Oasis Champion of Death

Chapter One: The Plague of Living

Oasis was a storm. She could feel her consciousness expanding. She was the bugs under the dirt, the bubbly feeling of happiness. And she could have sworn she encompassed the true meaning of being.

But alas, she was just high. Mixing hard wizard drugs was not for the weak, but Oasis was beyond that. She was suicidal, and that meant she was both incredibly reckless and emotionally dead. She had the potential to cross boundaries and thresholds she would have never dared to sober and mentally stable. Oasis felt the world warp around her, colors blending into a kaleidoscope of iridescent hues, the air vibrating with an unseen melody that pulsed through her veins. She appreciated these final experiences before her inevitable death.

"I love you," she whispered to herself, lying on the cold stone floor. A routine she had kept after surviving many Death Attempts. What a beautiful moment, she thought to herself, letting the warmth fill her heart. She exhaled loudly, closed her eyes, and hoped to die.

But things were never that easy.

In seconds, the euphoric feeling was replaced by sharp, breathtaking pain. The sensation was as if a thousand needles were stabbing into her body at an increasing pace, following a tempo of their own. With a twist of her slender arms came painful involuntary convulsions and white foam that crept out of her mouth with every choking breath.

Everything was going exactly as planned.

She had gone over this process a hundred times with the best spell casters and potion mages in the Priochr Union. Making sure that it was as efficient as it could ever be, there was little to no room for error. Nothing was unknown, except for the big question of whether it would be enough to kill her. She could hear the murmurs of the ten HeIchor casters while they shuffled around the magic circle, doing their part in maintaining Ichor, the essence of magic, while she did her best to die. Their chants wove through the air, each incantation rising in pitch, pushing her closer to death. She listened to the rhythmic intonation, a grim symphony orchestrated for her demise. Their job was to cast nonstop spells that drained her of Ichor and vitality and to push that intent into the circle.

And it was the god's honest truth. She wouldn't dare half-ass this opportunity, as those who knew of her existence prayed fervently for her death.

Although the Priochr Union used to be a religious sect dedicated to the worship of the Almighty Ichrine, God of Mercy and Life, it now dealt in many eyebrow-raising situations. It so happened that Oasis was almost always at the center of them. Twenty-three years ago, it had transformed into a political joint effort between countries around the world to eradicate Oasis from the world. Personally, she believed that Ichrine turned a righteous blind eye to her dealings while she withered in agony in the sanctuary of some of his most devout believers. Even now, she could imagine him watching from his holy throne, unmoved by her suffering as a means to an end in his grand plan. And who was she to say no? It was her woe to bear.

'No fussing or cussing,' as her best friend Biko used to say as a non-gentle way to tell Oasis to deal with it or do something about it. But what could she do when she was placed in this unique position with no say in even what she ate? Usually, the thought of her friend would help Oasis ground herself through the pain, but the drug was like a poison swimming inside her veins, causing her muscles to cramp and seize. She could distantly hear the gold jewels embedded into the length of her arms scraping against the stone as her convulsions turned to spasms.

The process of dying was like dry grass catching fire. It started with a spark and ended with a snap. But for Oasis, Hessa, the Goddess of Death, always managed to overlook her mortal wounds and pour water onto the lit grass before it could be burned away.