Horror

He was the Lord of Horror. Lord Eurussil was a mindless amalgamation of corrupted Siltte, a Deific creature who controlled many more creatures- a brainless hivemind whose only thought was to serve an innate will, the will to destroy and to be destroyed. To corrupt and to twist the world in its horrific image.

The writhing pitch-black creature before Liel was part of this hivemind, sharing the same mindless mind as their Lord. That meant that she was effectively staring straight at a Deity in that moment.

And she, a person who played the role of a calm, collected doll, had been frozen in fear. Her breath grew staggered and heavy, her vision fluttering as she failed to control herself. When Meister Coreas had brought them on a training expedition to Hel, the deepest and darkest world on the lowest branch of the Tree, Liel had solidified her expectations for a peaceful life. The creatures she saw within that world... their capabilities and their violent tendencies… it was the first thing that truly scared her. The only thing that remained in her nightmares.

And there was only one ritual that Liel knew of that related to Horror. It involved nine instances of murder, spread out into the shape of a diagram. When enacted correctly, it would summon a gateway to Hel.

It was a gateway for Horror to enter the realm of the yet-living.

“Bring her.” When Gress spoke, the hooded figures responded immediately. They began to walk through the streets, dragging Elienoire and Liel, who both struggled to no avail. Hearing the commotion, townspeople began to emerge from their homes. The dawn nipped at the edges of the town, and so there was no fear of violating the curfew. When they saw the state of the guard and the hooded figures, their eyes widened in terror.

Monsters had come to Estelle, and not even a Paladin could resist their ruination.

If only she had her sword, Liel thought. If she could reach it, nothing could stand in her way. Instinctively, she called out to her Siltte, but it was to no avail. The liquid crawled its way out her sleeve, settling on the edges of her clothes. It didn’t bear the same silver hue as before, rather an eerie pitch-black that churned with malevolence. The blood of the Tree had become corrupted, a monster writhing against her bare flesh.

Every muscle in her body quivered with fear. She wanted to tear all of her clothes off if only to reveal the Horror and cleanse herself of it. Paladins had a tendency to wrap their entire arm with a thin layer of Siltte so that it could be easily accessed and used. That meant that now, her skin was covered in monstrosity.

She had an urge to let out a shrill scream, but her throat choked up as soon as the sound touched against her palette. The Siltte under her skin, the rune that remained safe from Horror’s corruption shimmered, forcing a state of calm into her mind. Her gaze grew cold and dispassioned, letting out a sharp breath as she looked towards Gress, her legs bouncing against the stone path as she was dragged.

Soon, they came to the home of the Chieftain, Calligan, all under the watchful eye of the terrified townspeople. The hooded figure holding onto Liel dragged her violently up the wooden steps of the house, Gress bursting through the door with a twisted smile on his face.

Liel was thrown to the ground, forced to weakly glance up at the center of the room. The Chieftain, Calligan stood above her with a grim expression, surrounded by the town’s Elders.

‘The Elders were complicit in it too!’ Liel gritted her teeth. ‘I shouldn’t have listened to Lord Ciseus! I should have been more brazen, less logical! I should have killed them all, forgetting conjecture!’

“Welcome to my home, my Lady. It’s a shame that your first visit was under these circumstances. I’m afraid this is the extent of my hospitality.”

One of the hooded figures slammed downwards with their foot onto Liel’s back, pinning her to the ground. She let out a sputter as the air was forced from her lungs, feeling as if a rib had been snapped in two in the process. Despite the sharp pains erupting throughout her body, her train of thought was clear, and it was maddening.

‘This was someone I treated with respect… just like I do the Meisters… I feel ashamed!’ Liel’s eyes burned with fury as she glanced up at the Chieftain and his Elders.

“How much do you know as of yet?”

Liel gritted her teeth, working through the scenario. Was there any downside in revealing what she knew? Wouldn’t she be killed soon? She had failed to act in time. If only she had arrived in Estelle sooner…

“You conspired with your son and the Elders of the village to murder those related to you. You arranged these murders so that they would occur in the eight cardinal directions of the town, with a final murder in this very building in order to create a ritualistic diagram- one that would summon a gateway to Hel.”

“More or less. Did you discover our motives?”

“No. I can’t understand it at all. What do you gain from working with these mindless creatures? What could possibly be wrong with you?” Liel spat as she glanced up murderously at the Chieftain.

Calligan chuckled as he walked slowly towards Liel, rustling the tip of his beard with his fingers. “Honestly, I thought about whether or not I would let you investigate into the disappearances. The Elders assured me that having a harvest ritual take place would draw less suspicion than skipping it. The villagers would definitely think something wrong if we skipped an annual tradition. I had them send the commission to one of your farther Estuaries in the hopes that it would be delayed and give us time to enact our plans. I’m glad it worked out as I had hoped.”

He paused for a moment, smiling.

“As for my motives… they don’t really matter.”

“You killed your own family. Maybe this isn’t the most illogical thing in the world. You might have feared that your son’s succession rights would be challenged by your illegitimate children. That much is horrible, but understandable. But allowing Horror to fester here… what good is there in that? It’s poisoning your own livelihood for no gain at all!” Liel cursed.

“Perhaps.” Calligan knelt down in front of Liel, nearly eye-level. "You were thrown off by the disappearances of the hearts, weren't you? You thought this would be a small-scale ritual, and the missing limbs brought you to theorise that it was something cannibalistic. In truth, the hearts had no purpose. It was only misdirection. They might lead you to theorise of a ritual conspiracy, that much is certain. But leading you away from the truth was more a benefit than it was a detriment. It was the corpses that were the most important element. For this particular ritual, there needed to be nine instances of death laid out in a particular formation. But I’m sure that’s something you already know. Your fancy Seminaries probably teach such things."

“It’s the same as the gateway ritual used in the attack on Alfheim…”

"Correct. Lord Eurussil spoke to us. He said this was the sort of thing we would need to accomplish."

"But I don't see any corpses here. Where is the final ritual point…?"

"Not yet." Calligan smirked. “Do you think I would reveal my plan to you if there were a chance you could affect its outcome? I have all I need to trigger the ritual right here in this room.”

He turned towards one of the Elders, grinning. “Bring her.”

The Elder he commanded nodded before adjourning to another room, leaving the door open. Scuffling echoed from the other room, and soon, he reemerged. A small girl was forcibly tossed to the ground, her hands bound and her mouth gagged with strips of cloth. She had been blindfolded, and her cheeks were gaunt as if she had been starved for several days.

It was Isabelle.

Liel’s eyes widened. ‘She isn’t dead? I thought she would have starved, or been killed in order to progress the ritual! I was wrong again!’

“Belle!” Elienoire cried out, tears falling from her eyelids. She tried to wrestle away from the hooded figure holding her, but it was no use. “Belle! I’m here! It’s me!”

In response to her mother’s cries, Isabelle’s head perked up, looking in Elienoire’s general direction even though she had been blindfolded. Through the strip of cloth that had been stuffed in her mouth, she cried out in response, tears soaking her blindfold.

“She wasn’t the ninth sacrifice!?” Liel tried desperately to lurch forth, held down by her own hooded figure. “Do you plan to kill her now then? Your own child!?”

“Why would I kill my own child? Do you think I’m that cruel a man? Do you really want to know my motives that badly?” Calligan adopted a grim expression, letting out a sigh as he turned his back to the Paladin. “In truth, all I want in this world is to be with my children without scrutiny. Society would never allow such a thing. What kind of person would look at their leader kindly when revealed that he has fathered so many illegitimate children? Horror would. There is no inequality among our Lord’s ranks, only his servants. If we would let Lord Eurussil take over, then he would let us be together for as long as we wished. No one would demean their existences. No one would hurt or chastise them. They would be loved- by me- forever.”

“But the corpses… weren’t they dead?”

Calligan smiled cruelly.

“No, not dead… Horror remains in their hearts. Their minds… lost perhaps, but not dead. Their hearts, faintly so, still beat. My children still live on.”

‘But those aren’t your children anymore! They’re just monsters! A mind is a person, not their hearts! They’re truly dead, and you’re a fool to believe that False Lord!’ Liel pounded at the ground with her fist, still actively trying to free herself from the hooded figure weighing her down.

“If they are still alive… if you want them to remain alive, then why poison them!?” She shouted through gritted teeth.

“Poison? What poison?” Calligan looked truly confused as he heard this. Was this just a joke?

“All the gifts you gave your children, they were poisoned. Poison kills all things originating from the Tree- Horror included. If this poison seeped into the corpses of your children, it would prevent Horror from taking them over. Why go to counterintuitive measures!?”

The Chieftain’s eyes widened, the veins in his forehead bulging outwards. Calligan’s head slowly twisted around, his feet remaining steadfastly forward. The nerves and joints in his neck cracked and popped, verging on snapping as he glared maddeningly at his son who stood behind him.

“Poison?” He wasn’t asking his son a question. Rather, it seemed more like an interrogation.

Gress’s remaining eye shook with fear as he stared at his father.

He stammered weakly in response. “Father, there’s no need for you to do so much for those children anymore. You have me!”

Gress lurched forward in an exaggerated manner, as if he were a clown.

“You can confide in me, father! Forget about them!”

“You poisoned them? This was your doing. Do you deny it?”

“No, father… it was for your sake! You let your mind be occupied by them, when I’m here! You send me off when you should be teaching me to take your place! If they remained dead, then everything would be as it should! They shouldn’t exist in the first place-”

Spatters of blood flew through the air as Calligan’s fist connected with his son’s face. The sounds of Gress’s nose shattering echoed through the room, the next his skull cracking against the wood of the floor, and the final his shuddered breath as his eyes glazed over. Despite his unconscious state, Calligan fell to his knees on his son’s chest, raising his fist into the air and striking down once more. Teeth fell to the ground, blood pooling around his head, but Calligan struck again. And again. And again. Liel, Elienoire, the hooded figures, and even the Elders watched silently as Calligan continued to beat upon his son like he was a drum- rhythmically, endlessly.

The Chieftain’s breaths grew staggered and heavy, exhausted by his own blows. Soon, underneath his feet, his son remained a pile of pulp and shattered bone. The skin had long-since torn, revealing the fragments of skull and pieces of greyish brain matter that had begun to churn, being reformed by the pitch-black Horror.

“Fear not, my son. You will live again. And I will kill you again so that you might learn your place.” He let out a huff, his eyes widened and maddening as he stood up. Calligan reached toward his right eye, taking the eyepatch off of his head. Only an empty blood-red socket remained, pitch-black liquid churning within. Even he had become a host to Horror.

He glanced over towards one of the Elders, his grim expression causing the man to shake.

“Give me one of your eyes. Our Lord starves.”

The Elder hesitated for a moment, but Calligan continued to stare at him, grimacing. Soon, the man complied, reaching his fingertips in between his eyelids as he pulled out his eye. He let out a sharp groan as he did this, but soon, crimson spilled from the empty socket as he handed over the pale-white orb to the Chieftain.

Accepting the eye, Calligan raised it towards his face and placed it snugly in the empty socket. It immediately began to dissipate into pitch-black fragments, coalescing with the Horror within. The liquid seemed pleased, writhing more rapidly.

“Well, should we begin?”