These Hallowed Bones - [Monster Evolution, Dark Fantasy, Heroic Undead]

27: Among Haven

Titan form remains anchored outside Haven's walls, sword planted deep in earth. Yet through the envoy's hollow sockets,

I witness the nervous approach of scribes who hide behind the walls,. They know their maps and scrolls are no defender.

The connection between forms pulses with each step my smaller frame takes. Distance matters, I dare not let the envoy stray too far from larger self. The magic binding us together grows tenuous past certain ranges, like a rope pulled taut and then snaps.

I know this without testing, I feel the connection fray with distance.

A child darts past the envoy's path.

Freezes.

Stares.

The small human's eyes widen at the sight of walking bones in Haven's streets.

The envoy stops. Waits. The child steps closer, bolder.

"Are you the same one?" Small fingers point toward my titan form visible above the walls. "The big knight?"

The envoy's skull inclines.

Cannot speak.

Cannot explain the nature of division.

Cannot tell this child how both forms share one purpose.

The child reaches out. Touches bone finger with flesh finger.

Pulls back, surprised by the coldness.

Grins.

"Mother says you keep monsters away."

Through titan eyes, I watch where shadowed beasts prowled.

Through envoy eyes, I see innocence that knows nothing of demons beyond the wall.

Both views fuel purpose.

The envoy moves on.

When the envoy reaches for chalk, I feel it.

When it traces letters on slate, the sensation echoes through both bodies.

Not separate minds working in concert, but one will expressed through different arrangements.

A scribe spreads a map across a wooden table.

Detailed.

Through the envoy's eyes, I study the careful ink strokes marking demon territories.

Yet my titan form's gaze sweeps the horizon, watching for threats.

Two perspectives.

The envoy's smaller fingers can point to specific locations, trace routes through mountain passes, tap coordinates my larger form could never manage. But it is fragile, these bones assembled from spare parts.

It is of me, part of me, but not me.

A sudden call from the wall.

Alert horns sound.

Through titan eyes, I see imps scurrying from the treeline, two dozen small goblinoid demons, mottled green and black.

Corruption, but not true threat.

Just lesser demons testing Haven's defenses.

My titan form remains still. These are not worthy of Aeternus.

The envoy continues its work, finger tracing supply routes while Haven's guards handle the minor demons.

Arrows fly.

Imps screech.

Some die.

Others flee, leaving trails of red and black..

My attention splits between maps and skirmish.

Neither requires intervention.

The living handle lesser threats. These bones wait for darker enemies.

The titan form holds the true strength, while this lesser frame serves as my hand among the living.

When danger comes, the envoy will retreat to rejoin the whole. Until then, it lets purpose come close to those I must protect.

The magic flows between both form.

I am not divided, merely expressed in two scales at once. The envoy is a tool, an extension, a piece of the greater form reshaped to serve.

Through the envoy's form, I study newest report as scouts tremble.

They describe signs of demonic infighting, scorched earth and blacked blood that spreads corruption where demon lords clash.

My titan form's grip tightens on Aeternus' hilt, remembering the Duke who scattered these bones.

"Three days journey," a scout points the path on parchment. "The Duke's fortress shows damage. Other demons pressed their advantage, the same one you once battled."

Haven's chapel bells ring.

The sound draws me out.

Prayer time. The faithful gather, kneeling before old gods.

The chapel bells ring across Haven, their sound almost forgotten in these desperate times. Through my envoy's eyes, I watch as humans file into the weathered stone building, heads bowed in reverence.

Prayer time.

A ritual I remember from borrowed memories, but cannot comprehend. The faithful still kneel before old gods who abandoned them long ago.

Yet I know one who did not.

Juridian.

The memory pulses through both my forms, titan and envoy alike. The fractured moment when I was merely bone fragments dragging through darkness, and Juridian's intervention that carried those pieces to the Field of Broken Banners.

A god who acted.

The envoy walks, pauses as it passes the chapel's side entrance. Inside, flickering candles illuminate weathered statues, gods once revered across the realms. Some figures remain intact, others bear signs of neglect.

A scout notices my attention.

"Strange to see a skeleton interested in our gods," he says with nervous laughter.

My fingers write symbols on a scrap of parchment.

Juridian walks.

The man's eyes widen. "He's the least prayed to these days. God of Justice? Most think justice abandoned us."

I move deeper into the chapel, drawn toward a shadowed alcove where a hooded statue stands separate from the others. Unlike the polished marble or gilded wood of prominent deities, this figure is carved from black stone, features worn nearly smooth.

The ancient statue stands forgotten in shadow.

Stone features worn nearly smooth, yet the figure's outstretched hand remains clear. A sword once filled that grasp, now just a broken hilt remains. Below, faded letters spell a name, AVERNUS.

Something stirs within my bones.

A resonance that makes my envoy's form tremble. My titan self, standing sentinel beyond the wall, feels it too, a pull like the compulsion that drives me towards purpose, yet different.

Deeper. Older.

I study the statue. This Avernus means nothing to me. Yet my gaze cannot break from that outstretched hand.

The envoy reaches toward the statue. Stops. The connection between forms pulses stronger, drawn to this forgotten icon.

A priestess approaches, noting my interest.

"Few remember him now," she says.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

I remain fixated on that outstretched stone hand.

"Abomination!"

A harsh voice interrupts the chapel's silence. An elderly priest storms toward my envoy. Gray robes whip around his thin frame as he rushes forward, brandishing a symbol of faith

"Defiler! Unholy thing!" His voice rises . "You dare profane this sacred space?"

The priestess who spoke of Avernus steps back, startled by her superior's fury.

"Father Marnek, she begins.

"Silence!" He thrusts the silver symbol toward my smaller form. "By the divines, I cast you out! Back to the darkness that spawned you!"

My envoy stands motionless. No compulsion drives me to react to his words. The silver symbol means nothing to my bones.

"This, thigs thing. has no place among the living!"

Spittle flies from the priest's mouth.

Heavy footsteps approach from behind. Commander Ikert's firm grip closes around the envoy's arm.

"That's enough, Father." Her voice carries the weight of authority. "This is Haven's ally."

"You bring death into our sanctuary!" The priest's eyes bulge. "A curse upon us all!"

Commander Ikert's grip tightens. "I'm removing him, as you wish. But remember who stands between you and the demons while you sleep."

She pulls my envoy backward, away from the forgotten statue and the raging priest.

As we retreat, Father Marnek begins a blessing, frantically cleansing the space where my bones stood.

"Come," Commander Ikert mutters. "Back to command. We've actual threats to address rather than superstitious nonsense."

My titan form watches through the connection as she guides my smaller self through Haven's streets. The sensation of her hand on bone arm transfers across both forms, an echo of contact.

"Ignore him," she says. "Old fears die hard in these walls."

28: No Plan, Only Purpose

Commander Ikert guides my envoy form through Haven's streets. The connection between my forms remains, titan and fragment, sentinel and messenger, both me and not me.

I feel the weight of stares from Haven's people as we pass.

Some nod with cautious respect.

Others make warding signs against evil. The priest's words remain.

Abomination. Defiler. Unholy thing.

These words mean nothing to bone. My purpose remains unchanged.

Yet the forgotten statue pulls at my awareness. Avernus. A name that resonates through marrow and memory, though I cannot place why.

The broken sword hilt in that stone hand stirred something primal within my fragmented consciousness.

"The old man fears what he doesn't understand," Commander Ikert says as we reach the command post. Maps cover the wooden table, territories marked in red, black, and fading green.

"Ignore it and don't walk away without me."

I write on parchment.

AVERNUS?

She studies the question, frowning. "An old god, before my time." Her finger taps the map. "We have more immediate concerns."

My titan form shifts position outside the walls, scanning the treeline for threats.

Through the connection, I direct my envoy's attention back to the maps. She's right. The statue is irrelevant to my purpose.

I write again.

THE DUKE?

Commander Ikkert nods, relieved to return to matters of war. "Three scouts returned from eastern territories. The Duke was ambushed by rival demons. Sustained injuries."

She gestures to a weathered man standing in shadow. "Peidyr saw it himself."

The scout steps forward.

"I saw monsters fighting monsters," He explains, "We've already gone over this. But seems another demons and its forces ambushed it. We picked up the details we could."

My envoy form writes.

WEAKNESS?

"We think the Duke lost an eye in battle and at least one of his generals was torn apart. Maybe half his forces slaughtered." Peidyr explains. "He was injured at least, and not the kind to heal easy."

I nod.

The knowledge settles into both my forms.

My titan frame's grip tightens on Aeternus.

The blade pulses, sensing opportunity.

"We watched from hidden positions." Peidyr continues. "The Duke retreated to his fortress. Issued commands for fortifications. His personal guard seemed diminished."

Through the envoy, I mark the location on the map. A fortress tower.

Built during the Old Kingdom.

Corrupted during the Fall.

Commander Ikkert points to routes marked in faded ink. "Ancient roads still exist. Some are corrupted. Some remain intact. Your titan form could reach the it within the two-days, maybe three."

I consider this information through both perspectives. My titan form could traverse the distance.

The envoy would remain vulnerable, connected across too great a range.

I write.

REUNITE FIRST.

Commander Ikkert nods. "You'll need your full strength. We will wait for you to report back."

Another scout approaches. Younger. Nervous.

"Commander, we tried mapping demon patrols around the Duke's territory."

He unrolls a smaller map, marked with routes. "But seems they've pulled forces back. Concentrated around the fortress."

PREPAPRES. WORRIES. THREATS.

My envoy's hand writes.

Duke fears rivals.

"Exactly," Commander Ikkert says. "Divided attention to multiple threats. s."

Through my titan form, I scan Haven's surroundings. No immediate dangers. Through my envoy, I study patrol routes, fortress layouts, approach paths.

I write again.

TIME MATTERS. HEALS.

Commander Ikkert's face hardens. "You mean to strike while he's vulnerable."

Not a question. Understanding.

Opportunity. Weakness. Purpose.

My envoy's hand moves across parchment.

Must go now. Alone.

"No argument from me," Commander Ikkert says. "Haven can spare no fighters for this. But," Her eyes narrow. "You've fallen before.."

The memory surfaces in both forms.

Demon fire. Shattered limbs. Purpose interrupted but not extinguished.

I write.

DIFFERENT, STRONGER NOW.

"I hope so." She studies the maps. "What's your approach?"

A soldier bursts in. Breathless. "Commander, corrup--"

An explosion rocks Haven's north wall. Screams pierce the morning quiet. My titan form turns, Aeternus rising from earth. Through its eyes, I see corrupted vines bursting through stone, tendrils that pulse with unnatural light. The Endless Rot reaches for Haven.

The envoy drops chalk. Turns. Strides through corridors. Humans rush past, faces tight with fear. No time for maps. No time for plans. Corruption attacks. Purpose calls.

DUTY DEMANDS. THE MASTER BEYOND ITS MASTER MUST FALL. CHOSEN BONES MUST GROW STRONGER. AM CHANGED NOW.

The bones clink as I write.

"Changed enough to face a Duke of Hell?" She frowns. "Even weakened, it'll still be powerful.."

The envoy inclines its head forward. It is known.

I say nothing further.

Ikkert's lips press thin. She's seen my previous transformations, witnessed borrowed bones take new shapes. "And if you fall? Haven loses its strongest defender."

HAVEN SURVIVED BEFORE BONES.

IT WILL SURVIVE AFTER.

"Perhaps." She studies smaller frame. "But fewer of us would live to see that survival." Her hand rests on an old battle map. "Show me your planned approach."

Through my titan form, I swing Aeternus. The blade shears through corrupted vines. Green ichor sprays. Tendrils writhe, seeking new purchase. Haven's defenders pour water blessed by ancient rites. Steam rises where liquid touches corruption. The walls hold, for now.

The Duke's attack? Or mere chance? The timing suggests purpose. These bones understand tactics. Draw defender away, strike vulnerable point.

Through my envoy's hands, I wipe the slate clean. The chalk snaps in skeletal fingers.

NO PLAN. BONES KNOW WAY.

Ikkert's face hardens. "That's not an answer."

My larger form shifts outside, armor plates grinding. The envoy's bones click as I write again.

DEMON LORDS FIGHT. PRIDE BLINDS. CORRUPTION SPREADS.

I pause, chalk hovering.

AM MONSTER NOW. MONSTERS KILL MONSTERS.

"You're suggesting..." Ikkert's eyes narrow. "You'll use their own chaos against them?"

The envoy's skull dips in agreement. These borrowed bones remember countless battles, countless deaths. Plans matter little when blood flows and steel rings.

What matters is the kill.

DEMONS SEE ONLY POWER. PRIDE. HUNGER.

My titan form's grip tightens on Aeternus. The sword pulses, ancient runes flickering with shared purpose.

DO NOT SEE CHOSEN BONES UNTIL TOO LATE.

"And the Duke?" Ikkert challenges. "What of his power?"

The envoy's chalk scratches against slate.

POWER FLOWS BOTH WAYS. DEATH FEEDS EVOLUTION.

Through both forms, I feel the pull - the same force that transformed these bones before. Each death of something greater carved new paths. The Field of Broken Banners remembers. These bones remember.

NO PLAN. ONLY PURPOSE.

The envoy's smaller frame stands silent while Ikkert processes my words. Plans are for the living. Strategies for those who fear death. These bones know only the hunt, the kill, the endless duty that drives them forward.

Let the demons plot and scheme in their fortresses of corruption. Let them war among themselves, blind to all but their own desires. These chosen bones will carve their own path through blood and darkness.

There is no plan. Only purpose. Only the next kill that feeds evolution.

The envoy's chalk writes one final time

WILL RETURN.

I leave.

Through both my forms, I process cold calculation. The Duke bleeds. The Duke shows weakness.

These are not just statements, they are opportunities.

My borrowed bones remember his power, how he scattered my previous form across scorched earth.

But that was before. Before the Field of Broken Banners rebuilt me.

Before dragon bone fused with ancient steel and shard of justice seeded newer paths.

The night grows deeper. Most living retreat to shelter.

The envoy moves through quiet streets of Haven, hollow footsteps echoing between stone buildings.

A woman sits alone on steps leading to water well. Flinches at envoy's approach.

Then relaxes, recognizing smaller bone form. Her eyes hollow with grief.

"My son died this week," she says. "He was one that didn't return."

The envoy stops.

Listens.

Cannot offer comfort.

Cannot speak loss. These bones know only purpose, not consolation.

I halt when the woman speaks.

Her words sink.

"My son died this week." Her voice cracks at the edges. "He was one that didn't return."

The envoy's bones stand motionless. Through two forms, I absorb her grief, raw, jagged, endless.

Her eyes reflect torch flames, hollow beyond tears. "Nineteen years. That's all he had." She stares at hands that tremble. "Found him three leagues out. Alone. No one with him. Nothing left to bury but the helmet."

The bones of my smaller form cannot undo loss.

Yet I listen.

Purpose demands protection. These bones understand duty, not consolation.

"Said he'd be careful." Her fingers twist at a frayed leather cord, his, perhaps. "Scouts always go in pairs. But we're short on men now. Short on everything."

Night air settles between us.

My envoy remains still. Patient. Her rage builds.

"He wasn't even supposed to go." Her voice hardens. "Volunteered when the fell ill."

The woman looks up. Meets the hollow sockets where eyes should be. Her grief transforms into something harder, sharper.

"Kill them all," she asks.

Not a question. A demand carved from loss.

I shape my envoy's hand into a fist.

A promise without words.

The woman's request lingers as my envoy turns away. Her vengeance becomes one more strand in the purpose that drives these bones. One more oath to fulfill.

I move toward the walls.

Haven's guards step aside.

Some bow heads, others watch with wary eyes. Word of my departure spreads. Small groups gather to witness.

Father Marnek stands on chapel steps. Lips move in silent prayer, warding off evil or perhaps praying for victory. Even the fearful understand necessity.

The distance between forms closes.

The magic binding titan and fragment hums louder, vibrates through marrow and joins. Like a plucked string finding harmony. My envoy frame reaches the wall's base where my larger self towers.

Borrowed bones recognize borrowed bones.

The smaller form breaks apart.

No pain.

No fear.

Only purpose remembering itself.

Ribs unlatch first, floating upward like leaves caught in wind. Spine unwinds, vertebrae separating into chain of ascending pieces. Arms split at joints. Legs collapse. Skull detaches last, hollow sockets fixed on titan form above.

Each piece rises, drawn by the same force that first assembled these chosen bones. The living gasp, stepping back from this unnatural display.

Commander Ikkert watches from the wall, face unreadable.

My titan form absorbs the returning fragments. Dragon-reinforced bones welcome smaller bones home. Each piece finds its place within the greater whole, slotting into position like armor being donned.

The magic flows smoother now, no longer split between vessels. Awareness sharpens. Purpose clarifies. I am complete once more.

I am whole again, singular in purpose and form.

Aeternus rises from the earth where it stood sentinel. The blade catches dusk light, ancient runes flickering with awakened purpose. These bones turn eastward.

The Duke bleeds.

The Duke weakens.

The Duke waits.

Evolution calls.

Steps carry this frame away from Haven's walls. The living watch in silence. They cannot know what drives these chosen bones. Cannot comprehend duty that transcends death. Cannot understand the pull of ancient oaths.

No matter.

Understanding belongs to the living. Purpose belongs to the dead.

These bones march. Toward the Duke. Toward destiny.

Behind, Haven's walls stand fragile against growing corruption. Ahead, the Duke's fortress looms three days distant. Between lies battlefield and forest, changed by demonic influence.

The path matters not.

Only the kill.

Only the purpose.