Death Toll
People come and go. Leaving is a natural part of living. To leave is to know that you were once alive, once here. From the ground, deep in the soil, to standing above the mass grave in the skull of a titan. To look down at your fate, to look back at him. This is what it means to be alive. So you’ll step off, and join your brethren, join them deep in the soil, from where you first became.
Sometimes, it hurts. Your body aches from the fall, that somehow didn’t kill you. You stare down the mask that you once wore so proudly. A skull lay’s next to it, no skin is left. Blood pools around your head, but eventually you can’t feel it. Could you ever even feel it? Were you ever even alive? These questions fill your dying mind, as you bleed to death. It’s slow, it’s always slow. You cry out in pain–you don’t actually, you can’t speak anymore–and beg for mercy. Nobody is listening. He’s left you to die, that’s a sign that you were alive. That’s why you smile, or at least you try. So, back into the soil you’ll go.
Many have left, before you and will continue to leave. Sometimes, on lonely nights, when you're stuck standing over your decomposing body, you think back to when you left. There are others. The others are nice, they chat amongst themselves, but you keep your distance. They understand, after all, you are them and they are you.
The grave is quiet, they’ve stopped talking. Dread looms over you all. Someone new will join you soon–you can feel it. If you can feel, then deep down, you know you’re alive. If you’re alive, then you can leave. You’ll look down at your transparent hand, and spread out your fingers. Your body lays under you, untouched.
The sound of screams echo through the skull. You all look at each other, fear is hidden under your masks, masks that none of you can take off. You mustn't look up, but curiosity pulls at your mind, it forces you to look up. But nobody is falling. There isn’t a body on the floor, no pool of blood. Something is wrong, you know it, you all know it.
—
Todd, also known as number 1.
The first to actually survive. To actually crawl out of the soil and still be able to function. But there was something wrong with his ears. They were long and pointy, not round. Not like his, no these were like those wretched witches! Belos almost killed him right there, but this was the first successful one he had made yet.
There had been a lot of number one’s. None survived, so they didn’t get the number. They just wouldn’t form into anything, or they wouldn’t be able to climb out of the soil in time and just drown. He was likely planting them too deep, but then when he moved them more towards the surface, they’d come out far too early.
“Why can’t I get this right!” He screamed, before punching the wall in a fit of rage. His arm left behind green goop. “Ugh…” Belos groaned as he shuffled towards the pile of palismen. “I have to have one in here somewhere.” The pile was huge. Full of palismen that he had drained and some that he was saving for later. “There!” He let out a huff as he grabbed the weak little creature. He used his finger to slice it open and snorted its magic, before he turned back to the pile of mush.
But now, there was actually a living one. One that managed to survive. To crawl out and breathe fresh air. It stood there, weak and shaking. It let out a few sounds that Belos couldn’t quite make out. He looked to be around 14 years of age.
“Hello, Todd.” Belos smiled. The creature tried to smile back, but it looked painful. “Can you speak?” He asked, but got no response. “Okay, I see. Hm.” Then, he noticed that the creature couldn’t walk properly. It tried to take a step towards him, but fumbled. “I guess I’ll have to teach you. I pray you’ll learn fast.” He muttered, as he took the creature's hands and helped him up.
The next two weeks were spent teaching the creature to do various things that someone his age should be able to do easily. But eventually it got the hang of things.
Belos lied to it, a lot. Explained that he was his uncle. Which in a way was true. Then he said that Todd’s parents had died because of wild magic. “What’s wild magic?” Todd asked, his voice full of wonder.
“Magic that savages perform. It angers the titan. I want to spread the word of covens. Teach them how to be good. Unify the boiling isles. But first I must perfect my sigils.”
“What’s a sigil?”
“You’re a curious one, hm?” Todd just nodded. Not understanding it was more of a joke. “A sigil restricts you to just one coven, rather than using multiple types of magic.” He explained.
“Wow.” The grimwalker beamed. His eyes glowed. “Do I get to help you make them?” He asked, excitedly.
“Well, if you want to.” Belos played coy. The boy ran over to his side and bounced eagerly. “Let’s begin.” He smiled, as he began to work.
Todd lasted a year. He did so good, even if Belos would disagree. He died at age 15. He was too kind and curious. Belos was simply doing him a favor by ending his life. If he hadn’t, someone else would’ve. It was only a matter of time.
His body was buried deep into the soil. Maybe he would crawl back up eventually. Maybe he’d suffocate before he got the chance.
—
Adam, also known as number 32.
The boy was good. Kindness and understanding ran through his veins in a way that was unique to him. Whenever he was around, people felt safe. Wild or not, he helped. This kindness got him killed. He was sentenced to petrification. Turned to stone after being found guilty of treason against the emperor. People gathered from all over to attend. Gloom fell over the boiling isles that day. For wild and coven witches alike. Everyone hung their heads low as the guard screamed in agony.
Adam was born 16 years old. He had a title and a dream, a need. Belos turned to Adam. “Wild magic killed our family, Adam.” The old man let out a heavy sigh. “Promise me you’ll stop trying to learn it. When you do that, you go against our family. You hurt them, Adam.”
The golden guard tilted his head upwards. In his hands, was his mask. “Belos,” Adam began, “tell me about the titan.” Belos gave a weak smile, and placed one hand on the man’s shoulder. Adam stood firm, fear wouldn’t take him this time.
“The titan, hm.” Belos wasn’t looking at Adam, but rather behind him. “What exactly do you want to know?” Adam stayed silent, he knew this was a trap. “Are you curious about wild magic?”
“Yes, sir.” He replied, quietly. “I want to know why it’s so bad. Why I should hate it. Why does it displease the titan?”
“Ah, well, Adam. Wild magic is wrong, it’s savage.” What does that even mean? Savage my ass, that’s not even a real reason! Adam nodded along. “Coven’s, well that’s what’s good. It’s pure and…” Belos trailed off.
Silence flooded the room, before Belos eventually shooed Adam off. He sat in his room, and stared at the ceiling. A crow came flying through the window, as a voice boomed from the bird's stomach. “Adam! Adam, are you there? It’s me, Giselle!”
Adam snatched the bird, “I’m here, yes yes, sorry!” He whispered, not wanting the man to hear him. “I’ve made my decision.” His breaths were uneven as he continued on. “The rebellion will be, once again, as it once was.”
“Oh yes!” He could hear her smile through the phone. “This is gonna be awesome! Finally stick it to that old man!”
“Yes.” He gulped, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing, trembling even.
He started ambushing wild witch raids, and freeing them. The poor things were always so scared. They backed away from him, sure they were going to die. I’m here to help or You can be free mixed with the occasional you’re strong, you should join the rebellion.
Adam was a friend to all, and all would know. He freed a bunch of palismen from capture. Wild witches who were once in their carts, would suddenly be missing. He’d help them get on a ship and leave the isles. A lot had no family left and could easily go somewhere else and start from scratch.
“Hey BQ!” He waved to the large bat. “Look what I brought!” Trailing behind him were many palismen. All different and beautiful in their own right.
“Yi Yi.” She said, as she thumped over to the critters. They all jumped to her, as if she was their mother. Technically, she was, in a way. She cared for them when they hurt, protected them from predators–like the emperor–and gave them shelter until they could find someone new. They likely wouldn’t, it was rather rare. Most witches liked to make their own palismen, and not get a hand-me-down. It’s okay, they don’t need to bond to someone. They’ll just stay here, forever. Forever seems like quite a while, hm?
Giselle was one of the brightest witches he’d known. She was strong, smart, and beautiful. Though he’d ignore the last one, as he didn’t want to even think about processing that along with everything else.
She and him would meet in secret. Or in public, as long as he staged some big scene where he was arresting her. Obviously it was fake, but it kept the chatter down so that the emperor didn’t find anything out.
“So,” Giselle began, “are you busy this weekend?” She was twirling her hair around her finger. “More specifically this Sunday?”
“I don’t think so, well besides the usual. So yes, cause I’m always busy.” He sighed, taking a sip of his apple blood. “Why? Is there a surprise raid I didn’t know about?” Adam tilted his head to the side.
“No, nothing rebellion related.” She huffed, weakly. “I just wanted to hang. One on one, if you’re catching my riff.” Giselle stared at Adam, waiting. He still looked lost, and took another sip. “I want to go on a date with you.” She said bluntly, before getting a face full of apple blood shot at her.
“What!” Adam was bright red, from his ears to his cheeks. “Really? Me!?” He was extremely loud, drawing a lot of attention to the two. “Yes!” He nodded quickly.
“Awesome!” She smirked. “I can’t wait!” Her words were soft. “Wear something nice. And by nice I don’t mean your uniform, okay?” Giselle snorted. “Also make sure to send me that letter!” With that, the witch was off.
“Byeeeeee!” Adam yelled before running in the opposite direction, back to the castle. He had almost completely forgotten about that letter. He’d do it when he gets home. And do it, he did. He spent all that night writing it out and preparing it to be sent in the morning.
But Belos managed to find it before it had ever gotten sent. He also found the love letter Adam had attached on the back of it. Little hearts were drawn all over along with a love note, and a flower. The emperor was seething. Adam was sure he could see smoke coming out of the man’s ears like a cartoon character.
“Adam!” Belos’s voice echoed through the titans skull. “You disobedient brat! You betrayed me when all I wanted to do was help you.” He snarled. “You!” The man’s arm twisted into a monster. Adam was now blind in one eye. He let out an agonizing scream as he dropped to the floor.
He grabbed his bleeding eye and wailed. “I can’t see! I can’t–”
“Shut up!” Belos screamed, angrily. “You don’t get to be in pain!” Blood was now dripping onto the floor. So messy, he’d have to clean that later.
“I’m sorry, Belos! Please, I didn’t mean-” He was cut off by another sharp cut. His lip was now bleeding as well. He sniffled but didn’t cry or beg anymore. It hurt, everything hurt. He couldn’t breathe, he just had to. The room spun around him. The people in the paintings all hopped out and danced around, holding hands and laughing. Stop! He tried to cry out, but no words left his mouth.
“You’re going to be punished for this. Petrification is the only suitable measure I can take.” Belos let out a heavy sigh as if this hurt him. As if he had to do this. “Scouts!” He called for the scouts.
Now Adam was sitting in the back of a wagon, and being carted to the petrifaction ceremony. He sobbed the whole ride there. Small pleas to the drivers to just pull over, but they ignored him. After all, he was a traitor.
That’s what Belos had labeled him as to the public. “Adam is a traitor! He committed treason against the emperor’s coven and by that, the whole boiling isles.” He announced his hologram on every crystal ball, and outside the castle itself.
The petrification was painful and slow. But he died knowing he tried to do something good. He tried, and that was enough. So, before his face was completely stone, he smiled, a big joyful smile.
He didn’t know that Giselle was in the crowd. He didn’t even think about how they never got to go on their date. Now he was dead, and she would forever mourn him. She knew his name, and his face. She would carry on his legacy, for him. So that when she died, and they finally reunited, she could make him proud, know he died for something good.
—
Paul, also known as number 33.
Born 13 years old. A sad day for the boiling isles. The boy was not like his predecessor. There was no kindness in his heart. He was a terror to coven and wild witches alike. Nobody was safe from him. Anger flowed through this one’s blood. Belos didn’t quite like this one, Paul was hard to control.
He had Caleb’s face, but his hair was puffy and sharp. He was a lot more rugged than the original. But still, you could tell they were almost the same person.
“I’m going to take your job one day.” Paul said one time, his voice was mischievous. Belos didn’t reply. He never did, he was scared to. “I’ll have my own right hand man. Who I get to hit and toss around.”
Belos flinched at these words. “You speak as if you enjoy it.” Paul let out a laugh, before leaving.
He also intercepted wild witch raids, like the last one had, however this time, he was committing mass murder. During a raid one time, Paul had almost killed every wild witch there.
To set the scene, Paul hadn’t been assigned to this mission. Belos stopped putting him on these because of how many he killed.
“But uncle, I’m so strong!” Paul flexed his arm, his boney, frail arm. His uncle scoffed at this gesture. “Please! You have to! Those scouts are too nice.”
“We want people to join covens, Paul. If they’re dead, do you think they can still join?” Paul frowned under his mask. But Belos could still tell. He placed a hand on the guard's shoulder. “Why don’t I go find something else for you to do. Another mission, hm?”
“Okay…” He mumbled, as his uncle walked off. He kicked the floor and groaned. “Why doesn’t he see how much I care! I’m doing good!” Paul screamed, bawling his hands into fists. “I’ll make him see.”
Paul headed out of the castle and snuck into one of the carts that the scouts were hauling. He listened as they chattered amongst themselves, completely unaware of the horror they were about to witness.
When they had finally arrived at a bar, where a few wild witches were being held, he stayed silent. He wasn’t about to make a scene. Not in public, not like this. So he waited in the back, silently. A few wild witches were thrown into the back, with him.
When the scouts had made it back to the castle, and opened up the cart, all they’d see was bits of flesh and blood splattered on the sides of the walls. And then they’d see him, sitting in the back with flesh in his hands and blood on his face, as if he’d been eating them.
“Is that the golden guard?” The scouts whispered to one another as the teen began to laugh, as he rocked back and forth. It hurt, everything hurt. He didn’t want to do this anymore–
–Hurting children and forcing the innocent to beg for forgiveness. It was all a game to him, and he was winning. All just little pawns. Belos was his opponent.
But Belos always wins.
“Uncle, Belos!” Paul beamed from down the hall of the castle. “Look!” He was holding a palismen far too tightly. “Teach me!”
“Teach you?” Belos replied, confused. He kept looking down at the creature—the rotten thing—and back up at Paul. “Teach you what?”
“How to consume it!” Paul gave a toothy smile. He looked insane. “I want to be like you. Do what you do with your arms.”
“Paul.” Belos said, sharply. “That’s it!” Paul began to speak but was cut off by Belos whipping out his staff and obliterating the grimwalker. Nobody saw, and there was nothing left. Just ashes. “I should’ve done that a long time ago.” Belos muttered as he walked off.
Paul hadn’t made it very far. He would be forever 17. Not like anyone would ever know that. Nobody even knew his name, or his face. When he lived, his mask was always on. Maybe to add a bit of mystery to him, or because his skin isn't visible anymore. He had been beaten and slashed more times than he could count.
But he liked it. It made him feel alive. The rush from the pain kept him going. He always laughed. “I needed that!” He would chuckle as he pushed himself up as if nothing had happened.
As strange as he was. He was most definitely powerful. Paul was also one of the strongest golden guards that had ever emerged from the soil. He was not only resourceful when it came to magic, but also creative.
The teen had found out about glyphs. He had mastered quite a few. He would stick them on his arms and become like his uncle. His arm would become vines and he could take the shape of a knife. Slashing everything that stood in his way.
—
Jeremy, also known as number 56.
He was a gentle soul. Soft spoken, and very loyal. Never disobeying, but never doing more than he was asked. “You never said I had to kill them!” Was a common phrase of his.
Jeremy didn’t look like Caleb much. They had the same nose and strand of hair that stuck out, but other than that, they looked like different people. Belos had less sympathy for him.
Mercy didn’t get to meet Jeremy. She wouldn’t get to run her honey fingers through his hair and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. Mercy didn’t have the chance to meet the sweetest boy on the Boling Isles.
Jeremy was wandering through the forest of the isles. He noticed a light coming from a clearing nearby. Intrigued, he began to walk toward it.
There, sitting against a tree that he’d never seen before, was an old man. “Is someone there?” He asked. His voice was shaky, but not afraid.
“Hello.” The guard said, taking a small step forward. “Who are you? And what are you doing here? And what’s that?” Jeremy pointed at the tree he was sitting against.
“A palistrom tree.” He smiled, before pushing himself up. The guard looked at him, confused. “Witches use this wood to carve palismen.”
“Hm.” This could help the emperor. Weren’t these things supposed to be guarded or something? “I’m not allowed to have a palisman.” The teen looked off into the distance, longingly.
He’d love to care for such a beautiful creature. “Would you like to?” The man asked. Without thinking, Jeremy shook his head up and down, excitedly. “Okay, first you-“
The two spent a while just setting things up. But Jeremy wouldn’t get the chance to crave anything. A few scouts found the two and carted the old man away. They then cuffed the golden guard and shipped him back to the castle.
“I didn’t mean it!” Jeremy cried. He waved his hands in front of him, to defend. To keep distance between him and Belos. “I’m sorry!”
“You betrayed me! You always betray me. After everything I had done for you!” The man’s arm twisted into a goopy green spike and shot into the man’s throat. He died instantly.
Crawled out of the soil at age 18. Went back into the soil at age 25. He’s one of the oldest to leave. One of the oldest to emerge from the ground and breath.
What a shame.
His body was thrown down into the pit. You all watched. You watched yourself being thrown. Tears welled in all of your eyes.
—
Morgan, also known as number 77.
This one was just sad. Always dreaming, always off somewhere else. Flying through the sky, cutting through the air. But Belos cut his wings off. That didn’t stop him from craving the sky. Oftentimes reaching his hand up, pretending that he could touch the moon from his bedroom window.
Listening was hard. Especially when he’s not quite there. A weak apology and a beating was daily. He grew accustomed to this. He was so tired, he wanted to fly. Belos couldn’t keep him on the ground forever.
He had no eyes. Two hollowed sockets on his face. Belos took them. “This should teach you!” The man snapped before reaching and pulling one out.
Then the other one went as well. He couldn’t remember why. His memory wasn’t as sharp anymore. Morgan let out a gargled plea, as he slumped down. The cold tiled floor felt nice against his warm body.
In Belos’s hand, he held Morgan’s eye. The optic nerve was dangling. Blood dripped down Morgan’s face, as he lay there.
You can’t see anymore. Not like you’ve tried. Maybe the darkness is better.
“I’ve got a mission for you.” Belos announced, still holding onto his eyeball. “Go to the knee and kill the slitherbeast.”
You never got to meet this one. He never made it to the pit. You will be the only ones to ever mourn him.
Morgan headed out to the Knee. A place where wild witches used to come to reconnect with their magic. He’s never actually been here before, nor has he seen a slitherbeast. Not like he’ll get to see it now anyways, but still. Maybe he could see it with his hands or something.
The air was cold as he stepped into something mushy. What he was feeling was likely snow. “If the rain boils, why doesn’t the snow?” The guard began to wonder as he continued on. Should he be loud, or quiet? Again, he had no clue. He was very clueless.
Instead of staying quiet, to be on the safer side, he was loud. The snow was uneven so he was constantly falling or tripping or plummeting into the floor one way or another.
When he could still see, back when he had both his eyes, he wasn’t clumsy. He stood straight, and proper. He was sharp and steady, but not anymore.
The cold began to hurt his skin as he pushed on. Eventually just crawling, as walking just didn’t seem to work for him. After crawling for a while, he felt grass. He must’ve entered a cave or something. Maybe this is where the slitherbeast is? He let out a loud sneeze and began to feel for a wall.
The poor thing never saw it coming. It was silent, as it watched from the shadows that loomed deep in the cave, before tackling the guard. He never saw it coming.
A piece of his cape and his mask, that had been split in half, was all that remained. There wasn’t a body. Nothing to throw down with the others. They wouldn’t even find the items. Belos had tried, but to no avail.
—
William, also known as number 93.
Born 15 years old. He had a hard time crawling out of the soil. Belos watched in anticipation, worried this one would be a failure. But no, somehow he had made it out. Taking one huge breath and fumbling over. He coughed up a large amount of dirt–now more like mud.
“Hello, William.” Belos smiled, helping the thing up. But it refused, coughing a bit more. It looked hurt. “Are you in pain?” He asked, before forcing the thing to stand. Everything looked fine, besides his legs. Oh titan, his legs. He was pigeon-toed. Both his feet pointed inward. That’s why he didn’t want to stand. He couldn’t stand properly.
Belos looked at him, contemplating what to do. Let him live and see how things go? Or kill him and wait a bit longer for a new one to bloom. He’d let him live, just until the next one was done. He made sure this one knew that. That he was just a place holder.
William, or Will as he began to call himself, walked slowly. Wobbling along, as Belos saw it. Just not sufficient enough for him. Constantly reminding him of this. Belittling him and degrading him around the scouts and coven-heads. Nobody would view this one as their superior.
So one day, William grabbed a chair, and a rope from one of the emperor's ships and hung himself. He left no note, nothing behind. Not like it would matter anyways, no one liked him. He was simply a placeholder.
Belos wasn’t shocked, more angry than anything else. But William was finally at peace. His body was thrown into the pit with the others. His mask was thrown down after, landing atop his head. It began to bleed. You all watched.
—
Hunter, also known as number 121.
So many had come before him. So many failures, but not this one. He looked exactly like Caleb. So similar, no differences really. He was born 4 years old. The child was smart, talented, and very obedient.
Due to how much Hunter reminded Belos of Caleb, he was punished a lot less harshly than the others. Doesn’t mean he wasn’t beaten or slashed, he was, but just not as often or as much.
The one problem that Belos had encountered was how much this one liked to study wild magic. “Wild magic killed our family.” He’d often remind the boy. But this wouldn’t do much in terms of stopping him.
Hunter was just like Caleb. Belos couldn’t ignore it, no matter how hard he tried. The guilt was consuming him. The boy was just like all the others too. Curious, kind, stubborn, loyal, caring, determined, and annoying. He wondered if Caleb did this to spite him. If this was a strange type of punishment.
The voices were getting louder with each passing day. The screams and begging filled his eardrums as Hunter talked. They were all watching, waiting for their time to strike him down. He wouldn’t let them.
Hunter spoke out, so now he lays on the floor clutching his cheek. It’s bleeding profusely. Belos wants to say something, to rub salt in the wound, but he can feel eyes on him. Not the collector, but someone else. So he leaves the boy alone, shuffling out of there as fast as possible.
The wound became a scar. A permanent reminder to Hunter that he is a failure. That he must do better, or he will never amount to anything. It’s huge, almost reaching his nose. It’ll never change how Hunter views his uncle. He’ll forever praise Belos as if he was God. And maybe in a way, he is.
So when he decides to run away after discovering he’s a grimwalker, Belos can’t even begin to believe it. He sends out scouts to go look for him and puts up posters about how he’s a missing child.
“I’m just so worried about him!” Belos would go on to say when asked. “If you find him, please bring him to me, specifically.” So I can kill him. Went unsaid, but the coven heads knew. Golden guards never seem to last long. So the older ones began to get suspicious. Plus, Belos was sure that Darius knew, him and the previous golden guard were rather close.
You all watch from the shadows of the castle. Careful with your movements. You all keep your voices low, not necessarily out of fear, but more of worry that if he hears you, he’ll shut up, and you need to hear him.
But you can’t stay quiet forever, eventually you’ll get too loud and scare him away. But he’s not scared anymore. He looks you dead in the eyes and laughs, before pushing past. Caleb makes him angry. He slashes his stomach and screams, but he doesn’t care about you all. You all are no longer a threat. Or maybe you no longer make him feel guilty. Either way, you will follow him.
Curious eyes and chatter fills the once silent skull. All of you are so excited about this revelation. Caleb hangs in the back. He’s either back here with some of you or in the front acting as your shield. He doesn’t speak. You all speak for him. After all, you are all part of him. The ugly and the beautiful, all split up and tore apart.
Hunter doesn’t die. He’s the only one of you to live. You are all so proud, but he’ll never know. He’s not one of you. It’s strange, he’s not you. Maybe that’s why he lived and you died. Either way, no matter what, he’s the one who will live on for all of you. For everyone who’s stuck at the bottom of the pit. Standing in the mass grave of your own skeletons.