Eric drifted in a strange, weightless sleep — warm, peaceful, utterly blank.
No thoughts.
No sense of time.
Then… something tugged at the edge of that calm.
A dull, wet sound. Chewing.
And a faint pressure on his arm — gentle, almost rhythmic.
No pain.
'Why does it feel like… someone's biting me?'
The thought rose sluggishly through the haze, followed by a second one that cut through the fog like a blade.
'Wait—biting?!'
His eyes snapped open.
He was lying on cold, damp earth, the scent of soil and decay thick enough to taste. His vision swam before settling into sharp focus — and that was when he saw it.
A human shape — or what had once been one — crouched over him, gnawing at his forearm like a starved beast.
Its skin was the color of bruised ash, hanging in loose, rotted folds. Clouded eyes stared at nothing, their emptiness more unnerving than malice.
Not almost dead.
Dead.
"Get off me!" Eric shouted — or tried to.
Instead, a low, guttural snarl tore from his throat.
"Raaawr… rrrghhh…"
He froze, shock and revulsion tangled together, then lashed out in pure panic. His fist connected with the creature's chest, sending it tumbling backward with a heavy thud. The movement felt wrong — stiff, uncoordinated, hollow.
'What was that sound? Why can't I speak?!'
Heart pounding — if it still beat at all — Eric scrambled away, limbs trembling. His gaze dropped to his own body.
Pale skin like a corpse. Torn clothes.
And on his abdomen… a gaping wound, a clean hole carved straight through his side, its interior a grotesque glimpse of exposed bone.
'No… no, no—'
The truth struck him like a hammer.
He was just like the thing he'd shoved away.
A corpse.
An undead.
'I'm screwed. Absolutely, beyond-saving screwed,' he thought numbly as hysteria threatened to bubble up. 'Dragged into a game just to respawn as the damn tutorial zombie.'
***
Eric forced himself to focus — to think, despite the rising despair.
The other figure in the cell was unmistakably a zombie, slumped against the rough stone wall, swaying with slow, mindless motions. Its movements had no intent, no awareness, only instinct.
Eric felt the difference immediately.
He could reason. Think. Fear.
But in every physical sense, he was as undead as the creature beside him.
The space around them was a dungeon — a crude one. Iron bars enclosed the narrow cell.
The walls weren't smooth brick but jagged stone, as if a natural cave had been carved into a prison. The air was damp and heavy with the smell of earth, mold, and rust.
He shifted, trying to get his bearings. Outside the bars, the cave stretched into dim shadows, lit only by a faint, flickering glow deeper within. The occasional scrape or shuffle echoed through the tunnel, proof that they weren't alone.
What bothered him more was the whole "game world but not really a game" situation.
He'd been dragged into this place like some isekai protagonist, yet he didn't get a system, a menu, or even a cheap tutorial pop-up.
He'd tried everything — voice commands, hand gestures, even a few embarrassing chunni poses — but nothing responded.
No interface. No status screen. Nothing at all.
So much for being the chosen one.
He was staring into the darkness, silently cursing his situation, when footsteps echoed down the tunnel — slow, uneven, scraping against the ground.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
Wrapped in a tattered black cloak, the man's skin was grayish and coarse, his face riddled with deep scars that twisted like old burn marks. He moved with a stooped gait, leaning heavily on a crooked cane as he shuffled toward the bars.
With a soft metallic click, he unlocked the cell door. His voice rasped like stone on stone.
"You two… go mine some Atraxium."
Before Eric could process the words, a cold pressure washed over him — a command sinking deep into bone and marrow. His limbs stiffened. His mind screamed in alarm, but his body didn't listen.
'Wait—what the hell?!'
His legs lurched forward in jerky, puppet-like steps. He couldn't stop himself. Couldn't fight it. Could only watch from within as his body obeyed.
Beside him, the other zombie moved the same way — silent, steady, disturbingly compliant.
'Seriously? I can't control anything?'
The cloaked man didn't follow. He simply pointed deeper into the cave, then turned and limped away until the shadows swallowed him whole.
Eric's body — and the zombie's — paused beside rusted pickaxes leaning against the rock. Their hands moved without hesitation, fingers curling around the handles.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The rhythm began immediately, dull strikes echoing through the cavern.
'Great. Dead, kidnapped, and forced to mine. This is officially the worst job assignment I've ever had.'
Each impact sent vibrations through his arms — sensations without pain, without fatigue. Just motion. Mechanical. Empty.
He looked at the material they were chipping away: a dark, dusty substance that shimmered faintly when the light struck it. It reminded him of graphite, but softer… and unsettlingly reactive when fragments landed in his palm.
Instinctively, he tried to sniff it — and then remembered his sense of smell no longer worked.
'Of course. Why would it?'
He watched the shimmering dust cling to his undead fingers, an involuntary shiver crawling up a spine he wasn't even sure he still had.
'Atraxium… whatever it is, I'm already not a fan.'
*****
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