In the bowel of the Dungeon, in Rafnov’s Bounty, a cursed creature slowly ambles forward.
His body contains too much power to walk straight. The Mithril that was donated to him by Mother still has to fully fuse with him.
Yet, it gives him power, it gives him knowledge, and, most importantly, it gives him thought.
Before he was infused, his thoughts had been a messy jumble of things. He could barely distinguish one concept from the other. He could only obey the broad orders of Mother, never fully understanding the purpose of his fights—or worse, of himself.
Now, though, the Mithril has carved a path in his mind where thoughts run clear as crystal. His mind is a spring of understanding of his purpose, his existence, and Mother’s will.
He’s here not just to kill his prey, but to strip their soul, to take them, absorb them, so that he can absorb more of the Mithril’s power.
Now, his hunger has a purpose and an outlet.
Furthermore, his ultimate goal has been bestowed upon him from Mother.
He is here to slaughter.
To eat.
To consume.
Nothing else matters.
The pitiful, inferior creatures that roam Mother’s abode so brazenly will pay with their flesh and souls.
And one day, as Mother’s plans come together, everything will be torn down. All the souls of this world will be consumed; and he hopes—a new concept he’s learned—he truly hopes that he’ll be instrumental in doing that, in erasing every living being outside Mother’s control from the face of the planet.
As he goes through another corridor, he feels a pulse from Mother.
Close, he realizes, looking forward.
His prey is close.
Thanks to the augmented consciousness he received through the Mithril, he’s now able to connect with Mother and tell apart the location of the prey.
The little, harmless, and impotent prey.
He walks with silent steps—Mother just taught him how.
And now, he’s going to ambush his prey.
He knew of ambushes, but he fully understands now.
He easily crawls upon the wall, his colors slowly fading, entering stealth.
Ambush, he thinks.
He’s a born killer, a creature that cannot be bested.
He raises his bow-arm and gets ready to kill.
He watches where Mother told him the prey would come from. It doesn’t matter if he kills just a few.
It’s enough.
As more of his brothers and sisters are bred from Mother, each will grow stronger through these kills. And even if he doesn’t get to consume the prey’s souls himself, he’s still happy he could contribute to Mother’s great endeavor.
Today, blood will flow.
Their fate has been sealed.
There’s nothing that someone can do to Mother’s soldier, nothing—
The monster is suddenly displaced by a massive blow to his chest that blows his bow arm away, making it crash to the ground.
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The creature is stunned.
Is this his end?
His tragic, melancholic end in Mother’s service?
“Jacob, did you just fart?”
He hears a voice.
“Sorry, I have not been eating that well and I’m still at Platinum Rank, unlike the rest of you. My stomach is struggling. I need to eat slower. You guys were all in such a rush today.”
“Sir, Cloud, sir,” someone else says, “you said this mission was the most important thing in the world and that if we failed we would doom the entirety of Ashenmere.”
The creature turns his perception to see a young thing walking nonchalantly toward it as he spasms in death throes.
“I was just being dramatic. Food should always be our priority… wait, am I starting to sound like Lancelot? Ok, you know what, I take everything back,” that Jacob replies and, before he can attack him, pins Mother’s soldier with his foot. “Good job, Zibrek. They’re getting smarter, aren’t they? Stealth? Interesting stuff.”
The young breed of the living looks at him with a raised eyebrow. He’s probably pondering the beauty and greatness of Mother’s creation.
“You’re one ugly motherfucker,” that Jacob says.
But before he can attack this insolent monster, the thing cuts his other arm off, and his legs.
It’s a cruel monster that Mother’s soldier is facing.
“Is it working?” A sharper, higher voice gets beside the monster that destroyed the rest of his limbs. “Any info?”
“Nothing,” Jacob sighs. “There’s something about this thing that’s interfering with the Grimoire. Is your Eye of the Prophet working properly on it?”
“Yeah, nothing out of the ordinary. Why do you think your Skill is not working? Your Rank?”
“Nope. I think something about this Apocalypse thing might be connected to the Grimoire.”
Gr—Grimoire…
That word gives him a shiver.
Suddenly, he realizes.
Mother’s…
The creature sends a pulse of consciousness back to Mother.
He gets rewarded with a warm sensation of peace and quiet.
Now that he’s accomplished something, at least a small part of his job, he relaxes and gets ready to die.
It doesn’t matter if he couldn’t take their souls.
His brothers and sisters are slowly hatching, and they will soon be harvested.
Hordes will fall upon these parasites and ambush them like he couldn’t.
He, in the meanwhile, makes peace with himself and exposes his neck, ready to go.
“Alright, we’ll run a bunch of experiments on this thing here. Tie him up well.”
He… starts to feel something.
An emotion he can’t name.
“We’ll take him apart slowly and, well, Garros, see if your Skill works on it. I’m curious. We need more data. Nimirea, Zibrek, I leave the gathering of the data—oh, right, sorry Delefagus. You too. My bad. I forget that you Dark Champions are a bunch of monster-loving freaks. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Try not to kill it while we catch more of them.”
Catch… more?
Mother’s soldier starts feeling a creeping sensation on his back. He wonders if it’s his soul acting up, perhaps remembering the vivid emotions it used to feel even after it was twisted and repurposed—improved—by Mother.
But… it can’t be.
He must have heard incorrectly.
The living, the prey, the parasites… they wouldn’t be able to catch Mother’s soldiers, his brothers and sisters.
It’s just an impossibility that cannot materialize under any scenario.
“So, if I managed to get to this guy, my theory is correct. I can probably spot every single one of them. But it’s going to take a little practice. So, let’s move out in five. I think I have the rough location of another one. Augusta, bring Baal to the rest of the troops and have them updated on the fact that we’re still alive. Afterward, parade this thing and, I don’t know, cut it up a little in front of them. These bastards killed Lodvig, a little cheap torture of it will probably raise morale. What? No, Delefagus, I’m not going to let a Dark Champion do the torture. I’m trying to raise morale. Let… Kaelrik? Can you cut it a bit? Don’t kill it before the freaks have examined it though.”
It can’t be happening.
Suddenly, the only human part remaining in his soul gives him an answer.
Fear.
That’s the emotion Mother’s soldier is feeling.
There’s a pervading sensation of fear at the plan that this creature is explaining.
Comforted by Mother’s power, he should have never felt such a thing as fear. He is the predator. These are the prey. How could the prey instill any fear in the predator himself?
It’s just an impossibility.
But… didn’t the prey just say that it was going to hunt his brothers and sisters? Is it really intent on going after Mother’s soldiers?
No, he couldn’t have heard correctly.
“So, we’ll go after all of them. Rotate the groups. But I’ll need time off to… execute my secret plan. I’ll draw some rotations so that everybody is informed. Errr, who’s got my clipboard?”
“This one, sir?” someone asks.
“Right, exactly. Thanks.” That Jacob takes a piece of wood with something on it and then looks at Mother’s soldier.
“One down, let’s try to get one of these motherfuckers every ten minutes. We’ll slowly hunt every last one of them down. And make them pay.”
Jacob bends and gets closer to the non-face of Mother’s soldier. He wishes he had absorbed some souls so that he could bite the prey’s face off.
“Hello, Apocalypse? Whatever your Primordial God’s name is. I hope you’re listening. Or the Dungeon. Whoever is on the other side. Because we’re coming.”
That Jacob straightens and cracks his neck, then he emits a strange long sound—but not from his mouth this time.
“Again, Jacob? You call us freaks, but you’re disgusting.”
“I told you, I need to eat slowly. That’s what happens when I don’t chew long enough.”
Mother’s soldier feels more and more dread crawling all over his body as Mother’s target keeps emitting strange sounds from his not-mouth and he is tied up and carried away.