At first, every movement felt strained, like he was fighting the very air itself. His consciousness tugged against the stillness, pulling his essence through the forest; slow, uncertain, like trying to wade through a dense fog. But with every passing moment, it became easier. A quiet mental hum began to accompany each movement, a growing familiarity. It was subtle at first, barely a whisper in the back of his mind. But as he continued pushing his presence out in front of him, it began to feel natural, like an extension of his will.
It was still mentally taxing, though. Every movement required focus, a tinge of discomfort as if his consciousness had to break free from some unseen weight that bound him to the spot. But with time, the effort diminished, and soon it felt like slipping into a pair of well-worn shoes.
When he realized he had unconsciously moved several dozen feet through the dense underbrush, Jordan paused. The forest was quieter now, as though the creatures had scattered. He was starting to realize it was happening more and more. The kind of effect his presence had on the world around him.
His focus shifted. It was time to experiment with his Poltergeist skill. The description had been vague, but it was clear that his power had a way of affecting the physical world. The key, however, was the word, area.
He closed his metaphorical eyes, mentally pulling his focus inward, then outward, reaching for the very air around him. It was strange at first, like trying to grip smoke with bare hands. The skill wasn’t something he could actively aim for; it was an effect that rippled outward, like dropping a stone into a pond.
With a thought, he let his presence stretch out further, expanding it like an invisible wave. The effect was immediate: dirt shifted, and small pebbles tumbled from their resting places. A deep, low grumble echoed through the trees. The air around him seemed to hum with an unseen force, trees groaning and creaking under the weight of his presence.
“That felt… satisfying.”
He experimented again, this time with more force. The ground trembled beneath him, sending a series of smaller trees shaking, their roots straining against the earth. Above, the birds in the canopy scattered, the raven he’d been watching moments ago shrieking in panic as it fled the area. The forest was alive with the sound of his disturbance, but it didn’t seem like he could direct the skill as much as he could control the magnitude.
A smile tugged at his intangible lips. It was an odd joy, being able to affect the world around him without even being seen. Rocks flew, branches snapped, and the air thickened with the disturbance he caused. It was exhilarating but fleeting.
He couldn’t ignore the hollow feeling it gave him. Yes, he could rattle trees and knock dirt loose, but was that it? Was this the extent of his power? It wasn’t the physicality he had always valued. It wasn’t the training that had shaped him into someone who pushed himself harder, faster, and stronger than anyone around him. It wasn’t the kind of challenge that made his muscles ache, or his heart race, or his breath catch in his throat.
Jordan had always sought to be better, to be the one at the top. He’d learned the limits of others, how to outpace them, outlift them, and outlast them. He had reveled in the physical… that was his domain. But now, he had no body, no flesh to push, no muscle to strain. And it felt… hollow.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder. If this new existence was all he had now, then maybe it was time to change his approach. Maybe it wasn’t about what he’d lost but what he could gain. He still had this leveling system, this strange, unnatural way of growing stronger and evolving.
He thought back to the words in his skill description: ‘Gaining a physical body will alter the function of Skill: Poltergeist.’
That was his anchor, his only path forward. His entire focus shifted. Regaining his body. That was the goal. He had to do it.
“But how the hell do I even start?”
Jordan felt a slight pulse of unease in the back of his mind, the sheer weight of the unknown pressing against him. But then, that same force, the sheer will to keep moving, surged through him. He couldn’t be satisfied with where he was. He couldn’t accept that this was all there was. He had to fight, to push forward until he found a way.
So, he continued his journey, alone, forgotten, and lost in the woods of a world he didn’t understand. But he had a goal now. The pieces were scattered, but they were out there… somewhere. He just had to find them one by one, step by step.
Jordan drifted through the landscape for what felt like forever, his presence skimming over dry, cracked earth as the forest gave way to a harsher, rockier terrain. The air felt different here; hotter, drier, carrying the scent of dust and stone rather than damp leaves and moss. The sky left behind the blueish hues and somehow turned a more menacing red. Sparse vegetation clung to the earth in brittle patches, the occasional jagged boulder jutting out like the ribs of some ancient beast.
He hadn't come here for any particular purpose. His wanderings had been instinctual, driven by an ever-present need to understand what he had become. Every step, or movement rather, made him more familiar with his incorporeal state. He felt less like a ghost and more like a force that simply was, something the world had to accommodate, even if it couldn’t see or touch him.
Then, he saw it.
A creature, low to the ground but long. Longer than either of the two big cats he’d seen. Its body was sleek, built for speed, its limbs coiled with power as it prowled across the uneven terrain.
A red translucent box flickered into existence before his eyes:
Race: Monster
Class: Reptilian
Level: 5
A bipedal reptile capable of shifting between two- and four-legged movement. Its prehensile tongue and tail aid in both combat and survival. Scaled flesh provides natural resistance to physical damage. Very fast. Very dangerous.
Jordan’s focus snapped to the creature’s body, studying its every detail. Its scales were a blend of muted tan and green, the latter pooling in the deeper creases and folds of its skin like shadows on armor. It wasn’t bulky, but its low profile and taut muscles made it clear. The thing was strong. It moved like a predator, sharp and deliberate, each step carrying an unspoken threat.
And then, something scurried into view.
A trio of large, rodent-like creatures burst from a tangle of dry brush near a split in the rocks. Jordan’s head, or what counted for one, tilted with intrigue as another flickering box popped up:
Race: Beast
Class: Field Mouse
Level: 2
A common field mouse found in a variety of environments. Primarily herbivorous, sustaining itself on edible plants, fruits, and vegetables. However, as a field mouse levels up, so do its appetite… and size.
Jordan let out an involuntary, silent scoff.
"Those are probably the biggest fucking mice I’ve ever seen."
If he had encountered one of these things back on Earth, he would’ve sprinted out of his house and never looked back. They weren’t massive compared to the reptilian, but they were each about the size of a small dog. Which, for something that was supposed to be a mouse, was downright wrong.
The reptilian struck.
It happened in a blink. Its limbs coiled and then launched, kicking up loose dirt as its tail whipped violently behind it for balance. It was so fast, a blur of tan and green surging across the ground.
Jordan barely had time to register the movement before the reptilian’s maw snapped open.
Rows upon rows of jagged, serrated teeth gleamed in the light, stacked like a shark’s, wide at the base and tapering into cruel points. Jordan had seen plenty of unsettling things in the last few hours, but the sheer efficiency of those teeth sent a cold recognition through him. It was kill or be killed in the monster world.
Then came the impact.
The reptilian’s jaws clamped down on the field mouse with a sickening crunch, bone and muscle giving way beneath its force. A wet, grotesque squelch ripped through the air, and Jordan saw a spray of crimson explode from the side of the reptilian’s mouth, spattering jagged rocks in a dark, viscous mess.
The two remaining field mice squealed in terror, their bodies twisting mid-run as they bolted in separate directions. The reptilian didn’t chase them. It was already content, tilting its head as its throat bulged, swallowing down torn flesh with a wet, grotesque gluck.
Jordan, for the first time, actually welcomed the fact that he had no body. Nothing for those teeth to sink into. Nothing for this monster to latch onto and rip apart.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t watching, though. And as he watched, an idea began to form in his mind.
"All right, let's see what happens," Jordan muttered mentally, his focus locking onto the reptilian’s slitted eyes. The creature’s pupils were thin, vertical slashes of darkness, glimmering with a primal hunger. Jordan felt an unnatural pull toward them, a strange magnetism as his presence hovered undetected in the arid, rocky expanse.
With a sharp pulse of intent, he activated his second skill. Possession.
The world around him blurred. It was as if something yanked him forward at breakneck speed, a violent slingshot into the reptilian’s consciousness. The moment his essence connected, everything went dark. An abyss of nothingness was swallowing him whole.
Then, in a blink. Light. Jordan was back in a physical body, but it wasn’t his.
The sensation was overwhelming. His mind surged with alien instincts, an ancient, predatory intelligence unfurling within him. The reptilian’s muscular frame felt powerful and sleek, every sinew and tendon wound tight like coiled steel beneath his new, scaled hide. The rough texture of his body scraped against the crags as he moved, his claws clicking lightly against the uneven rock. The sensory overload was disorienting yet exhilarating.
An internal clock ticked in his mind. He couldn’t hold this form for the full ten minutes. He could feel it. The skill’s duration wasn’t just a description in his status window, it was an ingrained limitation. It was like a burning fuse gradually winding down.
He pushed himself forward, testing the body’s limits. Speed.
The reptilian surged into motion, his limbs blurring beneath him as he streaked across the barren landscape. Dust and loose stones scattered in his wake, his long tail lashing behind him to balance his momentum.
Then, ahead, the land sloped downward into a valley of stone. Jordan skidded to a stop atop a rocky overlook, his claws digging into the terrain. He scanned the area below, and what he saw made his heart jolt. Structures.
Nestled in the valley were two makeshift shelters, their walls made from a leathery material stretched taut over jagged metal frames. Between them, two figures moved about, engaged in some unknown task.
Jordan’s heart pounded as he glimpsed the figures moving around below. Two humans. Actual people. Relief surged through his scaled chest, an instinctive hope overriding his caution. He wasn’t alone… there were others. Maybe they had answers. Maybe they knew what this place was, what the system was; maybe they were survivors like him.
Without hesitation, he propelled himself forward, his claws scrabbling over loose stone, kicking up a small dust cloud as he scurried toward the encampment. His mind was singularly focused. Just reach them, speak to them, and learn something. It wasn’t until he closed the distance to a mere fifty yards that the figures turned toward him, alerted by the noise of his rapid approach. And then his gut twisted.
They weren’t human. Their skin was a sickly green, a color that gleamed faintly under the red-tinged sunlight of this desert area. Their faces were wide and angular, their features heavy with an almost brutish sharpness: pointed noses, thick brows, and deep-set eyes that burned with an intelligence he hadn’t expected. Thick cords of muscle stretched beneath their rugged uniforms, which were a mismatch of dark, metallic plating and fabric reinforced with strange, sinewy fibers. They weren’t some offshoot human race; they were something more advanced.
The two orcs had been preoccupied, moving between their experimental cages, where grotesque creatures twitched and shuddered, restrained by steel harnesses. One of the creatures, a massive, six-legged beast with exposed wiring running along its spine, let out a mechanical screech, its cybernetic limbs spasming. The orcs paid it no mind. This was their work. They were scientists, but the kind of scientists whose hands were too used to wielding weapons.
They belonged to the Emerald Skull, a faction dedicated to experimenting on the monstrous wildlife of different worlds… right now, that was Primaris-1. Turning the planet’s inhabitants into biomechanical abominations… assets for their faction. These ground-level researchers were the lowest rungs of their organization, but even so, they had the same instincts as any orc. They had been raised in bloodshed, conditioned for combat before they had even learned to read their reports.
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So when they turned and saw a wild reptilian charging toward them, they reacted as orcs did… with violence.
The first orc, a thick-necked brute with jagged scars running down his bare forearm, dropped the electronic tablet he had been using. The screen cracked as it hit the ground, forgotten. His sharp teeth bared in a reflexive snarl as he pivoted, moving toward the nearest weapon rack. His companion, taller and leaner but no less formidable, mirrored the action, lunging in the opposite direction. Neither hesitated. They didn’t call for backup. They didn’t warn each other. They simply moved.
They weren’t warriors in the traditional sense, but they understood their place in the hierarchy. They were weak by orcish standards, but weakness didn’t mean helplessness. Unlike the warbands who reveled in melee combat, these orcs had abandoned outdated pride and honor. They relied on superior firepower.
Their hands closed around pulse weapons, strange, angular firearms with pulsating energy cores. The barrels hummed to life, crackling with an unstable purple light that cycled rapidly, growing in intensity. Jagged metal spikes jutted from the weapons at chaotic angles, as though the guns themselves had been grafted together in a brutal, industrial process. These were not sleek, mass-produced firearms. They were crude, experimental, and horrifically effective.
Jordan barely had time to register the danger before one of the orcs raised his weapon and fired.
A bolt of seething violet energy tore across the open ground, slicing through the dust-laden air with a shrieking sound. It struck Jordan’s possessed reptilian body square in the face.
Agony! His entire existence inside the lizard form imploded in an instant. The blast didn’t just punch through flesh… it boiled it, vaporizing scales and muscle in a split-second burst of catastrophic heat. Flesh blackened, cracked, and then peeled away in chunks as the concussive force sent what remained of the body crumpling to the rocky ground.
Jordan felt himself yanked free, ejected violently from the reptilian host as if an unseen force had kicked him in the chest with enough power to send him flying backward. He wasn’t physically thrown; he had no body of his own, but the sensation of being hurled through an invisible void was overwhelming. His mind reeled, disoriented, stunned beyond words.
Somewhere behind him, the orcs were already moving forward, their weapons trained on the smoking, ruined carcass of the lizard. Their snarls turned into grunts of satisfaction. To them, this had just been another monster, another thing to dissect and modify.
Jordan’s consciousness wavered in the ether, dazed. He had found others, yes, but they weren’t the allies he had hoped for. Jordan removed himself from the scene, ascending with his will to get a better view.
From his vantage point high above the broken landscape, Jordan observed the two orcs below, their guttural laughter carrying across the desolate plains. They stood triumphantly over the torn remains of the reptilian beast, its blood pooling dark against the cracked, sun-scorched earth. The creature’s entrails had been ripped apart, its armored hide breached in multiple places, and yet the orcs seemed less concerned with their kill and more with their exchange, one boasting, the other chastising.
Jordan willed his red screen into existence, its translucent glow framing his vision as he locked onto the first orc. The system’s interface flickered, streaming its sparse information in jagged, digital text:
Gunter Skad (Translated)
Race: Orc
Class: Cyberneticist
Level: 13
That was all. No elaborate statistics, no list of skills or attributes. No backstory or general facts like the detailed readouts he received for beasts and monsters. Just a name, a race, a class, and a level. Jordan frowned. “Why’s the system so limited when it comes to sapient beings?”
Shifting his gaze, he focused on the second orc, the one who had fired the killing shot. He now stood a step behind his superior, shoulders squared but head slightly lowered.
Sivil Drake (Translated)
Race: Orc
Class: Gunner
Level: 9
Unlike Gunter, Sivil radiated an unrestrained, almost juvenile pride, reveling in his successful kill. Yet Jordan could see, even from here, that Gunter was displeased. The older orc’s expression was one of disappointment, his fanged mouth curled into a disapproving scowl as he barked something in his guttural language. The sound was raw, thick with heavy consonants, harsh clicks, and rolling K’s; completely indecipherable to Jordan, yet layered with unmistakable meaning.
They were orcs, but not in the crude, savage sense he’d expected. They were more refined, their clothing and equipment a strange fusion of survivalist and techno-savvy garage inventor. Both wore sturdy, dust-streaked garments reinforced with armor plating in key areas, their belts weighed down with small tools, glowing devices, and vials of unknown substances. Gunter, the superior, had a sleek, metal-wrapped gauntlet covering his left arm… “cybernetic enhancements, perhaps?”
Sivil, by contrast, bore an array of firearms strapped to his back, his long-barreled rifle still humming faintly from its recent discharge.
They looked human… almost. Their greenish-yellow skin, fangs, and striated muscle that hung across their slim but fit bodies set them apart. Gunter’s lower fangs jutted slightly past his bottom lip, while Sivil’s upper canines were more pronounced, giving him a perpetual sneer. They were not quite the monstrous figures Jordan had seen in cartoons and fantasy games, but something more evolved, something more real. If they closed their lips, you might not actually be able to see their teeth coming out or their lips bulging forward. Not the orcs he remembered from movies and cartoons before the system. Their ears were slightly pointed, though. That correlated to the pre-multiverse world… but just barely.
Jordan figuratively nodded his ghostly consciousness, as he was proud of himself for being some kind of knowledgable. But he knew he didn’t actually know shit.
They were basically different colored humans… just from another world. “And more dangerous…” he admitted to himself.
Jordan’s gaze lingered on their levels. Gunter was a solid ten levels above him, a gap that made the idea of any direct attack a bad one if he was returned to the land of the living. Sivil, however, was closer… still a threat, but only level nine. He wouldn’t last long in a fight against Gunter, but that wasn’t Jordan’s plan.
A thought coiled in his mind, dark and enticing.
“Could I do it? Could I take one of them?”
He had possessed beasts before. But a person… or at least, something as close to human as an orc was an entirely different matter. If it worked, if he could control Sivil, it might lead him to answers. To a way back into his own body.
He knew had to try.
With a slow, deliberate breath, Jordan reached out with his will, the air around him rippling as he prepared to descend.
The moment the ten-minute cooldown expired from the Reptilian, Jordan moved in, a silent specter gliding through the air. The two orcs remained oblivious to his approach, their attention fixed on the fresh kill before them. He drifted toward them, his incorporeal form slipping through the stagnant heat of the wasteland, positioning himself directly in front of Sivil.
The orc’s small, beady eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his lips still curled in a smirk as he basked in his superior’s begrudging acknowledgment. He had no idea Jordan was there. No idea he was being watched.
Jordan locked onto him, staring deep into those dull amber irises. And then…
Possession.
The world seemed to shatter around him. Darkness swallowed him whole. The void stretched, deeper and longer than ever before, a sensation akin to plummeting endlessly through a chasm with no bottom. Jordan braced for impact, though he knew none would come. Instead, the void shifted and became something else entirely. Then, with a gasp, he breathed.
Air rushed into his lungs; foreign, but real lungs. The heat of the arid world pressed against his skin, and the dust coating his tongue was dry and bitter. He was no longer hovering, no longer an observer. He was grounded and inside something solid... Sivil’s body.
A sharp barking voice sounded behind him, guttural and harsh, followed by the heavy thud of boots on cracked earth. Jordan’s mind reeled, colliding violently with the consciousness that had once belonged to Sivil. A force pushed back… not a mere animal instinct, not a flicker of simple resistance like the beasts he had taken before. No, this was different. The orc was resisting.
Sivil’s mind clawed at its own existence, a primal defiance resisting Jordan’s intrusion. It wasn’t just survival instinct… it was will. A fractured identity still gripping the edges of its stolen body, still trying to reassert itself. The orc's emotions flared; confusion, anger, fear. But then, Jordan’s skill shoved him aside.
His body still tingled with the remnants of the struggle, his nerves electrified as the takeover settled. Something told him there was more at play than just the ten-level cap. Some kind of mental fortitude… a battle of wills? Jordan didn’t have the words for it yet, but he could feel it like a lock barely clicking open. A tougher opponent might have been able to resist completely.
But Sivil hadn’t. And now, Jordan was him. Then the flood came.
A torrent of memories surged through him. Fragments, emotions, and images flashed behind his eyes; Sivil’s memories, his thoughts, his instincts. The sensation was far more intense than when he had possessed the raven or the reptilian. Those creatures had been simple, primal. Their minds had been empty except for hunger, instinct, and survival. They had been nothing more than beasts.
But Sivil was a person. He had lived, fought, and bled. And now, Jordan was drowning in the pieces of that existence.
Then, something shifted. A pattern emerged within the chaos. It was language.
At first, it came in fragments. Gunter’s voice was previously a mess of alien snarls and clashing consonants, but now it was beginning to change, morphing in real-time. Words materialized, shaping themselves into something comprehensible. First, sounds, then syllables. Then, full-fledged sentences.
“What in the blasted void is wrong with you?” Gunter’s irritated voice came into focus. His words were now perfectly clear in Jordan’s mind. “Stand up, Sivil! You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Jordan barely had time to process the realization… he could understand them now.
And Gunter was waiting for an answer.
Gunter sneered down at him, sharp teeth bared in a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What’s wrong, Sivil? The reptilian didn’t touch us. Why are you on the ground?”
His voice carried no concern, only mild irritation, like he was scolding a lazy underling for tripping over his own feet.
Jordan clenched his fists against the dirt, forcing himself to breathe through the lingering haze clouding his mind. His body felt off… disjointed, stretched like he was a puppet that had been hastily shoved into place. He flexed his fingers, testing them, grounding himself in the feeling of sinew and skin that wasn’t his own. Then, with effort, he planted a hand into the dry, cracked earth and pushed.
His legs wobbled beneath him as he rose, but he ignored the instability. The fog was dissipating, clarity returning like light through storm clouds. And with it came an overwhelming realness, not just the physicality of possessing an animal or a mindless beast, but the full, living presence of a humanoid body. He was here. Whole and alive. Well… an orc.
But aside from the thick, fibrous muscles pressing taut beneath his yellowish-green skin, it wasn’t all that different from being human. These orcs were built stronger and denser, but to Jordan, the mechanics were the same. It was still his body now. His movements. And then the memories hit.
Visions bled into his mind, unbidden, raw, and real. Sivil’s hands, his own hands, wrapped around another orc’s throat, tightening with a murderous squeeze. A desperate power struggle, vying for the coveted role of Gunter’s top assistant. The feeling of flesh buckling under his grip and then a body going limp rushed through Jordan. It was the unspoken rule among them: only the strongest deserve to rise.
Then came the blood. Pools of it splattered across cold metal floors. The corpses of orcs littered a dimly lit lab; those who had protested the inhumane methods of experimentation. They had pleaded for more ethical studies, to treat their subjects with a sliver of dignity. Gunter had silenced them.
Jordan felt it. Knew it.
These two were killers. They didn’t hunt for survival. They didn’t kill out of necessity. They enjoyed it. They killed their own kind as quickly as the creatures around them in cages.
His breath came slow and measured, but something within him had already begun to shift.
A weight settled deep in his chest, an unseen hourglass ticking down, a limit to how long he could remain inside this stolen body. He didn’t know the exact time, but his instincts whispered to him; three minutes, maybe less. Not enough for hesitation.
Jordan stood straighter, shoulders squaring, eyes scanning his surroundings. His gaze landed on something gleaming in the dirt; a weapon. Sivil’s weapon.
It was sleek, crafted from chromatic metal that shimmered in the light. Its design was bulky, yet balanced, an alien blend of brutality and efficiency.
Jordan crouched, grasping the handle. The moment his fingers curled around the grip, his system flared to life.
Orcish Plasma Rifle (Common)
Fires charged bolts of altered plasma. Common weapon of the Orc Empire.
The weight of it felt right in his hands as if the body he occupied had been trained to wield it. He lifted it, testing the smooth slide of his finger against the trigger.
And then, without pause, without hesitation, he turned it on Gunter. Jordan’s movements were fluid and decisive. He pivoted sharply, leveling the barrel at Gunter’s chest.
The orc barely had time to blink.
The rifle hummed to life, a deep, reverberating charge. Then, it unleashed a bolt of searing purple energy. The blast hit hard. Gunter’s body detonated backward, his limbs flailing as the force launched him off his feet. His flesh boiled and ruptured, grotesque pockets of gore bursting open from the sheer energy coursing through his frame. The sickly green of his skin blackened, cooked from within. By the time his body slammed against the ground, there was nothing left but a hollow husk, lifeless and burned beyond recognition.
The moment stretched in silence. Then, Jordan exhaled, with no hesitation, no remorse, and no mercy; only Wrath!
But he wasn’t done. His grip tightened around the rifle as he flipped the barrel toward himself.
He pressed the cold metal beneath his chin, angling the shot straight into his stolen skull. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. He had to reach all the way down but found the trigger. He pulled it without thinking.
Pain. Pressure. A pop… a sensation of bursting, like a bubble being violently ruptured. His vision fractured, and the world imploded in on itself before everything went black.
For a moment, he floated. Weightless. Directionless. No body, no form… just a drifting presence in the void.
Then, a chime. A system notification blinking into existence:
You have defeated: Orc – Level: 13
You have defeated: Orc – Level: 9
XP Gained
Jordan let the information sink in. The plan had worked.
You have reached Level 4.
Skill Point Earned.
A ripple of awareness coursed through Jordan’s being like a silent vibration humming through his incorporeal form. The numbers had gone up again, but something about it felt more real this time, more visceral. He had felt the way Gunter and Sivil’s bodies crumpled under the plasma shot, the way their flesh seared and peeled away as if stripped from bone by a raging inferno. The system had rewarded him for it. But something was missing.
"So, I got XP for killing the orcs… but nothing for the reptilian?" Jordan mused, the thought gnawing at the edge of his mind.
It made sense in a way. He hadn't killed the lizard outright. He had ridden it, been the puppeteer of it like a twisted marionette, but its final fate was not at his hands. A realization dawned on him. Perhaps possession alone wasn’t enough. The system wanted something final. Something absolute.
His mind flickered to the interface before him, the faint red glow of the translucent menus floating in the darkness.
Skill Point Allocation
Option 1: Select new skill
Option 2: Upgrade existing skill
Jordan’s spectral fingers drifted toward the first option without hesitation. His wraith-like form pulsed as the menu expanded before him.
Skills Available:
- Visibility – Allows the Wraith to manifest visibly to enemies. Let them see you… and fear.
- Psionic Scream – Emits a piercing wail that reverberates directly into the minds of victims. Psionic energy fuels the attack, its intensity scaling with the user’s willpower.
- Spirit Drain – Siphon spirit and mana from enemies to fuel wraith abilities and skills to greater heights. The more fearful the victim is, the more energy is extracted.
- Ectoplasm Conversion – Ectoplasm is the physical matter of Wraiths. Convert slain enemies into ectoplasm to be used with wraith abilities and skills. Current skills compatible – 0.
Jordan’s gaze lingered on the last one.
Two new skills had been added to the list. That alone intrigued him. Did that mean skills were infinite? The more you leveled the more skills would be available, or would there be some kind of limit? Maybe they could be replaced? He pushed the thought aside. One skill stood out above the rest.
Ectoplasm Conversion.
His mind latched onto two words in the description: physical matter. That was it. That was the key. A way to interact with the world. A way to become something more than a formless shadow.
Spirit Drain seemed useful… hell, maybe even powerful, but something in his gut told him it would still be available the next time he leveled up. The fact that the original two options had remained on the list only reinforced that theory.
No hesitation. No second thoughts.
Selection Confirmed.
Ectoplasm Conversion (Uncommon)
Ghosts, Spirits, Wraiths, and all denizens of the ether are incorporeal. Ectoplasm is a substance born of the sheer willpower of such invisible entities, used in a variety of ways. Ectoplasm is a means of interacting with the world physically.
Note:
? Ectoplasm is generated from corpses.
? Total generation rate directly correlates to the level of fear upon death.
? Ectoplasm unused after conversion will be stored in the ether.
? Current skills compatible – 0.
Total Ectoplasm Stored: 0% Manifestation
Jordan’s form trembled with an electric excitement. This was it… a stepping stone. A way forward.
He grinned… or, at least, he was mentally cheesing hard.
"Now we're talking."