How exciting!
But then something shifts under the furs, stealing my attention. I squint, piercing the darkness, and realize—it’s Sandra! She’s down to her underwear—the scandalous harlot—lying just inches from the sleeping Dracoth.
And she doesn’t even have her chain on! Typical. Seriously, it’s ridiculous that I’m chained up like a dog at the foot of the bed while the queen of the castle gets to snuggle up to King Bore, First of His Name. I swear to God, this favoritism that others get at my expense is so fucking grating. It follows me everywhere—whether it’s boarding school, my so-called friends, my mother... my father... and now even here, on an alien planet. Unbelievable!
Wait, did they...? Did they have sex?There’s no way I could’ve slept through that, right? Although, I was totally wasted... But I can’t imagine Dracoth getting over himself so quickly—he’d probably roar his head off and throw us out if one of us even tried touching the big prude. Still, I can’t shake off this creepingdread that I’m becoming a useless third wheel, destined to be dumped off like last season’s fashion at a charity shop.
Distant guttural chanting echoes from the tunnel exit, harsh and aggressive. A ripple of panic flows through me. Is it crazy Demon Egg-Head-like cultists on their way here? I strain to listen, but the sound remains far. After each chant, a chorus of voices echoes back in unison. Intrigued and nervous, I creep toward the exit but my chain yanks painfully at my collar, snapping me back.
“Fucking thing,” I mutter under my breath, my annoyance flaring. I tiptoe to the stone furniture anchoring my chain, expecting to see it locked tight. The chain is just wrapped around the bottom leg. A grin spreads across my face.
With cautious, creeping hands, I begin to untangle the links, wincing at every jangle. My eyes flick nervously to the immense sleeping bulge called Dracoth.
Nice and quiet!
I suppress a cheer of victory as the last loop slips free. Sandra and the giant bore are none the wiser. Sneaking out of the rocky chamber, I coil my chain around my arm like a silver snake, keeping it silent and avoiding any chance of tripping over it.
The tunnel stretches before me, tall and wide. Its length vanishes into the distance, illuminated by pulsing crystals of various colors embedded in the walls. My feet leave the hot stone floor and touch soft furs that line the passageway, making me gasp in surprise at the change.
The rhythmic chanting grows louder as I continue creeping down the tunnel. Despite my trembling hands and bated breath, I feel drawn to the invocation. A deep drumbeat now drives the frantic pulsing, pulling me forward with more than just curiosity. The tunnel splits off into countless chambers.
Peeking inside each one, I see smaller versions of Dracoth’s room. Other paths diverge into different tunnels like the threadsof a web. It would be easy to get lost in here, but I use the music and the chants as my guide.
Sweat drips from my brow in the stifling heat, but I find the warmth strangely pleasant. It’s as if it’s scorching my skin and cleansing my soul. I wish it were hotter still—like that dream of fire.
I emerge into an expansive chamber and swallow the hard lump forming in my throat.
Concentric rings of mostly gray-haired Clown-dathians sit cross-legged, chanting, some banging small drums, their eyes fixed intently on a figure in the center.
The central Clown-dathian looks like Demon Egg-Head—except his robes are a scaly black tinged with blood-red, and his bald head is less withered and less scorched with runes, leaving half his face uncovered. Of course, his lips are still blackened—just to be as creepy as possible!
Next to him, a huge geyser of molten lava bubbles and spits like an angry monster, casting flickering yellow and orange light that dances over the black, rocky walls.
It’s like I’ve stumbled upon some satanic cult ritual. I know I should escape back to Dracoth, but I’m mesmerized, my mouth slightly agape as I wait, eager to see what happens next. My eyes travel upward over an immense black stone statue that pulses with lines of boiling lava. It looks carved from the granite-like caves themselves—rough and brutal, it dominates the entire space, reaching up to the tip of the cavernous ceiling.
Its eyes blaze with fire, and I swear its burning gaze is fixed on me, penetrating my mind, searching my soul. I gasp as my heart pounds in my chest, almost overwhelmed by what I’m hearing and seeing.
The cultist in the center continues his guttural chants, holding a jewel-encrusted bowl aloft. He reaches into it and takes ahandful of strange green roots, displaying them to the immense statue as if awaiting its judgment.
Then, with a sudden, violent motion, he crushes them in his hand, releasing a cloud of fine powder that sizzles and smokes as it falls into the bubbling magma fountain.
Green flames leap from the lava, bathing the room in pulsing emerald light, like grasping fingers of roaring fire. Jade smoke creeps from the center, curling lazily into ghostly apparitions that mingle with the steamy air. It takes a moment for the bitter, moldy scent to reach me at the back of the chamber.
My eyes widen, and my heart thunders against my chest. Yes! I feel it—the sensation of fluid life roaring through my veins like boiling rivers of fire. It burns away my headache, my fears, my doubts. My entire body trembles with a barely restrained longing to do... something, anything! The chanting and drumming intensify, and I feel myself drawn deeper into the moment. I almost join the others in their ritual, wanting to raise my arms and bask in the warmth of this immense figure, but for now, I remain on the outskirts.
The enormous statue of stone and flame towers above, like a molten god pulsing with strength and rage. It glares at me as Dracoth does—immense, judging, unreadable, but conveying unbreakable power and fury. Green fumes swirl around it, and the chanting urges me forward.
In the distance, I peer deeper into the lava, into the figure. I see the flames spilling forth, filling the room, feel their heat scorching my skin, consuming my flesh. Just like in the dream of flames, the cosmic entity stands before me, bathing me in its glorious fires like a blaze of love and destruction.
I wish it would take me—consume me entirely, so the abyss I carry can never find me again. But then the chanting dies down, and my senses slowly return, like I’m coming down fromsome drugged-out EDM party. Already I miss the intensity, the colossal presence of fire and life.
Two bare-chested Clown-dathians drag in a strange, unknown beast—a giant, pony-sized snail with a gray shell adorned with an array of bioluminescent patterns, speckled with blues, purples, and greens. Normally, I’d recoil from seeing something so hideous, so grotesque, but instead, I feel rooted in place, my heart still soaring with steely resolve. The creature moves with an eerie grace, its elongated tentacles probing the air ahead. In its wake, it leaves a glistening trail of luminous mucus as it is brought before the central figure.
The cult leader sets aside his jeweled bowl and extends his razor-sharp claws, which glisten with the reflections of orange and yellow magma. A heavy silence falls over the chamber, hanging like a shroud, before he suddenly thrusts his claws deep into the creature’s center.
I should flinch in horror, but instead, I find myself enthralled by the gruesome spectacle, my gaze fixed on the light dimming in the creature’s eyes as its gray, slimy blood sprays forth like a grotesque artwork.
The cult leader reaches deep into its body, extracting a pulsing dark-violet organ and casting it into the geyser of molten lava. Liquid rock consumes the offering with a hungry roar, bursting into vibrant purple flames.
