Cut Dead

Religious event

Darkness. Emptiness. The comfort of water's embrace. In the distance, a sole sound. Rushing. Echoing.   We wait, unmoving. The stillness is not unlike death. Yet we have not died, will not die. We share a purpose, have waited an age to fulfill it. Now, the time is at hand.   The acolyte approaches. Sworn to Omoikane. His being has been sundered, split into four by Zo-Kalar. Trapped in the body of a scavenger. The silent voice of decay courts him, but he does not listen.

We do not sense him until he unleashes the fury of man upon us. A flash. An explosion. One of our number falls. Once, we might have mourned his loss. Now, after an eon has drained all but the barest dregs from our selves, we seek only to observe our purpose. We walk forward. Heedless of the snares, we present ourselves to the Scavenger. The ritual knife is raised high. Another report. Another falls.   So it continues until each of our number has been slain. Our heads are cleaved apart. Our bodies sink into the water. And yet, this is a place beyond time and the reach of our god. True death, true rest eludes us. Unknowing, the Scavenger has condemned us to an eternity of stillness. We would cry out, and yet there is a comfort in knowing that our duty is complete. This quiet is not so different from our age-long wait. That is not dead which can eternal lie.   The Scavenger, too, has a duty. Yet he still refuses the ritual knife. He takes the mask, a foreign thing, a piece of his being, and leaves. A masked ally accompanies him, takes the knife, and they leave our forms in the water. A mystery unsolved.   They return to the center of this place. A Silver Dragon. A Black Fox. A Curious Hare. A servant of a distant god, crawled through the mirror. And, something else. A caretaker of this place. One of Zo-Kalar's hands who has forsaken him for Omoikane. These are the Scavenger's companions. They are surprised by his current form, but do not mistake him. A soul is not that easy to change, even for the Lord of Decay.   Two pieces of the acolyte's being remain. He knows where to go. The spirits of decay tug upon his fractured self. First, to the north. To the chamber where our brother rests.   He is trapped in this place. Sealed. The cave walls have grown around him, locking him away from the voice of the Lord of Decay. He could move. Could stand. Could smite the Scavenger and his companions. And yet, why would he? They are not enemies. Not yet. If the acolyte answers Zo-Kalar's call, he may grant our brother eternal rest. We slide the knife into the Scavenger's hand.   Deep within his bloated form, our brother feels something. Something foreign. A heart, black and still. It has grown into our brother's flesh. Should he rest, it will be released. A test. Will the acolyte accept this gift? Will he grant it to our brother? Grant him rest?   The Scavenger enters our brother through the gills. He casts the knife away. We return it to his hand. He knows what he must do, and yet he refuses. Our brother despairs. He rejects the sensation of a creature crawling within him, but still does not move. To do so would be to snuff out his only chance of escape.   In the labyrinth of flesh, the Scavenger finds his heart. He retrieves it. Not with the knife, but with his wits and tiny hands. In this, he refutes Zo-Kalar. The Lord of Decay takes note. Our brother despairs. Like us, he is condemned.   Heart in hand, the Scavenger returns the way he came. He expects something to happen. Something to change. But it does not. His entropy is final. His form fixed. Unless... A final tug on his soul brings him to the southern tunnels. Our brother remains still. He is abandoned.   Allies of the acolyte, loyal all. They accompany the Scavenger toward the final piece of his being. A robe. They expect it to be within a room at the "entrance" to this place. This place has no entrance. The robe is not there. It hovers in the air. Enshrouded by something malevolent and invisible.   The Scavenger is overcome with greed. He leaps for the robe and reaches with his tiny hands. The unseen creature answers. This is not our brethren. It is an annoyance. An obstacle. By placing the robe within it, Zo-Kalar seeks only to delay. There is still time for the acolyte to return and deliver our brother to rest.   He does not.   Unseen, the voyager strikes back. It does not kill the acolyte, but it grips him. It holds him helpless. He is condemned. Would be condemned, had he not allies. They join the struggle. A silver dragon coils behind the voyager. He reaches out, seeks to entrap as its lord has been entrapped. Yet a denizen of the stars has no front, no back. The voyager sees without eyes, anticipates. They lock, then break. Dragon and voyager are evenly matched.   The curious hare fires at the robe, but she is ignorant of the form which surrounds it. An appendage, an instrument of death and life both, strikes the arrows away. The black fox is clever. He reaches through the ways beyond physical sight and grasps the robe. The scavenger finds it in his hands. He breaks free, slips the voyager's grasp. So delivered, the four parts unite as whole. The rat is gone. In his place stands the acolyte's true form. She has proven herself against the voyager's kin before. It cannot match her. It is condemned.   Zo-Kalar's whispers are gone. The knife if gone. Our hope is gone. The acolyte has turned away, has accepted Omoikane's selfish promises. There will be a reckoning.