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Tick... tock... tick... tock...

All the years of studying, the innumerable hours of research and experimentation all ultimately led to this final conclusion... death. To conquer the hurdle of flesh one must give it up willingly knowing full well what will happen next. In order to leave this world for a better one you still have to leave the world like anyone else.

Yes, Morris reasoned to himself, his gnarled fingers stroking his grizzled goatee. It seems that there is no other choice, no other path. In order to transfer my consciousness, I must first die.

The elderly researcher sat back in his favorite brown leather armchair and smiled to himself, relishing how the cushions had molded around his slight, bony frame over the years. Morris had spent much of his life hunched over paperwork and microscopes, and it showed in his deteriorating arthritic spine. The armchair was a small creature comfort of his. He thought he might miss this chair in his next life, but then again, maybe not. Though he was satisfied with his final conclusions, he took no pleasure in the evening's coming ritual. Surely no rational man enjoyed pain. He clicked his tongue distastefully.

DONG. Morris jumped in surprise, lost in his thoughts. According to his prized heirloom grandfather clock it was now 2:30AM. It was almost time. He surveyed his precious study one final time.

Hardwood parquet flooring, sterile white walls, imposing mahogany desk, plush crimson curtains drawn over storm streaked windows. There was a place for everything. Well, almost everything.

Morris frowned, glancing at the antique Persian rug hastily rolled up into the far corner of the room. When the time had come to create the ritual circle, really there was no other rational place available in the home. The rug simply had to go.

Honestly, I can't be expected to conduct such a sensitive ritual in the pouring rain. Bad for the joints, and the rain might wash away the inscriptions. Then I'd really be in a bind!

He chuckled to himself, imagining the groundskeeper stumbling upon the corpse of this foolish old man in the garden, empty eyed and covered in streaks of chalk.

Morris stood and slowly made his way over to the center of the ritual circle. The arcane symbols encircling his feet were strange and mystical, unknown to most of the world. Eighty years of occult knowledge was poured into this final stage, all culminating in a suicidal attempt at power.

His health was failing, according to his physician. Cancer. Not worth treating at his advanced age; it would only prolong the inevitable. His body had weakened significantly over the last few months but his mind was still sharp.

I don't want to die, damn it! But I can no longer tolerate being imprisoned in this body.

He felt the smallest sliver of mana he was able to cultivate after years of meditation on his studies and, with some difficulty, unsheathed the dagger from his belt.

“Stupid thing,” he muttered to himself. Arthritis was a bitch.

He supposed he could have used sleeping tablets instead, but they were so inconsistent these days. He'd most likely end up with organ failure instead. It seemed only too appropriate to offer a blood sacrifice anyway. More... traditional? He had also considered his shotgun, but that too was out of the question. It was an attractive option at first, quick and painless, but it was imperative that he preserved his mind.

Morris gripped the dagger tightly, raised the blade to his throat, and waited. He watched the grandfather clock tick the seconds away against the opposite wall.

Tick... tock... tick... tock...

At long last the clock struck 3:00AM, the bell tolling DONG, DONG, DONG.

Should he say something? Invoke some higher power, or perhaps make some grandiose final statement? It seemed anticlimactic somehow.

No matter. He wasn't one to stand on ceremony. Why should that change now?

Fighting the draining fatigue, Morris pressed down hard and felt the edge of the blade bite sharply into his skin, drawing a thin stream of blood. He drew a deep breath and, in one swift motion, dragged the blade across, slitting his own throat. Bright red arterial blood spurted from the wound and the dagger clattered to the floor. Gritting his teeth through the nigh insurmountable pain he kept his will clear in his mind:

Immortality. High Magic. Immortality. High Magic.

The slash was a bit clumsy but ultimately proved to be effective in the end. In shock and choking on his own blood, Morris crumpled senselessly to the ground. As the world around him faded into icy cold blackness he saw Red Text flash before his mind.

Requested transfer accepted.

Requested body approved.

Unique skill granted: Death's Companion: Level 1.

Morris awoke in total darkness, blessedly feeling neither hot nor cold. His vision was immediately drawn to a strange floating transparent screen. It had the appearance of a sort of pop up menu from his decrepit old office computer:

Status:

Name: No Name

Race: Lesser Lich

Sex: Male

Class: Necromancer

Skills:

Death's Companion – Summon a Unique intelligent companion (Evolving Skill), Level 1

Create Lesser Undead – Create small animal undead that can follow basic orders, Level 1

Pain Nullification – You do not feel pain, Level MAX

Mana Manipulation – Allows you to control mana within yourself and the world, Level MAX

Magic Aptitude: Metal

Major Stats:

Level: 1

Heath: 1,000/1,000 Mana: 2,000/2,000

Minor Stats:

Strength:5 Dexterity:2 Intelligence:10

Wisdom:10 Charisma: -5 Luck:10

Morris stared unblinkingly at the screen for a few moments, attempting to process this new information.

...No name, eh? So my name did not carry over. Can I name myself? Is a name important?

He heard a rhythmic clicking as he absentmindedly tapped his fingers on the hard surface below his prone body.

Lazarus sounds like a good name for myself. After all, it seems that I was successful in this little venture of mine. It has a little old world feel to it. Though in this world it may be a common name for all I know now. I think I rather like it.

“Lesser Lich Lazarus,” he intoned, tasting his new name for the very first time.

Rolls off the tongue nicely. Though I don't seem to have a tongue anymore. Curious.

Lazarus tried to click his tongue. The sound came out as if it was there, yet he felt nothing in his mouth. Curious, indeed. He was distracted from this new revelation by the sudden appearance of yet more Red Text.

Requested Name Accepted: Lazarus

Mana Sacrifice Required for Name Acquisition: 1,000

Stat increase of 5 to all stats granted with name.