His words were carried along by the two translators who accompanied the raiders, none of them had been permitted to carry firearms nor any bladed weapons. To remove a statue would not take weapons, he had been surprised that the muscular leader had agreed but it had set his kind at ease.

The actions that the raiders promised would free them all from the burden of generations. He would keep an eye on them though, just in case. At one point along the path he allowed several of the raiders to fall into a non-lethal trap of his own personal design, it was a mixture of quicksand and sharpened branches. The fear that they felt before they knew that feet could touch the bottom of the pool despite the depth reaching up to their necks would keep them weary and teach them a reminder.

This was his territory, he knew the hidden paths and traps and caches of weapons. Even without a blade he still had several pouches of powders and dust which could blind a person permanently.

‘Ah, I missed that one. Please tell the foolish ones that they are quite safe as long as they cease all movement. Once their friends have pulled them out then we can all begin our journey. Remember, follow where I walk.’

He failed to notice the glances sent in his direction from the muscular leader.

He had used a far smaller amount of sleeping draught in the communal food to make sure that everyone slept an hour or two more than normal.

The old man became filled with regret at this memory but as his soul was slowly devoured and the living god inside the statue absorbed his essence his memories continued to flow. Revenge would be his, even at this cost. He could not turn back time but he could focus further on the target of his revenge, the raiders. His death was assured, theirs would surely follow.

By equipping themselves with the same methods that the villagers used to approach and clean the temple and statue surroundings they had been able to remove the large stone carving without mishap. It was due to the elders trying to intervene in what they considered their sacred duty being interfered with and the warnings that became legends of the dangers that would be at risk to the outside world and humanity at large.

The violent men and women had turned on the villagers when they had tried to block their exit once they had secured the statue. The atmosphere had heated up and arguments quickly became bloodshed when the leader of the raiders cut down the elder blocking his path, soaking the ground with her blood, and causing those nearby to scream in terror.

Covering himself with the blood of his family as they were killed within their homes, he cursed himself for his cowardice. His friends and his neighbours had been bludgeoned and hacked to death. They had been told to leave their homes or the buildings would be set on fire and the entrances would be barred and they would suffer a worse death by fire and smoke.

The well was the only part of the village that hadn’t been contaminated by blood, fire, and destruction. The middle-aged man was able to clean himself and quench his thirst with cold water that washed away the taste of ashes from his mouth.

Only he had been left with nothing, they had killed, burnt, and taken anything of value and ruined the rest. The man remembered the stories that his father and grandfather had told him. The main reason for the relative isolation of their village from the rest of the world is the harsh environments close to the deserts. They had thought themselves safe from the violence of the outside world, but war and conflict had made the world a smaller place.

The task that they had been set by their ancestors was simple. If any of the villagers heard any traces of a whispering voice in the air they were to gather together at the site of the old temple and pray to a particular statue. There was no trace of answer or response from the whispering sounds, but the villagers would place several different animals in cages made out of wooden materials, bound by vines in front of the ancient pristine statue and then remove their presence.

All villagers would show their respects and then immediately leave the isolated temple and remove themselves to a set distance. Then they would resume their lives of rearing small animals, repairing homes and organising food stocks.

Occasionally the elders of the tribe would pass down the stories at festivals to carry on the culture and understanding of the necessity of why the villagers needed to remain. Their role was to protect the outside world from the being that dwelt within the statue.

After a week or so, the bravest and strongest villagers, both male and female would enter the temple site to clear the area in front of the statue. There would be no sign of the original animals and only remnants of the broken wooden cages. Bones of varying shapes and sizes that showed traces of melting and melding into strange new forms were removed and then broken into dust to be applied to the crops of the village. No questions were asked.

Occasionally a young man or woman, barely out of their teens would question the life of living in an isolated village and seek the wider world. They were given a task by the elders of the tribe to attempt to break the statue and release the villagers from their age-old task.

The individual who entered the cave was never seen again but sounds that would not come from a human throat were heard shortly before the villagers understood that they had failed in their task. There was one particular safe way to enter the temple and only for short periods in an emergency.

All members of the village were told to beware of the temple but that the spirit that dwelled within the statue would be willing to answer prayers. It was not a forgiving being though and the method of repayment would not always be the one that you wanted.

He had not been told the name of the god but only that it remained alive as so many gods had been removed from the world. To see a god in the flesh was to lose your existence, the man had been warned when he was younger only to approach the shrine in times of dire emergency.

Also, it would be better for him to use a stranger. He chose himself as a cost instead. There were no other options in the burnt-out ruins of his now-destroyed village. Perhaps if he had been brave or capable enough, he might have been able to capture one of the raiders after they had been drunk and full of bloodlust during the post-destruction and the capture of their goal.

He dragged himself into the temple, each foot dragging behind a trail of blood that was not his own but that of his family. He had no animals in cages with him as the raiders had taken them for their food supplies. The smaller cages filled with colourful birds had been smashed and broken apart. The pure sound of deathly silence and crackling flames were the only sounds that hit his ears. The screams and cries of the rest of the village had long become quietened.

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When the god within the statue finally emerged from the darkness and answered his prayers the mind of the man shattered and collapsed, and his blood bubbling with rich, heat began to pool on the floor of the ancient temple.

The smell was warm and faintly of metal. It was unfortunate that the man never got to see exactly how his prayers were answered in full but his enemies, the raiders who had lied to steal from his home village, suffered and ended up becoming far less than human in divine punishment.

The raiders who were laughing in their camp on the edge of the desert did not realise the retribution that was coming their way. It was the leader who first began to feel the changes within. At first, he thought that the alcohol that they had stolen from the last village had gone bad, either that or the grains and meat that they had taken had mixed with the blood of the animals that they had slaughtered for their celebratory feast.

The mission had been successful and the pay-out from the client would be enough for all of them to finally choose a life of retirement and a way out of the mercenary world. All they were waiting for was the strange stone statue to be collected and removed. For something that was meant to be so old it would shine as though it had been newly built and polished.

The whole process of removing it from the temple had been a headache though. If all of the inhabitants had slept longer and not challenged them with weapons the situation would not have gotten out of control, and nobody need have died.

There was a tiny sound in the air that all were able to hear. A hushed whispering noise spoken from ancient, cracked lips made dry from the lack of moisture in the air. The lack of response from the raiders came from the sheer amounts of alcohol and adrenaline developed from the satisfaction of bloodlust and bounty that made them unaware. It was ignored.

The strongest member of the raider group first heard the soft undertones of the voice. He was a strong man covered in scars and muscle, although some parts of his body were shifting into fat as he reached his fourth decade of life. He still maintained enough control and direct authority over the group that his orders were followed.

The voice from the statue reached him initially. Either he was being targeted deliberately or he was unlucky enough to be chosen. A desperate prayer was answered. He grabbed his head, but he found that his hands had begun to shift, fingers melding and hardening as his torn clothing began to fall off his body.

Dropping to the ground he tried to let out a scream but the only sounds that came out were the mewing of a newly born animal. A mutated and distorted form that still held sentience and complete awareness but an absence of control to process the situation.

‘Meeeehhh.’

‘Meeeeeeeeeeehhhh.’

Yeeesss….the flesh and blood…become. Interlopers. Become and reduce. My gift. My divine punishment.

Next, his legs and lower body shortened into hooves, the flesh becoming twisted and bones melting together.

The rest of the band of around twenty froze in amazement as their leader transformed in the space of a dozen heartbeats into something less than human. Not a pure animal but an abomination of nature, a form produced through madness and magic. They froze in horror and their bodies refused to move as their minds broke apart in turn.

My…response to the request of the faithful.

Sometimes, death was not the worst that could happen. The life of a beast was a hard and often brutal one, but mercifully short. The pain and agonies of transformation became a lifetime of suffering for the raiders who were being changed on the lowest genetic level although they still retained their intellect and sentient awareness.

The other raiders began to transform in turn, each one taking a different shape as their clothes, in turn, tore open and bones stuck out from raw flesh. Eyeballs melted and slid down into newly formed orbital sockets as skulls shifted downwards on their forms.

….An old design but it works..yessss….

By the main campfire, a single being stood as the mutations continued throughout the raider’s camp. Twisted forms are framed in deep shadow by the flickering fire and other sources of light.

Sounds torn from throats no longer human-created an impression of a herd of animals struggling in their birth into new life forms. The process destroyed the minds and hearts of the humans before they swiftly died upon full transformation.

Blessed. My blessings on this group.

The living god smiled. The sacrifice wasn’t necessary, but when called upon for divine retribution it had fulfilled a final prayer from one of the last remaining faithful. It remembered Oannes, the testing had worked well with that one before it had escaped. If anything it had been too successful, intelligent enough to hide and pass on the teachings that it had learnt. Thankfully the lifespan of the fish creature was heavily reduced. The other god of cleansing water had not been pleased that one of its priests had been used but the results spoke for themselves.

This time it was unsuccessful with its experiments. It could have been the quality of the stock, these humans were malnourished and lacked sufficient growth potential. Creating a chimaera took more effort than it had originally thought, their souls would remain as useful fuel though, it would make good use of them.

The flames of the campfire flickered before slowly dying out as sand began to fly in the near darkness and reduced the flames into grey charred ash. Torn and ripped clothing was left abandoned in the wake of the fury of the annoyed god.

No footsteps were left behind in the shifting sand. Time passed onwards. The only remains of the raiders were their abandoned guns and ammunition left on the ground by the now rapidly decaying organic forms that had once been homo sapiens. This time there were no broken cages left behind. The broken weapons sank deeply into the ground.

The living god sent its awareness far into the distance, far beyond any mortal eyes could see and saw entire cities filled with vibrant life, music, and bright lights. There it would find more potential subjects. The sculptor of flesh and creator of new life had woken again from its millennia-long sleep.

The night itself shivered in fear. Silence ensued afterwards once the screams of the flesh changed had died and a single man standing by himself walked forward towards the statue with outstretched arms and a smile on his face, the purple scarf wrapped around his neck flapped in the desert winds.

You…..? Whhhhy can’t I see you?

The distant sound of a helicopter was heard off in the distance.

‘Welcome blessed one. You will not harm the crew or myself. Be at rest and sleep for now, for our work will soon begin.’

The young man simply smiled and placed a tanned, manicured hand on the surface of the statue. If the sounds of the transformed mercenaries had disturbed him, he showed little sign.

He simply reached into a denim jacket and pulled out a signal flare towards the approaching helicopter.

‘Sleep ancient one. We will talk when time permits.’