Chapter three: The Grog the greater dead

Cancer awakens from his troubled sleep to find something waiting for him

3: The Grog: The Greater Dead

“ Can, Can wake up!” Cleio’s voice shook me to the very core of my being, I could take no more, the rushing waters of my past crashed against me, forcing me under; I push to the surface, straining for a breath.

I exhale.

Jerking forward, out of my trance I returned back to a world so unfamiliar to me. Warm sunlight peeked through the cracks of my eyes, the first rays of light piercing through a hole in the roof; I gazed upward, marveling in this new yet ancient world, the world cloaked in silence. Living in such a world seemed impossible; I relished it until it was broken. Slowly the sensation of felling returned to me. The smell of the damp world around me became impossible to ignore; the tough fabric of the old chair I sat in, the smell of decay and vermin filled the air. A single drop of rain fell from a cracks intersection above me, falling faster than a snowflake but just as graceful. As it landed upon the slab of concrete beside me the world around me changed, a rush of a thousand sounds and smells rushed into focus, I braced myself but was easily overcome by the magnitude of it all. My hands clenched into a fist, I found myself receding back into the comfort of my supernatural power, once more tapping into the power of my gift. My body suddenly  became overwhelmed by a warm glow, the smell of steam and the soft hums of a distant shore covered my senses; soothing me, protecting me, from harm.

               As I left the chair and fall flat on my face. the cold concrete floor numbs my face as  I notice my reflection in the many rain puddles scattered around the crypt’s floor. The face that stared back at me seemed a stranger. I remembered the face I used to have, although my life was surrounded in sorrow; my face had happiness, it was hard to see but without a doubt it was there, but this face, the face that stared at me, there was no happiness, there was a loss of innocence that was impossible to ignore. I looked at my reflection and all I could see was coldness. My face was stone, unchanged and cold; my eyes were haunting, dark as the very depths of my soul, how had I become this? This monster in human form, the voice had led me from city to city in search of creatures like the Balon; monsters in human form, hiding in plain sight. Placing my hand on my cheek I realized that these creatures were not the only ones pretending. I did not belong in this place. Normal people did not live like this. Where along the line had I become the monster that stared back at me? 

As I prepared myself to stand I gazed once more upon the grave yard. A sudden chill washed over me as I realize the night's storm had drenched me to the bone. I rose from my seat, evaluated my wet attire.  my eyes found my hand and the silver band holding a black stone on my index finger. With almost no thought at all the dull black stone that rested in the center of the ring began to glow brilliantly. I tapped into the seemingly limitless power of the ring and my body was consumed with a warm sensation. Instantly the air around me was filled with steam, I emerged dry. I made my way up the steps.

I looked at the world with new eyes as I walked the walkway of the grave yard. The sudden discovery of my past affected me; once a fractured haze I could now remember seeing trees similar to these around me behind the orphanage. In a strange way those memories, thought mostly unpleasant and sad, made me fell human.

The voice reminded me that I have to eat to keep my strength up; I pick up a flower nestled in the moss that lay at my feet. Finally I made my way to the gate; people tend to get touchy if you sleep in cemeteries. I had nearly reached the main road leading to the cemetery’s exit when I became aware of a concealed presence, hearing something I was not meant to hear.

 

‘You're being followed’

 

The voice whispered as a chill on the back of my neck forced me to turn around. Movement in the shadows caused the chill to return and I knew then that I was no longer alone. I turned slowly to the left to gaze over the grassy landscape that surrounded me, tome stones scattered for as far as I could see, separated only by the appropriate plated collection of trees or a decorative shrub, it was still early, the morning mist had crept from the small brook close by. The voice was silent but my senses were already cataloging  and analyzing my surroundings; I could smell dead flesh, I could taste the decomposing tissue and organs in the misty air,  the graveyard soon bcame laced with the familiar sour taste of sulfur. It was moving fast, sloppy movements, coming closer.

“Grog,” I hissed under my breath as it emerged from the brook, wearing the mist as a shroud. His dull lidless eyes peered out of the shadows of the brook. It was fast, fast enough to quickly snare a small deer or gazelle, yet its decomposed form caused it to limp slightly to the left. I watch carefully as the next three seconds unfolded, as I let the voice take control.

 

Male, eight foot one, muscle mass depicts the body chosen was an athlete, presumable course of action; dismemberment.

 

               I rubbed my thumb over the silver band on my index finger out of habit. I could see it, a figure darting from one tombstone to another like lightning, just out of focus, just out of view. I steadied my breathing, with every breath I let the warmth of my gift seep throughout my body, as the creature danced in the morning shadows I prepared for what would come next.

               It attacked from behind, emerging from behind a tome stone; it dove towards me at incredible speed, his lidless eyes haunting. I side stepped with ease, the monster crashed into a tome stone that stood in his way, shattering the marble into small pebbles. I reached for my weapon as I watched the Grog shake off the impact with ease, his eyes focused on me as it stood its full dominating eight feet. It let out a loud sharp roar, the sound of a wounded animal begin set on fire echoed though the cemetery. I aligned the barrel of my desert eagle with the bulk of the creature. The shot rang out into the silence of the cemetery, fire igniting the bullet in midair, but the creature swayed to the left and avoided the shot all together.

 

Presumable course of action; dismemberment.

 

               The voice repeated as the Grog darted towards me; the speed almost matched my own, almost. I evaded unharmed. The Grog was stronger than most, usually this kind of monster would be falling apart after the collision with the tome stone, but this creature seemed to have been constructed with care, the body was decomposing, but it seemed to still be intact. I darted to the left after evading another slash designed to separate my head from my shoulders, in the span of a second I put a full yard between us. If the body would not fall apart on its own then I would have to assist its decomposition.

               With a thought the desert eagle that rested in my right hand evaporated into steam and was replaced with a large hunting knife. I stood accordingly watching the creature hobble down upon all fours, his unnaturally decaying muscles flexing and growing unnaturally as he crouched down low, letting out a haunting painful roar before pouncing towards me. I stood still and waited, waited for the creature to get close enough. The Grog sprinted for me, his old, dirty dress shirt flapping behind him, the tethered reminisce of penny loafer shoes flopping upon the wet grass; I knew exactly where to hit him, I knew exactly how to hit him, but as he got closer, as the voices hold over me grew I was suddenly attacked by flashes of faces and voices I did not recognize.

…..my young hands covered in blood…

…...a larger boy’s mangled body at my feet…

…..A half filled in drop of blood….

…...An older Cleio, her face streaming with tears.

I lowered the knife.

               The full force of the monster crashed against me, the two of us fly to the ground the shockwave sending several tombstones flying in the air.

 

‘What are you doing? Attack! Attack!

 

The voice screams in my ears as the zombie’s massive weight pressed down upon me, its black razor sharp fingernails threatening to claw me apart. I protected myself, the lack of focus had caused me to lose the knife, I could hear the demonic roar of the Grog as he continued to claw at my protective forearms, ripping my jacket and dress shirt to shreds. I tried to focus, I attempted to search for the knife but the thought of the purple and black, twisted boy lying at my feet would not leave me. The version of my past self was harmless, but that night in the bed rooms of the orphanage revealed that even at that age I had a dark side? Did Cleio see what I had done; was it enough to turn her away from me?

               The claws slash at my skin, its massive legs ram into my side, I could no longer hear the voice. I could feel the gifts power weakening, fear pushing the power out, sapping my strength. Even at such an age the monster inside me was present, scrapping, clawing at the cage, lounging to be release. I looked up to find the Grog, its black tar like drool trickling down his mouth. I could feel the monster inside me rattle its cage. I let it out.

               A vicious roar bursts from my lips as I pushed upwards, gripping one of the creature’s talons by the wrist and ripping it from its body savagely, tossing it to the ground as I rose to my feet.

The Grog pranced backwards, its balance shifting to compensate. In less than an instant I tapped into the power of the ring; I know how strong and how fast I must become. The power of my gift flowed through my veins and in a rush of power I cross jabbed the Grog into the air. It landed easily, using the momentum and angle of his decent to bounce off of a nearby tree and fly towards me at multiplied speeds. I didn’t have enough time to search for my knife, nor did I desire to, I was going to tear this creature apart, with my bare hands.

               The creature charged forward and is stopped with a hay-maker punch to the temple. My hate and rage fueled me as steam enveloped my fists, sparks ignited as they are set ablaze. Dazed, the Grog stumbles backwards, I peruse, I uppercut it in its unhinged jaw. The creature staggers backward the blows smashing up against him with the same force that would be used to smash marble, the Grog swings blindly, I block with my forearm and finish him with a spinning kick that shatters his collar bone, severing his back bone and knocking him a few feet backwards to a tree.

 

‘Dismemberment’

 

The voice reminded me as I walk towards my beaten enemy as he lay in the shade of the brook, parts of him mangled, other parts of him charred to a crisp. Grog kind were stupid creatures not capable of independent thought; usually overpowered by the hunger for human flesh, yet this creature, throughout the entire confrontation had not tried to bit me. I bent down to retrieve the knife, my eyes never leaving the creature’s mangled form.

               The muscle tissue was still intact, a rarity in itself, the bone structure though at parts of the body were exposed seemed perfectly attached to the joints and cartilage. The creature let out a sorrowful moan as I accompanied him under the shade of the tree.

               “Speak.” I ordered the creature; its soggy eyes met my own in surprise. It opened his mouth to speak but only screeching emerged.

 

‘You must understand it.’

 

               The voice whispered in my ear, I high pitched cry followed, causing me to twitch, instantly the screeching became words, and those words became sentences.

               “You will never find her, she is already dead! The gate will open and we will roam free!” the Gog’s words flew from his decomposing mouth in an exhaling breath with no stops or spacing in between words. The final words of the Balon refreshed my memory,

               “Who sent you, who were you sent to kill?!”My voice unconsciously rose, the annoyance of my ignorance caused the blade of my knife to press deeper into the neck of the creature’s throat. I needed more than what he was giving me, the attack was not a coincidence, this was a potential assassination.

               “The king…the blood king…the forgotten one.” Its gaping hole of a mouth spat. The riddle of a name I did not recognize only added to my frustration, I shook him up against the tree demanding answers, but the words he had spoken had left him dull and lifeless. In anger I forcefully dropped him to the ground, I turned from him, stepping into the fresh light of the new day, trying to make sense of what had just transpired.

               A creature like this was not meant to be trifled with; he was greater dead, the most powerful dead I had ever come across; Crafted from the freshest parts, fashioned to kill rather than to devour. Whoever had instructed this assassination; this blood king, wanted something here in Boston, something he probably would have gotten if we had not crossed paths. ‘The blood king, where have I heard of that name before?’ I could not help but ponder as my eyes fell upon the lump of now mangled lifeless flesh. ‘The stings had been severed. It was useless now

 

‘Dismemberment’

 

The voice reminded me to finish the job, as I turned to the tree where I had left to creature I went to work, people tend to get upset when they find a dead body outside of a casket.

…..

 

               Several hours later, long after the body parts of the Grog had been disposed of .The haunting message it had left behind continued to haunt me. I sat in a coffee shop down the street from the cemetery, the morning’s good weather gave no preparation for the afternoon’s shower that was set upon the city, and as I lounged at my table next to the window, sheltering myself from the rain and sharp winds I could not displace the feeling that something was off.

               Foolish humans. Living in ignorance, trapped in there small insignificant lives, how i pitied them, how i envied them. In truth The world they lived in, this world is nothing more than a crack in a mirror, a fissure separating one side from the other.the world i remember, the world where i come from is a world not meant for the faint  of heart. Though my memories of that place were spotty at best i remembered that it was a place where creatures like the Grog, and the Balon roamed free, preying on the innocent and the weak without mercy, and without consequence. This sickened place was stained with the blood of innocents. since the beginning that is how it has always been, no rest, so peace, only blood. that is the name of my home; the world of Blood.

A a long time ago, I had chosen to leave…I had chosen to leave that world behind…there was something I had to do, something once certain ,now forgotten.

              

There is only the hunt.

Nothing more

 

               As the soft patter of rain drops begin to fall more frequently upon the café window the world that existed beyond the table seemed to slip away. The voice steadied my thoughts before they could wander too far. As a shade, I was compelled to hunt those that had done what I have done; those that found a way to pass through the fissure; things like the Balon, things like the greater dead.; Hunting is what I am, what I lived for, and I could see just beyond the curtain of all of this. A new and fresh scent was appearing. A flash of lighting is followed by the crash of thunder, my mind reached deep into the cloudy recesses of my uncertain memory, I needed answers.

As the thunder roars, I focused on the scalding hot liquid inside my white porcelain coffee cup. I reached deep; into the void…there was something about all of this that I just could not let go, something familiar. In the darkness of the void all senses are dulled, save one, in the darkness I fall back into the power of my gift, cloaked in the power of the ring the darkness shifts as the sound of rushing water grows louder, an unseen stream rushes towards me, unprepared I wait for it to reach me, I am sized with a freezing sensation as the unseen wall of freezing ice water smashes into my face. I open my eyes as I hold my breath, I see….

…I see….

…Cleio in a wedding dress…

...the tree in the garden rotting…

…setting on fire…

 

You are Cancer. You are a Shade

 

The voice pulled me from the darkened freezing waters, as my eyes force themselves open, my heart raced as the silence of the world is  filled by the atmosphere of the café. As I struggled to catch my breath, as my hands remained clenched in tight frozen fists I fight to regain my composure.

“I am Cancer. I am a Shade.” I whisper, seconds before a reel of traumatizing images rush forward into memory.

“I am Cancer. I am a Shade.” My hands grip my knees for support as I resist the next wave. I bite my lip to fight form crying out. “Control yourself Cancer, control yourself!’. Why do these visions invoke such an irrational response? What do the visions mean? I must know. I know where I must go.

 

There is only the hunt

 

The voice protested as I, with effort rose to feet. My mind was made. The hunt was on. I could already feel the all too familiar thrill of the scent focusing me, the compulsion growing stronger. Whoever was behind all of this would be a formidable prey. I only pray I find it before it finds what It is searching for.

Author's Note

in this chapter i begin to pull the curtain back and open the world. what do you think?

Reviews

[Hatter57]

Yaseen,

A detail I found kind of jarring in this chapter. You start one paragraph with "As I left the chair", then the next paragrapg starts "As I prepared myself to stand". Did the first attempt result in him falling to the ground because his body wasn't ready, which lead to him seeing his face in the puddles? If it's just a case of stating the same thing over again, it needs correction.

On re-reading this chapter, I think I see where I was confused before. Cancer appears to have been born on a world where the technology was probably no more than medieval; the king's road was unpaved and the town where he lived in the orphanage was surrounded by a vast, wild forest. But he has somehow crossed over to our world, where he lives this half-existence as a monster who hunts monsters. Is that right? Sorry I missed that the first time.

Anyway, I still find this interesting, although it's going to take some work to fully realize its potential. Keep at it. When you're further along, you might want to consider hiring someone to help clean up the grammar and keep tenses straight throughout, etc. But for now, this is a good effort.

[Yaseen J Malik]

hatter,
first off i want to thank you for all of the comments from the previous chapters, i sent you the reading request after i realized that a more detailed description of blood was necessary to progress further. i realize that there are some discrepancies, yet i feel that all of them are necessary, this is only the third chapter of a twenty four chapter book, all questions or unrealistic events are thoroughly answered further on in the story, Cancers origins, his spotty memory, the voice, and so on. typos are a working progress i agree, and i will endeavor to correct them more aggressively. thank you for the feedback

[Hatter57]

Yaseen,

I'm offering my comments on this book as a whole, rather than chapter by chapter. Imust say, I find Cancer an interesting character. As near as I can make out, some meta-intelligence has reached out to him through some innate gift he possesses, turning him into a hunter of the monsters that prey on humanity. Similar to Buffy the Vampire Slayer in a way, but I like the fact that there is a cost to his power. He has to renounce his past and his very humanity in order to be effective. I anticipate that the tension throughout the rest of the book would be for him to hunt down the big nasty while finding the balancing point - that place where he can retain his memories and maybe even remain human to some degree while still harnessing the power to hunt. And of course, I can't wait to find out what this meta-intelligence is and why it chooses to operate as it does, empowering and advising the once-human.

I'm trying to encapsulate this because I'm not quite sure I've got all of the details right. If I'm off base with any of this, you may want to go back and retool a bit.

If I could offer one word of advice to improve this, I would say you need to establish the setting more clearly a lot more quickly. It wasn't until the third chapter that I was sure we were in our own world in the modern era - the gun and mention of Boston clinched it. Before that, the mention of foster care at least suggested that, but the idea that a child would remain unnamed until age three, and that two sets of foster parents would take in a child without naming it made me question the assumption. That was so foreign an idea that I questioned what society looked like beyond the walls of the orphanage. I hope some of my musings helps in some way.

[Yaseen J Malik]

As always hatter your feedback is greatly appreciated

[Yaseen J Malik]

alright this ought to do it