Chapter 12
The Trial of Blood each fold contained a partially formed face. Its arms were thick and muscular, with large hands tipped with yellow talons.
Its head had three faces, and they constantly shifted positions. An old man with a beard of maggots. A beautiful woman with empty eye sockets. And a child with razor-sharp teeth. They each took turns being dominant.
The Bloated King
It hadn't noticed me yet. It sat perfectly still, watching the graveyard. I took a cautious step forward.
The ground erupted. From every grave, I watched as bony hands clawed out of the black mounds. The earth split as creatures pulled into the world.
There was an ancient armored undead with its plate still clinging to its desiccated body. It reached for the sword planted above its grave, gripping the hilt with its bony fingers. Behind it, more and more undead joined it.
My body shook as I watched the army assemble. Each creature claimed their weapon. All while the Bloated King remained on its throne motionless, and watching..
"Show me what you can do…" I whispered to the worms.
My arm bulged as they surged through muscle and bone. They tore through my palm, twisting into a hook.
I focused on my other arm, imagining a shield. The worms responded, flowing out to form a small barrier. I tested it with the hook, and it was solid.
One of the skeletons turned its head towards me. It raised a rusted axe and let out a harrowing scream.
As one, the undead army faced me.
"Well… this is gonna fucking suck."
I swung my hook, catching a skeleton's skull and ripping it clean off its spine. The body kept coming, blinded but determined to finish me off.
One of the Ghouls raked its claws towards my chest, but I raised the shield just in time. I felt the impact through my shield. The creature couldn't break through my living barrier.
I kicked it hard in the chest and swung the hook; it caught on another skeleton's rib cage, dragging it to the floor.
Fuck there are too many of them!
I felt a blade cut across my back. Bony fingers clutched at my legs.
I dissolved the hook and forced the worms to reshape. They formed a spear in my hand, vibrating with hungry intent. I hurled it at the nearest undead. The living weapon pierced. The monster shrieked, broke into chunks of rotting flesh.
But for every undead I dropped, three more took their place. I was losing ground and being driven back toward the edge of the graveyard.
The Bloated King still watched, unmoving, its three faces cycling through expressions of amusement, sadness, and boredom.
The worms, sensing danger, flowed from my body in greater numbers. They sacrificed my own mass to expand my shield; it became a curved dome that protected me on all sides. Their weapons bounced off it; I could feel each impact draining me.
Through the translucent flesh barrier, I saw the next wave of undead. They were bigger and stronger. A giant Death Knight led them, its blackened armor creaking as it raised a sword that trailed shadowy tendrils of smoke.
I can’t hide in here forever. I have to fight.
I let the dome fall and split the worms into a sword and a barbed whip. The sword was more clever than a real blade, but it would cut. The whip was about twenty feet long, and each barb had a tiny mouth filled with teeth.
The Death Knight's sword moved faster than anything I had ever seen. But I was still able to parry it with my blade, the impact sending shocks up my arm. My whip lashed out, wrapping around the knight's leg. The tiny mouths began to feed, chewing through its ancient armor.
The Death Knight didn't flinch. It swung again, forcing me to dodge. I wasn't strong enough to keep tanking its blows. Not yet.
The Death Knight drove me back with relentless strikes. A Wraith flanked me, its cold touch aging the skin of my arm by decades in seconds. Another undead gripped my leg with hulking strength.
I fell to my knees, my weapons dissolving as I lost focus. Blood pooled beneath me, my own and the ichor of those I'd managed to kill.
The Death Knight raised its sword to take my life
I dug my hands into the blood-soaked ground. And let the worms spread through the ground around me. Liquefying as worms changed it to their feeding ground. The undead around me sank to their knees, then to their waists.
The Death Knight struggled, sinking to its chest in the transformed earth. I staggered to my feet, blood running from my wounds. I'd sacrificed too much mass to the worms. I needed to recall them.
My worms returned, bringing nutrients extracted from the earth and the monstrosities they consumed. My wounds closed. Strength returned to my limbs. But I'd missed something critical.
The Bloated King had finally moved. Its triple-faced head swiveled toward me, all six eyes focusing at once.
The creature descended from its dais, each step causing the ground to shake.
My quagmire solidified wherever it touched.
It walked with the inevitability of death itself, three faces smiling at me.
It was even more horrific up close. The faces in its fleshy folds weren't decorative; they were people, dozens of them, partially absorbed into the creature's mass. It reached toward me with one massive hand, its talons extended.
I tried to raise my arms, to form a weapon, a shield, anything. The worms were slow to respond, my fear affecting them. A pathetic spike extended from my palm, barely sharp enough to pierce skin.
The King's hand closed around my throat, lifting me off the ground. Its grip was surprisingly gentle, like a parent handling a fragile child. I struggled, kicking uselessly in the air. Its child-face pushed forward, becoming dominant. It spoke in a high, sweet voice that made my skin crawl.
"Will you be different, Fischer?"
It spread its arms wide, exposing its bloated torso with its cargo of half-absorbed faces. The woman-face emerged, beautiful despite its empty eye sockets.
"Why do you think you were given this gift?"
I thought of Rell, torn apart and eaten. Of Gwen—my mother—split open and left to suffer for decades.
"...To make him pay."
The Bloated King's hand remained tight around my throat. Its faces embedded in its flesh stared at me with hungry eyes.
"Make… Him… pay…" it repeated, voice shifting between child, woman, and ancient man. "Is vengeance all that you seek, Fischer?"
I pried at its grip, my worms too weak to assist me. "...What else is there?"
The King's grip tightened. "Purpose. Power. A place in what is to come..."
All three faces smiled simultaneously.
It released me suddenly. I dropped to my knees, gasping for air. The undead army had stopped moving, frozen in place like grotesque statues.
I struggled to my feet, worms gathering strength as my fear subsided. "What does that mean?"
The King reached out, but this time to touch my forehead with one of his yellowed talons. "Let me show you."
Images flooded my mind, memories that weren't mine.
Sacred with worm Origins throughout history. A woman in ancient worm-armor commanding armies of bone-white serpents. A man whose body dissolved into thousands of burrowing creatures that consumed a city. A child whose tears became parasites that infected minds.
And then, Mikkel. Younger. In a laboratory. Surrounded by charts studying bloodlines, Origins, genetics. My bloodline. Rell's bloodline. Our mother's bloodline.
It turned away, walking back toward its throne. Headstone weapons began melting into the ground, the undead crumbling to dust. The King's form started to fade. Its final words came as whispers as the Trial dimension collapsed around me.
Until we meet again, little-worm