UNsight

Chapter one: Ugh...headache...

Imagine a completely destroyed landscape, ground torn up, trenches lined with scorch marks from explosives and ashes from the fallen painting the desert-like landscape. The smoke has finally settled, revealing the countless bodies of the fallen. To many, this may sound horrifying and depressing. But to some, it's a gold mine filled with treasure. My name is William Everest. I'm what's commonly called a "Corpse Sweeper". Yeah, I know. It's as gross as it sounds, but man, does it pay off. I started sweeping when I was...hm...about 5 or 6 years old, so... I guess that means I've been doing this for 10 or 11 years. I don't remember my family, but the boss told me they were dead. He handed me a pair of gloves, an old shovel, and set me up with a wagon to hold all of the loot I picked up from the war zones I dared venture into. Once I filled the wagon, I return back to the boss and he sells the stuff, and I get half the pay(he takes the other half for rent).

About a week ago, a huge battle took place on the field I now trek across, pushing my wagon with great difficulty across the uneven landscape. I stopped suddenly. There, right in front of me, was the first body. It was in shockingly good condition, though the ash-stained, most likely formally bright red coat that he was wearing had seen better days. Nevertheless, it was a good find. A little soap and water and we have a "high-quality, luxurious red trench coat" that I'm sure some clueless rich dude will buy. I kneeled down to the body and noticed a red-hilted dagger with a crystal on the bottom of said hilt strapped to his side. "Score!" I thought excitedly. "This fine weapon will certainly win me and the boss a fortune!" I wrapped my hands around the leather-wrapped hilt to pull it out.

Then the body moved. He leapt up onto his feet, knocking me on my butt in the process. His eyes remained shut as he drew his dagger and stood in a ready-to-strike stance as if he could still see me with his eyes closed. He remained completely still for some time. He took a deep and unsteady breath as he flicked his head to the side to rid his face of the white strands of hair covering it. Part of his hair moved aside revealing a single red streak of hair on the right side of his head. "Where am I?" He demanded. His voice had a nervous tone. "Who are you?" He paused for a couple seconds. "Wait...who am I?"

I blinked a couple times. Then shrugged. "I don't know, man! I'm just a corpse sweeper!"

"I'm sorry...did you say corpse sweeper?"

"Y-Yes?"

"Y-You mean...I'm..."

"Six feet under? Well, apparently not mate!" I threw my arms up in the air in annoyance.

The not-so-dead person put away his blade. "Where am I..."

"I believe this place used to be called...um..."

"The Plain of Authora" His voice mimicked mine so well a thought that I myself had said it. I looked back at him, quite startled. Then I dropped my shovel in shock. The person had opened his eyes. They were pitch black, with little red and blue lights in the center of them that would probably act as pupils. This man was not of the living, but not of the dead either. Dark magic was at play here. This was a Spectre. "Oh..." He said in a dazed voice. "That's where..." The Spectre's knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground with a thud.