BELOW: BIRTH 10 (Patreon)

Hello! We're back on the grindset! I'm still kinda sick so energy is low but I'm doing my best to keep trecking towards BELOW's launch!

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“I assume, by that particular WOUND you have, that you won’t be able to respond to me verbally. Not with any fluency, at least. We’ll keep things simple, for now. One for yes, two for no. Blink, hand movements, stomp, if it please you. Understood?”

I nod, then realize that no, that’s now what he(?) asked, and instead do an awkward little clap. 

“Good! And able to improvise, no less! A positive sign, or at least one of sanity. We’ll keep this short. You are a cannibal: yes or no?”

Ah. 

Well. That. That is a relevant question. And probably amongst the first few questions I would ask someone with a mouth the size of their damn throat. 

I nod. Once. 

The strangely masculine figure waits, raising an eyebrow.

Ok, I also think I might not like this person. 

I clap, once. 

“Do you know what we do to cannibals?”

I almost go to shake my head, then think better of it. Two claps. 

The man-thing’s face stays way too still, way too doll-like, but I can hear it in his(?) voice that he’s smiling. 

“One who eats of another shall be made to feed the whole,” he says, with the voice of someone reciting something. “They shall be severed of their limbs, left to hang, and gifted with the chance to provide food to all those who wish to partake, until the amount of flesh they themselves consumed has been repaid to the family.”

I very carefully do my best not to react to the word “family”. Truthfully, I have no clue if he(?) picks up on my stillness, or failure to be still, as anything, but the words that my “benefactor” carved into my prison exit remain clear in my mind. 

IF U SEK SHELTR, FOLLO AND OBAY

“Family”. 

Put two and two together and what do you get? That’s right, a cult! 

I gurgle a bit as a laugh slips past my absolutely fucking terrible self control. I haven’t really had to lie or “act” since I woke up, much less since I woke up the second time in a cave I’ve been stuck in forever. 

I wonder, not for the first time, if SIN sustains my mind as much as it does my body. Extended isolation does terrible things to people, and I’m pretty sure I’m coherent, at least. 

“I suppose there wasn’t really a question at the end of that, was there?” asks the hypermasculine, long-furred figure in the mask. “Do you understand the punishment for a cannibal?”

I clap once, making sure to maintain “eye” contact with the mask that is its (his?) face.

I don’t know why I keep questioning it. I think something about how much of a presentation his masculinity feels like is throwing me off.

“Good. Do you agree to submit to that punishment?”

I tilt my head at that.

A hesitant two claps.

Both the tall, spider-legged thing and the skeletal golem behind him both shift, neither very good at pretending like they’re not ready to act. 

His hand rises, palm out, stalling the incoming violence. 

“I’m afraid that there are no exceptions to the rule, my friend. Here, in this place, we all must work as one, as a family, to ensure that no one is lost to the horrors of this place. To invite you in without taking a tithe of your SIN will only lead you down a darker path, away from any safety we could offer you.”

I do an exaggerated sort of shrug, indicating with my hands that the blood covering the front of me is not, in fact, one of the wretches I came in with, pointing to the stilt-legged companion that’s brought me here and then crossing my arms in a big X.

The Wretch looks at me in surprise, like he wasn’t expecting to be referenced, then at the hypermasculine thing, then back at me. Then it sort of shrinks a bit. 

Don’t know what I expected, honestly. Help? A recommendation? Any kind of explanation about where our other companion went, seeing as it was not, in fact, down my gullet?

“If it is any consolation, friend, the pain is kept to a minimum. We could always do with more fighters willing to risk themselves for the family, and my friend Bratu here tells me that you did in fact assist in the defense of our homestead.”

The armored skeleton, apparently named Bratu, gives off a grunt that rattles my damn lungs. I don’t know what this thing is, but its strong enough to pulp me one-handed if it catches me, and it’s not slow.

“Should you be willing to accept your time in purgation for your SIN of gluttony, we would be grateful to have you amongst us, as a friend. But! I understand if it is not to your taste to suffer for the needs of those you have only just met. These rules are our lifeline in this cold place, and they can be yours, but if you wish to take time to think, then the tunnel you entered through is ready to serve as your exit.”

So that’s it, then. Like the eel-thing said, right? Follow and obey to gain shelter. At least they’re not literally tearing me apart for saying no. 

Yet. Who knows what might happen out there in the tunnels, if there aren’t more powerful things they haven’t shown off yet that could hunt me down “for the family”. 

“Yes or no, friend? Stay or go?”

The person I used to be, that I can vaguely remember being before this place, would say no. Easily. It might be miserable, I might hate it, but the best and only answer to me would have been no. That person (I, me, it’s me) was in a cult of some kind at least once. The memory sits heavy, vague though it is, and the lessons learned still linger.

But I was alone.

In the dark. 

Starving. 

For a long time. 

That does things to a person. It does enough to make me consider the exact same horror I just escaped, visited upon me again but with company this time.

I raise my hands to clap. 

“इंतज़ार!” 

A word I don’t recognize in a tone that I do. The stilt-legged Wretch steps forward, its spear-crutch clicking wetly against the painted rocks.

“मैं उनकी जिम्मेदारी लूंगा।”. 

The voice is heavy. Determined, but fearful. The Wretch doesn’t look at me, doesn’t look at the cult leader either, staring straight at the ground. It’s hard to tell what part of its expression comes from the pain of its wounds or from fear, but it remains standing. 

“Interesting. Do you know what my friend here has just offered you?”

I clap twice, making sure to keep eyes on the Wretch rather than Him. I don’t know who he is, but I can’t fucking read him, especially not through that mask of his. But whoever the person beside me is, it’s pretty damn easy to tell that they’ve just offered me something heavy. 

The Wretch– the person beside me is putting their neck on the line. 

“Samir here has asked to take responsibility for you. A true sacrifice, and truer risk. They place their own neck on the chopping block right beside yours. They offer that should you require punishment, they shall take it on alongside you.”

I keep my eyes on… Samir. Samir. That’s a name. That’s a people name, even. How did they find that? How did they remember it? 

I don’t have a voice. I can’t speak to thank them. Him? Him.

His eyes flicker to me before going back to pointing straight at the ground. 

I raise a hand to my chest, closed into a fist, and tap it twice, right below where my Broken Gullet ends. As close to my heart as I can get. 

“And it seems that you understand this. What a pleasant surprise this is. One who can speak, and one who can listen.”

I feel a hand touch my shoulder, and my entire body shivers with a mix of revulsion and the fact that I did not hear or sense him move at all. 

“It would seem that your SINful burdens shall be part of our home after all. Perhaps a probationary period would be best. To allow you to see what you would be missing, should you betray Samir’s trust.”

He leans in, his face so close to mine that I can see the striations on his mask, like he carved that smiling lie out of stone. 

“You may call me Ishmal, after an old favorite story of mine. Welcome to Home.”

______________________________________________________________________

The tour is tense, and I’m glad that it’s over quickly. I can’t help but feel like the tunnel they’ve put me in is the same sort of prison that I was trapped in for so many months, but the clear sight through the entryway alleviates some of that tension. 

Why they have an empty cave ready, I don’t know, and don’t ask. 

I was walked past several others, Bratu either volunteering or volun-told to escort Samir and I directly towards this place. We’ve been put on the lowest level of the pathways, the weirdly carved-out center of this place offering multiple pathways higher, but those are probably occupied by other, more important figures. The caves we passed had nothing but Wretches in them, and they do look wretched. 

Most didn’t have any weird mutations I could see. Just almost-human figures, sometimes curled up on the floor in agony, sometimes staring at nothing, sometimes scratching the walls until their fingers bled. 

But at least one of them was scratching shapes into the stone. Simple designs, but ones that spoke of intention and interest, at least in the glimpse I saw of them. 

But they have their own excavated tunnels, their own little side-caves for themselves, as do I, now that Samir and I have been brought here. It’s the size of a living room, give or take, with a little section near the back carved out into a sort of bed, another section carved into a table, and not much else. 

It’s not exactly luxury, but… it’s more than a cave. It’s got furniture.

I don’t think I even realized how much of an effect furniture would have on me. 

Still, Samir gets first pick. I help him lay out on the “bed”, which is still just rock, putting his head on the side that has a bump to elevate it and leaving his legs stretched out. 

The armored skeleton of Bratu casts a weird un-shadow over the entrance, sitting patiently on the floor and making the clear shapes of red outside cut out behind it. It doesn’t move to assist, even as Samir whimpers from his broken legs, and I’m not tempted to try and bother it. 

And frankly, it doesn’t talk much more than I do anyways. 

I step over to the base of the bed, where Samir’s feet hang off the side, and tap him on the heel to get his attention. He looks up at me, eyes widening as I point to his legs and then make a jerking motion with my hands. 

They’re broken badly. His shin-bones are almost triple the length of mine, and they’re stabbing out in either direction on both legs. I’m honestly not sure how he walked on them at all, but the bone peeking through his skin tells plenty about how painful that must have been.

I can’t really see colors except black and red, but his face gives off the impression of being pale as he stares at me. 

I do not, as he might fear, grab his legs and yank. I wait. 

Eventually, his head hits the stone pillow. 

“अच्छा।।। अच्छा। बस कर दो।”.

A weary-ass tone, and a bunch of words I don’t know. Still, he nods, covering his face with his hands and gritting his teeth. 

Yeah. Fair. This is going to suck a lot.

I do not do a very good job of it.

It’s not for want of trying, I just don’t know how to set a bone properly, and his are so fucking long that the slightest slip sends them way off course. It doesn’t help that he’s clenching every other muscle in his leg from the pain. 

It’s not a pleasant experience for either of us. But, at the end of it, his legs are one long unbroken line again. 

I don’t have anything to splint him with, nor anything to wrap his legs, but his breathing is even enough that I can ask him later, and that he can probably ask himself if he thinks he can. I don’t really know what the power dynamics are around here. 

So I sit next to the bed, listening to him breathe and get himself back under control. 

I wonder how long he’s been down here. He doesn’t seem to even hesitate to inhale and exhale, though that might just be because the pain in his legs is worse than what his lungs can offer. Even after what feels like months of getting used to it, I still keep my breathing as slow and infrequent as I can unless I think I need to, or am trying something new. 

I wish I knew what language he spoke. It’s vaguely familiar, maybe? From that… big continent, to the east of where I was. One of the countries that had the highest population, underneath two of those big empire-nations, just over a sea?

I should know its name. I can almost feel the space where the name should be and isn’t. 

It still hurts, no matter how many times I’m reminded. Anything concrete about the world before, anything I can truly hold onto, is taken from me. Washed away, like sand-castles on the beach, the lumpy shapes left behind the only way to know there was a castle there at all. 

Inhale. Exhale. Ignore the pain of it. 

Samir is recovering. We’re both under guard, for now. I’m not even hungry, for once– it’s a low ache instead of the screaming agony I’ve gotten so used to. 

The realization that, without violence, there doesn’t seem to be a lot to do around here, strikes again. 

I’m in a cave. The entrance is blocked. 

I feel myself start to shiver. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

Like pin-needles in my lungs. 

In. Out.

+1 SIN.

Ah. Good reminder. I never actually checked to see what eating the not-jaguar thing got me, did I? 

Yeah. Alright. Numbers and progression and growth, oh my. It’s something to do, at least.