Chapter 13: Descending the Abyss
This story may depict graphic or violent scenes. Reader discretion is advised.
“Blood regeneration, blood regeneration… Sanguine sorcery perhaps.” The Vocaris mumbles as he turns to the next page. “What odd powers you possess, Frayling.”
Stride’s body lies idle on the ritual table. Long black spikes nail his hands to the table. Drilled deep into the stone.
“Perhaps his powers are borrowed… but we have identified all beings within our domain. What could it be…” The Vocaris ponders as he sets the tome on the increasing pile of books.
Is it some heretic ritual of the Dirtborne? We have yet to receive reports of their offerings.
“Ah, the writings of the Harvesters on Beast Grafting Techniques. I should have that book somewhere.” The Vocaris remembers as his finger slides along an array of books.
“There it is.” The Vocaris says cheerfully.
Deep within the mountains.
“You dared use that vile creature, a mere Frayling, to escape my grasp?”
“In my kindness I let you live. I have granted you the freedom of my Domain, yet you express your gratitude in betrayal.” The Monarch says. His stern face embodies a tempered fury, an explosion of anger that could go off at any moment.
“I miss my creator, that is all.” Mane says.
“Silence! Do not speak a word of that being. I am your Lord, and you are my property. Mine.” The Monarch says as his hand clutches at Mane’s torn garb.
“You confessed that the stranger is of Frayling descent. His stench told me as much. Does your vivid imagination believe it is possible for a Frayling to lay a hand on me?”
“I do not know.” Mane says.
“Do not play me for a fool, Artist.” The Monarch says.
“I will torture your wretched body to the point where even the memory of your god is but a distant dream.”
“You would not!” Mane blurts out.
“Who is that stranger?” The Monarch says.
Tears roll down Mane’s face. “He said that he was eaten by a head. Born anew and granted otherworldly strength. I told him that I have no understanding of its meaning.”
Mane saw it, if only briefly. The Monarch flinched at those words. This is a bad omen for him. Really bad.
I have heard tales of an active vessel. But that is all they are. Tales. For one to show up at my doorstep and request an audience. Utterly preposterous.
His scent is not of one who aims to ascend these lands. Has he denied Agamura’s Touch? How could a Frayling suppress such a radiating presence?
“In time, my servants will discover the truth. If your words are true, I shall strip him of his body and strengthen my ascension.” The Monarch concludes.
“That leaves me here with you.”
“Your freedom to your god can be bought by a few simple words. Promise me your eternal servitude, and freedom will be yours.”
“I cannot commit that grave of a sin.” Mane replies.
“So be it. I must commend your resolve. And yet, there are limits to my benevolence. You belong to me. I will make you never forget that.”
“The Voracious Bledrin stores the blood of its prey in its neck sac to court the female Bledrin during their mating ritual. In order for a Voracious Bledrin to attract a suitable mate, the neck sac maintains a beautiful bright red colour. This colour is maintained by the purifying system inside of the neck sac, which cleanses the blood of its prey.
Skilled harvesters can safely extract the neck sac without damaging the purifying system. This can be used for blood transfusions and medical purposes. For the application of these practices, see page 522.”
“Aggh, I am getting distracted. This is not what I need.”
“You are a difficult one to find on paper, Frayling.”
“But do not fret, because we have some visitors coming soon. They can tell me all about you. Sit tight, Frayling.”
“Ah, speak of the Fiend, they are here!”
A long-limbed creature, covered in cloth parchments and scrolls, claws its way into the room. Its claws rest on the ceiling as the creature stops before the Vocaris. The creature sniffs the air.
“That smell, distinct to the Frayling. Humans, as they are called in their native tongue.” The bandaged creature says.
“Humans you say? What do you know of their kind?” The Vocaris asks curiously.
“You know I cannot disclose that information with you, Vocaris. Our truth holds a price, and I am afraid this one is too steep for your purse.” It replies.
“Are you mocking me, Truth Bargainer?” The Vocaris asks
“I am simply telling you the truth.” The Truth Bargainer says.
These creatures are all the same. Their Vow of Truth they speak so highly of is merely an excuse for their bluntness and to indulge in their intellect. All they truly care about is filling their pockets under the disguise of god worship. The Vocaris sighs, accepting defeat.
“What can you tell of the Sacrifice, Truth Bargainer?” The Vocaris asks.
“Allow me the honour of answering that question, Vocaris.” A second being says, standing in the doorway.
The Vocaris is stunned. A sacrifice answering himself is… good, very good.
“I am your Sacrifice to command. I will answer all your questions with sincerity, as my loyalty lies to the truth alone. I am blessed to forget. When the Wise One found me, I knew that my life was destined to serve its purpose. I have become a volunteer since. And now I know nothing and everything.”
A volunteer?
“You know what it means for one of ours to become a Sacrifice by its own volition. Its loyalty to the Wise One is unquestioned. In all its service it has only told the truth. It knows no shame or guilt, no fear or desire, and it carries no name of its own. The volunteer is blessed to forget.” The Truth Bargainer says.
The Church of the Wise One, Truarthan. Its followers, known as Sacrifices, undergo a gruelling training to accommodate a ‘Truth Bargain’. Their loyalty is tested by telling their most twisted and darkest secrets, everything they know of their families, their tribes, and in some cases even their Lord. In return, the church allows them to forget their most painful memories, and from then on, may they serve as a sacrifice for truth.
Normally, those who visit the Wise One wish to forget their memories and pay for the service and live free from guilt. Others are criminals who are sentenced to live as a Sacrifice as penitence.
A volunteer is different. They truly buy into the fanatic teachings of Truarthan, The Wise One. A belief that serving the truth will set them free.
“Execellent.” The Vocaris says. He continues, “Sacrifice, ask the following question to your Truth Bargainer: “What is the origin of the power of the creature that lies on the table before me?”.”
The Sacrifice repeats after him, “Truth Bargainer, what is the origin of the power of the creature that lies on the table before me?”
The Truth Bargainer begins a sermon. “Grant me safe passage to your great labyrinth of knowledge, Wise One.”
The Truth Bargainer begins a sermon. “Grant me safe passage to your great labyrinth of knowledge, Wise One.”
It spreads its long limbs and chants in a mysterious tongue. The Vocaris stares intently at the chanting of the Truth Bargainer, as his redirects upon the Sacrifice.
“…”
The Sacrifice opens his arms and welcomes the knowledge flowing through him. He sifts his attention through the thousands of books and parchments entering his mind. Stories of forgotten and fallen champions, ancient artefacts that grant powers beyond measure, pagan gods worshipped on the outskirts of the land and even the strange people known as the Frayling* that roam Uendal*. He methodically filters through the ancient languages and dialects of the different cultures. His mind lingers on a long-forgotten tongue, a language of a folk he has never encountered.
Uendal* = Name of the World we are present in.
Frayling* = Name of humans in this world. Frail – thing.
His eyes clench as he sharpens his senses. As the search for truth weighs heavier on his mind, the Sacrifice’s veins and muscles pulsate. A shrill chant pierces the Vocaris’ ears. The Truth Bargainer’s chants grow louder as it dances more intensely. Its steps become faster and more sporadic. The Sacrifice’s body strains and fights. It is as if they are in battle with the truth they are searching for.
And then the Sacrifice’s struggle stops. His eyes open, revealing a hollow glance. Blood seeps from his tear ducts as he murmurs some words.
“Well, what do you know of the creature? Tell me!” The Vocaris says panicked.
“I am undeserving of this knowledge. The price to pay is a thousand lives lived.”
“What are you saying?” The Vocaris shouts.
The Sacrifice turns to the Vocaris with a bleak expression void of life. “Wise One, I was blind, and now I can see. I understand now. The truth can be too heavy of a burden for me to carry, for I am but a lowly vessel that is blessed to forget. I am unworthy of this gift.”
Sweat drips from the Vocaris’ forehead. “What have you found out about the Frayling?” The Vocaris says.
“No one shall know, no one shall know, no one shall know.” The Sacrifice said, repeating it menacingly as it laughs at the Vocaris. His skin starts to boil as patches of his nose turn into a mush flowing down his thin lips. His smile fades as the rest of his skin melts off his face.
The Sacrifice hits the floor. His sad, lifeless husk stares at the Vocaris, as if to say why he would ever bring this creature into his midst.
The Truth Bargainer’s chanting comes to a halt. They stand in complete silence as they witness the Sacrifice bleed out. His body shrivels up until only a small puddle remains, like the creature never even existed.
“What happened to him? I demand answers, Bargainer.” The Vocaris asks.
“The truth outweighed our devotion to the Wise One. We asked the question, and death was merely its answer.” The Truth Bargainer replies.
“You are part of a cult of all-knowing fanatics. How can you not know this creature’s truth?” The Vocaris said furiously.
“No one shall know.”
I must warn the Monarch. He must kill this creature himself before it awakens. No – I cannot risk such a being in our midst for any longer. Its danger to our Lord comes first. I must kill it myself.
Guards! Kill him where he lies. The Vocaris commands through his mind.
The soldiers run at the idle bodied Stride, as their hands form into blades.
The blood of the fallen Sacrifice and Truth Bargainer slithers on the ground like a serpent. In search of a new host, the blood crawls up the ritual table and finds its way to Stride’s ear.
“Do not let that blood reach him!” The Vocaris yells as he catches on. But it is too late. Stride’s heart boils as blood pours out from his halved torso.
A stream of blood spills into a spear–like form slicing through the room. Black sludge seeps from their necks as the heads of the soldiers separate.
Stride’s body absorbs the remains of the Sacrifice and the Truth Bargainer. His body recovers anew. He lifts his hands, unpinning himself from the ritual table.
“I am alive.” He says, looking at his recovering hands and legs. His head aches, as if he was trapped in a distant dream. Confused about his being, he is overflowing with thought.
How many people have died in my absence? Have they been traded at the Auction, or eaten by the Monarch?
“How long was I out for, Vocaris?” Stride asks as he feels the time weigh down on him.
“Vocaris?” Stride asks again, as he sees that he is no longer in the room with him.
He still lives… I should have never meddled with this monster in the first place. Guards, protect me! The Vocaris thinks as he flees.
With the instinct of a lion stalking its prey, Stride follows him.
I will swarm him with Nest Guards. The Vocaris thinks.
The Guards storm at Stride. The soldiers conjure up their jagged saw blades on their own accord. This explains why their blades appear as unrefined, rough pieces of black metal. Deadly, nonetheless.
My body may be weak, but I can beat them. I need to stay efficient and aim at their heads and limbs. I have seen how they respond to pain.
Stride sweeps through the guards, aiming for their heads and arms. The final guard reads Stride’s attack blocks its head, as Stride redirects his fist and bursts through its chest.
Not what I was aiming for, but I do not see it getting up after that. Stride thinks.
Stride sees the Vocaris running helplessly as more guards gather between them. His frail body moves rather slowly through the long hallway.
“You are not going anywhere.” Stride says as he picks up a rock from the floor.
“Eeek” The Vocaris yelps as he falls to the ground. The Vocaris crawls further, but the pain is too much for him to move. He rests his back shell on the cave wall as he peers into the darkness.
The Nest guards should be able to hold him off. Their helmets allow them to move as one entity. The death of one is a lesson for the next. Soon they will have mastered his every move. But – how did it come to this?
Stride emerges from the dark, consuming the blood of the guards that stood to fight him.
There is hardly any blood in their bodies. But I am still weak. I need all the resources I can get my hands on.
Stride grabs his collar as he looms over the cowering Vocaris. “What is this place you have me holed up in?” Stride says.
“Answer me!” He repeats.
A faint smile rises. “Deep within the bowels of The Nest. An outsider like yourself would have to fight a thousand soldiers before they would see the light. You are trapped, Frayling. Trapped!” The Vocaris says.
Stride disregards him. “And how long was I out for?”
“Two days, not like it matters for you. There is no escape from here.”
Two days?! Again… so many of them are dead because of me. I have to get out of here before it is too late.
The Vocaris sees Stride deep in thought and asks, “Frayling or monster, what are you?”
Stride pauses his worries.
There is no reason for me to mull over things I cannot change. Because there is still an insurmountable wall that I have to climb and an act I have to maintain. To them I am not a frightened boy, but a monster.
“I think, no one shall know.” Stride says with a sinister grin.
“Long live our gracious Auraca – AAAARRRGGHH!” The Vocaris exclaims.
The Vocaris’ blood flows through Stride, and his most painful memories come to light. A memory of betrayal.
In his past, he reached out to a Truth Bargainer to forget the most heinous crime he committed to someone dear to him. However, the bond of blood never lies. It speaks an inescapable truth.
The Vocaris betrayed his own kin to serve the Monarch.
As he watches the memories unfold, more soldiers gather. Stride hunches over the decrepit body of the Vocaris. His eyes glow in the dark like those of a wild beast as his gaze turns toward them. His bloodlust radiates through the corridor. Unexplainably, the soldiers that do not feel pain or fear watch him in hesitation.
One soldier walks forward, spreading its hands wide to conjure up a jagged blade. The others follow suit, as they walk at him carefully. They have studied me. Stride notices. Their movement has grown more subtle. Stride stands low on his feet, as he slowly drags his right foot behind him. He turns his foot outward. And runs!
“I am not dealing with that.” Stride says as he sprints off. There is something odd about these soldiers. They do not move at me like before.
All it sees is an indent on the ground, but Stride is nowhere in sight. The creature scans the area for any sign of life. But his search is cut short, when it hears a loud screech by one of the other workers commanding the woodmen’s attention. The creature turns around to resume to its work.
Stride heard the screeching of the woodmen just in time and managed to jump up and climb the tree he cowered behind. It distracted him just enough to move through the pain and climb up the tree.
“Close call.”
“For now, it might be best to avoid them.”
Although those Centipedes definitely deserve it.
Stride runs and fights through an infinite expanse of tunnels. The soldiers and creatures of this place chase him wherever he sets foot. Behind every turn or corner a soldier could hide. Because their heartbeats do not reveal their location.
“HEEEEEEEELP, HELP ME!” The Centians yell mockingly as they mimic the vocal cords of men. They shout with a desire to be found as they parade in groups around The Nest in search of Stride.
How can I find the way out of here? I can hardly see-His thought is interrupted by a beating heart. Loud, long drums echo through the halls.
Is it the Monarch? No, this sound is… alluring.
Follow that sound!
With a new purpose, he runs like his life depends on it. In his efforts, the soldiers cannot keep up with his powerful body.
“A light!”
Hundreds. No, thousands of eggs rest on rows of elevated platforms. Cocoons are strung up on the ceiling with a similar appearance to what Mane carried along with him.
Each egg seems to be carefully placed by the nursing spiders, large eight-legged creatures covered in tough plated shells. With great care, they scuttle over to each and every egg to inspect for blemishes and even the tiniest drop of dirt that falls upon them. The nursing spider uses their long snout to carry and clean the eggs as they appear fixated in their duty.
Do they even see me? Stride wonders as he runs through the endless breeding ground. The Nursing Spiders act unfazed by his presence, the most wanted man in this whole nest. Their singular focus is attached to each egg it cares for.
Stride stops. The eggs in the room with him have grown. The unborn eggs are replaced with pulsating white sacks of mucus. Through their transparent layer, Stride sees the creatures that grow inside.
“These creatures are their soldiers.” Stride says in a shocking realisation. Grotesque, feeble insects that represent nothing of the armour they wear or the Monarch they serve. Their dormant bodies float in a slimy liquid as tubes hold them in place.
His eyes fixate on the steel gate at the end of the hall. “The sound I followed. It came from there.”
What could have built this?
He pushes. He commits all his strength in his arms and pushes. And yet, the door does not budge. He strains his body, focuses on his stance, and tightens his core. In one swift motion, he throws his weight against the ceiling-high door. Nothing.
Heartbeats behind me…! They have found me.
“There he is, protect the spawn!” A guard commands. The army has found him. Five representative guards step forward.
I can hear their hearts beating. These five soldiers are alive, like Mane told me.
“There is no way out from here, Frayling. That gate cannot be breached, and you cannot fight all of us. We know of your every move. Give yourself up to the Monarch.”
“I think I will pass on that offer.”
“Our Monarch is as kind as he is cruel. He will offer you a swift death if you surrender now.”
There is no way out of here. Think Stride. Think.
“Our Monarch is as kind as he is cruel. He will offer you a swift death if you surrender now.”
There is no way out of here. Think Stride. Think.
He closes his eyes and focuses deeply on his surroundings. He feels life around him, the pulsating sacks, the living soldiers, the centipedes, the eggs, and the thunderous heart beating from below.
Below!
“Seize him.” The soldier commands.
This underground maze is connected with an infinite expanse of rooms and corridors. If I cannot break that door, I will create my own path.
He readies his fist as the soldiers prepare for his attack.
“Get back! Send the Mindless.” The soldier says. The five sentient soldiers step back as the army behind them rushes in. But they are too late.
Stride slams into the ground, crushing the earth beneath their feet.
Blow after blow, he hammers himself a way out.
*CRAAAAAAAACK*
A hole opens beneath him.
“Stand guard. The fall will break him, and whatever lives down there will devour what is left of him.”
I remember this feeling. This weightlessness.
Using his arms, he twists his torso to turn his body midair. Now facing the ground, he prepares his feet below his body.
No matter the impact, I can handle it.
The earth cracks under his feet. A clean landing.
They have surely underestimated me.
Void of any light, alone in complete darkness.
“What is this place?” Stride whispers as he wanders through the abyss. His eyes, which are so used to living in the darkness, do not adjust to it. Blindfolded, he stumbles on.
I could have sworn I heard something coming from here… I felt it, that heartbeat. Louder than any I have met.
…
How long have I been down here? Focus your senses. Find some sign of life.
…
Is that the sound? No, that is my own heart. You know this by now. Focus.
…
The earth feels softer here… does that mean anything?
…
The earth is rough again. I guess it does not.
…
“Hello? Is there anyone here?”
“Anyone?”
…
“Enough.” Stride says. Changing his approach, he runs, letting go of any thought or strategy. He is trapped here, in an endless empty cavern of dirt. As if he entered a forgotten part of this world, a place not even the inhabitants of The Nest dare enter.
Was it right for me to flee to this darkness? I thought that moving forward would give me answers. But even with my strength, all I can do is run. I keep on running to survive. For what purpose?
My chest hurts, burning with this unending feeling of guilt. Is this being that devoured me mad at me?
It forces anger upon my heart if I offend its nature of violence. By feeding into my most carnal desires for revenge and wrath, it commands me. And yet, it does not speak to me or give me guidance as to what this land is. Does it not see me as its equal? Am I simply its tool, a vessel to serve its purpose?
“What are you?”
“Answer me…”
“WHO ARE YOU!?” He shouts. He is answered with silence.
If it is not the doing of this being. Why do I still feel this angry?
No, that is not it. I am deflecting the blame. This pain I feel is different. It is a feeling of my own. It is my guilt. I ran when I could fight.
Growing up with thieves and smugglers, you learn to devise a plan before every mission. If your crew is any good, everything you do is calculated. If the mission is a success, you celebrate together. And if the plan fails, it is every man for himself. Because as a group of thieves, with no home to protect or people to care for, you learn to run from your problems.
When I became a prisoner of Byzma the Marauder*, I learnt that there are some fights in this world that cannot be ignored. Each glance of him reminded me to keep rowing. To keep playing this weak and helpless boy. I waited until the moment I could strike.
On a fateful night, a storm broke out. Pirates charged their ship, and in the chaos, the lower deck was hit. The oar I was chained to broke free. I kept a nail hidden between my toes to pick the rusted chain bolts. Byzma stood there, fighting on the lower deck. If I broke free from my oar, I could catch him off guard.
But it was at that moment that I looked at him, and he saw me. And rather than fight, I threw the oar off the ship and swam. I ran.
I ran.
Some battles must be fought no matter the consequences. Byzma The Marauder* is a fight that I cannot ignore. The Monarch is the same. He will never let me go. He will not stop before he sees me gasp out my last dying breath.
“But how?”
A faint light glimmers in the distance.
“An escape?” Stride moves to the light, slowly. Whatever is down here cannot be his ally.
As he gets near, one light becomes two, and two become six. The light rises higher and higher until it towers over him. The lights stare at him, shining in the dark. A goliath of a creature slithers before him, curling up its neck.
He stands, ready to fight. No more running.
“Welcome, courageous stranger.” She says.
“I need you to kill me.”
“But before that… at least wear something proper when in the presence of royalty.” She demands.
“Oh…” Stride says, overcome with shame.
“Monarch, the Vocaris is dead. The challenger has killed him.”
“How?” The Monarch asks.
“We do not know. All the soldiers are in pursuit, yet none have captured him.”
“Prepare my blades.”
Mane‘s mangled body hangs onto a thin thread of life.
“Be safe, Stride.”
End of chapter 13.