Chapter 1: Awakening — John
I felt something cold and hard under my back. I saw only darkness. A feeling of dread overcame me, and I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids refused to rise. I heard someone talking in a low monotone in the background. Their words were gradually becoming louder. Their speech was hoarse and strange, strained as if they had been speaking for hours.
The voice was unknown to me. It spoke in a rough language unlike anything I remembered hearing before. I tried in vain to move my arms — hands trying to reach my eyes, trying to reach out for that hateful voice.
I felt like something was terribly wrong with it. I knew immediately that it was bad — that it was hurting me, controlling me, keeping me against my will from strangling it and snuffing out the pain it was inflicting upon me.
The voice intensified, chanting now in a steady rhythm. I knew instinctively that it held me in place. I knew it wished my death. The words grasped at my very soul. It threatened to drag me in, to pull everything I was into it, to crush my very essence and everything I could become. I felt the death of my possibilities — the possibility of escape, the possibility of self and the possibility of life.
Terror gripped me. A primal fear wrapped me, preventing all other feelings and compulsions. I knew only one thing: this voice had to die before I did. As I struggled, the words became frenzied and shrill. I could feel panic in their speaker and experienced a bloodlust unlike anything I could remember — but I couldn't remember anything now. There was only me and the voice in all of existence, and I knew if it didn’t stop I would die.
I felt a tremoring shiver running through me, a desperate, all-consuming need reaching out with the entirety of my being. I couldn't feel my arms moving towards it. I could only taste the cold metallic flavor of blood in my mouth.
My eyes shot open. I could see only red. A bleak, monochrome existence lay before me. With an otherworldly rage, I grabbed the source of the voice, now alarmed. I felt it fall to the ground as I squeezed its brittle neck. I felt the bones crack. I hit it again and again. All I now knew was hitting this object; the cause of all that was wrong in my universe. I knew I never wanted to hear that voice again, even if it cost me my life.
My knuckles hurt. I didn’t know how long it had been since the voice stopped, but my arms would no longer respond. I collapsed on the wet ground, completely exhausted.
I don't know when I awoke. I opened my eyes as if for the first time and saw the world. The room was small. Room? It was more like a cave. Dark, earthen walls were dimly illuminated by a green flame burning from within a gaping head hanging from the far wall. Its eye sockets were ablaze, a look of absolute horror was eternally captured on its mummified face.
I tried to sit up. My body felt lethargic, as if my muscles would rip themselves apart from the small effort. I felt something sticky peeling from the floor. Looking over, I saw him — a man clad in a black robe, a large red mass where his head should have been. As I gazed at this macabre spectacle in confusion, I noticed the robes were alight with sinister green symbols that glowed periodically as if announcing their magical nature.
I shuddered, remembering the crunching I had felt as the screaming stopped, that final squelch as my fists met no more resistance. I looked at my hands in horror. These weren't my hands. They were scarred, stitched, and solid red. As I gripped them into fists, my fingers stuck together with the ruddy substance that coated them.
This place gave me a terrible foreboding feeling. I knew needed to get out — now.
I jumped to my feet, tilting my head to avoid the ceiling. I felt drunk. My equilibrium was definitely off. I lurched forward in a run, hoping to escape the cavern, though I still had no idea of what I was escaping. I only knew I needed to get out — to get away.
I tripped and slid several feet into something wet. My face was buried in something soft and cold. For the first time, the smell of this place overwhelmed my senses. It was the smell of death. My stomach groaned and gurgled as if hungry for a long-awaited breakfast.
I rose to my feet, sending something to the side with a wet plop. As my eyes adjusted, things started to come into focus. An innumerable mass of bodies lay before me in various stages of decay — bodies without limbs, arms and legs strewn about the place.
A mass of disassembled rot lay before me. I had to fight an uncanny urge to sink my fangs into the nearest piece, sating my terrible hunger.
I felt a strong revulsion at the very idea of it, but my body moved on its own, and I began to eat, stopping when teeth met bone only to move on to the next piece.
I stood and vomited. I already knew this place would cost me my soul. I saw the smallest trace of light to my left. I turned and ran toward it as tears streamed down my face and my thoughts raced. What am I? What have I done? Those were bodies! Those were human. Human!? What is human?
My mind caught and snagged on an idea. Was I human? I seemed to remember being something called human, but I felt like that word no longer fit. Everything seemed wrong.
The dim light slowly grew into an opening, and I rushed toward it. Seeing the tantalizing light outside, I somehow knew salvation was close. As I ran, I felt something pulling me back, pulling me out of sync with my intentions. My body slowed to a stop. What the hell was I doing? I knew behind me lay only ruin — only my death.
I fought my body for the second time, urging it forward toward the sweet relief of the outside. It no longer responded. I used every bit of will I had in me to advance. I moved forward, every fibre of my physical being fighting me. I felt my soul separate even more from my body. It was as if a part of me was bound to the thing that lurked in the darkness behind me, unable to leave.
I knew struggling was pointless. I was confused and fatigued, and I knew no matter what I did, no matter what I tried, I would be dragged back into this hopeless blackness. Rage once again filled my soul.
I would find the cause and make it suffer.
Chapter 2: Innocence — Threscia
"Threscia, Threscia!" the coachman called.
I looked up, my sleep-like state fading away.
"If you really wanted me to, I could say you were kidnapped by bandits,” he said with a small, sad smile on his face. “You could take what was left of my payment — minus my fifteen silvers for the trip — and run off. These are dangerous parts, you know."
I had spoken to the coachman in the past when he had brought goods from the city and when he had taken my friends on the same trip I was embarking on.
He knew what I was in for. The Duke's son was known for only two things: his cruelty and his vices. I wasn't sure which category lay ahead for me. Perhaps both.
I had lived in a small village by the river in the Duchy. The Duke's son had been taking girls from the village now for years — all of them young, pretty, and never heard from again.
I had two sisters and two brothers. As the eldest, I had helped my mother take care of them. We were a family of farmers living on the outskirts of the village, but the land seemed to be dying. We hadn't seen a good harvest in the past three years, barely scraping by with the help of the other villagers.
The river had been fished bare, the hunters were no longer selling pelts, and the meat markets had moved on to better places. We knew something had to change before my family starved — or worse. There were fewer children in the village now. Everyone had bags under their eyes and bore expressions of hopelessness.
Meat was still being sold in shady corners for high prices — longboar, they called it, but if you looked closely you could tell what it really was. My family needed to get out of there before my brothers and sisters were sold by the pound.
"I volunteered for this,” I replied to the coa
chman now, pushing hair from my eyes. “My life may be shortened, but my sisters and brothers might be able to smile some time in the future — especially the ones too young to remember me."
I was a girl of nineteen years. The Duke's son usually preferred them younger, but my physique allowed me to pass for fourteen. I was small, and the life I had lived kept me underfed, undernourished, and underdeveloped. I was certain my parents’ lie would never be revealed. It would die with me when he tired of his new toy. A shudder ran up my spine.
The coachman turned back around, a grim resolve in his eyes as he spoke. "Suit yerself, miss. I get paid either way."
He had undoubtedly made this trip on many occasions, seen many girls younger than me sitting in this very spot. I'm sure part of him had broken in these hard times. He probably had a family of his own to look out for. I would do the same in his place if it would spare me from what was to come.
I thought about when I had left. It wasn't an old memory — maybe just a few hours now — but it seemed so long ago and worlds away that all my possibilities disappeared. I had woken up as usual when the sun rose and helped make breakfast for my siblings as they ran around in high spirits just like it was any other day. Most of them were too young to understand everything fully, or maybe they hadn’t been told yet. We ate a simple meal of mostly oats with a few slivers of dried meat boiled in water and roasted for flavor. As they ate, my parents and I walked to the coach, hoping the food would distract them from what was happening. Not that they could change any of it.
My mother cried, her shuddering sobs racking her body as her tears ran down her thin face to stain the ground below. My father held her tightly as she reached out for me, screaming that she had changed her mind.
I quickly mounted the coach. It was all more than I could take. My father gave me a final look.
"My dear Threscia, how beautiful you've become. We will come see you one day in your palace." His eyes were dead, as if he weren't quite able to say what was actually going to become of his little girl.
I nodded and we were off, moving at a steady trot. I couldn't bear to say anything to either of them as it would make everything all too real, all too final.
After a while of riding I started to cry. I hadn't slept much the night before, and now reality escaped me as sleep once again pulled me into its warm embrace.
I awoke as we hit something hard and the coach was jarred to the side. I sat up quickly and saw the Duke's carriage coming towards us in the distance. I knew it what it was delivering. If nothing else of favor could be said for this situation, at least my family would get their payment.
As the carriage drew closer, I noticed that something seemed wrong. The horses drew off to one side, flipping the carriage over. A single body flew from the seat and rolled along the ground, an arrow protruding from it. The horses struggled to rise to their feet, running in a frenzy and dragging the toppled coach as arrows pelted them. They fell hard and spasmed on the ground as if in belief that they were running still free.
"Holy Rosereth prot..." I heard a sucking, gurgling noise coming from the coachman as the coach careened to the side of the road. The world spun as it flipped, much like the other had done. My head hit hard on the interior wooden walls, and everything grew blurry. My eyes shut.
I heard voices.
"Wow, good haul this time. Look at all this silver!" A gruff voice exclaimed with enthusiasm.
My consciousness awakened once more. I opened my eyes to the feel of hot breath on my neck as grunts rang in my ears. I felt the cold air on my chest and felt my legs held on both sides.
"Hurry it up, I want a turn before Thads gets to her,” another voice called out.
I felt sick as a blow hit my head.
When I opened my eyes again I heard the same voice. "Why do you always have to butcher them like that?"
Were they talking about me? I opened my eyes and looked around. My legs hurt. I looked down.
I had no legs. They were severed below the knee. I saw my shoes hanging on legs that I could no longer feel on the ground not far from me. I screamed in horror.
"Oh, not this shit again," said a man holding a bloodied, cleaver-like blade. “Don’t worry, I’ll solve it.”
He knelt over me smiling. He reached into my mouth as I tried feebly to bite at his fingers. My body was weak. He laughed, grabbing my tongue and pulling it out.
He looked into my eyes and spoke, "Any last words?"
Before I could answer, I felt the blade sawing through my tongue.
"AhhBlahhBlaah you say?" He shouted, laughing and dangling my tongue over my face.
My own blood was dripping into my eyes. I glared at him with all my hatred and revulsion. Not only had they done this to me, but that money was for my family. I knew now that nothing would be solved for them. It was all in vain. I would die for no reason.
"Ooh, I'm going to take a few more souvenirs," he said in mock excitement.
I could feel his weight on my body. He put away his large cleaver and brought out a sharp dagger. He grabbed me by my hair, lifting my head upwards. I felt a pain like nothing I had ever experienced before driving into my left eye. As I tried to scream, I choked on my own blood, coughing and gagging. I tried to bring my hands up to my mouth, but my arms weren't listening. Either I was too weak or he had amputated those as well. He held a bloody item in his hands. He placed it into his mouth and with a smacking sound withdrew it.
"Look at this, a pretty blue one!" he said while admiring his trophy.
He leaned in to whisper, "Are you wondering why you’re not dead yet?"
He lingered, breathing his wet, stinking breath into my ear. "It's because I'm a healer. I can't replace limbs, but I can temporarily stop your death. You'll feel every last minute of this."
He stood. He was wearing no pants. Everything was bloody below his waist, and I knew it was related to the numbness I felt in my crotch. "And you're going to feel something even better than before."
Chapter 3: Memories — John
I walked back into darkness of the cave in a rage, but I knew I could not fight the compulsion. A feeling of fate set in, a dread that played about my mind. Something informed me that this was my end. I took one step after another, and with each I felt it more. I knew there was nothing I could do.
Well, if this was fate I would crush it! I would make sure it knew that my soul burned. I would embrace it so hard that there was nothing left of either of us. My walk became a frenzied run.
Before I knew it, I once again stood in that first room. I looked around at the dead, splattered man in the robes and the stone slab that was my first experience.
I felt something pulling me closer to him. I knelt and moved my hands along his body, searching it for my god, for that was all it could be to have this kind of effect on me. I did not remember who or what I was before, but I knew it wasn't anything saintly.
I felt I was no stranger to power, that this soul bore the weight of many others on it. I knew that I had held life in my hands and crushed it with glee. A feeling of superiority ran throughout me. I smiled, remembering how they screamed as they died. No! No! This was not me thinking. What is me?
I found something hard and rectangular in the robes. It was a book glowing that same sickening green as the robes and the head on the wall. I felt it pulsing along with my heartbeat. It sang out like a chorus of innumerable voices and screams.
"Are you my Master? If you are not, I will consume your soul!"
It pulsed once more, stopping my heart. I felt something ancient and evil surge through me. Undeniable authority. I felt my very being freeze as I was slowly drawn into the book.
I let loose a roar with the last air in my lungs. I would not let this puny existence dominate me. I would consume it instead. Green fire enveloped my body. I need not a heart. I need not air in my lungs, and I need not a false god trying to usurp me.
The fire ran over my body and moved to the book, which screamed in terror as a green tor
rent of faces trapped in different stages of agony and anger streamed from it and into me. The book started to burn.
"Spare me!" The voices rang out, though far fewer than before.
I squeezed as it burned in my hands.
"Master! Forgive me, I knew not!" It pleaded as it burned.
"I am yours. Please forgive this weak and foolish vessel. I did not recognize you in such a state." The book seemed to be crying, a deep sense of sadness and loss streaming from it as the souls drained into me.
It turned to black sludge and started melting into my hand and arm.
"Master, I am home,” it said now, only one voice remaining. It sounded relieved, even grateful as it faded into me.
Sudden knowledge assaulted my mind — knowledge of thousands of lives, thousands of memories, none of them mine. I could hear an almost androgynous voice in my head. It cut through the torrent of memories surging into me.
"I will help you catalog it. That's my function, after all," it said with a girlish giggle.
"Interesting," it said, continuing. "Your memories are locked to you. It will take a while to reach them. Are they dead, perhaps, lost in the process of bringing you here?"
My heart started beating again with a loud thump in my chest, and fear gripped me once more. I didn't want this thing in my head.
I felt myself getting dizzy.
"I see. You don't like me talking, hmm? In time you will get used to that. Let me restore your memories and subjugate all others. I will make myself more palatable for you." It kept speaking as my eyes clamped shut.
I was no longer able to maintain my grip on reality. A surging pain swelled in my head, seeming to last an eternity. I blacked out, and the world turned sideways as I hit the ground with a thud.
When I awoke, I knew something was different. Yes, the floor was still sticky here. There was now the smell of feces, indicating that the body lying next to me had unkindly emptied its bowels. I looked at the flaming head on the wall. How the hell did that work exactly? Was it like a lightbulb? When one burned out did you simply replace it? How many necromancers did it take to replace a flaming head light bulb? Light bulb? Holy shit! I remember. I remember everything now, and I should be dead!
A Flesh Golem's Ascension Page 1
