"We're gonna talk about what happened there?" Devula asked, still resting on the golem's head. The mellow, luke-warm winds passing through her ethereally-manifested form like dust through a hologram, both unfaced, yet both warping space.
Time had passed, neither knew how long, they wouldn't look at the movement of the moon to find out, look back, to see their steps in the cottonous grass, attempt to recall the second or minutes that were added to their timeless existence. They could, but one didn't ever wish to recall times gone, while the other wished to have it read to her. And as such, they, just like before, continued to walk with ever-growing silence, but even mute mice could tell a thousand stories with just their eyes.
Quodo lifted his masked face upwards, the moons' light glided across the smooth surface like a blade across a field of ice, glimmering and shimmering, but where the spots marked his eyes, no light reflected, and if stared, one might not only claim to see an avoidance of soul but perhaps even less than nothing. The made-man lowered his gaze but slightly to take in the sight of the wall reaching into the heavens, greater than any he had ever seen, broader than even a mountain pass breaking through the clouds, an undaunting dominant. The was no explanation for why chained Quodo felt drawn to it, or perhaps, what lay beyond, he couldn't fathom what his driving force was, the thing that pushed him to move. After all, he thought that exactly death should've been what persuaded people to remain, especially after so many years of decay, so why now, after so many years of yearning rest, when now possessing the power to just slumber, at last, was he lured, or maybe dragged forwards?
Maybe it was just the lingering fear to be woken but once more by creatures neither gods nor devils.
"No." Quodo answered with a dead voice, before stroking the edge of his mask with his gloves hand and sensing a sort of sensitive sensation akin to fresh stitches after a prolonged period of time. He double took as he concentrated on his hand's movement, waving it in front of his face, and he could swear he saw a blurry, transparent shade of his hand move just shortly delayed after the true one's movement. It was concerning, but his slumbering, tired, yet to awakened mind was benumbed to this phenomenon. "I am not in the mood for conversation right now, Devula."
"Oh, well, I'm patient." Devula mumbled, rolling onto her back and upper form danging in front of Quodo's mask-like the line of an anglerfish. It was quite impressive actually how far she could bend, at least it was to Quodo whose eyes were separated by but millimeters from hers. "We got all time in the world, and if you don't croak, we'll be here for years to come." The ferret's claws tapped onto his eye-spots, not impairing Quodo's vision, however once more briefly activating a sort of yellow chitin to manifest over his form in addition to most certainly rubbing him in uncomfortable ways, even without the severe arrogance of his companion.
Quodo grasped the limp and lazy being, before putting her on his shoulder instead. "I don't appreciate how you emphasize 'we' and 'years to come', wyrm, I don't." Quodo said with annoyance and rolled his shoulders to purposefully or not purposely, disturb Devula. However, as Quodo moved, he stopped and clenched his fists, a momentary act of defiance, if you will, to his inner drive. "Do you know why I am here specifically? what I am to do and can do?" Quodo spoke aridly, and his head turned to her like a grindstone, and for a moment, and only briefly, was a spark seen indicating that there was, indeed, life in this hollow hull, a glimmer of the man that once was known as scrappy and later on sarge. A man done with tricks and trickery.
How funny, how a man who got zero things to defend, could be so motivated to keep the nothing he has left, to not be left with less.
Devula's fluttery ears peaked up and shortly after followed the rest of the watcher, extended and stoic. And she smiled, but if it was bearing sadistic, empathetic, or neutral kind, that was veiled to the man of a hundred murders. "I've been here centuries ago, much longer before you were born and it really just depends what you are looking for." Devula smiled broadly, so much so her cheeks appeared chubby and mellow like that of a grandmother witnessing just about anything their grandchild did, so notorious or ulterior motive, but not enough to part gaze for the younger, old creature. "Hmpf, not nearly as patient now, huh? Fine, here’s your cut and dry answer: Your kind residing on this world go on great journeys, travel far and wide, they hunt and explore, it's just in their blood, call it a natural proficiency, and coin is but a morsel on the plates they're after, such power beyond your wildest dreams~."
Quodo remained unmoved, untouched, the thought of travel and additional murdering appealed to him, not in the slightest, and if he could he'd bite his tongue just to further push his opinions down, but something slipped past nonetheless. "No power comes without a price, and the offers I've been offered weren't worth it."
"Well, doesn't the chance of regretting your decisions already justify taking it?"
For a moment, there was as if Quodo retreated to the very, innermost parts of his mind and it was as if a shade blemished his mask just a second long. "No, it's time to end these blood sacrifices. My life could be traded for a child's smile and it'd be an offer I wouldn't refuse."
Quodo swayed his eyes from Devula, looking far ahead, and slowly moved his hand to his hip, grasping the soft, firm hilt of the rapier tightly and trotting forward with lowered head.
The buzz that envigorated Devula died out when her chained companion pulled out his weapon and sank to his knees, carefully advancing to the now apparent source of chittering.
"By the way that masks can do a bunch of cool stuff, like it translates languages and-."
"Will you shut it, you're giving me away." Quodo whispered aggressively.
"Oh chillax, they can't see or hear me."
Quodo grunted, drawing near to the wall the sounds intensified, their voices sounded distorted for a moment, and a second only. His hearing warped, the sounds becoming distorted, changing in volume and pitch, before finally, just like the devious devula promised, he heard them in English.
"You heard about the rumours? The Naga's are about to become their own folk again, can you believe it?" Someone spoke.
"Really? Damn shame, how're going to get the medicine then?" A second spoke.
"How am I supposed to know, probably trade." A third spoke.
"Trade my arse, I can already see us inspecting spending our shifts looking through overpriced deliveries from Cal'valcas or Sargendale, or even Dormigrad, how are the people from Ob supposed to hold against that economic shift?" The first replied.
"Don't know, don't care, crown pays for my healthcare." A fourth butted into the conversation.
Quodo huffed, tightly grasping his weapon's hilt, and continued to hold it even when sheathed, before walking past the last treeline between those taking and the displaced man. Soldiers, five of them in number, patrolled just outside the walls, not far off from a great gate, so large a giant could fit through. Quodo's mind raced while his body calmly walked forward towards the city, thoughts, and plans formed on how to kill every last one of them. It was not an active decision, he couldn't suppress it, but his first blessing remained deeply ingrained in his mind, and thus the integrated ability to kill on demand.
It took a few moments for the guards to notice Quodo walking towards them, the shadows hiding his form well, or perhaps, they couldn't see quite well in the dark?
"Oi, boss, we got company!" beloved one of the guards.
Quodo did not halt, nor changed his pace while analyzing their armor: It was a very strange design, very bulbous with leather coating the green metal which could be seen in few spots. The helmet looked like an old furnace and their weapons reminded him of very long, thin machetes.
A second passed, and his gaze wandered to the new arrival, a man who was large in every sense of the name, the only difference was that a feather graced his left shoulder.
The voluptuous man pulled his helmet off, entirely unfazed by the appearance of a golem that towered over every last one of them. "Well if the groger isn't eating its own tail! A Chamu, goodness haven't seen one of your kind in ages!" He proclaimed the moment his chubby, pumpkin-like face bearing countless wrinkles, seemingly caused by laughing too much, was revealed. "What's a lady like yourself doing here, you Chamu usually go away from Octupales, not towards it?"
Quodo couldn't quite tell if the overly healthy man was threatening him, warning him, or simply greeting a welcomed stranger, but what lay most importantly on his table right now was: 'Lady?' Of course, Quodo has been called many things in his life, most negative to be honest. Murderer, widower, monster, but a lady, that was something new, so much so that it stunned him for a second.
'Well, to be fair, your body is quite tall, slender, has petite hands, and don't forget the armor that creates quite the bust.' Quodo heard the voice of Devula in his mind, and for the first time, he found having a second voice in his skull advantageous, not that he ever had an active voice telling him what to do, but greatly preferable to unquenchable bloodlust.
"Just on a vacation." Quodo answered dryly, slowly as he moved towards his leader of the group. "I'm Quodo." It stung to use this forced alias, but he bit through it and extended his gloved hand.
The chubby man smirked, his brush mustache shaking slightly as he embraced the offered handshake. "Guando, third rank watcher and currently on patrol." Guando canceled the interaction after a few moments and turned to his guards, men and women alike, before walking away as Quodo has never even been there.
Quodo shrugged, but remained for just a second longer, before turning his attention towards the city entrance, slowly and gradually walking towards it. He 'eyed' the detail he could make out, the number of guards, the heavy portcullis suspending well above 20 meters in the air and ready to crash down with enough force to crush even a heavily armored vehicle. What reason would justify this commission, what could they fear to break in through 'that?'
"Oh, I almost forgot."
Quodo's hands inched towards the grip of his rapier, gliding under the silk of the mantel, while remaining still, not moving an inch. He awaited everything, even when it could possibly just be the reflexes - It took every last drop of strength, all the power he possessed to restrain his urges when he felt the hand of Guando on his shoulder, every alarm telling Quodo to grab the fat man's appendage, throw him to the ground, and break his neck.
It was a good reason he was 'honorably' discharged before he murdered allies.
"Meet me early at the Reburt Circle tomorrow, you look a bit green behind the, uhh, mask, and could probably use a bit of advice." Guando slipped a piece of paper in his pocket, a surprisingly sophisticated, one at that, not one he expected in an era of time where the police force still primarily used melee weapons. "Oh, don't give me a silent treatment, a bit less sleep won't kill you, ja, besides, you're not going to get advice this easy down your path."
Quodo remained still, frozen, petrified, but his fingers were shivering, itching to grasp something tightly. He took a deep breath, swallowing, or the nearest equivalent, and walked through the gate and into the so-called 'Trade City Of Octupales' thus said the great banner at least.
And what a city to behold, one that could not be held in memory or be told in just words. But if Quodo could describe it, it'd be sophisticated, refined, or even marvelous. Perhaps, magical could fit as well.
The giant wall that stretched to aspire to be part of the heavens didn't exist to his eyes once inside, but the spires and towers of the city did, indeed, stand proud and tall like ancient archtrees. The architecture envisioned this very principle to reach above, no house, nor hut or adobe would reach below, there was no cellar, for, in fact, the houses' floors didn't even rest on the streets, they stood elevated by exactly a singular meter. The streets were pure, crackles grey stone, and every last detail carved into the monuments, walls, and houses were like artifacts, works of art. The paths were segregated, and the sidewalks were raised and lightened by most obscure lampost, each their own master-crafted piece of engineering. Wells bearing statues gemstone, molded and mended in impossible shapes, statues so close to the physique of the creatures they embodied that no man or woman could be faulted for believing they were real.
From where he stood, Quodo could not even take in a fraction of the grand majesty of the city, but what he did see was a palace, two pieces of one to be exact, one half at the foot of the mount which the walls of the city partially encircled, and the other atop like a crown, only connected by a singular tower. But the palace itself was a testimony of an engineering marvel, overhanging the mountain, defying gravity, reaching above while remaining unmoving despite its titanic size, so large in fact, that even from the other side of the city, few details would be missed.
"Like Manhatten, but cleaner." Quodo mumbled with a shrug.
"Oh come one you old fart, this place is more advance than the whole roman empire at it's peak! The peak!" The infuriated ferrets shouted, swinging her undersized limbs around angrily in protest of Quodo's clear disinterest.
"And for all I care, it could burn to the ground." The bitter old man spoke quietly while walking past pedestrians, creatures of various forms, races, he'd never imagine seeing in his 'lifetime.'
There were quadrupled mammals trotting upon blade-like appendages, small, flying creatures consisting of almost nothing but wings and minuscule torsos. Below he eyed a small group of creatures who appeared to be no taller than red pandas but walking upon two legs and covered in so thick and fluffy fur he couldn't even see their faces. Looking away from the sidewalk he shuddered for a moment seeing a giant, snail-like blob of slime-covered, sentient meat inside a stall. People seemed to harvest the excretion for a certain purpose. Suddenly in his field of view came a scene of two merchants shouting vulgarities in a strangely german sounding accent after their carriages crashed into another. Their pack animals? A group of lizards the size of Great Danes, tapping and tipping and squirming on the floor expecting to run further and more while an ostrich-sized, four-legged, golden Chick eyed the scaled labor animals with hungry intent.
"Just like rome did." He finally finished his sentence while parting eyes with the titanic piece of poultry that, in fact, possessed serrated teeth.
"Urgh, you're unbearable!" Devula moaned, before looking pack forward with a stretched smile. "Anyways," She said emphasizing, "That Gouda fellow said he wanted to meet you at the Reburt Circle, it's not far away just a bit further ahead and a left turn five streets down and you're there."
"I am still within my capability to read signs, snake." The Quodo muttered dryly while looking up to see signs leading exactly to this place. It must be quite important for there to be so many signs.
Devula's eyelids sank slowly while displaying a lack of enthusiasm. "You know, you're not really the most charismatic or friendly person. Like, seriously dude, you're making a poor impression."
"Aha..." Quodo agreed with a small nod before the Reburt Circle came in sight, and indeed, it was a circle of diamond, pure gemstone shaped like a stomach-high wall surrounding a twenty-foot tall statue. Quodo, at first, paid it no mind. "I'm not going to entertain you, I'll just spent some more time, digest the last few hours and think about my life before going to sleep."
"Wha-? Come on! Oi, don't you just go and ignore me!" Devula explained angrily as the Chamu walked towards a bench, giving him the chance to see the monument entirely.
A man or woman, a humanoid wearing heavy, plated armor atop which a silky mantle hung stood weakly, holding a great, glowing pearl to their heart. In the background, five dragons and a combination of the elements air, water, earth, nature, fire pressed into singular, titanic, hulking form stood valiantly, unwavering and steadfast, ready to waver the next storm.
"You're not being serious right now, you've been giving youth, strength, power and magic, but you're just going to continue procrastinating?" Devula floated right in front of Quodo's face, tapping it vigorously. "Pal, you're being a pretty bad partner to her-"
"I never treated-" if a damp match had been gliding this entire time across a whetstone, it now ignited by striking one of the few remaining nerves Quodo had. He caught his word, biting down on it and restricting his outstretched limb meant to job the spirit in her chest, but never intended or destined to do more.
"-graceful and patient watcher-ness Devula..." The guide finished her sentence slowly after a long, stretched pause, and now seemingly having all her wind stolen looked at the now suddenly empty appearing eyes of Quodo.
"Bad. Devula." And there Quodo said her name, leaning back and crossing his arms. "Just let an old men rest a bit, I'm just-I'm just tired, so... so incredibly tired." His voice devolved into a whisper as his head fell to his side.
Devula floated there, just wondering, looking what this one was about, but at the same time contemplating if she really should dig for answers, literally or figuratively.
Without a heart, or lungs, the body just laid there motionless, but the mask made him appear conscious. A restless spirit still walking in the living world, a corpse not allowed to die.
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Sarge doesn't dream, he just couldn't and hasn't in well over thirty years and he never questioned it, believing that the nightmares, the midnight panic attacks, the sudden flashbacks of murder and brutality have burned out the ability to dream. Now, it was just snap, no comfort, no rest, no refreshing awakening, just suddenly gaining conscience, the opposite in fact, of shooting yourself.
Until this night.
"I hate you!" Screamed a voice, so close and akin to Quodo himself, that one might think he screamed into a mirror, and in a sense he did. Standing in an old office, reeking of alcohol, in utter disorder, an old man stared fearfully, shocked and paralyzed into the room.
A gunshot rang loudly through the house, like rusted church bells on Halloween night, beckoning the devil to an invite.
Bloodstained was the old man, but he was the second to fall those his knees, for the liquid staining his clothes and face was not his own, but just in the last second, before Quodo could see the one who died, the slumber ended.
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With springloaded shock, Quodo jumped up from the bench and hit something heavy out of his way while shambling forward like a pervitin drunk soldier. Sarge held himself upward, drained of his energy and strength atop the diamond wall, and clung to it for his worthless life.
"My damned generosity, Bube, you almost gave me a heart attack! Just imagine, the first Chamo to come here in decades found dead on a bench." Guando gasped with a miffed voice and grumbled into his mustache.
Quodo cursed under his breath, feeling still the phantom pain of his heart widening his ribcage and an unrelenting, disdain-filled beating battering his skull. "Didn’t try to run you over." Quodo croaked with a beaten voice before rising up shakingly, but still remaining mentally weakened.
"Pah, I've got enough polster to survive a teetsy bitsy fall. If I didn't, I wouldn't have lived so long." Guando's grimace quickly changed to one which only a pleased panda could match before a burst of hearty laughter erupted from the deftly below which were Guando's vocal cords.
"See, why can't you be as happy to be alive like fatso over there?" Devula asked with most snide joy while elbowing Quodo.
"Well, I'm here, not dead so far the eye can tell, and my ears haven't given up on me yet, so please, do go ahead." Quodo gestured with his hand at Guando, before quickly throwing a peek at the sky, seeing the pale sun above. It would a hell of a task to get his sleep rhythm in check, not, that he really was planning on seeing either celestial body again. Or should he say, one of them?
"Now yes, I'm not going to show you fighting, most certainly not how to shoulder check someone, but just give you an insight." Guando rubbed his left chest. "You Chamu are like a pack wolves, go from the south to the north and see the whole continent, few even get to Indomentia in this quest to get the Charma, those wishstone. Never really staying, outside of society, travelers." Guando walked forward with a small limp, before sitting down on the small wall. "Your kind and the vents are intertwined like naram and mana, always needing each other, for you the stones, the lifetime, the money from the metals below and the vents get cleaned, freed so that their magic can heal the land like it always did, but this above me, is the reason we wish to see in you, the pull that pushes you to those hell holes, instead of just power."
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Guando pointed towards the statue of the lone hero, Gratciou.
"About nineteenhundred years ago, in the time of the ancients, this world was on the brink of decay as the Cavfra infested it. Only through the last effort of the remaining five dragons, the Elementum Alfasum and Gratciou could they save it by wishing one hope into the world."
Quodo looked up at the statue and the liveliness that it exuded, clinging to a deeply ingrained, all-pushing wish. "Do you believe the story?"
"Well, the Cavfra is still there six feet below us and down where no man ever treated, and while Gratciou died to save us, the Elementum Alfasum shattered into the five Elemental tribes who are still with us, just like the dragons who as well taught humankind to survive in this harsh world. At least, there is no older record in the grand halls."
Quodo crossed his arms and shook his head slightly while Guando looked at the statue with a satisfied smile. Quodo didn't believe in religion or goods, he would only go to church for his wife, but never out of personal belief.
"I find it hard to see the correlation between this story and me?"
Guando huffed with an amused chuckle, so much so that his armor juggled. "Not just green, moss must be growing as well." The fat man turned to Quodo. "The Chamu do as Gratciou did. They go to vents, leading deep into the crust of thus world, slay the Cafradi formed from the blasted Black Pulver, so that magic from the core of this world may give life to us here. Or, more importantly, that those beasts don't crawl up here and repeat the story." Guando looked down for a moment, just a split second as a dark grimace painted his face, before returning to smiling at Quodo.
"And at the end of it all lies a fragment of the original wish stone which breathed life into this world. Come on boy, it isn't that hard." Guando
Like a piston, Quodo's arms extended, grasping the shoulders of Gaundo and pulled the chubby man to himself so that their breastplates touched one another's. "What wishes can these shards fulfil." Quodo's voice was deathly tense and sharp as a dagger. When Guando didn’t respond in the exact millisecond Quodo asked, he shook the fat man like an old woman inspecting the ripeness of a watermelon.
"S-S-Stop it you public danger." Quodo stopped after the cauldron knights sputtered his sentence, or rather, had his voice shaken out. "W-well, just about anything. Most just, nun-ja, wish for more strength or gain powers, hell, you could even revive someone as long as-off-hey, where are you running off to?!" Guando shouted loudly when Quodo let him fall to the ground like a sack of stone, but it was too late to stop the masked man. Quodo charged with about forty kilometers towards the city gate, towards the hole from which the teeth monster he killed stemmed forth. It was a hunch, that this was the vent Guando spoke about, but if need be, he’d dig up this whole kingdom until he’d found it.
No reason, no thought, no desire, or force could stop Quodo as he evaded the civilians, jumped over carts and ducked under signs without slowing down. It was as if fifty years devoid of every hope, every desire, all energy, and will to life suddenly returned into a single, adrenalin rushed charge. And with each step taken, the crusted hull that overgrew the man Quodo once was peeled away. The man of action, unafraid and unstoppable, one might claim him to be restless, returned to retrieve his life even if it was at the cost of countless'.
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A Krilk stood by the entrance of the vent, claws sharp, teeth even pointier and more plentiful than a shark’s maw. Its back rested against the stone wall, while its large, yellow glowing eyes blinked tediously. Each time its vision vanished, it did so for several seconds, but then, when it opened its eyes, for the briefest of moments, was its sight taken with eyes wide open.
A thunderous crack boomed through the forest as the wall behind the Krilk gave away, dented and crumbling as the beast’s skull was pushed into the stone by a piston-like force. It took a step forward, its skull was broken open, teeth chipped and shattered fell to the ground like a ripped marble pouch, and finally, the Krilk fell to the ground motionlessly. The corpse of the Cafradi started to shed, and flakes of black dust crumbled away from the husk as the remnants started to leave this word. A second crack ensued, and a heavy, armored boot crashed onto the corpse, now quickly dissipating cloud of black pulver, and a gloved hand pulled a long, crooked, toothed dagger from the remains. Quodo’s chest rose and sank, stomach becoming plumb and then a cavern, while his every sense was invigorated by the sensation of life, an poisonous, insidious, addictive thrill, one that dominated his mind for a second only. Then the burning sensation in his absent heart, and a gnawing pain, there where his teeth should’ve been, took over.
“Hey, uhm, you good there?” Devula formed next to Quodo’s skull
Not yet.” He spoke with a smoky, croaked, intoxicated whisper, that slowly evolved into a pained, sad chuckling. His hand clenched the weapon firmly, and looked onward into the maw of the beasts, for anything to kill. His artificial flesh contracting, while his posture sank lightly, he could feel his non-present heartache, like two souls in opposite nature chewing at one bone. “How did you call me once mister Tailor? The Scythe Man?” He caught one of the black flakes and guided it into his mask, through which it passed. He ate it, and the taste was reminiscent of blood, although more tainted than usual.
Quodo walked forward, into the darkness, into the dampness, into the danger, and it felt so natural, so primal, it was happiness that only a few things ever were able to outbid.
The walls of the cave passed the quick walking man who was followed by his furred companion. A crackling far into the cave violently sounded, guided by the sharp, skin furling wind. Somewhere droplets fell, and the echoing sounded from all directions, just like the countless steps of monsters. Quodo held his hand against the wall, the bits of metal screeching against the rock until a stalagmite came in his path, but he did stop, he grasped the sharp mineral and ripped it off, thus equipping him with another dagger.
He jumped around the corner, yet his metallic boots sounded no alarm, it was like he turned into a predator on the prowl, with an emotionless mask and a hollow chest, it was now forming a question in the mind of Devula: Who stood next to her, hunter or monster?
The path descended deep below, the slop so steep a human would’ve fallen, but into what was a question left to answer.
The air, if it even could be called that, became a horrendous gas, that bite at life itself, Naram, the breath that brought motion to the unanimated flesh. The sizzling wind had vanished, the dripping water was silenced, the vents resided in a realm no mortal creature could call bound to reality, and madmen were forbidden from entering. It was the hellscape within an ocean of fire that burned fiercer than acid and more insidious than venom, no mortal creature was ever allowed to venture there below, and the Chamu chained to cherish this endless cycle, mankind above mankind, dreaded it, but feared the consequence of letting this blessingless place stir.
And Quodo, the man who walked through a lesser nightmare? He felt his very mind slowly slip into a rush of bliss, but above pleasure laid a goal so deeply ingrained, that even his defiled, deformed, destructed corpse would continue to claw further with the flame of ambition feeding on all for the hunch of progress.
Quodo pulled out his knife, still following the luring shine of light that stretched and bent to impossible lengths, and the blade licked the wall on his right. The sound would alert more. He extended his left hand, the rock hitting against a dark patch of wall, the sound emitted was blunt, yes, wet too, he hit something watery, and the stone fell out of his hands. -But, it didn't matter, he grasped it quickly, again, even if some stones fell to the ground, clicking and clattering. However, now the rock was hard to hold, with it moist and his body shivering in sudden anticipation, so he dug his fingers into the stalagmite, it cracked and crumbled a bit, but eventually, his fingers dug through the ceramic-like material, but he overdid it, and it crumbled away, silently, nonetheless it didn't stop him, he just continued forward.
Even if the air was dead, the noises of flowing water forgotten two minutes ago, and his footsteps too scared to enter the devil’s colosseum, the crackling of fire never ceased and the sound of munching, or perhaps it was gagging, escorted him. Finally, he felt it in his bones, company had arrived. He saw three of the spawn sit next to a blazing brazier, so great it might’ve just been a firepit, enough to swallow a man whole.
He walked forward like a wraith in the night, slow, even, soundless and ready, and once he stood behind the one in the middle of the group, his hands slid down as he did it a thousand times, the caressed the beast's jaw for one moment of confusion, before, like a snake, snapping back with a crack. The other two Krilk jumped up from their position, but without even looking, Quodo lifted his right hand and rammed the dagger through the top of its skull. The remaining one, now active and lacking fear nor horror just like any Cafridi, jumped at Quodo. It hopped up to his chest, held up by the cloth of his mantle, and rammed its small ax at his chest, but it never penetrated, for a yellow shimmer glimmered across his body, but even without this pokus at play, there was no heart left to squash.
He felt so touched by the gesture, he gave it a hug, so tight its weapon fell to the floor, so comforting its limbs dropped, so enveloping it fell into a slumber and onto the floor.
'Great, another nutcase, just like the last loony on this dirtball. Seems like really were a one in a thousand Archie or at least one in three.' Devula, watching from above as more of the mindless horde rushed towards the madmen, or were hordes of madmen charging the madder man? She didn't know, and while there was a tingling worry for his health, she feared only slightly her own mentality in the presence of a deranged Chamu.
Quodo used this second of reprise to look around, he felt them coming for him, and it invoked a sense of joy, but also claustrophobia, and although it was overshadowed by the thrill of the hunt, it was still one of his greatest fears, equal to trenches, firecrackers, and belts. He snapped back into the waking world turned nightmare, and with a clenched fist punched a jumping Krilk's throat into the rock and shattered it.
He heard them, they were like rats, dirty rats tunneling under the trenches. He lifted his boot and took a step forward, pinning the ribcage of one to the floor, and kicked another one into the brasier, now the weight alone crushed the organs of the laying one. The flames ignited beautifully for just a moment, revealing a dozen more rodents.
Death hung thickly in the air, it could be described as chokingly musky, intoxicating even, but to Quodo it was a familiar smell, after all, it caressed and enveloped him during his rebirth and the following months. No shower, no fire could ever cleanse him of the memory. The wolves attacked at once, no hyenas would wait either, there wouldn’t any scraps remain after this.
He stabbed one of them into their throat, penetrating the leathery skin, another he caught with his hand and broke its neck, but the hordes, equipped with knives, claws, axes, daggers, and one even a spear, slashed, stabbed, and poked into the forcefield enveloping his artificial flesh. It buckled, shivered, and started to crack. Quodo tried to walk, but the weight of what? Thirty of the rats laid heavy on him, they clung onto him like honey, each step slow as he pried one after another of his walking corpse, breaking one neck after another, he saw but grey, and yellow, and brilliant light in the darkness.
Quodo sank under the weight, but not from the burden, and hurled himself into the brazier, and for one moment saw nothing more than a sun’s light and screams, nothing but screams, as the hordes, still clinging to his flesh out for blood, soon crumbled away. The darkness, the blackness, yes this sight was how he remembers dying. The seeping cold, the piercing heat, the blindness, the stolen and overstimulated senses till the void took hold.
The artificial man climbed out of the fire, corpses crumbling off his form like mold off a dried slab of bread. The fire of the kindle was suffocated, but he still saw through the cave devoid of light, unlike a cat, but more akin to a bat.
“You’re going to get yourself killed like that.” Devula floated down, her body upright and arms crossed. She watched as Quodo’s form slowly turned to her, the Cafra flaking off his armor, the energy of his shield reforming, but there was now something lacking in her partner. The mask, but eyes on a plane surface, simply stared nothing but eyes, nothing behind, nothing more to observe, no brows to indicate, no lips to deduce an opinion off.
The old man’s head turned from the stomach to the intestines of the vent, deeper into hell and heaven the like. Quodo ignored the huffing and puffing of the ferret chained to him, though only a hollow journey awaited, he had lured most of the rodent out, perhaps a few more runts awaited deeper in the nest, but that was up for guessing, his aspired treasure, however, was certainly awaiting.
Suddenly, he stopped, nearly tripping as his hand surged towards his chest, clinging to it dearly, but was it fear? Was it dread? He couldn’t understand, when his goal was this close, why the hesitation? ‘At least they should get their happy ending, that’s all that counts.’ Quodo said to himself, his hand gliding up to his mask, covering his eyes and then in one motion across the metal-wire-like hair. He shook his head wearily, pushing further, just telling himself that peace was just one more stained corner away.
He turned yet another corner, but before so much so as entering the next interval, his vision exploded, and he was knocked onto the ground. In his head rang an unending, shrill tone while the cavern interior phased in and out of a vast, burned field of long grass. Quodo crawled onto his feet and saw far off an ugly parody of a shaman. Bones for charms, feathers, and fur stained in grimy, black slime covering its almost malnourished form and to caress cannibalistic tendencies, the skull of a Krilk impaled on an ivory stick permanently pried open.
With the second wind in his soul, Quodo rushed forward with no regard for safety or efficiency, while his sight was forced upon the Krilk shaman waving his staff at him in a circular motion. A flame, a miniature sun formed like a growing droplet, but Quodo wasn't pushed away, he faced the fire, this time voluntarily, and took no precaution to cover his false face. His body was close to the ground while running, it wouldn't have taken much more for him to run like a dog on all four legs.
The fireball shoot forward, slower than a bullet, faster than a grenade. He felt the flames wash over him, the recoil trying to push him back, the lights consuming his skin, and the shrapnel yearning to shred the soft flesh of the face into bits of plenty. He pushed through the fire, the smoke, and found himself now completely on the battlefield.
He saw soldiers, American, just like him rush towards the top of a hill from which countless glimmering, zipping flashes rained down.
Soldiers fell around him, blood evaporated and shot out of their backs, before the life drained corpses of youthful, innocent men fell down, tumbling down the dirty pyramid as if they were worthless, they weren’t, but they were wasted. Quodo rushed forward, something shot passed him, barely gracing him, the scorching sensation branding his side but not halting the charge. Quodo jumped over the sandbags atop which a chain gun was mounted, and with his weight, he pinned down a man who looked more akin to himself: Similar skin tone, facial features, and even voice. He screamed in a tongue most certainly not English, but he understood it very well, it was his first language afterall: Vietnamese. He screamed at him to get off of him. Quodo didn’t back down, then and now, and rammed an exactly 7, centimeters long, worn down knife into the man's throat. The other Vietnamese soldiers shouted, one of them pulled out their rifle and pointed at Quodo, but a loud, thunderous boom that ripped the defender’s chest wide open, ending his life, ended the vision.
Quodo gasped loudly when he saw himself lying in the disintegrating corpse of the shaman, once again in the cavern. He breathed heavily, if he needed air, he needed now more, could he sweat, he’d do just that, but he couldn’t. Quodo punched the ground, grunting while doing so while pushing himself up on his shaking legs. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.” He whispered ever loudly before screaming into the cave. Although this memory was older than the one of his death, and it being his second murder, it stung all the deeper than all lives lost in his blood rush, more fierce than that night.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Devula once more floated down from above, however, it was unnecessary, she could just speak through his mind, the gesture was wasted.
“I said, not yet.” Quodo said sharply, but not with spite while pushing himself up, but he buckled and fell down again. “Dammit, come on you hulking mass of rotting flesh go on, just a bit further!” He forced his voice through his mask like he was attempting to blow a bubble with industrial glue.
He cursed, swearing at his failing body, the form that was superior to his old one at its peak, perfect in functionality, immortal and regenerating, it was not failing the spirit in the machine.
Finally, Quodo, with his second attempt was able to rise once more in hope of kindling three flames even if it meant extinguishing his own. Could he clench his teeth… then they might’ve shattered by now. He stumbled forward, seeing a doorless gate towards a long corridor from light seeped, the last source of illumination in this cavern, the penultimate flame left to extinguish before Quodo, kin slayer, soldier, murderer, failure could be set to rest.
Bones set back into place with each step, the damage barely noticeable, stamina never decreased during the stay underground, but sanity and nerves ground down into a thin sheet. While on the brink of losing his mind, the memories taunting his fickle soul, he felt the energy from the walls, from below seep into his being, from far below, deep beyond the human reach. If there was a primal sensation of being alive, he felt it when entering this hellhole, but now a new, unknown one came, but only now in the deepest layer of the vent. The feeling not of being alive, but of life itself was… there was no similar emotion to compare it to, other than fulfilling his very being, only further boosted by the faint hope of ending the trial at last.
In a long corridor, a throne room it was, littered with animalistic, mutilated corpses as trophies, with torching every two meters hanging side by side on the walls, with a crudely stitched together carpet of furs trailing towards a rock throne, sat a Krilk of gigantic stature. Three and a half meters tall, shoulders that were twice as wide as those of Quodo, with a club that along bore more mass than he did, that was the last guardian keeping him from his sweet goal. Like death, it was bittersweet.
Despite seeing a monument of muscle, a level of physics maybe giants like Andre the Giant might’ve been able to stem against, Quodo did not halt his advance and it seemed to have garnered at least the slightest haunch of interest from the stone’s guardian. The beast rose from its throne which creaked in relief, and the bones still residing in the carpets cracked like crisps.
It took the two monsters but a few seconds to finally reach a suitable distance, Quodo rushed forward as the aggressor, waving all senses of self-preservation one last goodbye. The giant wound his club back with one hand and swung it horizontally, Quodo stopped in his track at the last moment, but it was so close that the club cut his hair and scratched his chest armor. Sadly, however, the Krilk didn't give Quodo a second to breathe and punched forward with his great hand bearing fingers as thick as bottles. He rolled to evade the attack but was met with another peril as the club had reached its climax and was swung back at him. Quodo stopped his roll, momentarily laying on his back, before kicking with both of his feet into the giant’s kneecaps, both pushing him back and brutally inverting the Krilk’s leg.
The giant roared not with pain, but anger as now was forced to balance its weight and that of its club on its right leg. The monster looked up, lifting its club in preparation to charge forward, only to see that Quodo had jumped on the oversized stick before the artificial man leaped at its face. Quodo's stolen knife sank into the giant's eye socked, twisting the bone fiercely, before stabbing into its face, a slash to its throat, followed by ramming the weapon into the collarbone, but before yet another attack followed, Quodo’s back was grabbed by a giant hand, his ribs were forcefully compressed, and Quodo was hurled onto the floor.
Quodo coughed, and quickly hopped up, but not before being caught by the club and being launched into the rock wall. The cavern shook violently, the torched on the wall broke off their hinges and onto the floor, setting flame to the room, but Quodo heard but one crack, and that was when the yellow energy shield around him shattered like a window through which a car drove.
A thick, white breath escaped Quodo's mask, he was breathing with no lungs, and slowly pushed himself up and clenched his fists while his body shivered, but, even with the pain of cracked rips slowly pushing him down, it served but to spur on. Like a warning shot went off, Quodo ran forward, each step strong and heavy like a barbarian charge with no care nor fear for harm. The fist came for his head, but Quodo lowered his head, and like a piston he shoot his head, no, his whole body forward, but one thing additionally happened. A draw, a reduction in his very lifeforce, an sacrifice, for the very next moment his speed and strength increased threefold and he collided with such force, ribs shattered in the giant’s chest.
Out of the Krilk's mouth shot a dark substance mimicking blood and bile alike, and with the shock let go of its club to support itself by pushing its palm onto Quodo's back, and with the other punched onto his spine.
Quodo grunted, again feeling something break, and the pain was euphonizing. With a grunt, he punched, once more like a piston, with his right hand into the side of the Krilk, feeling the giant's pelvis crack under the force. A second later Quodo grasped his rapier with his left hand and rammed it into the abdomen of the monster, followed by his right hand joining his left and slicing the gut of the beast open and quickly jumping away. The Krilk fell to the floor, holding its open wound as black liquid, akin to liquid nitrogen, but lacking the cold, spilled onto the floor. It's suffering, even without pain, was short-lived as Quodo, now standing above the beast, rammed his rapier through the monster's neck.
Flakes started to shave off the hulking beast and the corpse plummeted to the floor, erasing its imprint on the world, but leaving it on Quodo.
The man in question, standing triumphantly, clutched his left arm, it was broken in four places, shattered, and hung on but the fewest of muscles, however, no blood seeped. The right arm appeared better but cracked to the bone. Quodo grunted between his heavy breaths but was forced to control his breathing to keep his cracked ribs under control, but the pain was unequal to the things he endured as a mortal man. Suddenly, mellow, warm lights erupted behind him, turning around, he saw the promised price, a floating orb bearing all colors, some he had never seen before, while at the same time being colorless. It floated there like an angel, even when he didn’t believe in religion, and seductively awaited like a devil.
Quodo stumped forwards with a limp, the pain soothed or at least blocked out by an overwhelming sense of euphoria, like a lens that was cleaned for the first time in a decade. A pack mule finally released of the burden it carried. Like a bird finally gaining wings. Quodo felt happiness for the first time, a sense of life for the sake of living, to see his wish fulfilled. If he could cry, he'd possibly just break down and savior this one moment of triumph in a life of failure, a victory that actually meant something. Finally, standing before it, he extended his right arm and gently grasped the orb, the sensation was so sweet. He slowly moved the wish stone to his chest and whispered with kindness, softness, and joy.
“I wish for the revival Jenny Horton, Jan Horton and Ruby Horton.”
The light that previously erupted now appeared but like a fickle shine, for the orb released a brilliant light that bathed the small world of Quodo in hope. He leaned his head back and sank to his knees as all the burden and debt that kept him in place crumbled away, he was free to float. He sighed with pleasure and stood up and looked down, and stared, and stared, and stared.
The orb was still there, shining just like before, not an ounce of its power was lost.
“Wha-what?" He asked faintly like smoke and with a whisper. Quodo heard faint scrapping, and he turned towards Devula fiddling with her claws with unease and a look that hurt him more than the many bullets that pierced his skin. "Why didn't it work." His sentence reminded him of his son asking him why he couldn't grow sunflowers from roasted seeds.
“The stones, they get stronger the harder the challenge is, and the vents get stronger further north.” She said somberly, scared to break something fragile. “This one is too weak for that and finding one which's influence is greater than time and space and not interfere with the Aether could take years."
Quodo continued to stare, clutching the orb tightly against his chest, not breaking eye contact while Devula attempted not to cross sight. He felt all the weight crash down on him again and lost his balance, falling onto his side like a rotten tree, and the orb rolled in front of his mask as he attempted to just, even if it was but a wasted hope, die. He had used all he had on this challenge, there was no strength, no will left to push on, and even if he was back where he started, he knew that this was a challenge he couldn't overcome.
Devula floated down and landed on the ground as the fire slowly dimmed around them. She was slow, calculated with each step, before jumping onto her hind legs and resting her forepaws on the stone. "Come on buddy, pal, amigo…" She leaned forward and tapped his mask but garnered no response. "This one won't bring back that trio, but it isn't useless. Most Chamu use their wish stone not for dreams, but to make themselves permanently stronger, you heard that, you can achieve your dream.”
Quodo stared numbly at the orb and the ferret and sighed deeply, and after a moment of reprise, his arms slowly crawled forward, until his index finger touched the glassy surface of the orb. “I wish to become more powerful.”
And the light consumed the cave one more, but this time the wish stone was consumed. The first stone was laid for a road yet to be paved.