Zareth trudged over to a nearby tree atop the hill, where a weathered wooden bench awaited him. He sank onto it with a weary sigh as he fished out his last cigarette. The ember at its tip glowed in the growing twilight as he took a long drag while occasionally glancing at the inferno that was once a bar.
After his first exhale of fumes, a prickle ran down his spine. Something was off. His gaze shifted sideways to the tree he was leaning against when a familiar female voice cut through the crackling of the distant flames.
"I thought you quit smoking, Brother Zareth."
Zareth's eyes narrowed to a slit. Behind the tree stood a suspiciously beautiful young tanned woman with fiery red hair. In her hand was a small object wrapped in cloth.
"So it's you, Sister Blood. Was this also your doing?"
Zareth was sceptical of her presence.
Sister Blood's lips curled into an innocent smile. "I don't know what you're talking about, Brother Zareth."
Zareth didn't buy it for a second. It was too convenient. Sister Blood showing up in his life after years, right after he'd slain a Tumor in the bar. Could she have sent that creature after him? But why? Was it to test his current strength?
Too tired to play her games, Zareth stood to leave.
Sister Blood's smile faltered. "Leaving so soon? How disrespectful." A red glint flashed across her eyes.
Zareth had taken only two steps when his body suddenly locked up. Try as he might, he couldn't move a muscle. The cigarette slipped from his lips to the ground.
'Damn it! She's using her despicable Gospel.' Zareth thought.
"Release me, Sister Blood," he growled through gritted teeth.
A devious snicker escaped her lips as she emerged from behind the tree.
"To Haima Pyknoteron Hydatos Estin."
[Translation: Blood is thicker than water]
She sauntered over to the frozen Zareth while whispering something, then she pressed the cloth-wrapped object into his immobilized hands.
"I've prepared a gift for you. Take good care of it, Brother."
Her hot breath brushed against his ear. And then, as if she were made of smoke herself, she vanished into thin air.
The moment she disappeared, Zareth regained control of his body. He stumbled forward, gasping for air. When he caught his breath, he looked down at the object in his hands. He was surprised.
"This is…?"
It was a baby.
With trembling hands, Zareth carefully unwrapped the cloth to check its gender. A boy, no more than a few months old, stared up at him with curious eyes.
Questions ran through Zareth's mind. Why had Sister Blood left him with a baby? It certainly wasn't his; he hadn't been involved with any woman in ages. What was she scheming?
But Sister Blood was gone, leaving him with nothing but questions and a crying infant.
"Did she… hmm…"
He seemed to have remembered something.
"Good grief."
Zareth sighed deeply. He cradled the baby awkwardly in his arms as he began to descend the hill. He passed by groups of onlookers who were looking at the blaze atop the hill, wondering what could have caused such destruction.
"Was it an accident or a Tumor attack?"
"Should we notify the Convent?"
Ignoring their whispers and pointed fingers, Zareth continued on his way. The weight of the child in his arms felt heavier with each step. The night was young, and he had a feeling it was going to be a long one if he didn't get rid of this baby.
…
The small town of Maskorudeath stirred with an unusual buzz of activity. Normally a quiet, impoverished place where secrets were as rare as visitors, tonight it was alive with speculation. The burning bar atop the hill had drawn most of the townsfolk out of their homes.
Maskorudeath was a town of the old and forgotten. The young fled as soon as they came of age, seeking better fortunes elsewhere. It was a place that time seemed to have passed by, rarely touched by the horrors of Tumors or any real drama. Which made tonight's events all the more extraordinary.
An older woman with silvery hair and a map of wrinkles, gossiped with her neighbours as they watched the distant flames.
"Did you hear about the neighbouring province? A whole group of Tumors attacked there recently. Oh, I do hope our little Masko stays safe."
Her words trailed off as she noticed a familiar figure approaching. "Ah, Father Zareth!" she called out, waving him over. "What in heaven's name happened up there? Were you drinking there today?"
Zareth's face remained impassive as he approached. Instead of answering, he said in a low voice, "I have something to give you. Let's go inside, Mariam."
Mariam's eyebrows shot up, but she respected the retired priest's wishes. "Jorah!" she called to her husband. "Come along now."
"Aye, aye, milady."
Once inside their modest home, Zareth thrust the bundle forward without preamble. Mariam's eyes widened as she realized what it was.
"A baby?" she gasped.
But Zareth was already turning to leave as if he'd just dropped off a package. Mariam's voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Now wait just a minute, Father Zareth! Who's baby is this? And why in the world are you giving it to me?" She gestured to her white hair. "Can't you see I'm far too old for this? And look," she pulled at her worn dress, revealing a shrivelled chest, "I've no milk to feed an infant!"
Her husband, Jorah piped up. "We could feed it goat's milk, dear."
Mariam rounded on him. "And what of our bartering, eh? That milk's all we have to trade!"
Zareth sighed heavily while stroking his beard. "Good grief, didn't I mention that I would pay you?" He reached into what's left of his pocket and dropped a handful of silver coins on a nearby table.
Jorah's eyes lit up at the sight. "We'd be happy to look after the little one. For a few days, at least."
"A few days will suffice," Zareth nodded. "I need time to... organize my thoughts."
Mariam's sharp eyes didn't miss Zareth's slight wince as well as the blood stains and dishevelled appearance.
"You're hurting, Father. What's wrong?" she sniffed him. "You smell like a burnt corpse. Were you in fact involved in that burning atop the hill? What happened up there? They are gossips of several deaths."
"It's nothing."
Zareth dismissed her concern. But internally, he thought, 'I need to take that serum before things get out of hand.'
The pain from his Gospel's backlash was growing worse.
"I'll come see you in the morning," Zareth said, turning to leave. "Goodbye for now."
"Have a good night."
Mariam watched him leave in suspicion. Then the baby in her grasp began crying as if it had just lost something precious. She hushed it and brought it inside to nurture.
Zareth limped back to his small, squalid house on the outskirts of Maskorudeath. He'd chosen this remote location deliberately, knowing that if any Tumor were to attack him, no civilians would be hurt. But now, with Sister Blood's reappearance and this mysterious child, he wondered if his quiet retirement was coming to an end.
Creak…
Zareth frantically stumbled into his modest house and made a beeline for the cupboard. He threw open its doors with trembling hands.
"Where is it? Where is it?"
He dashed into the bathroom to search. Inside, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the cracked mirror.
"This… its worse than I thought."
His face had aged drastically; many new wrinkles were taking home in his skin.
"Just this much and the side effects are… dammit. Where is it?"
Finding nothing, he turned to his drawer and rifled through its contents. Suddenly, a memory flashed in his mind. With renewed purpose, he rushed to his bedroom and tossed the mattress aside.
Several cockroaches were scared away. There, hidden beneath, was a small box. Inside lay three vials of serum.
"Only three remain? Soon I'll be out."
Zareth hesitated momentarily, but then a stinging pain reminded him what he had to do. He grabbed one vial and injected its contents into his leg. Almost immediately, a wave of drowsiness washed over him. He collapsed against the bedframe; his last conscious thoughts were of Sister Blood and the mysterious child she'd left in his care.
In the depths of his drug-induced sleep, Zareth's mind conjured a horrifying nightmare. He saw a baby, innocent-looking at first, but its actions were far from childlike. The infant approached a person and then reached out with its tiny hand.
What was it about to do?
Just as he was about to find out…
Bang! Bang!
Zareth jolted awake to the sound of frantic knocking at his door.
"Huh, someone is here?"
Disoriented and still groggy from the serum, he stumbled to answer it. On his doorstep stood Jorah, Mariam's husband, covered in blood.
"Zara…haa…"
Jorah's lips moved and formed words that Zareth couldn't quite make out. Only two word came through clearly:
"Devil… Baby."
"What do you…"
Before Zareth could ask for clarification, Jorah coughed violently. Then, to Zareth's horror, the old man collapsed into his arms, dead. It was then that he noticed a wound on the man's back.
"Hmm, what could have caused this? The baby might also be in danger."
Realizing this, adrenaline coursed through his veins. Zareth laid Jorah's body down gently and sprinted towards Mariam's home. The door stood ajar. This was an ominous invitation in the dead of night. The streets were deserted, and the town was oblivious to the unfolding tragedy.
Zareth crossed the threshold, and soon after, an eerie feeling crept over him. His thoughts turned to the baby's wellbeing; a concern that felt both natural and somehow misplaced given the circumstances.
"Huh, this is…"
The interior of the house greeted him with a grotesque tableau. A pool of blood spread across the floor. Zareth searched the house while subtly dreading what he might find.
In the kitchen, the full horror of the scene revealed itself. Mariam lay motionless on the floor with a knife clutched in her lifeless hand. Her body was savagely mutilated. Her innards were exposed in a gruesome display.
Zareth knelt beside Mariam's corpse in shock. The smell of iron and visceral fluids was overpowering. He had seen death in many forms; bodies twisted by Tumors, men crushed by debris, but this felt different. It was intimate. Savage.
He leaned closer, inspecting the gore spreading across the wooden floorboards. Amidst the chaotic smears of red, something small caught his eye. A pattern.
"These are..."
Zareth squinted, he felt a scratch in his throat. They were footprints. Tiny, bloody footprints leading away from the body.
'Impossible. These prints... they belong to an infant.'
He traced the trail with his eyes. It led out of the kitchen and towards the back door. A chill that defied the logic of his experience ran down his spine.
'A baby? Doing this? No, Jorah called it a "Devil Baby." Whatever Sister Blood handed me, it isn't human.'
Before he could follow the trail, a piercing shriek shattered the night's silence.
"KYAAAAAH!"
It came from the house next door. Then another scream joined it, and another. Within seconds, the quiet town of Maskorudeath erupted into a cacophony of terror.
"Help! Something is… GAHH!"
"My leg! It took my leg!"
Zareth bolted upright, abandoning the kitchen. He sprinted out the front door and into the street. The scene that greeted him was a chaotic blur of motion and shadows.
People were pouring out of their homes, stumbling in the darkness. But they weren't just running; they were falling.
To his left, a man was sprinting towards the town square, looking back in terror. Suddenly, he pitched forward. As he hit the ground, Zareth saw why; his left leg was severed cleanly below the knee. Blood sprayed like a fountain.
"God save us! It's too fast!" the man wailed before his voice was cut short by a sickening wet crunch. His throat had been torn out.
Zareth scanned the area frantically. 'Where is the enemy? I can't see anything.'
Usually, Tumors were hulking masses of flesh or distinct, mutated forms. They were loud and destructive. But this... people were dropping like flies, their limbs vanishing, their jugulars ripped open, yet the attacker remained unseen.
'Is it invisible? No... it's just small. And incredibly fast.'
"NO! STAY AWAY!"
Zareth spun around to see a woman swinging a shovel wildly at the ground. She was backing away with terror etched into her face.
Slash!
"Ah...?"
The woman froze. She looked down as her arm, still holding the shovel, detached from her shoulder and fell to the dust with a thud. She stared at it, too shocked to scream, before she collapsed, blood pooling rapidly around her.
"Good grief..."
Zareth thought of activating his Gospel, but he hesitated.
'I can't target it. If I unleash my fire here, I'll kill the few survivors left.'
He watched, helpless, as the screams began to dwindle. Not because the danger had passed, but because there were fewer voices left to scream.
The town, which had been buzzing with gossip just hours ago, was being systematically silenced. The chorus of panic faded into whimpers, then gurgles, and finally, a heavy, oppressive silence.
It had taken mere minutes.
Zareth stood alone in the middle of the dirt road. The moon hung high above, illuminating the carnage. Dozens of bodies lay scattered around him; men, women, the elderly. All butchered.
The wind that rustled through the trees, carried the heavy scent of death.
"Is it over?"
Zareth remained tense, looking from shadow to shadow.
"Uwaa... aah..."
A soft, gurgling sound broke the stillness. It wasn't a scream of pain, but a sound of pure innocence.
Zareth's head snapped towards the sound. It was coming from near the town well, where a pile of bodies had accumulated. He walked towards it. His feet were squelching in the mud turned crimson.
There, sitting in the centre of a wide, dark pool of blood, was the baby.
It was naked, its skin stained red from head to toe. It sat amidst the carnage with the casual demeanour of a child in a bath. In its tiny hands, it held something unrecognizable; a piece of flesh it had been gnawing on.
"You..."
Zareth breathed out with slight tremble in his voice.
The baby dropped the piece of flesh. It slowly turned its head to face Zareth.
There was no fear in its eyes. No confusion. The infant stared at the retired Priest with a gaze that felt heavy, ancient. Its eyes, bright and clear, seemed to bore into Zareth's soul, assessing him, calculating.
It didn't cry for its mother. It didn't shiver in the cold. It simply sat there, reigning over its slaughter.
Zareth felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. The realization hit him like a physical blow. This wasn't just a monster; it was a calamity packaged in the most deceptive form imaginable.
'Sister Blood... what in God's name did you give me?'
He looked at the small creature, surrounded by the decimated population of Maskorudeath. The baby tilted its head, and for a split second, the corners of its bloody mouth seemed to twitch upward.
Zareth stood frozen, unable to process the nightmarish scene. His retirement was truly over. He was standing face to face with a horror that made the Vein Tumor look like a mere nuisance.
And the most terrifying part was the question burning in his mind:
What was he going to do now?