Vessel of the Ruined god

Chapter 6: Dinner with the Devil

The iron gates of the camp groaned shut, sealing them inside a compound that smelled of rusted scrap and unwashed fear. The warlord, a man who called himself Kaelen and wore armor seemingly made from flattened stop signs, gestured toward a long, grease-stained table.

"Sit," Kaelen commanded, his eyes fixed on the golden, pulsing veins creeping up Vaelric’s neck. "An associate of the Ruin deserves... hospitality."

Vaelric sank into a chair that felt suspiciously like a torture device. Beside him, Seraphyne didn’t miss a beat, her hand resting casually on the hilt of her blade.

"Hospitality?" Seraphyne asked, pulling out a chair and propping her muddy boots up on the table. "That’s a big word for a place that smells like a damp basement."

Kaelen’s eyelid twitched. "We take pride in our efficiency, scavenger. And you, guest... you are glowing. It’s quite distracting."

"It’s a mood ring," Vaelric muttered, his chest emitting a low, rhythmic thrum. "And my mood is currently 'hungry for a very long nap.'"

“He is a worm,” the voice roared inside Vaelric’s skull. “Tell him his blood would make a better floor wax than a drink.”

"Can it," Vaelric hissed under his breath.

Kaelen leaned forward, his chair screeching against the concrete. "You speak to yourself? Or to the thing inside you?"

"It’s a podcast," Seraphyne interjected, reaching for a metallic pitcher of dark, murky ale. "He’s obsessed with true crime. Very riveting stuff. Keeps him awake at night."

"I don't think he’s listening to a podcast," Kaelen sneered, pouring himself a drink. "I think he’s an artifact, wrapped in a failing meat suit. Tell me, boy, if I were to cut you open, would you shine brighter, or would you just fizzle out?"

Vaelric forced a grin, though his knuckles were white as he gripped his knees. "Why don't you try it and find out? I’ve been told I have a very explosive personality."

"Is that a threat?" Kaelen’s guards stepped forward, hands hovering over their rusted sidearms.

"It’s a public service announcement," Seraphyne said, pouring a glass for Vaelric. She subtly flicked a pinch of iridescent, blue dust from her sleeve into the warlord’s cup. "Drink up, Kaelen. It’s a vintage blend. Probably from three, maybe four, years ago."

Kaelen squinted at the glass, then at Seraphyne. "You’re bold for someone whose head would look excellent on a pike."

"I get that a lot," Seraphyne shrugged. "Usually right before the person talking to me realizes they’ve made a tactical error."

Vaelric felt the entity shifting, a cold, oily sensation that moved from his ribs to his throat. “The girl has sharp teeth. I approve. Now, demand the meat. I sense a presence below us. Something that hungers.”

Vaelric cleared his throat, his eyes flashing with an unnatural, golden light. "So, Kaelen. Nice place you’ve got. Lots of locks. Lots of chains. What exactly are you keeping in the cellar?"

Kaelen froze, the glass halfway to his lips. "That is none of your concern, glow-worm."

"See, the thing is," Vaelric continued, his voice taking on that distorted, multi-tonal quality, "the ground is vibrating. It’s not just me. There’s something down there, and it’s very, very loud."

"He’s got a nose for trouble," Seraphyne added, taking a delicate sip of her own drink. "Also, he’s a bit of a glutton. He really wants to see what you’re feeding the monsters."

Kaelen laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. "Feeding them? They don't just eat meat, scavenger. They eat potential. They eat the energy of the old world."

"You’re feeding them villagers?" Vaelric felt his skin turn rigid. The obsidian scales started to bloom across his knuckles.

"I feed them the weak," Kaelen spat, finally tipping the drink back and swallowing it in one gulp. "So that I might keep the strong. This land is a furnace. Either you burn, or you fuel the fire."

"And you think you're the one holding the match?" Seraphyne asked, her voice dangerously soft.

"I am the one who decides who survives!" Kaelen slammed his glass down. Suddenly, his grin faltered. He blinked, his pupils dilating until his eyes were entirely black. "Why... why is the table melting?"

"It’s not melting," Seraphyne whispered, leaning in close. "It’s just your perception of reality taking a little vacation."

Kaelen shook his head, his hand gripping the edge of the table so hard the metal buckled. "You poisoned me? I’ll have your skin for—" He stopped, his face contorting into a mask of pure, unadulterated confusion. He looked at the guards, then back at Vaelric.

A small, hiccup-like sound escaped his throat.

"Is he okay?" one of the guards asked, stepping forward nervously.

Kaelen didn't answer. He started to chuckle. It wasn't a normal laugh; it was a wheezing, high-pitched giggle that sounded like a tea kettle screaming.

"The... the walls," Kaelen wheezed, pointing at the scrap-metal barricade. "They’re telling me... they’re telling me my pants are made of cheese."

"Cheese?" the guard asked, his jaw dropping.

"Sharp cheddar!" Kaelen shrieked, collapsing into a fit of hysterical, rib-cracking laughter. He began to roll on the floor, kicking his legs like a toddler having a tantrum. "Don't eat the guard, he’s lactose intolerant!"

"He’s lost it," the guard muttered, raising his rifle. "Boss? Boss, get up!"

"He’s not getting up," Seraphyne said, pulling her crossbow from under the table. "In fact, I think he’s about to have a very long conversation with his floorboards."

“The vessel is weakened by laughter,” the Ruin hissed in Vaelric’s mind. “The door is unguarded. Take the key, boy. And let us see what lies in the dark.”

Vaelric stood up, his arm fully encased in the jagged, obsidian armor. The light in his chest was a blinding, pulsating star.

"Nobody move," Vaelric commanded, his voice echoing with the authority of an ancient, hollow mountain. "Your leader is currently debating dairy products with the floor."

"Shoot them!" the guard yelled, panicked by the swirling, golden energy radiating from Vaelric’s every pore.

Vaelric didn't wait. He flicked his armored wrist. A wave of kinetic force slammed into the guards, tossing them like ragdolls against the far wall. They slid down, unconscious before they even hit the ground.

Seraphyne stood up, wiping a speck of dust from her shoulder. "Well. That went better than expected. Cheese, Vaelric? You really know how to pick a poison."

"I didn't pick it, she did!" Vaelric gestured to Seraphyne, his chest still glowing, his heart beating that slow, terrifying, ancient rhythm.

"Whatever," Seraphyne said, stepping over the laughing, delirious warlord. "We have the keys. But we need to move fast. If the beast downstairs is half as hungry as he said, we’re about to have a very messy problem."

Vaelric looked toward the trapdoor in the center of the room. It was vibrating, the metal hinges straining against something massive pressing from below. A deep, guttural roar shook the entire foundation of the hut, knocking the remaining plates off the table.

"Seraphyne," Vaelric whispered, his eyes widening as he felt the energy in his chest sync perfectly with the creature’s rage. "I don't think it’s just hungry. I think it recognizes me."

The trapdoor shattered, splintering into a thousand jagged shards of wood and iron. A claw, thick as a tree trunk and covered in translucent, pulsing scales, smashed through the floor, anchoring the beast to the room.

Vaelric stared at the claw. It was identical to the one currently growing out of his own arm.

"Oh," Vaelric gasped, his breath hitching as the monster’s shadow loomed over them. "I think I just found my sibling."