The 13th Chime

Chapter 8: A contract based upon a crimson vein

As the realm's landscape began to change due to the awakening of this titan of a beast, the trees ripping out from under me and the valleys being drained of their substance, in the distance I saw them all join together to make a giant spire that pierced the skies, and I wished to do the same to the heavens above. The creature spoke to me not through a voice but through the very earthy flesh I stood upon.

"For I am Babel, the child of flesh and earth. You who sing upon the 13th chime and hold the 13th bell, I beseech you to form a contract with me, and I will aid you in return for granting me this gift."

The words reverberated through the ground itself, rumbling up from the depths in a deep, resonant intonation. I stumbled backwards, gripping the bell tightly, as the world around me was reshaped by this awakening leviathan.

Great gouts of vaporous decay spewed forth from rents in the earth, billowing outwards in foul, sulfurous plumes. The trees—those twisted, pulsating amalgams of wood and crimson flesh—were quite literally uprooting themselves, writhing tendrils snaking out to join together in a rising torrent of biomatter.

As I watched in awe and horror, the disparate strands coalesced, knitting themselves into a towering central spire that stretched up into the sickly gold and crimson clouds above. A forest of gnarled, osseous spires sprouted from its flanks, reaching outward like the limbs of some great arboreal beast.

At the base, atop a reinforced knot of living sinew, a gargantuan eye blinked open—a lidless, amber-hued orb that swiveled slowly to fix its gaze upon me. Despite its titanic scale, I could feel the weight of its focus pressing down with an almost palpable force.

"The adorned one," the thunderous voice rumbled once more, the words carrying a sense of foreboding gravitas. "So you are the bearer who has awoken me from the slumbers of countless cycles."

My breath caught in my throat as I attempted to process the sheer enormity of what lay before me. This was no mere beast or eldritch aberration like the tortured souls I'd encountered. This was something ancient. Primordial, yet possessed of a dark sentience and will that reverberated through every syllable.

"I am Babel, in slender mortal form," it continued, the monolithic spire twisting ever so slightly as if regarding me like some vaguely fascinating curiosity. "Eldest of the Cradlespawn, sired by the Weaver's first fell looms and clothed in the living raiment of this accursed plane."

A series of deep, grinding groans reverberated outward as more biomechanical appendages erupted from the spire's flanks. They twisted and undulated like a tangled thicket of gnarled, sinuous branches before lashing outward in my direction.

I instinctively stumbled backwards, clutching the bell protectively as those questing tendrils closed in around me. But instead of constricting or ensnaring, they merely formed a loose, circular perimeter—an open-aired enclosure of pulsating wood and viscera.

"You bear the sacred clarion, adorned one," Babel's voice rumbled, the very ground shuddering with the weight of its tone. "Let its tones ring out once more and seal the covenant I offer. Grant me rebirth by calling down the great Unweaving, and in return, I shall bequeath to you dominion over my titanic form."

Despite the enormity of the entity addressing me, its offer felt almost intimate. As if the formation of this "contract" was some profound, sacrosanct undertaking that transcended mere bargaining. This was an ancient rite of bonding, one that carried the promise of unimaginable power, but at what cost?

As if sensing my trepidation, Babel's resonant voice echoed forth once more, buoyed by a sonorous undercurrent that caused the air to reverberate with harmonics.

"Resist not the call of deeper whisperings," it seemed to rumble directly into my consciousness. "Within you beats the pulse of the great architect's errant loom. You were forged by errant ribbons to unwind this cancerous cosmos. I merely offer the means to fulfill your unwritten purpose..."

My hand trembled as I gripped the bell's brazen curve, mesmerized by its alien, spiral-curved etchings. Inexplicably, I could feel a faint heat emanating from the metalwork, as if some inner forge had been stoked into smoldering life.

Instinctively, I knew what must be done—what singular action would give voice to this unwritten covenant being proposed. I drew in a long, steady breath, willing my doubts and hesitation aside for just this singular, pivotal moment.

Closing my eyes, I lifted the bell aloft and spoke the words that had awoken me to this nightmare reality:

"May the 13th Chime be sung upon..."

Then, with all my strength, I struck the bell with the curved edge of the axe's head. Its peal rang out with a thunderous, reality-shaking resonance that seemed to ripple outward into infinity.

The effect was instantaneous—a shockwave of force that rippled across the blighted landscape in all directions. Trees withered and petrified husks crumbled to dust in their wake, while bands of prismatic distortion seemed to unfurl through the very air itself.

At the epicenter, Babel let out a series of grinding, subterranean groans as its towering spire began to pulsate and undulate. The multitude of osseous spines and appendages shuddered violently as wave after wave of unraveling force washed over the abomination.

Yet through it all, the cyclopean eye remained resolute, focusing its implacable gaze squarely upon me through the chaos. As the final echoes of the chime's peal faded, I felt a sudden, visceral tugging deep within. An insistent pull, as if some long-dormant filament had sprung into taut, quivering life.

A chorus of keening, unearthly tones pierced the veil of my consciousness, swelling in thunderous force until their voices merged into a singular, resounding call:

"ADVENT KIZLAIN'WHUL!! RISE, O BLIGHTED SOVEREIGN! TAKE THY FLESH-ROBED DOMINION!"

Helpless against the riptide of forces unleashed, I felt myself lifted from the ground and pulled inexorably towards the heaving spire. Tendrils of sinew lashed outward, encircling and binding me securely within their steely grasp.

As they drew me inward, the pulsing spire flowered open like the unfurling petals of some grotesque, arboreal bloom. Within its palpitating heart, a twisted throne of bone and viscera awaited on a raised dais of knotted roots and viscera.

The singeing tones grew deafening as I was borne into the fetid inner sanctum. With a final, sickening lurch of wrongness, the tendrils slammed me down into the awaiting throne and withdrew, leaving me bound and cocooned amidst the heaving biomechanical nightmare.

Bile rose in my throat as I felt the tainted lifeblood of this place coursing around me, but any chance of recoil was cut short as a dozen questing tendrils snaked around my limbs and torso. With equal parts horror and revulsion, I felt them begin to fuse with my flesh, knitting themselves into my very being through unspeakable metamorphosis.

The transformation brought with it a deluge of sensory overload unlike anything I could have imagined. Sights, sounds, thoughts, and half-grasped impulses flooded my consciousness in an unstoppable tide. Knowledge and power, not meant for mortal reckoning, burned their way directly into the core of my being.

And through it all, a singular, domineering will unlike anything I'd encountered transcended the chaos. The thunderous, resonant tones of Babel rang out as its cyclopean focus turned upon me