“She who shatters shall be infused with the essence of life and reign supreme over that which surrounds her.” – Script of the Matron. Master of the first beacon.

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A rustle in the night. Just the slightest noise of movement is enough. I wake with no sound of my own and look about. Shifting my head side to side, I work out the kink in my neck at the same time. A slight huff and both my legs swing down around the branch I’ve been sleeping on. I’ll never stop grumbling about how uncomfortable it is to sleep sitting upright.

Locking my ankles together I flip my head forward gathering my midnight black hair to the front. I comb it with my fingers getting any little leaves out before tying it back into a ponytail. So very tired. I must have slept only three or so hours judging from the position of the full moon from in between the frail leaves of the tree that still cling to life. Gently bumping the bark of the branch with my forehead I mutter, “Thank you.” A small clink reminds me to tuck back the translucent crystal on black chain that hangs from my nape.

I swing one of my legs back over and drop a few meters down. Landing on the ground with a muffled thump from the leaf covered floor, the branch gently shakes creating little creaking sounds.  I run my hands down my skirt and smooth a rumple or two out. “Time to go.” Taking off at a sprint I head due West deeper into the forest. My bare feet create little to no noise as the wind around me whispers sweet nothings. I’ve long learned to tune out the annoying wind sprites and pay them no heed.

I gather a deep breath and exhale slowly. My mind ripples and with each wave I slowly give part of myself to the darkness around me and draw the shadows of the night back to me. Soon I am cloaked in a veil and increase my speed sending back wisps of inky smoke. I remember once being told I look like a silver eyed goddess of death. Giving a small rare smile I gently shake my head and continue onwards. My destination lies only a short few Km away.

For the next hour or so I glide past the terrain as it slowly starts to give way from frail to death. Ever since the incident over 10 odd years ago a poison has befallen the land. It saps the energy from all that touch it and spreads like a living rot. This rot feeds off its host, sapping just enough energy to keep the host alive for as long as it can. Those that can fight back against the rot are called Awakened and the ones who cannot are Lost. Every living thing is affected differently by this poison we call Death’s Touch.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The plague came that fateful day 10 years ago when a shower of what we now call Spikes befell the land from the sky. Behemoths in size and a strange coldness to the touch they struck the earth piercing deep. Their tips are open to the sky and shelter the entrance. Many theories of where they come from has been shared but one thing has been agreed upon by all. They are the source of all our misfortune and fears.

After another hour of swift running I finally arrive. The veil lifts and I draw my trench coat tighter around me to ward against the chill of this dreadful sight. Before my eyes yawns a pitch black oval arch that instills fear in all who view it no matter how experienced. I ball my fists and advance to the towering Spike. This one must be quite old as it scrapes against the sky. They grow in power and size the more they poison.

Lifting my bare left hand to my lips I kiss my knuckles and rub them against the black fingerless glove on my right. Working up my courage, I press my right hand against the oval entrance and feel it pulse. Once, Twice, Thrice. My hand begins to sink into the nameless material and I lose all feeling. I hold my breath as my shoulder comes into contact, then my face. Coming out the other side I fall to one knee and grip my throat with a hand coughing roughly. Gulping air, I shiver as sensation returns. The toll to enter making its presence known to me.

I open my mouth and report my due with resolve, “To progress is to struggle, for life is frail and I have been touched by death itself.” I wait for only a few seconds keeping my face free of emotion and head down. Pressure builds and the Spike shakes for a moment, shifting, waking. Energy gathers above me lifting my head and coalescing into words that draw the eye, “As is your right, Challenger. Rise and Fall, again, and again, for you shall surely fail.”

The words fade away. A cool breeze assaults my skirt dancing on the edge as I shakily stand. I heave a heavy sigh of relief. Not all Spikes take kindly to intruders. Before me lays a land of twisted space filled with a different world. A faint energy of life suffuses this land of horror. Stolen life given anew. The only way to take back what is rightfully ours is to travel to the depths and upon finding the core, shatter it. Much easier said than done however. Moonlight softly lights a path ahead covered in beckoning shadows. Laughing a laugh of slight mockery, I smile viscously. “Let’s begin, shall we?”