She had no eyes with which to gaze down on the horrific monstrosity that lay in the earth before her, yet she could not tear her gaze away from that rippling mass of flesh and torment. There was no light to be shed over those folds of pallid, speckled skin, no light to reveal the thin coating of slime and bile from the weeping, throbbing sores covering the body, yet she could see them easily enough. This was that Mother they spoke of, she realized, all of a sudden grateful that she had neither body nor reflex to vomit. The image, the shape, the very aura around it was unimaginably repulsive—decay manifest in some horrendous form. This was the creation of that dark god, of the dark god that she was now serving.

Yet worst of all was that she could feel shattered remnants of a soul still in that abomination, still heartbreakingly lucid through all the pain. This was no mere monster, it used to be human. She could tell through the wormlike pressure on her mind, could feel the shards of broken humanity through its mindless hunger and pain. She still felt ruined dreams, futile hopes, fleeting memories of sunlight amongst those thoughts. And as their minds touched, as they blended every briefly with each other, the Mother suddenly fell silent as ceased its twitchings for a frozen moment. The shadows froze in their spectral moments, the Mother’s eyeless gaze staring blindly straight at her own. For that single moment where they saw each other, she could feel a sudden desperate hope blossoming inside of her—escape, freedom.

Yet it was over as quickly as it had came, the black stitches in the Mother’s flesh suddenly squirming and writhing like a worm. She recoiled as the monster let out a horrid wail, the shadows all breaking out into a psychotic roil. As if she was defenseless in the world once more, she had to struggle to pull herself together, to collect her thoughts. That was not me, she realized as the Mother threw that misshapen head back, the fleshy bulge in the back visibly swelling with an aberrant heartbeat. That was her thoughts, her hopes. She blanched, realizing that whatever woman had been turned into this monster, it still hoped for freedom. And she blanched, knowing that such a freedom would only come from the release of death.

The Mother is to birth you children, ought you not to be excited? Faith’s voice in her head was both unbidden and unwelcome. As if accentuating those words, the twitching stitches in the Mother’s flesh increased their movements, wriggling faster and faster despite the wails. It will be your child, nameless arbiter. With your essence and your wishes.

She had no way to know what he meant by that, yet the stitches pulled faster and faster until there was a sudden snapping sound. It was as if reality itself had shattered, as if the space before her had suddenly cracked like glass. The stitches pulled apart, and before gaped open a horrendous mouth. It was a cavernous maw, bottomless and toothless. Inside squirmed countless minute tongues, like so many serpents blindly sampling the air. Rows and rows, rings upon rings of those writhing limbs drew closer towards her, the Mother’s scream now striking her soul horrendously. There were no stitches to stifle that scream of eternal torture, nor the abject agony it promised. And as that gaping mouth closed around her, she found herself powerless to resist.

She needs a piece of you, you understand. Faith was like the whispering of a hundred devils in her ear as the world around her collapsed, her sanity—so tenuous—began to break. A piece of you...a piece... Those tongues tore away bits and scraps of her thoughts, of her being. They sampled her soul like one might wine, breaking her apart until she was nothing. A piece...—a piece of—a piece—

—I can see it now, can taste her. So sweet, so pretty. Once, I was pretty as well. Once, I danced and spun under the shining moon. Once, I played the harp with beautiful fingers, with a voice gentle enough to send war-men to their knees. Once, but no more.—

—She could feel the Mother’s bite, tearing more and more of her away. She could feel those stabbing thoughts, not her own. Not my own—

—My god commands me, you must understand. My god commands me, and for him, I—you must know, this was not—I must, you understand. I must.—

—More and more of that piercing pain shot through her mind until she felt like some butchered corpse, impaled by spears and left to stand under the sweltering sun. Even as she felt the great maw slowly pull away, she remained shattered and torn, ruined beyond belief. Were it not for that dark god’s presence around her, holding her together, most likely she would have lost since dispersed, without any strength of will to remain whole. A piece of you—

Her vision was fragmented as the Mother withdrew from around her, its monstrous head suddenly arching upwards. As if swallowing, its bulbous throat visibly contracted in so many serpentine motions, the ribbed flesh moving underneath that leathery skin. Its swollen head pulsed, horribly distended as if echoed that inhuman heartbeat. Soon enough, the rest of that grotesque body began to bulge and swell, the various holes in its flesh contracting in a pushing motion.

Wisps of black shadow began to creep out of those slime-coated pores, billowing and collecting in the air around that screaming maw. The growth behind its skull throbbed even more vigorously, sending more and more clouds of black out of its bloated body. It was not until her vision began to solidify, that her thoughts began to gather, that she realized what that keening sound was in the back of her mind. It was the creature screaming, wailing horrendously as more and more shadow poured out of its body.

The swirling mass of darkness condensed, growing thicker and thicker until it was an impermeable fog, a depthless surface that seemed to suck away any trace of being underneath its surface. As the Mother’s head pulsed twice more, as its body throbbed and contracted in peristalsis a final time, its head finally hung slack in desperate relief. Its birthing complete, once more those black stitches wormed their way out of the tattered remains of lips, sewing that gaping maw shut. The Mother, its duty done, once more throbbed gently in the center of the cavern, its innumerable children brooding protectively around the monstrosity. She had felt its pain, had felt its agonized pleas that she was powerless to aid. She could only watch as that horrid, repugnant thing once more returned to its work, its body little more than a prison for a long-ruined soul.

Yet that swirling cloud that had been birthed from its body pulsed with a heartbeat of its own—with a heartbeat of her own. She could feel it, indescribable as it was; she could feel shards and pieces of herself in this thing, taken during its birth. A piece of you, Faith had said, and it had not been a lie. She could see her own face, swirling in and out of existence on that featureless plane—the face that she had once held, now gone. She could feel a quiet throbbing in the back of her mind, unmistakably foreign despite its familiarity. There was something unnerving about it that she did not realize for a moment—she could not feel a heart’s pulse in this fleshless form of hers. This heartbeat, therefore, was not hers.

What would you name this child of skal, of the Mother? Faith’s voice was like so many hungering snakes, waiting hungrily for her answer. What would you desire it to be?

What did she wish of it? She wished for it to be her blade to fell the demons. She wished for it to be her shield to save her family. She wished for it to be her strength where she had none. Strength, then, Faith whispered in that rasping tone. Strength to bear the burdens of these sins.

Slowly, the gathered cloud of shadows swirled around her, drawing in closer and closer to her fleshless form. As it did so, a quiet whispering filled her thoughts, like a voice incomparably ancient. Its every syllable was filled with rippling power, its very breath enough to cripple her mind. Skal’mo, it murmured in her thoughts, the strands of her sanity flying apart and fraying from the very ripples of its echoing whisper. Skal’mo, she trembled as that shadow grew denser and denser before her, taking on a shape that was unmistakably human in its vagueness.

This skal’mo was what she had paid this price for. This was what would make her sacrifice worth the pains. And as her eyeless gaze settled on that billowing shape before her, she could not help but quiver in a thousand mingled emotions. Yet there was no brimming strength from its being, radiating through her like that voice that had first whispered its name to her—Atal’s voice. Child of the Mother it was, yet it could not be described as impressive. Will this truly be enough to kill the demons, those beasts? Will this truly be enough to save mother and father, to save Revan and the others? Standing as she did irreparably over the threshold, doubt was the only emotion that still lingered in her unbeating heart. There was nothing but doubt in what she had done, nothing but doubt that the price had been too high.

Regret, nameless arbiter? Regret has no place in you, now that you cannot step back. Stiffen your spine with the knowledge that only the future is worth your worries. At Faith’s words, she could feel her thoughts slowly pulling together, her strength of will returning to sew the threads of her sanity back together in spite of the ragged gashes. Aye, there was no turning back any more. There was only her next steps, her next move from here. She held now what she had came for—the skal’mo. Now there was only the matter of using it.

I would hurry, if I still wished to save those useless husks of yours, Faith whispered laconically, a quiet venom lacing its words. The sudden shock and panic spread through her mind almost instantly, her confusion at what it was meaning. If you desire to save them, I would best hurry. Or not, they are most likely dead in any case.

A surging rage filled her then, at the lies Faith spoke to her. Yet which were the lies, that she would be given the strength to save her family? Or that they were already dead? No, she had to try to save them, she had to hurry. Now, she needed to leave now.

Where are they? Her thoughts roared like a tide in her mind, crashing implacably upon the stone shore. She would have no more of these foolish games, that yielded only blood and tears on her behalf. She would have no more of these hissing whispers. Where are the demons? Where is Revan? Answer, you crow-cursed bastard!

Yet the voice that answered did not serve to calm her, only further infuriating her with that crackling, hissing laughter. Do you not feel them bleeding in your Heartlands? Do you not feel their blood dripping into your earth? These are your lands, not mine. How ought I to know your secrets and your soil?

The Heartlands. It was a massive land, no better an answer than above you, but it would have to be enough. Back the way she had came, then. Back through the stones and through the earth, flying at an impossible speed through the bowels of the world. Yet she was down an unimaginable depth, the surface remotely far. She strained furiously, struggling to hold her very self together as she shot towards her family, towards those that she had died for.

Wait for me, please, she pleaded desperately, in spite of the cackling laughter from Faith that echoed in her mind. Just a little while longer, wait for me.