Story 1075: Flesh Altar

The chanting never truly stopped.

Even after the Crimson Reaping, when the dead walked and the skies bled rust, Old Chapel Fen remained untouched. Not because it was holy. Because it was feared. The survivors said the ground there pulsed. Said they heard bones singing beneath the soil.

And in the center of that rotting field, something new had grown.

A monument.

No stone, no wood.

Flesh.

Breathing. Alive. Watching.

Juno Varret, ex-scout of the Hollow Patrol, was drawn by the signals—distorted frequencies and radio screams that all centered on one location: Fen. They said it was a “birthplace.” They said something “awoke hungry.”

She didn’t believe in gods anymore.

She did believe in threats.

Crossing into Fen was like walking through a lung. The mist was warm, thick with iron and rot. Her boots sank into sinew-covered soil, and every tree she passed had grown veins. Eyeless birds shrieked from ribcage nests, and worms slithered in open air.