06

Playing the pyromaniac never interested San as a child. He knew plenty of his friends who loved to blow things up, burn items, and all around try to be edgy by playing with fire. The only flames that interested San was the fire that burned beneath his brew kettle.

Now he was tasked with killing a monster with fire and then burning a village to the ground. He could recall one childhood friend who would have loved to be in his position.

As evening approached, the storm had stopped; the howling wind suddenly ceasing. It was as if someone had flipped a switch or perhaps the storm was afraid of the Flesh Horror that walked about.

In the momentary reprieve, San collected more firewood. Stockpiling a large amount by the door and on the other end of the hut. If the Flesh Horror decide to knock on his door again, he would make sure that the fire could keep burning all night.

He wasn’t entirely trusting of the Mage Chief’s claim that the hut was warded, but it seemed the flames did keep the Flesh Horror away the night previous. In any case, San brought as much wood as he could back to the hut.

As he approached the hut he saw a familiar shape appear on the streets. His heart stuttered to a stop for a moment as he looked at the yellow eyes of the wolf ram. It’s dark fur glistened with melting snow and its breath billowed in the cold air.

They stared at one another for a long moment, then San moved. He marched toward the hut, his breathing heavy and trying to keep his movements natural. After a moment the beast followed him, meeting him at the door of the hut.

It didn’t attack, it only watched as San opened the door and entered. The beast followed him into the hut before San could close it. The creature walked to the other side of the room and flopped down with a grunt.

San set down his bundle of wood and watched the creature. It stared at the fire and breathed slowly. It was a wild animal, one that had tried attacking him the first night he arrived, and had followed him from the plateau. Yet it lay by the fire, like some domestic dog.

“It will not attack you,” the Mage Chief said, suddenly appearing.

“Why? It’s a wild animal.”

“Even wild animals are not monsters. They know when to set aside their grudges,” the old man replied.

“Right. That only happens in Disney movies,” San replied before occupying a spot away from the wolf ram. He kept his revolver in hand and took the bear mace from his pack.

A ungodly roar filled the night. The wolf ram perked up and growled softly. San looked toward the door. He could feel the air suddenly change, a thick presence permeating everything. The Flesh Horror was on the prowl.

San took out the axe he had found and set it beside the revolver. There was also the spear leaning against the wall of the hut, if the Flesh Horror wanted to try to push in another sickening face; he would stab or chop it.

“Ah, I had wondered where that went,” the old man remarked as San unwrapped the broadsword he had found within the keep.

“Yours?” San asked.

“No longer. The dead own nothing,” the man said. “It is a good weapon. When I came to the aid of the Emperor, he gave me that weapon. It is poor payment for the ten thousand lives that he took in his wars.” The old man sighed. “It is enchanted. The blade will never rust, it will never dull.”

“Magic” San said. It was odd, he was speaking to a ghost and about to kill a summoned monster from nightmares, but the idea of magic was difficult for him to wrap his head around.

“Magic,” the old man replied.

San pulled out the leather bound book. The old man’s eyes widen at the sight.

“He did not take it,” he said.

San opened the book, looking at the arcane symbols on the pages. “Who didn’t take this?” he asked.

“Azalobana,” the old man replied. “My grandson.”

“What is it?”

“A tomb of magic. All the magical knowledge I learned and discovered in my years. My son did not have the power within him, but my grandson… he did. No, he has the power.”

“It sounds like this book is important,” San replied. “Why would he leave it behind?”

“I came to my senses,” the old man said, “when I summoned the beast. I realized the madness I was committing, therefore I fought it, to hold it back, to give my grandson the time to flee with the villagers. I failed.”

“Is he still alive? Your grandson?”

“Perhaps. There were other villages, other places he could go with those who managed to escape. I do not know.” The man’s head hung at the words.

San flipped through the pages of the book. The symbols were meaningless to him. Power did not intrigue him, not if it lead to the man who sat before him. San wondered what kind of madness gripped the old man to summon such a creature. His nation was falling apart and to bring back order, he would summon such a monster.

It was insanity, but that was the world he had arrived into. A place of magic and monsters; and it appeared that magic created some monsters too.

The roar of the Flesh Horror filled the air and San shivered. The wolf ram growled, but didn’t get up. The old man looked toward the door and only sadness filled his gaze.

“I was foolish,” he said.

“Yeah,” San replied. He closed the book and made sure the revolver was still close by.

It was going to be a long night.

***

Dawn arrived. San watched as sunlight brightened the hut. The night had been long, but he had managed to take a couple of naps. The Flesh Horror prowled the village, but this time it had not come to the hut. It howled and raged in the distance, never coming close to them.

Perhaps being shot by the revolver or the presence of the fire kept it at bay, either way San was glad it had decided to prowl elsewhere. The voices from the creature still haunted him, it would be a long time before he would forget that.

With the rising sun, San rose. He fished the pan of boiling water from the fire and drank it down. The hot liquid warmed him, the bouillon cube he had flavored it with tricked his mind that he had consumed something substantial.

Food was an issue. He had originally planned for a seven day hike, well, four days if he had followed through with his plans, and it had been two days since he arrived to this world. He had rationed his food and the years of drinking beer, eating out, and being relatively unhealthy in the last six month had packed on a few extra pounds. He wasn’t about to starve, not yet, but a few granola bars, ramen packets, and jerky wasn’t going to last him long.

There was the grain stored in the barracks. The oddity of this place meant that the grain should still be safe to consume. There were no insects, no rodents, or any kind of animals in this place. The presence of the Flesh Horror seemed to keep everything at bay.

San pulled on his leather gloves, checked his new cloak, and headed out the door; followed by the wolf ram.

***

San was thankful for the medieval times of the village; it allowed him to collect a massive amount of firewood from all the buildings and homes. When wood was the only fuel source, a lot of it was required just in normal everyday chores.

The Flesh Horror was a good as a snow plow, although it left behind a snail trail of fetid droppings and half frozen fluids that San could only shudder at. During its nighttime prowl, it had cleared most of the streets of the snow that had fallen, providing San with an easy route to the keep with his firewood.

Although not a cook or chef by trade, San knew the dangers of grease fires. When he had been a child, his grandfather had nearly ignited his kitchen when he left some grease unattended on the stove. Suffice to say that grandmother was more than pissed and he had been banned from ever trying to cook again. Even the beer brewing he loved was relegated to the deck.

The amphoras of oil was a chore to move, lifting them up from the basement was easy, but carrying them nearly a half a mile to the keep, all uphill, was backbreaking. There were signs of wagons and other animal drawn vehicles, but San saw nothing that resembled a wheel barrow. He would have asked the wolf ram, but the beast seemed more interested in lying in the snow drifts than helping.

The keep might have been made from stone, but that did not mean it wouldn’t burn. San had some building experience, mostly from helping Mary’s father build some random project he was working on when they visited. His side of the family was strictly pay someone to do it, not DIY. Timber building relied on two things, dry timber and something to prevent it from rotting or absorbing too much moisture. Any kind of old building was built of timber that was bone dry and slathered with enough pitch to turn it into a candle within moments.

All that was needed was a big enough flame.

By afternoon, San had dragged all the amphora to the keep, along with countless bundles of firewood. The plan was simple, build several fires, cook the oil until it caught fire, then watch it all burn down. One thing he had found was that iron pots were common in every household.

He set three fires. One in the kitchen that was covered in the sludge of the monster. San layered plenty of firewood on the ground and set two iron pots of oil under a large flame. The second fire he built was within the massive fireplace; lying disused was a large iron pot that made things easier for San. He built a roaring fire within it and added as much oil into the pot as possible. The chimney had been unmaintained for years and already the smoke was beginning to fill the rooms. If he were lucky, perhaps the chimney would catch fire also.

San built the last fire in the entryway of the keep; between the main door and the staircase. He heaped the last of the firewood, trashed doors, and anything flammable within the entryway.

By then the first pots were beginning to smoke and flame. San reentered the kitchen and using the eight foot length of the spear, pushed over one of the pots. It rushed down the stairs and into the basement area. A moment later the oil and the scattered firewood caught fire.

San backed away from the flames and grabbed a clay pot that he had filled with water. He threw it and began running. He heard the shattering of the pot and then the roaring of fire as the water interacted with the grease fire.

Never throw water on a grease fire, that was one thing that had always been drilled into his head after his grandfather’s accident.

The combination of burning oil and water spread the flames across the kitchen and down into the basement. San gagged on the smoke and the stench of the place, he barely managed to stagger into the grand hall before he heard the screeching roar of the Flesh Horror.

San knew he was running out of time. It wouldn’t just hang around and allowed to be burned to death. San shouldered his spear and raced for the exit; before leaving he noted that the fireplace was already covered in flames from the burning oil.

The entryway was smoky; the oil beginning to burn and the fire already spreading to the layered firewood. San coughed and pushed his way to the exit. Thick black smoke followed him out, stinging his eyes and blocking the view into the keep.

Thick oily smoke billowed from the gaping windows and exits of the keep. San spat the taste of smoke from his mouth and headed across the courtyard to the gates. He had done what he could, if the beast died now then that was good. If it didn’t he had no idea how else to kill it.

An earsplitting screech filled the air and San hurried toward the gates. The creature was still alive and that didn’t bode well for him. There was a crashing sound and San saw in horror as the monstrosity that haunted the nights burst forth from the entryway.

Flames enshrouded a massive creature of tentacles and rotten purple flesh. The only comparison that San could make was an octopus, but instead of the bonelessness of an octopus, this creature was thick and bulging, its skin stretched across its frame like plastic wrap.

Even with the heavy smoke in the air, San could still smell the horrid stink coming of the monster. It struggled in the entryway of the keep, blood, liquids, and pieces of flesh ruptured from the monstrosity as it struggle to escape.

Then a massive red, madden eye latched onto San. It paused for a moment, staring at him as the flames seared its body. Then it jerked forward, screaming louder and with more determination. San knew he was screwed. He turned and raced for the gates, if he could get to the hut it would keep the monster out, right?

With a thunderous roar, the Flesh Horror pulled itself free of the door, leaving behind a sickening pile of blood and flesh. Once free, it used its dozen tentacles to propel itself forward with incredible speed.

San turned to see several tons of rotting flesh barreling down upon him. If he continued out the gate, he would be run over by the creature. Instead he rushed toward the wall, where a thick pillar of stone rose up against the wooden walls, upon which a platform for walking was elevated. San threw himself into the small space between the wall and the pillar, at the last moment remembering he still carried the spear. He lowered the weapon as the Flesh Horror charged at him.

He expected to be crushed to death, the flaming monster collided into the wall with the force of a truck. But before it could hit him, the newly sharpened spear punched through the distended flesh and two thirds of the weapon’s length was lost within the monster.

The reaction was immediate and deafening. The Flesh Horror screamed in pain as its momentum forced the spear deeper into its flesh, then it jerked back with amazing speed. Thick black blood gushed from the wound.

San was reminded of the time he and Mary’s father had been making sausages. One of the sausage casing has torn and the meat being stuffed into it had been pushed out of the hole from the pressure being placed upon it. The same occurred with the Flesh Horror, the hole that the spear created was a pressure release. Black blood, chunks of flesh, and other horrid material geysered out in a vomit inducing fountain of vileness.

What the monster released was not only disgusting but also flammable. San staggered back as the vile offal rushing out of the monster burst into flame. The wailing grew louder, this time San could hear the other voices. The screams of men, women, and children that it had killed and captured.

San stared in horror as faces and hands seemed to push against the distended flesh, as if figures were trying to escape from within. The voices of the dead joined the monster in its wailing as it stumbled across the courtyard. San could only watch in slack jawed fascination as the Flesh Horror slammed itself against the wall of the keep in its mad dance of death.

Staying in the courtyard was courting for death. The keep was already a pillar of flame, the heat and smoke coming off the building would suffocate him in minutes. The crazed ramming by the Flesh Horror was only weakening the walls. San turned and ran for the gate.

One moment he was running and then the next he was flying. Pain exploded across his back as he crashed onto the dirt floor of the courtyard. He gasped and the world spun around him. A thick meaty tentacle hung over him, a face forming and screaming at him.

San rolled out of the way as it slammed down, he cursed as the sword he had attached to his riggers belt caught between his legs. He freed himself and scurried back as the tentacle mindlessly slapped the ground, trying to search for him.

He pulled the blade out of its sheath and held it before him. The most experience he had with swords was using wrapping paper tubes to fight with his brothers or pretending to be Jedis with long pieces of stick. Most of those had ended with someone getting hurt and a long and painful scolding by his mother.

The tentacle raised off the floor, the face forming once more. Before it could scream again, San slashed with the broadsword. A thin line opened up across the forming face and from it seeped black blood. San jerked back and away from the fountain of foulness that exploded out of the creature. The smell was almost enough to make him drop his weapon and faint.

He fought against the vileness and staggered out of the gate. Fresh air filled his lung and San spat out smoke laced phlegm. He turned back to the keep and saw that the Flesh Horror was a bonfire of burning meat and bone. The crooked spire of the keep tilted even further and then the entire roof seemed to get sucked into the keep. San turn and ran as the collapsing structure exploded as the roof collapsed. Smoke, fire, and dust bloomed outward as San dodged off the inclined road that lead to the keep and pressed himself against the wall.

The heavy wooden walls shuddered, in a few areas the walls bent outward as they were struck by debris. San hunched and covered his ears as he was enveloped in smoke and dust. He choked on it and felt himself going faint.

***

San gasped as he woke up. He coughed. His throat felt like sand paper, his lungs ached, and his mouth tasted of vomit. He sat up slowly, groaning as his entire body ached with exertion and pain.

He could hear the roaring flames of the burning keep. The dust had settled, but the smoke was rising high into the air in what almost looked like a mushroom cloud. San grimaced as he slowly got to his feet. He limped toward the inclined road that lead back to the village, noting that he had dropped the sword when he had ran. The silver gleaming metal sat in the middle of the road, the only thing not covered in dust or blackened by smoke or soot.

San looked back at the keep, it was a towering inferno. The sharp crack of baking stone and the occasional explosion as walls or other heavy support collapsed were the only sounds. San coughed raggedly and looked back at the village. It stood as it always did, half ruined and snowy white.

The wolf ram sat on the road, halfway between the village and the walls of the keep. San turned to the creature and grinned slightly.

“We did it,” he said, letting out a laugh.

The wolf ram let out a growl and San turned back to the keep. He stood there gaping for a second as a man shaped creature pulled itself out of the fire. The flesh was dripping off its form, revealing the blackened skeleton beneath. The first thought that San had was of the Terminator.

The figure screamed and then ran at San. It was fast, faster than anything made of burned bone and dripping flesh should have been. San barely had time to raise up the sword before it was on him. Its boney hands stabbed him in the ribs and San cried out as he felt it punch through his clothing and tear his flesh. He doubled over in pain and knew he was dead.

A snarl shook him out of his pain as the wolf ram suddenly appeared. Its massive bulk and weight pulled down the skeleton creature, dragging it to the ground where it was shook and gnawed upon, the animated skeletal head within its jaws. San lighted his grip on the sword again as the wolf ram yelped as the skeleton stabbed with its boney hands again.

With a shout and just as the wolf ram finally released the head, San sliced down the blade. It connected with the vertebrae of the neck just above the clavicle, separating the head from the body. The skeleton shuddered and then went still.

San brought the sword down on the skull once more and pulverized it. He kept swinging at it until the blood running down his side began to weaken him. Finally he collapsed to his knees and breathed raggedly.

He realized he was freezing. The heat from the burning keep was barely felt outside of the walls, but the sunny day had turned dark once more. San looked up to see thick clouds in the sky and the wind beginning to pick up. As he took one last look at the skeleton; he saw a glimmer of something reflected within the bone shards. Using the tip of the broadsword, he pushed aside the skull bits and uncovered a blue gem that was a large as his thumbnail. It glowed with an internal light and San couldn’t help but be mesmerized by it. He reached toward it and picked it up.

It was warm in his hands. He didn’t know what it was, but he stuffed it into his pocket and got to his feet. A whining noise caught his attention, the wolf ram lay in the muddy snow, blood pooling beneath it. San limped over to the creature, noting several deep slices into its body from the skeleton.

Already the wind was getting fierce and the temperature seemed to have dropped by twenty degrees. The wolf ram would die out here.

San undid his cloak and worked quickly.

***

The heat of the hut was painful against San’s chilled skin. He cursed as he dragged in the wolf ram, half wrapped in his cloak. The cloth was bloodied and stinking of wet wolf ram and blood. But then again it had already stunk of rotting meat and foul smoke. He deposited the creature by the fire and staggered to his pack, painfully removing his soaked leather gloves. His numbed fingers dug around for the first aid kit he carried, the big kit that Mary had always made him bring along on their hikes.

“Hold on, boy,” San said.

***

“You’ve done well,” a voice said.

San jerked awake. He sat beside the wolf ram, the smell of its wet fur and blood filling all his dulled senses. A two half full bottle of whiskey tumbled from his hands. The heavy glass bottle making an audible ‘thunk’ in the quiet of the night.

“It’s dead?” San asked.

“Yes.”

“Was that skeleton you?” San asked. The thought had come to his mind as he worked on the wolf ram. Why was there a skeleton in that fleshy monstrosity? The only connection he made was that the Mage Chief had summoned it and they were connected.

The old man nodded. “I tried to contain it, by subsuming it within me. By taking its power, but… but I was weak. It overpowered me, used my flesh and my bones to remake itself.”

San shuddered and looked down at his bloodied hands. He hadn’t even washed after he had sewed his own wounds up. Nothing he had done was sanitary, he had made liberal use of whiskey and antiseptic wash to clean the wounds before sewing them up. The wolf ram had lost a lot of blood and was mostly unconscious through the entire ordeal. San on the other hand had to use a small mirror, a head lamp, and a lot of cursing to stitch up the cut the skeleton had made.

Who knew what horrid germs the beast carried. The was a monster of rot and death. San could only hope that the wound would not infect. He had some antibiotics, but if he was in a medieval world, it was better saved for when it was really needed. For now he would wait and see.

San unscrewed the bottle and took a long gulp. The heat from the alcohol burned his throat and settled like a lump in his stomach.

“What now?” San asked.

“Now, you get my thanks,” the old man said solemnly. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart, for freeing my soul and for helping those you had no ties to. I thank you.” Tears dripped down the man’s cheek as he stood up and then knelt down before San, his head touching the floor in a deep and profound bow.

“Whoa,” San said. “There’s no need.”

“With my body destroyed and the Flesh Horror gone, I am finally free,” the old man said. “I can finally find rest. So can those that were taken by the creature. Thank you.”

San nodded, unable to say anything.

“I have one more task, if you please,” the man said.

“What is it?”

“The book. The tome. Please, if you can, find my grandson. Azalobana. Give him the book. It is Bound by Blood, so only he can use it.”

“Where is he?”

“I do not know. But there is a road south, there are villages there, he might be among them.”

San nodded without saying anything. He had to leave this place anyway, perhaps he could find the boy out there. It was not like he could use the book anyway, not to mention if magic ended up creating things like that Flesh Horror, then he didn’t want anything to do with it.

San thought for a moment and then pulled the blue gem from his pocket.

‘What is this?” he asked.

“Power,” the old man said. “The condensed mana of the monster that you killed.”

“Mana?” San asked. “Like in a game?”

“Consume the gem and be blessed with power,” the man said.

San looked at the gem and frowned. “What kind of power?”

“It depends on the person,” the old man said. “Or luck. The gods are fickle in the power they grant via mana. You may gain the power to manipulate mana, you may become far stronger than normal, or you may be able to imbue mana into items. Many say that it depends upon the person, upon who they believe they are, and what they want. Others claim it is a toss of the die and the gods laugh at us.”

“I’d rather pass,” San said.

“You slayed the beast, you gain the prize. Only from the monstrosities that come from the Void carry them. Rare is it that one comes across them. The more you consume, the stronger you become.”

“Yeah,” San said, thinking back on the video games he had played. How many hours did he spend as a youth on them? Grinding levels and seeking the best weapons and armor for his characters. “That’s the problem. Once you have the power, you might just want more and more. There’s no end to it, there’s no reason to have power for power’s sake.”

“It will save your life,” the old man said. “The Horned Wolf will survive the poison that fills its body, but you are only human. You will succumb to it.”

“I’m poisoned?” San asked. He gingerly touched his wound and he could almost feel heat coming off of it. Already it was beginning to fester. He looked to his medical kit and the antibiotics within.

“It is a magical infection,” the Mage said.

“Well, I doubt the Flesh Horror has ever heard of a Z-pack,” San said. He moved and gasped in pain as fire lanced up his entire side. He could now smell it, the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh.

“You don’t have much time.”

San cursed and looked down at the gem. He tossed it into his mouth and swallowed it. The hard pebble nearly lodged in his raw throat, but instead of choking on it, it seemed to melt into him. A cold sensation enveloped his body. The heat of the wound subsided and San blinked as a message appeared.

Sanjay Elias King

[Brewer] Level 1

-Sanitize I

He touched his wound and didn’t feel any pain. San pulled up his shirt and saw that the bandage was still there, but the wound had sealed up, without even a scar.

“How?” he asked.

“Magic,” the old man replied.

“What is this screen? It’s like a video game. I’m a level 1 [Brewer].”

The old man smiled. “A gift of the gods. They cannot tell you who you are, only reveal what is truly in your heart.”

“So, I believe myself to be a brewer?” San asked.

“Yes.”

“And I can sanitize things?” San chuckled. “What a power. Beware, criminal for I will sanitize you.”

“If that is the power you are given, then it is what the gods deem you need,” the old man replied.

“Seems a shame. I wanted to be Superman,” San smiled and touched his side. “The wound is gone, is that normal?”

“You have been changed by mana. You will find that you are stronger, faster, and that you heal from wounds easier,” the old man said. “That is the true gift, and it only grows as you consume more gems and level up.”

“Yeah,” San said. If it took killing a monster like the Flesh Horror to gain a level, he wasn’t about to rush into the life of adventure. “I’ll pass.”

The old man got up, grunting slightly. He looked… healthier. His skin darker, his hair glossier, as if several decades had been stripped from him.

“I must go,” the old man said. “Please, burn this village, find my grandson, and live long and prosper. One more thing.”

“Another quest?” San asked.

“No, a gift.” The old man reached forward and touched San’s head. He felt the hard calloused hand of the old man and then a sharp pain filled his head.

San gasped and clutched his head. “What?” he asked, confused.

“You are not of this land, therefore I have given you the spell: Many Tongues. It will help you when speaking to those of this world. The second is the spell: Fire in the Night. It is the fire you have built here, the fire that kept the Flesh Horror away. Any fire you light with that power shall keep all things of evil and otherworldly at bay. They are not grand gifts, for my own power has waned, but they will serve you well.”

“I can do magic too?” San asked, wincing as the pain in his head subsided.

“Yes.”

San smiled at the words. “Thank you,” he said.

The old man nodded and headed to the door. San walked the old man to the door. Opening it for him, even though San didn’t think the ghost needed to use a door. The man walked out into the cold night and began to fade as he walked down the empty streets.

San was about to close the door when he heard a voice.

“Mommy!” a young girl cried.

San watched a small dark hair girl run across the snow toward a woman holding a baby. The dark hair and the high cheek bones caused the breath to stop in San’s throat. The woman reached down to grab the girl with one hand as she held the dark haired baby boy.

“Mary?” San walked out into the snow. The cold air tingled across his skin and he stared at the woman. She looked up at him and smiled for a second.

San blinked and saw that the woman wasn’t Mary. Her face was slightly wider, her eyes larger, and her hair the reddish color that the Chief also had. She smiled at him, mouthing the words ‘thank you’ and then walked off with the children. San stood there, watching as ghostly apparitions of men and woman slowly walked through the village and then finally faded away. They all turned to him, one by one and said ‘thank you’.

San secured the hut door, unrolled his sleeping pad, took out his sleeping bag and crawled in. He stank of smoke and blood, but his spirits were high as he finally went to sleep.