With a terrified expression Bastet turned around to face the voice, but found no one behind him – "Over here" – He felt something pull on his hair, and realized what was up.
-"How long have you been awake for?" – Bastet asked the crimson haired girl still wrapped around his back.
-"For a while now." – She beamed him a smile – "I had to assess the situation first, you see. Besides, the ground is wet and icky, so I'd rather catch the free ride."
Bastet dropped her down on her feet as she protested, and mud splashed on her shabby dress that resembled a flour sack. – "We need to get out of here, immediately. I know it must be confusing waking up to this, but you have to trust me. We're in a den of monsters."
-"Who are you?" – Lilian tilted her head – "And where exactly are we?"
-"I am your father's friend" – Bastet grabbed her arm – "Let's go inside, quickly!"
-"A lone barn in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by blighted land and monsters. Are you sure this is a good idea?"
-"There's something evil here, and we can't afford to…" – Bastet stopped speaking once he noticed a yellow glimmer akin to that of a candle coming from the small window of the barn. There was someone inside. He had a feeling that there would be people around given all the dead stumps he'd seen along the way, but it was peculiar how the shed style roof had no chimney. And the barn was small in size; there was no way that all those trees were used to construct it. They were so deep in the forest, so where was all that wood going? He moved closer with unsteady steps while holding Lilian's hand. There could be a Wesian inside, but he had to ask for shelter. The walls were eerie; there were traces of mud all over them that looked as if they were drawn with a single stroke of a very large brush.
The wooden splinters of the old knob cut into his palm. He pushed the door open, and the rusty hinges squealed as if they were giving a warning. They were met with a putrid smell of sweat which was only amplified by the dampness of the air. The long and swirly muddy traces were present in the interior as well. On the table in the center of the room was a piece of parchment, some tools whose purpose Bastet did not know, and a single long candle which was currently lit. When he got closer, he could make out some symbols with a bizarre structure drawn on the parchment, following shapes that no sane mind would conceive of. On the left of the table was a skin stretcher, likely for making parchment, and right next to it was a shelf and a bed. But before Bastet could examine all the strange items placed on the shelf, his gaze was drawn to the long, slender silhouette that was sitting in the far corner of the barn. The figure remained silent, so Bastet picked the candle up and cautiously approached it.
He was a thin, stoop-shouldered man with a long narrow head and jaw that was pushed back. He stared back at them with bulgy eyes that seemed like they would fall out of their sockets. He was mostly bald with a few patches of greasy grey hair curling out, and there was something off about the color of his skin, he seemed almost yellow. Bastet stopped coming any closer in fear that he would contract some contagious disease. He seemed to have double the normal length of neck, and his long fingers were curled around the handle of a saw. – "Visitors? But it's not time yet." – the man turned his body towards them, revealing what the saw has been cutting. The teeth of the saw were deep in his own thigh, having sliced half of the bone already. Bastet felt sick to his stomach when he saw that the man's foot had already been sawed off. The half-closed wound on the stump looked like it was being eaten by worms. – "I'm afraid this month's shipment is not ready. I'm having some problems, you see." – The man looked down at the saw – "Why are you so early?"
Bastet was relieved. The fact that he could remain silent despite being asked a question meant that this man was not a Wesian, or if he was, he was not ranked higher than him. And it seemed like this man had mistaken them for Wesians he did some business with. It wasn't that strange, Bastet thought, since this barn was just two hours away from Stormbridge. He cleared his throat and replied to the man – "Yes, there has been an emergency. The Eskanel attacked Stormbridge."
-"Eskanel, you say?" – At the shock of Lilian and Bastet, the man continued sawing his leg off without showing any pain or discomfort on his face – "Yes, yes, then it could be good to ship early. But I don't have any children ready. None of those that you would want anyway." – The man frowned, showing some emotion for the first time.
-"Well, to tell you the truth…" – Bastet lowered his gaze as he lied through his teeth – "What is this place? They didn't tell me much, just that it'd be a surprise that would make me piss myself."
-"Tell them that I don't find pleasure in my art being used to scare the newcomers." – Very little of his thigh was left, so the man picked his leg up and started twisting it and tugging until it was ripped off – "I'm a chaos priest, and this is my temple."
-"What does a chaos priest do, mister?" – Lilian's eyes shined with curiosity.
-"With no rules to bind you to a single path, and an eternity before you to explore every direction, you will always find an answer. Here in this temple, I nurture chaos and await that answer. You see, child, the foul sorcery that humans like to use is not truly their own magic at all. We all borrow the power of creation from the Maker who left us." – He closed his hand, and when he reopened it, a faint flame flickered on the top of his palm – "We dilute the ink of the world and paint something new with it. As a part of the creation, you are its paint. That is why it costs life force to cast these magics, for we are not truly doing any writing, just simply rearranging the letters that are already there."
-"But what kind of stuff do you make…" – Lilian pouted.
-"Once the ink of the world becomes too diluted, the very laws of nature crumble away. And where there are no laws, chaos reigns. Here is such a place that was touched by the purple sun, where blighted land gives birth to those who were not supposed to enter the world. I'll show you." – The priest sat on the leg that he sawed off, almost as if he was trying to hide it. – "Come forth."
His solemn call made the barn shiver. A two-meter-long centipede crawled from under the roof, and the countless pairs of legs painted a new trace of mud on the walls. It slithered with a disgusting speed, curling around its master in a matter of seconds. From its brown armored body, multiple pairs of human hands were sticking out and grasping around, which made it appear like they were trying to escape. Its head possessed a trace of humanity; at least one pair of eyes were human, and they were locked onto Bastet, gazing at him with some intense emotion that he could not discern. Right beneath its antlers, you could see a human mouth frozen into a very wide smile.
-"Don't be afraid, he can do you no harm. You could easily kill him, even without magic. So, this one isn't who you are interested in." – He petted its head – "At the start of every month Wesians take the children who show military prowess. But this month there was an incident that I can't decide whether is good or bad." – Bastet and Lilian made no further interruptions upon seeing the grotesque form of the monster – "Chance had it that a rather special child awakened. Much stronger than the others, and much more disobedient to me." – Bastet began to question the humanity of the priest, noticing that he hasn't blinked once since the conversation began.
-"I know not all art is meant to be pretty, mister, but this is really pushing it." – Lilian looked down on him – "This is a monster, not art."
"If you are so ready to say that my work is not art, surely you must be capable of telling me what art is, then?" – The priest scoffed as he shook his index finger – "But that is not something that can be done. It is a false assumption of analysis that every notion it splits open could later be put back together. If you dissect art in search of what it consists of, what could you possibly find, other than a shredded art piece? Restrain art with a definition, and it shall never be entire."
-"These monsters of yours, how many of them are lurking in the forest?" – Bastet asked – "We had worrying encounters with some of them. If they all listen to you as well as this centipede, we need you to provide us with safe passage."
-"Most of them listen, yes. Except for the one that I just mentioned. He is too powerful, even for me." – he chuckled – "I've been trying to tame him by feeding him. His hunger seems endless, but he seems to have developed a taste for human flesh. When I fed him my foot, that really put him at ease! But you see" – The priest was pushing the centipede away – "I cannot go to deliver him the new meal. Cutting your leg off is no simple injury." – He clutched his bloody thigh – "So it's very good that the two of you arrived. I assure you that helping me feed this one is in the best interest of Wesians." – He carefully picked his words to force their hand – "He is by far the most powerful being that has awakened in my temple. We can't miss our chance to tame him."