Story 778: The Channel Plague

The sky above the mountains remained unnaturally still, as if the world itself held its breath. The rift Selene Nocturna had torn into reality throbbed like a gaping wound, its edges flickering between existence and something far worse—unbeing.

Selene stood at the precipice, her hood casting a shadow over her gaunt, smirking face. She breathed deeply, inhaling the decay like it was the scent of a lover’s perfume. The Severed Priest’s remains had long since crumbled into dust, yet his soul still twisted in agony within the plague’s grasp.

She lifted her hand, her blackened nails gleaming as a necrotic vapor coiled between her fingers. The infection she had crafted was no longer bound to bodies, no longer restricted to flesh. It had seeped into the very marrow of the world, and the veil between life and death rotted with every passing moment.

Selene’s lips parted in a whisper.

"Rise."