Labyrinth Of Gods
A Tale In The World Of Ur-Earth
Smoke stalks create a perpetual gloom over the skies of the lands of Steelont. Fires deep below the towering structures known as the Labyrinth Of Gods, have spewed toxic fumes into the upper atmosphere, casting much of the Earth in gloomy darkness. Seated on a step on a staircase to nowhere, the dwarf High King Klûdain looks upon his fallen kingdom with crestfallen apathy.
Deep rhythmic sounds from below echo upwards, causing a blaring chorus of heinous sounds of despair and terror. Hearing footsteps behind him, Klûdain imagined it was the footfalls of a malformed behemoth or some insane assassin looking to end his life. After hearing those steps come closer, he turned his head to see a hooded figure at his back, he was tall as a human, yet had a menacing aura about him as if he were an elf.
“You come to kill me?” the dwarf asked, expecting that be the only reason anyone would come to his blighted domain.
“No.” the figure answered, his voice a grim lullaby to soothe any dread one might expect from his imposing appearance.
“I cannot fathom why anyone else would dare come to this place, my people are cursed to languish here, and cannot leave, even in death. Look down upon the fate of us—” the dwarf pointed down below where upon a bridge a dozen or more dwarfs were being cornered by various cannibalistic humanoid monsters.
Levitating heads, headless torso, and legless fiends all encircled the helpless, unarmed group and swiftly butchered them with their limb tearing strength and flesh ripping teeth. After the gory massacre only dismembered bodies were left, and still some time after, some bewitching ghosts animated the remains, to swell the numbers of the flesh eating hordes of Mannibles.
“—a grim fate to those that still live here.” the dwarf lamented his people’s suffering.
“And yet I cannot say it is unjustified.” The figure spoke as unsympathetic as the lion feeding upon a lamb.
“You know of our history.” the failed High King, nodded in understanding. “We were a greedy people, we replaced virtue for avarice, and it has left us cursed by some greater power.”
“You don’t believe it is God’s punishment?” the Stranger sounded genuinely curious by the dwarf’s words.
“Doesn’t matter now, what benevolent power has laid this curse upon us, is not likely to be appeased enough to release us.” the dwarf looked suspiciously upon the Stranger, as if seeing him for the first time. “What concern is this of yours?”
“None. I am a mere graverobber, you could say, here to plunder what treasures are left in this dismal place.” unashamed, the Stranger drew his sword, its blade was a rainbow of gemstones sharpened to a lethal degree. “Give me the keys to the Heart Of The Labyrinth.”
The command was dead serious in tone, and had the weapon to enforce it, a weapon that made the dwarf’s eyes gleam with greed.
“It has been a long time since I’ve seen such splendor. Yet I have never seen anyone master stone crafting to the point of making such a thing.” Wanting to touch the blade, the sword jabbed forward in warning, pressing against the dwarf’s rough tunic.
“I want the key, now.” the man demanded.
“What use is it to you? You can’t leave here once you enter, this place is cursed you know.” the dwarf, despite knowing the key had no use to him, still clung to the value it once possessed. Granting access to the hoard of his people’s legacy, gold, precious stones, and various wondrous artifacts was beyond the imagination of anyone who hasn't seen the glory of dwarf treasure.
“I know of a way to leave the labyrinth, so what value it has to me, is far outweighed by your clinging to former glory, a glory you have no courage to retake.” the man’s words stun at the dwarf who fidgeted angrily, wishing he had the upper hand. “I won’t ask for it again.”
Reluctantly, the dwarf slowly reached into his tunic, and with a bitter sneer pulled a chain that hung around his neck. A golden chain, dull from the toxins in the air and time, it has become black, stained by the corruption in the atmosphere. Dangling from the chain was a key of dwarf creation, it was flawless in its creation, yet didn’t shine as brightly as one would expect.
Dim was the light, yet it could easily gleam if it was given enough light.
Grabbing it from the dwarf, the man tore it from the chain, breaking it and scattered the blackened pieces in all directions.
“If my people are cursed for such greed, may it tenfold fall upon your head!” the dwarf king, pounded his fists into the stairs in impudent rage.
“I don’t expect any lesser punishment, yet I doubt I will see any such retribution by any power that would give an ear to you, feeble creature.” with that the man began to leave, but was stopped by the dwarf’s words.
“I wish to know you, you brigand, tell me your name, and show me your face, so I may properly curse the soul that robbed me of my everything.”
To these words, the man laughed and did not obliged, he had no reason to, leaving the dwarf to find the treasure hidden in the labyrinth, while the dwarf was left in vain loathing. Not till the Stranger was long gone with the valued key, did Klûdain realize he knows many secret routes, even the monsters in the labyrinth do not know exist.
Steadily and concealed by darkness he can follow the thief, and if the thief cleared the way for him to follow, might lead him to his prized vault, and if the thief dies along the way, he can always fetch the keys from what was left.
Hurriedly the dwarf left, to retrieve the ax he made from scrap metal, and taking enough supplies with him to see him through his journey, he set out to tail the Stranger who’d intended to steal his treasure.
***
The Stranger in his hood and cloak, during his descent came across many Mannibles, who lunged at him with starved frenzy. Gnashing teeth, and monstrous strength were repelled by slashes of the mythical Rainbow Blade, that scattered eviscerating enchantments in all directions with each swing. A resonating power that smite any who opposed it, especially lesser fiends who either died a grueling existence erasing demise, or fled with wounds that would not stop burning.
All this time the Stranger could feel eyes upon him, from ledges he couldn’t see over, or in dark spots where precious few lights didn’t shine. Deeper he went, the more paranoid he became, as the light from the shanty town above, with their factories and furnaces, were completely muted by suffocating darkness.
Covering his mouth with a modified face mask, he was able to filter out the smoke that now flooded the mid section of the towering labyrinth. Touching the pommel of his blade, he spoke a rare incantation that shifted the air around him, dispelling the smoke around, and tightening his hold on the grip he cast an illuminating rainbow light.
At first he was stunned by what he saw, so much so he was rooted to the spot. Corpses of the living dead, rotted yet thriving with life, not life from a soul, but in the life possessing the body, the life of the unification of thousands of insects.
Droll Scarabs, hideous centipede-beetle hybrids whose limbs took control of the muscles and organs of the body, giving it animation.
“Y-o-u c-o-m-e h-e-r-e b-e-f-o-r-e w-e k-n-o-w y-o-u.” The shock of hearing the insect possessed bodies speak in such a dower chorus gave him a momentary pause.
Raising his sword, he cleaved the skull of the corpse that was speaking, sending the insects crawling around the fractured wound. Foams and writhing egg sacs flowed from the wound, as the yellow, elastic flesh peeled back from the bone.
Sharp cries came from the corpses that crawled on the ground, trying to prick the Stranger with their venomous stingers that poked through the flesh.
“Damn you!” cursed the Stranger, as he hewed at the bodies, a righteous blaze following in the aftermath of the strike, heralding a fire that consumed the dead flesh.
Burning in the fire, the insects scattered from their fleshy hive, causing the body to deflate as it burned into bones and ashes. Deftly without hesitation the Stranger killed both those that attacked and fled his fury, till all around him were little fires, glowing softly in the night, attracting a more fearsome menace from the darkness.
As the insects ran off to distinguish the flame, a purring snare came from the shadows. Beyond the light of the sword or the little flames, there was a pair of glowing eyes, yellow ones that sneered with malevolent intentions. Slowly the eyes came closer, the light cast aside the obscuring shadows, revealing a large muzzle, sharp venom soaked teeth, and soon the entire elongated form of a serpentine great cat.
A Nemion, a monster lion that was once worshiped as a God by pygmy people, but as the faith in the beast became a widespread faith, it was corralled and imprisoned within the labyrinth, with other false Gods. Letting loose a vehement roar, the lion pranced about around the light from the sword, moving as if its tail had caught fire.
Elongated claws beat on the stone ground in a chaotic rhythm, swiping out at the Stranger, trying to gauge the threat, before delivering more fatal attacks.
Slash.
Slashes against the outstretched paw of the lion, drew a dark crimson droplet of blood that oozed out, falling like droplets of honey to the ground. Putting his paw to its mouth, the lion licked the wound gingerly, offering time for the Stranger to escape. Dashing to the path ahead, he heard the Lion behemoth stampede behind him, seemingly to always a hairs length away from striking distance.
Ducking low, he rolled under a low hanging wall, and slid into a crevice that was once a foundation of a collapsed tower. Furtively the lion dug his paws into the narrow opening trying to dig out its prey, ultimately the opening was too narrow and the inside was too deep to catch its prey.
Snarling in defeat, the Nemion licked its still bleeding paw and waited at the crevice, to see if anything would come back out again.
***
The darkness seemed to swallow the light, consuming it to deepen its own malicious form. What light giving enchantment from the sword was dying to the oppressive atmosphere, wherever the Stranger found himself, it was truly unnavigable. Lack of light, deepening shadows, and an eerie presence of being observed made the tight cavern system far more foreboding.
Rough stone underfoot, however, became more furnished, as if he suddenly crossed into a place that naturally bled out into a natural rock face. Polished tiles and adorned with bizarre symbols that somewhat resemble holy iconography but are inverted in a perverted distortion of their former meaning.
Standing in what felt like expansive cavern fires came alight all of a sudden, braziers lining a spherical chamber were alight by some invisible force, and cast light upon the profane display.
“I am the Master Of Darkness.” introduced a figure standing atop of elevated dais, his chest exposed, and stretched by two tightening bracers of spikes and thorns. Eyes blinded by razor wire, and teeth exposed as his lips were flayed away by a cruel instrument.
“You are a Priest Of The Profane Arts.” accused the Stranger, whose sword held a judgmental posture as if he meant to strike the inhuman distortion dead.
“Was a priest, the Labyrinth has gifted me the insight of the divine, and with that I have descended into Godhood, come and know me.” outstretched arms, the false deity attempted to rapture the Stranger in his radiance. However the Stranger was not ignorant in the beguiling arts of the profane and dispelled any delusions that tried to serpent their way into his mind.
“Taste cold death.” the Stranger bitterly sneered, as he dug his gemstone blade into the side of the Labyrinth God.
A screech came from the Master Of Darkness, and his form shriveled back, vanishing into a newly laid darkness, as the braziers distinguished. He knew the Priest wasn’t dead, none of the Labyrinth’s Inhabitants could truly die, even from an enchanted blow.
However with the absence of the False God, the Stranger’s sword brought light back to the darkness, and he was able to navigate the dense gloom. Able to see at least a dozen feet in all directions of his sword, he found a staircase that led towards. Seeing no other way that seemed to lead to his destination, he went down, always mindful of the near silent movements tailing him in the distance.
***
Weeks passed, and the vitality restoring Elfin Wine, and the Mythus Bread kept him rejuvenated during his descent into the Labyrinth Of Gods.
Smells of gore and shit became more pungent, but even more so was the ever present smoke, that was harder to clear away with his charms. The Stranger noticed he was being followed by the same presence throughout his travels, no matter the route he was always within sight of his stalker. Whether it was one of the Labyrinth’s Gods or lesser denizens he wasn’t sure, but his gut told him it was a danger he had to be prepared for when the time arrived.
Other Gods he came across, most were blinded by the dense, toxic smoke to be any threats, their bodies had fused into the flesh-like walls of the lower tiers. Those that were more free-roaming that weren’t stationary as Living Totems, had become listless, and disinterested in the hunt.
Past the streams of black sludge, the writhing flesh walls, and the fading stonework in favor of flesh and stone, the bottom of the maze seemed to be in sight. Lowering himself by another of his tethers to a stone bridge, he looked down the darkness it spanned, and he saw in the distance a lonely light.
Naturally flowing in from some unseen crevice the night was of natural daylight, and cast light upon something too far away to see properly. The Stranger reached into his utility belt and pulled a collapsible telescope and peered into it, and his eye brightened with greed as he saw his prize was close.
The vault doors of the dwarf kingdom were within reach, the golden doors sealed shut by its creator's enchantments only opened by the key he now possessed. Crossing the stone bridge, his glee almost blinded him to a slowly descended evil that sought to utterly extinguish his life. Rolling away just as the enlarged form landed, the Stranger had his sword raised against the Spider God, Anguiz.
A faint buzzing sound could be heard in the air, as hundreds of wasps began to flutter around, disturbed from their massive hive that hung from the ceiling nearby. The buzzing mixed with the clicking of the spider’s fangs, as it came closer, venom drooling from its mouth as it eyed its supper.
Anguiz was a spider of such advanced age it grew to the side of an elephant, with fang sharper than spears, and eyes of a hypnotizing array of colors; it had prowled the Labyrinth since it heard the calling, as all the other False Gods. Worshiped as a God of Death, Anguiz stayed in the core of the Labyrinth, feeding on only those strong and wise enough to navigate the despicable domain.
“Begone, I wish not to expend more than necessary to bypass you, you fiend. Know if you do not retreat, my efforts I use will be your death.”
Anguiz was old enough to know the words of mortals, yet it did not care, for it was too long since it ate anything worthy of its gluttonous stomach. Parting its slick fangs, a leech type maw opened and a long tendril with a sharp needle came out, as it writhed around, it snapped at the Stranger like a whip, testing what charms was at his command.
The Stranger did not use his sword, instead he sheathed it, and as darkness fully enveloped the chamber, and the wasps fluttering was a steady roar, he pulled out a vial. A small, yet dense vial made of stone marble, it gave off a dim light, even with no light reflecting off of it, like a small candle flame.
“I warned you, now perish and be no more.” Pulling free the stone stopper. He flung the vial at Anguiz and before the Spider could lunge, the contents of the vial touched it, and every inch of his poisonous form was set aflame by a thin veil of fire. Burning red, then blue, and finally green, the God Of Death, silently screeched as it staggered back, trying to extinguish the flame from its body.
Unknowing that the vial the Stranger used was Styx Flame, an oil from the rivers of the land of the elf race, which once it touches anything living burns it, till it ceases to exist.
Wasps swarmed around the fire, drawn by the light, and also got flame, as they also burned, they flew up back into the hive, and set every member of their swarm ablaze. The fire then spread across the hive to the slime on the walls, and soon the entire pit was alight.
Anguiz as its legs deteriorated to ash, fell off the bridge and plummeted into the darkness below, completely burning away before it even hit the bottom.
Following the bridge to the far end, the light of the fire guiding his way, the Stranger came to a spiral staircase of old dwarf design, and followed it to the very bottom of the Labyrinth, where its heart was kept. Mindful still that a faint shadow was following him, with each step.
***
One God lives in the Labyrinth, one true God. Dismissed and forgotten, it lives in the very heart of the towering complex. Guarding the coveted core, where it safeguards the true treasure of the Labyrinth.
The Heart Of Yahweh, a talisman of great holy power, that the dwarfs uncovered in their avarice. Thus bringing the curse upon their heads and giving the Labyrinth a life of its own. The God guardian is a being that existed in the antediluvian age, a living construct of flesh and bone, affixed to a twisted crucifix of ebony thorns.
The Niger Christ, where faded scriptures would say was the one true God's failed attempt at life, has languished in darkness, buried with the Heart Of Yahweh, to anchor its evil to the bottom of the Earth.
There at the bottom of the Labyrinth, the Stranger saw it, affixed to its crucifix, the light from his sword not dispelling the blackness that smothered its form. Blood and twisted, upturned flesh like some dread harlequin baby was on full display in the haze that covered where it stood, spreading all about the pit.
Standing over the door of the vault, the Niger Christ didn’t seem to move but made everything else move about it, giving it the appearance of movement.
Through a crooked, gaping mouth it spoke.
“Is that…yes, it must be.” The Niger Christ’s words were as haunting as the Serpent in the Garden Of Eden, and as cold as a mother who rejects a newborn babe. “Come to me young prince, and suckle at my glory.” bodies of the decomposing dead, of heroes and villains long past huddled at the wicked God’s feet was a warning against the invitation.
Rejecting the addictive miasma that started to fill the air, the Stranger rounded the totem, feeling those dark, depthless eyes upon him, and no matter how far he went, the Niger Christ seemed to turn with him, as if it had power over how the world turned.
Despite the influence that the Niger Christ weighed down on the Stranger, he crossed the floors of the pit, his legs becoming heavier with each step. Coming to the dwarf doors, he pulled out the prized key and placed it in the lock that was affixed between the seam of the double doors.
Before he could turn it, he heard a rusty sharpness being released from its sheath. Spinning around he pulled out an emerald dirk that was in his felt, and got the blow that would’ve shredded his back.
The dwarf king had chosen his time, and struck when the Stranger had cleared the way to the vault. Klûdain’s eyes were fierce with hateful greed, coveting all that lay beyond the doors, his prized hoard he wanted in his possession. Strength of the impish brute was far greater than the Stranger anticipated, and he had to artfully slide the dirk across the jagged sword, to come around the dwarf.
Filled with rage, the dwarf approached the would-be pillager of his wealth, swinging his blade with increasing vigor with each step, trying to cut into the Stranger. Only when the Stranger stumbled on one of the roots of the Niger Christ, and as he fell back, had his outstretched hand sliced open from his palm to forearm.
The Stranger’s blood could be heard dripping on the ground, the sound pleased the wicked God, as it distorted the world around it, making it seem it was writhing in pleasure.
“Feed me the blood of life, let me feast upon the flesh of the lamb.” it demanded, but Klûdain like all his kind didn't hear the words of the divine, good or evil; to them it is the incoherent chanting of some language they could never understand.
“The treasure is mine!” the dwarf screamed out in a fervor that made the Stranger stunned by the loud fury of the dwarf, he stood still, till his instinct to survive had him side step out of the way of Klûdain’s charge.
Overcome with rage from the attempt to have his prized treasures stolen from him, the dwarf put too much effort in his charge, and inadvertently plunged his scrap metal sword into the ribcage of the Niger Christ. Having tripped and pulled his sword upwards at the last moment, the jagged blade dug into the crunchy flesh of the evil God, which let out an echoing screech that disrupted the labyrinth, bringing the false Gods in full frenzy.
Leaving their lairs or snapping out of their states of apathy the monstrous creatures went on a rampage, extinguishing much of the dwarfs and other unfortunate mortal souls who resided there, resulting in a utterly genocide of the dwarf people.
Stories would call that day, the Black Holocaust, the day the last of the dwarfs were utterly erased from the world. Unable to free his sword, Klûdain kept tugging at the grip of his weapon, all the while deepening and widening the wound he made on the stationary Black Christ.
Having caused enough anguish to the deity, the dwarf was deaf to the cries of pain, and thus was unaware he ruptured an organ inside the undying being. Black blood poured from the gaping wound, splashing all over Klûdain soaking him head to foot in the ichorous oil that stuck to him like a second skin.
Unable to pull himself away from where he stood, he let out a final cry, “My Treasures!” as he tried to reach for the vault doors, before the black blood solidified, turning the greedy imp into an ebony statue.
Binding his wound with a healing herb, the Stranger went to the door to unlock it, but was stopped as the Niger Christ spoke its last peace to him, in a voice that would haunt his dreams till the end of his days.
“Prince! You may collect your prize, but know that one day you will return to this place, whether you desire to or not. These words will follow you as a curse, directing your fate to me, every decision you make, ever circumstance in your life will be directly intervenes with by the Black Angel that will forever be at your side, till you return here, to the Heart Of The Labyrinth where this world and you will have its final hours spent!”
The Stranger heard those words, but chose to ignore them, as he turned the key to the dwarf king’s vault, and slowly, as if moved by some mechanism, opened to a prize that gleamed brighter than the sun. Shielding his eyes, he dropped the key and entered the vault.
***
Precious stones of varying sizes, the smallest ones were as big as his head, the rest overshadowed him by their size. Gold scattered all about, in coins, tablets, bricks, and statues made in the images of kings and noblemen of long ago.
Diamonds made into wearable silk, weapons of gloriously bedazzling ornament, and at the heart of all this wealth, on a pedestal made of diamond, was the Heart Of Yahweh. A perfectly symmetrical rock of the rarest of minerals, the heart beats with the lifeblood of the world, the sun, and the whole universe.
Walking towards it, the Stranger placed his hand on it, and felt a warmth that was beyond comforting, beyond a euphoria words could describe. At first he coveted it, but remembered it could never be removed, and it was then he realized he would have stayed till he died if he set eyes upon the talisman for much longer. Removing his hand, he was stunned when he realized his other hand that had been sliced open from palm to elbow no longer hurt.
Undoing the bloodied bandage he saw the Heart healed him, and had sent a pleasing sensation throughout his body that soothed his soul, and rejuvenated his body, setting back his age to the prime of youth.
Truly the Heart Of Yahweh was a treasure beyond all others, and sadly it was the one that he didn’t come there to recover. Long ago the Dwarf High King stole a valuable artifact, and the Stranger was sent to recover, as it belonged to his forefathers, and since its disappearance had caused an infection to seep into his kingdom.
Prince Erbňd of Moon Blood, elf heir to the throne of Ferben, searched the vault, ignoring the radiance of the Heart till he saw his prize. Situated in the grasp of a petrified Lord of long past, in a row of other petrified Lords seated on thrones of ivory and pearl, in each of their hands hold a different talisman, corresponding to the Lords culture.
Dwarfs knew many wicked spells, and would curse many of their rivals and foes to be permanent fixtures of their treasure halls. Prince Erbňd came to the throne of his father, King Kullervo, the Last Great Elf King, who was petrified and made to hold the radiant talisman of his people, the Pan Dagger.
An instrument of war and peace that had safe guarded and grew lustrous the domains of his people, a glorious garden realm far beyond anything the dwarfs could make with metal and stone.
Looking into the mirror eyes of his father he picked up the dagger, and felt the emerald blade thrum in his hand. Placing the hollow blade to his lips, he blew new air inside, and played a melody with his fingers through the various small holes along the blade’s edge. No one else but pure elf blood from those born of the full moon cycle could play the Pan Dagger without cutting themselves.
Without spilling a single drop of blood, Erbňd played the triumphant tune of his people and the magic in the dagger reignited. Revealing the backdoor to the Labyrinth, at the back of the vault, a crevice opened and raw daylight shone through.
Talking with him a sack full of gold, and a couple of precious stones one sapphire, the other a ruby, he went out of the crevice, not daring to give the Heart Of Yahweh a final touch, fearing his hesitation would trap him there forever.
Beyond the crevice there was a blinding light, and with each step the light became more tolerable for his eyes.
***
Emerging on the other side of a waterfall, Erbňd was soaked head to boot with the water, and had to remove his hood to shake off the water that dripped all over his face. Crossing into the light had him materialize through a solid rock wall that a waterfall poured downward into a shallow stream.
The Prince saw he was at the bottom of a cliff rise where the water flowed from the highlands, into the low valley where trees grew in abundance. Looking towards the midday sun, he traced it to the east where the silhouette of the Labyrinth Of Gods towered upwards, its toxic smoke rising into the sky.
A foreboding place distanced by some miracle of magic. Wanting to refill his empty flask with fresh water, he stopped as a cold chill went all over his body. In his reflection on the waterfall he saw something besides himself, a wickedly alluring woman clinging to his back, hugging him tightly, it was an angel with flesh wings, like a bat. A cruel ebony seductress that clung to him, though he didn’t feel her, could touch her, or see her outside of his reflection, whenever he saw himself in the water he could see the wicked succubus.
She smiled cruelly at him, knowing she was forever affixed to him, Prince Erbňd thought it was a hallucination, till he remembered the words of the Niger Christ. Somehow those words became manifested in a phantasm that stuck with him, and the Prince feared what misfortune she would play in his life.
Filling his flask, his eyes allured to looking at the evil angel that hung from his shoulders, he pulled himself away from her gaze when he noticed his flask was overflowing. Turning away from the reflection he started his long journey home, suddenly feeling a cold embrace around his neck.