So, for a quick recap—my head… scratch that, I'm currently lacking one. Umm… consciousness? Yeah, that works! My consciousness(es) swirled with confusion as I woke to find myself sprawled on an icy, stony surface—not that the cold bothered me or anything—oozing out like an impromptu Rorschach test in black tar.

Too silly?

Just a tad.

Shush, me.

Igniting my Mana Focus felt like trying to read a spellbook in the dark—underwater, with goth rock blaring in the background. Ah, high school all over again. A perfect picture of trying and failing. My second attempt was like yanking at a stuck zipper on fishnet tights—frustrating and slightly painful. But persistence paid off, and soon enough, my world came into focus—a beautiful cascade of dusk, twilight, and a delightful kind of blurriness.

—Wait, this isn't right.

No, shit!

I mean, maybe it would've been easier if I'd just used the system to cast Mana Focus. But come on, it was my easiest skill—well, that and Polymorph. Still, I shouldn't be having issues casting without the training wheels. It felt… off. Especially the blurriness.

Panic should've been the appropriate response. But let's be real—waking up naked with blurry vision, kind of like that time I got roofied (don't worry, nothing bad happened… that I can remember)—wasn't exactly a first for me. My senses buzzed, tangled in a web of confusion, vibrating somewhere between an LSD trip and blackout drunk—or maybe both; who could tell?

And then came the whispers—skittering through the darkness like spiders in my brain—only to erupt into hushed shouts and panicked yells as a blurry figure collapsed. Through the haze, I spotted a familiar gnome flailing over some woman sprawled out like forgotten laundry. She looked about as lively as a slab of week-old meat left out in the sun.

Overdoing the analogies? Too bad—I like them.

Um… I think 'you' mean simile.

Are 'you' sure?

"Asherah! High Priestess Asherah!" the gnome cried, his voice cracking. "Don't just stare. One of you, help!"

What happened next was like a beehive of commotion—hazy figures swarming around, helping the woman on the floor up and onto what I think was a bench. She quickly disappeared from view behind the cluster of bodies hovering around her.

As the initial frenzy began to settle, a few seemed to finally notice me. Those few approached, their whispers hushed, as if afraid the others might overhear.

"Our prayers have been answered," came an awed breath. "The high priestess did it."

"Answered? Looks more like someone took a dump on the altar," a less impressed voice muttered.

"Do you see that?" Another voice cut through the murkiness, trembling with excitement.

"There are two glowing orbs within it," someone else observed, their tone dripping with intrigue.

Focusing my sight on them took way too much effort, but as far as I could tell, I was in some poorly lit chamber swarming with shadowy figures whose outlines bled into each other—like spilled ink on parchment. Why my Mana Focus was on the fritz was beyond me. I even did the pathetic thing and recast it using a system command, but nope—still blurry.

I bailed on the battle for better vision and pivoted to Polymorph, aiming for something less... blob-like and a little more socially acceptable. Full disclosure? That's a stretch. Contorting myself into an airbrushed fantasy straight out of a beauty mag's centerfold felt a lot like wriggling into a pair of 'aspirational' jeans—you know, the ones optimistically bought during a fleeting (and possibly delusional) skinny phase. But hey, the fashion world isn't exactly built for comfort, right?

What the hell?

Maybe we messed up the spell?

I doubt it.

Give it another go, just to be sure.

My arms stretched out from the puddle of my tar-like form, reaching into the void above... and grasped at nothingness.

"Look, it's almost like it's reaching out for someone to hold it," a voice cooed, equal parts wonder and amusement as they edged closer.

Hey. Hey. Shut up—all of you—um, me—there's a dumbass approaching!

Ooooo—I'm hungry!

"Don't just walk up to it! We have no clue what it's capable of," cautioned another voice, this one tinged with fear.

Much to my disappointment, the approaching prey hesitated and stepped back.

"The high priestess summoned it, so it's obviously been sent by the divine to aid us," someone argued, their tone laced with stubborn certainty.

"Pfft, the divine? It's the ascended gods who want to wipe us out and enslave whoever's left," scoffed another voice, dripping with skepticism.

"I'm talking about the old gods, you digit! The true gods!"

Whispers fluttered around the altar like moths to a flame, their debate as fervent as chants echoing through a crypt. I kept recasting Mana Focus, desperate to pierce the chimeric darkness and blurriness—irrationally hoping for a different outcome each time—only to find it as elusive as smoke slipping through clawed fingers. Shadows coiled tighter around my senses, a shroud of secrecy that continued to defy my command.

Worse still, I could feel irritation bubbling up, sharp and simmering, and the constant whispering wasn't doing my growing inner bitch any favors.

Okay, screw this. Let's just turn everyone into ash and get out of here.

With hunger sharpened by chaos and madness, I called forth Necrotic Flame, my soul's abyss yearning to watch their flesh crumble to ash… Yet, the dark gift betrayed me. No pyre rose to devour the heretic whispers. Bitter and cold, my essence recoiled.

I turned to Blight, ready to unleash a miasma of pestilence—a cloud rolling over them, blossoming sores and weeping lesions across their skin. I envisioned a dance of decay, ravaging flesh and drowning them in fear.

But the silence that followed was as profound as the grave—no wails of affliction, no chorus of agony. Only the sterile air mocking my futile rage.

"Did it just… burp?" one voice asked, thick with bewilderment.

"No, that was definitely a fart," another concluded, followed by barely stifled snickering.

Ugh, this is so humiliating.

My powers, once as omnipresent as the night's embrace, were now as absent as the warmth of the sun from the catacomb's heart, leaving me adrift—a specter bereft of its ancient dread.

I wanted to curl up into a ball of shame and quietly dissolve, but instead, I swallowed my pride and pulled up my status sheet.

V:\Ascension>SAFE_MODE

CharacterStatus

 

Name: Blake

Race: Eldritch Horror

Subrace: Black Pudding

 

Concealed Race Designations Found.

Hidden: Titan

Hidden: Demigoddess

 

Class: Nightmare

Level: 25

 

Titles:

- [Death's Disciple]

 

Racial Skills:

- [Absorb]

- [Arcane Insight]

- [Corrosive]

- [Polymorph]

- [Thermal]

 

Spells:

- [Astral Insight]

- [Blight]

- [Fear]

- [Life Drain]

- [Mana Focus]

- [Necrotic Flame]

- [Paralysis]

- [Spirit Vessel]

- [Terror's Infusion]

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

 

Abilities:

- [Burst]

- [Ethereal Mist]

- [Silk Webbing]

- [Spider Walk]

- [Spores]

- [Venomous]

 

Vulnerabilities:

- [Fire]

- [Holy]

 

Immunities:

- [Acid]

- [Darkness]

- [Disease]

- [Dread]

- [Fear]

- [Poison]

- [Sleep]

- [Sorrow]

 

Unique:

- [Polyglot]

- [Divine Stellar Core]

 

Selectable Skills:

- [Acid Breath]

- [Birthright]

- [Devourer]

- [Disintegration]

- [Dull Corrode]

- [Fear Harvest]

- [Fortress]

- [Heiress]

- [Leap]

- [Nightmare Dominion]

- [Phantasmal Mist]

- [Phantasmal Nightmare]

- [Poison Spit]

- [Shield Proficiency]

- [Surge]

- [Threads of Horror]

 

V:\>

Ugh—still level twenty-five, I see. I doubt that'll ever change until I find another dungeon to level in. Still, that's a lot of new skills to choose from.

With nothing else to do and no skill willing to activate, I kept trying to extend my senses—Mana Focus—into the surroundings.

Only, it still felt… wrong—almost murky. And yet, I kept trying—until the pieces finally clicked into place.

Usually, ambient mana flows to me, intertwining with my essence effortlessly. When I wasn't casting with the system's mana, I relied on ambient mana instead.

Now, though, the mana felt scarce—so thin it was like trying to breathe in the middle of a forest fire.

Logically, you'd think mana-saturated air would feel heavier, but this was the exact opposite. I was so accustomed to its abundant presence that its absence felt suffocating. The more I focused on the stark void around me, the tighter the sensation of asphyxiation gripped my thoughts, stoking my alarm and forcing me to confront just how wrong this situation truly was.

Stranger still—even the system's mana wasn't working. It felt as though even that mana was being pulled away from me. That's why, when I cast Mana Focus using a system command, it was just as blurry.

And then it hit me—something was pulling all the mana away!

The gathered figures before me parted, revealing the blurred outline of the woman who had fainted. Only now, a subtle glow of white light radiated from her—a stark contrast to the others, as though mana flowed back into her while the rest remained steeped in shadow.

"Hello," she said, her voice brimming with kindness and… love? "Welcome back to the waking world, Blake. I'm Asherah."

She knows my name?

"I do."

Oh shit—she's a mind reader!

Ha! She's in for a treat.

Shut the fuck up!

"Fetch some meat," she commanded abruptly, her voice cutting through the growing murmur of the crowd.

"But our supplies are already so low," a concerned voice protested.

"We need not dip into our provisions. Remove a limb or something from one of the Slaethian prisoners," Asherah decreed with a dismissive wave, her tone sharp and resolute.

"What about the woman who arrived recently? I've been itching to sink my claws into her," a gruff male voice proposed, his words dripping with sinister anticipation.

"No, she remains untouched… for now," Asherah snapped, her authority cutting through the suggestion like a blade.

The chamber's details blurred at the edges of my vision, but the sound of footsteps scattering at Asherah's command rang clear—a pack obeying its alpha's growl.

Alpha… Was that a beastkin jab?

No?

Racist.

...

Despite the voices in my head—which I was pretty sure this woman could hear—and hopefully found confusing (see, there's a strategy to my madness), my main focus remained locked on her. Her form grew sharper as the white light within her brightened, mana continuing to surge through her body, slowly growing in intensity.

I doubted anyone else saw her the way I did—perks of Mana Focus, I suppose.

Not that I was really thinking too hard about what that could mean. Nope. My mind drifted off her and straight to the hunger twisting inside me—a ravenous itch clawing at my core, whispering that it had been far too long since my last feast.

Yeah, I'm shit at keeping my focus locked on one thing for too long. I guess some of my old ADHD followed me into this new life—but I'm pretty sure you've figured that out by now.

Let's just gobble her up!

Easy there, psychos. We're in a room full of strangers, and our magic's on the fritz.

System skills are still a go, right?

No, dumbass. We already tried. Let's just play it cool until we know what's going on.

Fine. Waiting it is. She did mention something about a snack coming our way, right?

Yeah, free lunch sounds good to me.

Idiots! She can hear us.

Oh. Right. Our bad.

The glowing white woman drew nearer, her movements cautious and measured, a radiant aura of mana clinging to her like mist on moonlit gravestones. In a room suffused with a void of mana, she stood out—a solitary anomaly, a beacon, an ocean of warmth.

Which led me to one conclusion—some kind of magical masquerade had to be at play.

Who was she really? And why did her mana burn so brightly in my sight while everything else remained a blurry, mana-starved void? And, more importantly—was I the only one seeing this light pouring off her?

Ugh, what's with all the grimdark shit? Moonlit gravestones? Which fragment of 'our' soul is narrating this melodramatic crap?

Shut the hell up! No one likes the constant fourth-wall breaking!

Argh! Fine.

I tried to speak, to unravel the enigma she presented, but my voice proved to be just another absent friend—likely another casualty of my tenuous grasp on the lack of ambient mana.

Speaking, once as effortless as breathing, was now a hopeless endeavor.

It was a curious predicament, considering I could still comprehend the murmurs and debates fluttering around me—thanks, no doubt, to whatever remnants of Polyglot lingered in my subconsciousness. Or maybe it was woven deeper—into my very essence.

Did Polyglot also rely on mana?

I mean, I was still able to understand everyone, right? Or maybe they weren't actually whispering—it just sounded like it because my skill was being mana-starved.

I guess it didn't matter—this chick could clearly read minds.

"No. I can't read your mind," Asherah said, her tone laced with amusement, like she was in on some kind of joke.

What? Yes, you can. Can't she?

Before I could launch into a mental tirade about what the fuck was going on, everything was drowned out by the thunderous approach of hurried footsteps—a clear signal that someone was on the move.

"Lady Asherah, the meat you requested," a man's voice broke through the din.

"Thank you. And the prisoner—did they resist when you took it?" Asherah's voice was calm, almost curious.

"No, my lady. It was easier to take from those already fallen," he replied.

"A prudent choice indeed," Asherah mused, her tone carrying a hint of approval—or was that disappointment?

Huh. I think I like her.

"There's talk of feeding it? Is it to become a pet now?" a skeptical voice cut in.

Pet?! I'll kill you!

"What's she going to do with a pet like that?" another chimed in, their snark failing to mask an undercurrent of unease.

Stop calling me a pet, you motherfuckers!

Irritation flared at the pet comment, and instinctively, my form swelled, leaning toward the sound. The room's occupants were still nothing more than a murky sea of silhouettes—each one as indistinct as the last, a frustrating smudge on reality's already warped canvas.

Hindered by my hazy vision, I held back the urge to unleash my newly acquired system skills on the fools who had dared to label me an pet. But hey, let's not get too huffy over some chump's words, right? Instead, I simmered in my own gooey stew of spite, itching to give everyone here a proper taste of terror—let's see how pet-like they find me once there's a bit more mana in the air.

"Is that thing eyeing us?" The voice of the pet commenter echoed again, this time tinged with a mix of curiosity and unease.

I toyed with the idea of testing my new Surge skill on them—not that I could—but before my thoughts could tumble too far down that rabbit hole, a delightful interruption arrived in the form of decaying flesh pressed against my form. A gift, perhaps—or a peace offering.

I reveled in the flavor, savoring the old, ripened taste of meat left to age like fine wine—only juicier. What can I say? Aged meat's got character. Like cheese, but better. Judging by the texture and the subtle hints of stringy youth marinated in cinnamon-flavored fear upon death, I pegged it as elf—a gourmet's choice in the realm of carrion connoisseurship.

Through the haze, I caught a glimpse of the hand—pun totally intended—being proffered by the priestess lady, her movements disturbingly elegant despite the soft, glowing light radiating from her.

"Mmm, so good," I murmured, the richness of decay filling my gooey body's taste buds with delight.

The glowing lady stepped back as I happily dissolved my meal.

"It... it spoke," came the collective gasp from the surrounding figures.

Did I?

I tried again for good measure.

Hello!

...Nope. Just the silent treatment from me. Great.

Ugh, typical.

Finishing the last morsel of the offered limb with a mental flourish that my form mimicked as a shrug, I was barely allowed a moment's respite before another deliciously decaying hunk of flesh dangled before me. My body's cravings took over, and I indulged in the tender rot. The body knows what it craves, right?

Mid-chew, the glow lady—Asherah—stepped closer, her curiosity apparently piqued.

"Did you just see it... shrug?" someone in the crowd marveled, disbelief coloring their voice.

"You're imagining things," another dismissed—the skeptic, obviously.

"Quiet," Asherah's command sliced through their murmurs as she stepped even closer. "Hello, dear."

Dear?

I didn't pause my feast to acknowledge her. Instead, I kept at it, savoring the morbid meal.

"As if we could talk back right now—she's either playing the fool or just plain stupid. Yeah, the ambient mana here sucks ass! But hey, as long as the buffet keeps coming, who are we to complain? Let's not chomp on the glowing lady handing out the goodies… at least not yet."

The room fell silent, save for the faint squelch of my meal dissolving.

"It—it does talk," someone gasped, voices rippling through the crowd in disbelief.

"What does it mean by glowing lady?"

"What does it mean, not yet?"

The questions hung in the air, heavy with implications and a hint of dread.

Wait—did 'we' just say that aloud?

Seems like it.

"Everyone out!" Asherah's command rang out—sharp, yet oddly comforting.

A murmur of dissent rippled through the chamber, followed by the scuffle of feet as the congregation began to disperse. Even the gnome shuffled out, albeit reluctantly.

Is she... staying?

I watched the glowing form of Asherah with a predator's interest. The stale air of the chamber seemed to cling to her, like the final note of a gothic symphony hanging suspended in the atmosphere—both grim and exquisite.

Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating the grim part. She radiated hope and butterflies—all that nauseating crap. It was honestly disgusting.

If I had to guess, she was full of Holy magic. The fact that I wasn't burning just from being near her? Strange. Either it was something else entirely… or she was holding her power back.

After the last footsteps faded, only Asherah's intense scrutiny remained, palpable in the stillness.

"Let's start over, shall we?" she smiled.

Her posture hinted at exasperation—perhaps the kind that called for a dramatic forehead slap—but instead, she lingered in tense silence before stepping closer. Her form loomed over my spread-out self on the altar, and as she neared, my world brightened.

Sudden color bled into the haze, transforming the previously grayish blur into splashes of vivid hues. I'm sure it had been doing that all along whenever she neared, but I'd been too distracted by the food. What can I say? I like my food.

In any case, it felt like an old black-and-white film bursting into technicolor—except, in this version, the ruby slippers were just out of reach.

Was I feeding off the mana she radiated whenever she got close?

Noticing my new, albeit still fuzzy, chromatic view, I focused on the subtle yet undeniable flow of mana coming from her. It mingled with the air, offering me a thread to grasp. Realization struck, sparking a flicker of boldness.

"Can you hear me now?" I spoke out, half-expecting a chorus of Munchkins—or gnomes—to chime in.

Will you quit it with the Wizard of Oz references? Seriously, where are these even coming from?

The technicolor part... I thought it was clever.

It's not. And you're not Dorothy… unless she was a cannibal. Now focus.

Asherah smiled. "I can," came her response.

"What's up with the lack of mana in the air?" I asked, skipping over pleasantries.

The question might not have been high-stakes for her, but for me—stuck in goo form with no shapeshifting jazz hands and relying on mana-boosting glowing lady here? Yeah, it rocketed to question number one on the hit parade.

"We're beneath the Beastveil Kingdom's capital, in the catacombs," she explained, her voice echoing faintly off the stone walls. "It used to be a bustling black market, but now it's a makeshift sanctuary for the last of the rebels and refugees. The ambient mana's thin because we're siphoning it to maintain a barrier—one that keeps the Slaethian patrols above from finding this place."

"Okay, slow down—backtrack," I interrupted, still digesting her words.

I latched onto Slaethian patrols and catacombs because, let's be honest, I was to magical politics what a fish is to a bicycle—absolutely clueless. And Beastveil? That sounded less like a real kingdom and more like a dungeon level in some dark fantasy game I'd play… not live.

"I'm just looking to reunite with a certain sexy vampire," I said. "Just point me to the nearest coven, and I'll be out of your hair."

"Vampires? Huh. I figured you wouldn't want anything to do with them." Asherah shrugged, confusion flickering in her voice before she nodded. "Very well. But know this—if you're not willing to pay the price yourself, your mother owes me a favor."

"Price? Favor? What favor? Who are you, and why are you glowing?"

"Oh, don't be like that," she said, her tone shifting to something almost playful. "I just want your help saving those here. I'd do it myself, but I'd rather no one know I'm here... my little niece."

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