The graveyard seemed as pristinely grotesque as usual when Blackthorne strolled in swords at the ready. Zombies came for him in their slow way, and he danced around them in the typical fashion. In truth, hunting zombies proved to be too easy once he gained enough equipment and a bit more skill. His magic, while weak, was more than potent enough to dispatch the undead in short bursts.

Several hours passed while he wove a pattern of death among the dead. He knocked zombies to the ground then finished them with magic-laced steel. In some sense of the word, he felt invincible. These hapless, foul smelling, creatures could do little against him while he remained vigilant.

Over time, curiosity got the better of him. After he enchanted all of his newly acquired weapons, he moved inward. Closer to the tomb than he had ever gone before, the zombie swarm grew in intensity. Slightly faster. Slightly more durable. Triple the numbers. Still, it did not matter. Outside of the first swarm, where a dozen came for him at once, it was rare to fight more than five at a time.

Blackthorne panted lightly as the last zombie on the surface level of the graveyard fell. Despite the ease of the battle, he did take damage. A few slight bruises here and there mixed with a few light scratches. They did not count as actual injuries thankfully. As his life force regenerated they would fade.

"So many zombies," he said through panted breaths. There had to be over sixty corpses lying within easy view. Zombies were incredibly weak against hit and run tactics perpetrated by a magic wielder. Rush in, kill a few zombies. Change weapons, and repeat when the enchantments ran out.

Once he was down to only one or two weapons, he had ran away a great distance to recover and enchant his items anew. Against a smarter, more agile, opponent it would not work. Zombies however, were dumb and clumsy.

He smiled gently then took in a deep breath, ignoring the necrotic stench of the undead. "This is great. There must be more than enough loot here to pay off Sonja's debt. I'll have plenty left over as well..."

Blackthorne gathered up all of the items that he could, and separated actual loot into bags. The other items, namely the tattered armor, were placed separately. He was forced to go out and make a few bits of braided grass rope to tie some of the armor together, as he did not have enough sacks for all of his loot.

"Damn. Need to make at least two, maybe three trips to carry this all..." he grumbled happily. No one was likely to bother his trash loot. However, he knew that the best way to lighten the load was to begin the synergy process before he went back to town.

"More than enough food to help me regenerate life force..." he said.

Convinced of the rightness of his choice, he hefted his first load of items and trotted off into the grassland. Using a large tombstone as his guide, he carried the loot a good distance away then returned for another batch. Once he had all of the inner area loot gathered, he went about searching for any left overs that he had missed. Along the way he noted something that he had not seen before.

"A sign?" asked Blackthorne. On the ground before him rested a badly weathered sign. He lifted it up and tried to read what it had to say. The words were faded, almost illegible. Eventually, he sussed out their content if not their meaning. "Woe to thee who seeks the ring?"

"The ring?" he asked curiously. "What ring?"

"Dossst thou ssseek the ring?" whispered a sibilant voice in his ear. Unlike the typical system voice that he'd heard before, this one was a soft masculine whisper like a serpent speaking in his mind.

"What ring?" he asked slowly.

A nearby tombstone began to shine softly despite the early afternoon sun. Blackthorne moved to check on it. He reached out and lightly touched a glowing word etched on the surface. Long faded to incomprehensible marks, the glow provided the only means to read what was written.

"You who have been blessed by darkness, and released over one hundred fallen souls. Claim the ring, and seek it out," said Blackthorne slowly.

"Am I blessed by darkness?" he asked slowly. He was not sure of that. Still, if there was a chance to get new bling he wanted to take it.

"The ring is mine..." he said slowly. How else could he claim it?

"Ssso be it, brother," whispered the voice.

Blackthorne barely had time to shout in surprise when the ground beneath him burst apart. He fell down into a massive sink hole and landed on hard packed earth. The majority of his remaining points of life force were ripped out of him to cushion the fall, but he proved largely unharmed in the end.

Confused, his vision swimming, he rose to his feet and looked around. "What the hell?"

"You have entered the Hall of Dark Blessings," said the normal system voice in her soft mechanical manner.

"I'm where now?" he asked, still confused. Blackthorne looked around and discovered he was faced with four sheer walls.

He made an effort to climb up toward the light above, but it was useless. He did not have the strength, the agility, or the spider powers to climb a smooth rock face. Worse, the light began to fade as new dirt and stone reformed high above. Soon, he was sealed away in a room of utter darkness.

A brief string of curses filtered through his thoughts, but he did not bother to speak them aloud. There was no point. The only point of light in the midnight gloom came from a small rectangular shape far from where he stood.

"Only one way forward, huh?" Blackthorne walked toward the light and discovered a stone door. The light was emitted by a symbol chiseled on the surface. It was a heart shape with batwings.

"In a game..." he whispered softly. Blackthorne raised his hand and placed it against the seal.

"Brother, thou art worthy," whispered the sibilant voice from before. The seal began to emit a sickly green glow. The door disappeared altogether not long after. A set of torches lit up on the walls revealed in front of him.

"Guess I'm worthy, somehow... but what if I hadn't been?" he asked curiously. Was the door a trap? Would he have simply starved to death in the dark pit that claimed him?

No voice arose to speak to him on the matter. Blackthorne could do nothing else, so he strode forward into the torch light. As he walked, another set of torches and then another, lit up.

Soon he reached a fork in the road. He could take three different doors. Each held a different symbol. One bore the symbol of a stylized sun. Another bore the symbol of the crescent moon. The third bore an hourglass symbol.

"Choossse wisssely brother. Ssseek the proper path of darknesss. Beyond the true door liesss the ring. Beyond the othersss, there lay only death," whispered the serpentine voice.

Blackthorne frowned thoughtfully. How was he supposed to choose? It was not like he'd taken on a quest knowingly.

He could not choose. Instead he wandered the small area in front of the doors and sought out clues. None of the doors spoke to him. If anything, they seemed unimpressive. Something about them nagged at his consciousness. They did not seem to be the right choice for some reason. Perhaps he simply did not wish to make such a choice and his mind balked at the idea of it.

It was a search of the wall on the left that led him to an interesting discovery. There was a little symbol carved underneath on of the torches, the same symbol that he had seen on the first door. Curious, he touched it.

Sickly green light flared from the symbol. The voice whispered sibilantly once more. "Thou hassst chosssen well, brother. The path of darknesss is alwaysss jussst outssside of the light."

A green rectangle of light formed on the wall in front of him. A section of it groaned aloud and then a seam appeared. Dust billowed outward for a moment as the stone door noisily pulled away and slid to the side.

Blackthorne stepped through the new opening and entered a large chamber. Glowing crystals lit-up the room with green radiance. On a raised dais in the center of the chamber there sat a single jet-black box.

He walked up to the box, the crystals glowing more intensely with each step forward. A melody similar to the classical 'wedding march' began to play in the background, though the way it was played made it sound more like a funeral dirge.

Upon reaching the top of the dais, Blackthorne placed his hand to the seal atop what he now recognized as an obsidian casket. The same sickly green glow erupted upward. A snapping sound echoed from the casket. Afterward there was silence, even the wedding march stopped.

A softly glowing ring sat atop the red velvet inner-lining of the casket. A bright red ruby set inside a black pair of stylized batwings, the light it emitted dazzled the eye.

Blackthorne reached in and took the ring. Uncertain what else he should do, he placed it on his ring finger.

"Congratulationsss! Brother!" crowed the sibilant voice. Suddenly, cheers erupted from hundreds of invisible throats. A message screen appeared before him.

Congratulations on your marriage!

You have now become the Bride of Darkness. You are eligible to be uplifted into the status of true greatness. Cast off your crass mortality, and become a true immortal creature of the dark.

"I'm the what now?" he asked incredulously. "I'm a guy you know."

The soft feminine voice that liked to tease him on occasion spoke to him. "You'll make a lovely bride! Hee. Hee."

"Hey!" exclaimed Blackthorne before he turned around in search of the voice.

Fully expecting the voice to say something cutesy, like 'Hi,' he waited for a moment. She did not speak again, however.

A new message screen appeared before him not long after he finished waiting for a response. Blackthorne could scarcely believe his eyes.

You have become the Bride of Darkness, or Husband of Darkness if you so insist. As such, you are no longer allowed to retain your base humanity. As a proper bride you must exhibit power and ability beyond that of simple mortals. You may choose from one of the following Races of Night.

Alternatively, you can simply gain standard immortality of the ageless variety, and be reset to level one as a basic human.

You will not be able to leave this chamber until you make a decision.

Please note: All four of these races are considered dark noble races and are known to be among the strongest of the races available. Your life will be altered significantly if you choose to become any of these races.

Your level will be reset to one and you will have your stats adjusted accordingly. New skills will arise, though you will keep your old skills as well in most cases.

Sanguinarim - Noble blood, high-profile vampires descended from the gods of darkness. A true master race with incredible powers and even more incredible dark magical affinity. These vampires are known for their extreme power, pride, and vanity.

Nephilim - Dark angels of destruction and chaos banished from the heavens. They revel in chaos and sing songs of madness and death. They are known for their wickedness and guile. They are not mindless in their wickedness, however. Members of this race will frequently spend their time tormenting evil mortals and are often the basis for people who claim they have had dealings with demons. As a species they seem to be drawn to innocence and grow calm in the presence of those who have a gentle heart. However, they will indiscriminately slaughter anyone who harms those innocents.

Lunarim - Ancient beings who revered the moon and all its many faces. They are kin to the beasts of darkness and have the power of the wolf. They are a proud and fierce people ruled by the moon and by a sense of honor. They are fiercely protective of their people, but tend to be xenophobic and distrustful of anyone outside of their race.

Gol-Umbraim - The shadow people, creatures of darkness whose very bodies are incapable of being pierced by the light. They hate the light and seek the darkness in the hearts of men in order to foster wickedness and deceit. They can use their natural ability to influence the minds and hearts of others to appear human, but they cannot take on a true human form.

"What is this? What are these choices?" he asked in confusion. He had no interest in remaining human, but did not want to simply become a monster. None of the racial choices really spoke to him. The Nephilim sort of felt like a possible choice, but the others did not feel right in the slightest.

"Isn't there something more fitting?" he asked slowly. He was loathe to just be a human who would not die of old age. Yet, he did not want to become a xenophobic racist, flying blood rat, or whatever the Gol-Umbraim thing was supposed to be.

He was confused further when the message screen suddenly became distorted in a manner similar to an old school 8-bit game cartridge bugging out. However, what occurred afterward made the light in his eyes dance a bit.

A new choice appeared at the bottom of the list, one that spoke deeply to him from the moment that he read it. Perhaps it was also due to the fact that it was the sole race that did not quite follow the naming pattern of the other four.

Mahorela Abaivonin - Dragons of the Dark Heavens. Known as the terror of midnight, dark celestial dragons, or the shadows of death. These true dragons have incredible power and an overwhelming drive to exact justice upon the wicked. Often called the shadow of death and spoken of in legends as a nigh-unstoppable divine race of avengers who appear in times of need to set the wrong things right.

A primordial cloud of darkness that takes the form of dragon or man, they walk the mortal lands and seek out opportunities to bring down bandits and evil kings with extreme violence. Their greatest strength, however, does not come from jet-black wings, an impenetrable cloud of darkness, or in the form of man. It comes from the rare moments when all three aspects are awakened at once.

Blackthorne looked to the racial information for a moment. The last race, the oddly named dragon race, was just so dark. Something about it called out to him. Maybe it was because he had always had a thing for dragons. Maybe it was because he liked the part about being a race of avengers who take down assholes. It helped that they seemed like some sort of dragon anti-hero race. They were dark, but far from evil.

His biggest issue was that he would have his level reset if he chose any of them. It was an incredible opportunity, but either he had to accept a race change now or not at all. Levels were too hard to acquire and he doubted changing his race would change that situation much. It might even take longer to gain levels!

Blackthorne eyed the races once more then bit his lower lip. He did not have any major attachment to his humanity, though he did want to be able to keep that sort of form. He was used to being human, after all.

“Who am I kidding? I already know what race I would choose to be... But do I choose it?” he asked aloud.

Blackthorne raised his finger up then clicked on the entry for Mahorela Abaivonin. A little more information presented itself then he nodded. Yes, he could definitely make that work.

Blackthorne thought of all of the pain and suffering that he suffered in his life. He thought of how the strong picked on the weak. He let memories of his past and the horrors of the world enter his mind. He was given one chance to become something, someone, who could do something about that. Would he take it? Was he up for that amount of change in his life?

His eyes snapped open, “Damn right I am...” He hit accept and then his entire life changed. Well, he thought that it would. However, nothing noticeable happened to him.

He frowned then checked the screen. His eyebrow rose up then he grinned. He had to exit the dream world and re-enter for his changes to take effect. He could hardly wait to see what happened!