A constant hum filled the air as the mosquitos swarmed about. Large looming trees stretched towards the sky as they fought for sunlight. Faint trickles of moonlight ooze through the canopy. Each flickering ray casts deep shadows within the mire. The ground was unsteady, the water tainted, and the air thick with noxious fumes. None dared to venture deep into the swamp for there was nothing to gain. Only disease, death, and despair. Yet, it was the perfect spot for one of the realm's most powerful creatures.
Jax grunted as he slowly worked through the cloying mud. His boots sank into the mire with each step. Pistons groaned and joints cracked as he pulled out each leg with a plop. Sweat dripped down his brow as he marched forward. It had been six months since arriving on this planet and he just wanted it over. Taking a moment of rest, he leaned against a nearby tree and inspected his armor. It was the cheapest on the market. A refurbished power-suit from decades ago. The paint had chipped off and rust began to develop in the exposed metal. Some of the joints squeaked and groaned—something he’d need to fix later. It wasn’t his first option, but it was the only one he could afford. Glancing at the dented metal, he saw swarms of bloodsuckers crawling along the surface. Slimy creatures leave trails of ooze along the metal, searching for that bit of exposed skin. Others flew around him, each landing briefly before looking for a new opening. Even though it was the cheapest, he was glad to have some protection from this hellhole. A plump thing landed on his visor and he instinctively smashed it with his hand. A burst of sticky juices splattered the glass obscuring his vision. He did his best to wipe it off with his gloves, but it just left nasty trails behind.
“Dammit, you better be fucking worth it” He cursed to himself.
If he knew what his target was like, he’d never have chosen it. This was his first time going alone, and still had plenty to learn. So much relied on him succeeding. He’d spent years skipping meals and living in the worst parts of town. All that sacrifice to save up a pitiful amount of coin for this moment. Even still, he wrote I.O.U’s and made binding promises. All for one chance at breaking out of poverty. No wonder other slayers refused this bounty. One portal to this bug-infested realm and they’d be out instantly. But Jax didn’t have that kind of funding, he barely made it to this spot in the first place. With nothing left, returning home empty-handed wasn’t an option. Rent was due and those that defaulted were assigned the worst jobs in society. Taking a breath, he pushed back the negative thoughts and refocused. He was here, and nothing would change that. The only option was to move forward and succeed.
But that was easier said than done. Every moment was a battle that even the air was against him. An aura of wrongness filled the space, the swamp knew he didn’t belong to these lands. As he approached the target, it began to actively sabotage his efforts. His respirator worked overtime as it filtered the fetid fumes permeating the mire. The first time he smelled the pungent stank, he had to pause and fight back the vomit. While the toxic particles were removed, it did nothing to halt that rancid odor. Thankfully, he’d gone mostly nose blind to the fetid fumes. Only a lingering annoyance and a general sense of nausea.
If he made it back home, the first upgrade he’d buy would be a scent packet. They said it was a luxury in this line of work, but that was a lie. He’d rather skip ration packs than experience this. But that was only the first bit, soon the mire burped up a concoction of putrid bubbles. Visible lines of hot filth lingered in the air, his suit blaring with warnings over the toxicity. Yet, the real danger was when it ignited. A billowing flame would rise to the sky as the volatile gasses rapidly burned up. All around him, various pockets flared upwards briefly illuminating the muck before fizzling out. One erupted close to his body and sent him flying back into a nearby tree. Once again he was thankful for the armor. If he had any money left, he’d tip the seller later.
But the one thing he wanted the most was a simple, hot shower. This realm was set around the medieval era and the luxuries of life were nonexistent. No toilets, No running water, and just a general lack of cleanliness. Layers of sweat build up on the skin. His suit is like a walking sauna keeping the funk trapped within. His hair is matted and greasy, while his body is clammy. Worst of all, these last few days he couldn’t even bathe. He had a general sense of when the target would arrive, but couldn’t pin down the day. Instead, he had to camp out in putrid leyline and wait. Each day he ate some of the rationed protein bars and filtered water. He could only hope that the water tablets actually worked.
“Just one kill Jax, you got it” He kept repeating. It was his only mantra to push forward.
He wanted some recognition, even a simple thanks for his work. All their technology and progress were due to slayers. Their targets are processed and reformed into greater things. Bounties carried a heavy reward, but the barrier to entry was high. However; if they succeed, life turns great. Living celebrities that could change history. Honestly, he didn’t want to go that far. Instead, he just wanted a modest apartment, the safety of a decent part of town, and a few simple luxuries.
“Finally” he mumbled.
Jax looked up as the world began to shift. While the swamp sucked, this realm did have a beautiful night sky. The moon is bright and surrounded by a halo of glittering stars. Its delicate rays illuminate the mire in a soft, pale light. Yet, a blanket of wrongness crept in. The air thickened as the blue moon turned crimson. The world is cast into a dark red hue. Trees seemed to grow under the dark shadows while the mud took on the color of blood. Even the swamp became more active. Its gurgling globs of dripping putrescence intensify. Panicking, Jax retreated towards higher ground. He grabbed onto one of the low-hanging limbs and pulled up onto the roots. Pausing to analyze the new battlefield.
Within moments, the bubbles thickened. Towering globs of muck were stretching upwards before exploding. In the aftermath, human-like figures remained. Each one was covered in the thick mud. Dozens upon dozens crept upwards, the shapes waist-high and basking in the crimson rays. That strange light slowly purged the clawing filth. Thick chunks of sludge sloughing off and revealing the innards: Corpses. All around him were hundreds of bodies, each one perfectly preserved. Jax glanced around and noticed that the field of dead were staring in the same direction. Their milky eyes and pale faces glanced off in the distance, waiting for some unknown command.
That wasn’t good, nothing in the bounty signaled this kind of power. While he had planned for a few surprises, an army of dead was not on the list. That was an incredible amount of power and nothing indicated that his target would have it. Dammit! He needed to think. He couldn’t go back, but he didn’t want to die. Dying here would be far worse than back home. Cycling through his visor’s HUD. He began the process of reserving an emergency teleport. While he wouldn’t be charged until used, it still made him pause. One click and he’d be sent to the bottom. All his hard work was gone with little chance of returning. Placing it on standby, Jax decided to do a bit more scouting.
Climbing down the tree, he carefully moved towards the first body. He didn’t even breathe on approach. But nothing happened. Grabbing his knife, he walked in front of the creature. Yet it didn’t move, instead, it just stared through him. Even stabbing the thing didn’t cause a reaction. It was a puppet, not a flickering bit of life behind the eyes. It was all just a ruse.
“More showy than practical,” Jax muttered. They always had an ego, everyone.
They were not a threat…for now. He shook off the stress and continued forward. Only this time he carefully maneuvered through the swamp, staying close to whatever cover he could find. Still, all those sitting corpses kept him unnerved. He was just waiting for them to spring to life and swarm. It wasn’t unheard of for these types to use corpses as eyes. Did his target know he was here? The entire plan relied on stealth. Nearly all hits relied on stealth. One wrong move and it was all over. An emergency teleport back home and tons of fees and fines.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
He knew where to go. Over the past few months, he’d gotten dozens of tips and first-hand accounts. Some even tried to recruit him into their organization. Jax always politely declined, he couldn’t stomach what they did. Still, as he approached the creature’s power began to saturate the area. The swarms started to retreat and the ground solidified. Reaching the final ring of trees, he waited.
The area was completely clear, not a single sapling daring to take root despite the lush soil. Deep in the poisonous swamp lay this simple shrine. A worn altar on the verge of falling apart rested in the center. Thick mosses and vines stretched across the surface as black molds filled the various crevices. Bits of stone lay alongside the altar, small parts that had fallen off over the years.
Surrounding the stone structure were concentric rings of stumps, logs, and stone. Each one has a makeshift seat for the coming ritual. They were carefully laid out with various channels between sections. The arrangement formed a runic symbol in the soft earth. A device to channel the forces towards the central altar. When he first arrived at the site, he was surprised by how large it was. Most of the townsfolk seemed quite normal, yet this place could host nearly half of the village. Still, Jax didn't care. If any got in the way, they too would meet an early grave.
Lastly, and most important, were the various flat slabs laid out in rows. Dozens upon dozens of perfectly smooth stones resting in the mud. Not a single piece of filth clung to the surface and even the bugs avoided flying overtop. He'd seen similar devices in his studies, no doubt they'd be used in tonight's gathering.
Taking a moment, Jax reenacted the plan in his head. While this was an entry-level bounty, it could still be the death of him. So many hunters had perished due to cockiness, it only took one slip up and it was over. He stretched out the sore muscles and swapped in a fresh oxygen cartridge. Still, all those staring corpses made the skin crawl. Huffing down the clean air, his mind started to clear. Even if all went to hell, he could use the emergency teleport. It’d be a last resort but better poor than dead.
“Shit!” he muttered when the bodies shifted.
Every head turned towards the pathway leading to the altar. In the distance rows of torchlight appeared. Jax ducked down and did his best to blend in with the mud. Soon, the faint chants of the cult were heard.
Small groups of villagers pulled various wagons behind them. Yet they moved unhindered in the mud. A cacophony of hymns filled the air and their prayers were answered with easy passage. The heavy carts rolled across the mud like it was fresh stone. Clouds of insects and other scavengers buzzed about, yet an invisible field kept them at bay. It was an aura of protection that kept the faithful safe from these lands.
As they trudged forward, the bodies followed. Each head slowly moved and matched the pace of the caravan. A macabre welcome to the sacred spot. Jax tapped his visor to enhance his vision. Those within glanced around before making eye contact with the bodies. Cries of joy and sorrow erupted as they saw their loved ones once more. It was sacrilege, It was disgusting. But most of all…it was so pitiful. They did anything to survive, keep their followers in line, and chain them under the guise of devotion. It was exactly as they taught in school, gods were better dead. Just filthy parasites feeding on the lives of others.
The procession marched under the archway and began to set up the ritual. Some took out rags and buckets of water. Each one wiping down the stone slabs, the seats, and even the altar itself. Others carefully unloaded wrapped bodies from the back of the wagons. The groups gently place them onto the slabs before pulling off the dirtied cloth. The amassed corpses were in various states of decay. It was tradition to hold onto the bodies until this day. They did their best to preserve the dead, but only the richest could keep them on ice. Still, it didn’t stop some creative solutions. A few were pickled in brine, some preserved in globs of honey, and others…just did their best. But here, all were equal. Those perfectly preserved were placed next to bloated bodies. None questioned this sick tradition, it was just how the world worked.
Tears were shed and many were crying as they said their final goodbyes. None rushed those grieving, only offering comforting words and drinks to sip on. Some left trinkets, others food and wine, and even a few left precious jewels behind. None dared to take the belongings or they’d feel the wrath of the dead. Even those without friends/family were cared for. Each person stopped at everybody. Nearly an hour had passed before the first groups began to break free. A slow trickle of movement as they returned to the place of worship and took a seat. A few mingled and talked while watching the rest. Time wasn’t an issue, the blood moon would last nearly twelve hours. Instead, they waited until the last person finished. With the congregation gathered, the ritual of final farewells began.
They sat and waited, each muttering prayers of thanks for their fragile lives. Within moments, the ground shook as the mire birthed new life. Unlike the sitting corpses, this mound of muck continued to rise. Globs of mud and slime poured off the sides revealing the man beneath. He was…fresh. Not like the cascade of watchful corpses around. The priest was a ghastly man, hardly any muscle was left on his lithe frame. His face was gaunt, emaciated, and with sunken eyes. His fingers crooked and bent, more skin than meat. Trails of wispy smoke flowed from his robes as the lingering magics clung to the fabric.
Holding out a hand, a staff rose next to him. It was a gnarled, twisted thing. Deeply weathered and stained from grime. A few mushrooms sprouted from the sides as it ate away at the core. Jax could see the blessings it held. No doubt far more powerful than it appeared. The priest grabbed the staff and walked towards the altar.
While he appeared frail, he moved with grace. With each step more of the cloying mud dripped away, his skin regaining life and color. Even his muscles began to regrow as he approached the place of worship. Pausing at the altar, he gazed at the chanting congregation. Taking a deep breath, he savored the taste of prayers. It was…invigorating. With newfound strength, the now young priest quickly made rounds. He welcomed every member before heading towards the corpse-covered slabs. The man was quite meticulous in the inspections. Taking time to adjust each body, moving objects for better presentation, and offering small prayers to each. When all was well, he turned towards the worshipers and raised his staff high. Bounds of smoke erupted from the wood as the congregation cried out in awe.
Such showmanship disgusted the hunter. There was no need for these elaborate rituals, just burn the dead and move on. All these people are tricked into giving up their essence for a parasitic being. How much greater could this world be if they realized their folly? He would be the liberator and give those who remained a second chance at life. Unbind them from the shackles of the cult and set them on the road to greatness. But it was still not time. This was only the priest and they were very replaceable. Pushing back the rage, Jax continued to observe. When the time was ready, he would strike.
With wings of nauseous smoke, the priest enveloped the congregation in its magic. Power flowed through the channels and clung to the flesh. He carefully navigated through the rings and left a mark on each. Those closest to the recently dead receive it on their foreheads, while the rest on the palm. With each new mark, the power amplified. Space began to contort and an unseen energy rippled in the air. Those blessings siphoning the congregation’s devotion and intermixing with the god’s power.
Slowly, the pooling essence shifted. Deep channels of power flowed towards the altar. The dark mist thickened into a more gooey substance. It clung to what it touched, hanging on a few moments before falling back in. It crawled up the stone, using the lone vines as a foothold. A few minutes passed and the altar was covered in the roiling smoke. Wisps of the divine essence trickled across the surface, dancing in the crimson moonlight.
Finally, the last follower was consecrated and the air stilled. The buzz of the swamp and the hooting owls silenced in this place of power. With the preparation complete, the priest returned to the center. He made a slow circle and looked at each follower for a brief moment. Their eyes connect as he judges their devotion. Satisfied, he slowly raised his staff and spoke. It was a deep, gritty voice. One that had lived many lifetimes and was filled with knowledge. One of power and presence. A burning authority made manifest.
“ON THIS NIGHT OF BLOOD WE OFFER UP OUR DEAD IN CHOTHOS’ NAME. IT MATTERS NOT HOW RICH, POWERFUL, INTELLIGENT, OR HONORABLE…HE IS THE INEVITABLE END TO ALL. THOUGH MANY TRY TO REJECT HIS EMBRACE, IT IS A FUTILE ENDEAVOR. ALL ROADS LEAD TO HIS KINGDOM. WHILE EACH OF US IS A STORY, HE IS OUR EPILOGUE. BUT DO NOT FEAR DEATH, FOR HE IS A JUST GOD. ONE THAT CARES FOR US AND PUSHES US TO SUCCEED. HE WAITS PATIENTLY FOR US TO RETURN TO HIS TABLE SO WE MAY TELL OUR TALES OF THE LIVING.
Various wails and cheers erupted amongst the congregation. The spirit of death connects them as a singular unit. As their cries intensified, the mists undulated and started to condense.
“BUT HE DEMANDS OUR FAITHFUL DEVOTION, OUR UNDYING LOVE IN ALL ASPECTS OF LIFE. WHO AMONG YOU IS READY TO JOIN OUR GOD? WHO AMONG YOU IS WORTHY?” He paused and the group was silent.
“EXACTLY! WE ARE BARELY SPECKS IN HIS EYES, YET HE STILL CARES! FEAR NOT, FOR OUR GOD ISN'T ONE TO SIT IDLY BY. JOIN ME IN WELCOMING CHOTHOS TO OUR WORLD. ONLY IN THE CRIMSON LIGHT DOES THE BARRIER OF LIFE AND DEATH FADE. FOR ONE NIGHT WE MAY BASK IN HIS GLORIOUS PRESENCE”
He slammed the staff so hard, it stood upright in the mud. Reaching into his robes, a glistening dagger covered in runic script appeared. Channels of magic flowed around the sacrificial knife as it yearned for its offering. Raising it high into the sky, he slammed the tip through his open palm. The knife impaled the flesh and pinned it to the stone surface. Blood seeped from the wound, but the priest showed no pain. The mists reacted violently, lurching upwards and scouring the surface for the glistening fluid. It greedily slurped up the blood sacrifice causing an intense fervor to erupt within the congregation. The priest smiled as the entranced worshippers rushed to the altar with newfound frenzy.
Jax was sickened by the brutality of it all. He didn’t expect it to be this..violent. The fanatics fought for the dagger, tearing at each other in hopes of making their offering. It’s honed steel, easily splitting flesh and allowing the blood to flow. Deep, nasty cuts were carved out of the devoted, but like the priest–none showed pain. Many were in a rapturous state, eagerly slicing the skin without care. Many attempted to outdo the last, especially the ones with a forehead marking. None dared to harm others, this was an act of self-devotion. How far would they go to please their god?
Only on occasion did the priest step in. His twisted smile and honey-coated words nudged them to more extreme acts. Yet, he was careful to not let any perish. While full-body sacrifices were the greatest source of essence, the village was still somewhat small. A balance had to be struck. Those that went too far, he’d place a hand on and seal the wound. Snatching the dagger from them and handing it off to the next. But Jax realized that this wasn’t good, with them offering up so much essence they were far more connected than he previously thought. When he first interacted with the villa, they didn’t talk much about the god. Only have some esoteric views on body preservation. Now, they had transformed into a full-on blood cult. When the frenzy reached its crescendo, the priest screamed out.
“HE IS COMING!”
As fast as the blood was spilled, the mists absorbed it even quicker. Shadows coalesced within the billowing fog as something forced its way through. The ground shook, trees rattled, and even the corpses cried out in praise. A moment later, the smog exploded outwards. A visible shockwave rippled across the land, silencing the bloodfest. He had arrived, Cand hothos the God of Death walked the mortal planes once more.