Artyom Dereschuk - Hate the Sin

When he finally managed to pry them open the heart was there. Miraculously intact despite the woman’s severe injuries. Wrapped in the same petals that he had seen when the General carved open one of the beasts at their base, only this time they were still fresh, and a light glow, similar to the one that surrounded him, was emanating from it.

The boy didn’t know what it meant but he took it as a good sign.

Quickly, so as to not lose any more time and fearing to see it whither, the boy leaned in and started eating the heart right out of the priestess’ chest. He hated the familiar taste of human flesh on his tongue, and the petals didn’t taste good either, but he kept forcing himself. He knew that he finally had a goal in his life, and he would go to great lengths to see it through.

Homewrecker was right, after all. It was up to him to decide who he was. And he was choosing to be Corpse Eater.

Perhaps he hadn’t chosen that name. It was chosen for him after the General’s men watched the boy they had been starving tear into the bodies they had brought him, trying to suck some liquids out to moisten his dried-up throat. But even if it had been chosen for him, he would defy his captors by choosing to live up to it, by giving it a new context. By claiming it as his one true name and not a nickname.

He was confident that with his next action, he’d take his first steps toward freedom. Toward closing the door on ever again being someone’s tool. Toward choosing his destiny for himself, as Homewrecker had wanted. He was the Corpse Eater, and for the first time in his life, he felt that he indeed was a warrior.

He hoped that most of the boys had run away, but he knew that not everyone had been saved. Even though his face didn’t show it, he could still see their bodies torn to shreds by the General’s weapon.

He glanced back to see how his troops were doing—it wasn’t hard to do a quick headcount given that only two had survived. Billy the Man-Eater and Exterminator—two thirteen-year-olds—were the only ones who hadn’t died or run away. The last of those he had been told to look after by the man who had slaughtered the rest.

The adults had suffered heavy losses as well: There were only nine soldiers left. The rest had been caught between a rock and the hard place—some of them were killed by their leader, while most were massacred by the rampaging undead. The survivors were not happy to be such; Tsetse could see the wariness in their eyes when they looked ahead at their leader.

Tsetse had anticipated that something like this would happen, but he had miscalculated, and he was now silently scorning himself for making a mistake. He hadn’t taken into account the lengths to which the General was ready to go in his pursuit of power, and his disregard for the lives of others. Tsetse had feared that the boys could be shot accidentally. He wasn’t ready to see the General wipe them out.

Tsetse had considered taking a preemptive action, but he had hesitated. As much as he cared for the boys, he valued his life too much to put it on the line and try to stop the General. There was only one way to do it—to put a bullet into the back of his head, but the boy hadn’t been ready for such drastic measures. He had been hoping that one of the creatures, or the priestess herself, would manage to get to the man and kill him. He had even planned to create such an opportunity—say, shoot a soldier that was standing between a ravenous villager and the General’s back.

But there weren’t any villagers now to complete that job. Maybe some of them had survived and would grow even more powerful, but by that time the General would already have the Blood of the Giants in his possession. And then, it would be too late.

No, the General had no intention of lifting the curse—if there ever was one. No, he yearned for the same power the priestess had wielded, and Tsetse was smart enough to realize: the man couldn’t be allowed to get his hands on it. He had to be stopped at all costs, even if at the cost of his own life.

At that moment, they were surrounded by soldiers, and the boy knew that they wouldn’t take kindly to Tsetse killing their leader when he was moments away from ending “the priestess’s reign of terror”—Tsetse had no doubt that no one else had picked up on the General’s true intentions. But perhaps an opportunity would present itself when they reached their goal. When the General and everyone else would be distracted, allowing the boy to take a well-aimed shot and send the man to hell for everything he’d done and would do.

Perhaps they all would be distracted enough to allow the boy to get his hands on the grenade box, which at that moment rocked and shook on the trolley, next to the generator and under the General’s watchful gaze.

The old man that was leading them was silent, his head hanging low. Perhaps he too had anticipated that the horde of the priestess’ followers would grow strong enough to overpower the brigade, but that hope had turned out to be in vain. If anything, it led to more pointless bloodshed. Tsetse was guessing what was going on in the man’s head—perhaps he was clueless as to the General’s real intentions? Why else would he continue to lead the General? Even if he was afraid for the remaining people in his village and worried about whether or not the General would keep his word once they got back to the surface, didn’t he realize that if the man would unleash hell upon their country if he got his hands on the herb?

The old man was naive and stupid. And his stupidity would lead to terrible consequences. It was all up to Tsetse now. Maybe the other two boys would die as a result of his actions, but that was a call he was ready to make as their captain. When his time to act would come, he wouldn’t hesitate.

The scenery around them was slowly changing; there were less trees and more statues and monoliths like the ones they had seen before. They would emerge out of the inky darkness in silent greeting—or, perhaps, in silent scorn—and wordlessly observe the trespassers on their way to the heart of the Keep. Whenever they passed the black monoliths—so dark they seemed like the doorways to some abstract void—Tsetse felt his ears ring, and he noted that others were shaking their heads as well, as if trying to put something that went out of tune in their ears in its place.

The yellow glow from the trees subsided, leaving the ceiling without its stars, but the light was still there—provided by the faint blue mist that was getting thicker as they went further. The sounds of wildlife had vanished as well—it seemed that neither plants nor animals wanted to approach the place where they were heading.

“We’re on the right path.” Tsetse heard the old man’s faint voice. “The old priestess had shared stories about this place… A place where life ends. Beyond it lies only the infinity… and the Bedchamber of the Keep. Its very heart.”

“You heard him! Pick up your pace!” the General shouted, and two soldiers who were still carrying the trolley sped up, not even looking ahead.

Tsetse understood the meaning behind the old man’s words: that “the infinity” meant endless life for those who would infuse themselves with the Blood of the Giants. But something at the back of his head gnawed at him, telling him that it could mean something else. Something incomprehensible, which the humans, in their feeble efforts to grasp it, gave up and simply named “infinity,” putting off the quest to truly understand for later, when their minds wouldn’t be bound by helpless three-dimensional bodies.

He wouldn’t be surprised by anything at that point.

The mist was getting thicker and thicker, providing even more light than the glowing groves they had passed, and with it the boy noticed that up ahead the mist was swirling downward. Along the slope he couldn’t yet see, but could already figure out that it was there.