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Chapter 14 - Paulus

I

        He examined the harsh purple and almost black marks across his skin. They swarmed the long pink and red gashes that pulsed repeatedly. At least they were finally closed, and forming scars were growing strong enough to be stretched as he moved; though a sting followed every time he tried. What was beginning to concern him was the heat building in his forehead and chest. He could feel sweat beginning to form in a thin clammy layer across his skin and hoped the fever would not take hold. On the positive, there was renewed vitality in his features, and he looked stronger compared to yesterday. He confirmed this as he stared at himself in the small mirror. He could not bring himself to acknowledge the thin black veins worming their way out from the healing wounds as he turned his sight from the mirror.
        “You are starting to look better,” Aemilia said and gave a reassuring smile.
        “I am feeling better,” Paulus said, doing his best to ignore the slow burning heat. He tried to convince himself it was just his body healing, but deep down knew better.
        “Come back to bed?” She asked and lifted the cover.
        He was too hot to be comfortable under the covers but still accepted the offer. With all his heart, he wanted to enjoy his love’s embrace. Sadly, that was an impossibility. He bore it with a stubborn resilience for a time and did his best not to let his discomfort show. When the heat became unbearable, he placed his lips on hers and then pulled away.
        “We should go to the market soon,” He said, “Before everything is picked clean. There has been less each day.”
        It was obvious she did not want to go. The bed was warm and despite summer reaching its zenith, the days seemed darker, shorter, and colder. It was as if a haze covered the land, which was a very real thing with all the fire pockets that burned outside Lavici – though the smoke was not causing the oppressive feeling.
        In a way, it felt as if the town was under siege and the surrounding land was being consumed by a war to which the enemy was not fully known. Paulus saw that enemy’s face every time he blinked, and its pale bestial visage caused the heat inside him to burn brighter.
        Aemilia swallowed hard and nodded her ascent, “Let's get going, I just need a minute to get dressed.”

II

        Paulus was thankful to be outside. Although he was eternally grateful for the apartment the town provided, he could not stand to look at the four walls anymore. Due to his injuries, he had been unable to leave while he healed. It was only the last two days he felt strong enough to make a sojourn out – though those trips had been short. He hated feeling like a burden and wished for his strength to truly return. He hated having Aemilia wait on him. He always wanted to be strong for her and felt like an infant since they arrived in the apartment. He loathed that she had to go out alone most days to collect what food she could and their other supplies. The situation had made his mood dark.
        Unfortunately, Lavici’s own mood seemed to match his. He could not remember the vibrate town as it had been when they visited a few weeks ago – before Bantius turned into a monster. The town was grey like the sky and it felt as if all colour had been stripped away from it. People wore rags and shuffled as if they lacked the energy to walk.
        They walked like cattle being channeled to their pens. Lavici’s guards ensured the streets, and the markets were kept orderly. Only small populations were aloud out at a time. Paulus followed Aemilia’s lead into the dispersed crowed and his thoughts became distant and blurred without realizing it; his vision did the same.
        In the open air, the heat forming in his core turned to a winter’s chill. It felt as if his legs no longer held him up and the world spun slowly at his peripheries. Somehow, he felt his name being spoken rather than heard it and found he could not hear anything. Slowly, on their own accord, his eyes lazily rolled towards the speaker. Her outline blurred and it took all his concentration to read her lips.
        Paulus? The lips asked and were contorted with worry.
        “What?” he breathed.
        “Paulus are you okay?” Aemilia said as his eyes sharpened her hazy silhouette and sound rushed back into existence.
        “I...” Paulus stammered and felt the cold shifting back to heat.
        “Let’s get you back upstairs,” Her voice was laced with concern, “You look pale my love.”
        “I am fine,” Paulus panted.
        With a doleful smile, she shook her head, “I can get us what we need. Come. Let's get you to rest.”
        “I am sorry.”
        “Don’t be my love,” She wrapped her arms around him and shifted his weight onto hers, “You are still healing...”

III

        The door creaked as if the hinges were aged and dry.
        Paulus thought that odd because they had not made any sound hours before. He pushed himself onto his elbows up from the bed’s hold and was greeted with Aemilia’s dour smile.
        “How are you feeling?” She asked.
        “Better than before,” He replied. It was not a lie but did not give the full truth. His mind was sound after the rest, but his body burned with a greater fury. Sweat was beginning to form on his brow. It felt like the calm before a coming storm as his body amped up to fight whatever affected him.
        “That’s good,” She said, “There was not too much in the market. I guess with everyone taking shelter in Lavici the normal food deliveries are absent. The guard patrols outside Lavici have failed to return and a criminal escaped the stockades...”
        “We would have been one of those deliveries,” Paulus said, “I imagine our crops are ruined.”
        “It will be okay my love,” She said and crossed the room to sit beside him. She wrapped her arms around him, “We’ll figure it out.”
        Paulus sank into her embrace, “We will.”
        He did not believe the statement, but it would do no good to abandon hope, and he did not have the energy to express how he really felt. The feeling was hollow in his chest; he could not describe the despair consuming his once bright outlook on life. Without the harvest, the farm was essentially lost. There would not be enough to survive the winter, let alone seed a new crop next summer. They did not have the money to buy new seed and with Argento gone, did not have the means to toil in the field. All he could hope for was the farmers to band together and share supplies, but he doubted that would be possible – everyone around Lavici was in the same predicament. Beyond that, he was not sure who was still alive to share.
        “For now,” Aemilia smiled with as much warmth as she could muster, “we will eat simply.”
        “I don’t mind,” Paulus said as his eyes grew heavy.
        Aemilia pulled away and gently placed his head down onto the pillow. She spoke softly, “Let me cook what I can. You will need to eat. You are starting to look thin my love.”
        Paulus felt his eyes grow heavy as the heat inside flashed to cold. “Thank you,” he managed to say before his strength subsided and his vision blurred to black.

IV

        He woke.

        The room was dark and felt blinding. Panic ran its long thin fingers up his spine, before rational thought stilled fear’s crawling chill. Only night, he thought. He did not remember eating and wondered if he had. His stomach felt empty, but he had no desire to fill it. The fever felt like a warm coal bed; he doubted it was over and was only waiting for a breeze to reignite its fury.
        Aemilia’s relaxed breathing and soft snoring gave him comfort as his eyes adjusted to the black. Her arm was draped around his side and he took some pleasure from her touch. He could just make out stars through the only window from his vantage, but there was no moonlight. It was a comfort to know he was not truly blind; having something sturdy to go by was necessary in times where nothing made sense.
        Softly, he rose from the bed and eased Aemilia’s arm around his pillow, so that she would not miss him. A fresh determination rose through him and he would not deny it. At any second the fever could renew its fury and he wanted to use his strength while he still had it. He was still dressed and did not have to make much noise to gather his shoes and cross the apartment.
        He exited quietly, gritting his teeth at the shrieking hinges. It gnawed at his chest not to give Aemilia a parting word or kiss, but he did not want to wake her. He took one last look at her sleeping outline in the dark and enjoyed her peace.
        Carefully, he made his way to the stairs and took them with deliberate slowness. His head still swam a little and weakness made his strides less than firm, but stubbornness carried him forward. The stairs where jarring and he was forced to put his weight on the rails. Thankfully the hall below was empty; he did not have the mind to be questioned or delayed. He did not know why he was compelled to action and doubted his success, but he had to do something. Something wormed in his mind; something that Aemilia said before he passed out.
        ... the guard patrols outside Lavici have failed to return... She had said.
        Deep down, Paulus knew those patrols had been killed by the creature Bantius had become and those like him. He felt for the young guard who guided him and Aemilia to their apartment, knowing without a doubt in his mind the youth was dead. The guard captain needed to know what beseeched the town. She needed to lock the town down and trust to the walls. If even one got in... He could not stomach the thought and Bantius’s horrific visage haunted his imagination. Pitch black eyes filled with hunger and long fanged teeth that could rend flesh with ease. Sweat began to form on his brow once more, which interrupted his thoughts.
        He risked a more urgent pace and collected a ragged cloak, hung by the door, as he exited the hall. Nothing stirred in the darkness as he walked unsteady through the streets. To a casual observer, they would have assumed him drunk due to his wobbling shuffle. Unfortunately, it was the fever building again and stealing his strength.
        The journey to the guard house was uneventful and mercifully short. It was a squat structure and looked sturdy like the Old Defense’s keeps – though far smaller. He knew what to expect from its interior having seen similar structures in his travels before the farm, in what felt like another life. A square curtain wall with an open courtyard made up its front, while a long rectangular barracks made up the rear. The courtyard would be economical, with practice weapons, training dummies, and other equipment to keep the guard’s skills sharp. An open double doored gate gave the only break to the wall and two guards slouched against arch that framed the portal. He strode directly towards them with as much confidence he could muster. One guard pushed the other when he noticed his approach, and Paulus could clearly see the tension in their posture as they marched towards him with their spears almost leveled horizontal to the guard.
        “Getting a bit late for a stroll, isn’t it?” The guard on the left asked. “And past the curfew.”
        Paulus recognized him and somehow recalled his name, “Mettius, hello... uh... sorry, my name is Paulus, you guided me to an apartment when my wife and I arrived in Lavici... days ago.”
        Mettius tilted his head slightly and squinted, “Sorry friend, I don’t recognize you. Lots of fresh faces, you understand?”
        “It doesn’t matter,” Paulus said, wanting to get to the point. The fever was building, making his head pulse, and he did not know how much time he had. “I need to see the Captain of the Guard please.”
        “Why’s that, friend?” Mettius asked as the other guard began to flank right.
        Paulus could feel his blood begin to race. Sweat formed on his brow and he stifled the need to cough. He pushed saliva into his mouth and swallowed to ease the itch, but found little relief.
        “This is going to sound strange,” Paulus said in as unthreatening a tone as he could manage, “But I think I know what happened to your patrols.”
        “What do you mean?” Asked the other guard.
        Paulus could feel the aggression in the guard’s voice and took a tentative step back. What was I thinking! Paulus screamed at himself, they are going to string me up by my throat.
        “That’s enough,” Mettius barked at the other guard, “Speak now Paulus. Times are troubled and you are lucky I still have some rational thought to see a thin and beaten man such as yourself could be of little harm. What do you know?”
        “It's hard to explain, but I will do my best,” Paulus said.
        “What is going on here?” A commanding voice cut through the darkness.
        Both guards came to attention as if a spell were cast upon them. They turned and saluted to the speaker as she strode from the open gateway. Again, Paulus was taken aback by the force that seemed to radiate from her. Her hard eyes cut through that silence that followed her question, until they finally rested on Paulus.
        “What can Lavici’s guard do for you, sir?” The Captain of the Guard asked.
        “Paulus!” A wholly different female voice sailed through the night. It was sweet – it could never be any other way - but laced with concern. “You had me worried! You can’t just leave me like that!”
        Paulus turned to Aemilia as she jogged down the street to the assembly. His mind was spinning, but not from any implications or explanation he would have to give his wife. The fever was surging through his veins and he wanted to lay down. He closed his eyes so hard that they began to water – the action brought him clarity.
        “Everyone please,” He begged, “Before I am unable to speak further, I must tell you what I think happened.” He turned to the Captain as Aemilia joined him at his side, “You can’t send anymore guards from Lavici, Captain.”
        “I was not planning on it,” The Captain of the Guard replied, “Too many are out already and are late to return.”
        Lightheaded, Paulus began to lean towards Aemilia, who eagerly tried to help by taking his weight. Faintly, he heard something clatter in a nearby alley – reminding him of a steel tool bouncing on a stone floor.
        “Please,” Paulus said, “I-I nee-”
        Something between a growl and a moan ran through the night. A shiver ran down Paulus’s spine that was not caused by the fever. A sharper note followed, like dull knives being driven against stone. He looked towards the sound and found the others stared with him at the bulbous man that stumbled from the alley.
        The man’s head was bowed, and blood lined his front. With fumbling steps, he walked into the torch light that surrounded the open square at the guard house’s fore. A massive open wound in his neck poured fresh black liquid down his front, in spurts. It came out in such a quantity that should have made his body empty long ago. His skin was pale and inhuman. Jet veins crawled across his white skin and pumped with furious effort.
        Fear rose in Paulus’s gut; he had seen such a thing before...
        “Lars?” The Guard Captain asked as her hand crossed over to draw her sword.
        The man looked up and Paulus saw that he was no longer a man, but a nightmarish thing. White eyes turned to a soulless black and seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Its pale white lips pealed back unnaturally wide, revealing sinister teeth with viper-like canines protruding from its retracted bloody gum-line.
        It spoke with a voice that was no longer human and that ended in a snarl, “Hello Captain.”

Thank you for reading!

Brett

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

Chapter 13 - Lars

I

        It felt like coming out from a nightmare. Shock electrified his nerves. Sweat covered his skin and made his ragged clothing stick to his flesh. Every muscle in his massive frame was tight to the point where they would not obey his brain’s commands. His veins crawled as if ants raced through them – they shifted and pulsed in a tune that did not match his heart’s uncontrolled, uneven, and weak beats.
        His eyes were sticky as he tried to open them. They were consumed with filth and puss. He could smell their sourness, like feet left to long in boots. It took a significant effort to peel his eyelids apart and he expressed his discomfort with whimpered grunts, until they obeyed his demands.
        Panic broiled through his chest, making his heart flutter further out of rhythm. He remembered the monster’s fangs pierce his throat and his blood being sucked from the wound with ravenous greed. It was inhuman. He could feel its hunger, like a physical force, as his consciousness faded into nothingness.
        His eyes adjusted to the dark and the fog cleared from his vision as he blinked away goop and crust on his eyelashes. He was still in the sewers but no longer in the tunnels. The room was square, and he knew it was the sewers central collection point before the waste was funneled to the river and almost every channel led to this place.
        Decaying waste matter assailed his nostrils. Somehow, the reek was not as bad as it should have been, and it was not the only smell that permeated the dark. He recognized the other scents. Only a battled hardened veteran would be more familiar with it. Rotting flesh. It made him hungry. A hunger he had never felt before. It twisted his guts and made him want to exorcise his stomach’s fluids.
        His eyes further adjusted to the black, beyond any ability he thought possible. The room became alight with a twilight grey. It was as if no shadow could block his vision anymore. In fact, he felt he saw better where there were shadows when compared to open space’s general ambience.
        The rats were there, and they could no longer hide beyond his vision’s edge. There were so many, hundreds – maybe thousands. He grinned at them and could see their fast-beating hearts in their chests as if they made echoing waves in the air. They were twisted with something unnatural – something not from this world. He did not care. He wanted them. He wanted to bite into them with his fangs and devour everything without stopping. He wanted to taste their blood and break their bones and pop their organs.
        He wanted to feed!
        He needed to feed!
        Fangs? He thought, which distracted him from the hunger. He felt the long protrusions in his mouth for the first time – they were alive. It was like a limb moving for the first time. Carefully, he ran his tongue along their pointed ends and was surprised his mouth could hold such things comfortably. They were incredibly long and seemed as if they protruded to his chin.
        He found the strength to lift his arm – wishing to touch the fangs with his fingers. He paused. The arm had changed as much as his mouth. It was thinner but was by no means small and it held more power than it had before. Long curved claws extended from each finger’s tip and were as hard as bone. He placed his elbows under him and pushed to look at his body. It was wasted in a way he had never known but similar to his arm was still far from small. His skin was almost translucent and as pale as a corpse. Jet veins looked ready to break from under the thin skin as they crawled along his muscles with their own minds. With their small movements, his heart thundered in his chest and felt ready to quit or explode. He sucked in a deep breath and his nerves calmed, but his heart continued its relentless thunder.
        With the initial shock of his transformation gone, the hunger returned as well – with a renewed fury – making his body writhe and tremble. Lumps rose and fell both quickly and slowly as if something crawled inside him. It was as if his organs were rearranging themselves. His vision blurred.

II

        His awareness faded as the hunger took his mind. With tooth and nail he clawed back his consciousness. His eyes shot open. A roar left his lips, and it gave volume to his defiance. With the silence disturbed, more voices called out their anguish. Something wriggled beneath him and he did not understand how he had not felt it before. It also explained why nothing blocked his vision. With this realization, he fixed his orientation in his mind and the room shifted in angle to match.
        He was not on his back as he originally believed but slumped against a fleshy mound. With muscles that were beyond sore, he turned to face the mound. Eyes – white with decay – stared back at him, like a beached fish rotted by the sun. Somehow it did not disturb him, only made him hungrier. There were others beyond the corpse. Each was ravaged by whatever sickness had befallen him. Their skin was white and the same black veins that throbbed under his skin stretched and webbed beneath theirs. He counted around ten in total but could not be sure and less than half showed any life. Instincts, he did not know he possessed, told him that only a few would make it through the transformation – those who would not, remained still and were meat for the survivors.
        His mouth watered. Saliva rained from his lips like a waterfall. His fangs ached as if the bone they were made from knew his hunger. He could not resist. Every cell in his body flailed with excitement at the prospect. His tongue grew long and extended past his lips to lick the salty, dead, flesh nearest to him. It gave him a thrill that he had never experienced before.
        A great bloody jet projected from his open throat wound as his heartbeat grew stronger. Fresh energy surged through his limps and they bulged until his loose skin grew tight. He rolled to face the fish-eyed corpse, opened wide, and clamped down with a predator’s vigour. His fangs tore through skin, muscle, and bone alike. With a savage twist, he pulled off a chunk and swallowed it whole without a single chew. The stinking meat rolled down his throat stretching his esophagus. It was the best thing he had ever tasted.
        Again, and again, he tore into the corpse. His stomach stretched outwards as it had once done before. There was no stopping. With each bite, he grew more rabid. The decay, the rancid smell, and the rot did not turn him away from swallowing more, and more, and more – all these things only made his meal taste better.
        He wanted it all!
        He never wanted to stop pulling apart the meat with his mouth and swallowing it!
        Even though his stomach grew and looked ready to burst, he continued to take mouthful after mouthful, with each becoming more savage than the last.
        His mind began to haze once more.
        He refused to let go and, with a terrible will, he forced his heart to a calmer pace. Whatever change was twisting him, he would not let it consume him yet. He knew the hunger would overpower him, and there was no stopping it. He was not fighting it for self-preservation. Instinctively, he knew that was a battle he would never win. If truth were told, he wanted to embrace it. He knew he would, but only when he could look at those who had caused him this fate. To see their fear… Oh, how he dreamed to see their fear and taste their meat; that is what kept his mind from being lost to the hunger.
        He pushed away from the half-devoured corpse, turned back to the room, and came face to face with the thing that started this transformation within him. It seemed to smile – a proud parent watching a child achieve a great feat for the first time – and he was not afraid. Somehow, he felt more kinship to the twisted one-armed thing than he had any other. He felt he could understand the thing and the thing understood him.
        “Thank you,” He said with a voice that no longer rang like his own. It sounded as if he was speaking the words for the first time and the accent was wrong.
        It nodded and continued to give its lipless grin as it slinked back into shadow’s that his new vision could not pierce. There was something powerful about the darkness the thing created. Something that defied all senses – as if borne from another world or reality.
        Fresh energy surged through him, but he knew it was only temporary – already his stomach was beginning to deflate as it processed all that he had just devoured. The hunger was returning as if he had eaten hours ago – not seconds. He needed his revenge before the hunger consumed his mind, and the next meal would be that cursed woman’s blood. The Captain was responsible. She had done this to him – her and her cronies. His mind played out violent fantasies about what he would do to them and his mouth began to water once more.
        He pushed from the cold stones and began to walk unsteadily towards the closest passage.

III

        No conscious thoughts directed him. The sewers were a labyrinth. Each tunnel was indistinguishable from the last. He knew the general layout from talk within the drinking halls and rough map in the guard house, but to be in them was a distinct experience compared to drunk talk and a half-remembered drawing. Without his new scenes – without his obsessive hunger – he doubted he would have been able to find his way. It was as if he could smell his desire – his unknowing prey.

        With each passing second, his mind became more lost. No panic entered him, however. His focus matched the hunger’s desires, which allowed an equilibrium to exist. If at any point his desire changed, he would have been lost to the transformation and consumed by the black rushing through his very soul. His revenge guided his hunger, and his hunger guided his revenge.
        He found his way to a ladder – etched into the wall – and his claws bit into the stone as he climbed. With a wave, the grate blocking him from the streets above flew off its hinges into the air. It landed with a clatter a few seconds later but he did not stick around to witness this happen. With a walking corpse’s grace, he stumbled down the alley into the street beyond.
        “Please,” A weak voice said in the distance, “I-I need-”

        A breath escaped his lips, and it was the last he would ever take. It was as if a rabid dog used his voice to growl. Already the hunger was growing tired with the truce and wanted to consume his mind as much as the revenge he sought. Fresh thick and black liquid pulsed from his open throat as his mind fogged. His fangs ached uncomfortably, like overworked joints. He placed his hand against a nearby wall to steady his spinning vision and his claws dug furrows into it without the slightest effort.
        “Lars?”
        He looked up into the open square with almost blind eyes. Only the captain had any focus as black crawled inwards at his sight’s edges. His lips pealed back and, for once, he felt joy.
        “Hello Captain,” He lips curved upwards and willing let the savage hunger take his mind – knowing full well it would enact his vengeance. Lars died happy, with that smile twisting his face. He was finally free from all the pains life had caused him.

Thank you for reading! If you are enjoying the story so far, please considering sharing!

Brett