Benji’s Fun Fact Story Corner #94
The Climber stopped crawling through the snow. His shoulder felt crunchy inside his thick woolen sleeve as he removed the long twisted knife from his belt. The crystal inlaid into the steel of the blade glowed in his grip as he pointed it towards the grinning gloop that was writhing in front of him.
“Oh? Do you dare to fight back? You cannot beat me, worm.” Its laugh was a bubbling gargle as it pushed itself towards him.
The Climber was not afraid, he understood what this thing was. Right before it hit him he dived out of the way and began speaking to the abomination in front of him.
“As the Overseer said, you are me.”
Once again the creature charged, this time screeching as the Climber sidestepped it and it fell into the snow, a slick trail of sticky black oil left behind.
“You are every dark thought, every failed dream, every hateful mutter, and you know what? I recognize that voice of yours. You’re the little voice in my head, the devil on my shoulder.”
It stopped charging, now shrinking away from his truthful words. Finally, it retorted, speeding towards him.
“You can’t get rid of me! You can lock me away but I’ll always com-” It was cut off as the Climber grabbed its throat.
“Shut up. I tried locking you away, but you grew, didn’t you? You grew nice and big, festering inside a locked box in my mind. Trying to fool myself into believing these kinds of things don’t happen in my mind leads me to be sick and broken, so I’ll keep you on a leash from now on.” It gurgled and screamed as its inky substance dissolved, travelling through his veins and into his chest, the scream falling away as if it was falling down a deep pit. The sensation was icy cold, similar to having chilly water pumped through his blood and racing down his chest. It coalesced in a purplish black mark, right above his heart, and the Climber collapsed into the snow. His shoulder was on fire, both cold and hot, splinters of bone were embedded in the flesh surrounding the break, and every movement caused it to flare up once again. He wheezed and spluttered from the pain as a gong sounded from somewhere in the distance. He got to one knee and felt a rumble in the ground, and he suspected that the Overseer was coming back to tell him he was finished, but that was when he saw the dangling half mask loom out of the fog, many eyes fixed upon him.
The glimmering azure eyes that lay in the pink flesh of the sword began to shift and stare. The folds of skin shifting and moving as Daniel shuffled towards it. Everything else was meaningless, blurred, black and white. The only thing that mattered was the blade. The blade! It was perfect, with a yellowing bone handle at its base. The main, long part of the sword was made from pink flesh, folds upon folds looked as if they could fold out, similar to a plant. The very skin looked to be warped and melted together. Set deeper inside the scars were purplish piercing eyes that stared with a glistening curiosity at him. The skin melted away towards the tip to more bone, but this was white and pristine, clean, ridges in the bone made it sharp and piercing. The main attraction was the orange light that crackled along its surface. This blade was not made for cutting. It was a battery, a living, thinking battery, and Daniel had never seen anything like it before. He tried to pry it from the dark hand of the corpse that clutched it, but it held fast and strong. He began to pull harder, violently, but the carcass grabbed back. Its void of a hand was so, so cold, but when it came into contact with his skin it burned like the surface of the sun. Blue, sinister flames licked at its gaping maw as the hole in its chest began to bleed the multicolored blood once again.
“You dare take myyyy blade?” It wailed, its voice similar to drawing fingernails on a chalkboard.
“This sword belongs to me, Ut’ahi, the black sun. Scourge of the north, holder of the Ra’gatan.” Daniel felt an immense pressure build up around the chair, the very gravity increasing as rocks turned to dust by the force of the awakening. So, he did what he thought was best, and pulled the sword harder. With the sound of crumbling stone and cracking bone, the hand was separated from the rest of the body, crumbling to dust as Daniel held the sword aloft. The carcass began to scream as the energy that had sustained it bled away, it too turning to ash as the last remnant of Ut’ahi, the black sun, the scourge of the north, fell to the ground in a shower of small, black spores. Daniel did not care, he was focused on the blade, the perfect weapon, beautiful and pulsating in his hand. He could feel the fire rumble through his very being, and it began to whisper to him.
“A new master? What is your wish, to level cities? To decimate battlefields? All you must do is bleed onto the blade…” Images were put into Daniels mind, entire worlds aflame, mountains of corpses, his enemies all fallen! He could see himself, standing there, holding the living blade while he sat in a dark throne of twisted stone and flesh. His finger was going down to the shining bone tip, ready to give up his blood in tribute to this mighty weapon, this was the moment he noticed something strange about these visions, his eyes were a purplish azure, his face was twisted and cruel, sneering and cocky. This was not him, and the visions began to shift to what he really yearned for. Bouncing on the back of Krane as they climbed ever higher, seeing the metal twist and turn underneath his adept hammer and heated forge, chipping away at stone to create his first golem. These were what made Daniel, Daniel. He was no fighter, no mighty warrior, he would not spill blood of those who were innocent. He snapped out of the trance and looked at the blade in his hands, a frown upon his soot coated face. He brought the weapon down hard on his knee, breaking it in two, and as it faded into streams of light it uttered one final word.
Daniel sat down now, contemplating his actions, even as the gong sound echoed in between fungus coated alleyways, and curving, cobbled streets. He came to the judgment that the sword had been fake, a mere powerful illusion as apart of his test, and he felt a little better for not having destroyed a beautiful work of art.
This was the moment he heard the muffled footsteps of men in armor, their heavy footfalls swallowed by fungus coated floors. He did not even have time to hide as they pushed open the bronze double doors and a platoon of men in shining armor, led by a man in long robes and a clean-shaven face who smiled as a rune that was carved into his neck burned bright yellow. He began to speak in a smooth tone.
“I never expected a new testee to be down here in this Hell, but you shall do well in King Roen’s workshops, I am sure. Seize him.”
End of Benji’s Fun Fact Story Corner #94