The first thing I noticed after dying was that my jaw didn't feel right.
Not the usual "I've-been-hit-in-the-mouth" kind of wrong. More like someone had replaced half my face with cold meat and forgot to warn me.
I opened my eyes to darkness. Not the cozy, under-the-covers darkness. This was wet, heavy, breathing darkness. The air tasted like old blood and mold. I sat up slowly — the ground squelched. My hands sank into something soft and sticky, and when I pulled them back, I saw strips of skin hanging from my claws.
Claws.
I stared at them. They weren't mine. My hands had been normal yesterday… or whatever counted as yesterday when you were dead.
"Alright," I muttered, flexing the jagged fingers. My voice came out rough, a little too deep. "This is new."
The movement made something else move — my stomach. Or more specifically, the things inside it. A slow churn, like cement mixing. The smell told me exactly what was in there. I wasn't sure whether to gag or get seconds.
I stood. My legs worked, sort of. My skin — if you could call it skin — hung in loose, gray folds in places. In others, it clung too tight over bones that didn't feel quite… human. I reached up and touched my jaw. It was half bare, teeth exposed like a bad dental model.
I used to be an engineer. Civil. Bridges, buildings, the occasional municipal disaster cleanup. I planned things. Measured twice, built once.
I had not planned this.
The room — or cave — around me was low and wide, supported by crude stone arches. I knew them. I'd drawn these arches before. Years ago, back when I was still breathing, I'd designed this underground support structure for an eccentric noble who wanted a "hidden wine cellar complex." He'd called it that, but the budget told me he was planning something shadier.
Guess I'd never find out — unless the old man had also been reincarnated as a corpse.
I took a slow lap around the chamber. Broken tools lay rusted in the dirt. A skeleton in the corner still clutched a chisel. There was a single doorway — no door — leading to a narrow tunnel. From it came faint light. And… footsteps.
Two sets. Slow. Drunk, maybe? No — the rhythm was wrong. Hesitant. Like they'd never been down here before.
I crouched automatically. Old habits from being alive — you hear people coming on a construction site, you get out of the way unless you want to be volunteered for more work.
The figures emerged. Two men, both in leather armor, carrying lanterns. Probably adventurers. They looked like the kind who joined guilds just to steal their members' gear. I could smell their sweat from here — sharp, nervous.
"See?" one whispered. "Told you there'd be ruins down here."
The other shook his head. "Doesn't look like much. No treasure. Let's go."
I didn't move. I just watched. And that's when I noticed something in my chest — a pull. Not emotional. More like a… system ping. A low, instinctive whisper: Take them. Make them yours.
I wasn't exactly the "attack first" type in my old life. But my new life — or un-life — didn't seem interested in my old morals. My body moved before my brain signed off on the decision.
One step. Two. They didn't even see me until I was in the lantern light.
The first man froze. "What the—"
I was already on him. Claws sank into his throat like I was gutting insulation foam. The second dropped the lantern and fumbled for his dagger. I caught his wrist, twisted, and heard the crack. His scream echoed in the stonework I'd once been proud of.
Then… the hunger. The same cement-mixer churn in my gut sped up. My teeth found his shoulder. And as I tore in, I felt it — a change.
The gray skin on my forearm shifted. Just a patch, but it smoothed out, warmed, turned the color of living flesh. My fingers flexed without the stiffness. It was intoxicating.
The pull in my chest flared again — information spilling into my head. A skill. This man had been a tracker. Now, I knew how to read footprints, follow scents, gauge movement patterns. I could feel it slotting neatly into my mind, like I'd studied it for years.
The whisper again: Reforge.
I didn't know what it meant until I thought about the man's face. The world blinked — and suddenly I was looking at my own hands, but they weren't claws anymore. They were his hands. His skin. His smell. I could feel the shape of his face like clay I could mold.
I looked down at the corpse. We were identical now.
That… was useful.
I shifted back into my own ghoul form and grinned — which, with my exposed jawbone, probably looked horrific.
"Alright," I said to no one in particular. "Let's get to work."
I glanced at the walls, the arches, the crumbling foundation. My old blueprints flashed in my mind. This could be reinforced, expanded. Ventilation shafts could run here, drainage there. Enough space for workshops, storage, and… whatever I was now.
The adventurers' lantern still flickered on the floor. I picked it up, checked the tunnel, and started walking. The world had just handed me a fresh site to build on — and for once, the budget would be unlimited.