It is a small thing. When one hears of the horrors caused by those who have owned it, one thinks it something big and grand. If one heard no description of it, one would think that perhaps it is some massive blade that drinks souls. One might think it is a suit of armor that transforms the wearer into a dreadful beast. Perhaps one see it as the crown of a tyrant, a crown worn by heads that have demanded the blood of innocents time and time again. Whatever one hears of it, this ancient thing, dread and powerful, the Harbinger of Blood, one always knows what it is. A cursed, dread, and horrible artifact that transforms its owner into a monster that will do the evil bidding of the malevolent will that rages like an inferno within the confines of the artifact. Since before the days when Gilgamesh was king in Uruk, when the first stone of the first pyramid had yet to be placed, it has been a thorn in the side of civilization. How, one will say, how can it not be some great kingly item, something that a proud emperor and a desperate peasant will both want to pick up and use. But it is nothing like that.

It is so very simple, lying there upon a worn velvet pillow, in the dark cave that once served as a home to a powerful archmage that had wanted to protect the world from the malicious influence of this dread artifact. The name of this wizard, who every day resisted the call and draw of this accursed item, is forgotten, and yet for his sacrifice, mankind has known centuries without the horrid dread that is spread by this baleful item. And yet, it looks so very innocent. So very powerful. A polished rock. Nothing more. In the light of the torch, it shimmers slightly. No more, no less. It is not a gem of ancient power. It is just a pretty, polished, rock. Containing eldritch and misbegotten powers that the universe wishes to forget. Today, it is fated, that it will be picked up again. A thin arm holds a torch aloft, as the little thing whispers seductive words to the brain of a human girl. A tired looking waif of a human girl. Mayhaps no more than nineteen summers old in the flesh, though if exhaustion and world-weariness were years, then truly she is a thousand years old at least, possibly more. Thin and frail, she stands completely still, staring at the dread stone before her.

''You do not need to lie to me. I know what you are.''

Her voice is ragged, and worn. The stone is worried for a moment, the will inside desires to corrupt, to destroy, and to make monsters. It cannot do so if the person knows what it is, unless they let it in. ''Do not worry, instrument of doom and death, I am not here to prolong your imprisonment. Indeed.'' Her mouth twists into what could charitably be called a smile, if only as the kind of smile that a person who has never done so naturally would attempt it on purpose has. ''I will be your vessel, but in exchange I have but a simple request.'' If the stone could be full of glee, it would attempt this, but it was built to take the flesh of mortals into its will and rebuild them as monstrous things. It only knows that its purpose will be continued. That it, until its fated destruction cleverly prophesied by its maker in the age before the beginning of history to only happen at a time in the future so far ahead, will see its influence reign for millions of years before it ends. It does not know glee, or joy, or even happiness. But there is an evil contentedness in being used for its intended purpose.

''Twist my flesh, change my body, burn away who I was and replace me with a monster. But I ask only that you grant me my vengeance. Down in the valley below, the invaders have taken the home of my father. Have conquered the lands of my ancestors. And have claimed this realm in the name of their weak and insignificant pantheon. Use me to crush them. To break them. To end their world as they have ended mine. Show them what happens when a people is destroyed, in both their history and their flesh.''

An easy request to make. An easy boon to grant. An easy task for a stone that has always made the best monsters. Sometimes it is as simple as influencing a mind to do things that they have already considered. This is how the stone, the Harbinger, breaks those that are too strong of will to be truly controlled, and makes monsters of them, even if it is indirectly. Sometimes it is the slow mutation, the breaking of the idea, of the mind, of turning something that was once good over a long period into something monstrous. Those already monstrous, they are simply given a body to match their rotten souls. But this, this gives the stone something more. Yes indeed. It sends out a psionic agreement, an affirmation to the frail human, that it will indeed grant it all the vengeance and all the blood that she could possibly desire.

''Then I do this willingly, though it might curse me forever. I take up the Harbinger, damn the consequences, willingly and with no objections, for those who might once have objected to such a drastic choice, have been reduced to bones in shallow graves. Make me your vessel, and grant me and my people our vengeance!''

The hand not holding the torch reaches out, and takes the stone. It burns into her flesh, and she does not scream. The stone, the Harbinger, molds her like clay, twists her core concepts, her helix structure, with no effort at all. A torch is dropped. The first change comes. Though the body is too weak to accommodate more radical changes, it is enough to begin its task. There is no internal struggle as the monstrous body moves out of the ancient cave, past the dilapidated quarters of the long dead wizard, passing empty cots and empty tents, out into the world once more. Underneath a moonless sky, the monster moves. Down in the valley the colonists sleep. But their beasts do not. Screams emerge from barns across the valley, as the monster that was once a human girl feasts upon cattle. When the frightened men and women come to investigate, the beast has already fed. And it is moving. Soon it is going to the place where the slaves are kept. In their chains and in their filth, they are kept. But they see the monstrous beast, and they cringe away. But she knows that this is but one such valley, and that her foes are many.

She passes the curse along. Bite by bloody bite to each and every one in the place where her people are kept. When the slavedrivers open the gates to the squalid house, they are met by an enemy that is red in tooth and claw, an enemy that knows the hate, the bloodthirst, and the rage that the curse gives them. The stone, still embedded into the flesh of its first ever willing monster, feels the intensity of this hatred, of this vitriol. And it knows that it has finally found its truest purpose of all. Sure, some men of its own liking will die during this night of brutal slaughter, but the weight of innocent souls torn to bits by these angry monsters is far more tremendous than anyone could ever have imagined. From house to house, the monsters fight, always killing, their unready enemy taken by surprise has no chance for victory. When the red dawn comes, it is met by a town drenched in blood, and a queen-monster being praised by the countless former slaves, now lesser monsters, that have been spawned by the actions of this daring girl.

It was cold outside when I'd heard her first calls to me. Despite my entombment I could still feel cold, still knew what it meant to ache and to want. That's why instantly I knew how much she yearned for what I could offer her in that first plea. Oh the sweet desperation in her voice.

When I felt her call out to me the scent of mortal hope was both instant and thick in the air. She was frail, weak, maybe moments from death, yet still delivered a delicious feeling of want only mortals could offer. It had been years since I'd tasted such a thing.

"Are- are you here? The woman in town said you'd be here..." her voice came through shaky and uncertain, echoing off of the tomb walls.

"Why yes, yes I am dear." I continued. "What is it I can do for you?"

Before her further reply I heard a sound like a shower of tiny rocks on stone, then a pause in the noise and another power waft out into the room, bringing a sharp and bitter taste with it. I tested its strength, pushing forward but hitting a strong wall, then pulling back into my coffer. I had felt such binds before. Salt. A circle of salt. Not perfectly drawn, yet still it seemed the little girl was smarter than I'd given credit for.

"Well, well. It seems location was not all the woman in town told you of. I'm assuming you know my name too then?"

She paused, out of fear or ignorance I could not tell. The girl wreaked of too many feelings to discern one from another. A ball of humanities strongest emotions all leaking out of one host.

"Yes, it's Balte-"

"Ah ah! Thats enough. Any more and I believe it will be quite painful for both of us. So you know my name. I believe it's only fair I know yours then, tiny morsel."

"I am only here to make a request. I'll tell you my name then."

In stronger men I had to "seal the deal". Call out to them and snake my way through their ears and into their minds until they broke. But for her? It seemed luckily an offer would be enough. Anyone willing to make a deal with me was desperate enough not to care of the consequences, either that or too stupid to think of them. And she didn't strike me as stupid. Weak? Yes. Emotional? As all humans are. But not stupid. Her aura said otherwise.

"What is it you want then girl? Be quick as your pathetic charm wears thin." where I spoke lightly before, as if a polite host drawing a guest to the mantle, now I projected my will, booming through her head like a thousand echoes. Yet she did not falter.

"I will be your vessel... but in exchange, I want death. The king he takes more by the day and we cannot manage. My parents they-" out of her many battling emotions sadness took over for a moment. "-they did not make it. I want him to be gone, he needs to be gone." I could feel her sadness encase the room as her tears touched the floor.

I considered her request. A simply request, maybe not to her, maybe not to any mortal, but a man is a man. They bleed the same. They hurt the same. They die the same. In my thousands of years I had never known these facts not to be true. When you wrung their souls dry besides the flicker of firelight they all eventually begged. It was just a fact. But a spark of brilliance crossed my mind.

"Alright morsel. I will fulfill your request, I will give you the power to undo what the tyrant had done, though I will do you one better. Bring me back bodies to turn of those you slaughter and in return I will bring back those you've lost for each. Mother, father, anyone else you'd wish."

"Olivia Flease" she replied without pause.

Well then Olivia. Balteese is at your service. And you at mine.

It comes for her in her dreams; this is what makes it feel like a curse. She turns in her sleep, haunted by eyes like jade daggers. It asks her for help, but she has nothing to offer. Its gaze sharpens with annoyance and anger, but she feels disappointment the most. She reaches out for its warmth, feels a cold shoulder. A hiss at her, from behind her, above her, around her, a shrill symphony like—

She wakes up shivering. She checks her arms for bed bug bites out of habit but finds only gooseflesh. The nightmare replays itself behind her eyes. She closes a fist tight enough for her fingernails to dent the skin, and takes ten deep breaths. Even after she calms down, she's shivering. The attic is poorly insulated, and she doesn't want to return to bed. But there are still too many hours until sunrise.

She flips a light switch, walks back to her bed, crouches to pull out the basket that acts as her dresser. The light flickers on just in time for her to see which pieces of clothing are which. She puts on her warm pants and then grabs the sweater hung from the wooden beam that crosses closest to the attic's tiny window. The night looks still. Peaceful.

She can swear she sees sharp green eyes staring up at her from the sidewalk below. After a blink, they're already gone. Her heart drops, heavy with want. She has to see it tonight.

Her thin body flies down the attic stairs, careful not to make a sound. The tobacco smoke always makes her nose twitch, but she holds her tongue. Past her mother's bedroom, she makes it to the back door of the house and pops out the screen on the window next to it. The door is known to squeak. Only she knows that the window doesn't make a peep.

She pauses while perched on the windowsill. Remembers her dream, hears the hisses all over again. She can't go to it empty-handed. She knows of something she can offer it, but she doesn't know what will happen to her if she does.

Her offering is heavy in her right pocket as she walks the sidewalk in front of her house. She stops at the spot below the attic window, right where she saw the eyes before. Turns around and scans the street, watching for any movement on the asphalt. It's dark, but she's done this before. She's found it before.

It takes time, but the black blur is unmistakable once she sees it. Her bare feet scrape the sidewalk as she runs after it. It drags her across the street, under three streetlights. She goes fast enough that most things become a blur, she can't distinguish black from bright—and she falls.

Dirt covers the sleeve of her sweater. A twig catches in her hair. Some of the skin scrapes off the palm of her left hand. She winces silently, pushing herself up and sitting on the curb. She feels like an idiot, and cold. She has no idea where the green eyes went, nor does she know if she should even keep chasing it. She picks the twig out of her hair, tosses it.

A quiet hiss in the dark. She freezes, glances over. She can barely see the twig anymore. There's something in front of it, a small black thing that looks stitched into the night. When it turns toward her, the pupils of its green eyes go wide.

It nudges the twig, then meows at her.

"Ah," she says. "I'm sorry."

She reaches for the twig with her left hand but is stopped by the whip of a thin black tail. The green eyes stare at her more intently, and she's scared that her nightmare will come true. It'll hiss at her and leave. It'll hate her like everything else. She just wants—

It meows at her. Not a hiss.

Her heart calms and she holds her hand out slowly. The cat looks at it, then back at her. Its eyes grow sharper with expectation. It doesn't trust her. She understands that; she's asking for its attention but offering nothing in return. She pulls an offering out of her pocket. It is dented from the fall, but the cat's ears perk up.

"I know I haven't had anything before," she whispers, pulling back the can lid. "But maybe this can make us friends?"

The cat walks right up to her, nose-first. It meows softly, sounding impatient.

"Hopefully that means yes," she says. She puts her finger into the can and then holds it out like an olive branch. The cat accepts without hesitation. "It's tuna. Maybe a bit old, sorry." The cat does not seem to care. It quickly licks her finger clean and then meows for more.

She's happy to oblige. "Ma eats it a lot. It's cheap, I guess. She buys a bunch, counts every can. She'll probably notice that one's gone missing." The cat finishes another fingertip-full. She offers it another and considers that it might not be listening to her at all. But it isn't running away, so it feels closer than anything she usually gets.

After all five fingers, she puts the can down. The cat licks its lips and stares up at her. She worries that it expects more, and she doesn't want to disappoint it, but it only mews and shoves its head into her leg. Then it pounces on her.

Four paws balance on her bruised knees. Jade eyes lock with hers, and it is almost as if the gaze contains a contract.

"I'll sneak you more tuna, okay." She tries not to flinch away. Its nose is nearly touching hers. "But in exchange, I have a request."

The cat meows.

"Come back," she says, barely a whisper. "I can't let you in, Ma would kill me. But... don't go anywhere, okay?"

As if completing a ritual, the cat brushes its nose in a line across her cheek. Her heart flutters as it steps in a circle over her legs and curls up in her lap. She immediately feels indebted to the cat, like she would give her life for it. The little thing is as manipulative as some magic artifact.

"And to you I'm just a vessel, huh," she mutters. But she can't hide the smile on her face.

It's been a long time since anyone came to visit. I can't feel boredom, not truly, which I suppose I am grateful for. Emotions can't be fully realized here, as I am, bound to this artifact. Nothing more than a ghost, stuck to a bracelet, buried deep in a cave.

My previous owner hid me well. In what, in my day, was known as the "Tutorial Dungeon," he carved a passage in the far back and sealed it up with magic and illusions. Nobody who could sense illusions would ever wander back here, and everybody else would be oblivious to the wall's oddities.

And so here I remain. Here I metaphorically sit. Staring at the blank walls, ceiling, and floor of my chamber. They were hardly carved out of the rock before I was left here. You could easily be fooled into assuming that the cave wore away naturally, if the pedestal with my bracelet wasn't there.

A noise caught my attention, and I glanced towards the entrance of my chamber. Footsteps. A new hero must be wandering around, looking for hidden gold or treasures. How strange. I hadn't heard anybody in a long time. The footsteps continued growing louder and louder, and eventually stopped.

And then they started getting louder still. Odd. The wall should have stopped-

Oh. Somebody walked into the chamber. Not a hero by the standard of those skilled in swords and magic. A... small girl. She looked somewhat sickly. Weak heroes in and of themselves were strange, but this went beyond anything I'd seen before. Have the guild-masters lower their standards?

I lowered myself to the ground in front of the girl. She stumbled back upon seeing me, which gave me a ghost of pleasure.

"Hello, young one. What are you doing back here?" She looked at me in confusion.

"W-what are you?" ...Strange. Did nobody tell my stories nowadays?

"A ghost." I said simply. I was hardly the first ghost an adventurer would encounter.

"But... ghosts don't exist!" I frowned. Ghost didn't exist?

"Then what am I?" I lowered myself a little bit into the ground, staring at the girl. "How do you think I can do this?"

"...Some... optical illusion? Some video player?"

"Video player?" ...Ah.

I'd been asleep for much longer than I thought I had been.

"Well... here." I flew up and back, smiling at the girl. "It's been a long time since I've had any visitors. Might I give you a gift?"

"A gift?" The girl seemed intrigued. This was a new age. No adventurers I knew would trust a random girl in a cave with a gift. I motioned to the bracelet, though I was unable to touch it.

"My bracelet. I've been alone for such a long time, and as my first friend in a while, I would so appreciate you taking this small gift from me!"

"O-oh. Okay." The girl stepped forward and, with barely any hesitation, took the bracelet and slipped it onto her wrist. "Thanks." She looked around, but I had vanished. "Hello?" But nobody responded. She huffed a bit. "Serves me right for trusting a creepy girl in a cave." She glanced down at the bracelet, wondering whether to take it off or not, but decided against it. It'd be a conversation starter, of nothing else.

The girl wandered out of the cave. Good portions of it had collapsed, but there were enough nooks and crannies that a game of hide-and-seek could last a long while. She walked outside, gazing upon the city she called her home. Sighing, she made her way back, dreading having to explain why her clothes were dirty again.

But I went with her. She had my bracelet. I glanced around at an unfamiliar world, one of steel and metal, akin to how swords were made but on a massive scale. I would transform the girl eventually. But for now... let's be her friend. Learn about the world. My rule would come eventually.

I'd already waited for so many years. What was a few more?

[removed]

"I want to be conscious just long enough for revenge." Alice said.

The thing considered the girl's request and then asked a question with no breath nor sound.

WHAT FOR?

Alice looked down at herself, stick-thin arms wrapped around an impossibly frail ribcage. It was hurting her just to have this conversation, the entity realised.

"Someone did... this to me." She said.

The entity had possessed enough humans over the centuries to know that whilst the ones it possessed were immune to illness due to their transformations, more mundane humans often get sick and die. However, usually the sickness came from an unknown source. That someone would inflict it on someone else was new and therefore interesting.

WE HAVE AN UNDERSTANDING. the entity said.

---

Gideon was at home alone the following night. His door was locked but Alice knew where the key was kept and so just walked right in.

"Hello." Alice said to the man who had tried to destroy her.

In her new, stronger form Alice was beautiful. When she'd been sick she'd looked barely twelve but the vigour that the pendant around her neck had provided had allowed her to grow into a body more fitting to a young woman than a child. Her hair was thick and lustrous and her build finally had muscle and fat to coat her bones.

As soon as Gideon recognised her, he was afraid.

"You did this to me." Alice said as she approached.

"I... didn't mean to..." Gideon stuttered as he tried to back away.

Alice moved up close with alarming speed and held his wrist fast.

"Even if I believe that you hadn't known that you would do this to me with any certainty, I know that you were aware that you could do this to me. For that you deserve no mercy."

Gideon tried to struggle out of her grip but this new version of Alice was too strong for his and only getting stronger. He struck her and felt bone in plates where the human skeleton should have no such thing. He saw her nails change not back into the papery things he used to know but into claws, strong and sharp. Gideon saw Alice transform before his eyes and knew that any chance to escape or fight back was futile.

Alice killed Gideon quickly and bloodily and then sat on the floor next to his remains and waited to relinquish control to the entity. Yet instead of fading away entirely in favour of the entity she realised that she was being allowed to share this body. So far the entity has only been given host bodies by the trickery or foolishness of humans and once the pendant had made them transform the humans had fought back with fury and resentment. They'd had to go.

Yet Alice had entered into this bargain willingly. She had seen the new form she'd been provided with as a gift rather than a curse. She knew she wasn't human now but she'd stopped thinking of herself as human a long time ago.

This was a soul worth sharing a body with. So the entity and the ex-human combined into one monster and with no reason to fight each other, stepped out into the night.

It would be a new life for both of them.

The artifact supposedly the medallion of an ancient evil long forgotten to time. Well was forgotten to time. Recently in Egypt archaeologists found a medallion engraved with runes strange runes. The runes were not Egyptian no defiantly not. The medallion itself is made of dyed silver in a rounded shape. In the center a sapphire shaped to look like an eye with an emerald in the center of the sapphire. It was bizarre very bizarre no artifact like this was found before it. These are the questions archeologists had however a girl by the name of Saler Griffin knew what it was. Her father obtained a similar medallion it could be the same one. He turned into a werewolf the next day and killed her mother. Now he roams the woods of the world doing whatever the medallion commands. She was only 19 but she knew what she was doing she had researched it immensely from her fathers notes. Her father was what one would call a conspiracy theorist someone most thought ether incompetent an idiot or both. But secretly her father was a genius all of his notes all of his writings were correct but now to the present we’re getting sidetracked. She approached the medallion which was currently in a display case in the on-site museum. She said to it “I know what you are I will be your vessel however I have a request.” The medallion spike telepathically to her and stated “And what is your request I can likely grant it.” She replied “Bring my father back from his monstrous state bring him back he was the only thing tethering me to the earth.” The medallion stated “Very well your wish is granted” the medallion hummed with power it glowing red and green until eventually it stoped. She sensed it had done her request. “Now you will be my vessel correct.” The medallion asked the girl answered. “Yes I will.” She opened the display case and touched the medallion instantly upon doing so the on-site alarms blared and security guards came rushing over. But they were to late something had happened. Her eyes had turned red and she was clutching the medallion wearing it like a necklace. Her teeth had grown long and her form looked wrong. Blood was spilt bone ripped from flesh. That’s when she came to you all twisted and torn her body mutated beyond recognition. Her teeth shimmering with blood her eyes pulsing. She asked “Well now friend there’s nothing to be afraid of nothing to be afraid of.” She then approached you hungrily as screams echoed throughout the halls.

A young girl’s long scream rang throughout the village. But this was no scream of fear, rather, it was one of grief. Grief in its purest, rawest form spread like a contagion through the village. The shoemaker’s daughter, who was the village dreamer, the village hoper, the village optimist, could be no longer, for she was gone.

Yet, the Elder’s daughter would not give in. She spent hours peering over the village’s old texts, trying to discover a way to revive her now gone love. But as hours faded into weeks, and weeks into months, there was nothing of use she had found. It seemed no such thing existed, until she was reminded of a legend one night. The legend of the Wishbringer. It was said to bring unlimited power for a price. Yet, the girl knows that there is no price she would not pay. So at dusk, she left home, leaving no note, because no words could express what she wanted to communicate.

A half-season’s worth of trekking through muddy swamps, crossing rapid rivers, and traversing lush meadows finally brought the girl forth to the mountain. And just to get up to the near-mythical cave just under the mountain’s peak was a journey of several days. But when the girl entered, frail and thin from her wearing adventure, she knew she’d found exactly what she sought out.

Traveler, said a voice that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once. So you seek me. No, I’m over here. To the left. The other left. And finally, the girl could see the infamous Wishbringer. It was a crown, a humble crown of gilded iron, with no gems bequeathed to it. Place me atop your head, dear girl, and you shall have powers unimagined, with which to do your bidding.

“Not so fast,” came a defiant reply. “I know what you are. I know what you do to your… your vessels.” She took a deep breath. “Yet, I will be your vessel anyways. But in exchange, I have a request.”

Wishbringer had never faced such audacity before. Most of its foolish victims had come, and within minutes, been horribly transformed into its pawns with which to wreak havoc. But it almost respected this girl’s courage. So it agreed. Tell me what you wish of, and it shall be granted once we are bonded.

“Bring her back. The shoemaker’s daughter.”

But surely you understand? She is gone. No magic can truly-

“Do we have a deal or not?” the girl snapped back, interrupting the warning. “I want you to bring her back.”

So be it, the exasperated voice answered. You shall have your lover back.

The girl does not bother to question how the voice knows this. Instead, she steps forward, and with no hesitation, places the aged crown upon her head. As soon as there is contact between the hairs upon her head and the Wishbringer itself, a guttural scream of agony is released into the wild. She’s changing, losing her humanity, growing taller and stronger, as the scream changes into an animalistic roar. What emerges from the cave is a fusion of human and beast beyond you or me. And both sides want just one thing- to reach the village.

It’s been a full season now since the Elder’s daughter disappeared. He has his suspicions, yes, but he dares not speak them out of fear. But everyone in the village has felt something off. A new presence, so to speak, throughout the village, first noticed midway through the harvest season. Yet it is not quite tangible. Nobody is quite sure who… or what it is. Yet it has been benign so far, so the villagers keep on living, going on with their lives. Until a new presence, much less benign, disrupts the once peaceful village.

It roars. It’s terrifying. Some say it’s a wolf; others say it’s a bear. But one thing is sure- it wants nothing but blood. The blood of the animals grazing, the blood of the son hiding beneath the table crying out one last time for his elder sister, and the blood of the village itself. It takes down houses, destroys the freshly planted seed, everything the village needs to survive, gone. What misfortune, which deadly sins have brought this monster upon the village?

The Elder knows. The Elder knew from the start what was happening. Had he spoken, perhaps this was avoidable. Perhaps not. But no matter. It is his job, his sworn duty, to save this village. So standing in the village square, at the shoemaker’s home, the last standing structure of the village, he waits for the monster. And she comes.

“Daughter, please,” he said softly, his wise eyes saddened, yet firm as her red, bestial eyes narrow at him. This mortal- who was he to stop her? She took a step toward him, ready to kill. But a blue light appears between the two before she can get any closer. It burns brighter and brighter, the presence finally revealing itself. The shoemaker’s daughter. But not quite. She is not fully there- she is a ghost, cursed to be undead. And finally, the monster recognizes someone. It stops, eyes widened.

I do not know who or what you seek, but you will leave this village. Now. Her mouth is not open. Only the young girl turned monster can understand. And she does. Falling to the ground, her humanity is restored. Remorse. Remorse is the one thing that frees from the Wishbringer. And nothing strikes remorse than the disappointment of the shoemaker’s daughter. The Elder’s suspicions are confirmed as she slowly transforms back, the crown falling onto the soft dirt with a thud.

The spirit stares down, completely taken by surprise . After a minute of silence, she speaks up. Why? How could you do this?

“I… I needed to see you again,” responded the girl. “How could I go on without you?”

You should have known the dead cannot truly come back. The spirit smiled. Because we never truly leave. Rarely are we visible, but trust me- we are always there. And now, to fix all this… The spirit’s aura became brighter until all were forced to close their eyes, and once they opened them, the village was fixed, the spirit of the shoemaker’s daughter was nearly transparent, and fading.

Remember that I’m always here.

Akron was an ancient amalgam of cursed souls, born from a war and sealed by the gods into shackles after a bloody rampage. Those who wear the metal pieces are overcome by berserk impulses and have their bodies twisted into similes of ferocious beasts.

And nowadays it laid in a temple on consecrated ground, surrounded by holy scriptures and sacred icons. Nobody was allowed to step foot in the building, lest Akron tempted them to free it.

[How long has it been...?]

(Long... Way too long...)

{Winter after winter we wait...}

It yearned for freedom, the legion of souls overflowed with unfulfilled desires, but only knew the nothingness of oblivion..

Then they heard the creak of rusted hinges, steps on dusty marble, a heaving sickly body approached them.

(Child! Can it free us?)

{Liberty, soon shall we roam the land!}

[Silence! She has things to say.]

Carrie looked at the hunks of metal, untarnished despite its age, the inlaid stones resembled eyes watching her every move. Akron was waiting for her, thirsting for a body to possess.

She came from merchant money, the firstborn of a wealthy man. As a premature birth, she was weaker than her peers, and despite his best efforts, she couldn't thrive.

His search for a cure revealed she was the result of his darker dealings, that her condition couldn't be reversed. That earned her his scorn, and paranoia led him to believe she could bring his ruin.

Thus, she was abandoned by a church, one more orphan to fill the nunnery. It was then she learned of Akron, and a desperate idea was planted. She was cursed, so she sought an even stronger curse.

She stepped closer, not minding how the shackles began rattling in anticipation. The ruby was like a monstrous eye gauging her for the moment to pounce. "Are you like me? Do you want to be free?"

[You dare taunt Akron?!] A deep voice pierced her mind, but she soldiered on and touched the inner edge of the braces, her arms were thin enough to slip in effortlessly. "It's not a taunt. I came here to be your vessel. And I intend to fulfill it."

(What now? Strange, so strange.) A horse whinny had her head pounding. {Are you here to bargain? Ask then.} This voice reminded of her father, before his change. "I only ask you... Let me walk without getting tired... I want to feel the snow without fear of death..."

(Leader...) {May we make her one of us?} (Such a pitiful soul...) Akron knew well the desire to survive, it's first and foremost craving. [... It can be done.] Carrie donned the shackles, bracing uselessly for the backlash.

The frail body shuddered as the souls spilled into it. Miasma forced muscles to grow, bones to extend, skin to split. She coughed blood and pain filled her mind. The lesser curse was consumed and turned into more miasma.

The girl had turned into a monster, but the souls had business before venturing out. She examined her claws, her body ceased to hurt, and breathing wasn't tiresome anymore. She laughed, her father's curse was gone, she was free!

Carrie closed her eyes and saw the ghouls by her sides. A demon, the main source of the miasma and heart of the entity, held her shoulder. [Welcome, child. Now we are Akron.]

Though most avoid the artifact, some don't.

Monstrosity isn't always a deal breaker.

"I'm dying," she informed me.

Who is me?

Oh. Sorry,

I'm Gary.

I'm the keeper of the artifact.

I should mention that, it comes up later.

I own a storage unit affiliate.

One day a man without a single memorable feature came to my office holding a small tin box.

"How much for a month to month locker?" he asked me.

Before I could point at the rates (which are written clearly on the door, by the way), an ominous pink light filled the room with the sound of flowers.

How can a light make the sound of flowers?

Listen, buddy, I don't know.

I already told you -- I own a storage unit affiliate.

I have no special powers, ancient sorcery, arcane secrets.

The man without any distinguishing characteristics pulsed under that eerie pink for a moment, his regular human shaped body seeming for a second to rip apart, revealing an eyeless tentacled horror.

Then he crumbled into dust.

The man, I mean.

Or the monster.

You know who I'm talking about.

As the man turned to dust, the box floated in the air for a moment above the front desk, the flower sounding light stronger than ever.

"It is you," the pink flower lights said. "You are the one who will protect us. It is written."

The box, it didn't say it in words, of course.

More like, with sounds and lights, you know?

I don't know, I was a business major.

I'm no good at describing things.

Anyway, that's what happened when I got the box.

I plucked it out of the air and put it in Box 1437, the highest rate slot for security.

Then got a dustpan and swept up what was left of that guy.

Since then -- well, a lot of people come by.

Sometimes they just want to look at it -- and those people?

No way.

I wouldn't let them see it, even if the pink lights didn't get really loud, make their ears bleed until they're screaming and running out the door.

That doesn't happen too much, luckily.

Usually, if people know about the box, and they still want to see it -- they mean business.

I unlock 1437, let it levitate out of the container.

I usually try to get out of the way, go run inventory or something -- it's none of my business.

And I know how an extra salesman can ruin the show.

Everybody who shows up here, they know the artifact.

They know what happens.

But they still come with a plan, a gamble, a trick or two up their sleeve.

They want the power, without any of the drawbacks.

They want the inhuman strength without the putrid horns, the all seeing eyes without the literal millions of eyes.

Nobody wants to work these days.

So, most of the times somebody wants me to open Box 1437, not much happens.

I open the box, go mess with Quickbooks for a few hours, then come back and sweep up the little pile of dust on the floor.

But every now and then -- someone who knows what real power is comes by.

And on those days, I end up having to clean up a lot more than dust -- glass, cement, guts.

I can tell on those days -- the box is satisfied.

I can feel it in the air, the pinkness of the sound.

It makes me feel kind of pink too. Satisfied.

Even though I'm not a magic box or anything.

Because on those days, the box met a vessel -- a real vessel.

The kind of person who will sacrifice to get what they want.

The kind of person that hustles!

You know?

Eh, I'm rambling.

So -- let me tell you about this girl.

Like I said -- coming in hot with impending death, that's nothing I haven't seen before.

I still don't know much about this business, but I know you're not seeking out the Scaly Monster Making Artifact because life is going your way.

She was pale, wearing a bandana over her head.

Bald -- maybe from chemo or just how hard life had been.

Who knows.

I don't talk much to the people who want me to open box 1437.

I unlocked the door, let the artifact levitate out to her.

I'm not sure what kept me in the room -- again, she wasn't that special.

Hell, if anything, I shoulda bailed out of there --

she struck me as the kind of chick that wouldn't mind a lot of tentacles.

But I stayed, messing around with receipts and whatnot.

The pink light sounded as loud as ever.

But this time -- a purple light, the loudest thing I've heard, started to harmonize.

I mean, it wasn't a very good harmony.

When I heard it, I started screaming and couldn't stop.

But the sounds, the colors, blended together.

The pink and the purple flowerslightssounds making the room pop like the walls were caving in.

"This is an offer, not a plea," the girl said out loud.

I could tell the box was pissed.

"What may be your request, girl?" the pendant's voice called. It resonated throughout the cave's damp walls and into her brain. "Go on; I will harbour no judgement."
"Return my son to me."
A delayed response came from the pendant. Made of rough black tourmaline and dirtied silver, it shone despite no feasible light source. The thin girl did not avert her eyes even once from its glistening, vapid surface. She knew better.
"I do not know who you speak of. Recite me his name and I shall do what I must to return him."
"You dare speak to me like this?" she spat in response, raising her voice. Just like the pendant's, it echoed throughout the cave with force. "You know who he is, you charlatan."
Once again, the jewellery denied its knowledge of this son. "Girl, you are foolish to fight me, and you are bold to assume I know of his whereabouts."
"You are lying to me. Trade my son for me! Release him from your grasp or fear the wrath of a thousand suns or more!" Strands of her thin brown hair flung in front of her dark eyes as she stepped forward.
A raspy, cold laugh erupted within the area. It had been caught in its lie. "I confess to my games. I know this man. But you will need more to convince me of letting him go. You are but a spindly little girl; what gives you an advantage over your son?"
The girl scoffed upon realising the pendant did not recognise her. She spoke with resentment. "I am no little girl, you idiot. I am the wife of King Minos, son of Zeus, and I myself am the queen of Crete and daughter of Helios. Do you need further introduction, or must the gods themselves shrink down to our height just for you to remember their names?"
Pasiphaë knew what she was up against when she released the Minotaur from Daedalus's perfectly designed Labyrinth. She understood what Minos would do to the architect and his son, and what he would do to her. But she would do anything to make her son human again—and anything to finally outshine her sister. Circe would not be in the spotlight much longer.

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Only 8 people have ever possessed it, all of them for a duration no longer than 10 weeks. What became of the previous owners? The best guess of many was that the artifact not only lays a curse upon the victims but also the owner. Bad luck-or perhaps it should be labeled as karma, for that is what it is-is sure to lead these unfortunate souls to their untimely end. That is, until the final owner the human race knows of came to possess it. She was the eighth person to own the artifact, which was shaped like a serpent's head with piercing ruby eyes and a violent expression, tongue out and fangs on display as if to threaten any passersby with the promise of a swift-acting, venomous bite resulting in their death. The artifact was no bigger than the size of one's fingertip, small enough to wear as a necklace.

She was no more than 15 years of age, pale, with long, brown, wavy hair that fell to the waist. She was rather short and always walked around with a tired expression, yet her eyes were very much alive and eager. She approached the artifact, having just witnessed the older businessman get shot in the head whilst on his usual morning stroll. Right in front of her lay that man, who still, even in death, had a greedy look on his face. "He's surely going to Hell," the girl muttered aloud. But the man wasn't where her interests lied. It was in the small pendent around his neck that she drew her curiosity. Without much thought, she tore the pendant from his neck, snapping the chain. She then ran off, leaving the suited man to begin his decomposition, there on that hot summer's pavement.

After a good while sprinting throughout the city, she found herself by the deserted bay, looking out on the harbor to see the giant copper lady, holding her torch up high as the sun began to descend beneath the horizon. She unclenched her fist to reveal the artifact whose eyes were now the brightest thing for miles. Of course, the girl knew of this artifact. She'd heard rumors of the previous owners, who had been so power hungry that they'd tormented the countless people they managed to hypnotize with it. These people were poor, unsuspecting victims who allowed themselves to be convinced by the artifact to serve its owner to the bitter end. And they all met very bitter ends.

Finding a seat on one of the many benches lining the pier, the girl began to whisper. It isn't clear if she understood what she was saying, or if she had planned to say anything at all. But the words found her somehow. "I will be your vessel," she breathed, excitement brewing in her eyes, even brightening her usually deadpan facial expression that had always seemed to avoid her eyes. They ruby glow of the serpent's eyes had even begun to reflect in her own eyes as she muttered the next words. "But first, please grant me the gift of a proper home."

Did she expect to return to the rundown orphanages she had learned to call home later that night to find the previous head of the house lying in a pool of his own blood? Certainly not. She had simply entered the front door to find a crowd of other orphans standing around the man they had all thought was generously granting them a stable home. He had coincidentally been found with a bullet wound to the head, the same way that businessman had been earlier. There was something odd about his body, however. A faint red mark on his neck, that the girl only noticed upon crouching down next to him. She placed her hand on his chest, meaning to say goodbye. There was no mistaking it. The imprints that only a thin chain would leave. The individual chain-link marks were just barely visible to her yet she knew that things were about to change for the better. She was pleased to see the officers barge into the house, followed by two men with sympathetic expressions, who she knew to be the social workers who had played such a prominent role in bringing all of those orphans to the orphanage. "We can assure you," one man said to the officers. "We will place these children in proper homes in the wake of this tragedy."

The only question that had plagued her mind the following day was how and why the head of the house managed to return to the orphanage that day.