Mort listened intently to the whispers in his mind. They guided him back toward his old home. Renata clung to his chest, attached by a membrane formed from her unseen wings. She held to him like a baby bat, nestled comfortably as he flew.

  His crimson body had accepted the offering of blood from the seventy-two new spawn. They would be his continuous source of corrupt faith—the gifts given to him by his new family, his god Itzcamazotz.

  A deep throb pulsed in his sternum, growing stronger with his power. His heart began to slow, matching the rhythm of the ache within his bone. The sensation itched deeply, almost pleasantly.

  When they got to Tepe, Mort dove, reaching the tops of the sparse trees in seconds before flaring his powerful limbs to halt his descent.

  Renata detached and twirled as her dress formed from the fleshy layer that had connected her to Mort. When their feet touched ground, she started to skip around him, her expressionless face framed by a baleful aura.

  Mort condensed his form, retracting his wings into his arms, leaving his half-man, half-bat body free to survey the abandoned village.

  This place would become their new home away from home—a point of contact with the outside world. He grabbed Renata and tossed her gently into the air, catching her again as he laughed, pressing his nose to hers.

  “Imagine,” Mort murmured. “We’ll make many more friends once we visit the other villages.”

  His bat like grin was a grotesque contrast to the doll-like girl. Renata did not react, merely watching quietly as Mort droned on, moving between the huts.

  He gathered objects left behind that still carried traces of faith—small clay idols, mostly. Anything else would have been taken by the villagers.

  Including other villagers.

  Mort paused at the sight of an exception: a dying old man slumped before him. Perhaps that was why the lesser spawn hadn’t detected him. The man’s stench was putrid, faintly reminiscent of Mort’s god.

  The old man choked and stammered, holding back sobs as Mort inhaled his scent.

  Pitiful, Mort thought.

  Renata glanced at the man and promptly lost interest, skipping off to search another hut. Bare feet bounced lightly over the dirt as she moved swiftly between structures, collecting items with faint traces of faith.

  The elder’s agonized wails echoed through the village for several minutes, followed by the loud, unhinged laughter of Mort.

  Some time later, Mort joined Renata in the center of the village. A pale, bald, human-like creature stood nearby—its translucent skin and rapid, shallow breaths familiar sights to Renata, who regarded it as though it didn’t exist.

  She had demolished several structures to build a shrine, though it resembled little more than a crude pile of rubble.

  Mort patted her head, pleased with her work. With a wave of his hand, he ordered the newly created spawn to continue stacking objects atop the ruin.

  He sat upon the crumbling shrine and rested, listening to the whispers of his god. Knowledge poured into him endlessly, words scrambling and repeating until he engaged in the task they demanded. Once his body learned what was required, the whispers ceased, granting him a fleeting sense of euphoria—until the next command began.

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  He watched as the offerings grew higher, the spawn working diligently while Renata and Mort observed.

  The pyre would need to be massive to spread corruption far and wide during the ceremony. Once the remaining spawn arrived, they could begin the ritual in earnest.

  “We should find something to eat,” Mort said while relaxing.

  Renata stared into the distance, her button nose twitching as the scent of prey drifted through the air. Perhaps more villagers had remained behind.

  Mort felt a faint flicker of pity for them—so weak, so insignificant. How fortunate they were to be granted power by his god, to be welcomed into a divine domain.

  Smiling, Mort took the little girl’s hand, and together they went in search of their next meal.

  After finding the large buck that had unfortunately wandered into the wrong place—and a few more weak, dying humans who were converted into spawn—Mort gathered everyone before the makeshift shrine. Their shallow, rasping breaths filled the area with an eerie sound. Renata found irritating, though her face showed nothing beyond a faint twitch of her eyelid.

  Mort greeted them all with open arms, unconcerned when none returned the gesture. He expected nothing from mindless creatures, after all.

  He simply wanted to experience what his grandfather must have felt—standing with all eyes upon him. Had he felt as powerful as Mort did now? As fulfilled?

  Most of the village had already been searched. The huts surrounding the massive pyre under construction had been demolished, with more soon to be cleared once Mort finished indulging in his moment of grandeur.

  Renata gave a small nod of approval at Mort’s speech. Her round face remained devoid of emotion, ruby-red eyes clear and unclouded.

  Mort pointed to her and proclaimed, “In the name of our family, I claim this land under our god. May we live long and prosper.”

  He waved his hand, sending a small pitch-black flame toward the pile of rubble.

  It caught easily. Corrupt fire fed on the lingering faith within abandoned dolls and idols, spreading quickly as fabrics and wooden furniture ignited. The rising smoke marking the beginning of their ceremony.

  Mort focused his power on the bat-bone effigy hanging from his neck, a grotesque relic gifted by his god. The object emitted a thick miasma that merged with the black smoke of the pyre. Beneath the burning column, a tar-like substance pooled and began to spread, extending tendril-like roots from the offerings.

  They crawled along the ground, forming black veins that exuded a foul-smelling slime throughout the village. The corruption spread until it covered the earth entirely, then stilled.

  That was when the spawn seemed to receive an unspoken command. They began to dig, tearing into the ground to form burrows infused with corruption—nests meant to strengthen and sustain them.

  A new village of Tepe had been born.