Chapter 16: Flesh golem

“Should we report this?” I whispered. 

Yusuf crouched down next to me, “Nah, they’ve been standing there for a week or two. Don’t seem to have much of a plan, really.” 

“They don’t pose a problem?” 

He shook his head, “They help keep the Slitherstitch away. Doesn’t like to mingle with its victims, apparently.”

“Aren’t you taking this too lightly? What if they move to the library?” 

“Then we’ll deal with it,” he brushed it off with a shrug. 

“And you could deal with…” I counted them quickly, “hundreds of them at the same time?” 

Yusuf put a hand on my shoulder, turning me to face him, “The Slitherstitch is much worse than this bunch of stumbling buffoons. There would be some casualties if they attacked us, definitely. But if they weren’t here, the Slithterstitch would pick us off one by one.” 

“That bad?” 

“That bad. The fucking thing seems invincible. Blades just bounce off its scales; magic based blessings don’t have the power to deal with it. We’re at a complete loss,” he eyes grew distant.

They spoke of the jailors like they were monsters of grand proportion. But the Slitherstitch sounded more like a natural disaster. I didn’t realize why Elana was so scared when we snuck under it. Now it made sense. A slithering tank with a penchant for maiming wasn’t something I wanted to get close to, ever. 

“Huh…” Yusuf muttered. “That’s odd.” 

“What?” I mumbled and followed his gaze. 

Close to the fountain, a couple Stumblers replicated the pose of the statues. Their limbs interlocked in an embrace, like a large group hug. Until they started devouring each other. The needle-work mouths tore off large patches of flesh with easy, bathing the cobbled plaza in a river of blood and gore. 

Yusuf and I watched with our mouths agape. 

I swallowed and put a hand to my mouth, “What the fuck…” 

Nothing but a pile of dismembered limbs and gooey flesh remained of the group. It shuddered and contorted. 

“I… I think we should go back and report this,” Yusuf quavered. 

The mound rippled and jerked. Dismembered hands clawed forth across the paved floor to join the heap of flesh. The pieces of flesh fused together, bit by bit, taking on an egg shape of haphazardly placed limbs. It rose to its hind legs, towering above the stumblers with arms and legs stretching out of it like legs on a centipede. It didn’t have a face, only mouths baring their fangs under the surgical light of the crystals. 

“They fucking mutated,” Yusuf’s voice trembled. I turned stiffly to him, his eyes were wide open. He looked at me and swallowed dryly, “Time to go.” 

Yusuf got up, silently, and began the trek back to the library. I remained seated for a moment, watching in abject horror as new Stumblers flooded the plaza, all repeating the process of dismemberment and mutation. 

I gulped. Rose to my feet and hurried to catch up with Yusuf. 

“That’s not fucking right,” I whispered as I caught up.

His eyes remained distant, his brow creased, “This changes things. I haven’t seen one of those… those flesh golems before.” 

Yusuf’s steps made the roof groan. He jumped over the hole. I stepped up right after, not giving the sheet enough time to rest, and felt the roof buckle under my weight. 

“Shit!” I blurted and jumped. Despite my best effort, jumping without a foothold was a feat not even blessed could pull off. 

In fact, it wasn’t even a jump. It was just a fall.

Yusuf threw himself toward me and caught my arm. He let out a pained wheeze as his chest slammed against the roof with a resounding clang. I glanced below. It wasn’t a large drop, only around five meters. This won’t hurt me, I thought. It would just force me to take a longer path back. 

I looked up. Color drained from Yusuf’s face as he strained to pull me back up. 

“It’s fine. I can get back on my own,” I said. 

“Fine?!” he wheezed. His face reddened from the effort. “They. Heard!” 

As if on cue, I heard the echoes of their thundering march approach. Luckily, they weren’t quick. 

“Fuck,” I spat and clawed at his arm, trying to climb up. His skin was slippery with sweat. I reached down to my satchel, felt the rough leather handle of the whip, and lashed it at the roof, praying it would find purchase. It was too late, my hand slipped, and I fell. 

The whip smacked against something and elongated under the strain of my weight, then constricted. The handle slipped out of my sweaty hand. My momentum was too great to stop. My heart screamed as I watched the whip slingshot into the horizon. 

“Shit!” I moaned. My knees bent as I struck down on the floor, sending vibrations to rattle my bones. 

“You alright?” Yusuf shouted. 

“Yeah,” I panted, “I’m good. Can you get the whip?”

“Uh, no. Is it awfully valuable?”

“Yes! Why?”

“Well, your Hail Mary kind of sent it to God knows where,” he smiled sympathetically. 

I wasn’t particularly fond of it, but it was still worth a lot. It hurt. My dream of retiring early slipped further away from reach. It hurt especially much when I realized I could have just tied strings of magic around Yusuf's arm, fallen down, and then used it to climb up. The things were durable as steel. I smacked my forehead. “Fucking, stupid, fucking, Cal.”

“Save it for later. They’re coming,” Yusuf said and pushed himself to his feet. The sheet metal groaned. “Follow the smoke. I’ll head back to the library for help.” 

His footsteps smattered across the rooftops as he left me to fend for myself. 

I sighed. Just like that, I was all alone once again. Well, not entirely alone. I glanced at a piece of glass in the room. As usual, my reflection was up to something completely other than reflecting me. 

The crystal shine barely lit the room. Light peeked through the rusted holes, creating thin pillars of light cutting through the cloud of dust that followed my crash. It was pretty, I noted, then shook myself alert. Distractions wouldn’t serve me here. 

I wandered around the room, which turned out to be a small store. Pieces of broken furniture propped the door shut, and the windows boarded up. Because why the fuck wouldn’t they be? 

Things were never easy in this place. I rummaged around in what seemed to be a fitting area when I found a large metallic ring on the ground. I yanked on it and felt the floor rattle. It was a hatch. A shelf with empty compartments covered half of it. I used burst to kick it aside, then pulled on the hatch and entered. 

It was dark inside, but not pitch black. The cellar was large. Way too large for the small store above. Stacks of barrels lined the walls. I walked up to the closest one and pulled loose the lid. It smelled of wine. Not the church, kind. The very good kind.  

This was sure to fetch a good price back home, if I could ever manage to smuggle it back. The heartache of losing my whip lessened, but not completely. The barrels were large and hard to carry. I would need something like Elana’s chest to get them all back. 

Maybe we could share the profits. 

I walked until another small staircase peeked out from behind the barrels. With hesitation, I trudged up the wooden steps. They bend under my feet, rotted through from the liquid running down the steps. Even the hatch had gone green and soft from the passage of time. Even as I pushed on it, it just bent. So I smashed my hand through and pulled down. 

It broke off into two large pieces and fell into the cellar. It had rotted through completely. 

Above, a beautifully woven mat covered my vision. I peeled it away bit by bit and revealed what lay above. Not surprisingly, it was another store. 

I peeked my head up like a periscope and scanned the insides. There was no one but me. 

On one side of the room, small box-like shelves of white stained wood stood stacked on each other without end. On the other side, tools hung proudly on their respective hooks. Each one a beautifully handcrafted piece of art. Right next to the hatch, a barrel, much like the ones below, lay turned to its side—uncorked. 

A solitary desk stood in the middle of the room, along with a simple chair. I climbed up and walked over. Finely shined shoes sat next to a beautifully carved brush with fine yellow hairs. 

Cobblers brush

Rank: Lost

Type: Broken

Description: Some wear armor to work, others wear a dirtied apron, yet neither need be more noble than the other. This was the favored brush of an old cobbler who defied the wills of society and rose in rank despite his lowly beginnings. The brush cleans surfaces of imperfections. The cobbler particularly liked this brush that he received from his daughter. 

The cobbler again, I thought. Even his brush was an accolade of importance. I stuffed it inside my bag and moved on. 

The approaching horde of stumblers and flesh golems made the windows and doors rattle. 

I sighed in relief and approached the door. Thankfully, the cobbler hadn’t boarded up his doors and windows. 

I summoned Silent scream, and grabbed the rifle from my shoulder. The beautifully dark stained wood laid comfortably in my hands. I didn’t know much about rifles—or wands, for that matter—but I knew enough to pull back the bolt, revealing the chamber where bullets go. I grabbed a bullet from my satchel, a piece of vial ammunition. The contents of the cartridge sloshed around noiselessly. I placed it inside the rifle and chambered the round. With the rifle in one hand and the dagger in the other, I peeked outside the door. 

The flood of Stumblers and Flesh golems hadn’t made it here yet. But the noise of them told me they were close. In the distance, a blue tower of smoke stretched to the roof of the underground city. 

Yusuf stayed true to his word and was trying to lead me home. I took another glance down the street to make sure the coast was clear and began my run back. 

A chilling scream rolled across the city, originating from the plaza. 

Something changed. 

The thundering steps quietened, then grew organized. They were marching. Marching toward me. 

“This fucking place,” I muttered and hurried my steps. 

As long as I got back to the others in time, the horde wouldn’t overwhelm me. Surely they had contingencies in place for just these kinds of happenings. I would have if I were in their shoes. 

If all else failed, I could always just leave them to fend for themselves and set off toward Joanna and the kids on my own. When the dust settled, and the horde moved. I’m sure the loot remaining would be wondrous. 

I shook my head.

Again, thoughts entirely alien to me weaseled their way to the forefront of my mind. Like I was being split in two. But then again, I guess I already was. 

My boots crunched satisfactorily against the cobbled streets, littered with broken glass, like stepping on fresh snow. The passing wind caressed my face with a cooling touch. The satchel slapped against my lower back and thighs rhythmically. 

A grin spread across my face. The pressure, the chase, the hunt. It all made me feel alive. More so than I had in years.  

I turned a corner, and came face to face with a group of stumblers. 

They looked at me. Lively fires burned in their eye sockets. They saw me. And they weren’t happy.