Worm That Walks
Worm That Walks
| Respawn: ?? | |||||
| Level: 18 | Attack: 1326 | ||||
| HP: 40380 | MP: 4119 | SP: 4119 | |||
- Created by Ranok, winner of the Halloween Monster Contest 2021.
"Robert had gotten himself into trouble again," Lenny thought to himself as he prowled the muggy streets of Cenril. Second time this week, too. Hitching his worn coat a little higher around his shoulders, he tries to rummage his memory for the twists and turns of the poorly lit streets he was trudging down. This part of town wasn't his usual stomping grounds, which meant a lot for a place like Cenril. Each part of town had its own personality. And different people that you had to watch out for. And his brother, Robert, was pretty good at finding them. Usually because he was drunk. "Dammit, Bobby, yer makin' Ma worried sick..." The words, uttered mostly to himself, hung in the damp air. Lenny scratched the skin around his neck, readjusting the collar of his coat again. That was also getting as frayed as Lenny's patience for his brother, but like his family ties, he couldn't easily part with it. The thing was damn near as old as he was.
Shuffled feet carry Lenny deeper into the street he was walking. Hopeful eyes cast about, searching for the form of his brother. As that was why he was poking about Cenril at night. His brother had gone missing, again. After questioning some of his ill fortuned brother friends, he'd been able to get a few answers as to the why and where. The why was typical. A night drinking, probably with someone else's money. And the where was a stumbled bar crawl featuring poor judgement. But despite the falls of fortune, Robert mostly only suffered a few nights sleeping under the shadow of an alley and losing all the pocket money he had on him at the time. Oh, and of course, his Ma worrying herself to death. But Robert didn't really want to hear about it, which left it to Lenny to try to fix it all straight. This left both Ma *and* Lenny frazzled. Still, family was family, and he did love his brother. Even if he wanted to shake him silly right now.
A few more minutes of prowling got him close to where Robert's worthless friends had abandoned him. It was an older part of town, built before one of the big population surges the city had experienced before one of multiple wars. That meant a lot of stonework, and a lot of hope. There were even a few ancient street lamps, lit by magic. Some of them even still worked. Why Robert had chosen to stumble into ancient history, Lenny had no real clue. Admiring ancient architecure wasn't really in his brother's wheelhouse, but drunks will be drunks.
If he was to be honest with himself, Lenny didn't have much hope of turning up his brother, especially at time of night it was. But his Ma wouldn't sleep until both brothers were home, and she'd keep wringing her hands and looking out the window as she burned through candles waiting. And that drove him up the wall and he wouldn't be getting any sleep either. So he'd donned his patched coat and set onto the streets looking. And so far he hadn't found much. Couldn't even ask someone on the streets. There weren't many people on the street. And the people that were on them weren't someone you wanted to really talk to. Plus not many people lived in his part of town. And if he was going to keep being honest with himself, he wouldn't either. In the intermitent light of failing magicks, the doorways and arches looked like yawning cavernous mouths, ready to snatch up the unwary. Still, he pushed on.
After about another hour of wandering, poking into small niches and corners, whispering his brother's name, and coming up empty, he spies two figures in the dim light. One was a man wearing a familiar coat as patched as his was, slumped in a sleeping position against a wall, a small bottle in his hand with a small puddle of liquid in it. The other was off minding its own business off on a corner. Having recognized his brother, he mutters to himself, the anger of having to schelp it over the bowls of Cenril to find him mixed with the relief of having accomplished his task. Kneeling down close to his sleeping brother, who wheezed to himself, blissfully unaware to the world. Sitting on his haunches, Lenny could smell the cheap beer from where he was. And something else. Like soil? Had his brother been rolling in the dirt? Was hard to tell in this crummy light.
"Jeeze, Bobby, lookit you. Covered 'n beer 'n piss, not even tryin' to make it home to Ma. You're killin' her, ya know that right? Ya don't even know it. Drinkin', gamblin', keepin' crummy company. Like this." A mittened hand waves at the figure, who'd seemed to have taken a notice and was casually ambling over, "Onea yous friends? I bet you didn't even know 'em before tonight. And look where he's left ya. In a gutter, prolly outta that hard earned cash I made for us so we wouldn't go cold 'n hungry." He sits, looking at his brother for a few moments. Lenny heaves a sigh, wondering what his familial love was getting him, and then stands. A few steps takes him to his brother and he was about to kneel when the sound of shuffling alerts him. The other figure had come closer, but said nothing. Just the sound of foot steps in muck, which Cenril was full of. In a sudden flash of anger, Lenny yanks out ol trusty, a switchblade he kept on him to keep troublemakers second guessing.
"Alright, look pal, yous done enough for tonight, okay? I'm gonna get him home, and I don't want none of the trouble yous two got into tonight. Okay? Hey, pal, can you hear me? Huh?" Ignoring the brandished blade, the figure simply crept closer, but then stopped, swaying drunkenly. The smell of muck was almost overpowering, but he still couldn't get a good look at him. Deciding his night was long enough, he clicked his blade back and tended to his brother as quick as he could. Bending down, he shook Robert to stir him, but there was no response. Frowning, he does it again, harder this time, "Hey, Bobby, come on. We gotta get home to Ma. Bobby? Hey, Bobby!" One more vigorous shake and his brother heaved an enormous sigh, but stirred no further. But disconcertingly, something else did. A few small wriggling things slithered out of Robert's mouth, plopping wetly on the much darned winter coat Ma always made him wear.
Lenny's skin suddenly goes cold. Old instincts flare him and he's left reeling. And now that he was closer, even in the dim light he could see his brother wasn't breathing. But he ws still moving. Or at least his skin was. It was almost...writhing. Horror was beginning to seep in but he was suddenly struck by movement in his proximity vision. Frustration and rage make his hands moves and Ol Trusty comes out again. But instead of brandishing, it was wielded. A lashing strike at the stranger, along with a rage choked sob, "What did you do to my brother, you bastard?! What'd you do to Bobby?!?" The sharpened blade finds deep purchase, cutting across the abdomen. As he does, the smell of soil and rot became overwhelming. But the strike had some effect. The figure reeled backwards, but no more. But on a second examination, it was not as much a reel as it was an...undulation. A man cut like he'd cut him should be holding his guts in, but this guy wasn't. It was reaching for him. A few more inches and a flickering of light brings his adversary into sight.
It was no man, but a writhing mass of...worms. It stood as men did, their multitude held them together. Bits of soil dripped off it every moment it made, and a clear path of soil showed where it had come, step by step. Looking into it was like watching a pot roil, a constant stream of movement and motion. Each small creature glimmery wetly in the dim street light, and its ambulations make its intent clear. Two trunk like limbs are raised and Lenny takes a step back, nearly stumbling on his brothers body and the creature approaches closely. Ol Trusty flashes again and again, finding purchase each time but having no effect, and the limbs wrap around Lenny. His struggles prove to be fruitless, as despite dislodging countless multitudes, the worms kept coming more and more. His fingers drop his blade and his mouth opens to scream. In rage, in horror, in fear, it didn't matter. The moment he opened his mouth, the clammy, writhing mass poured into him. All he could smell was soil and sewer, and then he couldn't breath. And then, darkness.
Time passes on the street, and night turned to dawned, which turned to day. All that remained of the men were the two much patched coats and trousers, pocked with wormholes. Both garments looked as it they'd been there for years, they were so chewed up. Laying beside was the switchblade, caked in dirt, which also sprinkled the area in a curious amount. Most paid no heed to the leavings, as they seemed to be treasures left behind from someone who'd been digging in the trash. And the guard chaulked up the two men's disappearence, given to them by a histerial old woman, as just another case of the city chewing two people up and refusing to spit them out. But the locals, that lived in the nooks and cracks, knew...
Those that died with regrets often took them to the other world with them. Some held grip and returned the haunt the land, and others held sin that dripped into the very soil to cause it to fester within the land itself. Those with particular regret or sin may cause the worms that feast upon the corpse to consume those as well, becoming twisted in the process. That heavy weight festers and broils until the weight can be born no more, causing the worms to unify into a horrid construct of the former living. An unliving colony with only the drive to consume, the abomination walks the world, seeking only more sustenance to continue its existence. Victims of the beast are dried husks, if anything is found at all. Those with any sense avoid freshly turned graves for criminals executed or mass graves after battle, because the Worm that Walks has taken victims and was hungry for more.