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rotworld · 1 month ago

Text

1: Growing Shadows

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

on your homeworld of decretum, the nights are growing inexplicably longer. an imperial scholar arrives to investigate and comes to the conclusion that you know more than you're letting on.

warhammer 40k; original mandrake character/reader. explicit; contains dubcon (coercive/transactional), graphic depictions of violence and gore, murder, gangbang, non-human genitalia, non-consensual exhibitionism, ambiguous fate for the reader.

Theron is waiting for you in the Emerald Markets. He pretends he isn't. Pretends, like always, that it's just a happy coincidence your paths have crossed again, slinking out from the shadows of a stone arch.

“Shall we walk together?” he asks, as if he isn’t already following you.

It’s easy to be charmed because he is effortlessly charming in his sleek black coat with a stiff collar and silken cravat, smiling, clean-shaven, short hair parted down the middle to frame his handsome features. He speaks the sharp, precisely enunciated Gothic they teach at academies in the heart of the Imperium but he’s far friendlier than the usual Administratum census-taker or bureaucrat who occasionally visits. His interest in you is obvious, wandering gazes and lingering touches that make you wish he wasn’t spending all of his time holed up in the library.

He looks at you knowingly, a sly glance out of the corner of his eye when he catches you staring. You feel his hand settle lightly on your lower back.

“It was a lovely day while it lasted,” he says, looking up at the sky in dismay. “Does it really not bother you? All this dark? A mere four hours of sunlight hardly seems conducive to one’s emotional wellbeing.”

You shrug. “I think we’re all just used to it. The sun is nice but so is the moon. And it’s really not all that dark.”

“No,” he says with a laugh. “Not here, anyway.”

Walking the crowded streets of the market is like plunging into an open kaleidoscope, all color and crystal. There is food, of course, smoked meats and fresh fruits, spices overflowing from burlap sacks. There are hand-woven baskets and ceramics arranged on tiered shelves, tassel-edged tapestries and embroidered scarves, but more than anything, there are lanterns. If an artisan has dared to dream of it, it can be found here: round and angular, pyramidal and teardrop-elongated, simple four-sided boxes and dizzying geometric masterpieces with dozens of glittering faces. Decorative brass frames cradle panes of painted glass, tendriled metal latticework slicing the light into patterns as intricate as lace. Everywhere you look, they stain the night with spills of finely dappled watercolor, the dark rainbows of an oil slick.

“They really are something,” Theron marvels. “Did you know that Decretum’s lanterns are famous throughout the Imperium? My mentor has one in his office. Just a small one. Six-sided, with a rounded dome on top. Beautiful, but truly awful if you’re trying to read. I think it makes even more shadows than it chases away.”

You did know that. They’re your planet’s most profitable export. Nobles, governors, and wealthy socialites will pay a premium to get their hands on one. “You’re not really meant to use them for reading,” you tell him. “They soften the light, make it gentler. Much easier on the eyes.”

“A light that’s not meant to be bright,” he muses. “Curious.”

Movement catches your eye at the mouth of the alley. Three children huddle around a small orange lantern, giggling as they dart back and forth in front of the spotted light washing over the wall. They take turns holding their hands out, casting lopsided shapes with their splayed fingers and curling thumbs. A little boy holds up his fist, his other hand making a ‘V’ with two fingers that he wiggles back and forth. A girl, slightly older, presses her hands together, one splayed, the other limp. On the wall, the shadows of their outstretched hands look like the silhouettes of Decretum's wildlife; a snail and a spined, gaping lizard.

Theron slows his pace, watching the performance unfold. “What are they doing?” he asks. “Shadow puppets?”

You nod, pausing beside him. “It’s a game. ‘Shadow Eater.’ We all played it as kids.”

The girl curls her index fingers, making the lizard’s mouth gnash open and shut. She lunges forward, eclipsing the snail, and the boy makes a dramatic death wail, half-scream, half-gargle, leaping out of the lantern’s light. A different boy steps forward, this one far more ambitious with his movements. One hand first, downturned, index finger pointing—a branch. His other hand shapes a perching bird, a glaring eye formed in the space between an arching index and middle finger. “Ah, I see,” Theron says. “You have to keep thinking of something that can eat the last animal.” You think he’ll keep walking but he stays, hands in his pockets and head tilted, his curiosity unsated. The shadow bird suddenly takes flight, the branch vanishing as the boy loops this thumbs together to form a beak, both hands flapping. It descends on the lizard, mantles it with its jagged wings. The girl lets out a warbling death cry that makes the others laugh and scurries away.

“I was going through the planetary archives again today,” Theron tells you, keeping his voice low. “Decretum’s nights have grown incrementally longer over thousands of years. The increase, according to my calculations, is negligible. Fractions of a second. Hardly noticeable, until those fractions accrue into more easily measurable amounts. It’s not a normal, natural change. There are no local or astronomical phenomena that correlate with this particular trend, nothing about the atmosphere, the weather patterns or the nearest star. No other planet in the system has been affected the same way. It doesn’t make any sense.”

The youngest boy returns and makes a fox. One hand shapes the grinning head, two fingertips raised into tiny ears, while the other bends into paws and a curved body. It sneaks forward, ears flicking, and then it pounces. The older boy playing the bird warbles theatrically as he wrenches his hands apart. A frigid wind whistles through the alley and you shudder, rubbing your arms through your long sleeves. Theron adjusts his coat. The children holler excitedly and their game starts to go faster, the girl rushing back to the spotlight to make a larger canine shape. Both hands form a head, a scowling mouth, a protruding ear. Her wolf seizes the fox by the throat with a triumphant howl.

“Stranger still, I’ve noticed a secondary pattern. There are years where the change is larger than normal, the usual fractional increase insufficient to explain just how much longer the night becomes. The difference is quite stark. Whole seconds, sometimes. I don’t know what to make of it. But what truly confounds me is how unbothered you are about this. All of you.” Theron’s gaze shifts subtly as he speaks, watching you from the corner of his eye. Looking, you think, for a particular reaction.

You look back at him, trying to ignore the sick, anxious feeling in your chest. “We can’t control the sun. We can worry ourselves sick or we can keep living our lives.” You gesture at the children, laughing and shrieking playfully in their dance of predator and prey. “When I was their age, the nights were already long. Milliseconds or seconds, it doesn’t make much of a difference. It’s all we know.”

Theron studies your face in silence for a long, tense moment. There’s a wounded look in his eyes, something almost pleading. Guilt bubbles up in your chest.

It’s the older boy’s turn again—the last turn, you suspect. Most games end with the animal he makes. He holds one hand sideways, the other rearing atop like antlers. Theron watches wordlessly as the shadow puppets scuffle, clumsily miming a battle of claw and hoof. The wolf howls weakly, silenced with one final stomp. The glow of the lantern flickers briefly and the children cheer. “Shadow eater! Shadow eater!” they cry, dancing in snakeskin dusklight. “He eats us all up!”

“I suppose you’re right,” Theron says finally, his tone lightening somewhat. He starts walking again and you let out the breath you were holding, resuming your ambling pace. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t vent my frustrations on you. I’m accustomed to a bit more urgency when studying the Imperium’s myriad anomalies.”

“I’m sorry we’re not all more excited, or succumbing to mass panic,” you say, smiling when you manage to pull an amused huff out of him. “We’ve always been like this, I think. They say the earliest settlements on Decretum were plagued by all kinds of misfortune. Not much scares us. Definitely not the dark.”

“Everyone is afraid of the dark. It’s in our nature.”

You shake your head. “That’s because you think it’s full of monsters.”

“Isn’t it?” Theron asks.

“I don’t think so.”

You pass more lantern shops. More handicrafts. A livestock seller with scrappy blue chickens clucking in their wooden cages. Another group of children acting out another game of Shadow Eater, a squirrel fleeing the grasp of a screeching raptor. They wave when they see you, the light of their pale blue lantern bathing them in cold, wintry light.

At the edge of the marketplace, the neat tile path becomes bumpy cobblestone. A waning moon shines weakly through a thick gauze of clouds. The crowd thins as you venture further from the business district to the quiet neighborhood where Theron is staying. The few people you encounter are little more than a shift in the shadows, silhouettes that bow their heads and mutter greetings. A few carry lanterns, dim like dying stars, but many don’t. Theron stumbles sometimes, his toe catching on uneven stones and his gait thrown off by unexpected dips in the path. You’re much steadier. You can’t see very well but you don’t need to. You know the churn of the shadows here, the sounds they make, the thickness of them in your lungs.

You’ve never told Theron. You know he wouldn’t understand.

“That was a strange end to the game earlier,” he mentions. “That was a local species of cervid, wasn’t it? Surely they don’t eat wolves.”

You laugh. “No, there are a few variations. The kids are always making up new ones. Sometimes it’s about which animal is the cleverest. Sometimes it’s about which one is the strongest.”

There’s someone walking behind you. They’re some distance away, far enough that you’d have trouble spotting them if you turned around, but you can feel them, can feel how the dark shudders around their shape in displeasure. “Fascinating,” Theron says. “And what about the best at concealing things? The best liar, perhaps?” Someone steps into the path ahead. Several someones, their footsteps loud. You hear the creak of leather; the clink of metal. You freeze and Theron stops beside you, his hand squeezing your shoulder. “I didn’t want to do this. I have given you every opportunity to admit the truth and you’ve squandered them all.”

You tear out of his grasp and he lets you. There’s a hiss; a blade unsheathing. Then a crackling, a dull hum, a white hot glare searing your eyes. Theron holds a sword in his hand, the blade coursing with luminescent energy. It would sever your limb and cauterize the wound in the same swift stroke.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your throat constricting with fear.

“Taking you into custody,” Theron says. Gone is the charm and the warmth and the kindly demeanor, replaced by sharp coldness. The light of his sword is nothing like a Decretum lantern. It is harsh and untempered. The shadows shrink back from it warily. “You weren’t responsive to gentle questioning, so I must resort to something more intensive.”

“Questioning? For what? What did I do?”

“Does the name Lyra ring a bell?” He cocks his head at your blank expression, his lips curling into a contemptuous scowl. “No? What about Petros? Asherin? Willem?”

“Theron, I don’t—”

“Those were my colleagues. Lyra would have told you she was an artist studying Decretum lantern designs. Petros, a student of rural Imperial architecture. Asherin, a governor’s son on vacation. Only Willem openly declared his authority. He was always fond of the heavy-handed approach. Overconfident.” Theron unlatches the first few buttons of his coat, just enough to peel back his lapel and expose something glinting and metallic affixed to the inside. A crest, you realize. A symbol. A long line like a stake with a leering skull in the center—

Your pulse quickens. You didn’t recognize it at first because of the stylization, the curling scroll adornment, the wings atop the skull. That’s a Rosette, symbol of the Inquisition.

Theron lied to you, too.

“Ah. Now you remember,” he says. “Once, perhaps, you could’ve gotten away with it and escaped without further scrutiny. The Imperium is vast and paperwork is excruciatingly slow. But twice? Four times? This backwater you call a civilization has made Inquisitors disappear, and each time, the planet’s nights grew longer. I know the taint of heresy when I see it.”

He steps forward and you bolt, ducking beneath the clumsy grasp of someone who tried to sneak up behind you. Theron shouts in anger and you hear a gunshot, feel the hiss of something whizzing past you. A roaring bloom of heat and light shakes the ground and steals your breath, sends you careening, rolling, shoving yourself back on your feet. You don’t know if you’re hit, can’t tell if the fire licked the skin off your ankles or shards of shattered stone lodged in your calves with adrenaline numbing everything but the fear.

There are more of them and they move with the coordination of a wolf pack, anticipating your movements and cutting off your escape. Another shot goes wide in the dark, a blink of sizzling dawn that turns burns dancing spots into your vision. Your shadow sprints at your side, stretched tall by lanterns perched on porch steps and warming darkened windows, stretched and contorted with each small explosion. Silhouettes stir behind drawn curtains, watching and waiting. Knowing you will do what must be done.

You hold out your hands. A simple one to start: all fingers facing up, spread apart. Grass swaying in the wind. The shape is clumsy and jittering as you run but you hope it’ll be enough. “See me,” you whisper desperately. “See me and come to me.” You round a corner, stumble, throw yourself forward on scraped hands and knees. A lantern looms atop a fence post, throwing light across the ground. You see a rabbit, flat and shadow, cast by something that isn’t there. It darts between your feet, too precise and perfect to have been formed by hands. “See me,” you say. “See—”

Another shot, loud like thunder, and this time you know you’re hit. You’re warm. Burning. Your shoulder throbs. Slickness dribbles down your back, following the curve of your spine. The pain is distant but it’s gaining on you, an ache sprouting sharper edges. Theron is careful. He keeps his aim low, non-lethal but easily maiming. One wrong move and you’ll lose your legs.

Your hand shakes when you hold it up, thumb tucked in, index and little fingers bent at the knuckles. You use your arm, the bulky material of your sleeve to make the body. A cat, ears perked, tail wiggling playfully. The answer flies on the wall beside you, sleek and avian. This one is nothing like the stiff, crooked lizard-eater the children made for their game. It’s a fearsome thing with a hooked beak and great talons, shedding ashy clumps of feather-shaped darkness in its wake.

The night grows colder. Your breath trickles from your lips as pale smoke.

Another flash illuminates the street too brightly, everything pale and overexposed. But there is shelter. Darkness. An open alley—a chance. A risk. You dart for it, fire and death at your heels. A pair of lanterns sit against one stone wall, one warm and dawn-colored, one cool like the deep sea. Theron’s followers appear at the other end, blocking your exit. Your hands are trembling, fingers tingling with warning nips of frostbite. Your shapes become rudimentary and crude. One-handed cave snake. Limp nose-fingered steppe camel. Drooping, hideous Decretum greater spider, your hands too stiff to articulate proper movement.

But the game goes on, each movement conjuring a new, monstrous response from your unseen partner. The beasts grow larger, less familiar, more horrific with each passing turn: a dripping mirebeast. A segmented dross worm, as thick as your torso. A writhing, churning, too many mouthed nobody-maker, devourer of bones, souls and names. These are not animals found on Decretum. They are not found anywhere that has ever known the kiss of sunlight, however briefly.

And then a blast—an earth-shaking sound and sensation that knocks you off your feet and steals the breath from your lungs. Theron is close when he pulls the trigger. You see him briefly illuminated in the flash of fire, the burning golden-red of engulfing agony crackling like the glow of a bonfire against his face. You’re half-turned when the explosive round immolates everything below your knee. The pain turns your thoughts to hot wax, shapeless and leaking from the screaming terror in your mind. Is your leg still there? Is it gone? Melted into a bubbling slurry of liquified flesh and quivering tar puddles of what was once muscle? You don’t know, can’t tell, can’t feel it. Can’t feel anything through the pain boiling your blood, the rawness of scraped palms and wheezing, smoke-filled lungs.

But the game. The calling. It’s not done. One more, you think. Just one more. There is one beast that trumps all others. One way that it always ends. You try to turn over onto knees that might be shattered. The ground is blackened. Uneven. Speckled with blood. Someone smashes the lanterns. Kicks them over and stomps on what’s left. The lights gutter out and shadows eagerly fill their space like swarming carrion birds to a corpse.

“That was a warning,” Theron tells you. “I only need enough of you to answer my questions. I can keep you alive with far less than this if I have to.” The sword in his hand thrums softly with power. Its glow is unsightly. Powerful. It fills the alley. Everything caught in its spotlight glow casts a long, sharply defined shadow. Even as you’re surrounded on all sides by inquisitorial agents, it’s easy to find your hunched shape among their legs in your silhouette doubles along the wall. Your vision swims. Theron’s cold sneer turns blurry. You pitch forward at his feet in a deep bow, your forehead pressed to the ground before his boots. He inhales sharply. Almost a laugh. He thinks you’re groveling, about to beg for your life.

But you’re not. You’re playing the game. Humans have bested the nobody-maker. Not always. Not without great sacrifice. Like the canopy moose of Decretum’s most treacherous forests trampling a wolf to save its young, this is not a battle one ever hopes to fight and it is never won without scars.

“See me and come to me,” you say, your voice a hoarse, ruined whisper. You know you are heard. You know, when the darkness ripples like the surface of a lake, that you are answered. Theron takes a cautious step back. You’re too weak to lift your head and follow his gaze but you know this coldness. This darkness. This feeling, like the night is a beast come to roost.

There is a shadow on the wall. An extra. One that should not be there. Monstrously tall and spindly, the shapeless thing looks nearly human until it moves, predator-graceful and uncanny like a nightmare glimpsed in the twilight between waking and sleep. It slithers across the alley wall into the thicket of shadows caging you in. Theron cries out a warning but he’s too late. His voice dies to a strangled croak.

Meaning spreads in your mind. Not sound but its aftermath, like the cosmic scream of a star long dead. Your mind makes it into words but some of them curve and fractal, shattering into multiple concepts all spoken at the same time. “Hello,” it says, but also, “Greetings misfortunes night eternal.” Its name, too, is like the color that pours from a prism lantern, a blur of ceaseless beauty. I Am The Darkness Ever-Growing, but Ever-Growing also means Changing in its language, also Covering, also Devouring. Once, you heard it speak its name and it sounded like I Am The Shadow Devouring, so that’s what you told the others. That’s still the name they know, however shortened, however calcified by human language.

Shadow Eater comes closer, passing through the unmoving throng of Theron’s retinue. It doesn’t touch them; only their shadows. Each time it eclipses them, covers their featureless doubles in its own darkness, they start to shiver and bleed.

“Dusk-speaker,” it addresses you.

“Chosen,” it hisses.

“Lover,” it sighs.

“By the Throne,” Theron whispers. “A mandrake.”

A torrent of blood spatters the ground beside you. One of Theron’s men clutches his throat and the gaping wound splitting it open, a red, glistening maw oozing over his scrabbling fingers. He’s choking. Something bulges under his skin, in his neck. You see darkness in the folds of the wound between slippery soft tissues. Clawed fingers the color of night, tearing him apart from the inside.

“This land,” Shadow Eater says, “this world, planet, garden. Long have you defended it. Long have I aided you. Closed prying eyes. Lopped off thieving fingers.” It steps closer. Another man screams like an animal caught in a snare. Blood gushes from his eyes, his nose, between his teeth. It trickles from his ears and stains his clothes in heavy red shadows like sweat. “They do not understand. Outsiders. Sun-scourged. Light-drunk and drowning-in-day—”

“You made a deal with it?” Theron hisses. “It’s an abomination. Do you understand what you’ve done? It’s devouring your world!”

You try to sit up. To raise your head, at least. Everything hurts too much. Sprawled on your side, you crane your neck to peer at the wall and find Shadow Eater gazing down at you. It bends down, crouching in front of your writhing, miserable shadow. When it reaches out, you swear you can feel the soothing cold of its palm on your sweat-soaked forehead. “To be eaten is to be sheltered,” you say. “To be embraced. Ever-growing.”

“Do you hear yourself? This is madness! You’ve doomed all of Decretum.” Theron clutches his sword in his shaking fist, jaw clenched in simmering rage but you see fear in his eyes. He hasn’t moved. He can’t. There’s the slightest quiver in his voice, easily missed if you hadn’t heard so many Inquisitors break before him. “If you kill me, the full force of the Inquisition will be at your door. Ordo Malleus is well aware of the strange occurrences on this planet and word will spread. My death will hasten your destruction.”

Shadow Eater turns towards him slowly. Someone retches, heaves and vomits. Bile, blood and bits of intestine slosh across the ground. “Perhaps,” Shadow Eater says. In words this time. Out loud, so Theron can hear and understand it. “Perhaps it will. Your death could bring more death. Annihilation by wrathful brightness. Weapons of night-killing. My garden, turned to ash.”

You inhale shakily. Shadow Eater’s clawed hand caresses your shadow’s face and you feel it, firm, possessive, wanting. The steady touch of an old lover who knows you better than anyone.

“Or,” it purrs, “perhaps they will come here and find nothing. Only darkness and echoes. Only the hungry maw of the void.”

They’re dying all around you. Collapsing to their knees, cupping the gruesome spill of entrails from open bellies. Bruises bloom beneath the skin and the bulging outline of some voracious thing presses against their flesh from the inside. Theron’s stony expression crumbles with every pained whimper and gurgling gasp. “Don’t do this,” he says solemnly. “Surely you know, deep down, that this is wrong. I don’t know how you came into the service of this beast or how many came before you, but you could be the last. You could save this world. The children of Decretum deserve lives bathed in the light of the Emperor, not this wretched darkness—”

“The sun,” you correct him. Theron gapes at you, too stunned to reply. “It’s the sun that lights this planet four hours a day. The last time Decretum felt the light of the Emperor was ten thousand years ago. He brought war. He vaporized cities and killed millions. Decretum came into the Imperium through bloodshed.”

“And this is the answer? More bloodshed? The deaths of billions more?”

You shake your head. “You’re afraid of the dark, Theron. We haven’t been for a very long time.”

Shadow Eater laughs like a death rattle and the grating of metal. You see slopes of lean muscle in its arms, wisps of hair spilling over its shoulders, the pointed ends of unnaturally long ears. Unnatural light throbs in swirling patterns across its body and glitters in the shape of eyes narrowed in sadistic glee. The eerie green glow does not weaken the shadows but makes them darker, more solid somehow.

“You called. Summoned. Pleaded. Needed, and shall receive,” it says. “If you can pay the price.”

You hesitate to ask. “What’s the price?”

Its hand moves. Lowers slowly. You watch it touch your shadow’s neck and feel its cold fingers on your throat, testing how hard it can push before you choke. “Everything,” it says. “All of you, love of mine. Body. Mind. Soul. For that, I keep my garden. For that, I save your world.”

“Don’t!” Theron begs.

“This is how it ends, isn’t it?” you ask.

Shadow Eater laughs but more softly this time. It’s the creak of a door that has not been opened as long as anyone can remember. The whispers of ice underfoot before it breaks and cold water swallows you whole. “Yes,” it says, its palm over your heart. “This is how it ends.”

“In devouring?”

“In shelter,” it promises. In remaking, it means, in wholeness and in eternity. It trails its claws up your arm and your sleeve comes apart like flesh beneath a scalpel, the fabric split cleanly all the way to your shoulder. Underneath, your skin is adorned with the same patterns marking its shadowflesh. In the dark, they glow the same lightless green.

“Shadow Eater,” you say, just as you have so many times before, “I will pay this price.”

All across Decretum, night roils like a stormy sea. The darkness is a tangible, hungry thing that grows and deepens, seeping from every corner. Lanterns flicker, die and flare to life once again in the same haunting shade of green no matter the color of their glass. The clouds eat the moon piece by jagged piece. The dead and dying around you begin to bloat and contort, shadows spilling from their gashes and wounds thick like sludge. Claws crack open rib cages and scrape through flesh as mandrakes emerge from each broken body, not mere shadows but real and solid.

Their hair is silver like the missing moon and their faces are jack-o-lantern smiles, glowing green features carved from the darkness that change in blinks and flickers. Shadow Eater speaks words not meant for you, animal calls and echoes that make your head spin. The other mandrakes creep closer. One pushes you upright too quickly and you hiss, trying to shift your weight off your knees. Another trails its frigid fingers along the underside of your leg—still there, you only realize now, but badly burned and oozing. It collects your clotted blood and pus on its claws and brings the mixture to its mouth, a long, green tongue curling around the digit to taste your pain.

They all speak at once, a cacophony of threats, sweet nothings, insults and seduction. You are beloved and you are despised, a treasure, a whore, a shadow at twilight. They call you dusk-speaker, sun-touched, most wondrous in moonlight, most coveted of consorts. One plasters itself against your back and shoves its hands into your clothes, caressing your skin with greedy hands. Another presses its mouth to yours, each teasing lick and nip leaving tingles of frostbite on your lips. Another slides its fingers between your legs and rubs too rough, too fast, making you whimper and squirm.

You lose count of how many there are—five? Six? They blur into one another, shift and meld and split apart. One spreads your legs, a claw on each of your knees holding them apart, while another eagerly fills the space between them. Your clothes turn to tatters, exposing all of your markings. They are vivid now, a deeper green than you remember, giving off the same lightless glow.

“Shadow Eater!” you cry. You’re afraid. You’ve always known the name of the dark, but suddenly it’s become a stranger.

“Yes, dusk-speaker?” it answers. Its voice comes from everywhere at once. Behind you. Beside you. In your own head, a whisper between your thoughts. The mandrake kneeling between your legs cups your cheek and its touch is firm. Familiar. It urges you to look at the flickering green flames of its eyes. Is it Shadow Eater? Are they all the same mandrake, the same shadow split seven ways? You don’t know. Maybe you never will. One of them bites your neck hard enough to draw blood and your pained whine excites it, makes it pant hungrily into your skin. Its tongue feels like the press of an ice cube, too cold and then soothing.

“Have you always known it would end this way?” it asks. “Have you longed for it?”

They devour you every way they can. Your pain and your pleasure, your thoughts and your senses, your body and mind. Pressed between them, you become nothing more than a vessel for mindless sensation. Your hands tangle in snow-white hair. Your legs lock around straining, pistoning hips, meeting frenzied thrusts.

Shadowflesh is not the same as a human body. The things they conjure between their legs to fuck you could be any shape and any size, changing whenever they see fit. You take something long and flexible, thighs quivering as it wriggles deeper than you expected, deeper than should be physically possible. You kiss a cold, greedy mouth with two tongues. More hands than you can count hold you, cushion you, reposition you. Time loses meaning. There’s only the dark, and the green, and the ecstasy that only a shadow can give you.

And Theron.

You jolt in sudden realization. He’s right there. He’s staring right at you. Still frozen, still clutching his useless sword, the pulsating glint of its energy sheath starting to fizzle and dim. Shadow Eater stands beside him. Towers over him. Large, monstrous claws frame his face, never letting him look away from your body in the grip of countless mandrakes. It makes him watch as you are taken again, and again, and again.

“One final kindness. A gift you do not deserve,” it hisses in his ear. “I am in you, seeker of forbidden answers. In your darkness. Your hidden places. I know what you desperately try to conceal, and here it is. What you desired and what you never could have had. Never. Do you understand? They were mine before you even learned their name.”

Defiant to the end, Theron says nothing. He hides behind the wall that every Inquisitor builds all around their minds and hearts, stone cages of distance and misery. His lip twitches just once, just slightly. A cry stifled. He swallows hard. He doesn’t even try to look away. A twinge of sadness and pity makes your chest feel tight but the mandrakes don’t let it linger. One catches your chin between its claws and you are kissed by the night that eats Decretum one imperceptibly small bite at a time, dying the same little deaths. The darkness deepens and the shadows grow until there is nothing else.

Theron’s sword blinks and flickers and finally dies. It is the last light that will ever shine on Decretum. There will be searchlights someday, the whirling lighthouse beacons of voidfaring vessels in search of a planet that is supposed to be there, but they will never find anything. Sometimes, when the crew cycles shifts and an officer returns to their quarters for rest, they will receive a transmission that has no discernable source. Nonsensical, mostly. Just interference. Indistinct hisses of static.

But somewhere in there, they’ll think, it almost sounds like the voices of children playing a game.

#rotpeach writes #goretober #starting off the month nice and weird and overambitious as usual #apologies if this is extra special typo hell i will give this post a makeover in t he morning #but i started writing this one at 5 am in an airport got extremely carried away and physically cannot keep going #for my non-warhammer readers dont worry im doing original stuff this month too #warhammer 40k

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moonlightsmasquerade · 2 months ago

Text

Monsters in Mayweather: The Fool's Errand

CW: Mild Body Horror, Blood

Detective Ruby Phillips and Officer Theron Howell head to a disturbance call where the two stumble into something they never should have.

“911 what is your emergency?”

“I was passing by the old church, the uh, the one on Black Oak Hill, and I heard strange noises coming from inside of it.”

“Do you see anyone?”

“No. I only hear something, it sounds like someone talking really loudly, I’ve… also heard a noise that sounded like screaming coming from there. I think there’s something going on.”

“Alright, we’ll send someone down to go look at it.”

…

The police department building was nearly empty, most had gone home, save for a few officers, one was Detective Ruby Phillips, who was doing her usual reading and looking over emails.

“Howell, disturbance call for the church on Black Oak, go take a look.” She heard another officer speak to Theron Howell, his head shot up from the files he was reading, a stray piece of red hair fell over his face when he did.

“On it.” He replied, standing up and putting his things away before grabbing his coat

“I’ll come too.” Ruby stood up, the other officer nodded and she followed Theron as he started walking to the front.

“It’s just a disturbance call, you don’t have to come,” he said. “I can go alone.”

“It's fine, Joanna’s with my mom. I don't mind sparing a few hours, besides it's better for you to have some kind of backup, I can drive us too.” she replied, picking up her own coat and walking with him to the car, he handed her the keys and the two headed in. Once Theron got the GPS set up, Ruby started the car and began the long drive to the abandoned church. They sat in near silence, save for the radio's low volume and occasional crackles.

“Something’s bugging you… isn’t it?” Theron asked. Ruby cursed in her head how easy it was for him to tell.

“Do you remember last year? The incident with the man and his son who went camping?” She asked, receiving a “Mhm.” and a nod from Theron.

“It was near that church, and that's not the only case surrounding it either, there've been several missing persons, and all of them went missing in the same area.” Ruby said, “And all of the cases are cold.” Her shoulders were tense for a moment, before she relaxed again. “I just want to see if there's anything there, maybe I’ll find some type of answer.”

“Right, makes sense.” He replied, looking out at the dark stretch of road, passing by thick forest.

“It’s still a bit odd though for anyone to be there, it's been abandoned for god knows how long. Who on earth would try to go there now?” he said, “I’m just hoping it's nothing serious, like, maybe people are just pulling a terrible prank there.” He continued, then he heard a small snicker from Ruby.

“Could just be some dumb kids performing a seance or a group of ‘ghost hunters’ screaming over a random noise.” Ruby joked, Theron gave a small laugh to her response.

She parked the car in front of the old place, a massive stone structure atop a small hill, surrounded by a graveyard next to the main road within the dense forest. it seemed out of place in a small town like Mayweather. The two stepped towards it, a strange symbol had been painted on the front doors, it gave Ruby a slight shiver looking at it.

There was a lock and chain on the door, they were unbelievably rusty, and snapped with ease as Theron cut it with bolt cutters. Both felt another shiver when the chain snapped and fell from the handles. He pushed against the heavy front door. It creaked loudly as he opened it. It let out a gust of cold wind, Ruby pulled her jacket tighter. She got an uneasy feeling, like they shouldn’t be there. She pushed that aside, they had a job to do, even if it was nothing they had to check for anyone there.

The air in the place was freezing as the two entered. Running their flashlights along the huge room, they saw pews leading up to an altar, well, the remains of an altar. Now it was a rotting pile of wood. stained glass windows running along the sides, everything was covered in thick amounts of dust and it smelled like mildew and rotting wood. Theron cleared his throat and called out,

“Hello? Anyone there?”

No sound returned except the echoes of Theron's words. The two continued to walk through only the sound of their footsteps rang through the church.

He ran his flashlight across the pews to the front, staring at the stained glass at the front just above the altar’s spot, it looked like a saint in the visage of the glass. Theron felt a deep discomfort looking at it, the eyes of the glass almost seemed to be looking right at him. The smile it had seemed a little too big. He looked away from it, no need to freak himself out over a stupid stained glass window.

Ruby stopped Theron.

“Do you hear that?” she whispered. She walked briskly towards the front, past the rows which formerly held a choir and up the small set of steps leading to the front.

“What? Ruby!” He quietly exclaimed, and quickly followed behind as she stopped where the altar once was. Ruby tapped her foot against the floorboards, causing a hollow creak as opposed to the solid wood they had just been walking on.

“What the hell?” Theron breathed out as Ruby yanked at the boards, they lifted into a trapdoor, revealing a passage under the church.

“Listen.” Ruby said, the two listening closely to the passage, the cold, musty air down below brushing over them. Theron’s eyes widened, he heard a quiet sound, it sounded like shuffling, a person moving, or dragging something. She moved to go down before Theron stopped her.

“Wait, I-I don’t like this,” he looked back to her, “This place is giving me the creeps, something's not right, it-it feels like…” his words faltered, before he could say It feels like a trap, the two suddenly heard something, it sounded like a person crying out.

“I have to go check, what if someones hurt? I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't try to make sure.” she responded, he furrowed his brow but nodded in agreement with her words.

“Right, You’re right. I’ll stay up here and keep an eye out then,” Theron said, “Shout if you need help ok?” Ruby held up a thumbs up before descending down the passage. She turned on her light, shining it across the room.

A crypt

Ruby’s face twisted at the overwhelming smell of mildew and rot. She stepped carefully forward, flashing the light down the many halls. She knew some churches had crypts in their basements, but she hadn’t expected one down here, much less one this big. She continued, listening for the shuffling and following the direction that it seemed to be coming from. Her flashlight shone on the concrete floor, her stomach twisted slightly, there were dark stains splattered across the floor. The shuffling sound had stopped, and she heard another, a groan.

“Hello?” she called out. The voice let out another groan.

"Hello? It's okay, I'm a police officer, I'm here to help."

Shuffling again, the sound was coming closer, a figure turned the corner of the crypt hallway. Ruby dropped her light, gasping and turning on her heel.

The person was dead, their skin was practically gray and falling off their bones and its milky eyes had looked directly into Ruby. She sprinted towards the passage, without her flashlight it was the only light in the dark. She could hear the sound of more shuffling, more dead groans echoing. Ruby had to get out.

…

“THERON!”

SLAM

Theron jumped, turning quickly to find the door shut.

“RUBY!” He immediately grabbed at the edges and started pulling, but it wasn’t budging. He kept pulling, the jagged edge of the wood door digging into his fingers as he did. He could hear her shout and bang against it, Theron tried to muster every ounce of strength he had to get the door open.

Until Theron felt the back of his jacket being pulled, yanking him back and throwing him from the trapdoor. He fell down the short staircase, he felt dazed and tried to stumble back up. As he did he looked up, seeing the figure that grabbed him. His eyes widened when he realized it wasn’t a person. It snarled at him as he started to back away slowly. The face was stretched like a muzzle, with sharp teeth. It looked like an animal imitating a human, its yellow bloodshot eyes burned into Theron as he stepped back. It suddenly charged towards him, swinging its clawed hands. He jumped back, attempting to dodge but the monster still managed to graze him, slicing two small gashes on his cheek. He cried out from the stinging pain. He didn’t want to leave Ruby, but this thing was standing between him and the door trapping her, and it already took a swing at him. Theron took a quick glance to the church doors, they were still open, he took a running start towards it.

Only for it to immediately slam in his face

“NO!” he shook at it, pulling at the doors, but much like the door holding Ruby this wasn’t budging. He saw the monster start running towards him, so he abandoned the door idea and ran around the pews. He had one idea to get out, and he hoped it would work.

The glass of the side window shattered as Theron jumped through it, hitting the gravel outside. He tried to stand up just as fast as he fell, gravel and glass scraped his hands and knees as he ran. Fumbling for his radio, he tried to call for Ruby.

“Ruby! I’m in trouble but don’t worry, I’m-I’m gonna get help ok, I’m going to come back for you!” He let out breathlessly, he continued to run, hearing the sound of something running behind him.

…

Ruby could hear his voice crackle through as she ran down the crypt. She abandoned the door, standing there she could end up killed. She’d seen zombie movies, she knew regardless of what was fact or fiction literal corpses coming to life and chasing her couldn’t end well. The zombie was also fast, faster than she expected. She hid in one of the hallways, an indent in the wall was enough cover for her to stop and try to get her heart to stop racing. Ruby ran over her options, flashlight was gone, it wasn’t too dark to see but she’d be in trouble if she got lost, worst case scenario she could use her gun, and Theron was preoccupied so he couldn’t help, by how frantic he sounded on the radio something was going on up there as well.

Ruby had to get out of there, she wasn’t going to leave her daughter without a mother.

She took a deep breath and drew her gun out, slowly walking out and keeping as quiet as she could, gun raised. The zombies seemed to be gathered at the base of the ladder, waiting for her. It was risky, but there was a possibility she could distract them. Ruby aimed her gun down the corridor, and fired. The sound echoed down, the horde shuffling towards the noise. She waited and watched as they got further and further away. Ruby sprinted towards the ladder, she reached towards it.

She didn’t know one had stayed behind.

It grabbed her, pulling her back and a sharp pain shot through her shoulder. Ruby yelled, thrashing in an attempt to get it to let go. She opted for slamming the corpse against one of the crypt walls in a desperate attempt to get it to let go. It released her, tearing at the skin of her shoulder as she made a mad dash for the ladder, scrambling up as she heard the rest of them coming back towards her. She shoved the door open, and ran, running past the pews and through the church doors, both now wide open. Running towards the car, Ruby stumbled and fell forward.

She took deep heavy breaths as the exhaustion was settling in and the adrenaline was going down. This caused the pain in her shoulder to shoot through her body more, Ruby tried to push herself back up, but her strength was sapped from her.

“Theron!” She called out, exhausted. The pain was getting more intense, in not just her arm, but her head, her chest, her legs. It was getting to be too much, her arms could barely hold up her body, Ruby collapsed, lying on the ground. Tears ran down her face, this was it, she was going to die and she would never see Joanna ever again.

“Help!” She called out, her voice cracked, “Help! Please…” Her vision became spotty and Ruby lost consciousness.

…

“10-18! An officer is down and there is an immediate threat, we need backup now!” Theron practically yelled into his radio, the thing was still chasing him, he could hear its footsteps behind him as he sprinted down the hill towards the graveyard behind the church. It lunged, catching a clawed hand against Theron’s leg, he stumbled, falling forward and rolling down the hill slightly. He tried to get up, seeing the gash in his leg and wincing. Theron grabbed at his radio again,

“Backup, We need backup, please we need help-”

Its teeth bit down into his arm, Theron screamed. The beast held firm, and he scrambled for the gun at his waist. Once it was out of the holster he fired the gun towards the monster, it let go. He fired again at the monster before pulling himself up, ignoring the screaming pain in the wounds on his arm and leg. He just needed safety, running behind a mausoleum and taking a moment to breathe. Theron could hear whimpers coming from the monster as well as his own haggard breaths.

He looked back towards the church, the entrance was open again. Ruby might have gotten out, Theron looked towards the sound of the monster, it hadn’t moved. He sprinted back up the hill, the gash in his leg making him stumble slightly. Ignore the pain, focus on getting back there, back to Ruby, to safety. Theron ran towards the open doors, shouting Ruby’s name before freezing. Theron saw something on the ground, a figure in front of the church. He stumbled closer to see it was Ruby lying there, unmoving.

“Ruby!” he shouted, running towards his fallen friend and kneeling down to her. There was a massive wound on her shoulder, soaking her shirt in blood. He shook her, no response.

“No…” he choked, “No, no, no. Please you… you can’t…” Theron hiccuped, unable to keep himself from sobbing, first he was attacked, running for his life for god knows how long, he was exhausted and in pain, and now Ruby was…

He stopped when he heard a small groan and saw Ruby stir slightly. She lifted her head,

“Theron?” she said weakly.

“Oh god,” he sighed with relief, tears ran down his cheeks, stinging the gashes. She was alive.

“Take my hand, I’ve got you.” Theron started to pull her up, ignoring the burning pain in his arm and leg as he hoisted her up to lean on him, her eyes fell on his wound.

“You… You’re bleeding.” she said.

“I’m fine, don’t focus on me, just focus on staying awake ok?” He wrapped her arm around his shoulder and held onto her waist, moving slowly and carefully. Theron could hear the sounds of sirens, an ambulance and another police car driving up to where they were.

Now they show up. Theron thought, he moved towards the paramedics,

“Help! She’s hurt!” Theron called out, letting a paramedic take Ruby from him. An officer tried to talk to him, but he felt his own vision getting spotty. Another paramedic caught him as he fell and blacked out.

…

Both were taken to the hospital, it was all a blur at that point, Ruby remembered waking up intermittently, being driven in the ambulance with an unconscious and bleeding Theron, waking up to her wounds freshly patched, her mother bringing her daughter Joanna seeing her, and her other friend Dallas Langley coming into the hospital to see her, being allowed to see Theron, and speaking to a fellow officer about what to put down for a report, they took a tape in to record and transcript everything. When it seemed like the dust settled she and Theron came back to the station, only to be asked to see the police chief individually, Theron going first.

Ruby watched through the window of Police Chief Holmwood’s office. She couldn’t hear a word, but she didn’t like seeing Theron’s eyes widened, before he looked like he was protesting, and the chief stopped him as his head hung low, nodding to something and signing his report. He exited, and just looked sadly towards Ruby. She watched him go, and she was told to go in to sign off on the report.

“So I just have to sign and go right?” she said.

“About that,” Holmwood started, “I’ve overheard the audio you and Mr. Howell gave and for the official reports we’ve had to include changes.”

“Changes? To an official report? Sir I don’t think-”

“The reports are public Ms. Phillips, and frankly the stories sound unbelievable, so for the public record, you were both attacked by a burglar-” The chief interrupted.

"What? This is ridiculous! I know what I saw! I wasn't attacked by some random burglar it was a group of the undead-"

"And we need to be taken seriously Ms. Phillips, we cannot put a fantasy in a police report, Mr. Howell has already agreed to a new version of the report for his side and if you want to keep your position as Detective I suggest the same for you." Holmwood responded.

Ruby wanted to continue protesting, but this was a battle she was going to lose, and she hated that. So she signed the paper, left the room and slammed the door. She exited the station. When she did Ruby saw Theron was also sitting outside, smoking a cigarette. He took a look at her furious expression.

“You okay?” he asked,

“No, No! I’m not okay! They’ve put bullshit in that report and expect me to be okay with it! Lying about what was there. I know what I saw!” Ruby’s eyebrows furrowed and she crossed her arms, huffing in disdain.

“I know what I saw.” she repeated in a quieter tone, sounding slightly defeated, Theron still didn’t respond, and she looked at him, he stared straight ahead. Her eyes fell on the two scars on his face for a moment. Her face turned to an expression of concern.

“Theron?”

“I know you’re mad about the report but, god would you even believe what happened to us?” He said his voice quiet, Ruby let out a sigh. The two sat in silence for a long time, both wanted to ask the other about details, but neither really wanted to pry.

"Do you… feel okay?" Theron asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

"I mean… I guess, as okay you can feel nearly dying, are you?”

“I dunno… I’ve got… a weird feeling. It’s probably nothing, I think the shock is still getting to me.” Theron said.

“I guess I do to, I…” she paused, mulling over what to say, “What attacked you wasn’t human… was it.” she asked

“No… definitely not, and… you-”

“No I don’t… think it was”

More silence.

“I’m only asking because I want to make sure I’m not crazy or making up something in my head to cope or something.” Ruby said.

“Yeah, I think if you weren’t there I would have convinced myself it was something normal like a random attacker or something” Theron took his cigarette box out and offered one to Ruby, she shook her head. The two sat in uncomfortable silence yet again.

“Are you good to drive yet?” She asked, attempting to change the topic.

“No, I called Dallas to get me.” He responded

“I’ll join you two then, beats taking the bus.”

Another beat of silence. Ruby scooted slightly closer to him.

“You know, if you need anything you can call me.” Ruby said, giving him a smile, Theron nodded, “Of course, and if you call I’ll be there too.” he replied.

Both of them felt pits in their stomachs, a feeling of dread that neither could shake off, and both pushed the feeling aside, hopeful things would turn out fine.

#monsters in mayweather #ruby phillips #theron howell #original story #my writing #original horror story #horror #horror story #original characters

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