to being a volatile subject.

"The dream doesn't bleed over into real life like that..." he muttered. His eyes widened slightly then returned to their subdued nature not long after. He'd briefly recalled the hallucinatory wha-ping from earlier. It was just his mind playing tricks on him, right?

Properly tired after his exertions and mindless net surfing, Scott yawned expansively then went to his room. Whether he would stay asleep long enough to do anything in the dream was anyone's guess. Still, despite his dislike of the concept he could always chug a little cough syrup later if he needed it. With the better part of three days to himself, he had plenty of time to train and travel.

Upon awakening in the Screaming Onion, Blackthorne sat up and nodded. "Good to be home."

Today was an important day. He would head out to scout a new location for his hunting needs. The forbidden graveyard was a place filled with death and decay. He would not stay there long, even if he managed to find it. A place overrun with the undead was not the sort of place he needed to be once the sun went down. He was only level two, and he had not recouped his recent healing item losses. He used up all of his best leaves during his recent employment binge. Now he held only a scant few lower quality vita grass leaves. They would not do much for him, but between their usage and his scorpion ring he would still have reasonable regenerative power for a short outing.

Blackthorne checked in with Scraggles and Jackie. As it turned out, he'd been gone for just shy of a full day. After eating the last bit of breakfast they had left in the kitchen, he set out into the glorious midday adventure that he sought.

It was a difficult prospect most of the time, navigating in the grassland. However, the directions he'd received previously were quite simple to follow. The graveyard was not actually that far from town. Roughly one or two hour's peasant walk, pretty much anyone would see it if they journeyed in the proper direction.

Blackthorne managed the task of locating the abhorrent place with little difficulty. Few opponents popped up to molest him on his journey. The onions died readily, and he even snapped up a small vita stone shard for his trouble.

"Man, can't believe this is actually going to happen," said Blackthorne after he drew near to his destination. The midday sun still blazed high overhead, a clear sign that only an hour or so had passed since his journey began.

Blackthorne enchanted his blade with the Jolt! spell then looked off into the distance. Small moving figures caught his attention. At the current distance they looked to be little more than black dots, but the structures behind them revealed the truth. "So, there it is... the tomb."

If what he was told proved to be true, then the unholy place up ahead would be the home to all manner of undead creatures. Below the surface there would be a small, but twisted, catacomb filled with more dangerous types of undead such as demonic specters. However, that catacomb was not his goal. The undead that roved the surface level of the graveyard would be more than enough for his current needs.

He nibbled on a few bits of vita grass to excite his regenerative capacity then set out at a slow trot. A few minutes later he downed a few more pieces of vita grass and drew his blade. The first of his opponents had appeared before him, despite the fact that he was not even at the outskirts of the graveyard.

"Groar!" exclaimed a creature straight out of someone's feverish nightmares. Blackthorne came to a sudden stop then stepped back in surprise as the creature's scent assaulted him long before it could reach his striking range.

Staggered slightly by the scent of rot and decay, he fought down a sudden bought of nausea that was coupled with an absurd desire to laugh. Bearing a stench far beyond bloated roadkill in high summer, the zombie was a fearsome creature indeed.

"Remind me why I didn't choose a ranged weapon skill?" Blackthorne groused to himself. A few high-explosives arrows fired from a great distance would have made this a much better hunting trip.

Unable to think of anything else, he pulled one of his small cloth sacks from his travel bag and doused it with some of his precious water. He used the draw string as a tie, and tied the sack around his face.

The overpowering stench was lessened was still lingered. "There has to be a better way to deal with this? Maybe raise my stats?" Blackthorne considered the problem of zombie stank briefly while he waited for his opponent to draw closer.

"Groar!" cried the creature as it staggered drunkenly toward him. Blackthorne noticed two more of its distant brethren turn toward the sound of its outcry. They too began to shamble drunkenly toward him.

"Yeah, get a grip. It's just a smell," mumbled Blackthorne. It might have smelled like a rotting sewer in hell, but it was still just a scent. He had to persevere!

Admittedly, he could understand why few people bothered to come to this place to acquire loot. The stench alone would drive a man mad.

The zombie stretched out one hand toward him and swayed drunkenly as it staggered forward. Much like it always did when a battle started, the cheerful traveling music changed to an atmospheric rendition of a 1980s synth guitar sound track. The background music was not particularly loud at the moment, but as the zombie drew closer the music increased in volume slightly.

Blackthorne chuckled slightly despite the seriousness of the situation. A zombie wanted to eat his brains, but all he could think of was the early zombie movies that used similar soundtracks during their battle scenes. "Man, this should be happening at a mall or something."

"Groar..." said the zombie, as though it agreed with the sentiment.

Now that it was closer, Blackthorne could finally take a good look at it. Dressed in a patchwork of rusted and decaying armor, the creature bore the resemblance of an emaciated man who'd gone through a terrible traffic accident. Blackened skin sloughing off the bones around his chest cavity, and a partially decayed skull where the flesh hung from the bone in disturbing leathery tatters, were the highlights of its aesthetic appeal.

Strangely, in its right hand it held the bloody remnants of what looked to be some sort of rodent. Someone had just had a light snack.

Unarmed save for the world's unluckiest rat's remains, the creature began to move with greater speed as it drew closer. Blackthorne nodded and raised his sword. "Let's see what I can do against something that has opposable thumbs..."

He slipped forward, his footwork an immaculate showcase of his basic understanding of the concept. He kept the zombie centralized in his sight as he circled around. This first battle was not about defeating his opponent. It was about discovery. What could a zombie do? How did it move? Did it possess any surprises?

As things turned out, the zombie turned like an overburdened dump truck. Blackthorne easily flanked the beast and made a complete circle around it a full two seconds before it managed one complete turn-around to face its original direction.

"Groar!" it cried. The creature began to stagger toward him once more, its hand outstretched in a mockery of longing. Blackthorne had something it wanted desperately, it seemed.

"Slow, lacking agility, and not that bright..." murmured Blackthorne. So far it seemed to be everything he'd expected.

He walked another circle around the beast while he focused his attention on it. Now that he was focused, it did not take long to receive the information that he sought.

Lesser Shambling Corpse

Level 5

"You're level five?" Blackthorne's eyes widened slightly. Slow, and stupid, certainly but it was much higher level than he was currently. A level one Screaming Onion could kill him if he took enough hits from its flying tackle, or several of them used their overpowered cry to bring tears to his eyes. What horrors could a shambling corpse unleash?

He would learn nothing if he did not advance. Blackthorne rushed in at an angle then slashed at the beast's neck with his blade. The zombie never had a chance to block the strike, however the result caused the swordsman's eyebrows to climb upward on his face.

*Squelk!* The noise was a strange one, but the result was even stranger. Dark lightning surge outward from the wound causing the monster to shake and tremble. The beast dropped his rodent snack and it hit the ground with a wet thump. However, the blade of Blackthorne's copper sword barely penetrated the side of the zombie's neck.

Blackthorne drew back in surprise. A thin cut on the side of the creature's neck dripped viscous black blood. Otherwise there was no sign that it had even noticed the damage.

"Damn, these things really are strong against physical attacks," he said with a wild eyed expression. He'd put a lot of force into that blow. Chopping its head off at the neck would not be the answer. He would have to strike the head itself, or find a way to otherwise pin it down. He could only enchant his weapon when he had a free moment to do so.

His musing cost him the chance to capitalize on the shambling corpse's shaking, but it was not a problem. He was both quick and agile enough to run circles around the beast.

Blackthorne struck at its head, and a similar phenomenon occurred. An extremely minor wound appeared on its skull, a tiny scratch that bled black viscous goop. However, the Jolt! spell did its work. The zombie jerked spastically, giving its attacker another chance to strike without impediment. Blackthorne whacked it in the head with a powerful overhead chop that lightly scratched its flesh.

The creature screeched loudly and flailed its arms around, but it was clearly not dead. Blackthorne's enchantment ability had not increased much during his training. His current enchantment was no different than the first time he attacked an onion. He had three automatic strikes of Jolt!. Those attacks had each been used now.

Left with no alternative, Blackthorne kicked the back of its knees and shoved it forward onto the ground. It continued to flail and spasm briefly after it hit the dirt. As disgusting as the proposition was for him, there was no choice. Blackthorne knelt down on top of the rotting corpse's flailing form to hold it in place the proceeded to rapidly slam his sword blade down atop its skull. Tiny scratches and the occasional reasonably-sized gash rose up. Black blood spurted about here and there staining the area with the ichor of its unholy life's essence. Wherever the black blood struck the grass it began to wither and die.

Blackthorne felt the effects of that dread ichor as well. His life force began to drain away slowly as bits and flecks of the blood managed to touch his unprotected skin. He did not stop ruthlessly pounding the dead man from behind, not even with his face became coated in its vile fluids.

After what must have been several dozen strikes, the creature finally stopped moving. When magic had failed to completely finish the job, overwhelming physical violence was the only possibility that remained. Unfortunately, neither his weapons nor his actual strength were great enough in potency to end the battle quickly. Even striking the beast's head from behind unimpeded was not enough to quicken the pace of the battle.

"Yeah, without magic it will be impossible to hunt here if I go further into the graveyard," said Blackthorne. He looked up to see that the other shambling corpses had drawn closer.

"Shit..." he groused before he got clear of the dead man's corpse. He used some of his precious water supply to clean his face. The drain on his life force came to an end, though he did not lose much to the influence of the blood in the first place.

"Let's see what I got out of the deal," he said.

The tattered armor that the corpse wore came off with surprising ease, as though upon its death all of the straps chose to become unhooked. Blackthorne took the armor off of the creature then inspected its remains. When he lifted its hand, its index finger wiggled lightly then fell free of its moorings.

"Ugh..." said Blackthorne as he began to dismiss the finger, but something about it caught his attention. The breakage surrounding it was too perfect. Clean, as though it were actually cut away with a scalpel, he could not help but pick it up.

Dead Man's Finger

Class: F

Quality: Low

Material Value:

Used in various pursuits such as alchemy or synergy, this finger carries within it the essence of a dead man's nature.

"So, in the end the bastard gave me the finger even after he died?" asked Blackthorne in mild amusement.

He continued to check the corpse and discovered that a single tooth fell free from the creature's moth. The cracked yellow thing was revealed to be a similar item to finger. It was used for things such as alchemy or synergy.

The most notable discovery, however, was that the dead creature left behind a darkly shining mineral reminiscent of obsidian.

Shard of Death Essence

Class: F

Quality: Low

Material Value:

Used in various pursuits such as alchemy or synergy, this dark mineral carries within it the essence of death itself.

"Neat, so it's like the antithesis of a vita stone?" he asked curiously.

He gathered his items and shoved them into a sack before he tried to extra more from the corpse. He cut off an extra finger, but the item did not cause a window to pop up. He kept it anyway, but nothing he extracted from the corpse afterward generated an informative screen. "I wonder if any of that even counts as loot?" he asked curiously. It was worth a try to see if he could do anything with any of it. Though, he did have his doubts. The implications from the lack of information screens made it seem like he had merely wasted his time.

He rubbed his chin. "Guess there's no skin and forage option like with that rat fiend from forever ago."

"You bastards keep coming. Huh?" asked Blackthorne as he noted the oncoming duo of shambling corpses. It was not a winning prospect, the idea of fighting two of them at once. Without magic he would have to take them down and pound them all day long to get what he wanted.

Briefly, he considered trying to take them out. However, a quick check on the status of his copper sword made his nose twitch. "Durability eight of twenty... Damn..."

While the zombie's head was not as hard as steel, it was definitely worse than fighting an onion. The constant use of his enchantment did not help, either.

Blackthorne nearly left right then and there, as he did not want to risk his sword. However, he noticed something as the zombies drew closer. The one closest to him carried a weapon.

"Sword..." said Blackthorne, a hint of drool coming to his lips, "Free sword...."

A plan began to formulate in this hinterlands of his mind. The sword that the zombie carried was no doubt a piece of trash. However, if it could take an enchantment it could be useful trash!

Blackthorne nodded to himself then bravely ran away from the monsters. He needed time, and distance. After he nibbled on the absolute last bits of his grass, and chewed on a sandwich he'd grabbed before he left town, he re-enchanted his sword. "Don't get cocky. You know what you're after..." he said between bites of his sandwich. He would need his life force to be as close to full as possible.

Once he was far enough from the rotting duo to chance it, Blackthorne began the work of enchanting his weapon once more. The amount of durability that he would lose with each strike varied, but it was generally small. The cost of repairs for such a low-tier weapon were not exorbitant, either. Though, admittedly he'd never dropped its durability so low before having it repaired.

"If this doesn't work out, I might have wasted anything I earned on this trip due to repair costs," he said in a thoughtful tone.

He waited for the zombies to come closer, as his heightened regeneration would allow for a few points of his life force to be restored before the effects wore off. He continued to trot away from the zombies whenever they came close enough to let him smell their funk. However, he was soon forced to accept that he'd healed as much as he possibly could. There was a time limit on his enchantment, after all.

Blackthorne rushed forward while he did his best not to give into the overwhelming stench. His target was the closest zombie, the one with the sword. He rushed past it slightly then circled around to avoid its compatriot. He had to time things right.

When the zombie came for him, it slashed wildly at him with its cracked and rusty blade. The attacks were disorganized and slow, but there was power behind them that made Blackthorne wary. It became clear that zombies were about strength and unholy amounts of armor class. Though, the endless endurance was another point in their favor.

Blackthorne waited until the beast staggered forward into a badly performed thrusting maneuver before he acted. He struck, not at the beast's unprotected head, but at the hand holding the sword.

He barely managed to knick the beast's flesh, but lightning raged through the zombie's body with a crackle of power. Even with black lightning singing through its decaying veins it did not drop its weapon. However, that was not a problem. Blackthorne raced around behind it and unleashed a powerful double drop kick that sent it flying forward. Undamaged, but still spasming wildly the creature's grip on its blade lessened.

Blackthorne stabbed it in the head, unleashing another torrent of black lightning to overwhelm its decayed senses. While it jerked and spasmed, he hammered at its hand with the pommel of his blade. Once the ancient rust-encrusted sword slipped free of its fingers, Blackthorne snatched it up and hauled ass out of the area.

"Thanks for the gift!" he shouted back behind him while he waved his new trash-tier sword around. "I'll never forget you!"

Once the paralytic effect of the lightning wore off then zombie rose shakily to its feet. It stared down at its now empty hand, a vaguely saddened expression on its face. "Groar?" it asked an uncaring world.

Unconcerned by the plight of an undead warrior bereft of its purpose, Blackthorne continued to haul moderate amounts of ass toward town. He could have tried out his enchantment and fought a bit more, but a quick glance at the sword's status revealed the truth. It had only a durability of three out of nine. It would no doubt break if he tried to use it without repairing it. His true weapon, the copper sword, was in only slightly better shape. No, it was much better to try and repair his equipment first then come back with improved potential. The current risk might not equal the reward, after all.

At any rate, he had secured the information he needed. His magic did work against them, even if three hits was not enough to finish the job. As things stood he was not ready for a full-scale hunt at the graveyard. However, it was not like the scorpion mine. He simply needed to prepare better beforehand. He needed leaves, sandwiches, and perhaps an apple or two before he could have a proper hunt at the graveyard. The remainder of his day and most of the night would be put toward those efforts. When he returned, he would be ready!