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The world was silent and dark. A new moon with clouds thick against the night sky, the salty air clinging to Shamura’s carapace, and it was so painfully cold, causing their joints to ache. They didn’t know how she stood it, how she tolerated such a dreadful chill that seemed to seep into your very essence, slowly turning your mind numb, stiffening your limbs, so cold it seemed to burn. The northern part of the island was cold, yes, but this lonely cliff was far too cold to be normal.
Even the sea beyond the cliff seemed frozen; not even a whisper of a wave could be heard. Just a suffocating silence that the weak-hearted would find unsettling.
“My God,” Allocer began, standing at the base of the cliff, keeping guard over the gifts, unease in his voice. Shamura waved a hand, dismissing him, and he fell silent. Ever the devoted- he would follow them to the Hells without question, would kill himself should they ask him to. No other disciple was as devoted, neither in his Cult nor in any other, they were sure of it.
No, it was not the right time to appreciate the spider. They had to focus.
Taking in a deep breath of the frigid cold air, lungs burning from the chill, Shamura began to slowly creep toward the cliff’s edge, only stopping a few feet from it. They strained their eyes, peering into the darkness, hoping to find her.
At first, there was nothing. No new presence, no whisper or rustle of fur and cloth, just the maddening chill of this lonely cliff far north. A minute passed, then two, then three, then four. Five. Six.
Just as Shamura began to take a step back, disappointment welling within, something moved in the darkness, the air pressure suddenly dropping. Distantly they could feel Allocer’s sudden discomfort and alarm at the abrupt change.
Fingers that were as long as their legs slowly rose above the lip of the cliff. They gently moved down, one by one in an eerie wave, hooking on the cliff. Another hand, coated in dark gray fur, almost black in the darkness, repeated that eerie wave, this time further down on the side of the cliff. She dug her claws into the soil and slowly began to rise, as though struggling against a heavy weight.
The groans and click of misaligned bones set Shamura’s chelicerae on end, the faint smell of raw meat and rot seeping into the air, into their senses until it was all they could think about, having smelled their fair share of blood and gore.
The four tips of a Crown appeared, then its eye- a dark gray, almost looking lifeless, never once blinking, its pupil fixed on nothing. Her entire being was washed in darkness, until her eyes, the color of honey, emerged, glittering with malice and mania, glowing in the black night, illuminating the dark gray fur on her face.
They could make out the vague shape of her ears, could see her mouth pulled back into a manic smile, showing off razor teeth. She rose high enough for her neck to be shown, but no higher than that. Her head was almost as big as their body. Had she fully emerged, she would have towered over them.
“Sweet thing, sweet thing,” she sang, her voice no louder than a whisper, as sickly sweet as syrup, yet seemed to boom through the air, mouth not once moving, though it did partially open, “Thou appears lost. Return to thine cave, sweet thing, lest you wish to be eaten tonite.”
“I bring you gifts, Elder God,” Shamura said, lifting their chin, though did their best to not look her in the eyes. A hard thing to accomplish, considering how they glowed in the darkness, like a beacon of light, begging to be stared at so that she may pounce.
The she-wolf’s eyes narrowed, amusement creeping into her voice, growing just a pitch louder. “Gifts with silk attached, I presume? Prayeth tell, sweet thing, what is it thou seeks? Protection from the Gods? An enemy to be stricken with hunger so that he be weakened?”
“I wish to ask you a question, Elder God,” Shamura responded, “A question that may help me strengthen my power.”
She hummed, an eerie yet beautiful noise, like a crystal bell ringing, her amusement ever increasing. “I be not the God of Knowledge, sweet thing.”
The mention of that God almost made them laugh. What a coincidence. “No, but you are one of the few Gods who can answer my question without me fearing for my life.” They had studied the Elder Gods and knew they were volatile with Infant Gods, barely tolerating Adult Gods. The God of Hunger was by far the most tame toward Infant Gods, her tongue loose when her stomach was full.
Another hum, and she pulled herself up just a bit more, revealing her collarbone, which was prominent due to a lack of body fat. “Very well then, Infant God. Bestow thy gifts upon me, and I shall answer thy question, though I may not hath a satisfactory answer.”
“Allocer,” Shamura called. It took a moment before Allocer was by their side, dragging two limp bodies with him, struggling against their weight, but he did not make any noises. One was a male bear, the other a female horse. Both were naked and limp, awake and aware of everything, yet unable to scream or beg for mercy. Disciple Anansi, a hackled orb weaver, had injected enough venom in them to paralyze them, but nothing more.
Shamura knew mammals wouldn’t be thrilled to eat fresh meat that had organs turned into a foul liquid, the God of Hunger was no exception.
Allocer dropped the two in front of Shamura, then slowly backed away, retreating to the base of the cliff.
“I bring you a disciple of the deceased God of Storms,” they swept their lower left hand to the bear, “And a healer from the God of the Earth,” they gestured with their lower right hand to the horse, their upper hands outstretching to the she-wolf, “Their devotion to their Gods have enriched their bodies, their souls. They will be a delicious meal for you.”
It had been a pain to kidnap the mare, and they had worried about retribution from Thear, but with how big his Cult was, he and his followers most likely didn’t notice her missing or had presumed she ran away.
There was a rumble from the she-wolf, “They smell divine, sweet thing. How generous of thee.” She all but clawed herself further onto the cliff, revealing a torso with her ribs sticking out, skin stretched so thin over bones it threatened to tear, and she stretched her left arm out, toward the prey, toward Shamura.
They watched with interest as she waved a hand over the bear, who vanished into the darkness, leaving behind only the horse, fear rolling off the mare’s body. “The bear shall be an excellent meal for mine child, the horse shall sustaineth me until the hunger returns,” she lowered her hand, caging the horse beneath, eyes locked on the prey, excitement beginning to rise.
Shamura could not help themself, the question slipping out of their mouth, “You have a son?” Had the Purple Crown not somehow caught in their web, had the Lilac Crown not been without its current bearer, Shamura was convinced they would have been the God of Knowledge. They had always hungered to know more, to enrich their mind, to know so many things.
But it seemed Fate had their life planned without their permission. They were not happy with such a thing. To win wars, defeat stronger Gods, to kill foreign armies, they needed to be smart. Clever. Knowledgeable. So far they had only won skirmishes from sheer luck and brute force, but that would only get them killed once luck ran out. And they had plans, plans that would not come to fruition should they die.
“Since thee hast brought me the most delicious prey, I shall answer. Aye, I hath a child. A kit with mine mate. He grows well, and shall greatly benefit from consuming the disciple. Now, Infant God, let me consume thine gift, then I shall answer thee.”
They dipped their head, watching as she dragged the horse closer to her, tightening her grip, and lifting her to her jaws.
Shamura did not flinch as her jaws snapped around the horse’s head, decapitating her. At least her suffering had not been long, blood weeping from the neck, flowing down the she-wolf’s hand as she chewed, skull cracking, brain squishing between teeth.
It was four chewing motions before the she-wolf swallowed, now biting down on the horse’s torso, chewing five times before swallowing. Opening her palm, revealing the rest of the body and the horse’s hands, the God pushed herself up, tilting her head back, parting her jaws, and dropping the remains into her mouth, teeth snapping around the corpse.
Blood burst from her jaws, showering the ground before Shamura, some of it splattering against the hem of their robe. Lowering herself to the ground, the God chewed, swallowed, chewed some more, a terrible racket coming from her moving jaws. The crunch and crack of bones, the squish of blood and tissue and organs.
She swallowed hard for the last time, a black tongue slipping from her mouth to lap at her muzzle, cleaning the smeared blood on her lips, then her teeth, and picked at her teeth with a claw, removing gore that got stuck between them. “What a delightful meal. Now, Infant God, ask thine question.”
Excitement and trepidation clashed within them, and it took a moment for them to compose themself, lest they stutter and look like a fool before the ancient wolf. “I have ambitions, Elder God. To win wars, I must know more. I desire the Lilac Crown, and only you can provide me with information on how to obtain it. How did you kill the God of Darkness and take his Crown?”
The she-wolf was still, her eyes glittering. For a moment, Shamura thought she was digesting their words, trying to comprehend and stitch together an answer.
However, she lunged without warning, Allocer shouting in alarm, but Shamura did not flinch, though they wanted to, and her fingers draped against their back, holding them still, the blood on her fingers seeping into their robe. Her snout was an inch from them, the dark world melting away until the only thing they could see was her eyes, the color of honey, raw meat drifting off her breath.
“A. Foolish. Little. Spider.” Gone with the syrupy sweetness, gone was the manic smile. They did not know whether she was furious or concerned for them, “So young. And so stupid. Believing they knoweth best. That they can handle the burden of two Crowns. Two parasites.” Ah, so she was furious.
Shamura dared not breathe, their eyes locked with hers.
“Thou shall find no happiness, Infant God, should thee pursue such an ambition only a child would dreameth about. A naive, foolish, stupid, and insignificant child. Burdens, they are burdens. Each day I find me mind slipping, fading into a dull hum, before I reemerge with hate and paranoia in my heart. For two thousand years I have worn the Gray Crown, Hunger and Darkness bleeding as one, changeth to the point me kit looks at me in disgust. Not a single day goes by do I hateth myself for taking two Crowns. And I know the others curse themselves for their own ambition, their gluttony for more power. Answer me, Infant God, are thee truly such a child that thou would willingly give thyself such a burden? A burden that others regret and hate themselves for it?" Her voice cracked, sounding like needles piercing the flesh. "There be no happy endings for thee. Nowt but misery and pain and regrets, heed me words."
“I am,” they said, “I am strong, mentally and physically. I thank you for your warning, Elder God, but I am willing to take the risk.” They had been a soldier as a mortal, they knew discipline. They would not succumb to two Crowns.
It was with barely contained fury that the she-wolf released her hold on them, loosening her grip on the cliff, sliding back into the darkness, all the while she glowered. She left behind deep gouges in the earth, showing her displeasure with them. Only her head was visible, now. “A. Foolish. Spider. A. Foolish. Child. Do not curseth me in a thousand years, blaming me for answering thee truthfully.”
“I shan’t,” they promised.
“Thou shall be regretting this in the future, mark mine words, and I shall laugheth, laugheth until thou dies. All Gods have weaknesses, Infant God. Mine mate had a glaringly obvious one. The longest day would he lie in his den, panting and sweating and whimpering in pain, for how he hated the sun with its heat and light, scaring away the darkness. I waited, I waited I waited I waited. When he was at his weakest, at the height of the day, I slipped in. I skewered his heart, plucked the Crown from his brow, and ate it. Then I ate him. My dear, sweet mate. Salty and rich and fatty with Godhood, for the flesh of the divine is most delicious. I cherished every bite, I gnawed the bones until nowt was left.
“You ate it? The Gray Crown?”
“All Gods who hatheth the burden of two hath done so. Else, the Crown would find its next host, the one with an affinity to it. I suspecteth it would have gone to mine kit had I not digested it.”
That made sense. An unpleasant thing to think about, eating a Crown, but it made sense. They frowned, “What would the Lilac Crown’s weakness be?”
“T'would be her books, Infant God. See to it they burn, and she shall writhe in agony. It hath happened once, caused by a disgruntled follower, how deliciousest her pain t'was.” Remembering it fondly, the she-wolf licked her lips. "It smelled of cooking meat."
The idea distressed them. They had hoped to ‘inherit’ the God’s books once they took the Lilac Crown. “Surely there has to be another way,” they protested.
“Sacrifices must be made, Infant God. For me, the loss of mine mate, the father of my son. For thee, the loss of books, of knowledge that thee must painfully rebuild. I may not dissuade thee from obtaining a second Crown but heed this, Infant God. Two is the limit. Two is heavy, but three is insanity, none can come back from such a crippling burden."
“I thank you, Lord Limos,” they said, bowing their head.
A low growl, “May thee looketh upon this day with nowt but sadness for seeking this terrible, foolish path, Infant God.”
When they looked up, they found the she-wolf gone. All that remained was the darkness, the salty air, and that terrible chill.