Varnished In Blood

The hieroglyphs spoke of the fate of the land, tracing its journey from its origins to its inevitable end: utter and complete destruction.

From the goddess tearing a piece of herself—her very heart—and planting it upon the soil, to her subsequent death and the rise of a dominant monarchy that exploited her snuffed will for their own ends, to the darkness that consumed the world in her absence.

This kingdom sprang from destruction, so it is not farfetched that its remnants were on the path obliteration by the same force that created it.

But to think that he could have been so wrong on so many levels wounded Zerin to his core. She was the harvest, the reincarnation of the goddess; if that was true, why then is the place in such a state?

Zerin stepped away from the pillar, seeing the depiction of the harvest. It was unmistakable—he could lie to himself all day, but those braids, those pigtails, that dress were hers. She was the fragment that had sprung from the goddess.

Was this the root of his fascination with her? He wondered, unable to pinpoint a single moment when he wasn't drawn to her. Was he drawn to her innate divinity? Was she abusing her influence over him?

A rumbling from within the depths of the structure made him stumble slightly, grabbing onto the pillar for stability. Once the rumbling ceased, he heard a hushed whisper that triggered his fight-or-flight response.

"Fatherrr..."

Turning from the wall of hieroglyphs, fear etched on his face, he realized the voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

'Is that?'

Turning back to the wall, he was reminded of the serpent that loomed over the temple, gazing down upon the people. But Zerin also recognized there was more to this story, a piece left out.

As he tore away more moss, a bright glow emerged, revealing an image of complete annihilation. Atop a mountain of corpses stood one adorned with the serpent crown.

Zerin knew this wasn't true. He would never kill any of them; he cared for them, and he loved her, even despite her hiding who she truly was.

Why did this have to happen?

***

The Leviathan coiled around the massive temple. Each segment of its elongated body tightened with a palpable force, creating a series of undulating waves that cascaded down its length. The edges of the stones crumbled as it snaked its way to the top of the structure. Its human head emerged from behind the temple.

The vile abomination claimed dominion over the holy building.

Spitting from its lips, an accusing, ghastly whisper hushed the air.

"Fatherrr..."

Its serpentine speech trailed in the air, its eyes then bearing down upon the Priest.

The beast raised its head to the sky, blotting out the red moonlight and casting a great shadow over the people.

For a brief moment, the Priest and the Leviathan stared at each other.

In an abrupt, snappy movement, the serpent lunged from the temple, diving at the Priest. Screams from the people filled the air, anticipating an inevitable strike.

In a flash, the Priest drew flesh from his body, forming three spears that whisked through the air, piercing the Leviathan's face and narrowly derailing it from colliding with the majority.

As an unavoidable consequence, there were definite casualties; the Leviathan collided with a group of people, wiping them out, their blood staining the crimson grass even more.

With steady hands, the Priest delicately lowered the slug that had burrowed within his flesh to the damp soil.

"If you desire to live, go..." the Priest declared before turning back towards the Leviathan.

The serpent rose with an annoyed hiss as it shook off the spears from its face. Turning back to the Priest, its voice spat out again.

"Monsterrr…"

The Priest drew back the spears; they snapped to his side.

"We have that in common, don't we?"

"You never seem to tire of this dance. My son has returned to me, and I tire of these games."

The serpent hissed; its long hair danced in the air as it lifted its head.

"Do you tire, Father? I am restless, forever restless… I shall not stop until everything is taken from you, just as you have taken from me."

The Priest slowly raised himself into the air.

"I would never beget such pitiful offspring..."

The Priest aimed the spears at the Leviathan with steeled resolve.

"I do not know, and I do not care for your suffering."

The serpent lunged at the Priest, with anger. Avoiding the strike, the Priest flickered above the serpent a few hundred feet in the air.

The people screamed as they scattered, but it was for naught, as the massive serpent collided with the people heading for the only exit into the forest, killing them. The screaming died as quickly as it began, leaving only the squelch of flesh against the earth.

His flesh writhed chaotically as he suppressed his inner anger. Turning towards the still-standing temple, he found himself tempering his anger while standing and basking in the crimson moonlight. The Priest slipped; it only took a moment, but his anger tipped over the edge once again.

The serpent craned its neck up to the crimson-blessed sky. Seeing the Priest slowly descend to the earth, it began to rise to meet him.

The Leviathan swiped its bony tail downward through the air. The Priest was hurled like a bolt of lightning into the forest, crashing into several trees that shattered into splinters.

The Leviathan's gaze tracked the path of the Priest as he was hurled through the crimson forest. It then shifted its terrible focus to the statue, which seemed insignificant beside its immense form. With a swipe of its bony tail, the Leviathan sent the statue crashing through the heart of the temple. Stones tumbled and piled upon each other as the temple collapsed further in on itself.

***

He awoke to the echoes of screams—those he swore he had heard before, perhaps in a dream. He coughed up dust as he opened his eyes, realizing he was trapped beneath debris. A small head injury had left him lying in a pool of his own blood. A stroke of luck had kept him alive: a felled pillar was the only thing between him and certain death.

Zerin had very little wiggle room beneath the debris. Shifting onto his back, he shuffled toward the crack of light. He coughed up the dust that had settled in his lungs, stirred up by his movements, and his throat felt raw with the taste of iron.

Drawn to the persistent coughing, the Lizard found Zerin pinned beneath the rubble. It lowered its head to peek through the crack.

He flinched as the creature began chipping away at the stones, which flew in his direction. When the creature finally stopped, there was an opening large enough for him to squeeze through.

Placing a hand on the Lizard's back, he stood up from the debris and was greeted by a bloody mess. Bodies were scattered across the holy grounds, and the statue of the goddess was completely gone. As Zerin stumbled away from the Lizard, he looked back at the temple and saw the statue of the goddess displaced, with crumbling rubble cascading into the destroyed temple.

A roar echoed through the air, followed by the screech of the Leviathan. Just outside the holy grounds, the Priest and the Leviathan were locked in a bloody battle, warm crimson splashes spraying from the Leviathan as the Priest struck the creature with increasing ferocity. The Priest gave in to his anger, his roars reverberating through the crimson forest as he waged war against the beast.

Zerin walked down the temple steps, his eyes searching the holy grounds for any survivors. The grounds were stained with the blood of the goddess's people. From where the statue of the goddess once stood, all the way to just outside the gate, there were dead bodies. Their blood was smeared over the crimson grass, giving it an even more sinister hue.

He wanted to throw up.

"She's okay… She needs to be okay…"

He repeated this mantra in his head, clinging to hope more than certainty. What else could he do?

Reaching the foot of the stairs, he stepped into a crimson puddle. At its edge lay Wisteria's mother. He averted his eyes and stepped past her body, searching through the sea of the dead.

A roar thundered through the air as the Priest flew erratically around the Leviathan, attacking from above while the Leviathan struck back.

'Where is she? My god, where is she!?'

Desperation settled in as half of the bodies were unrecognizable, brutally mutilated with their organs and entrails strewn about the grass; the scent was vile.

'What if she...'

Zerin began to have conflicting thoughts about her survival. He was lost as he searched and searched until...

'The gods are bastards.'

He glanced around the blood-soaked holy grounds, his eyes widening in disbelief. As he took a second look, his gaze locked onto the figure of the Old Man, scrambling away from the scene like a wounded animal. The injustice of this aftermath enveloped Zerin, the only movement coming from the solitary survivor fleeing the disaster he had created. He was the wolf depicted in the hieroglyphs; he shouldn't be allowed to live.

He turned back to the Priest, his heart pounding in his chest, as another inhuman roar pierced the air. The Priest's movements were swift and chaotic, his blade slicing through the beast, crimson droplets painting the ground in a macabre dance.

In the spray of blood, the Priest appeared utterly transformed—a darkened figure against the backdrop of chaos, his features obscured by the mask of battle. Bathed in the creature's blood, he seemed like a distorted reflection of his former self, a haunting silhouette of the being he once was.

Zerin fought a momentarily internal battle where he settled upon his decision. He longed to convince himself that he had arrived at this conclusion through careful reasoning, but deep down, he could feel the simmering anger in his veins. The question gnawed at his soul—how could a goddess sworn to protect her people leave them in such a state? The bitter truth stung him to the core.

The worst and most despicable among her followers had escaped unscathed, while scores of innocents lay slain.

Turning back to the Priest, a tumultuous storm of emotions raged within him, a savage conflict tearing at his very being. The dark whispers of his desires clawed at his conscience—a thirst for vengeance so intense that he was willing to watch the world crumble in flames without a second thought. This primal urge, however, felt foreign, an unwelcome invader planted in his soul by the Priest's influence.

Yet, despite the internal turmoil, he sensed an inexplicable connection, a twisted bond that bound him to the Priest's wrath. In a moment of unsettling clarity, he found himself embracing the Priest's seething anger as if it were his own.

Zerin's fists clenched tightly at his sides, the tension coiling within him like a spring ready to snap.

Ignoring the daunting presence of the Leviathan and the Priest looming in the distance, he broke into a sprint, urgency propelling him forward.