Mills started his day by staring into the Abyss. Every day, the Abyss ate at the edge of the world. Every few months, Mills’ camp had to shift backwards to avoid being consumed by the void.

  It was easy to describe the Abyss as black. The books Mills read on the Abyss, before seeing it firsthand, described the presence as black, but there was more to it. The Abyss was a hole in reality where a field, or a forest, or a settlement, should be. The Abyss was hungry. Even from a distance, Mills felt the void pulling on his soul. He didn’t want to step into the Abyss; he’d heard the stories of people who had, but the Abyss compelled in a way nothing else could. If the flow of the universe sauntered along the way it had been, then eventually the Abyss would consume what was left of reality.

  That wasn’t going to happen. No, Mills could not see the future. No, he did not know a way to push back against the Abyss and its powers. He had something far more reliable: optimism. One day, the Abyss would be defeated. Mills might not be the one to do it, and he might not see the end in his lifetime, but someone would eventually find a way to stop the slow march of the apocalypse. Mills knew that in his bones, and that is why he did the work he did.

  Mills drained the last of his coffee, then approached the Abyss.

  Camp 33 was bustling with researchers and soldiers. The researchers crouched near the void with a variety of instruments made to measure and quantify the Abyss. Three generations of researchers had crouched at the Abyss with instruments to measure and quantify the void. Mills hoped there wouldn’t be a fourth.

  “How’s it going?” Mills asked.

  Annalie was the only one to raise her head, though that was expected. The researchers kept to themselves for the most part, as did the soldiers. Mills was neither researcher nor soldier, which left only a few brave souls willing to talk to him.

  “I believe we’ll have the same luck as we did yesterday,” Annalie stated.

  “Or you could make the discovery of a lifetime,” Mills said.

  Annalie twisted her lips.

  “That is a possibility,” Annalie stated. “At the moment, however, we don’t have an immediate use for your abilities.”

  “Implying you could use my talents in the future?”

  “Nobody has had wine since we got here.” Annalie smiled.

  The other researchers were listening well enough to voice their agreement. Mills chuckled.

  “Anyone here have water?” Mills asked.

  “We can’t be drunk on duty,” Annalie said. “I’d like to see your magic trick after work, thank you very much.”

  Mills said his goodbyes, then carried on. He passed more groups of researchers huddled around the wall. Everyone was testing something new, and everyone was certain their work wouldn’t yield reward. Mills offered his aid, but nobody needed him, so he continued his walk on the edge of the Abyss.

  “Master Mills!” A rough voice cut through the morning.

  That was how Mills knew his day was going to get a lot more interesting.

  The soldier in leather armor spotted Mills. It wasn’t hard; Mills was the only person in camp who wore a brown writer’s coat. He was also the only person in camp with an eyepatch, but Mills was certain he was spotted thanks to his coat.

  The soldier sprinted toward Mills. Bits of metal on his armor clinked. He skidded to a stop in front of Mills. His face was red and he was panting. The soldiers of Camp 33 got their exercise, but this man had run for a long time.

  “Master Mills,” the soldier repeated. “An incident at…at Point 5.”

  “Understood.” Mills jogged off without waiting for the soldier to say or do anything else. Mills wasn’t going to need the soldier.

  The incident, as always, was the Abyss. A wall of blackness bubbled forward in the outlines of gnarled limbs. A group of soldiers surrounded the spot with their spears aimed at the seething void. This was the most common emergency Camp 33 faced. This was why Mills was at the edge of the world.

  Mills stopped. His legs and lungs burned.

  “Master Mills!” The soldiers had spotted him, and wanted him to take action. Mills wanted to take action too, but the run had winded him. He held up a hand, I’m here; give me a second.

  Mills reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stack of prewritten cards. He shuffled through the stack in search of something that would help. The closest card he had said, the Abyss will stop pulsing, but that one made Mills’ stomach clench.

  “Holy shit!”

  A clawed limb stretched forward. A malformed head pressed against the barrier between the Abyss and reality. The soldiers readied their weapons, though that wouldn’t be necessary. Mills was there, and that meant he would solve this problem.

  None of his cards were right, though. He dropped the prewritten cards on the dirt, and pulled out a stack of blank cards, along with a pen. Mills scribbled, the Abyss will not break through Point 5. That was more precise than his other card, and precision mattered.

  Mills held the card between his gloved fingers, and focused magic into the cardstock. A blue flame erupted from Mills’ fingertips, and ate at the paper. The card floated out of Mills fingers, burning until there was nothing left.

  The head trying to poke through the Abyss shrank back. The arms reeled, and the void stopped pulsing. Silence washed over Point 5. Mills glared at the Abyss, challenging it to defy his magic. The Abyss gave no response.

  The soldiers let their spears droop. A few turned to thank Mills. He responded by holding his hand up and open, like a mayor addressing their city. Mills had picked up the mannerism while at Camp 33. He wasn’t sure where or why, but that royal wave was just a part of him now. A pretentious part, but oh well.

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  The party trick Mills performed was writing magic. He could write what would happen in the future, pulse energy through the paper he wrote on, and whatever he wrote would happen. Mills couldn’t see the future, but he could nudge it in the direction he wanted. As long as he was careful, that is.

  Mills stuffed his blank cards and pen into the right pocket of his jacket, then squatted down for the cards he’d dropped. They had a bit of dirt on them, but Mills brushed that off with the back of his hand. The top card hadn’t changed: the Abyss will stop pulsing.

  Writing magic always had a reaction, and that wasn’t something the writer could control. A big, vague request would produce a destructive reaction from the universe. More precise sentences meant the reaction would be limited to something small and inconsequential. Mills was certain that the card he burned, the Abyss will not break through Point 5, might kill a patch of grass, or give someone a bellyache. That was an acceptable trade-off.

  Mills frowned at the prewritten card in his hand: the Abyss will stop pulsing. It was vague enough to cause an unintended reaction. Someday in the future it might be worth using a card like that. One day, the trade-off could feel worth it. Mills hoped the day would never come. Mills straightened his prewritten cards, then stuck them into his left pocket.

  He took a deep breath, and glanced back the way he’d come. Mills ran by two other points, with researchers who wouldn’t need his help, but Mills needed to offer his aid to them. The more curious researchers would ask about the bubbling at Point 5, if Mills been responsible for stopping it.

  A cacophony of voices stopped Mills.

  He turned around, to the area he hadn’t patrolled. The Abyss was writhing again. The soldiers had raised their weapons once more, and were shouting for everyone else to stay back. Mills stayed calm. The Abyss could bubble and writhe and struggle all it wanted to, but it wasn’t going to break through Point 5.

  The bubbling swelled out of Point 5. The limbs reaching out came further, threatening to tear the barrier that kept them within the Abyss. Mills tore his pen and cards from his pocket.

  A writer’s magic was strong, but someone could skirt around the borders of its effect if they were clever enough. Or if they were a force of chaos and destruction that was too stupid and stubborn to understand the rules.

  The bubbling shot down the border. The soldiers shouted, and ran after the threat. Mills tried to guess which point the bubbling was at, but he couldn’t tell. The pulsing had gotten far away, and Mills’ lack of depth perception made it hard to determine distance.

  An arm stretched out further than the others, and the barrier between worlds snapped. A meat colored appendage erupted from the Abyss.

  Some of the nearby researchers ran, while others grabbed daggers next to their instruments. Soldiers shouted at the researchers to stay back as they ran forward.

  Mills tensed. He had a sword strapped to his side, and he knew how to swing it at a monster, but that wasn’t his job. He was too far away as it was; he could tell that even with his missing eye.

  More limbs pierced the void and entered reality. Soldiers ran to the barrier and stabbed at the exposed flesh. More poked out. One unnatural hand grabbed a soldier’s arm. The soldier screamed, and his buddies stabbed the monsters.

  So these monsters grabbed. Mills cradled his card in hand, and wrote. He was too far away to jump in with a sword, but he could still burn cards to mitigate damage.

  A scream shattered Mills’ concentration. He looked up from his half-written card, and saw something gray emerge from the Abyss. One soldier stabbed at whatever was coming out, and it grabbed him. The soldier yelped. The creature yanked the soldier forward, to the Abyss.

  The soldier hit the void. First, his hand went in, and it unraveled into flesh and bone. The soldier screamed. Then his head descended into the Abyss, followed by everything left of him.

  The gray creature surged forward. The soldiers jumped back. From Mills’ perch, he jumped back, too. Because he was looking at something that should not exist.

  The monsters that Mills had seen come from the Abyss were deformed animals. The new creature that leapt from the void was a humanoid with gray skin. Stories about these creatures spanned the world. They appeared in folk tales and morality plays. Some people, after a few drinks, would whisper they had come across these creatures before. The monsters would appear with dreadful and often contradictory abilities, but two things remained the same across all of the stories. These humanoid creatures were called reavers, and they left no happy endings.

  “Kill it!” One of the soldiers screamed. This was not a battle cry, but a scream of desperation. The man ran forward, spear aimed at the gray monstrosity that came from the Abyss.

  The reaver grabbed the coming spear, and thrust it into the ground. The soldier stumbled forward. The reaver swung his arm, and in his hand, appeared a sword as black as the Abyss.

  Mills gasped.

  The reaver’s sword flashed through the soldier. The man’s body crumpled. His head soared into the morning air, then dropped to the ground.

  The soldiers surged forward. The Abyss surged forward, too, and spilled smaller, animalistic monsters out. The Abyss behind Mills exploded, and more monsters seeped out. People screamed as the wave crashed into them.

  Mills tossed his half finished card to the ground–it wasn’t going to help anymore–and he wrote something new: the reaver will not leave Camp 33. Once he burned the card, he ran toward the fighting. He drew his sword.

  One of the smaller monsters was in front of Mills. It was clawing at one of the soldiers. Mills held his sword out as he passed by. The weapon cleaved into the monster, and got stuck somewhere in the middle.

  The monster screamed, and fell to the ground. Mills yanked his weapon out. Black blood dripped from the blade. Mills continued forward.

  The reaver stood in a ring of dead bodies. People charged the monster, forced to step over their dead friends to do so. Then they joined the pile of bodies. But the reaver would not leave.

  A monster rushed at Mills, claws extended. He backed up and raised his sword. He hit the creature with the flat of his blade, and it went down. Before Mills could put the finishing touch on his work, a soldier speared the creature to the ground. He was vaguely familiar. Mills didn’t have time to draw up a name.

  He weaved through the fighting, toward the reaver. Fire spread across the dying grass. Mills didn’t know where the fires came from, but he kept away from the thrashing flames.

  Mills got a better look at the reaver now. The creature was a man with a receding hairline and blank discs for eyes. It looked very, very human. Those blank eyes fixed on Mills.

  A chill went through Mills’ body. But he would be okay. Everything would be okay.

  “Come here and fight!” Mills brandished his sword at the reaver.

  The creature extended its free hand. Rays of energy gathered around its fingertips.

  Mills charged forward. When he got in range, the reaver would swing for his head. Mills would duck before that happened.

  The rays of light focused into dark points at the ends of the reaver’s fingers. The reaver was not going to swing its sword.

  Rays of the Abyss shot from the reaver’s fingers. Mills dodged to the left to avoid one blast. He nearly brushed against a second blast of void coming from his right. He crouched to steady himself.

  Voices screamed.

  A shadow darted across the ground. Mills looked up. One of the lookout towers was tilting toward Mills.

  The blasts of void didn’t disappear. The reaver was walking away from the destruction it caused.

  The tower disintegrated as it came down.

  Mills weaved his way through the tears in reality. Abyss creatures scuttled around him, but the falling tower was the most urgent issue.

  He made it clear of the void blasts, and turned around.

  The tower crashed, and the ground shook. Pieces of wood twisted in the air. And one piece was coming for Mills. He held up his arm, and wondered why he had such bad luck. Then the plank smashed against Mills.