The world shattered and up turned to down as Brod was launched through the thick glass window at the side of the church. He hit the wet mud with a heavy thud and took a deep breath. A sharp pain in his chest was all that answered him, and he could taste blood on his lips.

He willed himself to stand up and after a short moment of regaining its bearings, his body followed his mind. He was bleeding from his chest where the long bony fingers of the false preacher had raked across. His heart pumped stronger and stronger as he felt his limbs fill with the strength of rage, but still he pushed it down. He had to think.

Fight here or run? This creature, whatever misbegotten abomination it was, had simply launched him with a backhand swipe. Him, a giant of Morgenthal. And all he had was a single axe, some chainmail and hands that were bound together by thick iron manacles.

The results of the first exchange didn’t look good. But Brod wasn’t one to give up so easily. As he stood there, readying himself for when the moaning man-monster finally emerged from its false temple, a gasp to his side took his attention.

There were the three fledgling warriors from before. They had followed him down here. They looked exhausted and bloody, and they were way too close.

“RUN!” Brod yelled but they didn’t listen. They never do.

They shrunk together, scared of him and his voice instead of the monster that only he knew was lurking here. The sound of bone clacking on stone and cracking glass told Brod alone that it was coming closer, through the window right this moment.

“IDIOTS! RUN OR I WILL HACK YOU IN TWO!”

They moved then, but far too late. Brod saw the elongated form of the monster squeeze its way through the shattered windowfront and nearly launch its long, emaciated body between them and him. It landed on all fours and in an instant, one of the boys was pinned under the hands of the false preacher.

Brod charged the creature’s side, his axe held close for a mighty strike. He swung and–

A horrible smile contorted the creature’s face as its hands closed around the boy’s body and with a squeeze, there was a crack, pop and squelch. The air turned putrid, and the loud, high-pitched cry of the boy was the last Brod heard of him. He died quickly and painfully.

The creature tilted its head to the side. “A feast! A feast!”

Brod hit the creature in the side, cutting into the grossly emaciated torso. The bones didn’t break and as he hewed at it a second time, barely a few drops of blood flowed from inside. He saw the backhand swing coming and braced enough for it that he wasn’t thrown to the ground outright.

The false preacher held the twitching corpse to its mouth and bit into it like a juicy apple. Everything turned into pandemonium afterwards.

A cry of anger and despair rang out from the girl. She took her spear and jabbed it into the side of the monster. It barely cared, turning to Brod as it grabbed her spear by the shaft and tugged it out of her hand. She stumbled to the ground, and it casually kicked her away, sending her flying against a nearby tree.

The other boy had already run. And as the creature twisted and turned out of the path of Brod’s swings, he knew that there was no hope left. As it stood, he couldn’t win. This was the kind of creature the frog had warned him about.

Did that mean he would give up? No. Brod wasn’t allowed to give up. He just had to try harder.

He maneuvered it away from the other two people. He threw hacks at it, large ones at the head, small ones aimed for the hands and deceptively thin fingers.

He took extra care not to be grabbed by those.

Every time it seemed to lose interest in him or bashed him away and down hard enough that it could turn back towards the other, more soft and squishy meals, he yelled and roared as he threw rocks and wild strikes left and right. It always returned for but a moment to swipe and smash at his rough position.

He had to convince himself that what he was doing had a purpose beyond helping them.

He wasn’t useless. He was losing, yes, but he was achieving a goal. Preventing the thing from snacking on still living humans was only one aspect. He was luring it away from the church, deeper and down the hill into the forest. He was looking for a better place to fight. A tight cave maybe, or a bridge. He wasn’t planning on luring it towards other creatures and people. He had to kill it on his own.

He needed to prove that he could.

Yet, he was running out of time. The wounds on his body kept accumulating, blood dripping, skin flaying, joints grinding, bones bending and the constant heat of rage in his body not allowing him to feel the worst of it. His mail was rent and torn in every place, his underclothes were soaked in blood. Brod felt he was going to die a second time.

“Come. Come closer.” Beckoned the beast with a purr. “Come. Why won’t you come closer?”

Not yet.

The long preacher started to get annoyed at this thing in front of it that was just refusing to lie down and become its next meal. Its attacks grew more ferocious, more numerous. Yet they were less guided, frequently hitting surrounding trees and rocks, tearing bark off of the former that sprayed all over Brod in a rain of wooden chips.

Not yet. Not yet…

The monster slammed a hand on the ground and more out of instinct than planning, Brod barely dodged to the side.

Now!

Brod let a bit of rage flow as he hewed at the ground with all his might where the false preacher hadn’t retracted his hand yet. The axe met resistance, but not for long as with a crack, it cut right through and into the rock below. The preacher swiped at Brod with its other hand, but he predicted it would and was already two steps back.

Brod’s knee buckled at the second step and the pounding of his heart beat his mind into a stupor. Was that enough? Did he prove himself yet? Could he die in peace now?

The creature crawled towards him but buckled as one of its arms failed. It looked at its hand, holding it in front of its face with an expression of such bewilderment that it seemed as though it was seeing it for the first time in its life. From between the middle and index finger, it was split neatly down until the wrist.

Finally, Brod saw it truly bleed. A thick, viscous substance so dark he wasn’t sure whether it was red or black bubbled out of the crippled limb. It crawled down its arm, ever so slowly, before dripping upon the floor and going up in hissing steam.

“O-our gift.” It said. “O-our sacrifice.”

For the first time, its pinprick eyes stared Brod in the face. Its own was quickly distorting into a hateful grimace.

“You.” It said.

Brod readied his axe.

“You!” it said, louder.

Its bent back cracked and twisted, its arms unfolding with an additional joint, growing longer. It stood on its near beast-like hind legs, the skin tearing as bone ripped through and dug into the ground. It was taller than the trees and where its stomach should have been, there was nothing.

“YOUUU!”

It howled and slammed its body through the treetops towards the floor. The impact shook trees, the ground quaked as stone shrapnel and a wave of mud and moss flew in every direction. The rain was at its heaviest and as the creature pulled its arms from deep within the ground, its voice roared a promise of inhuman vengeance.

“WHERE? WHERE IS HE? WHERE?”

But Brod was already gone.

Shame.

The thing was still following him.

Shame.

Brod jumped over a root and ducked beneath a branch. He kept on going, even as he stumbled over a gravestone, even as his legs and arms grew cold and heavy as the rain soaked in and mixed with blood and mud.

You are a disgrace like your father.

His head hurt like nothing else. A stray shard of rock had scored a mark along his temple and bled into his eye without end. But Brod ignored it. He ignored it all. Because in the distance, he could still hear the creature howl and rage.

And Brod was afraid.

He was a disgrace. He couldn’t fight that thing. He didn’t want to fight it, to die doing so even if that would mean he could keep the honor of those of Morgenthal. He wasn’t allowed to retreat, for his actions would reflect upon them all but in this moment, Brod only thought about running away, further and further.

He had done all he could.

He was just repositioning.

He just needed a long rest and a better plan.

He could make a trap.

If only he could live through this one fight, he would come back stronger.

But his conscience warred against him. Everyone could run from a fight and come back stronger, better equipped in body and mind or with additional reinforcements. But he was a giant. There was no one else he could count on. There was no one he should rely on. He was supposed to have everything he needed within himself. But even after a hundred victories, it would be that one last and final defeat that would determine where he stood among those uncountable fallen before him.

Shame.

However, that was when the world was whole. When the sky still had a sun, and the earth didn’t taste of blood and death. Maybe his people weren’t there to judge him, maybe they had all heroically fallen in eons past. Maybe he was free, the last giant to walk the road to ascension or wherever else he pleased.

But maybe they were still here. And maybe Brod was just making excuses. He wanted to run away. He didn’t want to be consumed by anger and fear, by duty and by the fate that would await any who fought whatever that thing was.

And so, he fled into shame, not able to think or keep calm as he ran, ran, ran. No one would ever be proud of him now.

He clambered over and under branches until he saw that he was finally reaching a dead end. To his left, an impenetrable thorny thicket. To his right, a dirty cliffside. To his front, a massive boulder.

A spider the size of his torso froze, then discreetly scuttled away.

But then what? What direction should he go, what direction was there to take for one giant, disgraced as was he? Not forward was there a path, not left, not right nor back.

There was no way out.

Brod was stuck.

Brod was lost.

Brod had nothing.

He took his axe and pressed it against his neck. The ultimate cowardice.

Brod was scared.

“…ey.”

…was that a voice? Who was out here, was someone calling for him?

“…EEEEYYY!”

It was coming from ahead and to the left. Brod knew not who nor what was calling him, but, and this was true, he had nowhere left to go. Brod took a step into the brambly brushes and tore his way through it.

The moment he took his third step, the ground gave away as thorns tore at his clothes and armor and he lost his footing. He slid down a dirty slope and his beleaguered heart jumped as he felt the ground too give way for a second or three. Then, he hit the earthen floor with a thud. Dirt kept pouring over his head and Brod coughed, willing his body to stand once more. It was heavy like lead, but it still obeyed. But only just.

“…ORRRRRYYYY! CLIIIII…”

The voice was still there, sounding again but so small and distant. Brod peered into the darkness and saw nothing but blackest void thrown back at him. But there was someone out there. He was sure of it. And yet, he couldn’t see. He hadn’t gone blind, had he?

He rubbed his eyes. His hands came back wet with blood, and he could barely keep them open as he scoured the dark for any sign of life. He realized soon that it if whoever was calling him only had dim light, it could very well be that his own bright light was blinding him to them.

The irony was not lost on Brod.

And so, he tried listening closer. They had to be far away; else he would have heard them clearly. And their voice was echoing in a way that betrayed the depths of the canyon in front. He looked down and saw that from where he stood on a small lip of rock and dirt, it was a straight fall beyond his dim light.

When he heard the voice again, he knew that no matter how long he looked, he would never get the chance to see them.

“AAABOOOOOOOOOOOVEEE!” it cried and Brod looked up.

The false preacher descended onto him like a spider from its own silken rope. So long was he that when he touched the ground, his legs still hung from the cliffside above.

“THERE YOU ARE.” It screamed straight into Brod’s face. Brod finally felt true terror.

He swung at its head and cleaved an ear off. The creature shrieked and reeled back for a moment, bony fingers slashing wildly in its retreat. Brod stepped in out of reflex as his training demanded him to take advantage of every single show of weakness.

In truth, Brod wasn’t in control of himself. He was only hacking and slashing at it, jumping, ducking, weaving and twisting out of the way as every second demanded more and more concentration.

Every heartbeat against his chest was agony. Every convulsion spreading more blood through his body, whipping it into an ever deeper and stronger frenzy even as it gushed out of his numerous wounds.

There wasn’t much space and Brod was slowing down. He stepped back as the creature punctured his foot with a finger. He stumbled and his next step almost had him falling off the ledge that had rapidly crumbled into nothing.

The preacher finally seized him.

“A FEAST FOR THE AGES, FOR OUR GODS, AND FOR US.” It said and its mouth gaped wide, serrated with small pointy teeth as it dug into his shoulder.

Brod blocked it with his arms, but the bite was too strong, and he was just a moment too late as the head squeezed between his arms and tore into his flesh. His bones creaked, pain erupted and for one moment, Brod couldn’t get himself to care.

He was done. He had done all could. His time was up, and his second life had come to an end. Squandered. Useless. A shame on his people. Even if he let the rage take over, what use would it be? Might as well let it run free for once.

A hand tore into his chest and bone cracked as something white hot in his body went squish. Brod’s arms fell limply to his side as the creature sucked the blood straight from his veins and muscle. And he noticed only then that it had bitten straight through his chains.

With the last of his strength, he lifted his right hand up.

He set his feet against the wall behind him.

He grabbed the thing by its ghastly hair and with a single wrenching motion, carved a slice out of its neck. The false preacher seized up and just as Brod felt its strength lessen for but a moment, he pushed himself off the wall.

Both him and the monster fell forward, careening into the endless abyss.

They fell, intertwined like two knotted ropes. There was no hope for survival. But even without hope. moments before they hit the ground Brod shifted his body on top of the preacher’s head and pressed his axe to its neck.

He never let go until they hit the ground.

Darkness subsided and, in its place, pains of every flavor filled the broken body of a giant named Brod. His body felt cold, but he could not shiver.

“..od? Brod! Oh my Glom, Brod!”

Brod wasn’t here. Here just lay his shell. A pitiful wreck. A failed warrior. A hunter of ill fates. A shameful display for a giant. But still, that shell cracked open a single eye. Nothing else in his body moved and where his hip used to be, he only saw a pile of malnourished bones continue his body.

“Hey Brod! Are you alive? Mother above, are you truly still…”

It was not his body though. His eye wandered left and saw a frog. Noted. Not the worst last sight of his life. His eye then wandered right, the severed head of a monstrous man staring him dead in the eye.

Hah. So, he was good for one thing in the end. Take that, shame.

“I–I don’t know what to say Brod. I’m sorry, I got separated and…”

Nothing to be sorry about, froggy friend. Brod had regrets, but talking to Froggy was not one of them. They hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but differences could be lived with. Or died with, in this case.

“And… I, I just don’t know what to do. This doesn’t happen, we aren’t told what to do when… when…”

Ah. Don’t beat yourself up froggy. You did your best, as a frog. Things simply never pan out as we expect them to. And this? This was Brod’s mistake. Even in his best condition and with equipment as he could choose, that thing that lay dead beside him would’ve been more of a challenge than he could handle. Not without a sacrifice.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a boon that’ll fix your spine. Or everything else. I’m sorry, Brod. From the bottom of my heart.”

Some things can’t be fixed, my friend. And this wasn’t the worst way to go, dying after slaying a monstrous fiend such as this.

“F…r…ien…d” Brod quietly said.

The frog’s lips trembled, and its eyes grew more wet than before.

“I… I will find someone in your stead. I will tell them about you. You will not be forgotten.”

And that was all he needed. His froggy friend turned to hop away and Brod closed his eyes, expecting his final slumber to take him. But things truly never went the way one thought they would.

“I, this is goodbye, Bro – wait a second.” The frog spoke. “Hey. Who goes there? Show yourself! I see yo– AAA–!“

Then everything was silent again. Brod cracked his single eye open.

Sitting on a stone nearby, there was an olm. A long lizard thing, white as bleached bone and with red branch-like growths at the side of its head. It had no eyes and two legs ahead a serpentine body. Its mouth smacked open and closed. Brod saw an unidentifiable gooey mass on the inside before it swallowed. It almost didn’t care about the presence of Brod.

Almost.

What looked like eyes but were merely stubby nostrils turned to the barely breathing Brod. From the front, its mouth implied a deceptively natural smile.

“My. What glimmer hath the sky sent us this night?”

Brod couldn’t answer. His head could barely answer the question of where froggy had gone. The thing had eaten it. And he would die here, alone and forgotten by all.

“Thou’rt a pity to behold. Brod, rings thy name?” It tilted its head to the side. “Though I will not question nor tarry. Thou’rt not long for this world.”

The darkness all around was rapidly drawing closer as Brod felt a tiredness add to the bone-deep coldness in his body. Brod only hoped it would claim him quick before this creature too could wreck its horror upon his body. Though, he doubted whether he would feel anything at all.

It slithered closer, now sitting atop the corpse crushing his body.

“Though, as fate would have it, I can change that. Has thou perchance an interest in a boon, for thyself?”

Brod didn’t know. Could he just die here, knowing that he did his best, that in the end he had maybe washed away his shame? Even if none would ever know? Would he be fine, given the choice, to forgo all pleasures and burdens of life for an uncertain place in death?

“All thou must grant is to let me in. Allow me to rest within thine bosom. And thou shalt receive an influence most grand. So long as we are one, thou shall never die again.”

Brod’s fleeting mind warred with itself. End it all here and await judgement, or struggle, claw and live, no matter the cost? There would be a price. There always was, for everything, and especially for this. And Brod could take nothing he hadn’t earned.

Did he truly earn a third chance at life? And if he didn’t, did he do enough to be recognized, to be accepted? To be praised? The fear that he didn’t would have paralyzed his body were it not for the already pulverized spine.

“Though the price shall be harsh, and the gods’ censure shall be harsher. Still, if thou accept, thy reward shall be immense for a time.”

Brod was entirely still, in body, in mind, in soul. In that moment, he felled a choice. After all, what did he even have to lose?

Slowly, he closed an eye and with titanic effort, nodded his head so slight none who saw him would have noticed. But this thing had no eyes. It understood from the moment the acceptance had fallen into his mind.

“Very well. I am Olotol, and I shall be thy pact-mate. We shall live together and never die.”

It slowly crawled forward, only ever a step ahead of the dwindling light. It lifted itself up on his broken body, crawled over his face and slid in between his lips, slowly making its way down his throat. From within himself, he heard its voice one last time before darkness took him fully.

“The payment will be half. A single boon as long as our concord lasts for half the souls thou gather forevermore. Hush now, my giant, for thou shall rise tall once again. Thou will forget, the past consigned to oblivion and thy future painted tones of red. A small solace perchance, or torturous happenstance, that thou shall sleep to dream once more, then never again.”

And with that, Brod fell into a long, regretful slumber.