The Vault of Desire

Of the many gods that had been carved from mortal psyches, Desire was one of the most complex. Ysmerath’s foundation could be led by positive, kind beliefs. The desire to survive. The desire for a lover. The desire to improve. So much of him was well and good. But then there were the other sides of him. The sides that spilled into greed, lust, and covetous intentions.

When Metus’s war began, Sol had sought Ysmerath out as a potential ally. When they had reached his great castle of emerald stone, they had been turned away at the gate.

Whatever this floating obelisk was, it was not the castle Sol had seen all of those lifetimes ago. Alabaster floors led them towards a grand arched hallway lined with well maintained sculptures of the god himself. One of the first things Grief noticed was that it was eerily quiet. Something felt like it was suppressing sensory feedback. She sniffed through her nostrils.

“There is no scent here,” she whispered.

“I do not like this place,” Wretch added.

“We will leave at once. I will have Desire tell us where we are and we will continue our journey,” Sol said.

Before them, their guide tilted his head back, allowing it to bend snakelike over his shoulders, so that even though his chest was forward, his upside down eyes were on them.

“Our father is very excited to hear about your journey,” he said with an empty smile.

“You smile strangely,” Burden muttered.

The uneven head drifted towards her and corrected itself, removing the grin and turning coldly blank.

“Because it is a false, faked smile, child,” he said in a vacuous tone.

They reached a split in the path and several other attendants arrived.

“The mortals must be purified before seeing our divine father. They will be cleansed while you two speak to him. He is very excited to have you,” the guide said.

Before Sol or Grief could challenge, the little ones were being separated from them. Sol knew this was a sacred formality that every temple had upheld since the beginning of time. Even his acolytes had enforced such practices. But as he watched Wretch and Burden being led away, he felt a pang of concern. The look in both of their eyes told him they felt it as well.

Burden was still trembling as she limped along beside her sister. Shaking paws struggled to cling to her staff and she realized that none of them had eaten in days. For so long, that was their usual rate. Recent strains and exhaustion had made that hunger pain all the more noticeable and she found herself wanting food.

Just as the desires of greens and fresh water drifted into her mind, she smelled something earthen and hearty up ahead.

“Food?!” she chirped.

Wretch shrugged, unaware of whatever her sister was smelling. All she could focus on was the sound of Burden’s cane as it tapped on the stone. Years of listening had honed her ears to know the emotion and weariness associated with the depth and cadence of the taps. At that moment, they sounded rejuvenated, and Wretch felt glad. She just desired her sister to feel strong enough to continue on.

Sol and Grief reached a broad, heavily engraved door. It was round and inset, lined in pulsing runes neither recognized. The guide stepped aside and bowed.

“Our father awaits you,” he replied as the round door rolled open.

Sol and Grief stepped into the space and were met with a vaulted room that was heavily shrouded with grey incense smoke. Once again, Grief noticed that she could not smell it, even though it was drowning out the rest of the air. All of the acolytes within the room were nearly fully exposed, save for thin chains around their throats and masks over their mouths that held odd glass cylinders full of some manner of bubbling liquid.

Gold and white beans cut through the haze as Sol did his best to not focus on the bare bodies standing awkwardly still along the walls. They were so rigid, it almost didn’t feel sensual. It felt sterile. It felt as though they were machines, waiting to be activated. Something lurched in the smoke and his mind cleared.

“Welcome, long lost friends,” a fidgety, awkward voice said from the haze.

Sol stepped between the shadowy figure and Grief.

“Ysmerath?” he asked.

Green eyes flashed and there was a scratching sound as claws picked at aggrieved skin.

“Hello, Sol,” the voice replied.

By now, the cabbits and fae had reached a large room with another round door at its center. This door was inlaid in the floor like a platform opening, and they were all gathered to its edge.

“Is this the temple pool? Like Grief’s?” Burden asked as she looked at the closed door.

Her nostrils flexed and she breathed in the scent of fresh food. It seemed to be coming from the doorway.

“I don’t know. I don’t like this,” Wretch whispered.

Her spirit was unsettled, but Burden felt stronger beside her

“This chamber shall be where you are purified. When the door opens before you, waters will rise. Step in, all of you. There is space enough fit you together,” the guard smiled.

The door pulled open and a shallow pool began to fill. Shimmering green and cyan water flowed out from channels along the door lip, and a nearby cabbit lowered himself into the water. He sighed in relief as the gentle flow slid around his weary legs and waist. Others desired to feel his satisfaction for themselves, and they jumped in as well. Hundreds of bodies slid into the water, pushing Wretch and Burden forward.

“W-wait,” Wretch said.

But they were at the edge now. And a bath did sound lovely. Burden wanted to bathe herself then eat. She wanted to rest.

She wanted to stay.

Sol was holding back a cough.

“Look what has become of you, Lightbringer,” Ysmerath crooned.

He was still nothing more than mist and shadow.

“I… I came for you. In the great calamity. I wanted… your… help. But you didn’t answer,” he sighed.

“I am sorry, great radiant one. But we are together now.”

“What is this place? Where are we?” Grief asked.

“This is my home now. My sanctuary.”

Behind the veil of smoke, the figure writhed in frustration and scratched at his neck once again. Angered grunts began then stopped immediately.

Grief took Sol’s hand and moved closer to him.

“Your sanctuary is… very beautiful… desirous one,” she said in an attempt at flattery.

The scratching stopped and the eyes widened, as though Desire were a child who had just found a lost toy.

“It is? Do you like it? Would you like to stay? Do you desire to stay with me?” he asked.

Sol stood his ground.

“No, great one. We have to continue on. We are escorting a group of cabbits on a… pilgrimage. We must be off soon.”

Smoke spiraled in small circles as the god exhaled in frustration and slumped back to the shadows.

“No matter. Well, you are welcome to rest for a sleep or two if you would like. My temple welcomes you and your faithful.”

Sol measured his words. The offer felt open, and he suddenly did find himself desiring a bit of rest. Beside him, Grief was feeling the same thing. His hand was firm in her palm, yet gentle. His voice was deep. The little ones were exhausted and she wanted them safe. Especially the sisters. She desired for them to be safe and rested. A nearby pillow seemed to call to her.

“Why don’t we lay down, Sol?” she yawned.

“A bit of sleep could be good for all of us.”

Wretch and Burden let the water stream along their faces. Every being was quietly sighing in soft release as they soaked in the cool liquid. Nothing hurt. No one cried. For a moment, Weetch desired to stay here. Maybe they could just stay here and be safe.

Then the water vanished and they dropped. Reality returned with a gust as they all cried out and fell into the darkness below.

Wretch landed with a thud as Burden slapped beside her. Their bracing had not been stone or ground. It felt fleshy, and organic. Groans began, and the floor beneath them began to grunt and shift. Hundreds more fell in with them, landing on them and on top of them.

It was dark.

And it stank.

Wretch cried out when she breathed in the horrid, putrid stench of thousands of unwashed bodies and remnants of excrement.

Burden screamed as several other cabbits smooshed onto her.

“Burden! Burden!!” Wretch screamed as her senses became overwhelmed with smells so foul they burned her tongue and eyes.

Burden tried to move but was pinned down. Horror pinned her down even harder when she realized her hands were empty.

“My walking stick? My walking stick!” she cried.

Up above, the door began to close.

“Wait!” unseen voices yelled.

“No!!”

Hands lifted in desperate, unanswered prayer.

“No!!!”

Darkened, dehydrated mouths screamed out in terror as they crushed against one another within the elongated cylinder in which they’d been dropped with the other prisoners. Drool-drenched, stinking, rotting teeth gnawed beside them and below them. From what Wretch could make out in the dying light, they had landed in the pit of a deep, rancid hole, and were now being closed in with thousands of other bodies that were all groaning awake beneath them.

Rash covered hips and starvation-swollen stomachs and legs pushed down on them. Heads and hands pushed up on them. Hell consumed them in a chorus of screams, and as the pit turned pitch black, she began to claw her way towards the unseen sounds of her hysterical sister.

As much as he wanted to continue on immediately, Sol could not deny that staying for a safe night felt like a welcome reprieve. Grief slowly laid onto the ground and let her antlers hang over the edge of the massive pillow that was now engulfing her.

“So tired… so… so very tired,” she sighed.

Orange light flickered as a warning from within his hands. The beast did not like this opportunity to rest. It bit at the back of Sol’s logic, trying to wake him from the slumber that was swiftly overwhelming him.

“I… I should go tell the little ones that we will rest here for the night,” Sol said with a groggy yawn.

He turned towards the direction they came and the hidden god lurched forward from the smoke. Bent, sepsis stained fingers reached for him, lined with pockmarks and dirt that felt horridly out of place from the cleanliness before.

Sol recoiled slightly and the beast growled. Another pulse of orange moved through his body. He tried to clear his mind but it would not rinse itself of the drowsiness.

“No… no, I need to go see the little ones…” Sol said.

“…Or you could just lay down by the one who so desires to feel you beside her… let my acolytes deal with your faithful,” Ysmerath negotiated.

Orange roiled. Sleepiness akin to drunkenness was keeping Sol from thinking clearly. He could feel the thing within him fighting to wake him. He didn’t want it to wake. HeNeededToWake.

Heavy feet almost tripped over themselves as he turned to the doorway. Sol trudged to it with an unnatural weightedness, but when his hand found the place the door had been, it was gone.

“Where is the doorway we entered through?” Sol asked as clarity and orange malice both awoke within him.