The early morning sun beat down upon the grassland with moderate intensity as Blackthorne eyed his prey. Hand shading his eyes, he watched carefully and tried to judge the distance between his opponents.

He frowned slowly. There were three of them, two too many for his liking. A short distance away another zombie shambled around slowly, this one carrying an axe that it dragged along the ground.

"Four..." he whispered softly to the uncaring morning breeze. They were not difficult opponents in general, but they took a lot of effort to bring down without magic. Could he manage to use his paltry magical ability to take one of them down completely before the others engaged? Hit and run tactics might work, but his weapons would not hold up to that sort of thing long term.

He shifted his gaze from the trio of shambling corpses to their lone neighbor. It was not a sword, but it was still a weapon. If he could get that away from the rotter that held it, he would have one more tool to house his enchantments.

Slowly, Blackthorne circled the area. The grass swayed and shifted more than he would have liked due to his lack of stealth, but the roaming undead were far enough from him that they never noticed his presence.

Like the world's least stealthy hunting cat, he worked his way over to his malodorous prey. The shambling corpse swayed in place for a moment before it staggered a few steps away.

Blackthorne risked popping his head up a little higher out of the grass to determine the position of the other monsters. He did not speak his thoughts, but given their distance and slow movement speed he came to a conclusion. They were about half a minute away.

Could he do it? Would it be possible to take this beast down in considerably less than half a minute?

His eyes roved back over to the axe wielding corpse. As though it sensed is genuine need, the rotting thing turned away and moaned loudly. It was as though it wanted him to strike it from behind.

The perfect opportunity presented to him, Blackthorne felt his blood run hot. He burst out of the grass and raced toward his prey with all haste. The distance was such that even the oblivious creature managed to shuffled halfway back around to him before the first flash of his copper sword struck its decaying head.

Black lightning skittered along its skull before another strike lashed down from overhead. The axe that it wielded sluggishly rose up toward its attacker, but Blackthorne slipped sideways using the footwork that Jackie drilled into him previously.

Magic was a strange thing indeed. Normally such creatures would be immune to things such as paralysis, poison, or fear. However, magic could cause all manner of maladies to appear even in the undead. What was the old standard dungeons and dragons spell, 'Turn Undead' but a way to smite the evil dead and engender magical fear in those that were not simply destroyed outright?

The Jolt! spell did not care whether its target was considered alive or dead. It simply raced through its body and disrupted whatever power animated it, whether it be natural electrical currents in the living or dark ether animating a corpse, there was little difference in the result.

Blackthorne's foot lashed out taking the walking corpse behind the knees. Easily knocked to the ground, the last of his copper sword's lightning was spent on another hard chop to the beast's head.

Not willing to lose the momentum of this overwhelmingly violent assault, he pulled his knew iron blade from his bag. Dark lightning skittered along the creature's head as another strike slammed into its skull.

"What the...?" asked Blackthorne as he whirled his blade downward for another telling blow. The creature had slumped sideways avoiding the strike entirely.

He jumped back expecting it to attack with some new trick, but it did not move at all. Remnants of his lightning strikes continued to skitter along the ruination of its face, but no sign of movement could be seen. A brief moment later its skull split open and a chunk of jet-black material fell free.

"It... died?" he asked incredulously. All of the effort that he'd expended on the first one came to mind briefly. A genuinely bright smile came to his lips. All it needed was another strike or two to finish the thing, but he'd only had three to work with before. His magic was more than strong enough to fight these things!

Blackthorne glanced toward the other zombies then nodded. They would be on him soon, it would be best to grab his loot and run for now.

After he snatched up the death shard, the axe, a bit of tattered chainmail that slipped off of the rest of the thing's decayed armor as though it were originally held on by willpower alone, and a tooth that had popped free of the creature's rotting maw, he rushed off to a relatively safe distance then assessed his equipment.

The axe proved to be another garbage item, but there was enough durability left to be useful. The chainmail section was resilient despite its weathered and rusted appearance. The shard of death essence and the tooth were known quantities.

"Not a bad haul, I suppose..." he said amiably.

"Only lost a few points of durability on my gear from the rapid strikes..." he decreed after he eyed his weapons.

After imbibing a bit of water, and consuming a leaf to aid his regeneration, he set about enchanting his gear once more. His iron sword still held two charges, and could not be re-enchanted until after the power was used completely. His axe and the copper sword he'd used from the start were enchanted with Jolt! and made ready for battle.

He nodded to himself then looked to the zombies that slowly staggered toward him. They bore no weapons, but one of them had something that he hoped would prove useful. It work a badly dented, and thoroughly rusted, breast plate.

Keeping a wary eye on the grassland and his shambling opponents, he waited for his life force to slowly tick back up to a reasonable amount. While he waited he admitted to himself that the only reason he could even try to hunt in this place was his magic. "I'm going to need much better equipment if I want to hunt here regularly. My stuff's gonna be trashed by the time I'm done with those three..."

He grunted as the shambling zombies came closer. They were staggered out a bit, a short distance between them. However, there would be no room for error. He would have to rush in, do the deed, and rush out to recharge his enchantments at least one time before the battle ended.

When he sprang out of the grass this time he led with his axe. If anything should take the brunt of the damage from attacking with rapid magical enchantments, it should be his new trash weapons.

While he had no skill with the axe, this was not a battle between skillful opponents. With all of the grace of a man hacking into the side of a tree, he slammed the axe's blade into the beast's chest. Black lightning flared outward even as the monster was taken off its feet by the blow.

A sickening suction sound echoed from the screeching creature's chest as the embedded axe was pulled free. It flailed weakly as a heavy chop impacted its skull. Unlike the anemic scratches produced by his sword blade, an actual gouge appeared in the monster's head.

Blackthorne did not take the time to consider the ramifications of such a discovery. He chopped downward once more then dropped his weapon in favor of his iron sword. Two choice stabs finished the beast, but he did not have time to celebrate. Decaying hands reached toward him from the left!

He lunged backwards nimbly to avoid to gnarled and grasping fingers of the dead man only to have the great fortune of slipping on an unseen rock. Blackthorne lost his balance and slid sideways for the briefest of moments. It was all the dead man needed to reach his off-balance prey.

A decaying hand gripped his wrist in a vice-like grip. Blackthorne righted himself just in time to desperately try and block the cracked yellow fingernails that clawed through the air in a bid to slash open his face.

It was a losing proposition, and his eyes spoke the truth that his lips might yet deny. He knew he would not be able to stop the incoming strike in time. However, the fickle providence of fate was a strange thing indeed. Unbeknownst to either man or hungry beast, the third zombie tripped over the corpse of its compatriot and fell heavily against the attacking zombie.

Blackthorne and his unholy dancing partner were knocked to the ground. The creature's grip broken by the sudden move, its prey slipped backwards on his ass by rapidly kicking his feet against the ground.

By the time the zombie was part of its way back to its feet a heavy boot slammed into its chest. Knocked back to the ground it was an easy target for the harsh punishment that Blackthorne meted out.

"You stinking!" he snarled before he chopped heavily against the side of the monster's face.

"Ugly!" he shouted as a second cleaving strike tore at the tattered flesh of its nose.

"...Fucking..." he said angrily while raising his sword for another strike.

"Shit!" he roared hatefully as his blade arced downward in a telling blow that rattled the beast's sludge dump of a brain.

Of course, he tried to strike a few more times but his enchantments were dry. Worse, the third zombie clawed its way toward him and nearly gripped him by the ankle.

Blackthorne hopped backwards again to avoid the grasping hands of the foul thing then snorted. "Hold that thought..."

He could not get to his axe as it was current hiding under the body of a spastically flailing zombie. However, another round of enchantments should finish the battle nicely.

Angered more by his carelessness than anything, he raced off to prepare for the end of the fight. By the time he managed to renew his enchantments and rest for a moment, the zombies had already risen and moved halfway towards his position.

"You want a taste that badly, huh?" he said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

He rose up from the grass, eyes ablaze with murderous intent. His brows pressed inward and his nostrils flared menacingly. "Don't worry..." he said, his eyes narrowing once again, "I deliver."

Blackthorne, silly bastard that he is, rushed outward blade in hand to deliver the promised taste to his opponents. Would they leave him a tip for his trouble? There was a tip involved, of course. The tip of his blade as it drove forward in a powerful thrust that took the closest of the monsters in the chest.

Without even bothering to try and use a flanking tactic, he released the hilt of his iron sword and used both hands to forcibly shove the beast to the ground. A sickening wet suctioning sound followed not long after as Blackthorne strode forward, ripping the sword free of the monster's chest in the process.

By the time the first zombie began to recover, the second was already on the ground once again unmoving save for the occasion spit and spark of dark lightning that skittered through its body making its limbs spasm weakly in a mockery of life and unlife as well.

Only one strike remaining in his enchantments, he struck the beast square between the eyes with his copper sword then set to work repeatedly stabbing it in the head with his iron blade. The sounds of screeching and the visceral gore of black blood splattering about the area continued for a time as he violently went about his business. It took quite some time to wear down the beast's remaining resolve to live whatever passed for its life. Blackthorne was forced to trade out his iron sword for his copper blade when the durability of the former dropped precariously low.

Panting heavily, his life force little more than a weakly sputtering flame due to the beast's blood lightly sucking the life from his body, Blackthorne rose up resolved to finish the fight with a few brutal stomps of his booted heel. Two enchanted strikes were not enough. The amount of time and effort needed for his unenchanted weapons to defeat these monsters was ridiculous.

With a loud sickening crack, the zombie's head broke open and the slush pile that once might have been called a brain oozed of the large tears and rents in its broken skull.

Amusement burning brightly in his eyes, he gulped in air and looked down at his defeated opponent. "Was it..." he said between panted breaths, "good for you, baby?"

A snicker echoed inside his head followed by a decidedly obnoxious voice vocalizing a single word, "Pervert."

"Shut the fuck up. It's a figure of speech," muttered Blackthorne, his exultant mood ruined by the voices in his head.

After he spent more time and water than he would have liked washing the viscous ichor from his face, Blackthorne gathered up his numerous bits of loot. Even the voices in his head could not ruin his joy. Seven bits and pieces of the zombies had fallen away as loot! Better still, he acquired three more shards of death essence, reclaimed his new axe and gathered various armor materials for his own personal use.

Stripped of everything that might have even the tiniest bit of value, the naked corpse were dragged into a single pile and left to rot in the sun. He possessed no means to make a fire and did not even know if the corpses were ever actually real people in the first place. Generally speaking, the graveyard generated zombies like a game might generate monsters in a zone. Were the once living people? Perhaps. But these bodies were definitely not their originals. Not at this point.

"Yeah, that'll have to be it for today," he groused.

He popped the last of his leaves into his mouth to help combat to loss of life force due to the black blood then sighed. "Hopefully this will start to be profitable soon."

No sooner had he said it that did something quite interesting occur. A soft feminine voice whispered into his ear, "Your constant efforts to overcome the trials in your life have borne fruit, dreamer. You have gained a new level of understanding on your road to glory."

"Oh, hell yes!" he cried excitedly. Unseen by anyone who might think him uncool, Blackthorne jumped about and shadow boxed at the air for a moment then thrust one fist upward. "Who da man?"

He looked around expectantly, but there was no one there to congratulate him on his accomplishment. His euphoria began to die down a little as the reminder that he was alone in two worlds began to weigh on his mind. The depressing thought only kept him down for a moment, however. The fact that he'd gained a level was far too grand an experience to be denied. "Well, I'm happy for me at least," he said with a laugh.

Loot in hand, he headed back to town. There was a low-cost celebration to be had, and a decision to make. His attribute points were already spoken for as he'd planned to increase his intellect to acquire an increased modifier that would grant him more skill points per level. However, with his recent change in hunting grounds he had an important decision to make regarding how to spend those skill points.