The Binding of the Clinging Polluter
At Urshus’s words, Olsidra’s body trembled as though struck by lightning. Ever since he had become a Dark Priest through Alsh Unak, he had gathered summoners and led them beneath the dark red flames, convinced that every act served Urshus’s will. Yet the first time he had truly exerted his strength for the god had been at El Nergavil—and even then he had failed to protect the temple.
He had stooped to begging knowledge from the witches he despised, and in the end he had succeeded in forging a connection with Urshus. Still, all he could do afterward was run.
Now, at last, Urshus had given him a concrete order.
“I will obey.”
At Olsidra’s gesture the Dark Priests stepped forward one by one. They were not as eager as he was, yet the moment the command was given they would summon their beasts without hesitation.
Wait. If you rush in now, it will only burrow deeper. We must lure it out first.
“Lure it?”
It craves blood and flesh. After starving for years, it will not restrain itself.
Olsidra and the Dark Priests understood. They moved several steps closer to the pit. The heavy stench rising from below grew thicker, yet none of them retreated.
The priests’ hands moved, tracing summoning circles in the air or upon the ground. Though each circle differed in shape, color, and depth, creatures soon emerged from them. Before the beasts could even gather their wits, they were hurled into the hole by the Dark Priests.
Goblins, gorilla-like creatures with serpentine tails, minotaurs, and fish-men covered in scales—all of them, roughly humanoid in form, were summoned and dropped into the abyss in an endless stream.
Screams of terror, rage, and resentment echoed down the shaft, growing fainter until they vanished. Some of the creatures had been bound by contract, others merely drawn by the pulse of the summoners’ souls, but the distinction no longer mattered. The pitiful cries mingled with the stench, creating a grotesque reality that left a bitter taste in every priest’s mouth.
“Kuooh!”
A few beasts managed to cling to the earthen wall partway down, crying out piteously, but their struggles were futile. Even the minotaurs, famed for their strength, could not climb the simple dirt walls. The closer they drew to the bottom, the thicker the stench became, and something within it gnawed away at life and will alike.
It was impossible to describe. The odor stirred fear and revulsion while simultaneously crushing any desire to resist. Even those lucky enough to cling to the wall eventually lost their grip and plummeted, and that was the end.
The grim, cruel ritual of offering sacrifices continued for some time. While the pit devoured countless lives, the stench grew steadily worse. No visible sign, no sound—yet from the unknowable depths below, something was slowly, inexorably drawing nearer.
Feeling that unpleasant presence, Olsidra raised his hand. The priests ceased their summoning and fell back, preparing new circles for the battle to come.
Except for Olsidra and the few priests granted crimson robes, the creatures the others summoned were pitifully weak: strange beings with massive beaks perched atop two legs and hook-like antennae, hulking ogres and cyclopes, horned lions, wolf-headed scorpions called Raulscorpions. They looked threatening, yet remained ordinary monsters or magical beasts, and their numbers were few.
Olsidra and the crimson-robed priests were different. Though they had lost most of their summons during the fall of El Nergavil, contracts with spirits, elementals, and entities manifested through the summoners’ own mana remained intact.
Two-legged jackals with razor claws and gleaming single horns—Kaon Buta—appeared. Twisted giants called Perilngbulab, their countless tiny legs tangled together to form a single massive support, stood unsteadily. Fangshag, black elephantine colossi whose nostrils belched dark mist and whose eyes burned crimson, materialized. And several Nizins, eyeless yet glowing with yellow orbs, wrapped in black smoke, joined them.
In silence they stared into the pit. The stench and presence grew thicker and closer; some priests held their breath, others grimaced. The more sensitive summons shook their heads in vain protest.
It comes.
With Urshus’s words, a single long, opaque white tentacle thrust upward from the hole. The stench that had drifted from afar now crashed over them in full, carrying with it something that clouded minds and senses. Vision blurred; thoughts grew distant.
How dare you toy with me in my presence. You know nothing of your place.
Olsidra and the Dark Priests felt a power seep into their consciousness. As though by a lie, the dizziness and stench lessened at once.
The tentacle looked like quivering jelly, yet within its translucent length black and bluish things writhed in chaotic tangles. It dug deep into the ground around the pit like an anchor, and soon more tentacles followed, gripping the earth.
At last the entity itself crawled into view. From the countless tentacles and the shape of the hole they had expected several possible forms, yet what emerged resembled nothing so much as an ancient, shapeless mass of jelly on the verge of melting and flowing away.
Olsidra and the priests felt something resonate inside their skulls. The transmission was alien, broken, like the squeaking chatter of rats in a slum, yet it was unmistakably the consciousness of Ihops Dibuk.
The entity was starving. The blood and flesh it had tasted after so long had only whetted its appetite; it was far from sated. It wanted human blood and flesh.
Olsidra. I shall grant you power.
Olsidra felt Urshus’s strength flow into his body. He understood what he must do, and what Urshus desired.
“Attack!”
At his command the summons charged Ihops Dibuk as one. Perilngbulab’s single eye flashed, and flames erupted wherever its gaze fell. Fire clung to the entity’s tentacles and surface. Ogres and cyclopes beat the burning patches with heavy clubs, instinctively knowing they must never touch the creature directly.
Kaon Buta let out a voice like claws scraping a gravestone. Black blades materialized in the air and rained down upon Ihops Dibuk. The translucent tentacles lashed wildly; bubbles boiled across the amorphous body where black light and bluish corruption mingled. One tentacle coiled around an ogre; its contents burst and spread, speckling the ogre’s skin with countless spots. The beast died instantly.
Fangshag’s black mist enveloped the Nizins. Swollen by the fog, the smoke creatures tore savagely at the reaching tentacles. A whip-like tentacle scattered one Nizin, yet it simply became smoke and reformed.
Flames rose again, and a scream of pain echoed through every mind. Just as victory seemed within reach, the priests realized Ihops Dibuk’s body—melting and flowing independently of its tentacles—had crept to within arm’s reach. They scrambled backward.
Their summons were not so fortunate. The ground beneath them swelled and touched Ihops Dibuk’s mass; the entity clung to them and swallowed them whole. Flesh dissolved. The tangled legs supporting Perilngbulab snapped, and the giant toppled.
Once the flames on its surface died, the lesser summons’ attacks became useless. Every strike only fed the creature. Annoyed by the Nizins darting through the air, Ihops Dibuk began to form black shapes between its swelling bubbles.
The shapes emerged as winged insects that swarmed the Nizins.
Ihops Dibuk—the Clinging Polluter—fed on life and spread corruption, slowly expanding its existence. In ages past it had lurked in the deepest reaches of the demon realm, within the Valley of Mordian, the Black Grave. Sometimes it crossed worlds and dimensions to fill its belly. At the height of its power, countless profane spawn born of it had covered entire mountains. Poisonous insects that flew through the sky and crawled across the earth had hunted day and night for their master.
Long starvation had robbed it of the ability to birth more insects, yet the feast it had just enjoyed—its first in ages—had restored a portion of its strength.
The insects covered the Nizins, drank their smoke, and fell back onto Ihops Dibuk’s body. Fangshag’s massive frame became speckled as well. No matter how quickly the Dark Priests dodged, their escape routes were being cut off.
Yet in its ecstasy of feeding and the sight of fresh prey, the ancient entity overlooked one crucial fact: its opponents were not merely human.
Now.
At Urshus’s signal, Olsidra traced runes in the air. They blazed with destructive crimson light, vast enough to engulf Ihops Dibuk entirely.
Hidden behind the shadow summoned by Kaon Buta, Olsidra’s body was now wreathed in a dark-red halo, his eyes burning like flames.
From the floating runes poured countless chains of fire. They pierced every tentacle, every insect, every inch of the melting body.
A scream of agony resounded through their minds. The impaled tentacles went limp and dissolved. The amorphous mass convulsed, drawing itself together in pain until it resembled nothing so much as a single enormous sphere.
The translucent body that had once swallowed even the greatest summons had shrunk by nearly a third. Pierced by fiery chains, it now huddled in a perfect circle.
Hurry. It will soon reach its limit.
The halo behind Olsidra was already fading; the runes dimmed, and one of the chains binding Ihops Dibuk snapped.
Eyes still burning, Olsidra moved his hand. Upon the rounded mass, Urshus’s sigil and countless other contract seals began to etch themselves into existence.
Through Olsidra and the seals he had inscribed, Urshus’s consciousness connected directly with Ihops Dibuk. The entity’s entire translucent body began to glow crimson.
Submit.
The solemn divine command engraved itself upon the soul itself. Though Ihops Dibuk had lived for eons, it could not resist. It swore obedience to Urshus and to Olsidra.
The contract was complete. The chains scattered like dust on the wind. The halo behind Olsidra vanished, and the fire in his eyes went out.
“…Khak! Kack!”
The moment the flames died, Olsidra coughed violently, black smoke pouring from his mouth. The other Dark Priests rushed to support him as he gasped as though his breath would fail.
He felt the strength drain from every part of his body—not only mana and vitality, but his very life force being carved away. It was painfully familiar, the same sensation he had endured in the witch’s cursed laboratory long ago.
Yet unlike then, a smile now curved his skeletal face. This had been his choice, a sacrifice he had willingly accepted.
Well done, Olsidra. Rest for now.
At Urshus’s words, Olsidra closed his eyes and lost consciousness, yet his hand never released the crystal of Urshus he clutched.
The Dark Priests laid him gently on the ground, their eyes uneasy as they watched Ihops Dibuk. The entity, however, simply began to crawl back into the hole from which it had emerged.