Mortem’s hand tightened around Erick as he lifted him higher until they were face to face. Erick gasped weakly, his body trembling under the crushing weight of fear and exhaustion.

The hulking abomination tilted his grotesque head, his hollow, sunken eyes narrowing as though studying Erick’s frail form. “This one… weak body,” Mortem rasped, his voice like grinding metal, “but has spirit. Mortem feel it.”

The scarred man stepped closer, his dark eyes glinting with irritation. “He’s all that’s left because of you, you lumbering idiot,” he growled, gesturing to the blood-soaked ruins around them. His jagged black armor clinked faintly as he moved, his expression twisting into a sneer. “The master ordered us to find candidates—not slaughter an entire village.”

Mortem’s deformed lips curled upward into something resembling a smile, his hollow gaze fixed on his companion. “They weak,” he said simply. “Unworthy. Mortem tests… Mortem culls.”

“You mean Mortem slaughters for pleasure,” the scarred man snapped, his grip tightening on the hilt of the black blade by his hip. “The master won’t be pleased, especially if this one doesn’t survive your ‘testing.’”

Mortem ignored him, his gaze drifting back to Erick. “This one survives,” Mortem rasped with certainty, his massive clawed hand shifting its grip. Skeletal fingers pressed into the boy’s skin, not enough to draw blood—yet.

Erick squirmed weakly, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. The stench of death filled the air, choking him with every breath. It was the rancid blend of iron and decay, sharp and unbearable. Erick’s tear-filled eyes darted around the ruins again.

The bodies were everywhere. Men, women, even children lay broken and lifeless, their corpses scattered like discarded dolls. Some were burned beyond recognition, charred and blackened. Others had been torn apart, their limbs and faces frozen in the agony of their final moments. Blood soaked the ground, pooling beneath rubble and dripping from scorched wood beams.

Erick’s mind raced as his chest tightened with panic. Why am I here? The thought pounded in his skull, his terror spiraling out of control. He couldn’t remember. The last thing he remembered was… was… What was I doing? Wasn’t I in the office?

“What is this?” Erick choked out, his voice shaking. “I-I didn’t do anything. I don’t—” His voice broke as his breath hitched, his throat tightening. “I don’t even know why I’m here!”

Mortem tilted his head again, unmoved by Erick’s pleas. “Time to see,” he rasped, as though Erick’s confusion didn’t matter. Slowly, he raised his free hand, palm open. Nestled within his clawed fingers was a small, pulsating black sphere—a Chaos Core.

The orb rippled faintly, its surface shifting like liquid shadow. It radiated an oppressive energy, cold yet burning, like chaos given form.

Erick’s heart froze at the sight of it, dread flooding his mind with an instinctive terror. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t meant to exist.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“This is a core,” Mortem said, his tone almost reverent. “Although artificial… it will make you better.”

Erick shook his head weakly, his voice trembling as he gasped out, “No… don’t. Please…”

Mortem’s jagged lips twisted into a sneer. “You will take it,” he said simply.

Before Erick could scream or object—before he could even comprehend what was happening—Mortem rammed the black sphere into his mouth. He forced it past Erick’s lips, his massive hand shoving it down the boy’s throat with horrifying ease.

Erick gagged violently, choking as the orb slid deeper. Its surface burned as it moved, scraping like molten metal against the walls of his throat. When it finally settled deep inside his chest, an unbearable heat erupted, spreading through his body like wildfire.

His body convulsed violently, his veins bulging and darkening as chaotic aether began to spread through his bloodstream. Erick’s screams turned guttural—half-human, half-something else—as the Chaos Core took root within him.

The scarred man crossed his arms, his sharp gaze flicking between Mortem and Erick. “You’d better hope this one survives,” he said coldly. “If the boy dies and the core fails, the master will have your head.”

Mortem ignored him. His massive hand shifted again. Without hesitation, he drove his skeletal fingers directly into Erick’s midsection.

Erick’s scream tore through the ruins, raw and filled with pure agony. Mortem’s fingers tore through flesh and bone with horrifying ease, a wet crunch accompanying the movement as blood poured from Erick’s body in torrents.

Mortem tilted his head, his claws flexing inside Erick’s abdomen as though searching for something. “Yes…” he rasped, his voice tinged with grim ecstasy. “The core awakens. Let Mortem see how strong it makes you.”

Erick’s convulsions continued as the Chaos Core reacted violently to Mortem’s intrusion. Tendrils of black energy radiated outward from the wound, sliding through Erick’s veins like writhing worms. His flesh twitched and rippled unnaturally, as though something beneath the surface was struggling to break free.

The regeneration began slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. A faint ripple beneath Erick’s torn skin. Then, with a sickening lurch, the edges of the wound began to close—while Mortem’s hand was still inside him. Muscle twitched and writhed, glowing faintly with the dark energy of the core, reconnecting itself with eerie precision.

Blood that had spilled out moments ago began to reverse its course, creeping back into Erick’s body like scarlet threads pulled by an unseen hand.

Erick’s screams rose again as his shattered ribs began to realign themselves with a series of loud cracks. The sound of grinding bone filled the air as his body forced itself to heal, no matter how agonizing the process.

Mortem finally withdrew his claws with a wet squelch, watching intently as the wound sealed itself completely. Erick’s body convulsed once more before going limp, his bloodstained chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths.

The scarred man raised an eyebrow, his arms still crossed. “He survived,” he muttered begrudgingly.

Mortem tilted his head, his hollow eyes fixed on Erick’s unconscious form. “Strong,” he hissed. “The core is strong in this one.”

“Strong or not, we need to move,” the scarred man snapped, his tone cold. “You’ve wasted enough time here. The Empire will have noticed this mess you made, and the master will want him delivered.”

Mortem grunted in agreement before hoisting Erick’s limp body onto his massive shoulders. The boy’s head lolled to one side, his pale face streaked with blood and sweat.

As they turned to leave, the scarred man suddenly froze, his dark eyes narrowing as though sensing something. He stared into the distance, his expression shifting to one of shock—or fear.

“It’s him,” the scarred man whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “We were too slow, Mortem. The Empire’s hounds are already here.”