The undercity stank of rubbish and piss.

Not the most pleasant sensation to awaken from but at least he was awake. And unfortunately, very conscious.

The first thing he noted was how poor this human's senses were. Blurry vision, dim hearing and barely any sense of feeling around him. That could be the concussion, true, but still. Less than the ideal.

For a moment, Nimh just lay there, the echoes of the human’s past life flickering in and out of his subconsciousness. It was, in Nimh’s opinion, a necessary evil.

In his home world, access to the Realm of Thoughtful Heights was…non-existent. It came with a pure dedication to the Spiritual Arts. The stronger one's people as a conscious collection leaned toward one Realm, the weaker their connection to others.

If his people's history told of one thing, it was the great loss of the connection to the Realm of Thoughtful Heights. And it was why he did not want to destroy these echoes of what once was. A small price to pay for a Well of knowledge.

The price unfortunately included mountains of self-pity, depression, and a violent urge to hate everything and anything other than itself. Himself? The man who had once held ownership over this body.

Well for all intents and purposes, he was dead and Nimh was in his place. And Nimh needed sustenance. It did not matter how powerful in Spiritual Arts he was, if the body failed, he would plunge straight back into the Realm of Infinite Dreams.

Patting his newly obtained pockets, Nimh found nothing resembling food, money or identification. That made sense. F-Ranks were hobos of society. No money so they had to steal. No security so they were viewed as little more than animals.

And by the state of his dress, rags, and filth, Nimh could guess how this man had lived.

“Poor bastards.” Nimh felt a pang of sympathy for them. It was not their fault they were born unprivileged and weak. It was their fault for remaining so though.

Ignoring the pangs of hunger and what felt uncomfortably like a tic on the back of his neck, Nimh took stock.

The physical form, the body he would use to conquer this world. It was nothing special. Not particularly strong, fast or durable. The Physical Arts would fix that but with his starting point, it would be troublesome.

The spirit well in his core was intact. He had forcefully entered it to possess the man after all. A powerful spirit conquering a weak spirit. Fragments of it still existed, floating in the spirit well. Eventually, it would sink deeper until it emerged into the Realm of Infinite Dreams.

Nimh had a choice there. If he were to fully devour the spirit, he could strengthen his own spiritual arts, though at a cost. For now, he would develop it slowly. It was his most potent weapon, but how it would work in this body was yet to be tested.

And lastly. The mind.

The benefit of being a spiritual invader was that his mind came with him. All of his experiences, expertise and will to succeed. The problem was now it was anchored by this human’s brain which was…inefficient.

It was somewhat difficult to focus and though Nimh had knowledge from his home world unless he could utilise it better, it was worthless. And the Cognitive Arts had been lost to his people for a long time so if he was to develop them, he would be going in blind.

Not a promising prospect.

At some point during his contemplation, he vaguely became aware of a small weight moving around on his knee. It didn’t hurt him and with a strained spirit sense, he could sense it was a small beast. A very small beast.

Nimh had never seen a rat before. It was an ugly little creature, as large as his hand with beady, intelligent eyes. But a vague echo of the man hen invaded told Nimh that he should be repulsed by the creature.

Nimh was not.

With a small smile, he focused on the creature and sent a small link of spiritual energy towards it. Not a threatening attack, but more like a probe.

Once it touched the rat, Nimh could feel its hunger and intelligence warring within it. An impressive dichotomy of bestial hunger and an absolute absence of humanity, obviously, as it was a rat. But the intelligent mind was incredibly quick, processing danger and opportunity at a rate that left Nimh envious.

Unfortunately, Nimh could sense that this rat would never be tamed. It was too smart and too wild to be caged. So, he killed it.

The probe instantly tore through the rat, finding its spirit well and shattering it. The rat gave a sudden titch and then fell limp. Its little heart still beating as its body slowly died.

“Poor thing.” Nimh was not without some remorse. He had never taken joy in the suffering of others after all. He may be an invader, but he wasn’t a monster.

No. If he were a monster, he would have torn the little beast's spirit straight out of its body and consumed it within his own spirit well. That would have been a far more painful death than being discarded straight into the afterlife.

Though Nimh had no doubt he’d end up doing that to build his spirit well eventually. But not yet.

Sitting up, he took the rat in his hand and decided how he was going to eat it.

An hour later, Nimh had made a makeshift fire out of rubbish and was eating a cooked rat. It tasted pretty bad but was better than going hungry. Above the fire were four more rats, each hunted and killed in the same manner as the first rat.

If nothing else, the undercity had a plethora of rats. With his spirit sense, it was easy to find them, though he only killed the largest ones. The small ones he scared off.

With a somewhat filled belly and the smell of burning trash behind him, Nimh began wandering.

Somewhere ahead he could hear people and he intentionally steered clear of them. If they recognised his body, then it would lead to a situation where he would likely be exposed. He may not be opposed to purging the undercity of living F-Ranks, but he wouldn’t if he could avoid it.

No, what he needed was a base of operation. Somewhere he could train this body and begin stepping on the path of a cultivator. The humans here called it refinement, which he supposedly worked.

But regardless of what it was called. He had a very long path ahead of him.

Nimh paid attention to his surroundings as he walked. Though his eyesight was still poor and he struggled to hear much above a shout from a short distance. His spirit sense was a far great tool for identifying his surroundings.

For a good twenty meters around him, Nimh was almost certain of his surroundings, though with its spread over a larger area he found it difficult to process all the information he was receiving. The damnably inefficient human mind. One more thing to train.

It also didn’t help that keeping the spirit sense active was a strain on his well. His spirit may be strong, but the well was woefully underdeveloped so he couldn’t utilise much of his abilities. And the few he could use were weak parodies of what he once was.

So, it came as no surprise when his spirit sense failed him.

They came out of nowhere and struck faster than Nimh could respond. If he had his old body these street rats would have been disabled in seconds.

Instead, he was beaten to the ground and dragged into a building before being thrown down some stairs. When he hit the bottom a sense of déjà vu washed over him. It took him a moment to recognise the echo and a sense of dread followed.

This was a gang den.

“Hello, Marcus.” A baritone voice boomed.

Hands grabbed Nimh and pulled him to his knees. Blurry shapes passed before him, and he focused his spirit sense on the voice.

“Now, what are you doing scampering around my territory. You’re not one of my boys and certainly not my ‘boy’”.

A shiver ran down his spine. The man he sensed was uncommonly strong for an F-Rank. He may even be able to step into E-Rank.

“I… lost my way,” Nimh mumbled, his spirit sense taking in the dozen or so F-Ranks surrounding him. This was not good.

“Lost your way.” The voice boomed. “You are right about that. Damned cockroach.”

A fist shattered Nimh’s ribs and he fell coughing blood onto the floor. Kicks rained down and another echo flittered through his mind.

In that instant, he knew who the baritone belonged to Wolfgang Herts. The leader of the Wolves and a ruthless pillager of young men’s chastity.

When the blows stopped battering him, Nimh could feel Wolfgang step closer. “You know Marcus, you really are a pretty one. Too bad you were always smart enough to say out of my territory. Daddy kept you safe, didn’t he? Too bad he’s dead now.”

Nimh allowed the man's words passed over him. What did Nimh care about a dead man's sad story? Unfortunately, the words triggered another echo and Nimh had to experience more of, Marcus, was that his name? More of his damned impressions and vague sensations.

A slap bought him out of it, and he tried focussing his eyes on the man. He was big and uglier than Nimh could believe.

Swallowing bile, Nimh glared. “Wolfgang.” He failed to keep the shiver out of his voice. He didn’t know if it was Marcus or the pain that made him sound weak. “How many boys do you run?”

That caught Wolfgang unaware, and Nimh struck. Just like how he had killed the rats, he forged his spirit into a weapon. But unlike with the rats, he shaped it with intent. And stabbed it directly into Wolfgang’s spirit well.

And his attack was stopped. Wolfgang wasn’t just close to E-Rank and Nimh realised his mistake. The man was an E-Rank. A dirt king lording over the dung heap.

There wasn’t a great difference between F-Rank and E-Rank, except for one. Power. A level of power that Nimh knew he couldn’t topple in his current state. And now, even without knowing it, Wolfgang had Nimh in a precarious position.

Choking back a growl, Nimh made a decision.

His spirit had touched Wolfgang’s when he had attacked, creating a link. One of many things could happen now. If his spirit well was strong and his spirit art was usable, he could crush Wolfgang in a heartbeat. Or he could take control of Wolfgang’s spirit and make him a serf.

But the power discrepancy switched their positions. So long as Nimh’s spirit was connected to Wolfgang within his own spirit well, Nimh was in danger.

So, he withdrew, pulling his spirit back into his spirit well. And Wolfgang’s spirit followed. Untrained and undeveloped, Wolfgang’s spirit could follow the more focused spirit. And within his own spirit well, Nimh reigned supreme.

Had his opponent had any training with the Spiritual Arts, Nimh would never have done this. In fact, he didn’t want to do this now at all. But desperate times.

And he had to admit. Wolfgang had thoroughly angered him. Must have been some part of Marcus making an appearance

Using that anger as fuel, Nimh took hold of Wolfgang’s spirit and began tearing it apart.