The wind howled across the desolate moor like a dying beast, its guttural cries lost in the void of night. Josiah Heller stood motionless, his shadow long and jagged under the sterile light of the twin moons. His sharp cheekbones and dark, ash-streaked complexion were partially hidden by the heavy crimson cloak that billowed around him like living flame. Beneath it, he wore ceremonial armor—bronze plates etched with ancient runes, layered over a fitted black tunic and breeches. His boots, scuffed leather with silver clasps, bit into the muddy earth, and in his gloved right hand, he clutched a dagger forged of obsidian. Behind him, the remnants of his scattered warband watched in silence. Blood soaked the ground beneath their boots. The moor smelled of sulfur, death, and despair.
The monolith loomed before them—a jagged shard of red crystal that pulsed like a dying heart. At its base, rivers of black ichor oozed through cracks in the stone, seeping into the land like a spreading infection. It thrummed with forbidden power, filling the air with a low hum that rattled the bones of every living creature in its presence. No birds dared to fly above it. No stars shimmered in its shadow.
“We were fools to come here.” The voice was gravelly, a whisper meant only for Josiah. He glanced to his left to see Koryn, his second-in-command, leaning on his spear for support. Koryn’s left eye was swollen shut, and his face was streaked with dirt and blood beneath the cracks in his tarnished iron helm. His emerald sash, marking him as one of the Circle of Guardians, hung in tatters.
“Perhaps,” Josiah replied, his voice as cold as the frosted breath that escaped his lips. His obsidian dagger trembled in his grip, though not from fear. The monolith called to him, its dark power an irresistible lure. He could feel it burrowing into his thoughts, whispering secrets, offering salvation.
“You needn’t do this alone, Heller,” Koryn pleaded. “Destroy the blade. Walk away. No good has ever come from stealing power from the Waking Gods.”
Josiah’s jaw clenched. “This is not theft. This is survival. If we do not end the Scourge tonight, then we will burn in tomorrow’s dawn. You’d do well to remember that.”
Koryn said nothing more. A gust of wind stirred the dying embers of a fire behind them, and the moor briefly came alive with the wails of the wounded. The survivors—scarred, hollow-eyed men and women—watched as Josiah approached the monolith. They did not cheer his name. There was no honor in this act, only necessity.
The Keeper of Secrets
The first time Josiah had heard of the Crimson Monolith was a year earlier, in the shadowed depths of the Black Library. His obsession had begun there, in that unmarked subterranean ruin hidden beneath the ruins of a forgotten empire. The Keepers of Secrets—a clandestine order of scribes who were said to catalog the world's forbidden knowledge—had reluctantly led him to the ancient tome. “This knowledge will damn you,” they had cautioned. But Josiah had been desperate. His village had already been razed to ash by the Scourge. He had nothing left to lose.
The legend spoke of an ancient artifact, a prison for a malevolent god. The Crimson Monolith had been carved by the High Mages of the First Era to trap an entity known only as "The Sovereign of Ash," a being whose whispers could destroy armies and kingdoms with ease. But if one wielded the obsidian dagger carved from the god's own broken essence, they could harness its power.
“At what cost?” Josiah had asked then, restless and uncertain.
The Keepers had offered only silence.
Now, standing before the pulsating crystalline structure, he no longer cared about the consequences. The Scourge—an unrelenting army of reanimated corpses—had already overrun three-quarters of the known realms. If the gods above still cared for mortals, they showed no sign of it. Only Josiah remained to fight for the living.
The Binding
Each step toward the monolith felt like wading through molten lead. The dagger in Josiah’s hand grew heavier, its barbed hilt slicing into his palm with every passing moment. His breaths came shallow and rapid, and his vision wavered, the edges of the world flickering like a flame about to be snuffed out.
He stretched out his hand—the obsidian blade catching the sickly red light—and pressed it to the face of the monolith. The reaction was instantaneous. Blinding light erupted from the crystal’s core, engulfing the moor in a wave of heat and sound. Josiah screamed as his body convulsed under the force of the backlash, the dagger melting into his hand, fusing with his flesh. A torrent of visions poured into his mind: primordial battles between gods and men, the collapse of ancient civilizations, the unending cycle of death and rebirth. Time dissolved. Reality shattered and remade itself in an instant.
When the light finally receded, Josiah collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. His armor was scorched and blackened, but his body—miraculously—remained intact. As he looked at his reflection in the dark pool of ichor at the base of the monolith, he saw that his eyes now burned with a crimson glow, twin mirrors to the cursed artifact looming behind him.
He could feel the god’s voice inside him now. It spoke not in words, but in urges, ancient instincts buried in the marrow of his bones. Power surged through him—terrible, unrelenting power.
“What... have you done?” Koryn’s voice trembled, his spear clattering to the ground. The rest of the warband stared in stunned silence.
Josiah rose to his feet, the obsidian dagger now fused with his forearm, its jagged edge gleaming like a crescent moon. He smiled, though there was no mirth in it. “What I had to.”
The Scourge Unleashed
By dawn, the armies of the dead would descend upon them. And Josiah Heller, the man who once feared no god but death, would meet them with the fury of a god unhinged.
What no one had told him was that power came with a price. And its cost could unravel not just his humanity but the fragile threads of reality itself.
For now, though, he burned with purpose.
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Democracy under Threat? The Rise of the Far-Right Movement in Germany | DW Documentary
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