Plague Wars - Epilogue and Afterword

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Epilogue

I

        “What is your name child?” The voice was sweet like honey.
        She rose, not remembering how she came to be in darkness. It smelled wet and like rusted metal. Warmth touched and pricked her skin. Am I floating? She wondered and discovered the answer a second later. Liquid sloped down her dress as she collected her feet beneath her and found ground just below the liquid’s surface. She hated its thick viscosity. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the black. She turned to the speaker and focused on the silhouette.
        “My name is Volcatia Ivmara, Captain of the Lavici’s Guard,” She spoke with authority and defiance, “Who are you.” It was not a question but a demand.
        Red burning eyes cut through the silhouette’s night black visage. Silver white fangs and teeth in perfect alignment split its face, revealing an impossibly wide grin. Its outline seemed wholly natural in the dim light and had a woman’s stature but at the same time defied the World’s natural laws with its sheer aura as if something larger sought to stretch the physicality of the sillouette’s outline and was barely contained.
        “You are not like the others in Lavici, Volcatia. You are special,” The silhouette spoke without moving its lips and it took a second for Volcatia to realize that its voice was in her head. The silhouette continued, “Unlike the others who have been touched by my children, you will be given a choice. You are special – strong – and not cattle like the masses.”
        “Who are you.” Again, a demand.
        The silhouette stepped forward and pale grey light emanated from the atmosphere, dispelling the shadows. It was as if the surrounding darkness was lifted from the speaker’s guise by its will alone and with that will the entire all-consuming black was vanquished to reveal the bloody ocean, they stood in. Volcatia was immediately awestruck by both the beauty and demonic horror the female speaker portrayed. The woman’s armour was a glossy jet – almost organic in nature – as if it were made from still wet bone freshly harvested from flesh. Its curves and sharp points made the speaker majestic and cruel – once something godly and divine but now corrupted by a force beyond measure or understanding. Its long feminine face was a sinister skull with sharp cheekbones, slightly elongated to accommodate its slim but impossibly wide grin that stretched to its pointed ears.
        “Very special,” The speaker said. Somehow, its grin grew further across its face as it ushered its name into the cold air, “I am Uulia, my daughter.”
        “Daughter?” This time, a question.
        “Yes,” The grin transformed into a toothy smile that was somehow all the more sinister.
        “What are you?”
        “I would be considered many things. Some would call me Touched, others corrupt. Myths would label me as a creature of night, a Vampyre, while humankind would know me as a nightmare; the creature that stalks their dreams and those of their children... I am all these things and none of them. They are all ignorant attempts to explain something greater than moral understanding. To you, I am mother.”
        “My mother was consumed by fever when I was a child,” Volcatia spat, “You are not her!”
        Uulia laughed with genuine mirth and agreed, “No, I am not her. But I am your mother. You will be reborn as my daughter for you are of my blood. I am the Matriarch who conceived your great grandmother when the God’s walked the earth and fought over their petty things. I waged their wars and now I seek my rewards for that service... what I am owed. You were touched by greatest long before your first breath and will be greater still after your last. I gave birth to your line and therefore you are tied to me.”
        Uulia freed a curved dagger from her belt and drew it across her hand without registering any pain. Black blood dripped into the red ocean. It seemed to crawl out across the red surface like oil consuming the crimson, or like a spreading plague consuming the living.
        “I offer you my kiss, Daughter,” Uulia presented her open palm. “Feed and your fate will be bound to me as one of my Children. Deny the gift I offer and be condemned for being one within my bloodline.”
        Volcatia cried out against the black blood as it crawled up her legs and burned her nerves with its icy touch.
        “I will protect you from afar my Child,” Uulia said as she offered her palm to Volcatia’s lips, “The one who hunts you will not find your scent until you are long gone from Lavici... If you move quickly. My powers have outgrown his, but I am very far from you... Find and join me in the North. When you wake, make haste. I already feel my lesser children being slaughtered by the Slayer.”
        The last thing Volcatia knew was the black liquid’s rancid metallic taste forcing its way down her throat. She felt its power. She felt stronger. She wanted it. Her greedy acceptance warmed the blood as it consumed her.

II

        “We need to get Volcatia out of here!” Sergeant Dexsius roared. “Pescennius wake up! The town is burning!”
        An angry orange flickered outside the window and carbon filled the air. Smoke was beginning to gather around the room’s ceiling. An awestruck Guard stood watching the pandemonium that was consuming the town beyond the viewing portal. Dexsius marched across the room and grabbed the Guard by the shoulder to spin him, so that he could slap the shock from the Guard’s face.
        “Sir,” Pescennius said as if dumb with shock, “I think we are being attacked...”
        There were twenty-four guards left in the compound by Dexsius’s estimate, but a few weeks ago the number was over one hundred. A few deserters and the vanished patrols had both taken their toll on the Guard’s numbers, but it was that massive creature that utterly destroyed them in the end. Over thirty were killed that night before it was a driven away.
        Over thirty...
        The Captain, in her weakened state, had said the monster was Lars, but Dexsius could see no possible way that was true. In the end, it did not matter. Whoever or whatever it was, it had doomed them. He could not put down the religious zealots that were beginning to preach their insanity, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they would stir the populous up into some frenzy that he did not have the manpower to contain. Hell, the fires were likely the culmination of that insanity, he thought.
        Dexsius pushed Pescennius away from the window. Horror contorted his cragged face as he took Pescennius place and peered outside. He knew eight guards were out on patrol leaving the compound with sixteen souls including himself, Pescennius, and the Captain – who was on death’s door. The numbers left and those who were able bodied enough to fight did not matter. Nor did the fires. None of it did.
        Four Demon’s had entered the courtyard and those guard who barred their way lay in pieces across the courtyard. No wonder Pescennius was made stupid, his mind voiced the realization. He was a veteran and had seen death more than most. What these Demon’s did was not death, but utter slaughter.
        “Pescennius!” Dexsius roared as he turned away from the window and drew his sword, “We have to get the Captain out now!”
        Pescennius wobbled his head up and down and rushed to the bed where Volcatia lay. He slid his hand under her shoulders and was astonished by how cold the Captain was. It was as if she were frozen solid by a winter storm. Gently, he began to free her from the furs and blankets that cocooned her tiny frame. Then, her eyes flashed open, and he screamed in surprise, “Captain!?”
        He had no chance to project another word and whatever they would have been gurgled in his throat. Volcatia’s fangs shot out from her gums, and she plunged them deep into his neck with an animalistic fury. Her muscles flexed as she overpowered him with sheer strength, which should have been impossible as Pescennius was twice her size and a third younger in age.
        Desperately, Pescennius thrashed as he felt his consciousness slip away with the blood being guzzled from him. Soon, he felt colder than the Captain’s frozen, unbreakable, embrace. His mind fogged and then faded into nothingness. His end was final, the Captain left nothing from him to come back too.
        Volcatia freed her fangs slowly, after Pescennius’s body was withered beyond any reasonable measure considering how fast she consumed his essence. Her thirst was not satiated – it could never be – but the edge was gone for now, and she could think beyond her initial bestial instincts when she woke. She took in her surroundings and immediately knew where she was. The blanket fell away from her nude, flawless form as she crossed the room to her armour’s stand. She took a moment to study herself in the nearby mirror and gave a bloody smile. All scars and blemishes – few as they were – were gone. Her features, although corpse pale, were angular and sharp, while all the age was removed from her skin. She took a moment to stare into her sheer black eyes and enjoyed the way that they did not reflect any light. They were a huntress’s eyes and she owned them as if they were born to her.
        She pulled away from the mirror. There was no time to dally. The battle in the sewers was nearly over – her mother had told her thus. The True Demon, the Slayer, was gaining the upper hand over the abomination Lars had become. In a way she could feel the distant conflict as if distantly connected to the Ghoul’s that had destroyed Lavici. A gift from her mother’s connection she instinctively knew.
        A whimper carried across the room from a voice that was unfamiliar with vocalizing fear, “Captain?”
        Still naked, she turned to Dexsius and her almost avian facial features softened. Ever loyal, she thought as she watched the Sergeant back away and stumble over a chair to fall flat on the ground. She crossed the room with grace somewhere between a seductress and a viper. Very slowly, she slid down into a kneel beside Dexsius and licked Pescennius blood from her lips – though it did nothing to clear her cheeks and chin.
        “Dexsius,” She said, “I am sure I have you to thank for my survival? You got me away from Lars?”
        “I-I,” He stammered.
        “Shh,” she said and placed a taloned finger against his lips. “For your loyalty, I will give you a gift of strength beyond anything you know. For your love, I will give you eternal life.”
        She did not wait for a reply, he had no choice in the matter. She needed him and his eyes told her that he wanted this, despite the fear that terrorized them.
        Faster than any eye could follow she was on him. Her fangs tore into his throat, and she was rewarded with his rich and warm life fluid. She felt him slowly grow limp, not from lacking blood, but from acceptance. It took some effort to pull away but pull away she did. He was on the edge and his glassy eyes told her that he was about to pass out. Her bloody fangs lifted from his throat and travelled to her wrist. There was no pain as she opened her own flesh and allowed her black blood to race from her pulsing veins into the air. She offered her open wrist to Dexisius and smiled with a sinister warmth.
        Dexsius was weak but he accepted gladly. With each drop he swallowed, his skin became paler and his eyes blacker as if millions of microscopic spiders spread from the whites to the iris.

III

        Trickling sewage emptied into the river. Its once steadier flow was hampered by bodies in the collection chamber hidden beyond the tunnel’s dark mouth. Albino, black-veined, rats raced beneath bars at the tunnel’s outflow and launched themselves into the river beyond. They scattered and swam in the lazy current. Each squealed in fright and pushed through the water as if their lives depended on it. It did.
        A figure in black hard-edged armour followed their escape. Its eyes burned with the low light of hot coals and its sword glowed with a dim white brilliance, and its light reflected on water next to the moons. Wet filth covered the black armour but did not take away from the figure’s august visage. Even though a skull-like mask obscured any emotion from its face, one could sense its displeasure as it watched the rats reach the far bank. The figure watched them all until they escaped its vision to the hills and fields beyond. It sheathed its sword and waded into the clean river water, letting the current cleanse the filth that covered it.
        Just then, it smelled something faint and snarled its displeasure. A new threat was rising from within the town. It turned to the inferno rising into the sky and knew this was only the beginning...

IV

        The town burned.
        The deed was done.
        The entire populace had been culled, and all evidence would be swept away in the fires that raged without control through the buildings. On a hill, beyond the flames reach and the town’s edge, dark figures gathered – seventeen in total. The fire danced across their sorrow-filled eyes.
        At their lead, a Demon – who was not truly so – watched the flames with mournful sky-blue eyes, which was completely at odds with the skull-like face’s rictus grin that covered his face. Of them all, his hurt appeared to be the greatest. After a while, he looked down at the four torn bodies lying neatly at his feet. They wore the same dark armour and their rictus helms no longer seemed to grin, despite being identical to his own.
        From the night’s black, another approached. It was the same as the seventeen, yet utterly different. Where a regular man or woman would see all of them as equally demonic, the new arrival was something else entirely and the only one who could truly be described as such – despite being identical in appearance to the rest. The group watched the new arrival with the distrust, not fully knowing what it would do next.
        The Demon with the mournful sky-blue eyes spoke, “So... It is done Demon...” The last word was spat with contemptuous venom.
        “This is not the end,” The new arrival – the True Demon – said without emotion.
        The blue-eyed Demon spat, “We helped you in this, but do not assume anything has changed.”
        The True Demon’s eyes flared with orange and red fire, but not from the burning village’s reflection. Its own eyes glowed from the depths of something inside itself. Its voice split as if two people were speaking slightly off sync from the other and it snarled each word, “You are a lesser being, Untouched. Do not begrudge us for what was taken from you and your compatriots.”
        “We aren’t like you, you Slayer,” The blue-eyed Demon retorted.
        “And are lesser for it,” The True Demon said. “Despite what you mortals think, the magic of the World has not vanished. The Gods’ still hold sway, even in their slumber.”
        The blue-eyed Demon took a calming breath and said, “this will go nowhere.”
        “We agree.”
        “Will you deal with what caused this?”
        The True Demon gave a curt nod, “We will.” It turned the way It had come and marched back into the night – vanishing far too quickly into the darkness – as if welcomed by it.
        “What did this, Slayer?” The Blue-eyed Demon asked the retreating figure.
        The True Demon stopped and replied after a pause, “Leftovers from another time... an abomination.” It melded into the night. “Those who have strayed from the God’s will and thus will be hunted. We vow this and vow to slay them so that they may face their judgement at the God’s feet.”
        Aside from the fire’s fury, the night became silent.
        A Demon with a slender form stepped away from the group and placed her hand on the Blue-eyed Demon’s arm. “Talinnius...?” She Whispered.
        The Demon with blue eyes forced back the stinging tears – he had expressed enough sorrow and was tired from it – but did not pull away from his friend’s touch. Deep in his core, he knew this was only the beginning and the faces of those who now burned – those that he had murdered – in the town below stared at him every time he closed his eyes. The little girl and the last man most of all. They stood at the forefront of the crowd watching from the bloody ocean that consumed all souls. He was tired and could not challenge the True Demon; he lacked the will to do so.
        The heat from the flames only blended with the mid-summer radiance that refused to yield even with the sun being long departed.

V

        A shadow darker than the moonless void snaked through the overgrown grass. In one instant, it was solid and similar to a cat as it stalked prey; in another it was liquid, running round the grass’ with a breeze’s gentle touch. It slipped invisibly between the black armoured spectators – who watched a town burn – and slithered to the figure at their lead.
        If it had a mouth, it would have chittered with joy. If it had a mouth, it would have whispered its prey’s name. It could do neither and so quested slowly – silently – until it was a hand’s breadth from the prey. It felt the man’s sorrow and tasted it like a fine wine.
        It had followed the prey for a long time – hiding from the ones who trained him.
        It had been patient, like only the best hunters can be.
        It ignored its hunger.
        It ignored the pain that pulled at it to return beyond the material.
        This sorrow was what it needed.
        This weakness was all it needed to get in.

        To start...
        The shadow reached out and took its prey’s ankle. A smile did form on the shadow’s incorporeal form as it felt the figure’s hollow armour welcome it in, like an old long-lost friend. It sank into the metal and began to worm into the man beneath like a parasite, knowing Talinnius would perceive the feeling as if it were little more than an itch.

VI

        He stood alone in the blood-filled sea. Its gentle current lapped around his ankles and sought to pull him under. With each breath, mist formed on the air and took a long while to fully dissipate. There was no chill – except for that within his core. The sky had been black for an eternity and somehow it felt wrong. He was not supposed to be here, but something kept him frozen in place. Fortunately, he knew why, and he maintained his patience's as he always had done throughout his long years in life.
        A familiar light rose above the horizon, dispelling the dark and gave the blood its crimson hue. It appeared slow moving due to the distance, but as it came closer, it flew with a remarkable pace. The blood was split in its flight’s wake and rippled outwards, disturbing the vast ocean – stretching beyond what his eyes could see – creating a flow where only stillness existed prior. Soon the light would be upon him, and he welcomed it like an old friend. It felt warm.
        “Nessia,” He said when it came near enough for his voice to reach it, “My greetings.”
        The light stopped with a sudden and powerful thunder. Air gusted forward – blowing away his misted breath – causing the blood to wave up against his shins.
        “Achamus,” The Celestial greeted. Its form could be described as female by its chest’s bust and slender hips, despite the flawless almost transparent robes hiding much of its form. Wings of pure illuminous light shone out across the ocean – expelling darkness from the sky like a newborn sun. Its wings folded in after a final beat, and the Celestial landed softly atop the blood as if it were solid dry earth.
        “Thank you for what you did,” Achamus said.
        The hood covering the darkness where the Celestial’s face should have been, nodded. It asked, “Will he heed your warning?”

        “Talinnius will,” Achamus replied, “He will figure out what must be done.”
        “It is a shame your kind have been made into those things.”
        “They are no longer my kind... not since she freed me and those who have fallen since the final day of the God’s War.”
        Again, the Celestial nodded in agreement.
        “Does it... the shadow approach Talinnius? Can you tell me?”
        “I gave you the chance to warn him. I cannot interfere anymore. I will already pay a high price.”
        Achamus sighed. If he had the power, he would prevent Talinnius’s fate and take the burden away onto himself. He would face his own challenge, however.
        “Is it time?” he asked.
        “It is.”
        “Will you be okay, Nessia?”
        Nessia gave a smile’s impression, though she had no face to give the gesture form beneath her cowl. “She asked me the same after she freed you by giving you that scar across your face.”
        “She has always had a caring soul. Strange that one with so much power could be so.”
        Nessia laughed softly, “Her compassion is what gives her, her strength.”
        Achamus smiled knowingly, “I knew that. My mind grows foggy in this place.”
        “It is the way of the dead, but you’ll be returned near the end.”
        Achamus nodded, “Until then...”
        Nessia smiling impression vanished, “Until then.”
        Light enveloped Achamus and he felt its gentle warmth caress his core. The ocean dropped away but he did not fly. Instead, he fell in Nessia arms into the Beyond’s depths; into the final layer, the final level – just before mortal souls become one with the slumbering and hungry Gods. 

Afterword

What a ride...

I made the first post for this novel on Sept 15th 2020 and started writing this novel long before that on the Aug 13th 2018. Of course that was not consistent and I have written other things in between and many of the words I first wrote when I started hammering out this idea have changed vastly (there were not even Ghoul's at the beginning!), but the first paragraph's of the prologue were written all the way back then... What is interesting about that Aug 13th date is that 11 days from that point I would be in a relationship with the woman who is about to become my wife. I have always had a dream to put my writing into the wild but it was her love and support that pushed me over the cliff. I love you and thank you Shelby - also thank you for only "bugging" me a little while I tried to dig in deep for this project. You are a double edged sword, if I did not have you in my life I am not sure I would have ever done this, but since I started you have been the perfect distraction to not be as dedicated as I would have liked haha. All my trademark bratty-ness aside, thank you my love.

My mom also deserves a big thank you. She struggles with the material written and gave a solid effort to get through it, but she supported me by not questioning my dream and helping me overcome the real world barriers that held back my writing, such as getting me a tablet that could actually open Microsoft Word, unlike my stupid laptop ever other day.

Lastly, Auntie Dadye thank you for being my biggest fan. Your consistent feedback has kept me going until the end... or I guess to get through the beginning (I'll explain that next). I cannot express my thanks and appreciation enough for you following along with this story. I am glad you enjoyed it and for the next one, I will give it all to you in advance unlike everyone else.

My biggest feedback for this project was the release schedule. Every two weeks was a bit long for those who attempted to follow along. Until the last few chapters I am happy I made that consistency though - life got busy with work - it killed me to not be able to maintain that consistency towards the end, but it taught me what I need to do and what goes into an endeavour like this. Although, I have written in a near daily manner for years this project put structure and gave me deadlines to push me harder. I learned a lot in this process and want to refine my workflow to be able to do weekly updates - but those will have to wait for now.

In a few months I am getting married and I cannot wait. What that means for writing is that I am going to look at smaller scale projects. This novel is only part one in a long long series (I have written multiple unreleased novels that take place later in the timeline of this story - so when I get to those, hopefully you'll be picking them up at Chapters or something). This novel is by no means the end as evident by the epilogue. I am so excited to share the next part and at this time it is about a third done in its first draft. That being said, I am getting married and that needs my complete focus. 

What does that mean for this blog? 

Somewhat business as usual. My posting frequency is going to be on the more random side for a bit (until after I get married) and I am focusing on smaller scale projects. I want to start drawing again and create some supplement materials for the Carthirose Sage, such as: Character pages and artwork, maps, etc. Furthermore, to keep my writing muscles strong, I want to take on some smaller projects like short stories to develop my craft. I will share all of these and hope you find interest in them.

As for part two, you have my word it will be out by no later than the fall of 2022 and the goal is to do weekly posts when it is ready to go. This winter will be busy! Looks like I should stop rambling and get to work...

Also, I need to figure out marketing.

Again, thank you to all those who have followed me this long. You few are what keep me going! And I am not just saying that to be humble. 

~Brett  

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

Chapter 20 - The Demon

I

        Immediately, the nest’s unnatural taint sought to overwhelm the Demon’s senses. This was no surprise – since vanquishing the nest in the inn’s cellar, the Demon had awoken more powers. The Demon was still nowhere near as strong as it once had been, while the Gods walked on the World, but with each hour passed it regained more.
        With a blink, its true sight inverted the dark to a grey colourless light. With a snort, the stench from the stigma, from the Ghouls presence, was repelled from its nostrils. It felt its body change and adapt – both internally and externally – to the inhospitable environ. Organs changed to combat and overcome the taint and its armour became waxen bone, which prevent the air from grazing its skin. Its long-serrated teeth spread to where its ears should have been.
        The infestation had grown rapidly, faster than the Demon thought possible. This fact did not trouble it, but the Demon wondered if it should have pursued the one-armed Ghoul rather than follow the greater taint it smelled on the wind, which turned out to be a burnt-out ruin. Of all its powers, the one it lacked was the ability to predict the future, and it would have never thought a mortal would so thoroughly destroy a town when the taint showed itself. It was a feat that impressed the Demon and one that made it capture the Untouched Champion Veturius. From a practical standpoint, it needed the manpower to vanquish this disease, this blight; so, the divergent journey was not a complete waste. The Untouched were weak, but they would serve its needs by culling the herd. As for it… it would ravage the source.
        Confident with its body's metamorphosis, the Demon marched heedlessly into the dark with its sword drawn and the weapons pure white glow lit the way.

II

        The rat’s fled from the Demon’s path and it snarled in rage. The vermin were just as corrupt as the Ghouls. It could smell the reason. The taint had seeped into the sewer’s water from where the rats drank and lived. It was little wonder the taint had taken the town and the surrounding land so quickly. Everything would have to be cleansed with rage and fury that only flames could provide.
        From an alcove, a moan floated – sluggish in the rancid and thick humid air. The Demon peered inside and snarled. With a speed and force that would have been impossible for a human, it reached in to snatch the occupant by the throat. It casually pulled the flaying creature out from its hiding place and the Demon showed its disgust by spitting acidic saliva onto the cobblestones.
        If the Ghoul had been uninflected, it would have been little more than a child – eight or nine years in age – likely a girl by its structure. Black veins webbed around its jet eyes and its fangs clamoured together in its struggle to break free. Despite this, it somehow retained some innocents in its twisted and skeletally thin features.
        The Demon met the child Ghoul’s jet eyes. It watched the orbs grow slack as it swept its sword – bisecting the Ghoul’s chest to witness its heart be severed. Its legs and lower body fell wetly to the floor and sloshing into the sewage channel. The Ghoul’s hands slid from the Demon’s wrist that still held its throat. The Demon casually cast aside the arms, shoulders, and head once it was sure the Ghoul was truly dead. It refused to chance one escaping again. This misbegotten task ended now.
        Without further pause, the Demon continued down the sewer channel, allowing its clear senses to guide it to its true prey. The oppressive stench sought to consume it the deeper it went, but it brushed it aside with minimal effort. It was ready to face the tumour growing within the depths.

III

        The sewer channel opened to a room a few metres ahead and was flooded with foul grey- brown water: up past the walkways and beyond the Demon’s ankles. The Demon did not pause, nor did it slow its inexorable advance. With each sloshing step it grew closer to its goal. It knew this was the nest’s heart. The smell told it so. It knew what it would find in the room beyond. It could feel the Ghoul’s presence and felt their numbers. Ready to burst, the nest was about to flood across the town – the Demon would dam the tide. With sword, teeth, and talon it would dispatch the unclean from the World.
        It crossed the threshold into the square chamber, bearing witness to a charnel house beyond. Bodies – none whole – were flung carelessly and without design throughout the room. They were piled and savaged with such a destructive fury that it seemed unfathomable such mutilation could exist in a sane world. This was far from sane, it was the unclean, the unnatural, and the unholy. It was a carnage that would destroy a person’s mental safety net by showing them a hunger that should have been impossible; for the Ghoul’s not only ate to quench their hunger but also to erase their past lives. By destroying others, they vanquished all that they had once been and became the animals their thirst demanded them to be. Into this chaos, the Demon strolled, again without hesitation, as if it were casually walking through open plains with long, swaying grass and blue skies on a warm sunny day.
        Bodies shifted and thin skeletal forms began to rise from amongst the flesh debris. Somehow, the Ghouls’ black eyes reflected in the lightless void, like a feline. The Demon’s grin rose high, revealing its angular teeth and dagger-like fangs. Slowly, a horde rose – between thirty and forty in number. They crawled onto the flesh mounds, unwilling to draw to near, but groaning with unsatiated, and glutenous hunger.
        The one-armed Ghoul lifted from the tallest corpse pile and growled like a cornered feral dog. The Demon could see recognition in that Ghoul’s black eyes and could feel its fear. The grin grew, revealing more serrated teeth. A particular self-satisfaction twisted the Demon’s mind to put fright into the tainted.
        “Who seeks their freedom from this World first?” The Demon announced with a snarl and pointed its sword’s tip at the horde.
        The closest Ghoul shrieked and flung itself, headfirst – with its fangs bared and drool strands running from its lips and down its chin. It gagged as the Demon’s free hand caught and gripped it by the lower jaw with fingers down the Ghoul’s throat. If the Demon moved at a mortal's pace, the Ghoul would have bit down and severed the fingers. Instead, the world blurred, and the Ghoul’s skull was shattered. Necrotic brains dashed across the wall as the Ghoul was forced against the stone by the Demon’s incredible strength and speed. The first Ghoul was dead, before it even realized its charge had been stalled just as its feet had propelled it into the air.
        The Ghoul’s limp form was not allowed to fall. The Demon yanked hard on the Ghoul’s tongue and freed it with a savage twist and pull. Not once did the Demon break eye contact with the one-armed Ghoul as the first kill was made. Rancid blood filled the air; somehow, overpowering the sewage. With a sinister chuckle the Demon raised the tongue – with all the meaty innards still attached – as a trophy and presented it to the snarling horde. It tossed the tongue into the crowd and its mirth grew into a laughter darker than any night. The nest stirred into a fever. Every Ghoul roared. It was deafening. Through it all the Demon’s laughter and smile merely grew.

IV

        The Demon smashed its fist into the supporting arch at the room’s entrance. Cracks flew through the stone like lightning. A new roar filled the sewer – brought on by collapsing earth – as the arch sagged inwards. The Demon stepped forward casually as the tunnel behind it collapsed in a dust torrent. Debris launched throughout the room, shifting the piled bodies and knocked the closest Ghoul’s to their backs.
        Without warning, the Demon launched from the dust and gave credence to its name. Its sword lashed out with a silver white flash and a new body was added to the piles. Black gore spilled from the vanquished Ghoul as it writhed in its death throes. The Demon bellowed its rage at the tainted, extending its jaw far wider than should have been possible.
        Its sword was not the only weapon the Demon used. With a growl, the Demon turned on the next Ghoul and with a gale’s force, struck. Midnight black claws and silver teeth tore through pale flesh with ruthless abandon. It was a carnage that could only be described as a whirlwind. The Demon was remorseless and untiring. In a blink, several Ghouls were in as many pieces as it crashed into the horde. Flesh and hunks of meat flew from its rampage and flopped atop discarded flesh that littered the floor.
        The Demon raged in its bloodlust, “Die abominations! This is the God’s will!”
        As one, the remaining Ghoul’s charged – except for their sire, the one-armed Ghoul. They were not without number, but still numerous enough to be a threat. The Demon may have gotten faster and was able to overcome the sickness they spread into the air, but the Ghouls were still creatures from a similar stalk as itself – albeit lesser forms. They moved with speed – as one, as a herd – forcing the Demon back a step. Despite dying in droves and being split apart from the Demon’s remorseless onslaught they heedlessly kept up the pressure. They circled like sharks around a prey and lashed until they got inside the Demon’s guard. The Demon felt their clawed fingers knife into its bone-like armour as they grappled over each other to get closer. The Ghoul’s were ravenous – hunger incarnate – and the Demon was the most delicious feast ever presented to them. Even if it cost all their lives, they wanted to taste the Demon’s flesh more than anything else; only then, might their hunger cease for a time. Their numbers began to tell, and the Demon took another step back. It no longer smiled but snarled with contempt now that the Ghoul’s were no longer afraid and were presenting a near overwhelming front. Bright as the sun, the Demon’s sword lashed out just as the Ghoul’s tide became an avalanche. The act freed the Demon from their clawing hands and gave it space to spin its blade in a vicious overhand arc that caused the wave to crumble and the Ghouls to sprawl over each other in an uncoordinated mass.
        The one-armed Ghoul gave its own bellow; spittle launched from its stretched and gapping mouth. As one, the Ghoul’s ceased their attack and backed away from the Demon’s reach. Over half their number lay in heaps of broken flesh – marking the Demon’s fury.
        Breathing hard, the Demon’s snarl twisted back into a grin. Exhilaration filled its breast. Not since the God’s Wars had it felt so alive. Fresh powers surged into its limbs as it awoke further. Its body wanted to twist itself into a truer representation of what it could be. Its claws grew longer, and its armour shifted into more pronounced bone-like plates. Its skull-like mask conformed to its face and horned spikes sprouted from its crown and jawline. The transformation was nowhere near complete and not what it had been in the past, but to come so close to its true form and the perfection that form represented... it was a sensation it would have not thought possible with the World’s lacking power while the God’s slumbered.
        The ground rumbled.
        The air sucked back into the stinking passage on the room’s opposite side. A new smell entered the Demon’s upturned skeletal nostrils. The air shot back out in a rolling wave. As one, the remaining Ghouls smiled and chittered as they backed away to the room’s edges. The Demon could see pleasure in their black eyes and wanted to pull them out, one by one in response.
        Again, the ground rumbled.
        The one-armed Ghoul squatted and crawled to the side – freeing itself from the tunnel’s path, joining the Ghoul’s already hugging the walls. Only the corpses and torn limbs provided any barrier from what was coming.
        Another rumble.
        Debris and grit fell from the ceiling as the very earth rocked with a distant earth-quaking fury. The Demon lowered its stance and braced for whatever was coming. It drew back its sword so that blade was in line with its clavicle, with the point aimed at the far tunnel; its grin did not subside, and anticipation stormed in its heart. Nothing could threaten it with the fresh power surging through its limbs
        The rumble repeated – over and over again – gaining speed.
        It was as if a drum were being savagely beaten.
        The tempo increased.
        A shadow consumed the passage.

V

        Air was pushed from the tunnel in a ferocious gust. The Demon squinted and picked out the hazed form in the tunnel. With each step it took more air rushed out. The Demon’s grin twisted to something that held no humour and for a second a knot twisted its innards.
        In a blink, a massive creature was in the room and thundered across it. With a force that could fell mountains, the Demon was rocked from its feet by a boulder-sized fist. Spittle flew from its mouth as it collapsed sideways. The creature’s other fist collided, redirecting the Demon’s momentum in the opposite direction, and sent it sprawling, end over end through the air. The Demon came to rest against a wall and spider webbed crackers split the bricks behind it. It slid to its hands and knees – noticing its sword had escaped its grasp. Blood drooled from its mouth in long strands; the broken bodies beneath it smoked with acidic haze wherever its life fluid touched. With wobbling legs, it rose shakily to its feet. Metal returned where bone had once been, a ghost-like after image hovered around its outline, and the flames in its eyes lacked their previous brilliance. The smile, however, returned and grew wider than before.
        It laughed as only a madman could. The dual aspects in its voice were separated now, but with each mirthful note they grew closer and closer together – eventually becoming one, once more. Its eyes blazed with renewed fury the instance the two voices meshed, and the metallic armour bent and twisted back into bone-like protrusions. Fresh strength surged through its muscles and the laughter grew deeper like the bass notes in an orchestra.
        The creature bellowed its hatred and beat its chest, like a rampaging ape. The Demon rose steadily and met the creature’s rage-filled gaze, before letting its laughter die into a rolling echo throughout the room.
        The creature was vast beyond any human proportions. Where the taint had shriveled the other Ghouls, this one had become swollen beyond its human frame. While the others were skeletal, this behemoth was fat with both muscle and blubber. Its form was so vast, it was a wonder it could fit in the room, let alone the tunnel it had just travelled through. While the other Ghouls grew claws, this creature grew sword length talons. Somewhere in its transformation, its neck was consumed by rolls and bulging shoulders, which were littered with black and throbbing veins. The only feature to mark this creature as the others of its kind were its fangs – though they were long and proportional to its bulk– and the pale corpse skin dressing its girth.
        In short, it was hideous and an abomination – even when compared to the others. For that crime, the Demon would take delight in vanquishing it from the God’s creation.
        The creature did not wait for the laughter’s echo to fade. Again, it lashed out with a speed that belied its size. The Demon leapt into a roll from the creature’s stampeding feet. It snarled as it found its leg enclosed in the creature’s tree trunk fingers. Suddenly and violently, the room spun and rounded upside down. The creature’s free hand seized the Demon’s throat. The Demon gagged as the creature’s strength stole its breath. With a gut churning twist, the corpse covered ground race up to meet the Demon’s face and the impact caused even its vision to snap out.
        Unlike a mortal, it would not suffer unconsciousness from physical trauma. But, like a mortal, its form could be damaged beyond repair should enough force be thrust upon it. The impact was hard, but softer than it should have been. The Demon found the bodies had served as an island of sorts. They were thick and solid enough to accommodate its graceful and agile movements without a ripple – so much so that it did not realize the bodies solidity had capped the sewage beneath. It was forced through them by the creature’s savage strength and was awash with drowning filth. The creature’s long thick shins stretched through the sewage depths and were firmly planted on the stone below. It explained why the thing was able to push through the rotten flesh mounds so fast and fit in the room.
        With the Demon fully submerged beneath the thick grey murk, the creature squeezed with all its might – causing the Demon’s throat protection to crack – and the Demon’s mouth opened to scream. Sewage poured into its gasping maw, swirling around its tongue, and caused it to gag as the thick liquid rolled down its throat to fill its lungs.
        Drowning was a concern it had not realized before, and, in a fatalistic manner, it found that dying in mortal sewage was a sardonic way to be released from its flesh form and returned to Gods.

VI

        Its vision blurred and its mundane mortal sight was beginning to return as the sewage flooding its lungs stole its strength. So, it did what any predator would do when pinned. It bit. With a mouth that stretch from ear to ear, it knifed every single tooth it had into the massive creature’s wrist. Rancid blood spirted into the sewage water and clouding it with black tendrils. It preferred the sewage’s taste, but, unlike the sewage, it did not allow a single drop down its throat. The taint could consume the Demon, just as it had consumed the town. Even in its dire straits it felt the God’s testing presence; it felt thirst. It far preferred to die in mortal filth than to become what the others had – they who had become weak and succumbed to their thirst.
        Even beneath the sewage, the Demon could hear the creature’s pain-filled bellows. The Demon spat a flesh chunk – letting it float away in the thick excrement – and bit down again to rip more meat free. After two more savage bites, its teeth severed a tendon in the closest finger and the pressure released at last.
        It pulled free. With freedom, its vision focused. With a defiant roar, it launched itself from the sewage and threw itself at the creature’s face. Having lost its sword, it used its claws to rip through the creature’s corneas and push deep into the eyes. Fluids and jelly erupted from creature’s sockets and mixed with the sewage pouring from the Demon’s gapping mouth.
        The massive Ghoul howled its pain, thrashed wildly, and swung its weight around with reckless abandon. The remaining Ghoul’s scattered, lest they be crushed by their rampaging giant.
        The creature’s massive hands raced to its face, but the Demon was gone. Leaping high – away from the creature’s reach – the Demon spiraled, end over end, to land softly on its feet atop a thick mound of ruined bodies in a crouch.
        A Ghoul launched itself and the Demon reached out casually. It took the Ghoul by its throat. With its free hands, it pulled the Ghoul’s upper jaw upwards and pried the Ghoul’s head off, before throwing it at another at the flank. A snarl escaped the Demon’s lips as a third Ghoul pounced on its back and bit down. The fangs could not find purchase against the bone plates on the Demon’s shoulder and the Demon dislodged its attacker with a barrel roll over the corpses. From instinct, it dodged to the side as it came out from the roll; the massive blind creature raced to the confrontation, using sound alone to find its foe. Its sheer bulk was a violent destructive tornado of movement as it waded through the room.
        Before any others could attack, the Demon reached out with all its senses to find its sword as it slid across the rolling corpses beneath its taloned feet. The blade was nearby, and the Demon used its momentum to dive through the loosened floating bodies, back into the sewage, in the massive creature’s wake.
        The Demon kicked furiously at the perusing Ghouls, who swam after it like hideous fish grasped at its ankles. Just as the Ghouls dug their claws into the Demon’s feet and hips, the Demon grasped its sword from the sewer’s floor. The blade flared with renewed life – having gone dull when it was flung from the Demon’s touch. Light entered the first Ghoul and it simply exploded from the sword’s renewed power. The second closest gasped wide – sending bubbles in a torrent from its gaping mouth – and made to get away with a panicked push. With a glowing white flash, the second Ghoul’s upper body was cleanly split from its legs and the two halves fell away in different directions, lost to the grey murk. The others were beyond the Demon’s immediate reach and disappeared into the sewage.
        The bodies exploded upwards as the Demon launched itself from the sewer’s floor and irrupted like a being from myth and legend. It gained its feet, arched its back, and roared with a savage cry that froze the Ghoul’s diseased hearts. Only the creature was not cowed. It turned to face the Demon with black ichor pouring form its eye sockets and gave its own bellow in challenge. Its face twisted with a hatred that was beyond natural as its muscles flexed with raged filled power.
        It charged.
        And the Demon met the creature’s assault.
        Both blurred from with the speed at which they collided. A pure white flash filled the room with its radiance. The Demon seemed to vanish for a second that lasted an eternity as its image was burned into the Ghoulish onlookers. It reappeared on the creature’s hunched back and spun the sword into a reverse grip; then drove the blade into the creature’s skull with a two-handed thrust.
        The hatred on the creature’s face grew slack and it became stupid as death stole its rabid mind. It took two stuttering steps and moaned its last breath. Its hands did not reach to its head, but instead held guts spilling onto the bodies in long grotesque ropes and into the sewage when their weight became too much for the floating bodies to hold – the result of Demon’s first devastating strike, which radiant flesh only just dissipated within the room.
        Almost casually, the Demon freed its blade from the massive Ghoul’s skull, and it stepped onto the bodies with the creature’s downward momentum at the remaining tunnel’s mouth, similar to a sailor walking onto a dock to tie his ship.
        The few remaining Ghouls hissing and snarling their contempt, like beaten feral dogs. The Demon had no eyes for them. Its burning gaze settled on the first. This was the closest the Demon had come to death in nearly a century and a cool rage burned in its breast. The prey it had missed in the inn those weeks ago was only the immediate cause to this blight and it would soon punish the one-armed Ghoul for its part, but it reserved a special hatred for those who had started it all by creating these abominations.
        The Demon would never stop and never quit; not until those who had lost their way lay dead at its feet – sent to the Gods to be judged by its sword.
        The one-armed Ghoul slinked backwards at the Demon’s approach and hissed continuously, like a wounded rat. With its customary grin returning, the Demon seemed to vanish, but reappeared with its sword punched into the Ghoul – forcing it deep, until the hilt smashed into the Ghoul’s ribs. The Demon stared at the skewered Ghoul and took a deep satisfied breath. It met the Ghoul’s cold black eyes and saw its own burning gaze reflected in them. Somehow, the Ghoul no longer seemed monstrous as its features slackened. It had once been a young man and a small part of that past life showed through in those last moments it suckled air into its lungs. Its lids grew heavy, making the flames in the Demon’s eyes look like they were dying out, which was far from reality.
        Without warning, the Demon punched so hard that the one-armed Ghoul’s head crumpled into wet ruin beneath the blow's fury. With another savage cry, it tossed the broken body from its sword to land amongst those few remaining. They glanced at each other with an animal’s desperation, as the Demon turned to face them. It stood before their only exit.
        As the Demon met their fear-filled gazes, its grin grew wider with a sadist's passion, and it aimed its sword at their black eyes.

Thank you for reading! The conclusion will be up next week at 7am on Tuesday 27-Jul-21!

~Brett