Chapter 2: Spilling Blood
Daimõns retreat into the ravaged forest had lasted many a hour and by the end of it Daimõn was left with lacerations from tree branches and a hollow feeling spanning the tips of his toes to the bald scalp of his head. He had tried to rid his thoughts of his late friends and the Dryads he had stumbled upon. He couldn't remember that clearly, waves of golden fire filled his thoughts at the time but they felt more real than imagined, if the trail of destruction in his wake was anything to go by. All Daimõn knew clearly was that he wanted revenge for his friends deaths. He didn't know when he would take his vengeance, not how he would take it or who he would take it from. The Gods and Titans who waged this war? The Gods who made him, even himself. The conflicting thoughts filled his head until he could no longer think clearly about the events that had absorbed him, the rumbling in his head shook his vision and thoughts of those he had lost were torn apart. Not knowing what else to do he lifted his head into the air and ket loose a frustrated roar, all of his pent up frustration over his situation came out as a plume of fire encompassing his body and roasting the nearby ground. His bestial scream echoed through the forest, resonating with the creatures torn from their homes and heard, as they all tilted their heads up and howled with him one rose above all others in volume. Significantly.
Daimõn stopped his roar when he heard a noise as loud as half of the trees in the forest falling, when he turned around he saw the creature that was knocking all of these trees over. It was a gargantuan beast, at least 30 ft tall, taller than any tree. However, that was not the most terrifying feature of it, its shaggy fur was only present in clumps on the skin as even that only clung to its bones with thin strand of rotting muscle. Maggots crawling along its decomposing ribs looking for even a small morsel of meat fell out, landing in and among the trees.
One landed a short distance away from Daimõn with a wet thud. Up close it was even more disgusting than Daimõn thought possible, greasy skin that covered pale white flesh leaked grease that poured off its featureless face which held only a gaping maw full of small, razor sharp yellow teeth. It reared up on its fleshy rear exposing a fat underbelly covered in excrement and bile, from wallowing in other monster maggots filth looking for morsels of food off of the great beast, and fat. A long, thin and pale green tongue flicked out of its open mouth and seemingly tasted the air, Daimõn noticed the whirling tongue favoring his direction before it fell back on its belly and slithered toward Daimõn.
As it got closer Daimõn saw it was around 8 ft high, only a few inches taller then Daimõns impressive height of 7'8". The stench threatened to overwhelm Daimõn instantly, he didn't care for how it was possible for something to smell so putrid but either way, he couldn't help but wish it stopped existing. As the maggot slowly slithered toward Daimõn he noticed how the slimy grease was turning the grass underneath black and shriveling it - it even boiled away the rocks it bassed over. Daimõn backed up slightly, if the grease was toxic he had only one means of fighting it, the only problem was that he didn't know how to use his powers.
Flexing his hands Daimõn began to think about the golden pillar of flame and even tried chanting fire under his breath, alas, he couldn't summon something as little as spark. Daimõn continued to walk backwards, he had no lack of space to run. Or so he thought. Behind him was a great cliff edge, the Gods had evidently carved the earth even more during his rage and found himself being very grateful for his need to get well away from there, he had yet to find the limits to his regeneration and didn't want to find them anytime soon. However, there were more pressing matters at hand.
Daimõn turned to see the maggot poised to leap to either side if he tried to run, this only left two options, either he leaps into the belly of the beast (literally) and fought it or going backwards and leaping off the cliff. However the choice was quickly made for him as the maggot jumped to him with surprising agility. Out of reflex his right fist struck out in a sharp uppercut and connected with the right side of the creatures face. Unfortunately, the impact tore the skin and a large stream of the fluid coating its skin sprayed out, dousing the right hand side of his body. Daimõn looked down and saw his skin bubbling away; had Daimõn been capable of feeling it he was sure he would be in agony. Quickly deciding his injury was nothing he couldn't wait out, Daimõn turned his attention back to the maggot and saw that what he first thought was his true layer of skin was more like a blister, containing lots of the acidic pus. But, what truly caught Daimõns eye was the exposed layer of skin his punch had revealed, it looked strong after enduring Gods know how long of its own corrosive fluids. Daimõn had a feeling that he would run out of his own arm before he punched through that carapace.
Suddenly Daimõn had an idea, it was neither smart nor fun but it had a chance at working, looking back at his hand he saw the white of his bone showing through the now gold blood, with a hint of black, and clenched his fist once again.
Without warning the Maggot attacked again and this time Daimõn swung again but aimed for the inner edge of the torn layer of skin. Shoving his clenched fist into the acidic substance he watched through the thin but transparent layer of skin as it burnt away the flesh on his arm. As the beast writhed in an attempt to shake Daimõns arm out causing large streams of the acid sprayed out and landing all over Daimõns chest and jaw, burning the skin away and beginning to work on going deeper. Waiting until even the bone in his arm began to break down he removed his arm to a little beyond his wrist, he waited a few more seconds before removing his entire arm. As he marveled at his grisly work he had to admit, it worked fairly well.
Before him was a short dagger of bone, still connected to his body, and covered in acid. Wasting no time he ran to the maggot that had wriggled away, presumably confused as to why its prey was killing itself, and plunged his arm into the previously revealed shell all the way up to his elbow and wriggled it around, gouging chunks out of its brain causing it to writhe in pain. Before long the putrid creature dissolved into a fine golden dust that settled in the ground, Daimõns arm had quickly begun to reform but he had no time to stop.
The great beast from before was coming his way, at first he thought it was coming for him and braced himself, instead it carried on walking. Confused Daimõn turned around, the tumbling of trees earlier had uncovered a small temple the beast must have missed on its first pass.
Daimõn sprinted past the beast, easily overtaking its painstakingly slow strides. When Daimõn arrived at the small temple he wasn't surprised when it failed to meet his expectations. The walls had long since deteriorated and crumbled, the right wall had tumbled down and the large wooden door had almost completely rotted away. Through the rot in the door Daimõn could see a line of dirty pews resting beneath tattered flags all embroidered with large black scythe on a dark purple background. Running down the centre of the temples colorless, cobbled floor was a dirty red carpet stained a dark filthy brown. Cobwebs covered a tall golden statue, yet the webs could do nothing to cover the smell of mothballs and rat excrement. Dust began to fill Daimõns mouth and he could taste it and the dirt that swirled in the air, leaving an earthy after taste. Daimõn swallowed deeply before preparing himself.
Daimõn took his first cautious steps into the dark temple and listened to his footsteps echo off the high walls before the noise escaped through wall on the right, as if it was trying to escape the beast coming for the temple. As he moved down the path his hand ran along the forgotten pews, they may have once been full of worshipers but now the small wooden benches were disappearing into dust. Daimõn approached the dust covered statue at the end of the filthy carpet. As he stepped over rocks that had tumbled down in front of the statue he stretched his hand out, sweeping away the thick cover of webs with one hand. What he saw was a strange looking contraption, a large golden statue (slightly smaller then Daimõn) of a God or Titan standing proud, in one hand he held a golden bowl full of a crystal clear water that reflected the heavens perfectly. In the other it held a scythe, bigger then the man. Underneath the statue on the pedestal was a small inscription and a large hole. The inscription seemed impossible for Daimõn to read until he stooped his head and focused. "Kronos, Titan of Time" he read aloud, Daimõn was confuse how he knew what it meant but he wasn't really bothered how he knew it, so long as he did. Looking around he saw nothing else of interest, the only thing that confused him was how the water had managed to stay so clean in a temple as decrepit as this one. Not knowing what else to do Daimõn lowered his finger into the bowl, instantly regretting that decision.
As soon as his finger tips touched the surface of the bowl he removed them, however it could be too late for him. The small drop sent such agony through Daimõns entire body the least he could do was fall on his other hand instead of his face. The hard landing sent a shock of pain through that arm and he felt a crack inside it. A look of horror adorned Daimõns face, he was feeling pain and had no idea how he was supposed to stop it. Looking all around the room Daimõn searched for anything that could help him. As his eyes flitted left and right his attention turned back to the statue, he noticed the 'rocks' he had stepped over earlier, a large skull with room for only one eye, a tiny arm bone that must have belonged to a child, they all had one thing in common. They were trying to get to the hole at the base of the statue.
Blindly following the statues Daimõn stuck lurched forwards and jammed his arm into the hole, he got it up to his elbow before it stopped. After a second or two of panic he noticed the pain had gone down and felt his fingertips drowning in a different, soothing, substance. Daimõn still felt the pain throughout his body but it had calmed significantly, having not as much need to feel it. However, it was brought back when the rim of the hole erupted with spikes holding his arm in place. Slowly, Daimõn tilted his head up, peering at the golden statue staring back at him, its helmeted face revealing only blood red eyes. In a blur of gold the statues arms moved and Daimõn felt a tremendous arc of pain tear through his back. Looking down he saw the tip of the golden scythe protruding from his chest, covered in golden ichor and a sliver of black. This pain popped up all over his back as the statues arm swung repeatedly slicing Daimõn up.
Daimõn had no chance of escape if he couldn't remove his arm From the strange contraption, but try as he might his vision was darkening and he knew this could be the end. Once again he tried to call on his fire powers in some vain hope of escape but like a fly in a honey pot he was stuck. 'Fine, die with me' Daimõn muttered under his breath as his abilities continued to die with him, maybe it was for the best Daimõn thought, after all his life hadn't been great so far and it would probably get worse. But just when he gave up the fight and let the cold embrace of death take him he felt a familiar fire at his finger tips.
Frowning, he wondered why they decided to help him now, as he lay on deaths doors. try as might though, death would no longer have him as whatever the strange water had done was burnt away the pain from his wounds disappeared and his wounds began to close. Standing on shaky legs he gazed at where he had been crouched and saw the great river of ichor flowing across the floor of the church in small dips in the ground. The room temple began to creak and groan as if it had grown tired of sitting and began to move. The bricks scattered and the floor receded in front of him as the thick smell of fresh ichor hung in the air and the column of dust blocked his view. He waved his hand in front of himself to scatter the dust and felt the thick grains give an impressive amount of resistance. Sat in front of him was a small belt made of dry and cracked leather. Dirty linen hung from it and next to that was a small tree bark sheath containing a knife. As Daimõn unsheathed the blade the light glanced off of its clean side and into Daimõns eyes. It was made of a strange material, noticing something familiar about it he turned back to the statue and saw that the scythe head was made of the same metal, not gold. Not knowing what else to do he donned the belt, covering his lower regions at last, and turned around. Unfortunately, he turned just in time to be struck by a very large paw tearing through the thin temple walls.
