《Rigor Mortis: Death of the Southern Star》


 Chapter 1

    Stale air clung to the world below; a land that had spat in the face of death, forgetting the bonds that chained them to the mortal realms of the living, casting the whole world in a suspended perversion of life, twisted and grotesque, some have become, others just eking out what meager life they can in a land where power reigns and no rules remain but the rule of strength and ambition.


    But Death waits for no one. It comes for all, persistent as time itself.


    And for this world, Death has arrived.


    The Black Ziggurat, spiraling through space eternal, has found its target. The planet below ripe for invasion. The Citadel of Death, black stone carved unknown millennia ago descends upon the world, gracefully dropping down upon a mountaintop, crushing the stones below until it nestled into the natural quarry. Boulders tumbled below, careening down the mountain, crushing plants and wildlife unable to escape the avalanche of earth.


    The trembling terrain settled. The inner sanctum of the Black Ziggurat sprung up in a twisted life. Incense drifted throughout the air, wisping about as obsidian robed monks traversed the black stone corridors. Barren feet slapped against the cold floors. Faint purple and green light illuminated the figures as they shuffled limply along to Death¡¯s Sanctuary, their bluish lips whispering psalms of death, black cracks spiderwebbing across their mouths as they grew louder in their awakening.


    Cadaverous brothers entered the sprawling room ahead, ceilings higher than the reaches of heaven, lined with a thousand sarcophagi, all opened and empty, void of champions, all save for one. Purple firelight lit the endless room, torches birthed to new life, row upon row, faint light traveled far above. A lone monk broke from the pack, walking up to the centerpiece of the sanctuary; the massive skull of a god long forgotten from this world; its mouth agape, holding an endless, colorless void within.


    The ancient monk took a deep breath through his nose, twisting his white rope belt tight around his slender waist. Stale air, incense could not blot out the stench of death here. He smiled, his blue lips cracking more, oozing a black ichor. His skin was stretched out across his face. If not for the flesh there, he would be more at home in a bone yard than Death¡¯s eternal monastery. His smile unaltered, he gazed out across the skull, his black teeth grinding in glee of his new mission.


    Unvoiced words entered his ears, caressing his mind, filling his soul with a calm delight. His voice dry and dusty, ancient with the weight of time, ¡°Ah, yes, yes my lord. Your words give us meaning beyond our selves.¡±


    ¡°Father Morbos. The ritual is ready to proceed.¡± A monk bowed to his superior, stepping back to join his brethren around the last sealed sarcophagi that was lowered from its suspended slumber.


    The ancient monk lifted his hood. His head was bald with age, white tuffs of hair managed an existence on his plain head. Wispy, wiry beard hair jostled about as he conveyed his Lord¡¯s direction upon his brethren, ¡°Necroth has spoken! We have authority to bring death to this defiant land. Now, we must awaken his lone champion. The last of our Lord¡¯s arm and sword. My brothers, come, let us begin the ritual with haste.¡±


    He joined his brothers around the sarcophagi, his dead, white eyes taking in the last hope of Death. Faint light bouncing off its ornately carved surface. Symbols long forgotten to mortals, but fresh in the mind of every brother here. His hands, thin and boney, barely contained by sickly, pale skin, grasped a black prybar.


    He thrust the bar into the lid, levering it once. It jolted open, tsssssss, hissing as ancient air escaped the stone prison. Chill air swooped down on the group, their robes fluttering in the wind, hoods blowing down around their thin necks, revealing morbid monks not unlike Morbos, but none as ancient as he who speaks with Death.


    The group of monks pulled the lid aside, dropping it to the black floor. Boom, with a massive clang that resonated across the room, bouncing about the walls in an endless echo. After several raspy breaths and prayers of the monks, the sound finally subsided.


    Morbos¡¯s whitened eyes scanned the contents within with reserved glee. A Death Knight of Necroth, donned in black plate armor, spikes jutting from his pauldrons, black rusted chainmail dripping from beneath the protective plates. No face, save for a skull facemask, slumbering closed eyes behind.


    Another obsidian robed postulant entered the sanctuary, holding a leash tied to a woman dressed in black, wrapping around her tender pale neck. A black veil was covering her face. She confidently strode to the freshly opened sarcophagi. Father Morbos raised his frail hand to help her atop the sarcophagi.


    She stood amongst the last Death Knight of the Black Ziggurat. An honor no maidens had received in thousands of years. Joy filled her soul, her breast lifting as air filled her lungs. She would give birth to a champion that has not been required by Necroth in so long. She would be granted a place next to the Lord of Death. She knew it.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The monks began chanting along as she stripped her black dress from her body. She was healthy, young, and her belly protruded with life. She rubbed impregnated belly with a smile, looking down on the knight below her. She was ready for this moment. It was the highest honor Necroth could bestow upon her.


    Chains dropped from the ceiling, clattering about as they dangled around her. Sharp hooks tossed and turned, awaiting their purpose to be served. She carefully held each hook, dark and lifeless, cold to the touch, and pressed it against her skin, sinking the sharp point between her ribs.


    The point ripped into her skin, looping around her rib bone. Blood trickled from her delicate skin. She winced at the pain, allowing the sensation to fill her senses.


    One by one, the pain filled her body, but not her soul. With each hook placed in her body, she could feel one step closer to her Lord.


    A monk bowed to her, his hands held high, a dark knife in his palms. She carefully held the knife high, ¡°Now, I give life to you, champion of Necroth, so that you may bring death to a land who disrespects our Lord. Rise, my child, and do what he hath destined you to do.¡± She could barely contain her joy as she whispered, ¡°Make your family proud.¡±


    She plunged the knife down into her stomach, cutting upwards to her chest. She grunted at first, the pain a momentary discomfort, soon overtaken by a sense of pleasure and peace. The hooks tightened and ripped out, splaying her ribcage open. The sensation unbearable, yet strangely comforting, knowing she would soon join her Lord in death.


    Blood gushed out over the body within the sarcophagi, filling the resting place inch at a time with precious blood. The woman finally went limp, all life now drained from her body. The monks pulled her aside, unhooking her, and drug her off to the mouth of the eternal skull, tossing her in the void, and saying one last prayer as she joined their master. A twisted smile plastered across her face as she tumbled within.4


    Morbos watched the woman descend into the void to be with their Lord. What a place it must be to stay at the side of Necroth, to embrace his throne for all eternity. One day, he too would join them in the halls of death, but for now, he still had work to do here in the mortal realm, and nothing could keep him from completing what Necroth had chosen him to do.


    He turned back to the sarcophagi. The blood was gone now. The Death Knight gazed back at Morbos with milky, white eyes, void of any vibrancy. The knight lifted his stiff arms, joints cracking as he grabbed the sides of the sarcophagi and lifted himself upwards, bending his knees with loud cracks as he stood among the chanting monks.


    The monks staggered backwards, gasping, bowing, and hailing the knight with praise. They dare not anger one of the chosen.


    Morbos smiled, baring his black teeth, ¡°Welcome to the land of the living, Champion of Death, Necroth¡¯s chosen! Come, see your father! Join me, Death Knight! Receive his blessing so you might slay all unbelievers and restore this land to its rightful place.¡±


    The Death Knight glanced around the chamber, his eyes taking in the priests burning incense, the empty sarcophagi all around the sanctuary, finally landing on the massive skull at the center of the room, and the Death Priest beckoning him.


    The sweet smell of death filled his nostrils. He gave a snort as he stepped down, his metal boots clattering against the black stone below. His body stiff and rigid as he took each step forward, vigor quickly returning to his limbs. He stood at the edge of the pit inside Necroth¡¯s mouth.


    Morobs lifted his right arm, ¡°Now, speak with your father and Lord. Let him grant you the power to do his bidding. His blessing for you to send the denizens of this world to their graves.¡±


    The priest stepped back as the knight stood with his arm held high. The Death Knight¡¯s eyes gazed deep into the mouth¡¯s void, then up to the empty eye sockets above. His head was filled with the words of Necroth. A chill, calming feeling washed over him. His body throbbed with purpose. He nodded at the skull.


    A whooshing sound filled the chamber, emanating from the skull¡¯s mouth. Far at first, but soon the source of the sound emerged from the mouth. A black metal axe, used by an executioner of old, ender of thousands of lives, flung right into the knight¡¯s hand. He gripped it tight and looked it over. The blade sharp, its edge glinting even in the dull purple light of Death¡¯s Sanctuary. It felt right in his hands. It felt familiar.


    Father Morbos raised his arms in victory, ¡°Necroth has chosen his champion!¡±


    The monks let out a chant as Morbos shuffled over to the Death Knight, ¡°You have been tasked with killing a defiler of life, a twisted being known as the Bone Doctor in these lands. Follow the southern star to where he lurks, defying death and spitting in our Lord¡¯s face with each passing day.¡±


    At the front of Death¡¯s Sanctuary, a massive drawbridge began to open. Small rays of light began to spill into the Black Ziggurat for the first time in centuries. Dust and smoke trails lingered in the air as the door finally landed against the rocks below. Air came rushing in, swirling around the Death Knight.


    Father Morbos led him forward, ¡°Now, go forth and deal death to this world. You are Rigor Mortis, named and chosen by Necroth. March forth, and spread fear to the land below! Kill hundreds, thousands, as many as you need for the heathens below to feel the power of our Lord.¡±


    Rigor Mortis brandished his black executioner axe, gripping it tight in both hands. He stepped into the light, his eyes burning but never blinking. His boots rapping against the drawbridge and into the unexpecting world below. Behind him, the drawbridge rose, closing with a loud bang.


    Morbos stood in the dark behind the door, proud. He knew Rigor would complete the task. Bodies would pile up into mountains of dead. If not, they would all be in a dire plight. He bowed his head and prayed for the Death Knight¡¯s success.


    Rigor¡¯s eyes adjusted to the light outside. He stood amongst some sparse trees and boulders. A small stream trickled down the mountain nearby, a simple path beside it. He had his mission. Now, he would do what he was born to do.


    He trudged forward, following the path, not knowing what to expect below, but knowing what he must do.

 Chapter 2

    Chop. Chop. Chop.


    The screams cut through the stale night, only to be muffled and gagged out moments later, like they never existed at all.


    The world was shrouded from the sun, shadows had fallen over the swampland. Fireflies buzzed about with quite, simple purpose. Frogs croaked and cicadas sang their song to night mother, waiting for the sun to rise to descend into temporary hibernation once again.


    The moon beamed down bright, a silver disk in the sky, surrounded by little specks of light, gleaming from lightyears away, the brightest among them, the Southern Star, shining brightest among the black canvas above. It watched them all with glee and curiosity, unbeknownst to the mortals below.


    ¡°Gahdammit, kids these days jus¡¯ don¡¯ listen.¡± Even though he couldn¡¯t see the lights that beamed bright in the sky above, the dark-skinned man still gazed at that southern star, smiling through his crooked and missing teeth, running his slimy tongue over his inflamed gums, spitting out a wad of black spittle at a nearby can. The black goo missed the can and slapped down on the white floor porch, a twist of long white bones tied and glued together to make a sturdy floor.


    His black skin melded with the shadows of the swamp. If it weren¡¯t for his bone white chair, he would be nigh invisible. He rocked back and forth in his ivory seat, enjoying the illumination of the southern star, ¡°Yeap, is ¡®ight tonight. I can feel it coming on.¡± He adjusted a bit, smacking the top of his rocking chair, ¡°Quit moving now, gahdammit, yous almost spilled mah glasses off.¡±


    The Southern Star held its place above him. He adjusted his glasses, neatly setting them over the bridge of his nose. He glanced back up to the sky. That Southern Star just gave him so much hope for the vision of his master. A new world be a coming. He just knew it to be true. A world where men be free of every shackle that binds them.


    His black hand held his banjo, adjusting himself to play the instrument better. His fingers ran over the metal strings, feeling the frets below. He smiled and began rocking again, playing a tune to the midnight audience abuzz in the swamp. He could hear the shuffling of feet in the bone white street in front of his residence.


    ¡°S¡¯lively tonight. Got a good energy ¡®ere.¡±


    He walked the streets many a night, feeling the grooves between the bones with his feet and cane. How many people must his master need to build his town to completion? The Bone Doctor was one reckless, tweaked mother fucker, but he didn¡¯t mind, he served him after all. The perks was too good for an old blind negro to pass up.


    Chop. Chop. Chop.


    More screams rang out from inside his bone hut. He missed his chord and screeched an awful twang, instantly ruining the mood. He spat out the chew in his mouth, the clod of brown muck smacked against the can and clung there, slowly inching down like a slug.


    ¡°Gahdammit. Ima whoop a negro¡¯s ass tonight. You bet yo ass I will, damn youngins.¡± He set down the banjo, his chair shaking, moving around again. He smacked the top of the chair, standing with his cane, ¡°An I said you quit moving! You best learn yo place ¡®fore I get back, or they be hell to pay.¡± He smacked the head that was perched at the top of the chair once more with force to get his point across.


    Flesh was still attached to the head, its eyes moving about, trying to shy away from the blows that came in. It¡¯s bottom jaw removed, tongue still hanging down, flopping about. Its upper torso intertwined with the rocking chair, its spine serving as support for the back of the chair. Flesh was peeled away except for its neck, shoulders, and up to its head. Its nubs from its shoulder rotating about, moving the chair side to side, messing with the rocking momentum.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    He didn¡¯t know if it was a man or woman, hell, he didn¡¯t care if it were a child, it was a lousy chair that moved too damn much. He smacked the head over and over until his hand hurt from the impact.


    The head and nubs quit moving, allowing the chair to still, finally admitting defeat. It¡¯s eyes drooped down to the floor.


    ¡°Now thas mo¡¯ like it.¡± He tilted his head in victory, smiling as he opened the white door, a plethora of bones lashed together with a face at the knob, eyes moving about but unable to escape its fate, ¡°Gotta break ¡®em in first, ain¡¯t that right, Niglet?¡±


    He peered over his small, black spectacles at a tall black lad covered in blood and guts. His apron only protected him so much as his white shirt was now stained dark red. Niglet stood in front of a table, a large meat cleaver in his hand, back turned to the old man. He hacked down on a body strapped to the table.


    Chop.


    The screams erupted again from a middle-aged white man, nude, missing one of his legs at the hip, the other missing large chunks of flesh. Blood oozed out onto the bone white table, dripping through the cracks between them.


    Niglet looked back at the blind man, ¡°Yessuh, Mister Waltah, suh. Yous a right old negro, yous is.¡± He hacked down again, his free arm holding the squirming body as the man screamed out. ¡°This un hard to break, he is.¡±


    Walter felt his cane out as he walked to the table in his bone home. Four human legs were holding the table up, one in each corner, their feet twisted inward to avoid catching.


    He smacked Niglet upside the head, ¡°Now, what I tell you, boy? Yous s¡¯posed to cut the lungs out first, so they don¡¯t be screaming every bit of the night, waking up the whole gahdamn Basilica!¡± He smacked him again, the young black man flinched away.


    ¡°Sorrah, Mistah Waltah, I forgot ¡®bout dat. Is hard to know where tah chop, it is.¡±


    The man spoke through his pain, trying to ignore the searing pain in his hips and leg, ¡°Please, just let me go. I¡¯ve done nothing wrong here. Please, show some mercy. Anything but this. Please, you¡¯re a nice young man, do what¡¯s right.¡± He gave a half-hearted smile, hoping his pleas would not fall on deaf ears.


    ¡°Really now?¡± Walter chuckled while walking around the head of the table, standing above the man¡¯s head. His glasses slid down his nose, revealing empty sockets where his eyes should be, ¡°An¡¯ did the man who owned me show any mercy? Did he do what was right?¡±


    The man on the table swallowed hard, sticking his tongue out to bite down.


    ¡°Ha! Ya know dat won¡¯ work here, mister. ¡®Ave a nice life as a decoration now, ya hear?¡± He laughed out some more, turning his head to Niglet, ¡°Let¡¯s finish this job quickly now.¡±


    Niglet took his butcher knife and sliced deep into the man¡¯s chest, cutting down his sternum and into his stomach. The man screamed again until Niglet reached up inside his chest cavity, breaking apart the ribs, and ripping out his lungs. Air wheezed from the meat sacks and the man stopped screaming.


    ¡°See,¡± Walter pat the young negro on his shoulder, ¡°You got the hang of it, boy. Ain¡¯t you read them instructions I give ya?¡± He pointed to a chart on the wall, made up by the Bone Doctor himself. ¡°S¡¯all written there in great detail.¡±


    He shook his head, ¡°No, suh, I ain¡¯t know how to read.¡±


    Walter shook his head, sighing, ¡°All this freedom now, and you choose to be the dumbest negro in all the Basilica. Damn shame, boy.¡± He turned back to his porch, the man on the table still thrashing about, trying to escape his demise; his mouth moved, but nothing came out but the clicks of his teeth and mushing of his mouth.


    It was quite now. ¡°Thas better.¡± Walter head back to his rocking chair, yelling back into the house, ¡°Make sure he ain¡¯t breakin¡¯ them teeth. They as good as gold ¡®round ¡®ere!¡± He smacked the head above his chair for good measure, sitting back down and grabbing his banjo.


    The ear-piercing whistle of a steam engine chugging down the swamp towards the basilica could be heard all throughout the bone town. Black cloaked figures began running through the bone-laden streets towards the docks.


    Walter smiled, starting to strum his banjo, ¡°Looks like newcomers ¡®bout to arrive. We be busy for a week, mayhaps two now, Niglet! Best keep that chopping up! Ha ha!¡± He strummed away into the night, glancing up over his spectacles to the Southern Star. It¡¯s light beamed right into his soul.


    Joy filled his heart, ¡°The Bone Doctor be building a haven for us folk down here, and I don¡¯t care what we have to do to get it. These youngins don¡¯ know what we put up with, but nah, nah we kings.¡± He grinned into the night.


    A black comet blasted across the sky, headed for a nearby mountaintop. His missing eyes couldn¡¯t see the thing flying through the sky, but his smile faded and a sense of dread began to replace his joy.  It was the dawn of a new world a coming, after all.

 Chapter 3

    ¡°What an excellent haul, boys!¡± the man said through his crusty lips, cracked and dry, skin flaking off in bits as he spoke, ¡°Copperhead will pay nicely for them,¡± he pointed to the group of people tied up against a wagon wheel, ¡°and we can keep the rest, hehe.¡± He rummaged through a trunk of clothes and personal items, grabbing a pair of panties and shoving them to his nose, breathing in deeply. ¡°Ahh, perfumey.¡± He turned to the young woman tied up, ¡°I might have to try you out first, you know, quality control, hehe.¡±


    The ensnared group screamed, muffled by gags in their mouths. They thrashed about trying to escape, but no one would hear them out in the wilderness. This part of the world was devoid of human life for miles around.


    Lush forest sprang out all around for hundreds of miles, wrapping around the mountains and creeping down to the river below. Bugs chirped in the bushes and trees, birds sang out for mates, and animals stayed clear of the ruckus caused by the bandits doing their dirty work on the innocent travelers. Two horses snorted and neighed nearby tied up to a tree, breaking the silence of nature. The air might have been fresh, but it was tainted by the body odor of the bandits and the fear of the sweat-soaked prisoners.


    Another bandit was washing his face in the stream nearby. Water trickled down his ragged mustache and patchy beard. The sun beat down heavily through the canopy above. Sweat gathered around his grey collar. His skin dark tan, leathery and dry, ¡°I called dibs first, Jeb, an¡¯ I ain¡¯t letting any of you go ¡®fore I do. I like ¡®em fresh. Not with any of that stank y¡¯all have.¡±


    Another bandit was above in the wagon, ladling fresh water from a wooden barrel, sucking down the contents sloppily, water dripping from his chin onto his open grey uniform, ¡°Aww shit, Jeb, Juan ain¡¯t stoppin¡¯. You¡¯d be better off with the older one, she still got a cunt.¡±


    ¡°Shut the fuck up, Hef, I wan¡¯ the youngin and I ain¡¯t budgin¡¯.¡± Juan pushed into the camp, his leathery face still glistening with water in the sun. He pulled out a saber and pushed up to Jeb, their chests touching. He looked Jeb in the eyes, ¡°I ain¡¯t budgin¡¯, Jeb.¡±


    Jeb pulled out his axe, gripping it with white knuckles, licking his chapped lips, ¡°And I want mah dick wet, Juan. Hehe. Looks like only one of us is getting what they want.¡±


    They stared at each other in silence, their eyes darting back and forth, not a one budging an inch. The prisoners, all 3, watched in horror as the men around them were fighting over which one they were going to rape. Their muffled screams disappearing into the miles of nature. No one around to hear or help.


    Cicadas sang with their calm chirps. Birds flapping from tree to tree. Nature continued without a care of man and their plight.


    Tied up, his wrists sore and bleeding, the older man¡¯s watery eyes darted to the women beside him, horrified at what awaited his family. He said a prayer out to the void, his voice muffled by the gag. If anything could hear them. If there was anything out there, he hoped in vain that something would save them.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    A new voice ripped through the tension, ¡°Now, I know ain¡¯t none of ya gonna dip into these two here. Theys good pickins, and we need the supplies. Copperhead pays extry fo virgins.¡± A fourth man zipped up his trousers, shaking his leg.


    Hef laughed mischievously atop the cart, ¡°Oh, you gonna get it now. Git em, Zeek.¡±


    ¡°Shut it, Hef.¡± Zeek strode over to a barrel filled with apples. He took one out and looked it over, shining it on his shirt. ¡°I told you twos not to engage in coitus with the prisoners, and here you twos are, trying to wet your willys.¡± He took a bite of the apple, juices rushing down his clean-shaven chin. Small scars darted around his face, cascading down his neck, and disappearing into his grey shirt, adorned with gold trim. He swiped his long black hair behind his shoulder, grabbing a large sword with his free arm, resting the blade on his shoulder.


    Jeb and Juan both stepped back, gulping as the man strode over to them. Zeek¡¯s black boots kicked up dirt on the small road that ran along the stream. He glanced over to the prisoners, smirking at them, winking at the youngest. They had the worst luck ever to be traveling this road at this exact time.


    Their unluck was Zeek¡¯s best luck, and a fat fucking payday. Fuck ¡®em. They were too weak to survive here anyhow.


    Birds took to the sky in a flock, flapping hard to escape.


    Zeek strode up to the men, locking eyes with each of them, ¡°Now, I want you twos to load up the goods and prisoners, and take em down to the river with the rest of the lads. Ya hear?¡± His words cut deep. His scars all told a story of his hard life. They were useful to boss around the idiots.


    Jeb swallowed hard, ¡°Yessum, hehe.¡± He laughed nervously, rushing to the crate he was rummaging though, slamming it shut.


    Juan nodded, no words to be said save, ¡°Yes, sir.¡± He bent down and began to untie the prisoners from the wagon wheels.


    The cicadas ceased their usual chirping, silence rushing over the insect kingdom.


    ¡°Tha¡¯s more like it.¡± Zeek smiled, relishing his authority. ¡°Let¡¯s get a move on, Hef, get yo ass down and help out. I ain¡¯t waitin¡¯ til the sun go down. I wan¡¯ to get to Giantown by this evenin¡¯, I wan¡¯ a steak and a whore ¡®fore I go to bed.¡± He grinned, ¡°Sounds good, don¡¯ it.¡±


    Zeek was barking orders and relishing his success in ambushing the travelers. He cocked his head, feeling some sort of deep discomfort building in his chest. He shrugged it off, nothing would stop him now. Copperhead would make him a Major in no time.


    ¡°Once I get a good suckin¡¯, ima get a good fuckin¡¯, haha!¡± The group laughed in agreeance to Zeek, all hoping for a great night out in Giantown.


    The forest seemed to hold its breath as the metal clang of bootsteps came closer and closer out of the forest with murderous intent.


    Whoosh.


    The axe-blade sliced through the air with ease, connecting with Zeek¡¯s neck like a hot blade through butter.


    Zeek¡¯s head hit the dirt hard, clapping up a cloud of dust. His neck spurted out a fountain of blood, drizzling his body with crimson blood, splatter down on his own dislodged head. His grey uniform-stained deep dark red. A look of surprise permanently spread across his face.


    The group of bandits froze, staring wide-eyed at the black armor-clad being in front of them. His towering presence loomed over them like a nightmare. Chains and spikes, black plates, all sucking in the light around them, with the skull mask staring out right back at them. White eyes burned into their souls.


    Fear struck into their hearts for the first time in a long time.