The 13th Chime

Chapter 7: Blood doesn't stain a crimson heart

As they bounced upon me, I panicked and picked up the axe I had dropped on the floor, trying to at least die again with some dignity this time. But as the creatures got within axe's reach of me, they stopped in their tracks instantly, as if something or someone had garnered their more important attention. I followed the creatures' eyes down to my waistline, where I saw a very large bell tied to my waist, and I saw it moving in the air, despite there not being any wind to move it. And suddenly a large chime sounded from the bell, pushing all the creatures back and myself onto the floor, covering my air. As the creatures screamed out, I could faintly believe myself that I was somehow understanding these bloody things.

Their cries were a cacophony of anguish, rage, and what could only be described as reverence. As the bell's peal faded into silence, the writhing monstrosities froze in place, their crimson, pseudo-fleshy forms pulsing in time with some unheard rhythm.

Then, as one, their malformed approximations of heads swiveled towards me, a multitude of glowing eyes fixing upon the bell at my waist. There was an almost palpable sense of awe and hushed anticipation emanating from their collective consciousness.

One of the beasts surged forward, its bulbous form gathering itself with surprising speed as it flowed across the cracked ground. I instinctively tried to scramble back, raising the axe in a defensive stance. But the thing paid me no mind, merely encircling me with its undulating tendrils as it leaned in closer to the bell.

"The call..." it seemed to hiss in a gurgling approximation of speech. "The Chime of the Cycle... You bear the sacred toll!"

Its words were gibberish to me, but there was no mistaking the tone of reverence and deeply-ingrained belief. The other creatures began to inch forward, their previously aggressive stances melting away into postures of supplication and awe.

"Gra'hmu'ik-kha," the first monstrosity continued, the sibilant syllables rattling from a distended, tooth-lined orifice. "The Summons have awoken in this realm at last. The 13th cycle is near!"

Ignoring my brandished axe, it extended one quivering appendage, stretching it out towards the hanging bell. I froze, unsure of what eldritch power this thing might possess. But it merely hovered there, perfectly still, emanating an energy that could only be described as devout expectancy.

The other beasts took up a similar stance, clustering around me in a loose semicircle of pulsating forms. Their collective focus was riveted upon the simple brass bell; that haunting chime is still reverberating through my mind.

Some deep-rooted intuition caused me to reach down and grasp the bell tentatively. Instantly, the congregation of beasts seemed to lean in, their asymmetrical bodies undulating with what could only be a combination of ecstasy and trepidation.

Bolstered by their reactions, I grasped the bell firmly, the weight of it solid and grounding in my hand. This simple object—this archaic-sounding instrument—seemed to hold some pivotal importance to these things. But what? And why had the sound of it sent them into such frenzied disarray, only to fall into worshipful reverence?

There was only one way to find out. Steeling my nerves, I clutched the bell tightly and gave it a sharp ring.

The effect was instantaneous. A deafening peal echoed through the ruins, amplified a thousandfold by the strange acoustics of this blighted realm. The beasts seemed to almost vibrate in time with the tolling chime, their forms undulating and rippling with grotesque fluidity.

As the sound finally faded, an eerie silence fell over the congregation. I stood there clutching the bell, my heart pounding in my ears as I awaited something. Some sort of response or revelation to explain this entire encounter.

"Kha-ami'xur," one of the beings finally rumbled in its gurgling tongue. "The Rains of Unbecoming stir at last. The tumult of renewal has been set in motion!"

The others seemed to take up the chant, an echoing susurration of alien syllables that buzzed and rippled through the ashen air. I clutched the bell tighter, mesmerized by the sheer energy and reverence these things exuded.

"Shrakka-muthra kizz'amn!" they cried in what could only be ecstatic jubilation. "The cycle awakens anew! The weave unravels its first strands!"

I opened my mouth, a thousand bewildered questions dancing on my lips. But before I could utter a word, the lead creature surged forward again, its entire form rippling and stretching out towards me. I instinctively stumbled back, raising the axe once more. But it paid the weapon no mind, merely extending a multitude of writhing tendrils to encircle me in a loose, pulsating cage.

"You are the Prime Vector," it seemed to rumble directly into my mind. "The Genesis Harbinger of this cycle's great unmaking. Through you, the rains of unweaving shall be loosed upon this blighted realm."

Its words washed over me, dripping with portent, yet utterly incomprehensible. I opened my mouth to protest and demand answers, but the next phrase stilled my tongue instantly.

"Sing the 13th Chime, oh Prime Vector. Let its resounding peal unravel the first woven strands of false reality. Only then can the great path unfold before you."

There was a heavy pause, the weight of its declaration swirling through my mind. Then, as one, the congregation lifted their voices in another guttural chant, the cadence of the words bleeding together into a hypnotic, rhythmic drone.

Unbidden, the forgotten phrase slipped past my lips, merging seamlessly with their ethereal recitation.

I clutched the bell tightly, unable to resist the growing swell of energy rippling outward. Deep within its brass depths, I could feel an insistent pulsing building—a harmonic resonance that transcended the merely physical.

And then, with a reverberating peal that shook the realm down to its very foundations, I chimed the bell. 

As the chime sung, the creatures became silent, having only disappeared from my sight. I looked around with no response, and I thought that all of them had disappeared or had merely vanished back into the earth from which they came, but I was wrong. I was so wrong. The pulsating beat I could feel below me, the flashing of the red colors in these trees

The ground beneath my feet began to tremble, the vibrations growing stronger with each passing second. The crimson veins pulsing through the petrified trunks intensified, their glow brightening to an almost blinding intensity. All around me, the ruins seemed to shift and groan, ancient stone fracturing and crumbling away to reveal more of that twisted, fleshy undergrowth.

I stumbled backwards, clutching the bell tightly as the entire realm seemed to awaken with a deafening roar. The air grew thick and humid, the stagnant atmosphere giving way to wafting vapors that reeked of decay. Everywhere I turned, more of those nightmarish crimson tendrils burst forth, slithering free of their earthly confines to undulate and twist in a grotesque facsimile of life.

This was no barren, lifeless husk of a world. It was a sleeping titan, newly roused by the toll of that ancient bell's chime. And as the ground heaved and buckled beneath the force of its awakening, I could only look on in stunned horror at the rebirth of this blighted, alien realm.

The realm had regained its heart.