The Nameless Gods
Dark fantasy | Horror | Only you can stop the ancient gods from destroying the world
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Honey was slight of build, quick in hand and foot — the perfect shape for a thief, a scavenger, a looter of forgotten tombs. His life was a chain of stolen coins and narrow escapes, and now the latest pursuit drove him across a desert said to devour the living. Whispers spoke of ruins ahead - - the bones of a dead Empire where no sane traveler walked. Yet the hunters pressed close, and the sands offered no mercy
When the jagged outline of stone and the shimmer of green rose on the horizon, he stumbled toward it — and knew nothing more He woke beneath a roof of shattered slabs, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and something older, metallic, like blood. Hollow-eyed priests surrounded him, their skin as pale as candle wax, their voices trembling with reverence as they spoke of Nameless Gods. They told him of beings older than the world, chained in this place by rites. Once, kings had come bearing gold and blood to quiet their rage; now only these ragged keepers remained Through labyrinthine corridors they led him, past murals split by time - black altars slick with painted gore, shadowed figures with claws for hands, kneeling worshippers frozen in terror. In the corner of his sight, darkness seemed to ripple; in the silence, he thought he heard a whisper He told himself it was madness, yet he stayed for the treasures they hinted at On a night without moon, the priests gathered in the broken throne hall. The air was thick with incense that tasted like ash. Candles guttered, casting shadows that writhed like living things. Chants rose, strange and twisting, making the stones themselves seem to breathe And then — the whisper returned, but a thousand voices pressing into his mind. Invisible hands, cold and heavy. slid across his skin. The shadows swelled, swallowing the light. The priests fell prostrate, voices breaking with ecstasy and dread The Nameless Gods had found their High Priest. Their claws were already around his soul
When the jagged outline of stone and the shimmer of green rose on the horizon, he stumbled toward it — and knew nothing more He woke beneath a roof of shattered slabs, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and something older, metallic, like blood. Hollow-eyed priests surrounded him, their skin as pale as candle wax, their voices trembling with reverence as they spoke of Nameless Gods. They told him of beings older than the world, chained in this place by rites. Once, kings had come bearing gold and blood to quiet their rage; now only these ragged keepers remained Through labyrinthine corridors they led him, past murals split by time - black altars slick with painted gore, shadowed figures with claws for hands, kneeling worshippers frozen in terror. In the corner of his sight, darkness seemed to ripple; in the silence, he thought he heard a whisper He told himself it was madness, yet he stayed for the treasures they hinted at On a night without moon, the priests gathered in the broken throne hall. The air was thick with incense that tasted like ash. Candles guttered, casting shadows that writhed like living things. Chants rose, strange and twisting, making the stones themselves seem to breathe And then — the whisper returned, but a thousand voices pressing into his mind. Invisible hands, cold and heavy. slid across his skin. The shadows swelled, swallowing the light. The priests fell prostrate, voices breaking with ecstasy and dread The Nameless Gods had found their High Priest. Their claws were already around his soul