Chapter One: Glutton

The tears were complicated. No one, not even himself, could comprehend them. Were they tears of misery? Happiness? Or did they stem from the unfathomable rage burning inside him? Time was frozen, and his mind was in disarray.

First, there was his hatred for the unknown- the reason. It always came down to the roots of all questions. How could it end up this way? Why is it happening to him? Who is he supposed to blame? Even as he stood there, cradling what little sanity he had left in his arms, he continued to toss answer after answer into the pool of anger- only to make it worse. In the end, no matter the amount of reasons he managed to muster, it simply didn’t make a bit of sense.

Then there were the pangs of melancholy, relentlessly gouging holes into his heart. Painful as they may be, they at least bear the fruit of understanding. He knew what filled him with such misery, for it lay just within arms grasp. Yet the solution to his problems, which seemed so close, had become untouchable. Sorrow is an upfront and honest man, but he never shreds a sliver of mercy.

Finally, and perhaps the cruelest of them all, would be joy. To feel pure and utter bliss in a moment of tragedy- how could it be possible? But there it was, falling fast asleep against the father’s chest. Wrapped in a bundle of furs, peeking out just barely, was the single most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. The result of his love and hate, his joy and sorrow- it was a manifestation of his very being.

Surges of guilt washed over him, yet there existed a silver lining so bright that it guided him through the storm of chaos whirling in his head. He had lost everything, then not even a moment later he was given more than he’d ever had. It anchored him, allowing him to keep from drifting away into the abyss.

And so he stood strong. She was gone, but a part of her would live on. The overwhelming emotions were suffocating, but as long as this little bubble of air existed, he wouldn’t drown. The tears of hate, sorrow, and joy continued to fall, but now they seemed so petty.

With renewed purpose and the courage to move forward now in hand, he opened the door to the world outside. Time began to flow once more, and with an iron will in tow, he set forth. As he went, he couldn’t help but wonder that perhaps with his own child’s birth, he too was reborn.

# # #

Arcullia, a kingdom which virtually always remained blanketed beneath a layer of white, had become home to the most exotic legends in the realm. Telling stories of spirits, lycans, and ancient ruins had become a common household pastime. But a villager’s favorite tale to tell the occasional wanderer would be just how their grandeur civilization came to be.

Half a century ago, the people of these ice-ridden mountains had been plagued by constant attacks from the very legends they spoke of today.  It was a vicious frontier faced with constant otherworldly threats, looming over the castle walls from dawn to dusk. Heroes rose up to thwart its advancement, but had no strength left to actually push the assailants back.

It wasn’t until a handful of talented scholars had stepped in that significant progress was made. The invention of Sigils, devices crafted to seal the away magic and ensnare the target, paved way for the counterattack that would allow the humans to defend their home.

Even after the violent war came to an end, the continued use of Sigils helped secure their advantage. A few folk even began to earn a living off the ingenious invention by becoming specialized trappers. The work was more than dangerous, with most facing death on their very first hunt. For those that succeeded; however, the rewards were plentiful. Some catches would even warrant the hunter titles and land, along with more than enough gold to fill their pockets. In fact, the current King had not a drop of royal blood in him, but for being single-handedly responsible for the capture of the elusive Frost Wyrm he was unanimously named such.

Promises of glory and riches were tempting indeed, but for one man it was of little interest. Few dared to cross the walls separating the two worlds, but he had become obsessed with the other side for other reasons. Not only did he survive in the harsh environment, he thrived.

Hushed whispers replaced the usual gung-ho speeches when they spoke of this particular legend. A human who,  after spending his life wandering the wilds, had lost his mind. Preying on the flesh of the beasts he hunted, he would consume their vile souls to feed his own. And although there had been no reported cases of him turning on his own kind, it had become an unwritten law that should he be spotted roaming about, he should be avoided at all costs.

But stories of the man who had eventually been dubbed as Glutton- a name befitting of his unrivaled appetite for living meat- reached more than human ears. Caverns ran deep beneath the mountains, a natural maze of stone in which the more intelligent predators of life took sanctuary.

Just like the humans, monsters too had a general understanding of whose territory was whose. Since the beginning of time, the basic rule of thumb has existed that the more powerful the animal or person, the more influence they held- and therefore the more land they controlled.

This rule applied to Glutton just the same. His hunting grounds were vast, making it nearly impossible to traverse the mountainside without stepping foot inside. The cautious did not tarry long when in his domain, and the brave who lingered now rest idly on pikes that ward off any future expeditions.

Sometimes the occasional warband would rally together and attempt to reverse the tables of hunter and hunted, but failure after failure made for little motivation. Many found it easier to simply give Glutton a wide berth.

For as horrific as he was portrayed, survivors did exist. As time went on, they found that only two conditions had to be met to avoid a rather gory end. First, no hostility must be shown toward Glutton. Provoking him only resulted in immediate dismemberment.

Secondly, you must give him an item of value. Successful attempts at bribing him for freedom have ranged from offering something as simple as a lock of fur or handful of herbs, to as painful as a talon or horn. Furthermore, Glutton does not speak nor hear; pleas for mercy have never once phased him. He is ferocious. Unforgiving. A bad omen to both the living and the dead.

Yet somehow, through all those warnings, creatures such as herself found themselves tangled in his web. Soft silver hair stretched gently to the ground, her skin exposed to the unrelenting icy winds, but somehow still warm to the touch. Her eyes, painted brightly as two glimmering amethysts, darted frantically about.

It must have been at least two hours since she accidentally step foot onto the Sigil. The small metal device taunted her just beyond the invisible barrier that held her captive. If someone were to come by, anyone at all, it would be as easy as snapping the brittle mechanism in half to set her free. But if crying out for help would have saved her, she would have done so to begin with.

Truth be told, a succubus such as herself would have no problem convincing any bystander who waltzed by to release her- even with her powers being stripped by the Sigil. Few could resist her natural beauty and charm, even among the underworld. Black tattoo-like markings completely shrouded the majority of her body. As if some kind of wicked gown of darkness, they suggestively flowed smoothly around her chest and legs; the succubi’s natural method to lure in prey.

   

But in the hands of Glutton, such a pleasurable sight was bound to have negative effects, if any at all. She was scared that if she resorted to calling out for help, that it would be he who hear her cries instead. On the other hand, doing nothing was the same as embracing death. She ran her hands through her hair anxiously. Surely there was something she could do?

By continuing the steady strokes, she found herself gradually calming down. If she were to escape this mess, she’d need a clear mind. She thought back to those who survived the very same situation she found herself in now. A traveling vampyr had once shown her that he had to pay with his own right fang as tribute- something that hadn’t sounded very appealing to her.

Even if she could bring herself to commit to self-mutilation, she knew that it wouldn’t do much. A vampyr’s fang is a precious part of themselves, but even though a succubus had sharper canines than the average human, it would mean nothing to her captor. She needed something more, or at least something useful. Scanning her surroundings once more, she found an unfortunate lack of herbs- or even grass for that matter. Unless Glutton was a collector of mud and snow, she figured that it was safe to say her luck had run out.

An old saying suddenly sprang into her mind that she had once heard while prowling the city streets. “A beast will chew its own leg to survive.” It seemed relative to her situation, but what does one do when a leg will not suffice? No matter how hard tried to, she couldn’t find anything to meet the second condition.

Clink.

Her hands came to a sudden halt, a sense of unease emanating from the pit of her stomach. She raised her head slowly, facing the treeline just a few meters ahead. There was nothing there, but she heard… something. The howling of the wind was deafening, but she was certain.

Clink.

There it was again- more audible than the last. Rather than panic, she could only feel complete dread. Her body became numb, arms collapsing against the snow. She knew this sound. Even against the violent gales circling her, it was unmistakably familiar. It was the clattering of bones.

Just as she had pieced the puzzle together, it rose up from the shadows. Still a distance away, but already towering over her, was a wall of sheer death- covered from head to toe in corpses. The hides of countless creatures, all sewn together to create a twisted abomination. The bones whose sound was faint just seconds ago now recklessly clashed together, hanging on a thick thread as if it were the noose of a deadman. She could make out a few fingers and claws, but most of the trophies were indistinguishable.

A hood shrouded the majority of its face, but there was something else there. Although it continued its shambling approach, she couldn’t take her eyes off of the object. Just level with the chin was another bone of some kind, with pointed shards jutting upwards. A jaw.

There was no mistake. Now standing just a few feet away from the helpless succubus was the very man who had adopted the role of a monster. Not only had he become the very thing humans feared most, but the grotesque being went even further- transcending into something more.

Mauling apart demons and pilfering their bodies as a morbid display of power... accompanied with a feeling of insatiable hunger that poisoned the air around him. This was doom.

This was Glutton.

Reviews

[Voidwvlf]

Oh wow, this was captivating from start to finish! Your description of the kingdom was different enough not to be boring, and gave such a sense of history and the particular way of life within it that I want - need to know more. Your seamless transition from the narrative of the man to the narrative of the succubus felt so natural.

The feeling of dread in the latter part of the story is palpable, and builds the atmosphere so well.

I've read this about 3 times trying to find something you could improve on, but honestly, I just wish it was longer. A testament to your abilities!