In the realm of Prearth, near the elven colonies, through the dense, whispering forests, and at the very edge of a kingdom’s border, there lay a cave dark and forgotten. It was in this shadowy enclave that a group of misfits, self-styled cultists with more ambition than skill, attempted to summon forces far beyond their control.
The group consisted of four young men and one woman: Gregory, Thomas, Ferris, Porter, and Alisson. Each wore crudely stitched robes, their hoods pulled low over anxious faces. They stood in a circle around a large symbol crudely painted on the cave floor in goat’s blood, the sickly scent mingling with the damp air. Candles flickered in their trembling hands, casting eerie shadows against the cave walls.
Alisson, their leader by default, glanced at the circle with unease. “Alright... I think we’ve got everything,” she said, her voice tight with uncertainty. Her eyes darted to Porter, who nervously fidgeted with a bag slung over his shoulder.
“Y-yeah, I, uh... got the goat you wanted,” Porter stammered, dragging the burlap sack toward the circle, its contents squirming.
“Watch it!” Alisson snapped, rushing forward to stop him. “You’re going to ruin the summoning circle, you idiot!” Together, they hoisted the still-living goat into the center of the painted symbol. Once in place, Alisson gave a sharp nod, signaling the others to prepare for the ritual.
With shaky hands, the group took knives and began the grisly task of spilling the goat’s blood, which pooled across the sigils they had so painstakingly drawn. Each of them clutched a different symbol relics of their amateur occult efforts as Alisson rifled through her tattered spellbook. Her fingers traced the lines of worn ink, muttering as she tried to recall the next steps.
“We’ve followed everything so far...” she mumbled, her brow furrowed. After a moment’s hesitation, she reached into her robe and pulled out an ancient piece of parchment, yellowed and fraying at the edges. “Ah. I see.”
She moved with purpose now, placing three red mana stones at precise points around the circle before grasping a small, gnarled artifact in her hand. The air around them thickened as she began to chant the forbidden words inscribed on the brittle paper:
"Ithaqua lor’nath xil valgorith,
Shyrris ka’thol azgorath,
Veylka shan’aeth vo’thelak,
Y’tarr vas’morith, xir ul’karesh!"
As the incantation left her lips, the circle’s dull glow flared into a vibrant yellow, only to shift moments later into a sickly, unnatural purple. The cave filled with an eerie hum, the sound growing louder until it became an unbearable screech, like nails on glass. The group huddled close, their hearts pounding as they struggled to keep their footing and maintain the fragile circle.
In that moment, the group felt the weight of thousands no, millions of eyes bearing down on them, scrutinizing their every move, silently judging their worth. Then, just as suddenly, it all stopped. A suffocating silence filled the cave. The glowing circle faded, leaving them standing in the dark, stumped and deflated.
"What the hell!" Alisson swore, kicking the spent stone that once pulsed with mana. Its dull clatter echoed in the stillness. The group murmured amongst themselves, confusion giving way to frustration. Porter, his patience finally snapped, kicked the goat carcass lying in the center of the circle. “Can we get rid of this thing already? It’s starting to reek.”
Without warning, the corpse began to twitch. Bones cracked. Flesh tore. The grotesque symphony of splitting tissue filled the air as the group froze in horror. In the blink of an eye, tendrils burst from the goat’s abdomen, piercing Carter’s skull before he could even scream. Porter barely had time to process the sight before another tendril shot through his stomach, coiling around his spine and erupting through his throat.
Panic seized the others. They bolted for the cave's entrance, their desperate footfalls echoing. But the thing sensed them, more tendrils writhing free as it dragged itself forward, still encased in the mangled remains of the goat. Thomas and Ferris were next tripped, ensnared, and shredded before their screams could fully escape their throats.
Alisson ran.
Her lungs burned as she tore through the woods, sprinting down the hill, branches clawing at her arms and face. If I can reach the town, I can get the church! They’ll help me! Her thoughts raced as fast as her feet, but it wasn’t fast enough.
She stumbled. A root caught her ankle, sending her sprawling onto the forest floor. The impact drove the breath from her lungs, and she gasped, clutching her ankle in pain. Panic settled in her chest. She lay still, listening.
Rustling behind her.
"Ali?"
Her blood ran cold. The voice—it was familiar. “Alisson…”
Thomas.
She whipped her head around, but saw only trees and shadows. “T-Thomas?” she called out, barely a whisper.
"Aliiiissson..." The voice was wrong. Wet and slithering, it slithered through the trees.
Her heart pounded. Don’t look. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but something stronger made her glance upward.
And that’s when she saw it.
Hundreds of eyes watched her, some she could recognize, thomas, Porter, Carter, and ferris; their eyes apart of it, of its body. She gazed in pure horror as she watched its form shifting, remolding and maddening to look at, they eyes, their teeth all around it parts of what can be said of its mimicry of what a human body looks like to it.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
"aAaLissSooN" it spoke with their voices now as they got closer to the girl below.
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Two inquisitors arrived at the site where nearby villagers had reported hearing screams. "By Solaris' name," one whispered, clutching his pendant in prayer. The other knelt, assessing the scene. "Female, in her twenties," he said, examining a torn lock of hair. "What do you think? Demon?" he asked as the one who had finished his prayer stood beside him.
"No," the older inquisitor replied, shaking his head. "Demons would have left pieces of their victims scattered everywhere. This one… there's not even a trace left."
They surveyed the area, but aside from the blood and tufts of hair scattered around, there was nothing more to find. "There has to be something that can tell us what happened," one of them muttered gravely as they followed the blood trail deeper into the forest, his companion trailing close behind.
"Look," he said, pointing at a cave entrance just beyond the end of the trail.
As they climbed the rocky path, their fears began to solidify. The signs grew clearer, more ominous. One of them gagged as they entered the cave, forcing both to cover their faces to avoid breathing in the putrid stench. The cave's walls, floor, and even the ceiling were coated in blood and strips of flesh. Their footsteps splashed in pools of crimson as they walked deeper inside.
They halted in front of a ritual site at its center, a broken circle. Scattered mana stones and the shattered remains of a makeshift artifact lay abandoned. The inquisitors exchanged grim looks. This confirmed their worst suspicions.
Without wasting any time, they left the cave, ready to report their findings to the church. As they made their way back to the main path, the older of the two sighed. "This is going to be a problem."
"Why's that?" his companion asked.
"Elves," he replied, shaking his head. "They won’t like the church meddling near their territory. It'll stir up old grudges."
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The Kingdom of Dawn, ruled by King Garreth Dawn, spans a vast territory with roughly ten thousand villages, each home to populations ranging from twenty to five hundred people. While not common, raids do happen from time to time. With millions of acres of land, forests, and lakes, it's inevitable that something dangerous emerges whether it's orcs, goblins, disgruntled elves, or the occasional demon freshly risen from the depths of hell. When these incidents occur, the response is often a resigned, "At least it was just a farming village and not one of our major towns."
So, when a local lord failed to pay taxes recently, it didn’t immediately raise alarms. But when the delays became frequent enough for the kingdom to take notice, they sent an envoy to investigate.
The village in question sat on the border, adjacent to a large forest belonging to an elven colony. The only access to it was a single road, leading in and out. Upon arrival, the envoy was shocked to find the village completely deserted.
The crops stood unharvested, untouched for what seemed like weeks. The few houses were empty, and a sickening stench of blood lingered in the air. The soldiers accompanying the tax collectors searched each house, reporting the same thing over and over: "Empty."
The captain of the group frowned, thinking aloud. "If the valuables are still here, it can't be a raid." Just as he began to form a conclusion, one of his men interrupted him, shouting in urgency.
"Boss!" the soldier called. When the captain arrived, he saw it.
Blood everywhere. The concentration of it worsened toward the center of the village. Though the blood had dried, the sight was still deeply unsettling. But what was most disturbing was the complete lack of bodies. Usually, even the most vicious attacks leave something behind, but here, there was nothing.
"Those inquisitors... the ones dispatched a few weeks ago, right? Yeah, we need to get them here," the captain muttered, his voice tense.
Then, something caught his eye. He rushed over to a patch of grass and picked it up. "This... this is the hero’s, isn’t it?" He held up a necklace, the one only ever given to the hero who had slain the demon lord all those years ago. With this information they searched through the houses more carefully, looking for anything until one of them had found it, a house farther than the rest of them.
The door or lack there off had come off its hinges, a scuffle had occured inside. Entering inside the captain confirmed his thoughts from earlier. "The hero lived here, which means." he sighs. before saying a prayer under his breathe. "Thank you for your service hero." He looked at pictures, previous achievements and some wine the hero had taken before whatever massacred took place. Ontop of the fire place was a sheathe but the swords missing, the captain smiled at this, even in his finals moments the hero fought til his last.
"tell the kingdom that the hero has passed." he spoke to his men before taking one last look before leaving.
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"Crap." A small sigh escaped as the young man no, the naked young man clutched his head with not one, not two, but four arms and three tendrils. His mind, fractured and disoriented, searched desperately for answers. All he could recall was consuming biomass for power, but the most recent consumption had affected him in ways he hadn't anticipated his mind felt more fractured than ever.
"No... that's not it," he muttered, staring at one of his many hands. "I feel... more human." The thought made him gag. Wait—gag? Frustration? Panic? Feel?
"No... no..." He dropped to all fours, scurrying like an animal toward the nearest body of water, nearly stumbling in his rush. When he finally arrived, he froze, staring at his reflection in horror.
"Hero..." The word slipped from his lips, barely audible.
"I consumed... the hero. I devoured his flesh. I've devoured humans, elves, monsters, animals anything I could find in these past few weeks," he spoke to the reflection, his voice trembling.
He leaned in closer, staring at the image in the water. The reflection wasn’t just his own twisted form it was the hero’s face looking back at him. Not the older man he’d killed, but the hero in his youth. His stomach churned. "What... what is this?" He felt wetness on his face. "What is this?" His mind raced, searching the memories he had absorbed to make sense of it all.
Tears.
"Why... do I feel so..." He let out a laugh, but it was hollow, devoid of any real emotion. "...worse." He grabbed a handful of grass and began thrashing at the water, breaking his reflection into a flurry of ripples. "I am Xorathul The hidden devourer yet here I am" then something calls out.
"hey are you alright sir?" a man who was transporting some goods to another city noticed the young naked fellow crashing out near the rivers edge, luckily he had hidden his tendrils and other arms away. He got up and faced the man, wiping away the tears and borrowed from the heroes memories on what to do and so he did the most rational thing to do.
"I'm fine old man" he smiled despited being in the nude.
His expression dropped as he watched the presumely crazy man smile in such a weird way. He shook his head and looked in the back of his caravan before just throwing some clothes at him, he then drove away.
"fuck." he spoke before putting on clothing that he was given. "Nonetheless, my goal is still the same." he grinned before setting off for his new found journey.
"I will become a God once more"