Tales of Misfits: Shadow of the Misfits/ Book 4

This tome will get more information when Hunt or Be Hunted is finished. Ill edit it to fill the story in, so bare with just this bit

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Intro: The Gods of Order and Chaos

Skip if you read the first books/Only this first one

Since the dawn of the Sentient, the world of Orion and its inhabitants have been under constant surveillance by two supreme deities. The deities split control of Orion, where one controls the uncharted skies and the other controls the fiery pits of hell. One’s rule could not bar the other’s influence on events that happen and could not take total unanimous control. They control the formation of land, spreading its water to help propagate the growth of fruits that fill Sentient bellies. Together, they decide what species are allowed to have free thought, the ability to develop skills, and allow them a means of establishing themselves through procreation. They also influenced what ailments would plague the world and what conflicts would arise from the horizon, introducing hungry beasts to force the masses to adapt.

The two Omnipotent gods are known as Rama, the Lord of Order, and Boros, the Lady of Chaos. Rama summons rain to irrigate the wild forest to bear fruit and fill its vast rivers, while Boros influences their minds to misuse their valuable resources for gain, helping create delicious wines that cloud rational thought. Rational free thinkers now drown themselves by indulging in once simple pleasures to the point of sinning. All these personal desires make the soul weak, leaving free thinkers vulnerable to no gooders and vulnerable to flesh-eating monsters created from the earth to devour them. One cannot live without the other, for if there were no bloodshed, the vast lands of Orion wouldn’t get the proper nutrients to grow its tasty fruit.

Rama is praised as the undisputed Lord of the Sentient races, the one who you pray for guidance, wisdom, glory, and a good harvest. In the earlier times, the free thinkers questioned the existence of a truly omnipotent being, discarding their skepticism once he sent his soothsayers down from his coven. The soothsayers were born to resemble any of the Sentient races’ women, with the only difference being their eyes. Their eyes were purple, like dulled amethyst jewels, resembling the gaze of the unseeing, yet their vision was not obscured in the slightest.

The soothsayers brought knowledge for many eons, teaching the races about agriculture, construction, and civics. Their knowledge seemed otherworldly; without the help they provided, the races would still be primitive, slinging rocks and succumbing to common diseases. Their mythical powers were nothing to scoff at. They could construct temples graced by their Lord that supplied them with powers similar to the omnipotence of their master. With the blessings of the Lord, a single soothsayer could heal mortal wounds instantaneously and soothe the souls of those who had lost their way.

The world itself didn’t need proof to know that the Lady of Chaos was real; her actions spoke louder than words. In the beginning, the land was populated by species that survived on roots, berries, vegetables, and mushrooms. In that span of time, the land was peaceful but advancement was stagnant; there was no need to dream or create. That’s when the Lady created the Lyconians; a ferocious race of wolf-kin that spawned from her malice. They could only consume meat and often wandered the uncharted forest, starvation causing the devouring of others. It didn’t take long for the strongest of them to come across villages of herbivorous races.

It was a bloodbath; villages were wiped off the map as a means of satiating the large number of Lyconians. With the looming threat of an enemy that grew stronger from their fallen, the races had to adapt; crafting slings and crude bows to manage population control. Now the herbivores knew the conflict of war, which many concluded was the reasoning behind the Lady’s actions. Yet Rama had other plans for the Lyconians. Some of the wolf-kin found that they didn’t enjoy the bloodshed or the constant pleas of those they understood. Slowly but surely, Rama restructured their bodies to be able to handle other forms of sustenance. Their diets were now of the omnivorous variety. To help facilitate the demand for food for Boros’ carnivores, Rama sprawled the land with an abundance of non-sentient animals. The need for bloodshed was still prevalent, but at least there wouldn’t be wars fueled by hunger.

Boros didn’t like that her hounds were converted into docile versions of themselves. A portion of the Lyconian population no longer required a carnivorous diet with the discovery of protein-packed crops, as their hunger was finally curbed. Yet for some, the taste for flesh was too intoxicating to relinquish, but at least the Sentient races could now see Lyconians as neighbors. The Lyconian community was divided; one side spat on the generosity of their Lord, continuing to act upon their savage hunger as they saw fit. It was a form of domestic taming as the docile Lyconians bred, slowly evolving into a new race of hounds: the Infenrials.

The birth of Infenrials was the last straw for the Lady. A majority of her own creations, now tamed by the Lord of Order, served under him and his people. To combat the evolution of the Sentient races, Boros spawned new races to combat those who upheld order; one such race was the Pantheamata, a race consisting of warriors with feline features. With each new arrival came a moment of time when the fighting stopped and new subspecies emerged. Wars and peace were cycles for the gods, with the last bringing about a sentient race known as humans. The elder races feared these humans, for they were the first race to have knowledge akin to that of the soothsayers; many encountered claimed that they came from other worlds.

At the point when humans arrived, the lands were in an ever-teetering scale of chaos and order. Boros’ recent project was the creation of hybrid animals, ones that came without sentient thought and followed only instinct that harbored in their blood. She experimented by creating creatures that were bigger, while also combining feline and avian features in some and using black magic to reanimate the dead to become ravenous husks in others. The soothsayers called Boros’ highly anticipated creations, monsters. They couldn’t thrive with anything other than their race, killing for territory and food while having no dreams or aspirations . The two gods’ constant entanglements were the identity of the world of Orion, where peace and war were an everyday occurrence.

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Intro: The Day of the Demons

It began thirty thousand years ago, when the world of Orion was riddled with conflict and war. Yet this was different from those before; the Sentients didn’t fight for ideals, land, and splendor. This was a war of survival, where all the lives of the known lands harbored a common enemy: one that was born from the deepest parts of the Lady’s hell.

The Lady of Chaos created demons; similar to the soothsayers in how they took form. They drank ale like any other Sentient, ate the same meals as them, and even took amusement in their jokes. They are friends, family, lovers, until they reveal themselves to be impostors.

Behind closed doors and in the secluded forest, they then acted upon their true nature. It’s at this point one can see through their hollowed eyes. They cause strife within communities, stealing personal belongings under your nose or relish revealing your husband’s adulterous ways . Many tales hold truth, but retold through the lips of a demon, they hold nothing but fabrications.

Earlier in history told tales of a Centalope philosopher who expected the demons to infiltrate Sentient settlements way before any sightings were recorded. The philosopher flicked his rabbit ears, believing his wife wasn’t the same woman that he’d sworn matrimony to, yet nothing was amiss upon a sharp glance. The first couple of years were like a dream; her eyes would glisten whenever they performed mundane tasks together or when they had romantic outings. It all happened abruptly, where one day, her gaze was devoid of glimmer while performing the same tasks.

He’d thought it normal that some of the fire behind love would diminish with time as every day was a repeat of the last with no surprises looming around the corner. They still exchanged words, making sure they devoted their lives to their marriage, while frequently tumbling through warm sheets.

With every passing day, the philosopher felt his wife was only doing things out of obligation. He would stare into her once beautiful eyes and gaze upon void hazel eyes. He drowned himself in drink, his heart breaking at his inability to change anything. His wife made sure to tell him that she still loved him dearly, even when he no longer believed her.

There were rumors circulating the town they lived in; a town so old that its very name was lost through time. Mothers began to believe their children were being replaced with monsters, fueling gossip about filicide to run rampant. Friends began killing one another after trust was broken. Lovers began to feel like their partners were being replaced by other beings entirely.

These events would plague the philosopher for years. He felt a twist in his gut whenever his wife was near. He wanted to believe that they were just getting older and the spark of youth was fading, but then came the news of her infertility. It was rare for someone to have this trait, and he’d heard many nobles often discarding their wives when they couldn’t produce heirs. Even then, he still chose to love his wife, not caring that they would never sire children.

It was usually a rare occurrence, but many began to realize that their partners, regardless of gender, had this growing problem of infertility. Those who complain about their significant others venture out to dabble in adultery, producing new families successfully. Their infertile partners would ignore them, often vanishing into the forests without any repercussions.

The philosopher stayed with his wife for the next twenty years, growing old and gray together. He dismissed his claims of suspicion, believing that his skepticism was all inside his head. The only issue with their aging lives came when the Horn of Chaos was blown and the earth rumbled, resonating through all Sentients’ thoughts.

He didn’t complete his book depicting his suspicions of his wife and whether or not she was herself or not. A party of adventurers were near the vicinity when the Horn of Chaos blew, witnessing the citizens become feral with twisted grins. The herbivorous diets they showed just yesterday betrayed them. Now the once peaceful Centalope population had residents devouring their loved ones’ hearts.

The adventures weren’t safe from their friends either, many taking arms against brethren that joined in ale, hours before. It was a massacre; men, women, and children devouring the ones that were closest to them, spitting acid and unnaturally elongating their appendages to ensnare prey.

The Swordsmen heard a scream from an old man inside his home, one that he heard from many dead men before. It might have been too late for his rescue, but he couldn’t throw out the possibility that another survivor could be inside. He busted down the door, charging in, and his bowsmen, mage, and tank followed his tail. What they saw unnerved them.

It was an elderly woman who lived in this house for decades, devouring her husband’s face with an unnatural tongue that acted more like an extra arm. She was just selling sweets yesterday, but now she was cackling while her tongue went down the mutilated man’s throat. The sounds she made, the crunching of bones and the tearing of flesh. Then her tongue grabbed a hold of his heart and ripped all the way through his throat and swallowed.

“Why Mrs. ____, why is everybody becoming mad? The swordsman said with his heart welling in anger. He ready his sword and tense his muscles in preparation for a brawl. The elderly woman only swirled her tongue playfully while dropping the elderly corpse on the ground.

“Mrs. ____ has been dead for decades, boy. I no longer need that name.” The demon said while the once elderly woman reverted to her age. At that moment, the Swordsman knew that the beast was otherworldly, an omen of what was to come. The demon rubbed her body seductively, smearing blood on her body in delight.

“Ah, I’ve waited over twenty years to devour that man’s heart, it was filled with devotion to me. It was sweeter than any of your ash-flavored food.” The demon said with a sinister tone, lunging at the party with an elongated arm. She whipped it around, destroying the furniture and the memories that the man had sprawled around the house.

They sliced at every attack, dodged every assault, yet the women cackled as she felt no pain. All of his friends were wounded, lacking the strength to stand. The demon slowly walked his way with a grin wider than it should have been possible. The Swordsmen became desperate for life, knowing that the swings of his sword didn’t amount to much. He started to throw everything in his bag—knives, bombs, and potions—at the demon.

He was running empty until he accidentally threw a vitality potion made by the soothsayer at the church. He felt that he wasted it due to his momentum, but once the potion landed, the results showed. The beast wailed as her face was melting, losing focus on her prey and blindly whipping around her arm.

She was finally defenseless, and he didn’t know why he took his next action, feeling as though the Lord of Order had sent a message. He gripped his blade and swiped its heavy edge around her neck, lopping it off from her body. The body didn’t know what actions to take as the head hit the house walls, wailing in pain.

“You bastard! How can you do this to me!” the demon said with a distorted voice, with a mix of infant and swine. Her head melted completely, becoming a blob of residue on the floor. Once she became silent, her body twitched violently until the life from its movement stopped as well. The group was tired, but they still resolved themselves to look into the residence.

They didn’t find survivors, but what they found was an open book that had blood dripping from its desktop. The Swordsmen walks towards the tome, noticing that on the top of the page it described the man’s paranoia against his wife. Its last written line was spelled in blood, making the Swordsmen rattle his bones.

“My wife is…”

The Swordsmen took the book after their first encounter with a demon, surviving the first wave of the demon king’s reign. He held this book in his whole life until he met a scholar of the Alana colony. He finishes the book with his own opinion, from an old man’s delusions to a powerful omen.

“Demons are real… Their patient and calculating creatures. There is no hope, there is no salvation.”