(100) Anew

The scrape of flesh through mud filled the air, the only break in the unnatural stillness. A thick fog clung to the ground, obscuring her hard-won quarry as she dragged it behind her. No owls hooted in the night. No insects hummed among the bulbous stalks. The air was still and silent, as if she moved through a graveyard, each mushroom a headstone.

A wave of her arm sent the cliff face sliding, the yawning of a dark cavern extending before her. No quaint memories of the first time she had tumbled backward into this tunnel disturbed her. She was of singular focus.

Dropping her prize by the door, she turned to face the fungal forest. Her skin writhed as if possessed of its own will. Her eyes grew red, and blood ran from her nose. With a terrible, hacking cough, she spat a congealed blob of dark blood and sputum out onto the forest floor.

She barely glanced at it, stretching her shoulders as she turned and grabbed her quarry’s leg. She started down the hall as the wall slid back into place behind her. Her head cleared, a fog she had not even noticed retreating from her mind.

With a thud, she flopped the corpse down into the pre-drawn circle before turning toward a small niche in the wall. Opening a small hatch on a metal container sitting atop a stone pillar, she withdrew a handful of mushrooms and a vessel of water, trading them for a new group of mushrooms, which she carelessly tossed inside.

Another wave of her hand saw flames engulf the box, which glowed with a flowing script across its surface, barely visible through the fire. She turned from it, throwing herself onto the ground before the circle.

Sitting cross-legged, she thumbed through slates that glowed with a soft blue light, flowing script scrawled across them. Minutes turned to hours as she sat, nearly unmoving, save to eat a mushroom or drink from the vessel, sifting through the slates one after another, confirming.

She set down the last slate beside her and held her hands over the circle. The etchings in the smooth stone ignited with blue luminescence, gradually shifting across the spectrum to a deep red. Mana and energy swirled around the circle, nearly visible to the naked eye, before funneling into the corpse through its nostrils.

Its back arched at a severe angle, matching the shape of her own back, the two moving as if in sync, before exhaustion overcame her. She collapsed to the ground, her cheek on the cold stone, her breathing heavy. Sweat dripped from her head, and drool formed a column from the bottom of her chin to the ground.

For several minutes, she lay there, catching her breath, working up the energy to eat another mushroom and take another drink. After what must have been half an hour, she finally raised her head to behold her handiwork.

A man stood in the center of the circle, his posture rigid. His arms hung at his sides, and he faced straight ahead. He did not sway, did not shuffle, did not move. He merely stood, his glassy eyes gazing at the wall, his chest neither rising nor falling.

She stood, walking in a circle around him, inspecting. After several laps, and with a nod, she stopped, turning to face him, staring into his distant eyes.

He raised his right hand suddenly, waving it back and forth. He put his hand down and began jogging in place, though it was a stiff thing of jerking motions. He stopped just as suddenly as he had begun, returning to his neutral posture. His eyes never changed. His head never moved with his body’s motion.

He was stationary. Stagnant. Stuck. Wrong.

This was not right. This would not bring him back. Damn it!

She threw her hands to her sides in frustration, and the man’s form roiled and writhed, his skin bubbling as if his blood was boiling beneath. He began to swell, puffing up to twice, thrice, and quadruple his original size, until with a bang, he burst into a spray of gore, covering the circle and its surroundings in viscera.

She stood still, staring at the circle, now a scene of horror and stench. With a sigh, she wiped the blood from her face, flicking it to the side.

She would have to begin anew.

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Cold blue eyes snapped open, peering through a visor of pulsating flesh. Snaps and pops heralded her descent to the ground. Tendrils like ligaments detached from her back as she strode forth, shadows swirling around to clad her in darkness.

She approached the orb, which pulsed blue, the tattoo a steady cadence like the beating of a heart. She tossed her silver braid over her shoulder and placed her hand atop the orb, closing her eyes and stilling. Minutes passed, and she seemed to fade into the backdrop, as if she had become part of the room, one of its decorations rather than an occupant.

A soft beep echoed down the hall, filtering into the room, disturbing the calm.

Her eyes opened, and her brows furrowed. She withdrew her hand and started down the hall, her bare feet making no sound atop the smooth stone. She emerged into a wide chamber engulfed in shadow, save for a single blinking table near the far wall.

She strode across the room confidently, unconcerned by the low light, each footfall sure, as if she knew exactly what would be there when she set her foot down.

She placed her palm atop the glowing surface, and a projection appeared before her. A circle with concentric rings radiating from the center glowed softly green, while six green dots clustered near the outer edge of the circle slowly advanced.

She stared at the dots for long minutes, watching as they steadily crept further into the Gloam. Squinting, her brows knit closely together, she eventually removed her hand from the table, which faded back into darkness, inert.

She moved through the long, dark corridors, never glancing in any direction, her eyes always forward, never needing to question what lay around her.

The wall slid open silently, and she strode forth into the twinkling forest, morning dew glistening on stalks and caps.

The door slid closed behind her, returning the grave’s silence to the vacant halls.