Chapter 07: The Battle for the Flesh
Chapter 07: The Battle for the Flesh
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The crow perched on the splintered remains of the skull throne, its obsidian feathers glistening with something thicker than rain. It cocked its head, a grotesque mimicry of curiosity, and spoke in a voice that was both Jack's and *not*—a sound scraped from the inside of a rotting throat.
"Caw caw. Are you back among the living, Lord Solomon?"
Jack's fingers twitched. His bones ached, his skin too tight, as if something beneath it had grown and then been violently compressed back into the shape of a man. His lips parted, and the voice that came out was his own—but laced with something darker, something *older*.
"Shut up, you low-level demon."
The crow *shuddered*. Its feathers flattened, its wings tightening against its body as if struck by an invisible hand. The creature's head dipped, submissive, but its eyes—those too-black, too-knowing eyes—flickered with something like amusement.
A distorted expression twisted across Jack's face—a snarl that wasn't entirely his, a hatred that didn't belong to him. Then, against his will, his body *moved*. His knees bent. His spine curved.
He *knelt*.
And deep inside, in the abyss where his soul had been carved open and stitched back together with something ancient, the true battle began.
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The darkness *breathed*.
Jack stood in a realm of writhing shadows, the air thick with the stench of rotting meat and iron. The ground beneath him was not earth—it was *flesh*, pulsing like a living thing, veins squirming under his bare feet. Above, a crimson sky stretched endlessly, dotted with *eyes* that blinked in unison, watching.
Across from him, wreathed in black mist, stood *Solomon*.
His skin was stretched too tight over his bones, lips peeled back in a rictus grin. His fingers ended in jagged nails, his eyes hollow pits where something *crawled* inside.
"This body is mine now," Solomon hissed, his voice a chorus of screams.
Jack's hands curled into fists. "Like hell it is."
Solomon lunged.
The world was almost *ripped* apart.
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Solomon's fingers elongated into talons, slashing toward Jack's throat. Jack barely dodged, but the shadows themselves *bit* into him, teeth forming from the darkness to tear strips of flesh from his arms.
Blood splattered the fleshy ground—*and the earth drank it greedily.*
Solomon laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "You are nothing. A vessel. A sacrifice."
Jack snarled and charged, driving his fist into Solomon's jaw. Bone cracked—but it wasn't Solomon's.
It was *his own*.
Jack's fingers *splintered*, the bones jutting through his skin. Solomon's grin widened. "This is my domain. Here, I decide what breaks."
The ground opened beneath Jack. Hands—skeletal, rotting—shot up, dragging him down into a pit of gnashing teeth and wailing mouths.
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Jack screamed as the wind became knives, peeling his skin back in ribbons. Solomon stood above him, his form shifting, *growing*—his limbs stretching too long, his ribs splitting open to reveal a second mouth lined with hooked teeth.
"You cannot win," Solomon crooned.
"You are already dead."
Jack's vision swam. The pain was unbearable—but beneath it, *anger* burned.
**No.**
He *wasn't* dead.
He *wouldn't* be.
With a roar, Jack *tore* free from the grasping hands, his flesh stitching itself back together as he *refused* Solomon's reality.
The realm *shuddered*.
For the first time, Solomon's grin faltered.
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Jack *remembered*.
The Bible. The nails. The *cross*.
A weapon not of Solomon's making.
The ground trembled as Jack *willed* it into existence—a massive cross of *living bone*, its surface writhing with screaming faces.
Solomon's eyes widened. "NO—"
Jack was on him in an instant, driving a rusted nail (where had it come from? *Did it matter?*) through Solomon's palm.
The demon-king *howled*, his blood black as it splattered the ground.
"You don't belong here," Jack growled, pinning Solomon against the cross.
The second nail went through the other hand.
The third, through his feet.
Solomon thrashed, his form melting, his flesh bubbling like wax. "You cannot contain me! I am ETERNAL!"
Jack leaned in, his voice a whisper.
"Then suffer forever."
With a final, brutal strike, he drove the last nail through Solomon's forehead.
The realm *screamed*.
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Solomon's body *seized* movement , his mouth stretching impossibly wide—before *shattering* into a thousand writhing shadows.
The cross *absorbed* them, the bone darkening as the screams faded.
Silence.
Then—
A single, shuddering breath.
Jack's eyes snapped open.
*He was back.*
His body was his own.
And deep within, buried beneath layers of flesh and soul, Solomon *raged* against his prison.
But he would never escape.
Not again.
Not ever.
He could only wait for when Jack was at his lowest.
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Jack looked up.
The crow still perched atop the skull throne, its head tilted, watching him with those abyssal eyes.
Now, with Solomon's memories bleeding into his own, Jack knew.
This creature this thing was no mere bird. It was the lowest of demons, a scavenger of souls, the last remnant of Solomon's will that had slithered free when the king had fallen. It had orchestrated everything—the village, the sacrifices, the Bible's corruption—all to rebuild Solomon's temple, to carve a new throne from the bones of the innocent.
And it had chosen Jack as its pawn.
A slow, cold smile spread across Jack's lips.
His hand shot out, faster than thought, and *seized* the crow by its throat.
The creature *shrieked*, its wings flapping wildly, its beak gnashing at the air. But Jack's grip was iron.
"You were the cause of all my suffering," Jack murmured, his voice low, dangerous. "But now, you will help me gain strength."
The crow's eyes widened in realization.
It knew what came next.
Jack's other hand closed around its skull.
And with a single, brutal twist—
He crushed it.
Black blood oozed between his fingers, thick and stinking of rot. The crow's body convulsed once, twice—then dissolved into smoke, swirling around Jack's arm before seeping into his skin.
A shudder ran through him.
Power.
*Knowledge.*
Rituals long forgotten, secrets buried in blood.
And one, above all, that called to him—
*The Feast of the Thousand Eyes.*
This ritual he will change it to make it one that was unique and truly belonged to him.
He would add what he would learned from the Bible to it and use it as his very own ritual.
A way to grow stronger.
A way to *devour* the dark.
Jack exhaled, his breath fogging in the cold air.
The village was gone.
The throne was dust.
But the war?
The war had only just begun.
And somewhere, in the depths of his mind, Solomon *laughed*.
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