The Spire of Rot

The spire loomed above the ruins of Gloom, its twisted stone spiraling toward the clouded moon like a jagged claw. Green light pulsed from cracks in its walls, spreading an eerie glow across the valley floor. The air stank of smoke and something sickly sweet that burned the throat. Oliver crouched behind a shattered wall, his breath shallow as he studied the guards posted at the spire’s base. What he was about to do was extremely stupid.

‘What am I thinking?’ 

As both he and Mali crouched at the remains of a fallen wall looking at the entrance to the tower, he realized that he was about to charge into a place with a peasant girl. Though he was starting to think she might not be that.

‘Maybe she comes from a family of mages? Do they even have mages here?’

Movement brought Oliver’s attention back to the present. Plague King’s thralls shuffled on stiff limbs, their bodies wrapped in rotted robes, their eyes glowing with dull green fire. They stood staring out with unfocused eyes.

“They’re waiting for something,” Oliver whispered.

Mali, crouched beside him, tilted her head. The moonlight traced silver along her hair and cheekbones, giving her a haunting look. “No,” she said softly back. “They are waiting for us.”

Before he could ask how she knew that, the nearest thrall jerked its head in their direction, the green light in its eyes flaring. Mali’s expression did not change. She rose smoothly to her feet, hand sliding to the hilt of her dagger.

“Stay close,” she said.

The first thrall lunged. Its limbs twisted at impossible angles, the bones cracking as they came forward. Oliver barely had time to react. His sword came up clumsily, the impact jarring his arms. The creature hissed and recoiled, and Mali moved past him in a blur. Her dagger flashed, clean and efficient, severing the creature’s throat. It collapsed without a sound, its body turning to gray dust before it hit the ground.

The others rushed them. Oliver felt the old panic claw at his chest, but there was no time to think. He swung again, the weight of the blade pulling him off balance, but somehow the strike connected. He felt it bite through something solid and hot. One thrall went down, twitching. Mali’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and calm. He was NOT used to this armor. Half of his brain just wanted to strip it off and try his best to survive that way.

“Keep moving.”

They fought their way to the entrance. The young man did not know how but they reached the door. The door itself was a slab of corroded metal and it stood half open. Mali pressed her palm against it, murmuring something under her breath. The air shimmered, and the green light dimmed as if recoiling from her words. She glanced back at him once.

“Inside. Quickly.”

The interior of the spire was worse. The walls pulsed faintly as though alive, veins of sickly green light running through the stone. A spiral staircase wound downward, each step slick with condensation that smelled faintly of decay. Oliver gripped the railing to steady himself.

The deeper they went, the louder the sound became. It was not wind or machinery but a steady pulse, like a great heartbeat hidden beneath the earth. The air grew thicker, charged with a faint vibration that made his skin crawl.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“The outer conduit,” Mali replied. “It channels the primordial flow from the Breach into the mortal layers. Gloom was built on top of it long before time itself.”

He looked at her sharply. “You sound like you’ve been here before.”

Her eyes flickered toward him but gave nothing away. “I know what it is because I studied it. Nothing more.”

They reached the bottom of the stairwell. A vast chamber opened before them, its floor a swirling lake of green light. Jagged fragments of crystal floated above it, slowly rotating. The walls were carved with sigils that shifted as he looked at them, symbols that made his head ache when he stared too long.

Every step that he took, the more Oliver’s gut churned. Something did not feel right but he wasn’t sure if it was because of just being in the Breach or Gloom itself.

Mali walked to the edge of the platform and extended her hand toward the glowing water. The light surged in response, rippling outward from her fingers.

“This is where you must place the chronal shard,” she said quietly.

Oliver hesitated, pulling the shard from his satchel. The crystal pulsed faintly in his palm, its glow out of sync with the rhythm of the chamber. He stared at it, then at Mali. “What happens when I do?”

“If the Bone Lord spoke true, it will disrupt the conduit long enough to stop the Plague King’s diversion. You must trust me.”

He wanted to. Oliver also wanted to turn and run. Every instinct screamed that this was wrong, that the air itself wanted to swallow him. Still, he stepped forward until the heat from the light stung his face. He knelt and lowered the shard toward the surface.

The moment it touched the glowing water, the entire chamber convulsed. A deep roar filled his ears, and the light erupted upward in a violent column. Oliver staggered back, nearly losing his footing. Mali caught his arm and dragged him clear, her eyes burning with an unearthly green.

“Hold on,” she said, her voice strained.

The light coiled around them, wild and uncontrolled. Oliver felt it reach into his chest, probing, searching. The shard in the lake shattered, and a wave of energy rippled through the floor. Oliver found his face shoved between her soft breasts again as Mali pulled him in, shielding him from the blast. The world went white, then black.

When the sound faded, Oliver opened his eyes. The chamber was in ruins. The floor had split open, and chunks of the inside of the spire hung suspended in the air, connected by glowing veins of energy. He coughed and pushed himself upright.

“Mali?”

No answer. Dust and smoke filled the air, stinging his lungs. Oliver called again, louder this time. “Mali!”

A faint sound reached him, not a voice but a low hum. He turned toward it and saw her standing on a fragment of stone near the center of the room. Her figure was backlit by the pulsing light of the broken conduit. Her silver hair hung loose, and her eyes glowed faintly green.

“Mali, are you hurt?”

She looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “No,” she said finally. “The shard reacted to something in me. I had to contain it.”

“What do you mean, something in you?”

But before she could answer, the entire chamber shuddered again. Cracks split the remaining walls, and the roar of collapsing stone echoed from above. She reached out to him, shouting over the noise.

“We have to move. Now.”

Oliver ran to her, the floor crumbling under his boots. Together they scrambled toward the stairwell, climbing as debris rained around them. The heat grew unbearable, the green light searing their eyes. When they reached the upper level, a final blast threw Oliver forward. He hit the ground hard and everything went dark again.

He awoke to silence, frustrated that this was the second time in less that fifteen minutes he had been knocked out.

‘I’ve got to have a concussion by now.’

The spire’s top was gone, leaving a gaping hole that opened to the night sky. Ash drifted down like snow. The air smelled of stone dust and ozone.

“Mali?” he whispered.

No response. The only sound was the faint hiss of the dying conduit far below. He pulled himself upright, every muscle trembling, and looked around.

She was gone.

He stood at the edge of the broken floor, staring into the glowing chasm where the conduit still flickered faintly. A single thought filled his mind, heavy and cold. He walked gingerly forward but stopped when he felt the presence behind him. A voice spoke, a woman’s but powerful and full.

“I’m right here, Oliver.”