Though there was no pain from the devastating loss of my arm, my mind still reeled in horror. I unintentionally screamed out in distress, whilst my held up stump arrested the attention of everyone in the cramped room.

My biggest fear had come true. Losing a small portion of my mobility lanced a boil in my subconscious, letting out a life’s worth of trauma that I had only escaped through the blessing of death.

I wasn’t on the filthy ground of a prison—my unwell mind transported me to a hospital bed again. The face of my vampiric adversary became that of my hated therapist and the prisoners, my doting family. Everyone I had ever loved stared down at me with sharp masks of pity, shredding my remaining dignity like a cheese grater. And my screams became a deep howl of anguish.

I could hear the voice of the useless hospital provided counselor telling me she “believed in me” while my body failed in the wake of her inane platitudes. Feel her unwanted presence creeping into my personal time, tearing away the distractions I had thrown myself into. All so that she could force me to face an unmoving and uncaring reality. I wilted as memories of her voice resurfaced, and she mindlessly stabbed me with her unrepentant enthusiasm, draining away the tiny bit of happiness I’d clutched onto. My delusions had protected me, and she’d wanted nothing more than to rip them away, ultimately, only to make herself feel better.

Black blood slowly seeped out of the clean cut where my forearm used to be, but I was shaking so hard I could barely tell. A strange, detached part of my psyche knew I was on the edge of a line, that if I crossed, I could never come back from. Not fully intact.

But I could do nothing to stop the momentum.

Some primal instinct inherited from my undead state wormed its way out of my heart and washed over me. I could feel a rapid stream of death mana pouring out of my core, almost like the blood that should have been gushing from the scarring wound I’d suffered. A nearly tangible hatred washed away the mental pain, and soon after, the fear. The pure clarity of hate stretched open my eyes and pulled back my lips into a feral snarl. My fragmented thoughts narrowed in on my enemy before me, and my shaking intensified. But it wasn’t from fear. No, my now absent terror had transformed into boiling rage.

A snapping sound reverberated in the close quiet, almost in tune with the rapidly beating heart beats of the broken men around me. It took me a moment to realize that the sound was coming from my clacking mouth.

The large vampire, who had continued to stand near the exit of the prison so he wouldn’t have to duck, tilted his head to the side in curiosity. Though his eyes never left mine.

“You are of the blood, aren’t you?” he asked in a soft tone.

Fast as he was, his fixated interest kept him from seeing my champion until it was too late.

Galahand ripped into the blood sucker’s calf muscle, easily tearing away flesh with its knife-like claws. The undead bat screamed in outrage, kicking my minion into the stomach of a hapless prisoner and knocking the wind out of the man.

Though we only broke eye contact for that split second, it was enough for that unrepentant predator that had descended over my mind to send me into a maddened rush. After all, only prey took its eyes off you.

Even with the distraction from Galahand, I was nowhere near fast enough to jump the powerful creature. At only two feet away, the vampire’s battle axe blurred, then sunk into my left shoulder. Had I not been wearing armor, the blade probably would have cleaved completely through my torso.

I was past caring.

My momentum took me forward, deepening the wound, and my head crashed into the leech’s hairy white chest. I felt my mouth extend in gruesome anticipation before the furry, undead flesh ripped away under my relentless jaws. Intoxicating blood with a taste close to perfectly cooked steak exploded down my throat along with the bastard's right tit.

The vampire screamed for a second time in outrage, if not outright pain, and gripped my head with its clawed hand. That was right when I unleashed Degenerating Touch.

My disrupting mana flooded into my prey, causing him to seize up like I’d employed a taser to his wooly nut sack. Together we fell backward, and a haze of ravening instinct overpowered my remaining reason.

When I came to, minutes later, I lay in a puddle of gore and blood. Half eaten scraps of fur and meat littered the surrounding my vicinity and clothing. All the anger and the panic that had clouded my mind was gone. As thoroughly torn apart as the vampire covering my armor. I couldn’t help but marvel at the radical change in my mental state. Whatever mechanism that had turned me into a single-minded flesh eater had also stayed in place long enough to help me keep it together. Which was good. I really, really needed the help.

Near the barred gate, the prisoners huddled together in terrified silence. Their naked trepidation forced me to wince in embarrassment. I tried to say something placating, but the mass of hair lodged in my mouth prompted a coughing fit. With an axe disrupting the use of one arm, and the other lying on the floor, I wondered how I was going to remove the blockage.

But then I felt a connection to my severed arm. Somehow, my emotional episode had rendered me unable to notice that the limb was still under my control. The controlling hand crawled its way over to me, and I couldn’t help but laugh—well, sputter with fur and flesh in my mouth. With the extra meat of my forearm behind it, the arm was much slower than Galahand. Who came along and nudged it closer with its greater strength.

The frightened men silently watched me lean forward, while the two hands plucked and pulled at the obstructions in my mouth. From the outside, I probably resembled a mama bird feeding her young.

Once I felt clear enough to speak, I apologized for my barbaric behavior.

“Sorry guys, that was my favorite arm,” I said with a tight-lipped smile.

Only the old guy with the beard laughed at my stupid joke, but man, was it a laugh. It started out as an uncomfortable chuckle, then descended into a full belly buster with tears and knee slapping. I couldn’t help but go along with it.

Though the tension drained out of us two, the rest of the occupants of the cell didn’t feel so inclined. The elf, who had been helpful before this disaster, refused to look me in the eye. Instead, he stared down at the ground with a thumping heart of cowardice.

“I’m not going to hurt you guys. My goal is still to get you all out of here. I promise.”

The fragile peace I’d created earlier wasn’t unable to be saved from zombiehood, it seemed. They continued to just stare at me, or the ground.

“Hey, old timer, can you take this axe out of my shoulder? It’s the only thing keeping me from using the arm.” I said, trying to use a different tack.

For a moment, the old guy just stared, and I thought he wouldn’t do it. Slowly, his eyes shifted from mine to the axe wedged in my body. Then, to my relief, he gave a shrug and walked over to me.

“Hol’ still. Don’t wanna wreck ya any more than I hav’ ta,” he said.

Despite his skinny frame, the old survivor had a surprising strength; probably from years of mining. After a little wiggling on his part, he yanked the heavy blade out of me and pulled it away.

I wasn’t clear on the anatomy of the arm, or any anatomy for that matter, but after he removed the obstruction, I felt the limb come under my control again. It was weird that an entirely removed limb was still under my control, but one with a weapon stuck in it couldn’t move. Whatever; it worked now.

With my free hand, I picked up my severed arm and stuck it back on the stump. The cut was clean and I could see how it was supposed to re-attach. My zombie connection with the limb gave me an instinctual feel for how it should fit back in place, which I found fascinating.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to keep the arm in place, and as soon as I let it go, it flopped back down to the ground.

“Anybody got some thread and a needle?” I asked the excrement covered, and obviously naked men.

“Ya’ I was hopin’ ya’d ask. Been waitin’ my whole life.” The old timer said, grinning with a mouth of rotten teeth. He continued, “I keep the thread right here in my beard, and the needles up my ass!”

We both had another good laugh.

I was over trying to placate the others and decided to just lean toward the offered amity. They wouldn’t believe me, no matter what I said. Hell, I wouldn’t believe me after what they’d witnessed.

How often does a vampire get eaten?

The thought nearly made me break out into more chuckling. Thankfully, I stopped it before offering more evidence of my unstable state.

“What’s your name, by the way? I’m Oran.” I asked the old guy, holding out my severed arm to shake his hand.

He shook it in a firm grip without batting an eye.

“Name’s Silas. Silas Lynch,” he said.

“Good to meet your acquaintance, Silas.” I said with a friendly smile.

“If you really get me out o’ here, I don’t care who you have to eat. Long as it ain’t me, o’ course.”

“Deal,” I said.

With his help, I shrugged off my backpack then pulled out my “undead regeneration cream”.

“Alright Silas, I’m gonna have to ask for your help with one more thing,” I said.