Sorry short chapter. Maybe I'll get another one out this week. ty love.
He had the most peculiar accent. All the clicks were wrong. All the enunciations were incorrect. There was a very good reason humans never learned the jungle languages. Their vocal cords simply weren't made to pronounce these sorts of syllables. His speech really shouldn't have been understandable, but by some miracle, The Witch Doctor was able to decipher every word that came out of this odd - terrifically knowledgeable - human's mouth.
"This voodoo magic... I understand that dolls may be used to manipulate a person or even inflict illness, but what of more permanent injury?"
"...you refer to mutilation?"
"Fatal mutilation, or rather just a plain old 'fatality'. Could you, for example, induce a heart attack in a person?"
The Witch Doctor paused to observe The Guide before wetting his eyeballs and clicking closed his transparent eyelids. To be completely honest, he wasn't sure if this man was even real. The events that had transpired over the past few days were so utterly insane, The Witch Doctor was fairly sure he was lucid dreaming. He had been running his little shop in the Lihzard capital like every other day, when suddenly the jungle's whispers flooded his mind - demanding, commanding him to leave everything and travel. He had resisted the urges, of course... he resisted with all of his might. He had a broodmate, he had a flew clutches of children... but the call became far too strong, and before he knew what was happening, he had packed his bags and ended up here.
In this little oasis in a sea of red, fleshy death - talking to a haggard human who smelled like a demon. Frankly, The Witch Doctor was a bit afraid of this man who called himself 'The Guide'. His frame was slight, and he was unarmed - but there was something terrible bubbling and creeping underneath his skin, like it'd burst out any moment. It wasn't just this hunch that put The Witch Doctor on edge; The Guide's intellect was extensive in the oddest sort of way. He knew things a normal person should not. There was the sparkle of terrible revelation behind his eyes. He behaved himself in a desperate, hungry manner as if he was ready to burn the entire earth to fulfill his goal. There was a perfectly polite smile turning the corners of his mouth, but his gaze was hard... hard and cutting as diamond.
And so, The Witch Doctor, being faced with an entity he was quite sure was a denizen of hell (or worse), cleared his throat and tried to answer as tersely as possible. Whatever The Guide wanted, he was going to get... and the lihzard man wasn't about to get in the way. He had a brood after all... he had to go home...
"A heart attack specifically? Not easy - but fatality can be achieved if the voodoo doll is strong enough. It is difficult to make a doll of such potency. You will need not just hair - but flesh, blood and bone. By the time you collect these items from your chosen victim, it would be easier to kill them in a traditional manner."
"... That's no issue, Witch Doctor. Tell me, should a doll of this caliber be suddenly destroyed in its entirety - by burning in fire, or crushing or the like... how will these effects show on The Victim?"
The Witch Doctor fidgeted as he tapped his long claws against the large table he had been invited to sit at. Outside, the sun was bright and it hurt his eyes. Lihzards spent most their lives underground, warming their cold blood near pools of lava and sulfur vents. They were not adapted to the harsh solar radiation and promptly burned underneath those unrelenting rays. He knew he was vulnerable where he was... He knew he was in The Guide's realm right now, and was very concerned for his own life. If The Guide wanted to use voodoo to kill somebody, The Witch Doctor wasn't necessarily opposed to it - but the best case scenario was that he wasn't involved at all.
As such, he continued to insist The Guide just take a knife and kill whoever he wanted to kill. He was one of the most proficient masters of voodoo in the entire eastern jungle region, but rarely was he involved with assassinations or tortures. Dolls were not good torture devices anyways. The pain was pale in comparison to traditional torture, and normally the victim was filled with confusion rather than fear. Of course, The Witch Doctor had already made this clear to The Guide, but the man continued to push the subject.
"If the doll is crushed, will the victim likewise be crushed? If it is burned, will the victim burst into flames? Is it quick or is it slow? Can the victim survive the destruction of a voodoo doll? Tell me as much as you can, Witch Doctor."
The Lihzard man shook his head, flicking his tongue out of his mouth as he spoke aloud. He was a bit annoyed, but did his best not to show it lest he incur The Guide's wrath.
"If The Doll is strong enough, its complete destruction will result in the victim's sudden death. Perhaps there will be a slight delay, but the victim cannot be saved once the doll is destroyed. Once again, I want to remind you - it is far easier to kill your victim traditionally. In order to make this sort of doll I will need a thumb bone from the victim. One ear. A pint of blood and three molars. Do you understand this?"
"..."
The Guide stared at him darkly, a grim but determined look creeping over his expression. He seemed to be considering The Witch Doctor's proposal very seriously, his brow knotting and his eyes seeming to bulge ever so slightly out of his skull. He had been standing at the other end of the long wooden table throughout the duration of the conversation, but now took a seat - slumping heavily into the chair, sagging into himself like a bag of sand. He sighed audibly and produced a small penknife from his belt. He rested the blade against the knuckle at the base of his thumb, then looked up. His voice was harsh when he spoke. There was some guttural tone behind his human voice, like a demon was whispering his words as he uttered them.
"One thumb bone, one Ear, one pint of blood and three molars?"
"...y-yes."
The Witch Doctor stared, flabbergasted as The Guide pursed his lips and pressed the blade into to flesh. He didn't get very far, his natural instincts caused him to flinched away as the skin split and a thin trail of blood leaked down his palm to stain the table beneath. His breath hitched and he gritted his teeth as he stared down at his hand once more and tried again. He pressed the blade into the wound but flinched away again before he could do any further damage. After a while he opened his mouth to speak.
"If I bring you this list of things, how long until the doll is ready."
"... One and a half days. Surely... surely you don't intend to kill yourse-"
The look The Guide cast to him caused the question to die on The Witch Doctor's forked tongue. He clicked his eyelids shut and shook his head apologetically as he amended his statement.
"One and a half days. I can begin once I have all the reagents."
"Good. I'll pay you a visit shortly."
Their footsteps were odd against the echoing marble floor. One set was just the scraping of hard scales on a smooth surface, like the noise of a snake slithering, but much heavier and harsher. The other was bipedal, but there was no sharpness when his heels struck the floor. Instead, there was a sort of odd squishing noise, as if the being inside was not a man, but rather a tremendous octopod.
But the strangeness of these two creatures was easily overshadowed by the great hulking being suspended unceremoniously from the ceiling by tremendous chains. It was an enormous thing, so large that it seemed to not only fill the room, but also their eyes and their heads... indeed, they could think of nothing else when they gazed upon the form of The Dreaming god. Even shriveled and mutilated as he was, still - they stood in awe and reverent terror before their fell deity.
"... Cultist, I cannot help but applaud you for your effots... Indeed you have done well for our lord."
"Indeed, but our deity is yet incomplete. I breathe to see him rise again."
The two of them muttered under their breaths as they stood in one of The Resistance's many vast and forgotten basements. The Sea King had helped to enchant this space to be suitable for the revival of a cosmic deity, expanding the area within like a pocket dimension in order that Cthulhu's form could be worked on and brought to life. The basement's entrance was blocked off with a myriad of powerful spells which sought to repel attention and bar anyone from entering unless explicitly allowed. Nobody knew what they had brought here, not Statis, nor Braelor... just The Cultist, The Hero and The Sea King, who was gazing in admiration upon the fruits of The Cultist's labor.
"I see you've built up a steel skeleton to support his frame... it is skillfully done. I never took your for the technological type."
The Lunatic Cultist chuckled.
"And you'd be right. I had a mechanic under my control for a bit over a year. She was supposedly one of Draedon's apprentices that was captured by The Resistance. She was gifted to me as a token of friendship when I first entered discussions with Braelor about defecting, and I had her working since. She has done good work, but sadly escaped when The Hero raided My Dungeon. I'll have to request a new one soon."
A pause. The Sea King huffed heavily.
"Interesting. The Hero went to The Dungeon with the purpose of destroying you and your men... but ultimately ended up helping you move The Seal? What a twist of events... Did you cast some mind control spell on him? Most magic of this type does not work on Terrarians - but alas, I cannot think of any way you could have convinced that stubborn boy. Especially since he does not share our vision..."
The Cultist chuckled.
"The Hero is far more desperate than we know. He's smart too - and when I presented his option to him, he did not hesitate the choose what was most beneficial to himself. That is all... now, I need your assistance in stabilizing the seal, Sea King. I trust you will grant me your magical ability?"
"Naturally, let us begin..."
Slayer's Testament
In his first age, on his first and last battle when the anime sized swords first lengthened, one stood. Burned by CALAMITAS FUCKING ABYSSAL FLAME, his sould blistered by the fires of FUCKING PROVIDENCE and DOG and tainted beyone ascension, he chose the path of perpetual torment. In his ravenous apathy, he found peace; and with unlimited amounts of blood, he scoured the grasslands seeking vengence against the 'guy in red. He wore the cloak of The Travelling Merchant, and those that tasted the bite of his sword named him... 'The Slayer'.
-Mcmake
(okay I appreciate this but in no ways is Slayer as cool as Doom's Slayer... Still, one can dream.)
Okay hopefully get into the meat of things next chapter. I want to move more quickly but I cannot I am a turtle.