By Galahad Desuam, Edited by Dustin Harthorn
Story origin.
Catastrophic Cosmic Cataclysm (C3) is a story based on the first session of a homebrew TTRPG ran by Galahad Desuam and put into writing by Dustin Harthorn.
The fractured sun rises over the sky, obscured by the gaping tear that is the Maw. The coastal city of Lymoria, held together with broken concrete and scrap metal, as well as its surrounding land, glows a red hue, an aura that shows the protection of the god Lymoria; from which the city was named. The walls, guarded with people wielding poorly maintained guns and wearing ripped rags to cover their faces from the smell and high, seemingly sentient, winds that shoot around the walls.
In the main street, a procession of priests walked, a woman chained to a makeshift wheelbarrow in the center. Screaming incoherently in an alien language but showing obvious pain as it becomes apparent that she is in the midst of childbirth. Behind them, a crowd followed, watching remorsefully.
Upon arriving before the city’s main church, a large, imposing building which seems to overlook the ocean; a group of women in gowns, priestesses, encircle the woman, below them are grooves cut in the pavement, the only pavement in the whole city, which forms various symbols and writings, the deepest of which all lead into drains scattered around a well, which make up a peculiar design when viewed from a top-down angle.
The frothing ocean can be heard as chanting begins to fill the air, in unison the priests chant out “Umr alo’um hu’vel Lymoria“, as the head priestess, noted only by the circlet she is honored to wear, steps forward and quickly stabs the woman with a jagged blade of bone, forcing her to bleed with a constant stream. Her screams seem to meld with the chants as she shakes and cries, despite this, she shows no form of hostility towards the people around her, instead she seems to understand, accept even that it must be done. As do the crowd that has gathered, whispering prayers of their own, and watching melancholically.
The chants, the beating of the ocean along the nearby coast, the whispered prayers, the screaming of pain and love, even the winds that bounce off the outside walls, swells, until finally, it reaches its zenith and the bleeding blade is brought down into the woman’s throat. A gurgle is made as the surrounding noise continues for a moment more, only dying down after nearly a minute of the woman’s body fighting to live, when it gives out. The chanting slowly stops and the ocean goes silent and the wind no longer whistles or pounds. No sound escapes the people as they all listen, carefully and hopeful. No one is sure how long passes, however eventually, a cry is heard. A small, high pitched cry. The cry of a baby, as it escapes the first opening made by the priestess.
With gasps and relief, the tension that had gripped the crowd begins to ease, and they all gather into a circle, which spirals around the breathless woman. Slowly, in pairs of four, they step up and slice their non-dominant hand, letting flow over her, drops of their blood which mix with her’s in the bottom, creating a bath. After all of the follower’s have given their blood, the woman is removed and thrown into the church’s well, where she sinks into a black abyss. The baby is washed in the bath of blood before being carried into the church, its echoing cries are heard until the heavy doors of the church are shut and locked, as the crowd slowly disperses, returning to their daily duties.
One of the onlookers, not a part of the church or religion, had watched the ritual from afar, tears formed behind his mask as he had developed heavy breathing from the tension and faith that he had witnessed. The man, no older than his early-twenties, felt he ought to make an offering himself, and so gave a slight cut to his side. As he did this, however, the noise from around him stopped. Only his breath was heard for a split second. The sound of a crashing wave shakes the world, forcing him to turn towards the sea, where he spots in the distance, a massive effervesce swell of blood and tangled bodies, which could rival even the largest tsunami. Its wall, so large it obscured everything, even beginning to eclipse the sun. The man could do nothing, not even breath, as he watched the body crash into the rocky shore and flood into the city. As the wave engulfed him, however, he didn’t feel pain or fear, but instead the sweet, suffocating embrace of a mother.
His vision under the red sea filled with bodies and detached limbs of various states of decay. A voice that reverberated the water called to him, and pulled him along with it. At the center, a whirlpool of death, clumping together bloated flesh and organs to make the form of a giant woman. She extends a finger to him and he feels her love, her care. A gift is given, and so a gift is received. She gives him a disgusting, yet beautiful, smile of agony before he is pulled back. His body yanked from the water as the blood sea recedes. He blinks and finds himself still standing before the church, the wound on his side healed and his body cleaned. Alone, like always.
A wide smile crept through his mask as he let out a lengthy laugh, his eyes shot, as he seemed to have lost himself into the sea’s gaze. On his hands now, a set of gloves, strange and never before seen by him. Long blades of bone and light coral escaped the fingers, giving them a strong edge, and the base, made of a dark black coral that seemed to move ever so slightly, like the tide from which they came. Thick sinew and tendons make the top of the gloves through the fingers, holding onto the blades, while segmented bone seem to grasp the man’s wrist.
Once his moment of intoxication was over, he tilted his head and gave a whispered thanks to the sea mother before flexing his hands and letting them go limp by his sides, his eyes filling with tears that don’t seem to fall, as he is more than secure and happy with this gift. His smile lingered as he turned to leave the Church grounds.
A yell is heard, breaking the peaceful trance that the man had felt since his meeting with Mother Lymoria sometime ago. A yell that reaches the heavens with supernatural effort. Unsure of exactly where in the city he was now, the man watched a crazed character shambling onto the street from a nearby alley, revealing himself to be the origin of the yell that had garnered his attention to begin with. The new character, showing obvious signs of mental deterioration with distant eyes, shouts as he looks to the sky, his hands raised.
“I hear them!.. I know them!.. I am them! Glory to me who has claimed that which has eternal lie. Fore I am the gaping mouth that will swallow the world. I am… The MAW!”
Beginning to convulse, the crazed man’s mouth unhinges, the sounds of his bones breaking fills the street, and all at once he stops. A gut retching roar is let out as he charged a nearby bystander who was watching the scene. Unable to do much in defense, the bystander screams as he is shoved to the ground and his throat ripped out by the Maw which takes his time, chewing the meat before standing and looking around himself. A putrid smell erupts as the Maw pukes a thick, black mud-like substance which appears to burn the ground below. His body beginning to expand with each breath as if his muscles are going to rip through his skin which have gained a hardened, leathery texture.
Suddenly a shot rings out as a piece of the wall behind the Maw is hit and one of the city Guards yell “Fuck!” The man who met with Mother Lymoria stands, bewildered and ready to take action, watching the scene through wild hair that occasionally blows past his face.
The Maw’s skin tore open, releasing cords of black tendrils before something small struck his chest.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” The guard called out more as the second shot from his musket rifle hit, ripping through the Maw’s chest, forcing it a couple of steps back. Its tendrils, seemingly on their own, point towards the guard and as one rockets towards him, the man with bladed gloves swipes towards it, causing the tendril to recoil, missing the guard but also dodging the man’s slice.
“I’m blow you fuckin’ head off with your damn Maw, you piece of shit!” the guard cried as he quickly reloaded, his words not fully coherent as he was in a state of panic. The man locked eyes with the Maw as the guard prematurely shot, instead hitting a roof.
The Maw, seeing the man flinch as the guard misfired, quickly passes him and jumps onto the Guard, taking him to the ground and tearing a massive chunk of flesh and protective gear from the Guard, causing him to scream in agony, however this is the only free shot the Maw had, as the man stabbed his blades into the creature’s throat, letting out a deep black liquid from the wound which appears to burn the Guard as it spurts onto him.
Grabbing a pistol from his belt, the Guard puts the barrel in the creature’s mouth and fires, however one of the tendrils from the Maw’s back shoves the Guard’s arm just in time and the shot misses, at the same time, another tendril stabs into the Guard’s leg.
With one of his hands impaled in the monster’s throat, the man swings his other arm in an attempt to decapitate, surprisingly managing to cut most of its neck before getting caught on it’s thick spine, causing the creature to stand and shake, trying to get the man off, giving the guard enough time to quickly reload his pistol and shoot through the tendril that had impaled his leg. Passing through, the ball lodges itself in the Maw’s pelvis before it twists it’s body to turn and grab the man with the bladed gloves, knocking him a few feet away, where he hits with a thud and a grunt, before growling and using the momentum to roll from his back onto his feet, instantly running back towards the Maw and letting out a flurry of attacks, aiming for its spine, however it’s all dodged as the monster lunged over him.
This moment allowed the Guard to grab his rifle and reload his final shot, which he took as the creature jumped, hitting it in the chest once more which caused it to wince in pain, with the man with claws turning into a swing the opening for his final attack to hit, severing the creature’s head which dropped to the ground with a meaty wet thud. A thick bubbling black blood oozing from what was left of its neck.
“Oh, thank the Mother!” the Guard let out, causing the man to snap his attention towards him, letting out a growl followed by a loud, impulsive war cry before stomping and kicking the head towards him. As the head landed near his wounded leg, the Guard let out a minor cry of pain and fear before fainting, which caused the man to point at him for a second before turning back towards the creature’s main body.
Stabbing his blades into the sides of the Maw’s torso, the man began to drag its body, it was only when the sun was beginning to set that he finally made it back to the shore of the ocean. The docks, where a trail of blood revealed his path from the scene of the fight. Finally releasing the body, the man kicks and claws the body out of frustration, like that of a child throwing a tantrum, accidently cutting his own face which causes him to headbutt the torso, letting out a final yell before stopping and calming himself down, his heavy breathing slowing.
Resting his head on the body for a few moments as he calmed, the man raised himself, marks formed along his face from where he pressed against the torso. A final ‘humf’ was let out as he pushed the body into the water and just stared at the sea for an unknown set of time. After a brief wait, his eyes grew a bit dim and he let out a final sigh before standing and following back along the trail he had left.
Returning to the scene of the fight, the man noticed the Guard was gone, replaced by a group of heavier armed and armored men that were scanning the area. On their shoulder, a burning confederate flag, wrapping a sword, with the words ‘101st Brigade’ stitched under it. Ignoring the men and not wanting to be seen as suspicious, the man passes them, continuing towards his destination that lays outside of the city.
The buildings seem to become more dispersed and less maintained the further from the main city square he walks. Passing through the ruins where he sees the city walls stretch into the woods and land around for miles, the wind plays with his hair as breathing is once again all he hears.
Large farms take up the majority of the land outside the outer city ruins, with small farmhouses making up the only form of shelter out here. A decent number of guards rest on the wall, watching the ruins of Savanna and the forest beyond.
The man stumbled through one of the crop fields, producing hardly any food, and the little it managed, was rotten and warped. Jumping some fences, he made his way to one of the sheds that seemed to be semi-attached to a farmhouse, grabbing one of the cabbage-like vegetables that are growing in the field. Tossing his mask on a rusty nail that stuck out, next to the opening he entered and fell on a bed of grass, taking bites out of the dwarfed veggie.
Staring to the ceiling, he collects his past few days, glad to finally be home as he dons a tired and worn out expression. His eyes reveal an innocence, while the scars along his body show experience. Grabbing a nearby bucket of water which is nearly gone, causing him to groan in agitation, he swipes the bugs that seemed to have gathered around it, grabbing one and eating it as well before using the water to wash it all down. He winces as he feels a bite on his arm, realizing his new bladed gloves cut him, leading him to pause and watch the wound for a moment, only looking away when he watches a drop of blood run down his arm and drip onto his bed.
Upon looking away, he downs the rest of the water in the bucket, eats a few more bugs and tosses the gloves onto the floor near him before turning his attention to the last thing in his home. Wonton. Patting his little monkey friend, a tiny stuffed animal that is filthy beyond recognition, he cradles it for a moment before putting it on the opposite side of his bed and stares for a few seconds, occasionally fiddling with it, moving its ears, tilting its head, turning its face, giving him some semblance of joy as he cracks a slight smile as opposed to the depressed expression he had given behind the mask during his travel back.
After a while, the man lays his head down onto the leaves, with only a small clump of mildewed clothes to give him a pillow, closing his eyes, he fades into a deep sleep, after several days of journeying, ending with watching another glorious birthing ritual. Above him, etched into the frame of the shed read “Drew”.