Wait if you have not read the previous Chapters, click the Carthirose Saga button above or Click here.

Chapter 5 - Paulus

I

        Dew on the grass took Paulus’s feet. He fell hard, onto his wounded back. Agony escaped his lips. Sharp electric pain riddled his body. He sucked in air and bit down on his lip to prevent the tears that threatened to overwhelm his vision. Grunting with effort, he pushed back to his feet. After a few deep breaths, he regained some strength and looked to the mutilated man on the grass. Paulus had only met him a few times when the farmers gathered for religious events or other celebrations, and at harvest. The man’s name was Bantius and he was Paulus’s closest neighbour. Paulus had always liked Bantius, but a farmer’s life did not allow much time for interaction with others, due to distance and the work required day to day.
        Paulus hooked his arms under the mutilated man’s pits. He did not know how he had the strength to continue. His head was becoming light. Finding the path through the trees and the ground beyond, he managed to drag Bantius to the parked cart. Sweat ran down his body and his muscles throbbed with effort. Bantius moaned and shifted slightly in his grip, causing a stop as he lost his grip on his neighbour. He slumped against the cart, refusing to drop Bantius again. His arms wobbled and burned from the effort – made worse by the break. Again, he bit down on his lip and summoned energy from a reserve he did not know he had. After another grunt, he adjusted his hold and pulled away from the cart.
        “Aemilia!” Paulus yelled as loud as he could, given his hurts and exhaustion. He focused on each backwards step, one at a time, and refused to look over his shoulder to gauge the distance to the house. His legs began to wobble with every stride. Mind over matter, he thought.
        The porch’s steps took out his ankles far sooner than he expected. Falling back, he hardly felt the steps’ punch as they jabbed into his back when he landed. The blunt pain added to the overwhelming hurt his body had already undergone. Desperately, he tried to find the ability to move, but only found enough to roll to his stomach to ease the pressure on the puncture.
        “Aemilia...” he whimpered.
        With a clatter, the door slammed open.
        “Paulus!” Aemilia screamed out in abject horror.
        He reached up the stairs towards her and she took his hand in an instant. Her grip tightened around his and his eyes met hers. Relief filled him. Tears rolled down his face freely and the suppressed emotions held inside his guts spilled out in gasping sobs.
        “Aemilia,” He cried.
        “Paulus, your clothes...” She wept, “Wha-what is g-going on?”
        “Aemilia,” He repeated.
        Aemilia wrapped her arms around her husband, ignoring Bantius heaped at the stairs’ base. Paulus hissed as Aemilia’s hand grazed the hole in his back. She pulled away her hand and red covered her fingertips. Her mouth fell open.
        “Y-you-your hurt,” she stammered.
        “Aemilia... we need to get Bantius inside. He is hurt worse than me,” Paulus said.
        “B-but yo-”
        “Aemilia, please. I need your help.”
        “Al-alright.”
        He met her tear-stricken eyes and smiled weakly to reassure her, “I love you, Aemilia. I am okay.”
        “I love you too.”
        “Please, help me up.”
        Paulus pushed his weight down against his knees. He put some weight on Aemilia’s shoulder and groaned as her hands grazed his battered flesh to support him. With a pained hiss, he stood with his wife’s aid.
        “We’ll carry him between us, okay?” Paulus suggested.
        Aemilia wobbled her head in a reluctant nod. Carefully, Paulus eased down the stairs and took panted breaths from the effort. As the soreness from his injuries rolled through him, he felt his body begin to lock up. He prayed he had enough strength to lift Bantius. His neighbour was not a massive man, but nor was he small, and Paulus knew that Aemilia could not carry the wounded man by herself.
        “On three, we’ll each take an arm,” He said and crouched.
        Again, Aemilia’s head teetered up and down. Her eyes were stretched with shock and all blood had drained from her face as she took on Bantius’s condition.
        “What happened to him?” She asked.
        “Wolves?” Paulus guessed, “I am not sure.” “What can we do to help him?”
        “I am not sure, but we have to try.”
        Aemilia nodded more firmly, “Let’s get him inside.”
        “One... two... three!”
        Paulus pulled with all his remaining strength, and, with Aemilia taking most of Bantius’s weight, they made it up the stairs. He pushed the door open and assisted as best he could. A grunt escaped his lips as he forced Bantius’s upper half up and onto their table. Aemilia pulled with all her weight and strength. Bantius slid slowly, until he was fully off the ground. Thick crimson streaks stained the table’s wood in the wounded man’s wake. Blood dripped between the table’s planks and began to pool on the floor beneath.

 

II

        “H-how is he still alive?” Aemilia asked.
        Under the house’s candlelight, Bantius injuries became apparent. Entire chunks were torn from his body and what was left look gnawed upon by some wild animal. It was a miracle that his right leg was still attached below the knee. The limb was a grotesque bisected mass and looked as if dull fingernails had pulled it apart. His remaining skin was an unhealthily pale grey, and his frame was becoming thin, like a decomposed corpse.
        Bantius’s hair began to fall off in patches, until he was completely bald. The individual strands seemed to age years, in seconds; once rich brown, it a silver-white and crumbled to dust. Black veins throbbed with an urgency that seemed impossible, given his condition. His eye lids fluttered, and his irises widened until they became foggy and the colour resembled tainted milk. Each breath grew shallower and harder to come by.
        He convulsed.
        A black fluid geyser shot up from his mouth and rained down on his torn flesh. It filled the house with a rancid, necrotic smell that caused Aemilia to gag. With a final sigh, his breath ceased, and his body slumped as if deflated.
        Paulus slumped against a wall by the door. He left his own blood streak, as he slid to the floor. Without having to drag Bantius’s weight, he was feeling a bit better. Rest, he felt he just needed rest. Heat was building in the puncture in his lower back, but he did not have the mind to worry about it. He closed his heavy eyes and wanted nothing more than to rest.
        “Paulus...” Aemilia whispered as she checked on Bantius with her had gently pressed against his nose and mouth. “I think he’s dead...”
        Paulus opened his eyes and felt a chill run through his body. He shivered. With a pained grunt, he rose. His underside was damp and sticky and His head began to spin as he drew to his full height.
        “Aemilia...” He felt his knees tremble, “I-I don’t feel good.”
        In a blurred rush, the room faded and became nothing.

III

        Paulus sprang upwards and hissed at the sting that touched his nerves, from the sudden movement. The pain was hot and almost paralyzing. He gritted his teeth against the shock running through his body. 

        “Stay still, Paulus,” Aemilia said, with a mother’s tenderness. “Lay back down.”
        Her soft hand pushed his shoulder, and, after a wince, he relented. For a dazed moment, he did not know where he was. It took a few moments for him to collect his thoughts and surroundings. He felt a damp cloth dab his forehead. His eyes met Aemilia’s. The worry in them made his heart break.
        “I am okay,” He said, attempting to reassure. “How long was I asleep?”
        “Most of the night,” Aemilia replied and brushed away a single tear resting in her eye’s corner. “It’s almost morning.”
        “You watched over me all night?”
        “Of course, I did. You had me worried Paulus.”
        “I’m sorry...”
        As his senses returned and the grogginess dissipated, he felt the tight wrap around his midsection. His sight darted past Aemilia to the blood smeared tablecloth covering a man-shaped mound on their table. A cold remorse took his heart. He had tried so hard and defeat mixed with sorrow gripped him.
        A pale white hand dangled off the table beyond the tablecloth’s edge. Long blue and black veins were spread across the skin as if they were imitating fissures in cracked stone. For a moment, Paulus thought the fingers moved but decided that was an impossibility – a trick of the eye.
        He sat up again, this time with slow deliberate effort and with Aemilia supporting his back. Her gentle touch did not cause the scratches to sting as she applied pressure. He placed his arms around her and kissed her.
        “Thank you, my love,” He whispered into her ear. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
        The tablecloth sat up and his heart froze.
        “Someone has to look after you,” Aemilia said, unaware as to what was happening behind her.
        The cloth fell away to reveal something that was no longer Bantius. It had some resemblance, but its features were sharper and more angular. Its nose seemed to protrude from its sucken face and its nostrils flared wide with each breath, like Argento’s when he was put to hard labour in the fields. Long pointed ears stretched at an angle beyond its hairless crown. Its milk white eyes were slowly flooded by midnight black veins, as if a thousand miniature spiders crawled from the beneath the Bantius’s eyelids in a vast wave, until they devoured all. Its mouth opened impossibly wide, revealing two snake-like fangs in its upper and lower jaw.
        “Aemilia...” Paulus whispered, with urgency.
        Instinctually, he did not want to make noise or move. On an animalistic level, he knew there was no fighting whatever Bantius had become. It was a nightmarish thing that exuded a physical hunger into the air.
        “We need to go...” Paulus hissed quietly.
        Aemilia turned to the Bantius thing and gasped from its unnatural horror. More black veins crawled across the thing’s skin as it drew breath into its necrotic lungs for the first time. Its spine hunched and a long tentacle-like tongue lolled from its mouth to lick its lips and along its fangs. With an inevitable slowness its utterly black eyes traced the room; Paulus shivered as they locked and met his.
        He rolled onto his knees, into a crouch. Fresh adrenaline raged through his veins, erasing the pains in his back and sore muscles.
        The thing’s lips quivered, and long drool strands began to rain from its gapping mouth. What could be called a hiss rumbled in its throat. Its eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, deep in rage.
        The screech that followed made Paulus’s ears sting with pain. He winced and cried out against the wail but was unable to hear is own voice in the oppressive volume. Through watering eyes, he watched the thing stand on the table. It was thin, as if Bantius had starved for years before his transformation. Ribs stood out beneath the skin and seemed unstable in its frame as it took deep each deep breath. What little meat there was, not touching bone, hung loose and wrinkled in deflated flesh rolls.
        The thing’s leap was impossibly fast. The table crashed onto its side with the force from the thing’s take off. Paulus reacted by pushing Aemilia to the side and flopping on top of her. Miraculously, in the thing’s rage it overshot slightly and slammed into the wall with a sickening crunch. With a bloody face, it writhed in pain at his feet.
        “Go!” He cried as he rolled off Aemilia. With as much force as he could muster, he kicked. His foot connected with the thing’s jaw, compounding its hurt and causing it to thrash away onto its back with a wolf’s snarl.
        Aemilia pushed up to and on her feet. She raced with a pace born from survival. Paulus half crawled and half run after her. His imagination made it feel as if the thing’s breath was on his neck as he fled and it made his hair rise. They both slammed into the door as one and pushed in panic against the barrier, before realizing it needed to be pulled. He took the doors handle, just as the thing let out a leopard’s growl. He froze. Fear took him and he looked over his shoulder at it and moaned in fright.
        It prowled on all fours. He recognized it for what it was. An apex predator. He also realized they had been lucky. Whatever Bantius had become had now completely taken over, whereas a second ago its mind was savage and rabid; unthinking. It was still beyond wild but had learned a predator’s self-control after its initial assault. It loped on all fours, circling, more like a beast than a man. Nothing blocked its graceful stride and it almost slid over the potential obstacles in its path, such as the sparce furniture scattered across the room and upturned table it was birthed upon.
        Paulus took Aemilia’s wrist and tugged her gently, afraid to make any sudden moves. He pulled the door open a crack with his other hand. The things brow tightened, and its elongated fangs seemed to stretch further from its raw bloody gums. Its lips quivered and thin muscle strands bunched. It ceased its graceful crawl and dug its talons in for purchase.

IV

        Paulus knew what was about to happen. There are a few moments in a man’s life where his character is judged. This was one.
        His heart punched in his chest, with his sudden action. He yanked Aemilia’s wrist and opened the door in one motion. Aemilia’s feet were taken from her as he shoved her outside. She slammed into the porch; to off balance catch herself in any dignified way, like a thrown potato sack.
        He glanced back into the house and saw the Bantius thing leap. There was no time to exit and Paulus stood as a shield in the open doorway, accepting his fate. The impact was beyond jarring. His vision went blank. He felt everything at a distance as if his senses decided to mute the experience. For a second, he fell through the air with the thing driving its full weight into his back. When he landed face first on rough earth. He realized the thing had sent him sprawling beyond the porch onto the ground below, with the force from its full-bodied tackle. A pained hiss seethed through his teeth, as the thing’s sharp talons punctured his skin in a wholly more savage way than the broken sapling had earlier. He felt the hot breath on his neck and quivered as it tickled and made his skin goose. Drool dripped around him, like the first few raindrops before a storm. Even Aemilia’s horrified scream from the porch felt distant as if the sound was at his hearing’s edge. He took one last breath and accepted his fate. He had done what he could to protect his wife – his love – and hoped should would get away from this nightmare.
        At first, the rays were feint as they sought passage through the trees. That did not last long. Summer was coming into full force. This was the sun’s time, and it spread its brilliance with an apocalyptic speed. The light cut past the leaves and rose above them. Paulus felt the light pierce his eyelids and enjoyed its warmth against his cold skin. The thing shrieked.
        The talons withdrew but were far from kind in their exit. Paulus’s blood spattered across the grass and the thing ignored its hunger to get away from the light. It had an inhuman speed and was little more than a pale white blur as it raced for sanctuary. Steam hissed in its trail and black spots decorated its skin. The barn’s doors smashed inwards. It blew through the wood as if it were the same density as water. Splinters rained in all direction and, a moment later, it moaned like a wounded animal.
        “Paulus!” Aemilia cried.
        He felt her at his side and slowly opened his eyes. The gods had blessed him, he decided; though their blessing was painful and had left more holes in his flesh.
        “I need to clean these,” Aemilia stammered as she collapsed over him.
        “Why’d it go?” He asked weakly.
        Aemilia shook her head. She helped him roll over and sit up. He felt warm blood smear his sides and back. However, this time he did not get lightheaded. He was calm. That was an unusual feeling considering what had just happened. He recognized that much but did not panic and looked at the sun, enjoying its golden light as the air quickly took on heat.
        “The sun,” He gave answer to his own question.
        “What?” Aemilia asked as she tour fabric from her dress and tied it tightly around the new wounds.
        He winced as feeling overcame the shock and said, “Whatever Bantius has... become... he did not like the sun.”
        “That is well and good, but I need to close these wounds,” Aemilia said as she tied the last makeshift bandage around his midsection.
        “We’ll have to leave,” He said, “We need to get away while the sun is out.”
        “We will,” Aemilia said diplomatically, “But I need to help you first. We won’t make it far if you are bleeding to death.”
        He nodded, “Help me stand?”
        Aemilia shouldered his weight, but he was able to will his legs into action and just use her for balance.
        The thing moaned its pain once more, like a dying cat. Its coal black eyes glistened beyond the light in the barn’s threshold. He met cold soulless orbs and shivered; he was unsure if it was from his injuries or the inhuman hunger that stared back from the shadows.

Let me know what you think of the story so far!

Thanks for reading,

Brett
 

Check out the earlier Ghoul Design process here.

Ghouls

After a few weeks, the Ghoul concept is finished! 

As a art piece evolves its a interesting rollercoaster. At some points you feel like its not going to come out and at others you have some extreme pride, while as others you feel somethings work well while others do not and you constantly rework them. 

I prefer a very high contrast in my style and sometimes that makes creating an effective background hard. Art is always about learning and progressing and I think (and hope) I nailed a good effect for this piece. In the end I am happy with it... until dwelling on it for awhile. But in the end, I feel the background fits the high contrast that I go for. Its a good blend.

To give some context to where this piece began, here is the original sketch (you can read about the follow concept design process with the link at the top of this post).

And with this sketch, the full piece is born from!

Below I will dig into the different elements of this drawing in detail.

To start the blend, I wanted a strong background light from the moon. That eerie horror movie moon with the thin cloud wisps and almost unnaturally bright. As it expands into the sky I feel the swirling really gives some depth compared to a straight black background. Also do to the high contrast I prefer for a foreground character, it was somewhat strange to go with a middle tone in order to create that contrast. At the beginning the background was a lot darker, but it became overpowering and stole the eye. 

I wanted to show the utter creepiness of the ghouls. The ghoul at the pillars top is very much inspired by a spider crawling. I wanted the joints pushed outwards and at sharp angles and the almost unnatural curvature in its spine hopefully give a insect type feel. 

Below the long limbs and slouched form of a ghoul at ground gives the creepiness of these creatures. It makes them look even more sickly, but the feeling that they are ready to pounce!

With the moon's light just touching the central ghoul, we are able to see the details and the horror of these creatures. I wanted the light to catch its collar bone and ribs, to show how sickly these things are. Also the thin yet muscular neck adds to the sickly nature but gives an indication of its power. You can also see the black veins giving its pale skin a more sickly appearance. I am pretty happy with how the light touches its silhouette in a natural, but extreme manner. It helps the central ghoul stand out against the grey background and allows for the contrast that I love so much in art. The hair was the very last detail I added to the ghoul. Originally, I wanted them to be completely hairless, but show how the thin long hair makes this particular ghoul look more sinister, more danger!

Well I hope you enjoy! I would love to know what you think! As always I appreciate your time and if you know anyone that would like this kind of thing, please are my work. It means the world to me! 

Thanks

Brett

 Wait if you have not read the previous Chapters, click the Carthirose Saga button above or Click here.

Chapter 4 - Lars

I

        Whether from imagination or unmeasured fact, the night felt cold. Spring was succumbing to summer and the night should not have be giving chills to those who were forced to be outside. Cold made joints hurt and skin prickle into sores. It stole the strength from muscles and made the mind drowsy. Lars hated the cold for all those reasons and more. He was not particularly old but was towards middle age’s wrong side. Each year he hurt more; each year he was slower. Old injuries renewed their roaring pains in his joints, and whenever he sat unintentional grunts escaped his lips. All this was exasperated by the drop in temperature. He hated the cold.
        He hated those clustered around the fire even more. His face clearly showed the disquiet he held for each and was made sinister in the flickering orange fire light. They were young and lean, where he could not lay claim to be either, especially the latter. They did not feel the chill like he did, and they stole the fire’s warmth that should have been his, by rights. Was it not right to respect those with more experience? Lars knew this was a punishment. The new guard captain was young like the two boys on the fire’s other side and a woman privileged by name and not deed. Some brat spawned by Lavici’s higher classes. She had not seen eye to eye with him despite his experience in the town’s guard. Lars could already see the favoritism she gave the latest recruits. It was unfair. He wanted nothing more than to leave his post to attend the social halls and wash his pains away with a hearty drink. Why did he have to babysit these two brats in the cold and at night.
        “Quiet night,” One of the youths remarked, breaking Lars’s revelry. Lars had not bothered to learn the youth’s name.
        “That’s a good thing,” Said the other.
        “Anyone have some cards to past the time?”
        “Lights no good for that,” Lars spat, “Ya’ll need to keep your mouths shut. Your ramblin’s are making my bones hurt.”
        They looked at Lars with blank expressions. It made him hate them more. Slacked faced idiots, he thought, why in the Gods’ names am I stuck with these slacked faced idiots?
        Too afraid to reply directly, the first youth turned to the second and said, “Pay comes tomorrow, what are you going to do with it?”
        “Eat something with custard!”
        “Damned fools,” Lars growled, “Ya need to have a drink that’ll give you your first ball hairs. Stick a prostitute with your pecker to become a man. Everything else is a waste of good coin, ya youthful fools.”
        From Lars’s perspective, the second youth grew a pair as he spoke up, “Quit your rambling old man. I don’t want to listen to your whining all night.”
        Lars laughed heartily. His large belly swelled with each booming bellow. It ended in a coughing fit that stole his breath. He was not upset by his lacking oxygen, even as he struggled to regain his breath. Panting, he cleared the tears from his eyes with a finger. This one ain’t so bad after all, he thought.
        “I would like to see you try something, boy,” He finally replied between breathless rasps.
        “I don’t think you stand a chance if your breath is lost simply by laughing,” The second youth said and stood. His hand shot to the sword at his hip and he freed the first few inches.
        Lars felt heat rise in his breast and grew serious. He rose slowly with as much menace as he could muster. Already, he was planning his first moves. The second youth was a shrimp and lacked any real strength in his arms. Lars could tell fear was already freezing the youth’s nerves. He stood a head taller and was easily twice as thick. Even though he had accumulated extra fat on his frame in recent years, he was always a big man. His arms bulged with muscle and his legs were thicker. He had toiled all his life and his pains were not caused by disuse, quite the opposite. He was a hard man and was imposing despite age’s discomforts.
        “Ya better think really hard now, son,” Lars growled like a predatory wolf.
        “I-I,” The second youth stammered.
        The night grew silent; not even the fire dared to crackle as it ate the wood that fueled it. There was anticipation in the air. Something was coming and stole the normal sounds, smells, and warmth from the world.
        In a sudden blur, the second youth vanished from Lars’s sight. The heat evaporated from Lars’s chest and for the first time in a long while he stood dumbfounded. A blood curdling scream, to close for comfort, erupted from a tortured throat beside him. His face drained its colour. A ghost white thing with one arm thrashed, punched, and bit at the second youth’s face and throat.
        Its strength was incredible, despite its starved skeletal appearance. Even disfigured, it manhandled the youth with ease. Large cable like muscles bulged in its neck and it thrashed faster than the eye could follow. After a few moments, the youth was a bloody mess, and his eyes were swollen shut from the beating. Blood gurgled from his mouth as the thing repeatedly struck his midsection. Lars watched the youth’s ribs break under the chainmail armour and tensed at the horrific sound that followed.
        Soulless midnight black eyes stared with an inhuman hunger as they turned to Lars and the other youth. Their image burnt into Lars mind and he looked away in utter horror. Even still, they remained in his imagination, staring and unblinking as if seared into his brain.
        Without thought, Lars backed away. He ignored the second youth’s blood that jetted across his face as the white thing reared up in a roar and then clamped its jaws on the youth’s throat with savage impossible speed. It was the death blow. The thing’s neck pulsed wide and then inhumanly thin, as it suckled and swallowed bloody mouthfuls from the twitching youth.
        Lars’s sword was in his hand in an instant. His grip was firm, and he knew what he had to do. He hacked down on the dumbfounded surviving youth’s knee. The joint shattered with a sickening crunch. The blow had not been well aimed, but it was delivered with force and the sword acted more like a club than a cutting weapon.
        The youth wailed in agony and writhed on the dew damp grass a moment after he fell. The white thing lifted and turned its predatory gaze to the sound. Thick blood coated its mouth, chin, and chest. Long fangs stretched from its mouth like daggers. Its throat rumbled like a feline ready to kill a mouse. It pounced on the wailing youth and tore into his throat. The cries stopped sharply at their peak.
        Lars saw nothing after he sentenced the youth to death. He was already through Lavici’s open gates by the time the white thing bit into the first youth’s neck and did not spare a glance backwards. He took no time to close the town’s barrier as he raced down the main street with gulping breaths.

II

        Lars pushed into the social hall and nearly collapsed. After a few more gasping strides, he fell onto a stool at the bar. The seat groaned in response as he shifted his weight onto it. Sweat rolled down his face with a rapid river's tenacity. An iron blood tang in his mouth and was made worse from his ragged breaths. He felt ready to keel over and swore to lose weight. He felt nothing for the two youths, but he did feel the white thing’s black eyes staring into his soul. They had a physical hunger to them that he would never be able to forget but that fact would not stop him from trying.
        “I need a damn drink!” He roared.
        The bar’s tender was old and sheepish. Lars knew the man well and had never liked him. Always seeking to please and no damned backbone, Lars thought. However, the bartender’s trade afforded him a certain respect that others with similar a nature would not ever receive from Lars.
        The bartender meandered over slowly - due to age more than anything else. He smiled warmly and freed a ceramic tankard from beneath the counter when he arrived. After a few stuttering steps, the old bartender reached out to the tapped keg and filled the tankard with amber coloured liquid and carefully placed it before Lars. A layer of foam slowly retreated into the cup and dribbled down the tankard’s lip.
        “That’ll be a copper, Lars,” The Bartender said with a wisp after each word.
        “Put it on me tab, Vel,” Lars grumbled before draining half the ale in a single gulp.
        “You have yet to play your tab from last night,” Vel the Bartender stated.
        “I said, put it on me tab!” Lars growled.
        “As you say,” Vel replied, “I thought I would not be seein’ you this eve’, Lars. Are ya not on watch tonight?”
        “Piss off, Vel. Not in the mood to chit chat.”
        “Is that blood on ya face, Lars?”
        “I said, Piss off!”
        The Bartender nodded and made his way back the way he came without complaint, checking on the other patrons as he shuffled by.
        Lars paid no attention to that and paid even less to the eye that stared at him throughout the hall. He sipped his ale and found the tankard emptied faster than it should have. His head began to buzz, and a warmth filled his gut. As soon as the feeling began, it started to ebb away. A vision of the white thing stole the pleasure the ale.
        He swore and cried out for another, “Keep ‘em coming Vel. I don’t want to feel nothin’!”

III

        Sun rays reached over the horizon and stabbed through the open gates. Lars swore at them as they pierced is eyelids. He lay in a heap outside the hall. Cold sapping at his joints would have been luxurious compared to how his head pulsed. Breath did not come easily through his nostrils. He sucked air into his lungs through his teeth and forced it out through his nose. Large blood clots and a sharp sting were his rewards. It was then that his fists started to ache. The fog in his mind made realization hard to come by. When did I get into a fight? He asked himself, and with who? Fortunately, he knew this feeling well. With an ungentle hand, he forced his broken nose back into place with a sickening crunch and then popped his two dislocated fingers back into their sockets.
        Through sheer will, he put his feet under him - causing nausea and vertigo to race through his alcohol bleached mind. The vomit that followed tasted like acid and clung to every inch in his mouth. The dry heaving, which followed a few gasping breaths, made his ribs burn with pain.
        “Gods be damned,” He coughed.
        He managed to take a few wobbled steps before the cobblestoned street came up to meet him. More vile liquid spilled from his mouth and ran down his face. A whimpering grown followed and he pushed away from the vomit with a back handed wipe, then with a groan was back to his feet. His whole body felt like a bruise and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and die.
        Somehow, he found himself in an alley but had no idea where he was. His consciousness was blacking in and out. He attempted to find something to guide his path, but the dread-filled alley felt like something from the terror stories bards used to scare children at festivals. His hands quested along his belt in response to the tension crawling up his spine. Relief came from a leather wrapped hilt. He drew the knife and enjoyed its familiar weight. Although, he still had his sword, he doubted he had the poise to use it in his current state. He was just as likely to skewer himself as anyone who sought trouble.
        Lars kept his free hand against the grime covered alley wall and pressed his weight against it to give himself some stability, while keeping his knife ready at his side. He did not expect to run into trouble but was not going to risk relying on his uncoordinated body. His progress was slow. Each step was excruciating.
        “Help me...”
        He froze. Sweat beads dribbled down his spine. The voice was hollow and weak. Somehow it sounded sick. Lars did not know how he knew that, but he did. Whatever called to him was sick. He had always despised the sick. They should be burned for all he cared.
        “Please...”
        With slow dread, he gazed to the ground. A pale, almost ghostly, white hand reached out from under a pile a refuse. Thick black veins throbbed visibly along the hand and the arm attached to it. The wraith-like figure crawled weakly into the open and Lars was at once reminded of the white thing attacking the youths. The only difference was this thing was a woman and she was weak where the white thing was strong. She also lacked the dagger fangs jutting from her mouth and the hungry eyes that sought to consume all. Her eyes were filled with worry and dread. She knew full well that she was dying, and Lars could see that realization easily enough across her tortured body. Her clothes were torn and in rags. One breast flopped about with each struggled move like an old lady. The only colour on her was the crimson that covered her wounded neck and chest. Lars could not quite tell from the angle, but if he had to guess, it looked as if something tore her throat out. There was no way she could be alive with such a wound. He was reminded what the white thing did to the youths the night before.
        She gasped, “Hel-”
        The knife slashed across the reaching arm, spilling rancid blood onto the cobblestones. Panic broiled in Lars’s veins. Adrenaline and fear-filled sanger followed. His mind cleared. He roared with a hate that was born from survival instinct. Lars followed his first reactive attack with an intended knife thrust, which punched into the women’s eye, just as they turned coal black. The eye popped as if it were under pressure, sending a thick liquid splashing across Lars’s face in a burst. More jet gore dribbled from her mouth in long stringy gobbets.
        With a twist and a pull, Lars freed his knife and punched it twice more. He fell back against the alley wall and panted like a dog on a warm summer day. The thick blood ran between the stone as if reaching towards him. Desperately, he crawled away - managing to find his feet. He ran from the alley. He was ashamed that his body gave out a few paces later. Fire filled his lungs and muscles from the exertion. Tainted blood mixed with sweat and ran on his lips. He spat with all his might to keep it from getting inside his mouth.
        He struggled back to his feet, feeling no alcohol in his head anymore. Hot burning adrenaline gave him clarity and he used it to stand. With a few staggered steps, he resumed his panicked flight down the street.

IV

        Lars collapsed into his bunk. His head pounded with savage fury. He could feel the veins at his temples throbbing and wanted every sensation to go away. Sweat beaded on his flesh. His stomach turned sour and demanded release, but he swallowed hard to quash it. He did not know how he got here and felt as if he woke from a bad dream. Exhaustion took him. The world spun. His vision became a void and consciousness disappeared soon after.

V

        The black blood crawled as if it had sentient intent. Ever so slowly, it stretched outward from the ruined woman’s face in an ever-growing flood - consuming the cobblestones around her. It pooled beside an open sewer hole, before reaching over and drooling into the depths below in long molasses-like strands. As the blood touched the grey sewer water it dispersed. Clouds swirled with the slow but steady sewage flow and dissolved.
        The sewers were far from unoccupied. Although the less fortunate dwelled within tunnels, the true occupants were what many within Lavici would call pests. Rats and stray animals interacted with the water for either drink or travel. The affects were not immediate, but the changes occurred more rapidly than they should have for any natural contagion. There was power in the blood. It was a thin and diluted power in comparison to what birthed it, but still potent. It did not seek to destroy; it wanted to create symbiosis. There was a cost however and not all survived the change. However, it learned from each failure, like an ant hive searching for food it consumed in an ever-spreading wave.
        A particularly large rat squealed in agony as it used its last strength to crawl out from the sewer’s stew and onto a ledge that helped channel the liquid waste. It crawled a few steps and its sides pulsed as if they were about to explode from the effort to breathe. Hair sluffed off it in patches and thick black veins raced across its exposed pale skin, like cracks in a stone.
        The one-armed ghoul watched the rat transform and become rabid from a shadowed alcove. With an animal’s understanding, it knew the rat was changing into something close kindred. Because of this it did not devour it as had done to the vermin piled beside it. Although, the ghoul’s hunger was impossible to satiate, its recent feedings gave it the ability to resist this final morsel. Unconsciously, it smiled revealing its long snake-like fangs as the rat’s own sharp teeth elongated.

Let me know what you think. See you next week!

Brett

Illumination

If you have not read Part One, check it out here in the mythology section. 

Illumination

        Korwraith felt the New Being's warmth and emotions never before felt raised through ever nerve. It wrapped its arms around the New Being and draped its wings around. Light rose from the New Being and for the first time the void knew illumination. Rays - pure white in colour - reach out and dispelled the darkness...

        Korwraith looked out and no longer saw the infinite dark. It also saw that the void was not empty. Vast masses floated in the distance. They were all different shapes and sizes. There was no sanity to it. For a being as perfect as Korwraith, such a thing grated on its nerves. It pulled away from the New Being, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty on its companion, before turning to the vastness beyond...

        It left the New Being behind and, with great sweeps from its wings, it propelled to the closest mass. Time passed slowly, despite the incredible speed Korwraith travelled. At last it reached the mass and slowed so that it would not collide. Korwraith vision stretched far, but so close to the vast mass, it could not take in the entirety of its irregular shape...

        Summoning strength and with a roar that stretched eternity, Korwraith reached out to touch the mass. The gritty texture was replusive but it was hard and could be shaped with great strength. And so, Korwraith rolled the mass and injected it with his energy. The mass rolled and rolled. Its elongated unruly structure became a globe...

        With two great sweeps from its wings, Korwraith pushed away from the globe to appreciate its full beauty. It was proud of its work. It was proud to create something so perfect. It looked to the New Being to share its new creation, but found the New Being missing. Korwraith's heart became hard in its chest. It looked into the void and found it could not see the New Being. With a sickening realization, it realized the New Being did not have wings and therefore had no means to travel through the void...