52: The Chained Giant (Patreon)

Nicolai’s steps slowed as he stared at the giant in the chair.

The giant was alive, bones covered by flesh that was not rotten. The giant was shaped much like a human, and he wore only a loincloth. He sat there like a king on a throne.

‘Titan,’ said the zombie. ‘We need you to make a band.’

‘For whom?’ asked the giant. It spoke in a voice of brooding thunder, rumbling in the dark.

‘This Cultivator.’ The zombie gestured to Nicolai.

The giant looked over and his eyes fell on Nicolai, who found himself pressed, his body wanting to stumble backwards or to kneel down. This man, this giant, exuded danger. His eyes were a dark blue, like an ocean in storm, without pupil. His mouth had no lips, his head had no ears. His eyes were deeply recessed. He had no nose, just two holes. His bald head reflected the light of the forge fire.

‘A Cultivator, is he?’ said the giant, his eyes boring into Nicolai’s, his lip-less mouth twitching.

Nicolai faintly heard the zombie say that yes, he is. It sounded annoyed. The giant knew, he could see it in those cool, smiling eyes. He knew about Nicolai’s Seed, that he wasn’t a Cultivator in the way the zombie believed. For a moment he felt the giant’s thoughts, felt it considering. Then the giant smiled.

‘I’ll need to touch him,’ said the giant.

‘Go,’ said the zombie with an irritable gesture, and Nicolai felt the touch of a chain from behind, the Warden pushing him forward.

The giant leaned out of the dark, extending a meaty finger, and there was a rustling and clanking of much, much heavier chain, and Nicolai saw them. Bands of dull black metal around the giants ankles and wrists, connecting to thick black chains that disappeared into the darkness behind it.

Nicolai raised his hand, his Marked hand, and held it slowly out towards the giants finger which was almost of a size with his whole hand. He considered whether he ought to do what he wanted to do. Part of him thought it a very bad idea, but another part felt that the giant was unlikely to mind, felt that already they understood one another. He put his other hand on the back of his right, covering his Mark. An odd way to present his hands but he felt it would stand out less than a flare of light from his Mark.

He touched the finger and felt his Mark squirm as he thought examine, faintly saw the lines of gold running over his fingers and touching upon the giant. He retracted his hand and the giant did the same, both staring at one another thoughtfully. The zombie didn’t appear to notice what Nicolai had done, or if it did, it didn’t care.

Gorf the Titan, Chained Smith

Gorf was once a renowned crafter of Artifacts, outfitting higher ranking troops of the People.

In the final days before the Fall, the Lords convened. They wished to keep the skills of the Titan Smiths available in the event that the People survived the Fall. All Titan Smiths were taken and imprisoned, forced to serve the undead until the People regain their standing.

And so, Gorf sits down here, and waits.

‘Not very strong,’ said Gorf after a moment, speaking to the zombie. ‘Won’t take long to craft the band. Give me a minute.’

Nicolai and the rest of them quickly moved back as the giant stood, Gorf’s chains rattling as he strode over and reached with bare hand into the flames of the furnace, dipping his hand in something and when it came out, molten metal shone in his cupped palm. Nicolai stared as the hulking figure picked up a circular mould, tiny in its hands, placed it on the anvil then knelt there and carefully poured the molten metal from hand to mould. A second mould was grabbed and squeezed against the first. Once they were stuck together, the giant dropped the whole thing into a pool of water in a stone vat beside the furnace where it let out an angry hiss and a cloud of steam rose.

Moments later, Gorf dropped the moulds onto the anvil and gave them a few slaps which knocked them apart, shining metal falling from between. He picked up the shape, held it, and simply stood there staring at it for a time. The metal seemed to twist before Nicolai’s watching eyes. Then the giant pulled with two fingers and it opened on a hinge.

‘There,’ he said, tossing it to clatter onto the ground by Nicolai. ‘That’ll bind the Cultivator,’ he added, and grinned at Nicolai with big flat teeth. It was not exactly a friendly grin, but it wasn’t unfriendly, either.

‘Long time I’ve been stuck here,’ said Gorf as the zombie stooped to pick up the band. ‘Sure wish someone could find the key to my chains.’

‘What?’ The zombie frowned at Gorf, who gazed back expressionlessly.

‘What?’ echoed the giant.

Nicolai had his left hand pressed to the back of his right, hiding the squirming light of his mark, which he could feel shifting and tingling. He knew without a doubt that Gorf had just given him a new quest.

The zombie’s gaze lingered on Gorf a moment longer, cold and suspicious. Then it shrugged and turned back to Nicolai with the band, which it hinged open then snapped closed around his neck before pointing to the anvil.

‘Put your head on there,’ it said.

The Warden’s chains crawled up Nicolai’s back, a pressure from behind. He was reasonably sure this wasn’t an execution, though it bore an uncomfortable resemblance to one. He moved forward, knelt beside the anvil, and put his head on the cool metal.

‘Go on,’ said the zombie to Gorf, who picked up a long metal implement that seemed slender and tiny in his hands. Nicolai tensed his neck and grunted as the giant pressed the twisting end of the implement into the back of Nicolai’s band, and turned it. He felt it shift and heard the snick of metal locking into place. Then the zombie was there, uncomfortably close to Nicolai, fetid fingers around the band on his neck, tugging at it. ‘Good, good,’ it said, finding it tight. ‘Come on,’ it added, and the Warden’s chains licked at Nicolai and he was up and moving again.

As he left the room he looked back at the giant. Gorf lifted the metal rod he had locked Nicolai’s band with into the air, and waved it at him, and showed those big flat teeth in another grin.

Back in the big open room Nicolai had first met the zombies in, the lead zombie looked Nicolai over. Then it raised the rod with the shining orb. It tapped the orb on the band, and he heard a crackling sound, felt a faint heat around his neck, but nothing more. He watched the zombie carefully, trying to work out how he should react. It seemed a little confused, as though something should have happened but didn’t. It frowned at the rod, then at Nicolai.

‘Ah,’ said Nicolai, raising a hand to touch his neck then hesitating, as though the band had hurt him, or surprised him, or something similar. He tried to make his action as vague as possible.

The zombie smiled, revealing a mouth full of rotting teeth and gaping holes. It made a dismissive gesture and the two Wardens flanking Nicolai turned and left.

‘Good. You know what that pain means, Cultivator? The band is bound to you. I imagine you can feel it, moving through your system, getting well-rooted in there. Now, listen well, because these are the orders your band will enforce: you are to work in the mines. Obey the orders of any undead that speak to you. Harm no undead. Use your time efficiently to cut Oma crystals from the earth and bring them up here to the stone cutting area for processing. If you spot any bugs or monstrosities, let a speaking undead know. Don’t leave the mine and prison area. Hey, do you hear me?’

Nicolai had been distracted by the other zombie which stood again beside the talkative zombie. It apparently thought it was meant to be writing all this down as it had resumed madly flailing at its clipboard.

Nicolai felt nothing from the band around his neck. He’d felt nothing but the faint heat when the zombie tapped it with the rod. He was reasonably sure it was not working as it was supposed to, and he felt he knew why. Because he wasn’t really a Cultivator, and would not be until he’d integrated his Seed.

‘I hear you.’ He nodded to the talking zombie, and let out a resigned, defeated sigh.

The talking zombie hesitated for a moment, frowning, perhaps trying to remember if there was anything else it was meant to say. Then it shrugged and pointed out the door. ‘Go on then, the mines are out there. Go, join a crew, get busy.’ It made a weird little gesture with one hand over its chest and glanced up. ‘Heaven is watching.’

Nicolai turned and left, walking between the knights at the door without issue. They didn’t even glance at him. He moved out into the midst of the hustle and bustle of undead and was ignored by all, rendered below their notice by the band on his neck.

He turned a slow circle and smiled. I am the fly in the ointment. A low chuckle sidled between his lips.

Near where slope began to corkscrew down the inside of the pit, Nicolai saw hundreds of loose undead wielding pickaxes gathered around a tall being like a Warden but without the chains. He headed over.

The tall zombie was pointing at undead, forming them into groups, having them go and collect carts and pickaxes and all kinds of things, all without a single word. Nicolai waved at it.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Where do I go?’

Gaping eyeholes stared down at him. Then it gestured towards a pile of pickaxes. Nicolai obediently tramped over and picked one up, then returned. ‘What now?’

Gaping eyeholes stared down at him. This time it gestured towards a group of undead with a cart that were beginning to head down the slope.

Nicolai quickly caught up with them and settled in at the back. There were twelve undead in total, most of them being skeletons with pickaxes, then there were also four with ragged and rusty armour, with equally ragged and rusty weapons. One of them had a pot helmet, which Nicolai eyed hungrily. It looked a good shape to make a Soul Trap with.

It took about forty minutes for them to complete the slow winding journey to the bottom of the pit, dodging other groups of undead that were hauling carts full of stones pocked with glittering chunks of crystal upwards, and accompanied by other groups towing empty carts in front and behind of them. The resemblance to an ant colony was only growing stronger. The place was well lit, at least, as through the gaping hole in the ceiling Nicolai could see the blue sky far, far above. It looked to be late afternoon, shading towards evening.

The bottom of the pit was packed with a heaving mass of undead miners, and there were hundreds of tunnels leading out from the bottom of the pit. The undead Nicolai was with chose a tunnel via some process he didn’t understand. They all just headed towards it. Pheromones, perhaps, like undead ants? He thought it unlikely. Nicolai followed them.

The tunnel was hewn large enough for two carts to pass by one another and were lit by the ever-present torches, which were shading orange.

The tunnel wound through the rock and earth, and more tunnels split off from it. Nicolai saw undead hacking away at the walls in some. He also saw many areas where large chunks of rock and earth had already been mined out. Eventually they stopped in an area that once again the undead chose through some invisible process. It seemed this place had been worked before, with a ragged tear in the wall of the tunnel. They shuffled over to it and set to work, slow but steady, pickaxes rising and falling. Meanwhile, the four undead with weaponry continued a little further down the tunnel, then formed a row, protecting the miners from whatever might come. The torches only continued a little way past them, then stopped, but through the dimness Nicolai could see that the tunnel did seem to continue, going who-knew-where.

The sight of them standing there made Nicolai frown, recalling the order to report if he saw any “bugs or monstrosities.” It struck him then that these tunnels were wide enough that the centipede monster might be able to fit in some of the bigger ones, and the darkness took on a worrying edge as he became distinctly aware that he was deep underground with nothing but dull skeletons to help him out in the event something happened.

As opposed to the knights and the Wardens up top, he was pretty sure he could carve his way through this undead mining crew in very little time, and felt sure that the centipede or something like it wouldn’t be slowed for even an instant by the four creaking guards and their rusted arms.

Nicolai drew closer to where the skeletons mined, watching. They were working at a chunk of crystal which he recognised as Oma crystal, though not in the nice ovular egg-shapes he was used to, rather it seemed a big slab of crystal stuck in the wall.

Nicolai tapped the back of his mark and reminded himself of the state of his Seed.

User Interface 376 | Player #53,217

- Cultivation

> Seed Progress

Soul: 20%

Oma: 21%

He believed he could go up to twenty-four Oma before he was in danger of unbalancing it. After that, he’d need a soul trap, which unfortunately he’d been forced to leave with Kleos, and was glad he’d done so as otherwise it would likely be inside the storage room they’d put his baton in. His eyes fell on the pot-like helmet one of the guards wore. That could be fashioned into a new Soul Trap. After spending so long creating the last, he didn’t anticipate any issues making a new one. The patterns were engraved in his memory. It would just take some time.

First he needed to do some testing. He intended to completely ignore the orders of the zombie and do whatever he wished. What response would this draw? Could the undead communicate over a distance? He didn’t think so, but if they could then he would be in a lot of trouble.

Sometimes risks must be taken. Nicolai had been in this world, what, a week now? He’d managed to get his hands on some interesting toys. Learned to make a Soul Trap. But his Seed had only just barely passed twenty percent. With other humans having augments and increasingly, guns and other weaponry, as well as numbers, then the challenge of the castle itself and the many undead he was incapable of defeating… it was time to take a risk. He needed to get stronger, now.

His eyes rose and settled on the skeletons. His hands clenched tight around the pickaxe. They were swinging their own at the rocks, but he had an entirely differently purpose for his in mind.