“The beckoning of a succulent meal tugs on your heart, does it? Good. First, however, Paramount Hendricks has a request for you.”
Father nodded to me, both confirming Qyvurn’s utterance, and reeling in my eyes. “Indeed, my great hunter. Do not fret – Evolving you is not the only gift you’ve earned. No — you’ve performed a grandiose feat. I’d be no greater than a simian if I were to play ignorant for such a magnificent milestone. Thus – you will inherit the Vire’s armaments.”
I have no clue what a simian is, but conjecturing by Father’s attitude and demeanor, I concluded that this must be a celebration of sorts. If my bones weren’t still aching, blood burning and dense like magma, and the weight of my being feeling as if it were tripled – perhaps I could shed a miniscule bloodspi— smile. Father lifted from his chair and entered a dragon’s jaws with teeth dripping saliva like water on stalactites. I gawked stupidly at the scaly creature releasing its nauseating nasal fumes into the air… my air. That pompous bastard having such audacity to sicken me in my land? Absolutely not. I felt something returning to me – something similar to strength, but different. It was not a spontaneous growth in power, but something like a spirit that gutted my aches and ailments with a grand cutlass, and ripped it out for those enfeebling demons’ guts to spill before me. With some sudden explosion of vigor, I lunged at the horned firebreather’s upper jaw and tore through it. I dug through flesh, ripped out tooth after tooth, and crawled deeper into the roof of its mouth. The glorified lizard shook madly and vomited flame from sheer agony. The torrent of flame raged over me like a million serrated daggers of fire imbuement stabbing me in repetition. All I could do was giggle and sneer. I opened my mouth to utter – something. Whether it be an insult or… something else, I could not muster any words. Instead, my body could only accomplish guffaws that would soon bring blood to my throat and… jeers. But it felt good. No — it felt magnificent! Is this the feeling of autonomy?! To taste the delicacy of control for once! To taste just one drip of it, like a jot of vital seasoning. It’s like adding a crisp insect to a long-gone rat’s heart… An additive so insipid, yet significant… But that smell – it was something else. Something I’ve only gathered the scent of on my ordered prowls – what was it I sniffed from you, Father? Is that? No! It couldn’t be… could it? Little things produce a scent so beckoningly sweet. Could it truly be… that?
He was watching me from below with some large wheeled rack he was pulling along with one hand. He kept his eyes on me with a look I’ve only seen him share to Shaded Coleson – something of stupefaction. I traded eyes back to him. I knew not what god or cacodemon became the monarch of me, but it must have been among the greatest, for the impertinence I had would surely warrant a long Dunking. But it didn't matter; stared into Father’s eyes, I did. Not once did I stray my gaze away, not even a blink. Instead I looked straight into his rotten soul and watched it shuffle off to cower in a corner. In excitement, I gave Father a drooling grin as I held onto the winged serpent’s blooded mouth. Father opened his, and I could feel an instinct calling me to turn his jaws similar to this dragon’s. He cleared his throat and spoke, “I see you’ve regained your strength in — astounding time... Good. I hope you still have energy for Qyvurn’s challenge after assaulting the old shack… for some peculiar reason.”
What are you doing? Why are you choosing to be confrontational now? Do you get high off of choosing the worst times to have balls?
“You don't own me, Viktor. Be careful before I eviscerate you. You may suddenly cease to exist if you aren’t careful. Remember where you reside and who controls your oxygen. I am your mad judge, creature. Do not anger a judge who holds the guillotine. I can have things happen to you far beyond the stretches of the mind.”
Oh? Manning up to me now? Being big, are we?! Scrapping with me instead of your incomprehensibly high amount of inadequacies?! You fucking finless fish, I’ll have your liver torn out!
We couldn’t resist falling into a fit of laughter, all the while our faces were nothing but rage. “Kill me? Kill— me?! I told you to watch yourself, fool! I am him: the judge!” I screamed into the world, strangling that impudent plant demon as his orange grin expanded wider.
Qyvurn observed my flailings in a silent study. “Strange, that one…” he mumbled, following with a sip from a nearby mug. He lifted from the chair and moved to the back end of the wheeled rack, pushing it along. At the stairs of the rather questionably placed home or whatever construct this place may be, Shaded Qyvurn tapped his foot and conjured a descending ramp of wood from a magic circle, and the two men rolled it down. Beneath the sun, Father presented it. “My good hunter, gaze upon the spoils of your slay: Arms of the Grand Umbral Knight. Reap the rewards of the titan you slew, and flaunt them just as a master of the sea does to his bested sea beast. It would be a sin to keep your earnings away from you… thus, you will inherit them: His Chaos Chestplate of the Nectar, Void Helmet for the Vision, Leggings of Usurping Blood, and alas, the Vire’s signature exsanguinator of heralding passage: Cleaver of the Dream.”
It seemed, for once, Viktor and I could agree on something: what the hell are we to do with any of this? The difference in scale between Villoven’s armor and a prison cell is indistinguishable. If I were casted at sea, I could practically use just the damn helmet as a raft… and that blade — I’ve found no trouble using what I was born with to spill blood. And to utilize a weapon so large and broad – lugging the thing along would only hinder me in conflict. But what concerns me the most… to use a weapon that pierced through my very guts? That’s madness! Insanity! That’s something— something… mildly enticing. An odd attraction I feel – as if it was a warrior looking to earn a place. Should I refuse that? Surely not; I’m more impressed than I am infuriated. Afterall, it’s far from the worst pile of dreg I’ve been anchored with.”
You can’t hold a blade, rabid dog. You’ll gnaw through its handle before learning how to even hold it up properly… we’re taking the armor leaving the blade behind, especially the helmet. Your stupid ass doesn’t need anymore blows to the head…
“I’m stupid? Me?! You really don’t hear me, you glorified stick bug?!” I spoke, gravitating towards the cleaver of moon white pigment. “I am the judge; the guillotine; the final word; your tyrant!”
“Viktor – I’ve told you we do not use the tongue of laymen. Use terms such as dull-witted, mindless, ludicrous before stooping down to primitive vocabulary such as ‘stupid…’” Father sighed. “Now – embrace your heritage, my proud hunter.”
My hands strangled the hilt of the cleaver. My weight pulled on the great blade, causing creaks in the wheeled rack. Soon enough, I tore it free from the chains that once suspended it and fell back. The blade spun back and cut into the ground just a breath's way from my neck — and it sneered at me. That taunting titter of this deriding blade, structured atop a void, bloody mountain of failed challengers. Its crystal-white gaze of devoured souls dripped boiling truculence, but even with this life-thirsting seer, I felt it communicating something different. Its energy staked into my heart and jolted it with a surge. The strike of a thousand-thousand volts should have blown my heart right out of my chest, but instead I felt its words. The cleaver’s message transmitted through its powerful, weeping aura, a spiritual singularity perhaps made heavy to retain its devoured souls – as does an event horizon to unfortunate photons. It reeled in my hands – and my heart. I stood and gripped its hilt. My veins seemed to approach an explosion as I prepared to lift the thing with tight hands; to achieve merely a proper wield. Instead, I ripped the grandiose thing upward like paper despite its size exceeding my whole self. It felt suddenly lighter in the sense of its physical weight - though its pressure remained quite immense and harrowing; ominous; horrific; eldritch. I extended it outward with a sole hand, allowing the daystar to reveal its beauty. The curved shape, like a crescent moon, but seasoned with enough blooded history to save my eyes from its whole blinding story. Such magnificence – what secrets have you vaulted?
“I’m pleased to see that one of the gifts has found welcome with you,” Father said, “Now – the others, if you will.”
My eyes spat vitriol towards the void-black armor; not even Viktor could force a feign smile of gratitude. “I don’t want that. The blade is enough to eviscerate y–" I breathed, "I… I’ve found a connection to the cleaver, Father. I feel that I can manage it well.”
“How could I forget – your heart gravitates to the kill like bees to a flower. Listen well, Viktor: the shield is just as powerful as the blade. A weapon can only do so much – all it takes is one proper strike for a swift carry to the end.”
“Aye, Father, but– they are simply unfit. Vire’s gear would consume me like a sea beast. It would do no good to don something that would ultimately play as hindrance.”
Father grinned at me, with a particularly odd one. “Good,” he uttered beneath his breath, “I shan’t quarrel with your combative decisions. Since that is out of the way, we can move onto the duel. Shaded Qyvurn?”
This 'Shaded Qyvurn' figure stretched his limbs. “Of course, of course. Come, we can perform just ahead.”
I figured he meant some space for battle beyond these woods, but this was indeed not the case. He descended from this wretched dragon — shack — and stopped in a patch of grass a throwing distance away. Shaded Qyvurn clasped his hands together and called, “Alright then – ready to begin?”
I turned to Father for an answer, but his eyes disregarded mine as he moved back up the wooden ramp to a lounge upon the couch. Only then did he look at me, silently ordering my commencement to the fight – and I heeded his wordless call. Qyvurn spurred friction between his hands in idle anticipation and spoke instructions, “As I utter zero, you go in for blood, understand?”
I nodded, suddenly feeling a growing hunger.
“Good. Three… two… one…” he stomped a foot, expelling a purple gas into the surrounding forest. “...Zero.”
We – I watched him. I waited for his move, but he simply stood there. He brought his hands behind him and stared back – but his eyes grew agitated. With a sigh, he propelled debris of magic borne wood – to which was split in two by my new companion. I lunged towards him with the blade guiding me. To my surprise, he sidestepped it with liquid nimbleness for someone of such seemingly great age. He smirked and poked my cheek. It did not appear to be some sort of assault, but two words left a bad taste in my mouth. He said, “You missed.”
As I touched the ground, he flicked my forehead and slapped the left side of my face. Once again, it did not hurt but I couldn’t help but become angry with this cur’s irritating play – not to mention some insects buzzing about my senses. “I hope someone with bones as old as mine doesn’t wield agility superior to yours?” he tittered.
My heart began to beat like mad tribal drums. I hurled the blade at his head, to which he earned a whiff of its cut-down prey as the thing just barely missed his nose, impaling a distant tree. “Wow… if only you’d work on your precision. You might’ve actually hit something significant there.”
“Why are you talking?! Fight!”
From the dirt, Qyvurn picked up and spiked a small stone at me. Instinctively, I avoided it, but as my vision realigned, his body was already before mine. His mocking smile looked into my eyes and he blew a puff of poison into my face before poking it again. A retaliating strike nearly tore apart the wind, but he grabbed my arm and tossed me over with the fluidity of a running river. “Well I figured we might as well share dialogue since you clearly aren’t interested in combat.”
He pinched my face, and I brought an upwards palm to his chin. Instead, he only felt its breeze as he backflipped, striking my jaw with his foot as he wheeled back. “Do you have any memories of your grandmother doing that? I’m talking about when I pinched your cheek – I figured I have to clarify considering how slow you are… clearly not just in the aspect of combat.”
He thinks he’s funny?! Kill him! Murder that pompous roach! Take his tongue and throat, just as we did the Vire! Don it as a chain! No more play! No more talk! We gut him, now!
“You do not give me orders, plant!” our throat burned in a cry. We galloped and lunged into a pounce, but the swift Qyvurn merely ducked us. The momentum carried us into the tree which held our blade, and the happenstance allowed the freeing of it. As if we’d once beared the weapon in some past life, it was held with a sole hand as the rest of it extended over the shoulder – allowing movement to be much simpler. Our jump was high; an ascent eclipsing the sun. With our hands around the hilt, we drove it down, nearly striking Qyvurn’s foot. He nodded with approval and said, “Ah – that is more like it. Perhaps I’ll add an extra bone for you to chew on when you inevitably lose, mutt.”
Our tongue had forgotten words. All messages were now translated through the movement of our body – the loudest and most boisterous being in our hands and feet. We swung the blade from the left; Qyvurn sucked in his gut to a hair-thin avoidance of spilling organs. Our cleaver came from his right; a perfectly formed cartwheel from the Qyvurn rolled him over the slice to unscathed safety. Overhead the white blade spurred sparks in the wind, but the pompous fool leaned into an unnatural ninety-degree with bent knees, like some damn table. With momentum still fluxed in our blood from the previously failed strike, we spun once round to separate his legs from the rest of himself. However, this… thing leapt and stood on the blade, rubbing his shoe on our nose as he balanced himself on a single leg. Viktor froze – not even I could see into “his mind.”
Gruesomely, the floral demon ripped his own face off and tossed it as he screamed fire into the dark places of my head, leaving just me stuck in a state of stunned frustration as my rage boiled. Soon enough, his violent and vehement vulgarities transferred to my body – and I hurled them too.
“You can cry later,” the musky cretin Qyvurn spat, “We aren’t done he—”
Fruitlessly, I jumped at him. Of course, he evaded like a snake, made a quick arrival way to my left ear, and inserted a three-pronged snickering into its lobe. Something cracked nasty like prying flesh and bone, though I wasn’t sure if it were my teeth from clenching my jaws with such immense fury, or my mind trying to tear itself apart to avoid having to put up with this any longer. “As I was saying – we aren’t done here.”
With a single finger — one, drawn-out, mildly aggressive push — he poked the skin at the center of my forehead. It was not enough to send me off flying – nowhere near the strength – but it was enough to cause a brief jolt back. But in the end, a revolting taste befell my tongue. An atrocious, abominable feeling. It was not merely biting into a rancid meal, no – it was far worse. It was a total and utter lack of respect. My fists clenched and I raised them above. With a seething pause, I slammed them into the dirt. I repeated it, and repeated it again, and again… Qyvurn cackled, with rather obvious strength to assure he was heard. “Oh? Is this the case, now? You are so inept at landing one blow, that you chose something that cannot move? I know dirt has managed to land shots on me before you, but you striking it surely will not count.”
I shared a flaming stare at him as he returned a smirk. In a sudden, my vision was devoured by a dark cloud. It screamed and buzzed in my ears like shards of glass in a constant state of violent agitation around me. My arms warred with the cursed plume, but that only seemed to fuel its fury. Through the tumultuous snaps and blitzing buzz, his muffled chuckles gently breezed over my ears. My body burned like fire, my joints stiffened, and a bout of blood surged from my throat. Like a crimson cascade, the sanguine juice befell my mouth, down to my chest – and I collapsed. I could see, but my limbs heeded no order from my brain. Like a fallen animal, I laid in the mixture of dirt and blood, mouth agape. A second plume lashed me, though I could not react as I was rendered vegetative. However, that gaseous cloud quickly dissipated, taking the former far more lethal one with it. Qyvurn rolled me onto my back and brought his middle and index fingers to my neck. “Well that’s a bother – I didn’t believe there were any toxic insects in this area – a mild miscalculation. Anyway, good work! You’ve done it!” He spat with excitement driving his tongue. That bastard grinned in my face and pointed to a single drop of sweat upon his forehead.
“Well done, Viktor. Venture with Shaded Qyvurn, and obtain your well earned reward. May your feast be magnificent and bountiful… Of course, rising onto your feet is a prerequisite to walk.”
“He’s right, you know,” Qyvurn added.
I, however, could not feel a thing in my body. I don’t know if my brain is even sending signals anymore, other than to my vital organs to at least keep me breathing. Thus, there I lay: in a mixture of dirt, blood, frustration… shame — and the lifeless aftermath of a swarm of insects – which I can only conjecture were brought about by the Shaded — somehow. Some chilled, wet substance splashed my rear scalp, and it struck a freezing sting throughout my whole body. I gasped with stinging pain, but my body began to function again. “Come now, we need to hurry,” that acrobatic clown ordered me, placing an empty vial into a shirt pocket. I turned to Father, and he uttered his command with a simple nod.
Qyvurn took lead through these woods – an odd spectacle. For a forest, the air was rather dry, and the grass on both land and tree was yellowish or gray. I didn’t notice it back at that… shack, but perhaps my senses readjusted during the loss and regaining of my consciousness. What surprised me more, was the sudden change in the form of these trees, and the abrupt appearance of grand rock formations. The trees did not look like some palm on a coastline, or sky-scraping things of a dark forest, or even the common oak thing. Instead, a skinny bark rose to a blooming, wide and broad top with leaves that appeared thirsty. There was also sand. Lots and lots of sand. I also noticed a total void of animalistic ambience; a very unsettling thing that shivered my core, seeming to stretch that coldness across the whole of my body, too. Instead, there was a constant whistling breeze, like despondent souls simply drifting wherever the wind felt. What I found even more bizarre was the sudden appearance of great stone walls stretching high into the heavens which locked us to a choking path. We had maybe only a few steps left or right before hitting barriers. Instinctively, I tightened my grip around the cleaver, looking to the slim blue line above us – I assume the sky, though not a single cloud in sight for adequate confirmation. Then I found myself looking up from these whistling confines in wonder – and anxiousness. What could be up there? Are the tops of those where gods reside? Is that why we walk beneath them? What if there are eyes watching us – waiting for the proper moment to unleash their waves of war?
“Calm–”
My hurled blade cut a mark into Qyvurn’s left side, taking some blood with it for a drink. I could hear my heart beating to the rhythm of battle, but I felt out of place when I found nothing seeking blood in vengeance. Instead, Shaded Qyvurn was kneeled on the shaded sand, holding his bleeding side. “...down— damn— damn it…”
Finish him off. Finish him off. Finish him off, Viktor rambled. However, I was frozen in a dumb gaze, processing. There’s something I’m supposed to do or say here but my mind is more busy fighting wars to figure out what it is. I opted to extend a hand very shortly, but perhaps by the chill freezing my joints or my clashing instincts, I fell back on the safe option to retract my hand and wait until Qyvurn stood. “I forgot Hendricks chose you — I can only imagine what you’ve endured, hmm? I’ll accept this as a fault of mine. But hey, nice hit! Took some time; tries — and tears — but you surged victorious in the end. Well done.”
The Qyvurn’s hands befell my launched weapon. My vision sharpened; pupils dilating in response; preparations for his repercussive assault. Curdling blood, I echoed a battle cry in these caverns. My arm was reeled, legs bent for a pounce… and he grimaced at me. “What is the matter? Take your blade, fool,” he said.
The hilt pointed at me, calling for my hands to bring it warmth. Shaded Qyvurn held the blade’s gut-spilling end away from me, apparently with the intention of not calling for conflict. Hesitation and confusion poisoned me, so I just – stared. Waiting for something to happen – anything – but alas, he just stood there… awaiting my reclamation of the cleaver. Like an elder of overworked bones, I steadily reached out. I stopped just before taking the handle, moving my eyes back up to Shaded Qyvurn who was sharing some peculiar stare. I traded eyes back with him.
Eventually, he gazed aloft, foolishly sharing attention to something else. I jumped at the opportunity, swiping back our cleaver… my cleaver. For reasons invisible to me, Shaded Qyvurn chuckled and snickered. “By fortune, twas only a flesh wound. What riles up your nerves? Never been in a canyon before?”
Pause met me with a stupefied gaze. “Inside of a… ‘canyon?’”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“A canyon: a gorge in the ground? I suppose in this particular case, it’s a slot canyon. One in a desert. Have you truly never been to one? Or at least, have you read about them?”
I watched him, burning my brain in thought. I found one word to hook onto and asked, “Deserted of what?”
He squinted. “Deserted of — what? Pulling my leg, are you? I do not mean devoid – well, I suppose that is a characteristic, but… No – I mean an environment. One of many. A desert – an ocean of sand, if you will. Not much life is found in them – such as the one we crossed not too long ago. Closer to grasslands, and thus sources of water, you’ll find sparse evidence of plant life until you move further out. That’s when you’ll quickly notice the grass becoming less and less dense, with sand taking its place — at least in some places. Hmm – the heat is certainly a nuisance, but such places seldomly have my favorite of trees – the acacia. Also, in these narrow canyons it often is a lot more chill in temperature.”
“Oceans of sand? As in – the sea? Sand can be beyond simple coasts and shores? It can be entire landmasses? No – you say… you say it’s an ocean. So the sand can form waves and tsunamis? Does it also experience tides?”
He dropped his palm on my shoulder, nearly earning a severing bite that he so dearly called for with such brazen and sudden movement. However, this infinite sand he spoke of was quite intriguing. I could not hear more of it if he succumbed to blood loss. The bold, gray-browed man bellowed a mocking laugh and spoke, “No, it’s not like that. I used a figurative tongue… Here – since you have opened the gate to my interests, I will drown you with environmental knowledge on our stroll. Come, come…”
He rambled on for some time. It was difficult to focus on every word for the whole duration despite it being such a fascinating spiel. I’ve found it hard to learn for some years now, especially ever since the Vultures… Ever since… I — Following Father’s instruction on heightened vocabulary stuck with me some. While many words he wanted me to use were hard to retain, a good few did linger around. At least enough to keep his ire at bay; sparing me from a Dunk. Recently, I feel as if my head has gone lighter. Thoughts seem to have become more difficult to… think. To — make. No, to… process. I did force a reflection on some of what the Qyvurn told me – such as my favorite bit here. As it turns out, the moon can pull on the sea, but not on sand. No – that is wrong. It can pull on both sand and sea, but it is not strong enough to move the sand. The sea, however, is light enough for it to move. As a matter of fact, it is pulling on all of us because it has gravity like this Earth, but it is flimsy because its distance is great. Because of this, there are tides in that infinite aquatic abyss of doom and misery… So what it seems like, in a clash between sand and sea, sand would come out victorious, especially considering Qyvurn has told me that at the bottom of the seas are more spans of sand. Going on infinitely, eternally, all the way to — something. Or it sitting at the oceans’ feet proves opposing claims. There also are… ‘canyons’ like this. It makes me uneasy to walk in such a tight space knowing that the moon could suddenly flood it with an ocean whenever it pleases. Thankfully, I would not have to ponder on it any longer, for Qyvurn stopped us at a peculiar door in the sandstone walls of this secluded expanse.
Metal strapped and bolted into this door made it appear eldritch; something of an entrance to a dungeon. Qyvurn struck the door with the back of his middle finger, paused for a moment, and struck it twice again in quicker succession. A blood curdling scream secreted through the unseeable spaces in the door. I gripped my weapon, but Qyvurn patted my shoulder twice for assurance of security. He spoke, “His Blood shan’t be lost to time. With it, we Evolve.”
The door stiffly opened, its horrid sounds carved and dug into my ears with a rusty knife as it did. After its excruciating tearing of my ears, it revealed its ever-stretching throat with torches and several more doors lining it. A guard of indigo armor studied us, soon stepping aside once seeming satisfied. Qyvurn’s tone soon turned deeper than his usual tongue, and exceedingly serious. He aligned himself with me and uttered a grave, yet simple warning. “Do not stray from my side.”
I noticed that even the treant demon within me was shiversome. That at the very least brought me some content and bliss. Like an obsequious child, I nodded, Qyvurn soon mimicking the motion with approval. “Good,” he said with arid breath, “In and out – that is the plan.”
Before the fossilized mouth of this long dead formation of earth, Qyvurn beckoned with a single finger, stepping into its throat simultaneously. The indigo-armored guardian watched me, and though his face was obstructed by the hounskull helmet - I believe Father called it during an armory lesson - I could taste; smell; feel his fastly declining patience — and rapidly growing ire. Before bringing another clash about myself, I volunteered into the dead mouth, and its teeth closed behind us.
Undead, cryptic orange lightning brought dim visibility to this hidden husk of the… ‘sands;’ this cult’s hidden congregation. A long hall lined with egresses that presumably split off into other sections. The several ominous doors drifted past us, grazing our arms in a reach for our attention. Shaded Qyvurn, at least by demeanor, paid no mind to them. I, however, had been chained by one’s beckoning tendrils upon. My curiosity stopped me just behind the frame of this ever-so slightly cracked open door. I looked through this treasured vault, searching for whatever riches it held. Much to my surprise, the room was a lot larger than I had imagined. I could make out three white columns reaching from floor to ceiling in a room so dark, but the distant background was some ghastly pale greenish-white. Like sickly souls spreading their plague.
Then, a dash of white jumped before my vision. Remembering Qyvurn’s order, I restrained myself from a violently startled jolt – accomplishing the discovery of a woman in a white dress moving about in some ballet fashion, and a man donning a sinister black cloak covering all but the white of his mouth and chin. The lady twirled in a sort of affectionate manner, moving in what seemed like was supposed to be a warmhearted rove, but I could feel a great chill. Her gentle sways and airy roaming rotations delivered her just before the cloaked one’s right ear. He rippled an aged, harrowing cackle that left my bones chilling and skin crawling. The demonic warble in his tone made me shrink in terror – reminding me that I do indeed wield a soul. I nearly regurgitated from sheer horror such a voice instilled in me, and my chest heated towards that of flames. Nevertheless, I remained fixated – a grave mistake. That… entity dragged his left index up the ballerina’s neck and spoke something in a scratchy and slow voice that brought me – and even Viktor – to a state of revulsion. His finger concluded its slow traversal at the dancer’s chin, and an echoing chuckle moved like mud throughout the room. For the first time, words left his mouth – and I wish he never did. Somehow, a mere pair of words instilled greater dread than his infernal interjections. Off his slimy tongue two words dripped – he said, “Good girl…”
Her eyes erupted with orange light, and in a blink, her skull combusted into a chunky splash – repainting the room in red mush and bone. I gained a brief glance of an explosion magic circle above her headless neck before the body collapsed. As I jumped back in my startle, coincidentally, Qyvurn ripped me away at the same time. His furious, yet evidently terrified face flapped its lips aggressively, with a tongue loud enough to assert his frustrations, but obviously weakened to some stronger variation of a whisper. He, too, seemed to be hiding. “Are you mad?! I told you to stay with me and not to stray from my side! I mean that — do not go anywhere! This place is no mere criminal hideout; it is a lair of concealment by the Undergrowth! From wandering Glorhos to the powerful such as Black Helions, Supreme Watchers, Blackvines, and — more… A Shaded would not be spared a drip of approbation here, muchless you! Do not go wandering off again, you hear?! I can’t even guarantee your safety as is, let’s not test those limits with you drifting away – please!”
I searched through my thoughts for the word to verbally express my regret, but it was all just so foggy. I fell back on staring him down with emptiness in my eyes, finally opting to nod in comprehending. We continued on, steps quick but steady enough to avoid arousing darkness’ suspicion. The sounds in this all – blood curdling cries, snapping bodies of man; noises all too familiar. Assuming from previous discoveries, I was certain many of these pools of stain were born of blood – and I was certain that at any moment, something would just reach out at me. A bloody conflict that I may not be as averted to as I should. “In here,” the Qyvurn said.
Another door, one held open by him. It opened up to some bizarre quarters with several deep, dish-like contraptions. The scent was quite pleasant in this room, as was the lower lighting compared to the hall. Some were silver, most some sort of stone, but a single one before a flame was in gold. Qyvurn opened up a deep leather chest and reached into it. He closed it with a foot and revealed three jars with contents difficult to see in this dimness. He hurried over to a large and long center table, setting the upon it before dropping anything. Upon closer inspection, bloody chunks of flesh stared back at me through the glass containment of these canisters. Some peculiar yellowish or white substances sat atop whatever liquid was at the bottom. “What is this?” I questioned by instinct, to which the Qyvurn seemed – irritatingly – more than eager to answer.
“Oh these? Those are preserved meats. Assuming none of these vagabonds swiped up from my collection, they should all be the meat of cattle. I’m sure fish is what you’ve eaten the most of underneath the Paramount given its easy access, so I decided to treat you to something special before — err, I want to bring some variety to your taste buds. What you are looking at is fat separated from water. I obviously don’t have freshly harvested meat on hand for a hands-on lesson, so I’ll have to give a quick rundown. You see, the semi-clear liquid at the bottom half are juices released from the meat during a heating process. The bright yellowish substance floating on the top half, however, is animal fat. It is pivotal for it is what preserves the meat, preventing it from spoiling. But that on its own won’t do – the jars must be tightly sealed to prevent air from entering, or you’ll accomplish nothing. You cannot do these things halfway. Maybe some time I can show you how to preserve these things in the future – however that is not now. However, however! You will aid me in preparing this meal. Have you cooked before?”
“Cook? As in flame? Why would I burn food?”
“Abeg — what are you rambling about? We’re throwing the food into the pot to cook it so you don’t die of bacteria and worms, fool. Come, take the lids off.”
His fingers popped off a golden cover from the glass container, releasing a smell that danced in my senses. “Alright – now listen well and close. I’ll get the fire beneath the pot burning, in the meanwhile you take a spoon and scrape up some fat sitting at the height of the jar, perhaps four or five fills. This is an important step.”
I had no idea why any of this was necessary, but considering Father forced me under Qyvurn’s authority, I understood, by extension, I’m still following his orders. He told me to grab a spoon, I believe… whatever that may be. There was some strange looking tool with four horns that caught my attention unlike that oval shaped thing next to it, so my hands gravitated to that. They look familiar but… I can’t put a name to them. I’ve seen them in a few places — some which were in the homes of… Father’s targets. On tables quite similar to this one, coincidentally. “Come on now, we can’t be here all day,” Qyvurn said as he spurred sparks by clashing two pieces of stone above some wood. I believe they were flint – Father had me collect them some time ago for something he behaved rather surreptitiously over. With this quad-horned tool, I plowed into the pale-yellow substance and pulled it back up. It produced a magnificent scent – some strong and slightly smoky; like flesh caught in an inferno. I could not guess what to expect, so I bit into the fat as if preparing to break a bone. Instead, it was rather soft and turned into a liquid in my tongue, but most enlightening to me was the immaculate taste it had in store!
A blessing I never knew could exist in the form of food! The only thing I can remember ever approaching such magnificent taste were the grapes and bananas from Ms. Frie– from her. Before Vik— before I— before I did what I did… but even that paled in comparison to this simple pile of mush. “There we go…” Qyvurn silently rejoiced, “Alright! Now that the flame is started, drop some fat into the pot. Remember: four to five scoops are enou— why are you eating it?”
“Are we not to eat food, Shaded?” I inquired of him.
He gave me a stupid looking squint-eyed look as if I was in the wrong for eating what he said was food. Should his jaw lower and further, it may just crush his toes. “Did I not tell you to get spoonfuls of fat and drop them in the pot? Four or five scoops?!”
“No, you did not. You said, ‘Scrape up some fat sitting at the height of the jar, perhaps four or five fills. This is an important step,’ then proceeded to dip into the firewood down there. Is the ‘important step’ not consumption?”
He gawked stupidly at me once more, and my hand squeezed my blade in annoyance with this dumb look. “You truly are a strange one… goodness sake, that isn’t even a spoon! Why did you grab a fork?”
“This is the fork? This silver thing here is named after dividing roads? Who decided that? It looks nothing as such.”
“Wha– what are you rambling on about? I know nothing of the archaics – just take the spoon, the round one… are you being playful?”
Lackadaisical in my fingers, I tossed the ‘fork’ aside and lifted this ‘spoon’ to dig up the fat. As I took out chunks of that delicious substance and put it into the pot, I answered him, “I don’t have the freedom for ‘playtime,’ mister ‘Shaded Qyvurn.’”
I concluded with five more repetitions of fat digging and dropping, seeking more of it than what he insisted.
He nodded. “Good… go and stir the fat around a little bit. You don’t need to do so much, it will melt rather quickly into a yellow liquid, lubricating the pot; preventing seriously unwanted burning to the meal. So, uhh… since that’s going well, we can get to the meat, heh, of our cooking efforts. Take them out of the jars and place them in the melted fat carefully. Don’t want any of that splashing in your eyes – or anywhere, frankly.”
I stuck my fingers into one of those containers, but my knuckles brought trouble to inserting my hands far enough for a proper grip on these chunks of felled creature. I could just barely graze the tips of my fingers on it, but no further. What are you even doing here? What is any of this? Why do you need to burn the shit to eat it? Why are you wasting time tickling the glass’s ass instead of just breaking it?
“You are correct.”
Qyvurn watched me tiresomely. “Correct about?”
I nearly dropped my cleaver callously, but paused to consider its feelings, opting to set it against the wall. Then, I picked up a jar in each hand, slamming them onto the table’s edge, bursting the thing into many glistening shards. While Qyvurn appeared as if a bewildered troll, I moved a tad closer to peace finding the meats freed from their transparent prisons. Good work, you managed to do something correctly for once…
“I’m getting real fed up with you, grass slave.”
“I? A grass slave?! I — honestly don’t know what that means, nor how to reply to such an insult. Regardless – you should watch yourself before Hendricks hears of this act of defiance, young one.”
I threw the meats into the pot, spurring an even greater aroma to the air. “I was not speaking to you,” I spat at him with a tongue long tired.
“Oh? Is that so? Then who else were you speaking to? Yourself?”
Now, I watched him with a cold stare. “Yes.”
The Qyvurn nodded. “I can believe that… that isn’t exactly uncommon in the Undergrowth. Well, while we wait for that to finish – would you care for a dialogue?”
“No.”
“Oh come now — there won’t be much to do for a little while. I’m sure you have a lot to say, especially being someone so youthful to have pledged to Penumbra?”
My silent wall remained sturdy. Qyvurn, much to my ireful irritation, began flapping his lips.
“I could not tell you how long I’ve been here, just that it has indeed been long. Many orbits of the sun, many orbits… I’ll let you know that when I joined, my hair hadn’t gone gray yet,” he chuckled. “No, no – that did not come for a while. Not for a very long while… I started around here some time maybe six decades back or so. I’m ninety-four now, so you can do the math on that. Hendricks had been a paramount not too long I heard, maybe about five years into it himself. I believe I’m maybe ten years his senior, so that man did take such a high position at quite the young age. A prodigy of sorts – kind of like you. Now you may be wondering why I’m still a Shaded after all this time – I’m sure Paramount Hendricks gave you the rundown, y’know, little straggler impresses someone a little bit, becomes a Shaded, trying to best their previous feat to impress those around them and advance to a Blackvine, or Black Helion if you wish to be mostly autonomous in your work. Never a Glorho, though. Goodness no – just the name sounds terrible. Of course, you don’t want to be on the bad side of the Penumbra Undergrowth.
Then after that, you could become a Seer if you want to be part of those little watchers— ‘unofficially official’ spies as I like to call them. Hell, pretty much everything in this is unofficially official so perhaps that isn’t saying much. Besides a Paramount, I suppose – that’s the position only very few achieve after — how do I say… exercising unmatched allegiance… yeah, we’ll— we’ll say that. It’s not something I could ever do, but… maybe someone can find some sort of respect for it… What was I going to explain?”
Admittedly, my ears were calling for more. I was hesitant to remind him, but ultimately my curiosity killed me. “Shaded title,” I said.
“Oh yes, yes. Well I should lay some groundwork. I joined this little group here after running into a Glorho I believe. I forgot her name, but I resided on some island not too far from a kingdom that was being bombarded. By extension, due to our unfortunate close proximity, we were taken by them as territory. This was after much of my home had suffered attack, after attack. It was unfortunate, of course, but some of us managed. Anywho, this Glorho-marked woman I noticed around there quite often. Our village was quite suspicious of her for a while, but we didn’t have time for persistent pondering over her considering all of our other issues. Many went missing during the heat of the conflict, but I did suspect the disappearance of our people were not all directly from the war. That’s when a thirty-something year old me went searching for her, which really did not take long on the little island. She was always seen around a mine aperture that led into the sole mountain we had, so there I went, quickly finding her and initiating discussion. I questioned her, she gave me blatantly beat-around-the-bush answers, but ultimately I got what I wanted out of her. Turns out, I was not the only one looking for an out in whatever she was doing. That Glorho had been offering guidance for those who wished to merge with the Undergrowth, but she wasn’t so eager to have me fuse with it. Fortunately, well not so much for her, but for me I had just the type of heart the Undergrowth would welcome with open arms.
Yes – a little bit of poking, cutting, blasting, poisoning is all it took to get her to point me in the right direction. I couldn’t trust the wench so I dragged her along with me to make sure if I was being misled to doom, she’d be vanquished in blood along with me. Fortunately, I was not guided into death. For her, however, she did not exactly have a good reputation with this group here. It seems she took it upon herself to act as a recruiter to get on good terms with the Undergrowth, to be declassified a ‘Glorho’ and something favorable: a ‘Black Helion.’ Long story short, she was executed. More importantly, due to dragging her along, I was immediately made a Shaded instead of a lousy serf on my start due to fulfilling a ‘bounty’ in a way. Specifically, a ‘Penumbrian Bounty’ on someone they had mild distaste for. Sucks to suck it seems. I hope my elderly rambling isn’t too boresome for you. I’m approaching the conclusion, nevertheless. Where was I… Oh, yes – I was enlisted as a Shaded and remained such for decades to come. Not because I am too inept to reach further, but simply because I’m comfortable here. I’m not much of a fighter. I test one’s agility, reaction time — and patience — but brawn is not how I do.
You may have noticed Hendricks’s rather lax attitude towards me. That is because of the respect my scientific advancements have earned me. You see, back home before stepping into the dark, I used to stargaze quite a lot. Not much to do on a small lot of dirt, rock and water — besides manual labor. I needed something to prevent myself from diving into the deep to have some shark unchain me from this reality. So awaited the night I did, and gawked at the millions of shining dots in the sky I had. But it was not until I was here did I realize that I was missing a lot. You see, Penumbra Undergrowth has many, many magnificent tools and instruments, but none for my needs. I wanted to see into that realm beyond our world, so I needed to create something for that purpose, no? So I came up with an idea — something that can see way, way into that infinite span of darkness. I noticed that when I would look through water, the perspective of things seemed off; refracted. I wondered if I could ‘refract’ something in a way to make it greater – somehow magnify it. I would require some sort of clear material, though. What is a clear substance, but a physical one? Glass! Glass, of course – and that is what I used. I created several lenses; think a window, or a very thick and round mirror. I used these, creating bigger and bigger lenses overtime – and naturally, bigger, what I call ‘telescopes,’ to accommodate them. Now these ‘telescopes’ are generally long, tubular shapes made of wood with a lens placed at its large, open end. I realized, the bigger the lens, the better the magnification; the further you can see. With these, I made quite a few observations – such as mountains on the moon up there. I also found that there are other places out there, worlds beside this one alone! I’m not pompous enough to claim I discovered these places, but I at least did in the Undergrowth!
But most importantly, through the use of these new devices as I observed the other worlds, I noticed a similarity between them all. It seemed that no matter which one I studied, they all shared a circular shape. Now, if you hold a ball you’ll realize you can look all around its surface; that the whole thing is equidistant. Now, obviously I can’t hold a planet and rotate in my hand to see all sides of it, but seeing as the view of the moon is circular, the worlds out there were circular, even what I presume to be the many moons of that one very big world were also circular, and that a ball on an even plane appears circular yet in reality is round, I made the inference that those worlds, and most importantly our own, are all rounded bodies! Luckily for Hendricks, I am in his territory so it was him first who had this theory tested, and him first who gained from it once we confirmed that this Earth, indeed, is a sphere!”
“Were you— they — the first to discover, you were?”
“Well – as far as we know. But who’s to say no one has ever sailed the — well — globe. We don’t intend to spread this news. I conjecture we and whomever may have accomplished such seafaring feat are similar in this decision. But in all honesty, I’m not all that ecstatic over discovering the planet’s loop as I am about… other things regarding ‘astronomy’ and how we’ve been able to use them to our advantage. I could lean more into it, however, this old man rambled on long enough. I think I should leave time for you to free your story from its prison.”
While this question fulfilled expectations, it still riled me. “I don’t remember anything.”
His eager demeanor soon melted into disappointment. “I’ll respect it,” the Qyvurn uttered. “The food should be well done by now anyhow. We need to be going soon.”
These three pieces of dark brown cuts were far different than what I’ve typically devoured. Not a hint of red anywhere, and suspiciously clearish liquid draining from its body — though I could not act as if the mere smell wasn’t more than enough to instill bliss. I reached into the pot, earning a quick seer of disapproval. Nevertheless, I continued picking from the pot, the heat predictably not burning enough to inflict true damage. The pain was there, but I’ve dealt with agony far exceeding such paltry things many times. But above all else, this delicious smell was far too wonderful to not spare mere fingers over. Thus, I ripped into these chunks of pyre flesh — and my knees buckled.
Viktor and I stood stunned. My vision was frozen; stuck. I could not blink. My neck was locked with stone. What – what is going on here? What is — Lorenzo… Lorenzo! What just happened? Wh— What did you do?!
My knees crashed to the floor, and my heart melted. My throat tightened, my fists clenched — and alas… a single tear befell my eye. This saporous blessing’s golden warmth embraced me with sumptuous rapture. It stuck through me, leaving behind a surge that coursed through every vein, every artery, every organ. My breathing went heavy, a pressure filled me — and a final jittering breath sunk my jittering body into an incessant bawling that surely crawled throughout this cryptic hideout. But I could not care. I felt things I never had before. So much to say, yet no words suitable enough to describe this overwhelmingly euphoric eruption. So instead, my tumultuous cries and screams moved like a rushing torrent. Three strikes to the back of my head — none significant enough to hinder his meltdown. Then I blinked, and when my eyes reopened, there was Qyvurn gawking fearsomely at me. His mouth moved with fervid violence – but I could hear nothing but muffled sounds. It was as if I’d been held just beneath the surface of water, staring at the one who sought my drowning. I stared stupidly, openly and with a body fully limp. Next I knew, I was devoured by the Qyvurn – swallowed by him whole. There was nothing but darkness. Cold dead solitude. Viktor was here, he too, scolding me with great vehemence, but a dead tongue. But I noticed something odd with him – besides the usual many oddities concerning him. As his silent shouts poured, his eyes were beyond me. “What are you doing, stupid ass?” I inquired of him. He gave no answer, sticking to his fiery argument with — something. I took to the path of his glare, and I found it.
A bipedal thing that should’ve only been born and remained in a mad man’s dark thoughts. It stood about the height of the plant invader who spat rage at it, but its body was far different. A white-haired horse hoof formed its right leg. A chunk of its thigh seems to have been taken in the jaws of something else. The left leg, on the contrary, was some cur or flea-ridden black wolf. Its center body’s right half was that of man, as was its respective arm, but the left side was that of a reddish brown bird. Those warm-pigmented feathers took over the left half of the torso and grew down the left arm’s elbow, where it stopped. From the forearm, beyond the wrist, and to the fingertips — it appeared human. However, the back protruded two wings – that of a red winged bird from the left, and a red, scaly draconic wing from the right – the human part. Alas, from the neck up, was… darkness. The darkness which surrounded us all – for there was nothing connected to the top of that spine. No, twas only the protruding bone of the back stuck out from a bleeding neck. Besides this amalgamation’s eldritch appearance, it just stood there. No twitch of a finger; not even an idle sway. It just stood there like bewitchment froze it in time. Is this what you were conjuring up, huh? After your little ‘evolution,’ this is the thing you started making?! You’re smarter than you act, cockshit… But I’m still the king here! Do you think you can get away with this?! You think THIS is what will take me out?! Remember that – remember where you stand. Do not push my hand, dog – I may do something we’ll both regret!