Chapter 39: The Golem of Rot
The forest seemed to hold its breath as Damien stumbled onward, his body battered and his blood still drying from the trial of the Thorned Passage. Each step was heavy, the oppressive atmosphere of the woods clinging to him like a second skin. He could feel the forest watching, waiting for his next mistake.
The air was damp and reeked of decay. Moss dripped from ancient, gnarled trees, and the ground squelched beneath his boots. Every few steps, he heard faint movements—branches creaking, something scuttling through the underbrush—but when he turned, nothing was there. The forest's silence was not a void but a constant whisper of unseen things.
Damien paused in a small clearing to catch his breath. His hand rested on the hilt of his newly acquired sword, taken from the skeletal remains he'd discovered by the Phantom River. It was heavier than his own blade but well-balanced, its iron edge still sharp despite its age. He drew it briefly, studying its surface, before sheathing it again and scanning the clearing for threats.
That's when the ground beneath him began to shift.
A low, guttural groan echoed through the air, so deep it vibrated in his chest. Damien froze, his eyes darting to the ground as he felt the earth beneath his feet tremble. The moss-covered soil began to bubble and churn, and a foul stench of rot and mildew filled the clearing.
Before he could react, the ground erupted in a spray of dirt and decayed plant matter. Damien shielded his face with his arm, stumbling back as something massive began to rise from the earth.
It was a towering figure, easily twice the height of a man, its body composed of rotting wood, tangled roots, and thick, oozing moss. Its "skin" was a patchwork of decayed bark and fungal growths, and its limbs ended in jagged claws formed from splintered branches. The creature's head was featureless save for two deep, hollow voids where its eyes should have been—voids that glowed faintly with a sickly green light.
The Golem of Rot had awakened.
Damien's instincts screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to move. The creature's sheer presence was suffocating, as though the forest itself had manifested its hatred into this monstrous form. The Golem's movements were slow but deliberate, its every step shaking the ground.
The hollow voids in its head turned toward Damien, and he felt the weight of its gaze like a physical force pressing down on him.
"Of course," Damien muttered, drawing the iron sword and readying himself for a fight. "Why would this cursed forest let me rest?"
The Golem lunged, its massive arm swinging downward in a crushing arc. Damien barely had time to leap aside, the creature's clawed hand slamming into the ground where he had been standing. The impact sent a shockwave through the clearing, and Damien rolled to his feet, raising his sword defensively.
"Come on, then," he growled, his voice hoarse. "Let's see what you've got."
The Golem's movements were slow but relentless. It swiped at him with its massive arms, tearing through the air with terrifying force. Damien dodged and weaved, each movement precise, his sword flashing as he aimed for the creature's limbs.
He struck at its arm, the iron blade biting into the rotting wood. A spray of black, tar-like sap oozed from the wound, and the Golem let out a deafening roar that sounded like the creak of ancient trees swaying in a storm. The force of its cry sent Damien stumbling back, but he steadied himself quickly.
The Golem retaliated with a backhanded swing, its claw catching Damien's side. The blow sent him flying, crashing into the trunk of a nearby tree. Pain exploded through his ribs, and he gasped for air, struggling to push himself upright.
Think, Damien, he told himself, clutching his side. You can't brute-force your way through this.
The Golem advanced, its hollow eyes glowing brighter as it reached for him. Damien noticed something then—a faint network of glowing veins running through the creature's body, pulsing with green light. The veins converged at its chest, where a larger, brighter glow seemed to pulse in rhythm with its movements.
"The heart," Damien whispered, his mind racing. "It has a weak spot."
But getting to it would be another matter entirely.
The Golem swung again, its claws gouging deep furrows into the earth as Damien dove out of the way. He rolled to his feet and sprinted toward the creature, weaving between its attacks as he aimed for its chest.
With a fierce cry, he leapt and drove the iron sword into the glowing mass at the Golem's center. The blade sank deep, and for a moment, everything went still.
Then the creature roared, a sound so loud and furious that it shook the trees around them. The Golem thrashed wildly, its massive arms flailing as it tried to dislodge the blade. Damien clung to the hilt, using all his strength to twist the sword deeper.
The green light in the Golem's chest began to flicker, and the creature's movements grew more erratic. Its body convulsed, pieces of rotting wood and moss falling away as it staggered back.
Damien released the sword and dropped to the ground, rolling out of the way as the Golem collapsed with a deafening crash. The ground shook beneath him, and for a moment, all he could hear was the sound of his own ragged breathing.
The Golem lay still, its massive body slowly disintegrating into a pile of decayed wood and moss. The green glow in its chest faded, leaving only darkness behind.
Damien approached cautiously, retrieving his sword from the creature's remains. The blade was slick with the black sap, and he wiped it clean on the mossy ground before sheathing it.
He glanced around the clearing, half-expecting the forest to send another monstrosity after him. But the woods were silent once more, the oppressive weight of the Golem's presence gone.
Damien sank to his knees, exhaustion washing over him like a tidal wave. He had survived—barely—but he knew the forest was far from done with him.
As he sat there, catching his breath, he couldn't shake the feeling that the Golem had been more than just a guardian. It had felt like a part of the forest itself, a manifestation of its will. And if the forest could create something like that, what else was it capable of?
He pushed the thought aside and forced himself to his feet. There was no time to dwell on what might come next. The forest wouldn't wait for him to recover.
Adjusting his grip on his sword, Damien turned and continued deeper into the woods, his steps unsteady but determined. The heart of the forest was out there somewhere, and he would find it—or die trying.