Blood and prayers filled the now-empty stone temple that had become filled with charred human flesh and bone. A lone old man stood in front of an ancient humanoid in betrayal of the rules of his community as twin teardrops fell down his ash covered face. He would soon be filled with pain at the cost of his self-sacrifice and he did not know if his soul would be taken but at this point, the man no longer cared. In a way he was thankful that his village had been wiped out, nobody was left alive to observe his degeneration into heresy. His promised afterlife was no longer within his reach. Not when his soul was devoured.

But he would gladly welcome damnation in return for the granting of a single wish. He went onto his hands and knees among the dirt and the guano and lowered his head so it touched the floor.

‘Defiler of form. I offer myself to you as a sacrifice of my own will. I only ask that you take my strength and punish my enemies. My blood, flesh, mind, and soul are yours ancient one.’

The creature that had once thought of itself as a living god before it had been near-starved and reduced to a base state animalistic state for at least hundreds of years began to slowly reawaken.

I….hear….I…..smell….I…..listen.

Shards of expression shot through the mind of the man who had long fallen to the floor. Froth coming from his mouth as his eyes and skin melted and slipped into the mouth of the waiting statue. He was suffering either agony or ecstasy but it was too late to tell.

A form appeared in the before the time-worn face of the statue. Eyes and a mouth. One yellow and one green with a mouth that was simply an absence of space. The mouth as it was creased into a smile as the consciousness of the living god began to return.

I…awaken…..I…..I…..will grant your wish. Here-tic.

To kill those who tried to kill you. The creature understood this concept very well, its mind gradually becoming sharper and more aware with direct interaction with sentient flesh and bone as it flowed into the mouth of the worn statue. The features were hard to make out clearly as they began to flow from male to female and then in-between.

Revenge. Death and pain upon your enemies. Yessss….

If the man had still remained lucid the words that it made would have sickened him to his core. He was breaking every single belief that his tribe held all for the sake of revenge, it was the only sane choice that he could have made when his small world had become insane.

The being that was living god was more akin to an animal than a sentient humanoid. It had been starved for close to a millennia and hidden away inside this remote jungle temple. The only ones who had interacted had taken on the roles of both carers and wardens with each generation educated to fulfill the role when they died of old age in turn.

The old man saw a living god for the first and last time in his three or so decades of life. He had entered the shrine inside the cave with only his prayers and the remains of his tattered clothing on his body. Blood slowly dripped from his eyes as they were altered into new eyes better equipped for the dark night. They narrowed and shifted, as they reformed.

He knew his remaining life span was being rapidly consumed in order to fuel the change but it was not out of malice or hatred. A fish would swim, a bird would fly and the being trapped within the depths of stone and prayer existed to mutate and adapt all forms of flesh, blood and sinew.

One…final…blessing. I give you the opportunity to remember. Your thoughts will flow into me as your last enemies become mine.

Time. The god did give the man one kindness, out of a sense of humour or because it had forgotten the strength of a human form, but it allowed his mind to think back, to recollect his decision and actions that had led to this point.

A single statue untouched by time, dust or moisture stood within. Light in colour with the roughly hewn shape of a humanoid figure who stood with arms crossed on its chest. A faint glow appeared as any living creature approached and then retreated. No insects or other creatures had marred the grace of the carefully cut stone. Any form of guano or droppings was avoided despite the mess on the surfaces of the temple.

The man recalled how the evil ones who had come to his isolated village had thought him dead amongst his friends and family, but he alone had survived. His method caused him severe grief. To be a lone survivor was not to be a hero, nor was it a mark of success. He had failed his family, his tribe, and his entire village in the pursuit of greed. It had been he who had revealed the location of the temple to the outsiders in the firm belief in their promise to remove the statue and release everyone he knew from eternal service.

In short, he wanted to be a hero that would be recognised and lead the village into a new future, free of otherworldly concerns. He wanted to once more become the young man that had wanted to destroy the temple but had been too afraid at the time to approach by himself.

He had met the outsiders when he had been scouting a fair distance from the hidden village. Despite being deep within a jungle forest there were deserts beyond that were reachable within several days’ journey. Oasis there offered the opportunity to find palm dates and other types of meat that were unattainable in the immediate surrounding forest. His caution and stealth had enabled him to observe a medium group of outsiders who were well-equipped and armed at least from his perspective.

Over several days he had carefully hidden in the surrounding vegetation and listened to their chatter and bickering. Their words too rapid for him to fully understand but he was able to pick out several phrases repeated over and over.

He was able to learn that they were searching and become increasingly frustrated as a result with their lack of success.

The only time they were silent was when they were given direct instructions larger older heavily muscled man who had tasked them with searching the surrounding areas before returning in the evening and drawing in the dirt rough locations that he recognised.

Listening to their talking he realised that several of them were able to speak and be understood in the same language as him. They were not of his tribe but removed, as though they had learnt second-hand.

Even their writing was the same. It sounded strange to his ears but understandable. Realising his courage he called out and approached those few and the leader swiftly turned in his direction, one hand on a modified handgun resting in a leather holster and the other upon a sharp parang blade.

Weapons had initially been raised but the leader swiftly put a stop to any act of violence toward the man.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Instead, the strong leader held out his arms as though greeting long-lost friend and in the broken version of the same language called him into the camp to eat and drink with them.

He would be a guest and they would follow rules of sanctuary and protection for as long as he chose to give them the pleasure of his company. The older man hesitated before he stepped out into the open, revealing his appearance which drew more than a few murmurs before the leader swiftly silenced them with a harsh gaze.

‘Enemy. Not yours. I’m not fighting. Please respect me.’

The strong man patted the side of his waist where a sharp blade hung from his belt before he nodded and bowed respectfully towards the older man.

The act was appreciated but his accent was atrocious. To him it came across as either heavily practised or he had been given the ability to speak sentences and his tongue was forced to speak them. The old man despite his relative isolation was aware of sufficient levels of current technology in the greater world, the words spoken were not actively from a machine voice.

No. The muscled leader had either been taught or trained to talk, still, his manner of speech was strange. The words were understood but they sounded out with a wrongness to his ears. Artificial. Still, the old man had heard enough stories and ventured to the hidden temple to know that magic could be a real force.

The old man stood proudly. Lines and tanned skin belied his lean body despite his age and mainly grey hair.

‘You ask for peace? You who bear weapons and clearly show signs of experiencing combat?’

He directly fixed his eyes upon those of the muscled leader. The other one might be strong but the outsiders had always had a reliance on technology. Always did and always would.

The leader turned towards a thinner man who translated his words directly. This time the words came clearer, slightly archaic, but still understandable.

‘Peace upon a fellow traveller. Our weapons are for protection. Please let me show you our hospitality and…and…’

The one trying to translate as his leader continued to gesture with his hands and talk stumbled on the word for a moment before he tapped his cheek with a rough finger.

‘Generous. Yes, we are generous to our new friend. Peace upon you.’

He held out his arms in a sign of welcome before he noticed the hesitation from the older man and beckoned a younger soldier to come over to his direction. He then unbuckled his weapons hanging from his belt and handed them over to the younger man before he made a sweeping motion with his hand dismissing him.

‘Old man, Please, peace with us. Eat and drink and only talk. No…violent on you.’

The older man felt that the words of the leader sounded strange, as though his tongue had been forced to speak them or he was simply out of practice.

He stepped forward again, this time with a smile on his face. Outsiders or not, the smell of the meat cooking inside smelled delicious to him. He was unable to control his own appetite it seemed. His own hidden community was self-sufficient but lacked in modern conveniences.

Food and drink had been shared, along with laughter and fruit juices to sooth tired throats and the leader of the outsiders talking through the translators told him that they knew of the burden that the village had suffered.

His own attempts at further language came across as strangled in his throat. His emotions at finally being able to release the burden that generations of his ancestors had held on was almost brining tears to his eyes.

‘I, yes. I welcome your hospitality and offer of peace. We will have no violence.’

The old man put down his own weapon, it was hidden within his clothing, a sharp blade with a blunt end. He would have to remember to not let any of them touch it due to the poison that had been applied. Even a small misunderstanding would mean that he would need to kill as many of them as possible before retreating.

There were many hidden traps within their surroundings that were checked on a weekly basis and environmental hazards designed to kill the unwary. As long as the raiders remained in their camp they would be safe.

He made sure that his weapon was sheathed and placed it on the ground.

‘Peace upon fellow travellers. Tell me, are you perhaps lost?’

The old man failed to see the smile on the face of the muscled leader who allowed his head to bow forward in recognition and respect as he gestured towards those who were able to translate his language in greater clarity.

They came forward and sat a respectable distance from the old man, they were dressed even closer in style to himself. He recognised them as outcasts, or the children or those cast out from the greater tribe. They hadn’t died after all although their memories of the specific location and details of what was truly guarded in the temple would have been removed.

Their capacity for language and culture remained the same. Out of respect the old man sat and listened, he looked towards the muscular leader who made sure that they were given sufficient privacy as the raiders stepped back several metres out of heaving distance.

‘Talk.’

The raiders had told them that they were there to relieve them of their curse and offer support. The man understood after a point that they talked of a prison, a place to keep the evils of the world locked away from harming humans. They had promised the spirit in the statue would cause him and the villagers no harm once they had removed it and taken it far from this place.

‘You have told them our secrets? You choose to fail in your duty despite your outcast status?’

‘We did not speak. They knew. None here talked but they still knew wise warrior.’

‘I do not want your flattery but the truth. Blood yourselves, show me you still respect the sacrifices made for your lives. For mine.’

Previously any who had arrived in the village who had been an outsider had simply been directed towards the temple and the wealth of treasure that was considered to be there. To be able to speak the same language as them was a rarity but it was not unexpected. If they were instead interested in the cultural value, they were again directed. Otherwise, they were given a sleeping draught and then thrown inside the temple once deeply unconscious.

For those who were more aware there was always the standard course of food, drink or odourless smoke that was used on the most suspicious types.

After they had entered the region of the temple with a lack of any protection that only the villagers themselves were disinclined to share strange sounds would echo before swiftly falling silent. Then when it was the right time, they would clear out the bones and bury any objects or personal possessions that remained behind.

They had seen enough travellers over the long millennia that technology and advancements held little interest for them. It was only their role to guard and protect the spirit within the temple from accessing the outside world.

It was early in the morning, far earlier than any would-be awake that the armed band of outsiders snick into the temple site under the instructions of the villager who had led them in silently without disturbing or waking any animal or human. The only one fully aware of their presence was the old man, confident in his actions.

‘Come. This path is safe. Do not step out of the boundaries that I’ve marked. You will suffer.’