Chapter 1664 – Shifts in the Sanctum Part 1

Legends say that Horgran the Butcher is sustained by slaughter, that the fields of death left in his wake are all that he needs to survive. The Hatchet Cult are… difficult to work with, even for a group accustomed to affiliating with the deranged and demented. Glorifying acts of butchery, they certainly know how to serve a good steak, obsessing over meat to an entirely unhealthy degree.

The Ancient they deify has no such concern for the thing he cuts apart. Those who dream of Horgran are swept into a whirlwind of red-stained metal and hunks of flesh.

The Iron Sands now stand in the place where the Ancient rose to the surface. Even now, blood still stains the ground there. Perhaps it always will.

– Excerpt from ‘Collective Wisdom of the Cults’ by Granin Lazus

The nameless one looked down on her handiwork, pleased with the result. This carver had been working in a mine for three days straight. Obsessed with removing and sorting ores, she had evolved and mutated herself almost exclusively for this purpose. As a result, she had become able to smell rare minerals and her mandibles became excavation tools without peer, capable of shearing through stone and scooping out the precious metals within. She even had glands that modified her acid to attack stone and leave other minerals behind.

Despite being so productive in her allotted shift, she had become addicted to unearthing metals, refusing to rest, ignoring food, driving herself to the point of exhaustion. Luckily the nameless had been able to seize her before it was too late.

Now, the carver rested, tucked into an ant-shaped bed, covered by a knitted blanket with an image of the Eldest snoozing stitched into the middle. Her carapace gleamed from the wax and polish. Her antennae sparkled after being combed and treated, the fine hairs cleaned and treated to remove dirt and harmful oils, then nourished with a lotion of nameless design. Under one leg, the carver held a small toy version of Solant, the general looking cool and composed as always.

After this, the carver would think twice before defying the will of the Eldest. The shame would burn within her for weeks, driving her back to the torpor chambers as regular as clockwork. Rested and clear-thinking, her work would improve, and perhaps she would eventually realise that the Eldest’s way was the correct way.

Disturbing to think she hadn’t been able to appreciate such an obvious thing from the moment she was born. It was… almost heretical.

Nevertheless, the nameless had finished her task and soon it would be her time to rest. First, she must report the completion of her work.

Moving through tunnels of pure darkness, she ran with ease, following the twists and turns without a single misstep as she navigated her way through the Sanctum.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

When she eventually found her way to the antechamber, she approached the acolyte of duty.

The Eldest rests, she signed.

Eight hours a day, the acolyte signed back.

They performed the eightfold genuflection with proper reverence before moving on to discuss the matter at hand.