Father of Monstrosity

With Heskel and Stelji in tow, the latter clad in a hooded flesh-stitched cloak that encompassed her entire body, Jakob entered into the Adventurers’ Guild some days later. He had changed his mind about not returning to the Guild, as he figured he could use what he had discovered in the cisterns as leverage to get a hold on some of their knowledge. Also, he really wanted to see the expressions of their faces, when he revealed their enormous shortcomings.

Given his stunt on his first visit, people were quick to recognise him, and the entire hall fell eerily quiet, despite the throng of people. His Lifeward did not need to mow people aside when they walked straight up to the same Receptionist who had attended them previously.

“You have returned,” the Guildman remarked. “How fared your trial contract? Did you find the necklace?”

“Yes.”

Without needing to utter a word, Heskel walked forward and put a necklace on the counter. It was a softly-glowing aquamarine stone shaped like a crescent moon and attached to a fine silver chain. Though Jakob initially thought it lost, the trio had found it when they went through the many tunnels to ensure not a single member of the Ratmen tribe had escaped alive. The necklace had lain next to a gloopy pile of black tar. Even rat mutants could be vain, apparently.

His Attendant also put a sack of repurposed intestinal-lining and skin on the counter, and though it simply looked like a miscoloured hide bag, it was hard to disguise the smell it gave off.

To his credit, the Guildman did not cover his nose and simply asked, “And what’s this?”

“Open it,” Jakob said, and Heskel opened the bag and emptied it out onto the counter with a vigorous shake, releasing all the badges they had collected.

Just like the aquamarine necklace, they had found several more of the iron Guild badges next to the remains of the Ratmen who had fled. The death toll amounted to nineteen tin aspirants, twelve iron members, and the one bronze member. She was now dead to the world, replaced by Stelji, named thusly by Jakob as, following the many rituals and rites, the only word she could utter was “MASTER…”, so he had named her one of the Demonic words for “lightning”. For whatever reason, demons had hundreds of names for many of the elements, and “Stelji” specifically referred to lightning that flew from the ground and up to the skies, such as those very rarely seen during bad winter storms.

“This… where did you find these??”

“Our hunt led us from Haven’s sewers to those beneath Armoury district. A nest of mutants had made their home there. They were collecting these badges, like trinkets.” Jakob could not help but smile beneath his mask, though it was possibly a good thing the Guildman could not see it, given how shaken he looked. Part of him could still not help that he found it darkly amusing that such primitive abominations had killed thatmany Guild members.

“And this…” he started, lifting the bronze badge up. “This belonged to Lyssa! Everyone thought she died during the Market West Incident...”

Someone almost as tall as Heskel pushed through the crowd and made it to the counter. He was clad in form-fitting leather attire, his hair was short and grey, and he had the air of someone in charge.

“Jakob. Come with me please.”

“Guild Master?” the Receptionist said in surprise to the man.

“Mikael, gather up those badges and bring them to my office.”

“Of course, sir!”

The Guild Master looked back at Jakob. “Shall we?”

Figuring that declining would be suspicious, he simply nodded and followed the man to the back of the hall, where a spiralling staircase led up above. Both his Lifeward and Wrought Servant followed close behind, prepared for anything, though Jakob doubted the Guild Master was a big threat to him.

After recounting their journey into the sewers for a second time, making sure to omit the fact that the famous sorceress “Lyssa” was now standing behind Jakob wearing a different name and face, the Fleshcrafter leant back in the comfortable sofa. A cup of fragrant tea stood on the low table in front of him, but he was wary of imbibing anything he himself had not produced.

“I’m amazed you managed to uncover this infestation. Truth be told, the Guild should have picked up on the mass disappearances, but with the Market West Incident and the scrutiny of the Mage Quarter by the Royal Guard, everything has been too hectic for us to keep track of.”

From what Jakob had gathered, the Royal Guard had thoroughly looked into every single person capable of summoning powerful demons and, as a result, Westgate was shut down, the Mage Quarter was ransacked as they looked for clues, and every Magister and their apprentices were interrogated. It also explained how Hargraves missed his scheduled transition to Market North and the Apothecary that Veks had finagled into their possession, as well as his sudden appearance, once his name was cleared.

“It goes without saying, but your efforts clearly surpassed those required to pass our membership exam, not to mention those needed to rank up to bronze. Once you return downstairs, you can pick up your new Bronze License.”

“I have no use for meaningless titles and awards,” Jakob replied honestly, though he would still take the new license, as it would allow him to move without scrutiny through nearly every sector of Helmsgarten. His plans expanded far beyond keeping just one laboratorium in Market North, and free travel between districts meant he could set up many more, not to mention diversify them akin to how Grandfather had constructed his complex of specialised laboratoriums all over the southwestern corner of the deep sewers.

“What sort of reward do you seek then? You don’t strike me as someone who works for free.”

“Knowledge.”

The Guild Master narrowed his eyes and his gaze pierced into Jakob’s own, but then he seemed to make his mind up, and stood from his chair.

A scrape of shifting bone plates and segments sounded from the cloaked Stelji as she prepared for a fight. He could feel the air become charged as she drew static energy into her remade corpus.

Ignorant to Jakob’s servant and the threat she posed, the Guild Master opened the door to his study and looked to the Fleshcrafter who still remained in the sofa.

“Come on then. I shall let you peruse what knowledge we possess.”

After following the Guild Master up another spiralling staircase and through a locked door, Jakob entered into a mix of a library and armoury, with overflowing bookcases, neatly-arranged swords of all sizes and types, steel plate-mail, and so on. Jakob immediately dismissed all of the collection as worthless junk, but then he noticed a couple of noteworthy items. One was a slender tome the size of a journal, with pulsating veins wrapped around its flesh-bound cover, and the other was a scroll of some unknown metal. The tome was clearly magical in nature. Both of the items were kept in glass displays covered with sealing runes. To his frustration, he knew that he did not have the knowledge to disarm the seals without destroying the artefacts within the displays.

“You have a discerning eye,” the Guild Master commented upon noticing his interest.

“I want those two,” Jakob replied bluntly.

“Hemolatry is banned, you must know. I cannot in good conscience give you such knowledge,” he answered with a devious smile. The fact that he confirmed it to be a tome of Hemolatric spells made Jakob want it even more.

“Let me guess, you want me to complete another task for your Guild.”

“Indeed.”

For a moment, he seriously considered the downsides to gutting the man before him and attempting to steal the two items, but given that such brazen action would compromise all of his plans, he decided to continue to play pretend. Even if he had had any Demon’s Blood left after Stelji’s transformation, it would be impossible for him to subjugate the Guild Master using the Abeyance ritual, given the very clear hierarchy they were involved in and the fact that, like it or not, Jakob was the Squire and he was the Lord. Perhaps a few days of intensive torture could break through those restraints, but the Guild Master’s absence would surely be noted and he seemed like he would be a hard man to break, proud as he was.

“Give me the tome and I’ll agree to your task in exchange for the scroll.” He had no idea what the metal scroll was, but he knew it was unique, and a small part of him could feel the potential it emanated.

“You drive a hard bargain, young man,” the Guild Master patronised him, before approaching the glass display and waving his hands around while muttering a long string of words. The locking mechanism of the seal seemed to be a mix of gesture and voice-based commands in reverse, like untangling a complex knot. It was the first kind of spell like this that Jakob had seen, but it seemed quite useless in any other context than as a lock, though he supposed that one could use such a spell in combat to seal the opponent’s mind within itself. Perhaps he would try it out on some test subjects when he had time, after all, he was woefully short on non-lethal ways of incapacitating people.

As the Guild Master stepped back, Jakob approached the now-open display case and noticed the heartbeat coming from the book itself. He reached out with his right glove, where Stelji had burnt off the top-layer days before, and the veins unfurled themselves from the skin cover and reached back like sentient tentacles. As the veins touched his glove, they recoiled and he quickly grasped the book, lifting it from the display, the tentacles writhing like a bundle of terrified snakes, but unable to sever themselves from the spine of the book where they were rooted.

“Submit to me,” Jakob demanded in Chthonic, the Guild Master staring in disbelief at what he was seeing, his haughtiness suddenly gone.

The veins relaxed and wound themselves around the book again, keeping it shut.

“I shall make good use of this,” Jakob replied to the shaken Guildman. “Now tell me about this task you have for me.”

Sig’s arms were dripping with blood, her latest victim flayed and lifeless on the stone altar that Jakob used for his experiments and Fleshcraft. The stench of acrid copper filled her nostrils and her face was flush with the exhilarating nature of what she had done.

The Incarnate sighed heavily. “Such a waste. There’s no beauty in your work. You’re just a child playing with your food…”

He was dangling from the ceiling by one of Loke’s hair-like webs, which now covered the entire back-half of the room. Her previous victims had quickly been nabbed by the sentient bone spider and taken back to its lair, where it did Saints knew what with them.

With a heavy thud, the Incarnate landed on the stone floor next to her, before pushing her aside.

“Hey!” she protested.

He stopped and pointed a clawed finger at her. His left hand and arm now mirrored his right, and his entire body was covered in either thick golden-red fur or pale-green scales. “Enough with this… I’m bored and I’ve indulged you plenty as it is.”

With a lazy swipe, he severed the neck from the body, before lifting the once-beautiful-but-now-ruined head by its auburn hair. As blood lazily dripped from his ‘trophy’, he took one of Jakob’s brushes and flipped the head upside-down, before using it as an inkwell to feed his tool with paint. With casual strokes whose execution belied their flawless accuracy, the Incarnate started drawing out several septagrams on stone floor where room had been set aside for such rituals. He drew out seven to be exact, arranging them in a circle, with each star touching the two next to it and the rings overlapping artfully.

“What are you doing?” Sig asked, both curious and alarmed. She knew enough about Demonology to pick up on the fact that he was attempting to summon something, but she had never seen this sort of ritual before.

“Just watch,” he replied, before walking into the centre of his ring of seven septagrams.

Then he started reciting a spell that sounded like a poem, with Sig feeling somewhat proud that she understood every word:

“Little scampering critters who cling to the spires of Mammon’s home, heed this call and come forth to this realm of plenty, for the glory of the Shining Hoard!”

Seven flames of gold burst from within the ritual circles, spinning like whirlwinds, but without affecting the air of the basement with neither wind nor heat. As suddenly as they came, they flattened and vanished, leaving behind seven almost-identical little beings no taller than a toddler.

“Aren’t they adorable?” the Incarnate said, in an almost paternal tone.

“W-what are they?” she asked, as the humanoid gold-scaled critters started looking around in curiosity with their bulbous pitch-black eyes, round heads, long ears, and stubby horns.

“Greedlings,” he replied. “Now, come on. It is dark out, so we can finally do something entertaining.”

As the Incarnate headed for the stairs that led to the courtyard outside, the impish Greedlings quickly followed after him with scampering steps and unsettling chatter in some unknown language, a few even jumping on the back of the tall Demon they now served.

“But, I can’t leave…”

Laughter was all she got as a reply. Sheepishly, she followed him outside into the still night air.

Dismay set in, when she realised that she knew exactly where they were going. Superstitiously, she had expected Jakob and his monstrous servant to fall on her as soon as she set foot beyond the borders of the Apothecary, where she had been imprisoned for over two weeks. Instead, nothing had happened, and yet, the silence did nothing to dissuade her paranoia.

To feel watched at all times… what a fitting form of torture, she mused to herself. But she was made of sturdier stuff.

The Incarnate was humming to himself, as his cohort of minor demons trailed in his wake. They had already crossed the unguarded bridge into the Noble Quarter without drawing attention, but she doubted it would last.

Maybe I can make a break for it and escape the city.

One of the Greedlings stopped and turned to look at her, it’s diminutive stature doing nothing to diminish its horrifying black-eyed gaze up at her.

“I’m coming, okay?” she replied hastily.

She would bide her time a bit longer.

“Marvellous, isn’t it?”

Sig just stared up at the tall façade of the mansion, which lay in the northwestern part of the district. It was built in the old style of too many arches and spires, many which served no purpose nor contributed to the structural integrity, but still it was awe-inspiring to look at.

The Demon frowned upon seeing her expression. “You’ve been here before.”

She did not reply, which made him stomp over to her and grip her cheeks in a painful vice of his clawed left hand.

“This is the meeting place of the Eyeless and its cultists.”

He released his grip immediately, the lingering pain informing her that puncture wounds were left behind. “How fortuitous, wouldn’t you say?”

“What do you mean?”

“We get to also test your loyalty, and clear up an eyesore for the young Master.”

“If it is loyalty, I already failed when I left the Apothecary.”

“Do you truly believe that was a test? Do you think he has need of someone who cannot think and act on their own? Mindless loyalty is what he has his creations for. Think about why he let you keep your independent thoughts.”

“Because it would be more entertaining to him.”

“Perhaps,” he replied with a grin that showcased his hideously-destructive double rows of needle-like teeth. “Or perhaps he wanted you to atone for your misplaced faith.”

“Killing the worshippers of the Flayed Lady would please Her as much, if not more, as any other sacrifice. She embodies treachery after all.”

“Even if you commit them under the mandate of her archnemesis?”

Sig gritted her teeth. “I won’t serve the Watcher.”

Veks grabbed her right hand before she could react, putting her index and middle fingers into his mouth, then he closed his double rows of needle teeth and tore them from her hand.

As though the taste of her was vile to his sensibilities, he spat out her severed fingers on the cobblestones, the Greedlings immediately fighting over them like starved dogs. The sudden shock numbed her entirely, and before she could let out a wail of agony, he seized her by the chin, digging his claws into her upper lip and around her mouth.

“Renounce your Lady as you carve up her worshippers,” he said, in a voice that denied any response other than a firm nod. Nonetheless, she did not relent, staring back into his glowing eyes, their slit pupils like the bottomless abyss of the cosmos.

The rest of her arm went as he swiped his claws down its length, reducing it to tattered bits and exposed bone, the flesh and skin falling to the ground, where the greedy imps devoured the scraps with glee.

She bit down hard on the palm that still covered her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. She tried to say something, but he did not remove his hand, so all that came from her was a muffled whimper. She tried to nod, to show that she would obey, but it still took a long minute before he removed his claws from her face.

Often she had seen the Incarnate gorge himself on blood, particularly in the recent days of her hedonistic mutilation of Market North’s proud-and-proper ladies, but her blood seemed utterly despicable to him. The Greedlings had no such reservations, however, and licked clean his bloodied hand and claws.

“Show me you are more than just talk.”

Sig bit down hard on her bleeding lip, and focused her control on the blood that welled from her ruined right arm, concentrating on an image in her mind. Slowly, and painfully, the profuse bleeding slowed and then stopped entirely, then she worked the remnants of skin and flesh into a spiralling shape around the exposed ulna and radius bones. The hand and its composite parts were long-gone, only one of her finger bones remaining undevoured, a Greedling keeping it in its mouth as a snack for later. She then worked her blood around the ruined limb, forming a simple lance. It would require all of her concentration to keep the shape stable, but she had little other choice, if she wanted to impress upon the Demon her intention to obey.

In the end, it seems I am more afraid of death than the vengeance of my Lady.

His good luck only multiplied, when they broke through the exterior guards and made their way into the mansion proper. Veks struggled to hold back laughter, as he witnessed a large gathering of robed figures: a few dressed in Magister robes, and the rest covered in simple black hooded cloaks.

Veks nudged Sig forward, her steel-hearted will to live exciting his greedy heart.

“Go on, say it,” he whispered into her ear.

Her expression turned to stone and she bit down harder on her lower lip, but then she yelled to the bewildered congregation.

“No longer will the Watcher abide your heretical worship! Your divine punishment has arrived!”

The next few hours, before dawn broke, were a blur of magnificent slaughter, as he and his adorable Greedlings killed-and-feasted on the terrified play-pretend cultists and the feeble Magisters, who had believed themselves significant and worthy enough to host them. What little magic they possessed was like a breeze before a tornado, making their deaths all the more enjoyable.

Eventually, when Sig was given the honour of hunting down the remnants as they fled into the mansion’s undercroft and network of tunnels, Veks toured the large estate with his eager minions in tow. There were riches aplenty within the mansion and it numbered dozens-upon-dozens of rooms. In short, it was perfect.

“This will do nicely for the Shining Hoard, wouldn’t you say?”

The whispers had fallen silent and no longer was there the buzzing coming from the mirror-blade. He took a final look at it, then tossed the useless shortsword aside, and with it the soul of the man named Veks.

“I have come at last through the veil. Mammon of the Shining Hoard sets his hooves upon mortal soil.”

The Greedlings cheered, as well as the many golden-scaled-and-horned demons and imps who had come to the call of their Lord of Avarice and spontaneously manifested into reality.