Chapter 5 - Creational Myth

An elder and a demon walked through the woods, covered in blood. Perhaps… Some could compare the scene to the aftermath of a ritual gone wrong. Perhaps an old cultist had pierced the veil of reality and brought forth horrors unknown to mankind.

Or, if you looked closely, you might see something unexpected. A tired old man – sorer and more determined than he had been when he woke up – holding onto a cane while constantly watching for an Imp’s balance, ready to assist.

Or a child, birthed within the flesh of what most humans would consider a monster, walking around while coated in dark, quickly congealing blood – eyes firm and resolute, a little more certain of what should be done as he propped himself against the trees with a single arm.

Perhaps, that was what some would see next. Their wounds. And for all that their first meeting had happened in less than a day, the duo sported many.

On the demon, an arm and wing were cut off by the edge of an axe none tried to carry back. His left eye, once black and curious as it stared into his father’s workshop, now lay blind and rheumy and milky white by the smoke of a fire that didn’t burn – but rotted. On one of his legs, the no longer visible proof of an old man’s silly mercy, healed by a simple spell’s magic.

The man had different scars and wounds. None so drastic as the child’s – a fact that pained him to admit – and many came from sources the demon would probably never encounter. On his left shoulder, a circular scar, caused by a bullet wound from when he was still young, and saw bravery in defying someone holding a deadly gun. On his right knee? A long line made with surgical precision – a gift he received after slamming a car against a wall.

These were the old ones, but there were others already in formation. Scraps on his hands from when he fell during the White Stalker’s attack. Different holes in one of his calves, made by a monster’s teeth. A set of four long gashes beginning from his left side to the middle of his back, clearly created by unnatural claws.

Dominic feared, alongside the awful dread for his people, that he would not return the same from the Tutorial. In less than a day he had gained more memorable scars than during his entire life.

Well, he had to survive until they turned into scars at least. Infection was a very dangerous prospect for a man his age – and the amount of open and bleeding wounds he was sporting made that threat very real.

But he had to see it through. He must. The System had, somehow, resurrected him from his falling death – and now the elder would fight for this last opportunity. Maybe, perhaps, he would even find a way to return home at the end.

So Dominic, before he allowed the paralyzing anxiety of his uselessness – and inability to help, well, any human – settle in, used all of his willpower to fight the feeling of coming doom.

And he began the process with a question.

“How long will it take for us to reach your village?”

Kurian was propped from his own spiraling thoughts, ducking underneath a stray branch. He exhaled loudly as his feelings were buried underneath the mechanical answer.

“Not long. Maybe an hour or two. Though night might have fallen by the time we get there.”

“Night? But…”

Dominic tried to look up, weary of the eldritch sky and its effects, but all he got for his efforts was a quick pinch from Kurian’s fingers that made him yelp.

“What are you doing? Don’t look at it! Are you mad?”

“Ow! But we have to know if the night’s coming soon!”

The Imp gave him such a confused look that Dominic backtracked a little. Maybe he was… wrong? But how would one know if the night was coming if not by looking at the moving star?

“Huh? And how would looking at the sun help?”

“Hm – Because it moves? It… sets, I mean.”

And to that Kurian laughed – actually guffawed at the perceived absurdity in Dominic’s words, though the elder could not understand what was so funny.

“What are you even talking about? The sun doesn’t move – It’s literally chained in place. Or have you forgotten how day and night work? Maybe you hit your head, Dominic.”

The words entered Dominic’s mind and froze him in place. Questions sprouted in his head like mushrooms, but there were no answers to them. None except those Kurian could give him – but he couldn’t ask.

This… this seemed like common knowledge. Would it be too odd if he ended up asking why the sun was chained? And how was it even done?

Still, Dominic felt like he had to do it. He had to understand things in function to properly make his moves. Also, the System was clearly wanting him to make his own discoveries – if the Path of The Tutorial having him discover things as one of its tasks was any indication. All Dominic had to do was be careful and clever about his approach.

“We have myths about a time before it got… chained in place. When the sun still moved.”

The simple sentence made Kurian freeze. And the Imp narrowed his eyes at the elderly man.

“We have some too. Before the Chain of Dread. But… I don’t remember them saying the sun moved.”

“Really? Our legends say it would rise in the east and set in the west – a perfect arch. Some even said there would be a time after it set when it vanished for hours and shiny lights dotted the dark sky.”

“Sounds like a lot of houndshit. Hm, no offense.”

Dominic smiled, more than happy that his little lie worked. He waved a hand to the boy in dismissal.

“None taken, Kurian. Perhaps you could tell me your people’s version of the stories then? I could perhaps tell you our own version of it if you’d like. How about it?”

The Imp nodded, sealing the deal, and the red exclamation mark in Dominic’s sight returned with a notification. Nevertheless, the boy grinned after a moment of thought, chest-puffing in… well, well, well, wasn’t that pride the elder detected?

“Then get ready, Dominic. Because I know them from start to finish. And these are the real tales..”

“Please, tell me everything. At least this way we will be a little distracted as we walk – just try to keep an eye out for any other creatures as well.”

“Ah, you can relax about that. The White Stalker’s blood is filled with its Nightmare. Almost nothing in the Fear-Full Woods would go in its direction.”

Raising an eyebrow at the unknown use of the word, Dominic nodded for Kurian to continue without further questions. Best not to push his luck, although he did file the information for later.

And then, the tale began.

***

Myths had a funny way of always beginning with details that don’t get explained. Take the Greek ones, for example. If reality was birthed from Primordial Chaos, then what was there before it?

Or perhaps, the Bible. God one day woke up and chose to create the world. Then did he live in darkness before it? Or was he walking around the cosmos with a flashlight made of stars like the first museum security guard to exist?

Details. Details mattered for the full comprehension of a story, and the thing was, most stories didn’t have enough of them. Sometimes, you just accept certain events as a matter of faith – and try not to look like a heretic for doubting what the prophets said.

No, not doubting. Not exactly. Most people wanted to believe as well, they just couldn’t do it before fully grasping certain aspects that the stories did not see fit to mention.

As such, when Kurian began to tell Dominic about the creation of the world itself, the old man knew he’d have to open his mind to accept certain things as they were. Because there were many, many questions to be asked.

It began with a collision. Two worlds saw fit to strike each other like the titans they were, their massive size slowly crumbling as one encountered the other for eons, ever so slowly becoming no more than a collective of rocks floating in the sky.

But that was their exterior. At their core, both titans still burned with the desire to win against each other, and to do that, they decided to change completely.

One of the cores, greedy and afraid, saw fit to absorb all the stones floating around itself – an armor suitable to gods, made of earth, stone, and metal.

The other, proud and cocky, believed he would win through flames alone – so it shed all of its exterior until all that was left was fire and plasma, flowing forever as it scoured its mortal enemy with blistering radiance.

And so, their war took a new form. One would hide inside its earthy carapace, fearing its own demise while protected with a world as its armor. The other would spend all moments lashing against the surface, melting it forever in the attempt to make a dent and strike a final blow.

Their stalemate lasted until the flaming core’s rage exploded, and all that was earth and stone turned into flowing magma for long enough to harden far away from its original position – and almost revealing the hidden core. Terrified, the coward hid within its shell and despaired against its inevitable defeat.

That was… until an idea was formed. A crystallized thought made by the wrath of the sun and the pressure of the approaching end. The only way for something as dishonorable as the Ground is to win against the blazing core.

A trap – strong enough to stop fire from its due victory.

But no metal would be enough to do it. No stone or crystal or basic concept would ever stop the glorious flames from melting its carapace. So the coward chose to sacrifice something great in exchange for the power to do it.

With a blade made of Cowardice, the core excised its own Fear from itself – and mixed it with Pain before beginning to forge.

Despair was its anvil and Hatred the hammer used to shape link after link, chain after chain, until all there was of the Core was but a shadow of what it once was.

And so, it waited – stuck in a cycle of constantly forgetting and remembering why it had made such an awful thing. The wounds made to itself were so grand that the core’s blood seeped through stone, metal, and earth until surging onto the surface. And from there came the first ones – those born with sulfur in their hearts, or long and scaled creatures made to forever swim in the Ground’s blood.

A long time passed as the blazing sun maintained its attempts to slay the enemy, but now, its mind grew muddled by pride. Its opponent had created something on its surface – small shapes that scuttled and walked and swam.

From the leaking wound where the Earth’s Fear once laid, beings sprouted – and these were the mightiest of all, for the terror that gave them birth was the strongest of emotions. The monsters writhed in black and white, more concept than matter, and worst of all: they didn’t burn.

Not without effort. The Sun’s cauterizing rays had to be focused in order to eliminate these Nightmares from the world’s surface – and that made the core rage.

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Its attacks came stronger and more devastating, and the coward feared its time had come. But not without giving its plan one last attempt.

The Sun’s might was enough to melt the ground until it reached the core, its fabled enemy cowering in fear like the coward it was. Victory was within the Sun’s grasp now and all it would take was more of its blessed heat to make its enemy submit for good.

And yet, the Ground was treacherous. Before it could be engulfed in the holy radiance of the Sun, the core spun around its axle.

And a day passed in a second. And, like a Leviathan, the Chain of Dread lunged from the hole the Sun created.

It flew. High, high, high into the sky – until it reached the flaming star and coiled around its blazing core without giving in to the heat.

Pride met Fear and turned into Spite.

The ugly infection of dread and terror brought by the chain came and grew around the Sun’s body – so the star chose to do the same as its enemy.

Before the Chain of Dread could envelop it completely, the Sun used its flaring might to carve a chunk of itself, throwing a flame piece into the enemy’s center. The sludge of Righteous Wrath and Hubris was large enough and hot enough to incinerate part of the Chain – rendering it incomplete to perform its task – and fell upon the ground in a hissing song.

From the rapidly cooling plasma, the Children of The Sun were born – Imps created from a star’s anger – and they soon began to spread around the Ground as the blazing agents of the Scarlet Star.

The Ground, too wounded from its constant mutilations when making the Chain of Dread, gave in to the last attacks of the Sun and died within its carapace – forever hidden in the underground’s darkness – and from its body, the other races rose like maggots.

The Sun, that prideful Star in the sky, cursed the Ground forever. It would never stand the humiliation of being seen in its chains, so all that dared to gaze upon it would be rendered insane.

Still, Fear is chronic, and from time to time the flames wane alongside the Sun’s surety of escape – and the Chain uses the opportunity to coil tighter against its body, hiding the flaming star from view and casting night onto the Ground, though its length is never enough to do so completely.

Yet, a non-extinguished flame is fated to spread, and the Sun will return with its blaze – and the Ground will know its Radiance, for as long as it shines upon the sky.

***

“That was… a lot. So the Sun is angry at us?”

“At everything. Every tree and creature and living thing. Even rocks are not safe from its wrath. But it cannot do anything about it, not with the Chain of Dread weighing it down.”

It was horrifying. The possibility of forever living under a Sun that you knew hated you was… not endearing. Plus – madness? A too-long gaze towards the sky and the giant red star could very well melt your sanity with its hatred.

Dominic stopped, and for a second he wondered if the Sun was a child throwing a tantrum – though that line of thought turned into a kind of sympathy after he considered what he would do if forever chained in place and constantly being gawked at like a circus’s animal.

It wasn’t nice. It was, in fact, a very sad position to be in.

But there was more to Kurian’s story. A way of telling it that Dominic had encountered before when reading tabloids and participating in religious ceremonies. A bias. A manner of telling a story and focusing on certain qualities while disregarding others.

It was… manipulated. Perhaps even wrong. No, not that – stories tended to be based on real events, and this Genesis that Dominic heard about wasn’t wrong. Just – tweaked.

“But not the Imps, right? You’re its Children or… something close to it.”

Kurian looked at him funnily, once again wondering how intelligent Dominic truly was. It felt like… It felt like the boy was talking to one of the kids from the village at times.

“We are Children of The Sun – but it doesn’t love us. We have… stories of [Priests] that thought our blood would make them immune to the Sun’s madness. They don’t have good endings.”

“Oh. Alright then. I just… Well, I was wrong. Anyway, you have priests in your village?”

Kurian sighed, exasperated, but unwilling to even question from what hole this riuman must have come from to not know such things.

“Yes. That’s how we know the stories. There’s one of the temples in Kiringar. Elder Trakia takes care of it.”

“An Elder, huh? Is she nice?”

The Imp looked at Dominic and only nodded, silently and solemnly.

“She took me in after father passed.”

There was no need for elaboration. Dominic knew enough to take a person capable of housing and caring for a sudden orphan as the hero they were – maybe he and Elder Trakia might even become acquaintances.

It would be good to meet someone his age. Or close to it. Do Imps even live as long as humans? It didn’t matter – the relevant part was that the Elder might be willing to gossip a little bit with Dominic.

And that would be one less task to worry about.

Huh. Maybe he really was getting the hang of this.

As the thoughts drifted away, Dominic took a tentative step between a few roots and turned to Kurian.

“You talked about something else as well. It was in the story even. Hm, Nightmares?”

“Ah. Yes, the Nightmares. Let me guess, you don’t know about them either?”

Dominic smiled, and it was large enough to hide his eyes. Kurian only narrowed his own and turned forwards once more – something familiar in the air had alerted him.

“Hmph. Then you should ask the Elders for an explanation – we are close now. If we hurry up we might get there before night falls.”

***

They managed to reach Kiringar with the sun still shining in the sky. There was little to be seen in the so-called Fear-Full Woods and the novelty of the alien landscape soon became ordinary. In fact, Dominic noticed after silence fell between his and Kurian’s conversation, there was so little variety to the plants around him that the elder was reluctant to call it a real ecosystem.

And once again, no insects. No bottom-feeders. Nothing would mark this place as thriving. It was more occupied than the place Dominic woke up at – the White Stalker serving as proof of that – but it was also wrong.

He found a comparison to make after a while. The sight, as he stared at the gigantic trees of black bark and gray leaves, sometimes parasitized by the bone-white flowers that grew around the land and the thorny bushes they sprouted from, was oddly similar to some man-made tree plantations Dominic had seen during his travels.

It was… Eucalyptus – if he wasn’t remembering incorrectly. Apparently, the trees were poisonous to other types of plants – and with them being purposefully arranged close to each other by paper-producing companies – no other type of vegetation grew around or between them.

It made for a curious sight. After all, he saw no fruits on the dark branches above his head and there was no minor life working hard at being the base of the food chain.

So despite some sounds from far away, the place was empty. It was a distinct lack of life or sound, and even if Dominic had indeed noticed the silence at the place he woke up, there was still nothing around.

So no scuttling shapes were walking around the corner of his sight. Only the memory of the predators living around them, too afraid to get closer due to the blood they wore.

Still, the silence was a stimulus to only one of his senses. The other, the one that heralded their arrival in Kiringar, was the smell.

It began faintly, Kurian noticing it far before Dominic had, but it grew more and more overpowering as they proceeded through the woods. A salty taste in the air, followed by what Dominic could only describe as incense smoke – though it was far sweeter than the ones he remembered.

And an underlying smell. Something so faint that the elder only was able to distinguish when he could already see the dark wooden walls and gates around the Imp’s village.

A note of burnt meat and ash.

Dominic felt shivers traveling through his spine – mostly because he had smelled it before, in barbecues made in Robert’s and Melissa’s yard, when the gentle giant that was his friend forgot some meat on the grill.

As the duo approached the front wall – a four-meter tall structure made with the thick dark logs of the trees around them and wide enough to let two men walk side by side, arched inwards in a way that turned the front into a perfect target for the archers on the wall – Dominic couldn’t help but notice the gates in front of him.

They were simple in their beauty, made of polished wood and oddly clean. Some kind of writing was etched into the wood like the flow of a river, completely abstaining from the mundane idea of following lines. And as they got closer, the elderly man – son of Earth and participant in the Tutorial – found himself doing the previously impossible with his perception, and read the runes.

As in the sky, so on the Ground. Let those of worthy blood never face the gaze of–

–Thwoom!

The arrow struck the ground measly centimeters in front of Dominic’s foot, making him scamper back with almost scrambled feet. With Kurian by his side, the elderly man looked up at the wall and saw his assailant.

Well, part of them. A bald head with longer horns than Kurian’s stared at them, arms ready while holding a wooden bow with an arrow all ready for the shooting. Their voice came loudly and feminine.

“Not a step closer!”

Too tired to properly think the request over, Kurian put a hand to his forehead and looked up at the wall. His question was as loud as a rock being thrown amid the unnerving silence of the Woods.

“Is that you, Akky?”

The female Imp heard his voice and froze in place, lowering her bow to approach the ledger and better see them. Her black eyes widened in recognition.

“... Kurian? Kurian! Star above! Someone call for Elder Trakia! Mirka, open the gates!”

A flurry of activity followed Akky’s recognition, the gates opening with a loud creaking noise as the Imp jumped from the wall and onto the ground – landing softly on her feet like a plume of air.

The Imp came dressed in black leather and white carapace – not so different from the bony exterior of the White Stalker – and yet, some features were easily distinguishable. Such as her bluish skin or the fact Akky was far taller than Kurian.

She was, in fact, tall enough to match a human adult woman – which made her an oddity when compared with the other Imps he had seen back on the road.

Akky reached them with her bow already crossed over her chest and the arrow she had previously notched back into her quiver. Her longer wings flapped softly as she stopped in front of Kurian – and the relieved smile she had on her face turned into visible concern.

“Scorching Sun, Kurian… Wha–what happened to you? Where are the others?”

The question came like a blow, and the boy lowered his head to stare at the floor. His forked tongue felt as heavy as lead inside his mouth, and Kurian ended up chewing on his words for an uncomfortable instant before simply shrugging.

And it was a deep one. Coupled with the sigh that escaped his mouth, Dominic knew he’d have to intervene first.

Let the boy carry the burden of breaking the news at a later hour.

“There’s no easy way of saying this, Miss Akky – but all the other ones were unfortunately lost during the battle.”

Dominic tried to maintain his voice stable, his posture open but with final words, like an investor telling an entrepreneur they would be pulling their money from the business.

The taller Imp’s eyes widened once more, and this time they were filled with gathering tears – gleaming and hurt.

“Oh. All – All of them? Even Narkis? Even Narkis?”

Dominic didn’t recognize the name, but he jumped when the larger Imp grabbed onto Kurian’s smaller and wounded shape, moving with an ungodly speed. The boy felt Akky’s claws dig into his right arm and into the sore, sore stump on his left – and yet, he gave no reaction but to whimper.

The elderly human was already moving to interfere between them, noticing how the boy had already begun to cry once more as Akky shook him like a ragdoll, despair on her face.

Interference, however, did not come from Dominic.

“[Law of the Temple: No Fighting]!”

A perfect skill for a too exhausted [Priestess] rung through the air. A strained voice, hoarse with age, carried the words and made Akky fly back for a couple of meters.

Dominic stood at attention, half shielding Kurian with his old body and watching the larger Imp cough out grass blades and dirt from her mouth. His head darted from Akky to the gates – and he had his first look at Elder Trakia.

The female Imp was but a dozen centimeters taller than Kurian, mostly due to her asymmetrical leg – one made of flesh and perfect for her wrinkly body, and the other hairy and hoofed.

A goat’s leg.

The oddest thing, though, was that Elder Trakia did not limp. Nothing in her gait even indicated the difference in the limbs, and her straight posture and sour expression all made the perfect picture of a strict grandmother.

The Elder looked at Kurian for a second, but turned onto Akky first – speaking words that snapped like a whip’s strike into the tense silence that followed what Dominic now recognized as a Skill.

“Disgraceful. Pull yourself together, Akkiria. And return to your duty – you are unfit for this.”

“Elder! B-but Nakir!”

“Quiet, girl! We still need to maintain watch over the walls, or do you think the Nightmares will not have heard your stupid decision of opening the gates with night approaching so soon?”

The ranger fought against her emotions, claws gripping at the soil as both maintained their stare until Akky broke away. The Imp [Ranger] sniffed, and felt her despair turn into tears as she –

“[Calm Emotions]. Do not cry, Akkiria. Not when there’s still work to do. Now get up and point those damn arrows at any approaching Nightmares – I’ll take it from here.”

Elder Trakia turned towards the duo, utterly ignoring the frozen Akky on the ground. She stared at Dominic and his wounds for a second but seemed to decide on something as she began to speak to both him and Kurian – who kept on staring at her like a deer in headlights.

“Both of you, inside.”

The duo made no movement, only staring at her – but Elder Trakia had no time to lose, so her voice turned into a hiss.

“Now!”