Chapter 405: The Petrifier

At last, it was complete.

Deep within the Ravener, a new monster had at last spawned. Weeks of fear bled from every corner of Thameland to feed the storm of dark crafting, and still the process was longer and more drawn out than in the past. Many cycles had passed since the Ravener had last brought a new petrifier to life, but now, the inner devices used in the spawn’s complex creation were warmed-up again. Now, a second would be much quicker to create, but, if all went to plan, there would be no need for another. By design, the first would not be among the living for long.

The last detail needed for its completion was a small organ situated in its midsection: one that roared and pulsated with violent pools of mana. It would be used once: when time came for the lethal creature to obliterate itself. Petrifiers were those rarest of monsters with a single purpose: destroy all usurpers within the realm and in the furthering of that task, kill all witnesses to its presence—then erase itself from existence.

Keeping mortals in the dark was central to the Ravener’s plans during each cycle. So, throughout time, no petrifier had ever been left alive, even their bones had been erased. Such was the way of things when it last crafted a petrifier.

And so it would be now.

With a ripple across its black surface, the Ravener shuddered and began spawning. Its great monstrous guard: Hive-Queens of Silence, scaled behemoths, the mighty Rampart-crushers, and all other creatures in its service turned toward their master.

And trembled.

Each was mighty enough to lead hordes of Ravener-spawn from their dungeons and through the land to destroy mortal armies. Yet, they recoiled in fear when the creature slipped from the Ravener’s now boiling surface.

Hunters slowly crept from side passages, growling and awaiting their leader’s entry into the world.

The first elongated, silvered limb emerged.

Followed by another.

Then a third.

Three legs writhed from the dark sphere and planted themselves in a lake of shadowy water below. A small forest of wriggling tentacles appeared, testing and tasting the air. A long, silvery oval shell, matching the colour of its legs, rose from the Ravener, and atop the shell were nine eye-stalks capped with massive glowing eyeballs shining in the darkness. A dreadful power lurked within eight, but the ninth—the central and largest one—shimmered with the radiance of a precious stone.

That dominant eye observed its surroundings like a living diamond, gleaming with deep intellect.

When the entire shell was finally free of the dark orb, a new petrifier was born.

And it proclaimed its birth.

Its fanged jaws spread apart at the shell’s anterior—wide enough to swallow a knight and their charging mount—and its shriek reverberated within the cavern walls, making ravener spawn shake harder. The creature straightened to its full height, rising nearly a hundred feet in the air, displaying its soaring shimmering form. Silver chitin shifted with the light, and the petrifier’s many eyes appraised the new world around it. Its sheen slowly dulled until it was as dark as the cave. Then, like a living prism, its form became the shapes, images and colours of its surroundings, adapting and mimicking them like camouflage. To all near, it would have appeared invisible.

The petrifier’s gaze turned to the other monsters and it shrieked its dominance, glowering down on every creature. Each recoiled, lowering their heads and fleeing, concealing themselves behind anything near. They were created with an instinctual fear of the towering monster, for it was made to command them, and they were made to follow it lest they taste the fate its eyes could unleash.

It scraped the tip of a foot along the bottom of the underground lake, stirring up the silt drifting there and coiled to spring on the other spawn.

“Enough,” the Ravener spoke for the first time in this cycle, its voice came deep and resonant, burying all sound throughout the caverns beneath its rich tone. Were there any mortals nearby to hear, they might have thought it was steeped in wisdom.

The petrifier stilled, then turned to its master and took an uncertain step back.

“Do not fear me, my creation.” The Ravener’s surface rippled with each word. “For you are mine, and you will be safe as long as you do not harm what is mine.”

The unruly look in each of the petrifier’s eyes died. Its eyestalks bowed low, and its throat released a whimper of submission.

“You have a task,” the Ravener continued. “You will eliminate the usurpers; they plague this land. Let no mortal see you. And should they; destroy them.”

“Yes, master,” the petrifier rasped. “How many usurpers do I hunt?”

“Three,” the Ravener informed its creation. “You must act quickly. There was only one for an entire passing of four seasons, but within a day, there were two more. The spread must end before the situation is irreversible.”

“Understood.” The petrifier’s eyestalks turned to the Hunters.

“And these are mine to use?”

“They and these,” the Ravener’s surface rippled and two dungeon cores floated out. “Take them and plant them as you need to. Build armies to aid you.”

“Yes, master,” the petrifier’s voice was tinged with an excited hunger. “And when I succeed, am I to destroy myself?”

“Not right away,” the Ravener’s voice was even. “Once your task is done, conceal yourself and wait. Should new usurpers appear, the Hunters will alert you so you can kill them. If I am defeated, or a full year has passed with no new interlopers replacing the dead ones, then you can eliminate yourself.”

“Yes master, I serve at your pleasure,” the petrifier’s eyestalks lowered in deference. “Might I query you?”

“You may.”

“I have searched my memories. Do we remain in the Second Protocol? Is the First Protocol not in play?”

“The worse has not been realised. The Second Protocol remains.”

“Gooood,” it rasped. “And what of the missing Hero? The one you suspect as a usurper?”

“You are mistaken,” the Ravener said. “Those are not your memories, they are your predecessor’s. It has been several cycles since, and that usurper would have reached their mortal end by now. There has been no trace of them for cycles.”

“And the other usurper of that time, master?”

“Killed during the next cycle.”

“So if it is only these three to start, then the matter will be simple,” the petrifier growled. “May I start immediately? Do we know where they are?”

“No and yes,” the dark orb pronounced. “Their precise location is unknown, but the Hunters have scouted and know where one was last sensed, and where the other two tend to gather.”

“Good.” The Ravener-spawn’s colouration shifted. “I will begin the hunt.”

“May your hunt go well,” its master wished it.

With a chittering shout, the creature crawled from the water on three flexible legs, its tentacles reached down and enwrapped the Hunters. Countless Ravener-spawn scrambled from its path, giving ground as it bounded into a tunnel and ascended through the dark with terrible speed. In the spiralling passage, it braced its legs against three walls, almost flying to the surface.

Beneath the earth, the vast network of tunnels that shrouded the Ravener’s lair from prying eyes lay.

The petrifier growled, acknowledging its surroundings.

When its incarnation last walked these lands, the Ravener’s sanctum was hidden atop a mountain. Whether deep within the earth or high above it, each place offered sanctuary for its master’s purposes, but perhaps these tunnels were the better choice. Just atop the surface, a mass of earth and stone spread through the vertical shaft, sealing it shut. All who came upon these caves would believe they had reached a natural dead end.

However, the petrifier knew better: a mere twenty feet of earth and stone separated it from the world above.

But, there was a hindrance in its path.

It touched its tentacles to the stone ceiling, feeling vibrations through the earth. Movement. Not an animal’s, the gait of a roving beast was different. These were the strides of mortals. Many mortals.

And…voices.

Muffled words—unclear, but close. Too close.

With them so near, it could not enter the world unseen.

And, its master’s orders were clear.

No witnesses.

“We go to kill,” it hissed to the Hunters clinging to its back.

Rumbling growls and tensed haunches ready to spring was the reply. With a mental command, the petrifier reached for the Ravener’s mana.

And the ceiling abruptly shattered, fragmenting into chunks of falling stone.

A quick flex of three legs launched it well above the rocky surface, and onto a hilly, snowy landscape. Not forty feet away, some twenty warriors—bearing symbols of the white hand—scrambled for their weapons, rushing toward their tents away from a blazing campfire.

Eight eyes turned.

All flashed, lancing the air with dark beams that struck warriors like a ravenous ooze. The fighters slowed, darkness crawling over them, constricting their movements until it froze them in mid-motion. No chance for escape.

Then the petrifier’s central ray flashed and glowed with a silver radiance, building in intensity until another beam lashed out, strafing the mortals.

A sickening cracking sound split the air as every living thing the beam touched turned instantly to cold, grey stone. Grass peeking through snow froze in the wind. Embers floating above the campfire fell like pebbles. Even sparking firewood cracked as flame smothered, burning logs transforming to slate coloured rock.

And the mortals?

They had no time to utter words, cries of alarm, or even a single prayer to their god before their voices and lives were stolen by creeping stone.

In heartbeats, eight of the enemy were gone and the petrifier continued strafing more with its power. Its Hunters had leapt from its shell and were doing their part, slashing and mauling the enemy with envenomed fangs. Before long, the hapless mortals were either lifeless stone statues, or poisoned and shredded corpses.

“Search for more mortals,” the petrifier rasped. “Purge this place of any hiding near.”

“Yes, leader,” a Hunter answered, and the pack scattered, spreading through the surrounding hills, leaving the petrifier alone to admire its handiwork in the cold evening light.

The massive creature’s tentacles snatched up poisoned corpses, smashing weak mortal flesh against the frozen ground until they were no more than pulp, then it buried the remains beneath mounds of loose, soft snow. Good. No more disgusting fleshy forms would be visible among the perfect stone tapestry.

It cleaned its tentacles on unblemished snow then tenderly held mortals forever frozen as stone, raising each to its eyestalks, fondly admiring the sculptures from every angle.

“Beauty,” it whispered. “Perfection. That frozen moment saved for all time. I have missed this.”

In serenity and with pleasure, its tentacles turned its handiwork over. Truly, it would have stared at its creations for days if time permitted.

But…a task awaited.

“Leader,” a Hunter growled as the pack returned to report. “Only wild beasts are near.”

“Then we can proceed.” The petrifier reluctantly set down the statues. “In which direction did you last sense a usurper?”

Each Hunter pointed southward.

“Then that is where we go,” the many-eyed monster growled, once again gathering its servants in its tentacles.

Its eyestalks briefly turned to the statues, each projection drooping with a hint of sadness.

“If only I could preserve you my beauties,” it whispered. “But there can be no sign of my presence.”

With that, its enormous jaws parted, sucking in a breath.

Then the scream came: soundless and pitched high enough that no human mortal could hear, but with a resonance that brought visible results. Waves of sound bathed the stone statues, shaking them slightly, causing them to vibrate. Then together, they shattered, bursting into minute particles of grey dust.

When the noiseless scream ended, nothing remained but fine bits of rubble drifting through the air, landing on Uldar’s warriors’ snowy campsite.

“A shame,” the petrifier whispered, its form shimmering to match the surrounding hills and night sky above. “Maybe one day I can keep one.”