“My ascension is not yet ready. I need more time, but how? Perhaps…yes, I see. Those useless men of mine may yet just prove of worth. I’ll have to sacrifice some of my Niflheim, but the terror generated from ally and enemy alike shall overflow in a roaring wave of agony. It will be a simple matter; all I need seek are bodies, discarded machines, and a vessel. Such an honor is being granted upon them, for they shall be the first to ascend past their temporal restraints—forever affixed in a constant state of purgatory.”
Nokron, Commander of Nox Caelum
———
Cain
Cain quickly raises his pavise to block the sudden tackle, but the spikes connected to the creature’s side bends around it and propels straight at his heart. It misses, albeit narrowly thanks to a timely twist of his body, and smashes straight into the wall behind him.
“Captain, what’s going on!?” voices from behind the door ask.
“I-I don’t know what it is, but one of Nokron’s creations was hiding in the box!” Cain replies frantically as he attempts to defend against the creature’s assault. “Get in here and change formations to Fourth Form: Titan Slayer!”
“By your word!”
Cain’s squadron of warriors burst through the door and begin to encircle the creature. Their minds grow hazy upon looking at the grotesque abomination before them, but nonetheless they move—weapons raised and shields drawn.
The thing is the very definition of depravity, its appearance enough to drive even the most stalwart among them to insanity, yet none of them deign to cower. On the contrary, their will hardens. Any doubt that remained within them disappears upon entry, for what other reason do they need to justify their cause after witnessing the horrors of the Nox firsthand?
The creature’s maw begins to salivate, hunger growing. It is an amalgamation of bodies forever trapped in an eternal flux between death and life, a purgatory powered by the Niflheim, and the only remnants of their former selves are twisted and malformed beyond reform. Now, only a stark hatred to the living remains, and it won’t be satisfied until all join its endless cycle of torment.
It instinctively lunges at the weakest in the formation, spikes primed and ready to charge, but it is only able to take a singular, fleshy step before it’s barraged by a torrent of steel from behind. It howls from the pain and attempts to swipe at its attackers, but they retreat as quickly as they strike and return to their positions in the formation.
It’s trapped. The moment it attacks one, another ambushes it from its blind spot. The knights are sturdy, eyes unclouded of fear. The thing is but a creature to be hunted; an enemy to be slayed, no matter its appearance. In its current state, frenzied and animalistic, it is no different from a common beast.
Cain leads from the forefront and carefully examines its every movement, every twitch. If it unleashes an attack his knights are unable to guard, he’ll quickly intercept and pummel it back before returning to his station once more. It’s a slow, methodical formation that whittles down even the strongest of beasts. After all, he created it for the sole intention of capturing Sarathiel in the event he goes berserk.
Although he hesitates to admit it, he’s still scared of him—still traumatized by the events of that day. Watching his friends and his lover, Joan, be ripped to shreds…he can’t forget that even if he has forgiven Sarathiel. That’s why this formation will never fall. It is built off of respect, love, and dedication to stopping his maddened transformation. Every possible weakness, every possible situation, everything has been accounted for. Cain is completely obsessed, but it’s because of his obsession that he has complete confidence in the formation’s bulwark.
But unfortunately for him, the creature is not Sarathiel—a fact that becomes very clear when a spike suddenly erupts from the ground behind a knight and impales them straight through the abdomen. The attack comes from out of nowhere, and as soon as it appears, the knight is dragged into the newly-made pit.
“…What?” Cain mutters. “T-That’s impossible. Just where did?”
Complacency. Engrossed in his seemingly-perfect formation, Cain doesn’t even notice that the creature is hunched over on the ground, its rib-covered maw hidden from sight. The spike in its orifice retracts back, dragging the victim up from the ground and bringing them into its crude imitation of a mouth.
The knights can only watch on in horror as the creature arches back and displays its feast for all to see. The poor victim screams as the maw in its abdomen gnaws on their body.
It begins with the legs, crushing bone, flesh, and metal together as a sickeningly-grotesque squelch accompanies the macabre sight.
It then moves onto the torso, organs and intestines haphazardly dangling from the corners of its mouth.
And finally, the head. The knight whimpers a final, futile plea for help before a singular chomp silences them forever.
Cain lets out a despairing cry and attempts to pry the victim from the creature’s maw, but its defenses are just as strong as its attacks. Flesh bound together with the same material as the reinforced walls line its exterior, and when bunkered in place, its spikes deflect any and all attacks directed against it. If someone is taken, there’s nothing he can do to stop its feeding.
“Damnit, damnit, damnit!” he roars, continuing his assault while the others are still frozen from shock. “It’s my fault. I should have-”
His words are interrupted by a sudden impact to his chest, sending him crashing into a pile of knights. It attempts to finish him off, but the others are able to recover from their daze quickly enough to reassemble into formation—pressuring it once more.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
The creature is learning, evolving, and small holes start to appear all around its body; bullets are shot from the crevices and barrages the room with a hailstorm of steel. The knights have no choice but to stay on the defensive with their captain rendered immobile as the creature continues its assault.
More are impaled. More are consumed. Each knight caught in its ravenous maw joins the writhing mass of tormented souls, face bared in constant agony for all to see. If nothing is done, it will grow larger—more powerful—until all join its purgatory.
“Captain, Captain! Are you alright?” the scout from before frantically asks, dragging him to safety while the others maintain their positions.
“Shit…” Cain grunts. “I should have paid more attention to its damn body. I-”
The scout sighs and slaps his face with as much force as they can muster. It’s light compared to the members of his order, but it hurts. It hurts nonetheless.
“Get it together Cain!” they yell into his face. “A lot more will die if you falter now! It’s sickening what happened to that knight, but you have to get up. You can’t let yourself wallow in self-guilt here. Do that after the battle’s done.”
“I…ok,” he relents. “Your tongue’s pretty sharp, huh? Guess I should’ve expected as much from someone who’s under Dismas.”
“Just get out there before we all die.”
“By your word.”
Cain has seen his fair share of battle. It is the norm when one takes leadership over such a large order of knights; however, it’s not death itself that upsets him. It’s his complacency. Complacency, arrogance, led to the death of his own. A death that should have been preventable. It’s his fault for failing his responsibility, but he can still make things right. He mustn’t let another die due to his incompetence.
He rises once more and stokes the inferno within his heart. There’s no sunlight in these barren halls, only an artificial light from above, but that doesn’t mean he’s powerless. Will begets flame. Fury begets fire. If he must, then he will set his very soul ablaze.
“If there is no sun,” he whispers. “Then maybe I should just make my own.”
He walks out into the storm of bullets and confronts the creature head on. It gurgles at him with a revolting high-pitched tone, as if the thing is laughing at him, and descends upon him with its spikes raised up high, but a sudden burst of pressure knocks it back onto the ground.
The air becomes hostile, density rapidly increasing, and a small cloud of spatial dust gathers in front of it. Remnants of Niflheim that’s powering the creature leaks out from its wounds and is sucked into the cloud, condensing and collapsing together until a faint-white core is formed.
“Burn bright, burn bright,” Cain chants, face drenched in sweat. “My blood shall be the fuel. My body shall be the vessel. Burn it all away, and bring forth the ever-radiant sun.”
The core glows bright as it drains him of all of his aura and engulfs in a pillar of white flames—the eruption melting even the ceiling above him. The incantation is far above what he’s capable of; he has to pay a price.
It sears. It chars. It scorches every single part of his body, but he can’t falter here. All he needs to do is utter a single word, just one, and Creation will fulfill his contract. Even if his lungs are filled with blood, even if his vision is engulfed in haze, he has a duty to complete for those he can yet save.
“Prometheus.”
The core implodes, and in its place, a giant ball of white-hot fire bursts into existence. It engulfs the entire room in light, in heat, and melts everything around it except for the Polus knights. They cower in front of the sudden flash, but the flames only dance around their bodies—encasing them in its warming hearth.
The creature, however, is subjected to the full wrath of the new-born star. Its flayed flesh liquefies, blood evaporating from its body, and the spikes surrounding it begin to fall off—disintegrating into dust as it crumbles on the floor. It shrieks and howls as it attempts to destroy the ball of white with its molten body, but it’s no use. The closer it gets, the stronger the blaze. The sun is unmoving, uncaring, and it will not stop for as long as Cain serves as its fuel.
Slow, agonizing, tortuous. With no strength to move, the creature can only collapse and wait for its end—eventually turning into a giant, watery pile of tissue. A pathetic and disgraceful death it is; yet, a fitting one for a creation born of such horrors.
Cain lets out a hollow laugh at the thought before falling silently on the floor, his entire body covered in blackened ash and metal.
“Ha…ha,” he mumbles. “I-I’ve really done it now, huh?”
His knights quickly run to his side and attempt to pull his armor off to treat him, but he pushes them back with a weary hand.
“No use. It’s stuck to my skin. Besides, I-I probably don’t look too pretty under there anyway. Gotta maintain my image as a captain.”
“Stop talking. Don’t waste your energy,” an apothecary from Surasha’s division scolds as they splash the armor’s gaps with potions. “You’ll live for now, but your body’s been completely scorched by the flames. There’s only so much I can do; you’re going need to be treated by captain Surasha, and quick, if you ever want to wield a weapon ever again.”
“That won’t be-”
“What did I just say?”
He closes his mouth shut and nods. Damn, why are the subordinates so just like their captains? He hopes that his own recklessness doesn’t pass on; even he realizes how stupid it is to go so far when in the middle of enemy territory. He doesn’t regret it, though. It’s a small price to pay for his own incompetence.
“Cain, is everything ok?” Lorelai’s voice suddenly pops in. “Something within the fortress is blocking off communication with the others. You’re the only one I’m able to contact right now.”
Cain gives the apothecary a pleading look. They sigh and tell him to go ahead with a wave of their hand. “I’m…well, not fine. We were attacked by some monstrosity created by Nokron. We won, but I don’t think I’ll be able to go on any further. At least not without Surasha’s help.”
“Where are you right now?”
“Um, a large auditorium somewhere near the center. It looks like some kind of gathering hall.”
“A gathering hall? Maybe…ok, I think I might know where you are. Are there any symbols indicating the floor level somewhere in the room?”
“Symbols? I don’t-”
“Oh, I can help!” the scout says. “According to what I’ve been able to gather after some exploring, sections of the fortress are designated with symbols of avians. Jackdaws are the general quarters; ravens are for their labs and research divisions; crows are for executive and communication areas; and rooks are for large gathering spots and meeting areas. The number of splits on their wings should show us what level we’re on, so we’re currently on level nine.”
“That’s right; Dismas said the same thing. I lost contact with Surasha’s group somewhere in the lab division of level eight, so if your group descends a level then you may be able to run into her and get Cain treated. I advise you all to be careful, however, since it’s likely she’s currently engaged with a similar monstrosity such as the one Cain fought.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll be-”
But before Cain can reply, the floor beneath him suddenly begins to quake. The entire room collapses, the heat likely weakening the foundation, and everyone is sent tumbling onto the level below-
And directly on top of Surasha’s group, her knights currently engaged with a similarly grotesque-looking creature.
“Huh?” she yelps as Cain’s body crashes straight into her.