Genevieve watches with keen interest as the strange islander dramatically kneels, waiting for his death. There is nothing she can do for him. Her powers were long spent hundreds of years ago and the shreds she maintains are for a much greater purpose. A purpose the desert wanderer could have been used for. Now that thread of hope unravels as hope usually does.

  She could comfort him in his last moments. Usually, people don't like to die alone and this one, if nothing else, is lonely. However, she knows a death promise being made when she sees it, herself being a witness to her own. Another spirit joining her on her island might not be bad after all. Fury would appreciate the new soul.

  The man has a much darker skin tone than the humans she used to interact with. His dark, wavy, short hair, his empty green eyes, and his skin tone indicate he's from an island tribe. Most likely a tuskless tribe. That could explain how he ended up here. Islanders were notorious for being where they shouldn't be.

  His appearance was a great mystery to Genevieve. This island of hers has been empty of people for almost a century. Then one day, he appears. On top of that, her shadow fog has started to recede. Perhaps they are connected, perhaps not.

  How the man endured such an extended beating is quite telling. Sure, they are low-ranked monsters but the man by her readings is also low-ranked. And even if he was stronger, his enemies had the numbers. His death was only a matter of time. Watching him struggle and embrace death when victory was close was almost inspiring.

  Acceptance isn't a weakness.

  Genevieve watches the man breathe his last. Hopefully, her new fellow spirit-walking friend will be a kind one. Who knows, maybe with enough time, she can convince him to drop whatever revenge he holds in his heart that keeps his spirit here. If she still does have time left.

  ****

  Well… I'm not dead yet. Might as well be. Can't do anything in this broken state. I can't even open my good eye. That's the problem with living. You never know which breath is going to be your last. By my count, I’ve had several last breaths.

  Pain from the poison and the injuries grows unbearable. I breathe in deep, thinking death will finally take me. Then I breathe in again, enduring more pain. Maybe living is my curse. I will always be destitute and broken never allowed to reach the sweet escape.

  No. Here it is. This next gasp of air will be my last. I can feel myself stepping into the next stage of life. Whatever that be. Perhaps I'll become nothing, just a speck in the vast void. My mind goes blank, everything is dark, and a chill rushes through my body. Finally, peace from my torment.

  Waking up not dead can be somewhat frustrating. Still not dead, in a world of pain, and unable to do anything, I ready myself for the last breath one more time. This one is it. This one feels different from the rest. The curse is broken.

  Pain.

  Last breath.

  Then blackness.

  ****

  It is remarkable how long the man drags out his death. He certainly has a flair for dramatics. Gasping for air, blacking out, then gasping for more air, all while kneeling. When Genevieve thought he was indeed dead, he would breathe.

  She pities the dying man. He is in a desperate state; death would be a mercy, yet it keeps stringing him along. At this point, as unlikely as it seems, she will be more shocked if he does die. Finally she turns her back on the dead man.

  For the first time in years, the Lycan has business to attend to, and she isn't missing out on it. If the new spirit must traverse the planes alone for a little bit, he will be fine. She can throw him a “Welcome to Life Outside of Life” party later.

  With a thought, she travels many miles to her foggy borders, where land meets the sea. Her intuition is confirmed to be true. What once was a dense wall of shadow is now pocketed with gaping holes. Years of solitude fabricated by herself will soon be interrupted. Once the shadow diminishes, Genevieve's island will be back on the maps.

  People will come, the horde will return, and her people will be at risk again. To be sure, Genevieve travels to the major coasts in every direction. The shadow wall is thoroughly inspected at each one. Every border is the same. Her ritual is running out of power, whether it is near sandy beaches, rocky cliffs, swampy inlets, or forest coves. She is running out of time. Her people are running out of time.

  Finished with her inspections, Genevieve pictures the dead man to travel back to him. It only takes thought, and her spirit arrives precisely where she focuses.

  It doesn't work.

  Focusing on a destination near the man also proves to be unsuccessful.

  She thinks of her cave, knowing that she will arrive back at her home.

  Nothing.

  This is not good. The thought runs through Genevieve's mind several times.

  Thinking of a closer destination, Genevieve closes her eyes. She reinforces her thoughts with her will, traveling three miles to her intended destination.

  This is not good at all. I am running out of time. Worry, like an estranged friend, makes its way back to her mind. With worry comes all the other emotions she blocked out for all these years. Her thoughts immediately turn to the children. We must keep them safe.

  ****

  Surprisingly when I come back to myself from the void, I can open my eyes. Though somehow, I’m in the middle of a war.

  For a moment, I think I’m still battling the monsters that chased me from the desert.

  My eyes clear, and I realize that this is strangely different. Packed in an unfamiliar forest, people are fighting by my side. Foreign friends are dying by my side. Trees reverberate the shouts of the wounded. Powers are thrown about wildly, creating havoc across the land.

  Trees are destroyed, allowing the trapped screams to escape, only to be replaced by crushing noises from wooden golems. Massive explosions of ice and fire rain down on the golems. Boulders blowing in the wind. Bright light flashes amplified by lightning strikes.

  The forest takes the brunt of the attacks, consumed as a resource for battle, and what's left burns. Soon the crowded forest becomes nothing more than an open battlefield on a hillside.

  Smoke burns my eyes. My emotions are panic and anger at the unknown enemy and my body is sore, most likely broken. Everything feels so natural, yet I can't believe what I’m seeing or experiencing.

  Adrenaline pumps through my veins. I need to survive this. I must get up... when did I get knocked down? More explosions, constant shouting of orders and threats, and worst of all, the shrieking cries of pain and despair.

  I can no longer see the chaos, only hear evidence of it as a blanket of blackness replaces the violence.

  Silence.

  A battlefield once filled with horrors of power is now a dark, peaceful night. Casting its borrowed light, the moon highlights the aftermath of the brutal battle. Faint wisps of death linger. The calm air does nothing to dispose of the foul odors, as if wanting nothing to do with the slaughter.

  There is no sound. No cries for help or even rasping breaths of survival. Even the crickets are refusing to play their songs.

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  There is none of that.

  All there is, crowding the world with its emptiness, is death.

  I’m surrounded by it.

  I try to move, but I can't. Instead, I’m to lie with the dead. Who are they? Fellow-soldiers? Friends? Family?

  I struggle some more to move. Pulling within myself, I draw whatever power I have and force it into my arms. For a moment, nothing happens. Then within a blink, the bodies around me dissipate.

  What once were solid masses of people now is a stream of pale gray mana swirling in the air. With each rotation, the mana draws closer and closer to my prone body. As the pale mist encloses, it becomes harder and harder to breathe.

  I try to resist, to do anything, even just move. I cling to life hoping it will be a boon in this darkness. Still nothing. I want nothing to do with this hollow energy encircling me, but I’m as helpless as the companions once by my side.

  Again, I focus on the power within me, but this time I push out with all my might, desperately trying to will the death away.

  For a moment, I think that it is working when the dull mana stops circling. Then instantly, it encloses all around. The dense mana restricts my breathing completely. Suffocating, I offer little resistance when death converges all at once, shooting into my chest.

  I wake up in a panicked sweat. A gasping-gurgling yell escapes my body. I'm struggling for air and the awful awakening process stretches on. Finally, breathing comes easily and rapidly. It takes another moment before my breath becomes normal.

  That was horrific.

  Fortunately, it was only just a dream. Unfortunately, death can be a real damnable experience if I put things politely.

  Relaxing my body, I control my breathing and scan my surroundings. Except I can't. My eyes won't open. One is swollen shut, and the other, whether it is swollen or not, doesn't respond. Severe aching pains stagnate in my knees. Whoever decided that dying on my knees was a good idea is an idiot.

  Stupid scorpions. I mentally curse.

  I no longer feel pain from the poison and the pain from my other injuries is more manageable, which I conclude is a win. My most considerable relief comes when I can control my body enough to fall over and give my knees a much-needed break.

  Now on my side, I fall back asleep.

  Sunlight beaming through the trees causes me to wake however long it is later. Sleep has done much to improve my current situation.

  My one good eye can now open. I can feel the wounds covering my body have recovered to a degree. Best of all, I’ve gained limited movement, which I take advantage of and slowly arrange my body in a more comfortable lying position.

  Pine and aspen trees intermixed with desert shrubberies are scattered, and smaller greenery covers the sandy dirt around me. Fresh scents from the pine trees and various life forms in the desert crowd my senses. Laying about in silence, I find myself relieved, to my surprise, to still be alive. More than that, I'm finally out of the desert!

  Shade shifts from one spot to the next as I continue to bask in the pleasant atmosphere. Eventually, I will get up and do whatever needs to be done. For now, I allow myself to rest. In my blank restful state, the surrounding tree shade shifts drastically. While it is not dark yet, it is definitely at the end of the day. Warm air is transitioning into its colder stage.

  Rest has done my body good; my senses are more alert than they were, and my body feels like it will respond to most of my commands. Faint sounds of water rushing over rocks can be heard in the distance. My ears have never heard a sweeter sound.

  Since death won't accept me, I will accept my curse and struggle to live a little longer. Survive just to spite the exclusive club called death. That is a noble cause I can get behind. I give up on death and start trying to live. Whatever living means.

  Aching, I pull my body from the ground. I’m standing, if only barely. It doesn't matter. Feet or no feet, if water is nearby, I will crawl towards it if I need to.

  As I leave, I get a good look at my resting spot. Roughly thirty feet surrounding me, there is no life. There is nothing. It looks like everything but me was dissolved into nothingness, wiped from existence. Even the weapons and armor I used are gone.

  Not only that, once again, I’m practically naked and stranded. Thank goodness for invincible underwear. Trudging through the desert and forest with an exposed schlong sounds like a personal hell. Thinking of the ticks and parasites that would target my goods gives me uncomfortable chills.

  Slowly I make my way towards the sound of water. Five hundred hard-fought yards later, the landscape has abandoned all desert affiliations. Semi-sandy terrain is now loose dirt and rock. Forest trees are densely packed, combined with the thick ground vegetation that forces me to wind my way through the woods towards the stream. It feels like I've stepped into a whole new world.

  Gone is the constant beating of the sun. The solid ground gives more resistance, making walking much more effortless. The tradeoff being the ground is littered with sticks and pines that are more than willing to pierce my bare feet.

  Overall, I'm happy to be out of the desert and nearing water.

  The crashing sounds of water colliding into rocks grow louder and louder as I get closer. Finally, I step through the dense foliage to see a river cutting through the forest. From side to side, the river looks at least twenty feet wide, flowing from north to south, running parallel to the distant mountains. Further north of where I’m standing, the river is joined by a smaller river that runs from the direction of the mountains.

  Wasting no time, I step past the rocky shore and eagerly plunge into the cool refreshing water. Skin and lips feel like they are desperately absorbing the water as I submerge myself repeatedly. It is risky. However, having just circulated poison as if it were blood, I don't fear the risk and drink deeply from the cool water. I feel refreshed and empowered. The water is almost like a new life coursing through my body. It feels like my body is mending back together.

  For the moment, I’m good. My body is functioning, my mind is clear, and my soul is still... wait a moment!

  Responding to my shock, my relaxed body jolts upright and stiffens. Something has changed to my core. Paying no mind to the river that barrels around me, I deeply examine my soul.

  Sweet mother of fatherless batzards! Death had its way with me. Next to the dull core, my second layer is now filled with pale gray mana. What once was empty, like the remaining seven layers, is now a death core.

  I’ve no idea how to use it, but that doesn't matter. I have it! I can access it. Now it makes sense why my wounds aren't as nasty as they should be. Pale mana is giving me power at the very moment as it ever so slightly provides energy for my body to function.

  Do I feel violated that the pale mana bound one of my cores without my invitation? Yup. Am I going to take advantage of my new source of power? Absolutely. The only way to accept a mockery of a gift is to take it with a heavy dose of gratitude. Besides, if I’m not supposed to have death powers, maybe the live whisperer should have been more specific. Or maybe death is going to help me to live.

  My attention locks onto my core. I can feel the pale mana violently thrashing around in a circular pattern inside. For better or worse, the power of death is now a part of me.

  It isn't the densest core. I feel that my second layer still has ample room for pale energy. Most likely due to its infant development. On top of that, death did not fill up the rest of my cores. Not that I’m complaining. If I still have seven empty cores, could I bind them to other mana sources? Thinking of more possibilities, I’m incredibly grateful death did not claim more layers.

  Although it is getting late, the excitement from my new energy has left me in a tireless state. Continuing to focus on the dull core, I feel the intensity circling around as if there were a hurricane locked inside a small pocket of my chest.

  I focus hard on the mana, trying to condense the core tighter as if I’m using another muscle. The death resists initially, but as I concentrate, I can will the mana into a tighter ball. I hold the packed power as long as I can. When the strain becomes too much, I slowly release the energy, letting the mana fill the core.

  Giving myself a moment to breathe, I begin the cycle anew.

  Immersed in learning about the mana, a couple of hours slip by. The sun has gone down, and my cold, shivering body demands me to leave the river. However, the foreign energy begins to feel familiar. I can quickly focus on the mana, which immediately condenses upon my command. Now that I’m familiar with the mana, it is time to try and harness the power.

  I begin condensing and expanding the mana within my core, losing myself in the process once more. As I release the power, I attempt to will the mana to flow from my soul and through my body.

  Nothing happens. The mana is still trapped in the core.

  I try the same technique three more times. Each attempt is met with failure.

  I’m grasping at straws. I feel like I’m working off a faded memory, but the details are not lining up. Luckily, I’ve been gifted with an unconquerable spirit and refuse to let a few failed attempts discourage me. I’m close to being able to wield the power death brings.

  Five variations of made-up mana cycling later, and I still haven't gotten the power through my core yet. I tried focusing on a small section of the core to ease that through my body. After that, I try condensing the core as tight as possible and pushing all the mana out at once. Then I do the same thing, this time only focusing on a tiny section of the condensed power.

  Nothing.

  Since there is no time like the present to give up on a cause and I’m probably suffering from exposure, I throw up my hands and surrender.

  The thing about being unconquerable is knowing when to quit before you lose.

  Satisfied with the flow of thought, I exit the river on the east side. Today, I conquered death. Tomorrow, I will wield it.