The SCP Experience - The Black God | SCP-6198 [Part 1]

Episode Date: September 15, 2025

This story was derived from ⁠⁠https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6198 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. ⁠⁠https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/⁠⁠ Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com New Book Releases: https://www.amazon.com/Matthew-G-Doggett/e/B08FD5378Z * * * CONTENT DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content not limited to intense themes, strong language, and depictions of violence intended for adults. Parental guidance is strongly advised for children under the age of 17. Listener discretion is advised.  #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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DePos minimum of 10 dollars. Veil to pay They're responsible. The conditions apply. My huffing breath moistened the black mask over my nose and mouth. Footsteps crunch on the brown pine needles, carpeting the forest floor as we rush to get into position. The equipment I'm wearing makes me slower than I want to be. I'm not yet used to it.

And I envy some of the more experienced guys who move in the gear like it's nothing. It's not the first time I've worn the entire get-up out in the real world, but it feels like it is. Every other time has been on missions. where I don't even come close to combat. Before that, I was in training. Tonight, it's virtually guaranteed that I'll have to use my rifle. The moonlight beaming through the canopy of pine branches overhead gives the landscape a muted silver tinge

that's just enough to see by without night optics devices. Plus, our intel says, the village has lanterns all around. Still, we all have a pair of nods perched on top of our helmets ready for use. As my squad moves up a low hill and a line, rifles up and ready, I catch my first glimpse of the village through the crowd of tall but skinny pine trees. I find a decent-sized tree trunk and kneel behind it, keeping my weapon aimed ahead. To my left and right, the other members of my squad do the same. Sergeant Lowen's voice comes through my earpiece.

This breathless and terse reply comes from 2nd Lieutenant Cortez, who is with Alpha Squad, currently getting into position on the other side of the village. I scan the area between my squad and the village, looking for any cave entrances in the ground big enough to fit a person. Our intel says there are caves all around this area. I don't see any yet. What little I can see of the village inspires a false confidence that I do my best to quell. The rough-hewn walls of the simple wooden buildings evince the distant past. It's easy to assume that the villagers are armed only with hand tools, like farmers from the 18th century.

But if our intel is accurate, they're armed with much more than hand tools. They may be armed with a god. Otherwise, they wouldn't have been able to get the drop on two highly trained foundation operatives who were sent in, disguised as lost hikers, and haven't been heard from in over 24 hours. I just hope our weapons are enough to go up against what awaits us in the village. As has been the case on my other missions, my thoughts turned to my little family. I have two sisters that I am pretty close with. We get together a couple of times a year.

The older one has two sons, three and five, who I always enjoy seeing. Other than that, and a few friends I've made in the foundation, I don't have much of a social life. It's hard to maintain one when you work for the foundation. It's not a job, it's a calling, or so I've been told. I allow the back of my mind to focus on my brother and sister and nephews for a few moments, before easily pushing the thoughts aside and focusing on the job at hand. In past missions, I haven't been in much danger, even if that wasn't clear at first. But this one is different.

As if to prove my point, two human-shaped figures appear from the village, coming into my field of view. I tense, tracking them with my rifle barrel. Sergeant Lowen's voice comes over the radio in a harsh whisper, Two tangos heading our way. Then, as two more figures about it, here. Second Lieutenant Cortez responds, Do not engage unless they spot you. If they do, secure them as quietly as possible.

We are not weapons free. I repeat, we are not weapons free. I can tell the other squads aren't in position yet. If they were, he would give us the go-ahead to move forward with the operation. The members of my squad hunker down behind our trees or bushes or piles of dirt and watch the four villagers head toward a low hill between us and the village. They don't speak, and they don't carry any weapons that I can see, but they may have small ones hidden under the simple monochrome tunics they wear. They're all men, and they're all graying, but they don't move with the ginger steps of the elderly. They're sure-footed and straight-backed, moving like much younger people.

As they approach the far side of the low hill, they slow, and then hunch down one after another until they're gone from view. "'Shit!' Lowen says. "'Do we have eyes on the other side of that hill?' Every other member of the squad answers in the negative. Meadows and Mosley, get over there and see where they went. Without a word, Mosley and I move from our cover. I run ahead and kneel behind a tree while Mosley watches from behind. Then we reverse positions, Mosley running ahead of me while I stay still.

In this manner, we take an oblique angle on the hill until we can see the ragged black hole in the village facing side. The darkness is impenetrable, as though there's a shrouded, as though there's a shroud of black velvet over the entrance. There's a cave entrance here, I say over the radio. No sign of the tangos. They all went inside. Loan relays this information to Cortez, who says, Wait for them to come out and apprehend quietly.

Mosley and I position ourselves on either side of the hill, while making sure we won't be firing at each other if we have to shoot. While we wait, I look toward the village, of which now I have a better view. Although I can't see all of it because of my angle and the forest blocking my view. I know from satellite imagery that it's a collection of 30 modest wooden buildings in a rough cluster. I can see a couple of old-timers sitting outside one of the buildings, chatting like old-timers do. I'm too far to hear what they're saying or what language they're

using. As I shift my gaze back to the cave entrance, I see two pale faces appear suddenly from the preternatural darkness covering the cave entrance. A split second later, the faces are followed by the old men's bodies as they sprint out of the cave, their mouths opening and releasing shouts in an ancient-sounding language. Mosley and I lurch after them. I'm well aware that there are two more behind us, still in the cave. Loan is shouting commands over the radio as I struggle to close in on one of the old men. They keep shouting, no doubt telling the other villagers that were here.

How do they know? I have time to think. But that thought is blotted by another, more pressing one. How are they so fast? We're over halfway between the cave and the village when I catch up to the old man, swinging the butt of my rifle at the back of his shaggy gray head. The blow staggers him, and he goes down onto all fours. To my surprise, he's still conscious, and he still has some fight left in him.

He lurches to his feet and turns to face me, darting a fist out faster that I can dodge it. I move my head just enough to take some power out of the blow. It's a glancing one that still loosens some teeth and splits my lip. I crack him with the rifle again, and this time. he goes down like a sack of loosely fastened bones. Before I can look around to see if Mosley is okay, someone crashes into me from behind. My feet go out from under me,

and I smack face first into a tree. Although my helmet prevents serious damage, my nose breaks, and more of my teeth loosen. After coming to rest on the ground, I look up to see one of the other old man from the cave stepping over me with a boulder held over his head. My rifle is on a strap and still within reach, even though I let go of it to soften the impact with the tree.

But even as I snatch it up, I know I won't have time to get a shot off before the man smashes my face in. Only I do manage to get it in my hands and point it at the old man. That's when I see the look on his face. He's hesitating, a faintly confused expression on his sharp Eastern European features as he stares at my face. I have to admit, there's something oddly familiar about him. But that thought is as fleeting as a single beat of my empty.

apart. Training takes over. I fire the rifle, putting three rounds into the man's chest. He staggers and drops the boulder, which falls onto my left knee with a crunching impact that elicits a pained yell from deep in my chest. Gunfire is now erupting from all around the village, which means things are going sideways and fast. I look over to see Mosley about 30 yards away. Three villagers are attacking him, two of them hold him down, while a third slams an old axe into his face, collapsing his nose and upper jaw inward in a spray of blood. Gritting my loosened teeth, I sit up and take aim, firing at the three villagers, putting them all down with half a magazine.

Knowing there is nothing I can do for Mosley, I turn my attention toward the forest, where sounds of screaming and gunfire come from the other members of my squad. I can't see well from the ground, so I get to my feet. Putting pressure on my left knee causes it to collapse, and I fall back down, grunting against the pain. I get back up, this time only using my right leg to support my weight. I glance into the forest to assess the situation. What I see sends a scythe of terror into my chest. A coal-black giant with thin, over-long limbs and bulbous joints strides through the trees in the distance.

It's broad but thin shoulders brush aside branches that must be 30 feet off the ground. The thing is humanoid, with a bushy black beard that looks more like wood than hair. A collection of twisted black horns protrudes from its hairless skull, looking like a crown. Like the rest of it, the creature's eyes are black, but they seem to glow darkly. Members of my squad fire at the creature, but the bullets don't seem to phase it. Bonner, who is taking cover behind a tree, leans out and shoots the creature as it passes. The giant reaches out and touches the tree with the spidery fingers of one hand. A moment later, the tree collapses, crushing Bonner under its massive.

and wait. The giant keeps going, swatting Velasco as it passes, sending the man crashing into a jagged tree branch that impales him through the chest, stooping. The creature gathers a handful of dirt, which is probably the equivalent of a wheelbarrow's capacity given its massive hands. It flings the dirt at two squad members, Chang and Snyder. Chang slams his eyes shut and starts screaming about how it burns. As he turns to flee, he rips his helmet off and frantically scratches at his eyes. He runs for about 15 yards before he trips over a tree root, cracking his skull open on a rock. Snyder runs out of bullets in his rifle, so he lets it hang from its strap while fumbling to get his sidearm out to keep firing. But in his haste, he juggles

the weapon. It discharges, the bullet, ripping through his right eye and burrowing into his brain. He collapses, dead before coming to rest on the ground. I raise my rifle and aim at the creature, Before I can squeeze the trigger, rough hands reach around from behind me and grab my bloody face. As my attacker tries to pull me down, I twist and spin, slamming the butt of the rifle into his crotch. As the man goes down, I glimpse several other villagers closing in. A sledgehammer flashes in my vision, and I turn my head just in time to prevent a blow to the face. Instead, the hammer crashes into the side of my helmet. My brain rattles around.

Inside my skull, turning my world upside down and sideways, I fall to the ground, hands fumbling from my rifle, which is promptly ripped from my hands. The strap cut with a straight razor. Someone kicks me in the head, further rattling my brain. I lose control of my limbs as everything goes blurry. When I finally come back to myself, I'm being dragged into the village by my legs. It's the pain in my left knee that brings me back. But reality is now full of jagged edges that tear.

at my logical brain. I reach for my sidearm, only to find an empty holster. The two men dragging me feel my movements and stop. They turn around, still holding my legs, and look at me. Grunting, I try to pull my good leg free from one villager's grip, but he's too strong. The man speaks in some ancient language, and it takes me a moment to realize he's not talking to me. There's someone behind me. And soon enough, a gaunt, middle-aged woman holding a sledgehammer, comes into view on my left. She positions herself next to my left leg and hefts the hammer in both hands. Panic takes over as I realize what she's going to do. No! I scream, trying with renewed effort to pull my legs free. I jerk and flail and bend at the waist, making it harder for the two men to

keep me still. The door opens in a shack to my right, and a man rushes out. I look that way and see, by the light of the fire inside the shack's heart, a member of Alpha Squad, lying on the floor. His name is Dow, and he's staring right at me with one eye. His other eye has been torn out, the ragged socket weeping blood. His good eye blinks blankly. The newcomer holds my arms down. The woman hefts the sledgehammer higher. I continue to struggle, but I already know it's no use. She slams the hammer into my left knee. My leg bends backwards. An ocean of pain swallows me. And soon I'm at crushed depth, surrounded by black. torment! The sound of the rusted metal hasp sliding back sends pangs through my hollow

stomach. Animal instinct takes over as I hear the rustle of clothing from the darkness nearby. I throw myself onto all fours, which isn't hard because I've been slumped against the wall for what seems like months now. I ignore the pain in my left knee as I scramble toward the door and the hasp and what's about to come through the food poured into our dingy basement cell. The knee hasn't healed right. and I can hardly stand up on it at all. But it has healed some in the interminable time since my capture. As the food board opens at the bottom of the door,

it lets faint torchlight stream into the room. I glanced to my left and see Dow scrambling along the floor just like me. Since his right side is to me, I can't see his one remaining eye. The badly healed socket is little more than a ragged hole in his head. But the way his overly pronounced jaw muscles flex under his sallow skin shows his determination. The wooden tray of bread and beans slides through on the hard-packed dirt.

I lurch for it, and Dow does the same to my left. We both smack the tray at the same time, sending several slices of moldy bread tumbling back through the food port. The small wooden bowl of beans spills, much of it splattering on the door next to the port. The man on the other side curses in his ancient tongue and slams the port,

leaving us in darkness and with little food on this side of the door. I barely notice because I'm scraping beans up with my fingers and jamming them in my mouth while trying to keep Dawa wave with one elbow. We jostle and grope blindly and make noises that are more suited to bigs than humans until every little scrap of food has been cleaned off the wooden door and the dirt floor. It's only then, when I'm lying prone on the floor, huffing from expending so much energy, and with the hollowness of my belly lessened slightly, that I come back to myself. sweeps over me like a plague over ancient Europe. I'm sorry, I tell Dow. You say that every time,

Dow says. I have no reply to that. I can only listen as Dow crawls away, back to his side of the cell, next to where a trickle of water from God knows where collects in a shallow divot in the floor. I stay where I am next to the door, thinking about ways to escape I haven't yet tried. Not that I will ever tried to escape again, but it's nice to occupy my mind with something other than pain and hunger. There were four of us in here at first after the failed raid, but each time we tried to escape, they killed one of us. We've stopped trying. The first was second lieutenant Cortez. Despite our injuries, we tried to take the food delivery person hostage by waiting and reaching through the food port when he came. Of course, he was ready for it and quickly retreated.

Soon after that, a group of six men and two women came in. We hadn't yet been in the dark long enough for the lanterns to hurt our eyes. That would come later. One woman who was carrying a pail of what appeared to be black water, they forced Cortez to drink some of it, while the others kept us prone on the floor with primitive weapons, ready to slice us open or bash our heads in. The three of us watched, as Cortez doubled over in pain

and fell onto his side in the fetal position. It's so cold, he gasped, clutching his stomach. It's freezing. He tried to jam a finger down his throat, but one of the villagers slammed a hatchet into the appendage, taking off two of his fingers and mangling his hand. He barely even reacted. He just stared at the injuries and said, It's spreading.

They were the last words he spoke. First, his veins turned black, so dark we could see them through his olive-complected skin. Seconds later, the blackness spread from his veins to his skin. It didn't take long before his entire body was cold black. It reminded me of the giant in the woods who'd killed most of my squad. Within a minute of drinking the black liquid, Cortez's eyes turned black. He twitched for a few moments on the ground and then went as still as a corpse. A minute later, he started to liquefy.

He melted, dissolving slowly, until he was little more than a puddle of black liquid. on the hard-packed dirt floor, the clothes he was wearing flat and soaked. Where his head was, were two small objects that I realized were fillings from his teeth. The two women knelt and collected his clothes. The woman who grabbed his underwear wrung them out over the pail from which Cortez had drunk. As the woman with his shirt attempted to do the same, she stopped and said rushed words to the men nearby. She dug into the shirt and pulled out a small object, the size and shape of a cigarette. a cigarette. It was made of a small metal pipe with a tiny brass cap on each end. There was no way

it had gotten past the thorough searching they'd given each of us. That left only one possibility as to its origin. It had been inside Cortez's body, some kind of medical device maybe. The woman handed it to a nearby man, and they conversed heatedly for a few moments, before the man turned to me and held the object out. He thrust it toward my face, clearly asking what it was. I shook my head. I don't know. It was the truth. The other men in the cell with me said they didn't know either.

Eventually, the man left with the object, leaving the women to finish their work. Once they had wrung all the liquid they could out of the clothes, they produced sponges from their pockets and used them to transfer the rest of the liquid into the pail. Then they left. Although impossible to tell time accurately in our dark prison, It was another week at least before we tried to escape again.

That attempt didn't go any better. A man from Bravo Squad named Pyle was dragged from the cell and taken outside. Soon after, there was some kind of gathering. We could hear a chorus of cheers through the wooden walls, and then we could hear Pyle's screams. Sometime later, a couple of villagers brought back his severed head and tossed it into the cell with us. They stood in the doorway with their torches for several minutes.

allowing us to get a good look at Pyle's head. The decapitation wasn't the only injury he'd suffered. He had several deep holes in his face where something like the tines of a pitchfork had pierced him. Once they were sure we'd all gotten a good look, they left with their torches, leaving once again in the darkness. Dow and I haven't tried anything in the weeks since.

But now, as I lie on the floor swimming in shame, I think about another way to get out. I fantasize about breaking through the door and slaughtering every villager I see like on Rambo with a machine gun. It's only a fantasy. I barely have the energy to stand up, and even then, I can hardly put any weight on my left knee. The fact that I've lost a large percentage of my body weight helps, but not much.

Still, the fantasy brings me some comfort. Even it's as cold as the ground underneath me. Time passes. I hear Dow slurp waterfews. from the puddle. A little later, I hear him relieve himself in the opposite corner. The smell of urine momentarily overwhelms the stench of our combined body odor and the reek of our most recent bowel movements. Then things quiet down again. The impossibly loud sounds of my hunger and pain fill my ears and slowly drive me to the brink of madness. I wonder

why the foundation hasn't come for us, and if they ever will. It seems unlikely, since so much time has past. I think of seeing my sisters again, of paling around with my nephews, of eating a fucking slice of pizza, and with each of these thoughts, the madness creeps closer. I can't let it win, so I fight it. It takes monumental effort to shift back to my fantasies filled with death, the only thing that keeps me sane. More weeks have passed when they come to drag us out. I put up a token fight, barely able to raise my arms. Now little more than that they're going to than a skeleton draped with sallow skin. I can't weigh more than 120 pounds.

They didn't feed us much to begin with, but I was so sick with myself after fighting with Dow over the food that I've simply been sitting aside when our meals come. The first few times, Dow ate it all. I thought I was going to die of starvation, and I welcomed the notion. But somehow, the villagers knew what was happening, and they intervened, making sure I ate, even going so far as to shove food down my throat. Of course, that was unsustainable. So they changed attack.

Instead of threatening me with violence, they threatened Tao, and I capitulated every time, eating what they gave me. I knew that without Tao I would truly go insane. Although he had been refusing to give me food, we grew to be friends after I explained that I was planning on killing myself through starvation. He didn't try to talk me out of it. If he had, I wouldn't have respected him as much as I do now.

He's a fighter, a survivor, and I'm ready to give up. But as the villagers drag us out of our dank cell by the legs, I find fear blossoming in my chest like a flower made of flames. I recall the screams we heard from our cell, the cries of pain and torment that were accompanied by sounds of cheering. So I fight back, and they do nothing but ignore my ineffectual writhings until I run out of energy. Which doesn't take long at all.

Dow does a little better, but after he gets kicked in the side of the head, he stops fighting too. I stare up at the night sky as they drag me, momentarily transfixed by the splash of brilliant stars there. The moon casts long shadows as it makes its slow ascent from the horizon. A breeze sends fingers of cool air through the clothes I've been wearing for what must be months, boxers and a white undershirt. With no fat to help keep me warm, I shiver. They bring us to a side of the village I haven't seen before. There is a roughly square patch of dirt with buildings on three sides and woods on the fourth.

Torches and lanterns illuminate the area. Inside the square patch are several objects. The first one I notice is a metal, trough-like bathtub. I wonder insanely whether they have brought us out here to bathe us. Behind the tub is a three-tiered stone platform with a blood-stained wooden chair on the top. Leather straps dangle from the arms and legs of the chair. Arranged behind and above the seat is a complex wooden structure with a complicated series of pulleys and ropes attached to various sharp tools.

There's the blade from a scythe, a hatchet, a knife, and the head of a pitchfork. It appears that all these sharp implements are held up by worn bits of string attached to these pulleys. Although it's hard to tell exactly because I'm not close enough, it seems as though these implements are attached to the wooden structure by hinges, so they can swing down toward the head of the blood-stained chair. A closer look reveals that there are primitive metal weights attached to the heads of these implements, so they will swing down with significant force. The back of this insane wooden structure atop the stone platform faces the woods, where tall pine trees create a wall of darkness after a few yards.

Our captors deposit us on one side of the tub. I raise up enough to see that the tub is filled with a black, water-like substance. Probably the same stuff they forced Cortez to drink. Maybe Cortez is even in there. After all, he melted, turning into that black water himself. Commotion draws my attention away from the tub. I peer around as villagers arrive, some of them speaking their strange language in low tones,

but most are stone silent, a majority are old, but there are a few men and women in their 20s and 30s. Some have children with them. I lose count at 71, so my best estimate puts the gathering at 80 or 90 people. They all have similar facial structures, I now notice, jutting cheekbones, sunken cheeks, delicate noses, thin lips, and lively eyes under shallow brows.

And there's one more similarity I can't help but note. Each person carries a small metal cup. Grunts of effort come from beyond the gathered crowd. People part, allowing me to see more villagers dragging two familiar men into the space. One of them is Sergeant Lowen. The other guy is from Bravo Squad, Colazo. They both look as ragged and skinny as I feel. As they're brought to rest on the other side of the tub,

I lock eyes with each of them in turn. Their haunted, tortured expressions tell me they've been broken as thoroughly as Dow and I. Our captors stay nearby, but all the other villagers have gathered in a semicircle around the clearing. None of them have their backs to the woods. I fantasize about getting to my feet and running out into the dark forest, escaping to freedom. But the reality is, before I could make it even four steps, one of the villagers would be upon me. And all it would take to stop me is a gentle shove. Hell, I'm not even sure I have the energy to make it four steps.

An elderly man dressed in robes with a long white beard and a bald head walks over to the platform and stops in front of it. He speaks briefly to the gathered villagers, his voice stronger than it should be for his age. Although he must be 90, he carries himself like he's 60. After addressing the villagers in their odd language, which I haven't heard enough of to learn even the basics. He turns around and speaks to the chair and the structure built over it. At least, that's what I think he's doing at first. Then I see that his head is tilted up. I follow his sight line and grunt in fear when I see the two faintly luminescent dark eyes

staring from a black face amid the needle-laden tree branches at the edge of the forest. Now that I've seen the giant's eyes, the rest of him comes clear, although partially obscured by trees, I could see the majority of his black body where he stands in the woods. Like before, he's naked, except for a black loin cloth fastened to his waist. The old guy, some kind of priest, I'm guessing, continues speaking to the giant for the better part of a minute. The sing-song tone of his words implies some kind of prayer or recitation as part of a ritual, and we're the sacrifice. The priest finishes his exultations. The giant says nothing. He only continues watching. waiting, turning.

The priest gestures at the men who brought Loewan and Colazo here. They immediately get to work snatching the two men up from the ground. Loan tries to punch one of them and misses badly. Colazo begs in a raspy voice for them to leave him alone. As anger floods me, I get to one knee, determined to do something. One of my captors pushes me down as easily as he would a toddler. They drag a now screaming Colazo to the chair on the platform and strap his arms and legs down. Meanwhile, the other two men are forcing Loewan into the tub, containing that black water.

The giant watches from the trees. Working together, the two men submerged Loen in the black water. One of them forces his mouth open so the liquid screams in. Then they pull his head back up and force him to swallow the contents of his mouth. Everyone pauses. The crowd is silent. All eyes are unlohen. The passing seconds seem long, but not long enough.

Lowen grunts in pain. Over the next minute, the same process that took Cortez now takes Loen. His veins go black, then his skin, then his eyes. Soon enough, there's nothing left of him except the liquid that has been added to the contents of the tub. The two men retrieve his clothes and wring them out before tossing them aside. The crowd erupts and cheers. The two men who just killed Loan dropped to one knee and lower their heads toward the giant

in the trees, who seems to be getting bigger, both in terms of the world. hide and weight as if he's growing. The priest walks up to the tub as the crowd continues to cheer. As the bearded holy man comes, he retrieves a cup from the folds of his robe. I wonder for a moment if he's about to kill himself, but there's no logic to be found in that thought. Reverentially, he dips the cup into the tub and then brings it to his lips. After pausing for dramatic effect, he drinks the contents of the cup. After swallowing, the priest turns to the people, arms out, smiling. The cheers redouble. The two men who killed Lohen rise from their crouches and drink from their own cups. The liquid seems to give them all energy,

straightening their backs and brightening their eyes. Still cheering, the crowd moves forward like a giant organism, lining up next to the tub by age and descending order. Dow and I get in the way, and they kick us until we crawl feebly away from the tub. The villagers proceed to drink from the tub two at a time, the oldest people first. It goes on like this until everyone has had their turn. The revelry continues for a few minutes, before the priest gestures for the crowd to quiet, which they do, resuming their previous positions and a rough view around the outside of the square. Now, all attention turns toward Colazo.

One of the two villagers who secured him in the seat, reaches down, and gathers a handful of dirt from the ground next to the platform. He inspects it briefly before tossing the dirt underhand, at the top of the complex structure arrayed directly behind Colozo. The throne gravel forces Colossor to close his eyes as some of it lands on his head. Other pebbles hit strange metal contraptions that start to vibrate miniature sawblades positioned near the worn bits of string holding up the sharp implements. It's not clear to me how these little saw blades are vibrating,

but that appears to be exactly what they're doing, as if they're attached to sensitive springs that the pebbles disturbed. The string holding the knife up is the first to snap. The blade, attached, facing outward on a wooden beam, swings down and thuds loudly into the back of the wooden chair, just an inch outside of Colazo's left ear. The man shouts and moves his head, looking at the blade in horror. The crowd makes sounds of disappointment. The giant stares, unmoving except to blink.

Please! Colazo begs. Please don't do this. Please! But even as he speaks, the second man tosses a handful of dirt, and pebbles at the structure. The scythe blade swings loose next. This time, Colazo isn't so lucky.

The tip of the blade enters his face to the right of his nose. The weight, attached to the tool, makes it heavy enough to slice deep into his face, pinning him to the chair back. But he's still alive. He screams in pain as the crowd cheers. The giant grunts in what sounds like muted ecstasy, although his expression doesn't change.

The priest, arms raised, commences with a booming speech. The crowd continues to cheer, Colazo screams and twitches, as blood pours down his face. After several interminable minutes of this, he finally goes still. Soon after, the crowd settles down. The two men who strapped Colazo into the chair now return, unstrapping him, while a couple of other men carefully replaced the strings

that were cut by the vibrating saw blades. Making sure all the tools are ready to go again. The two villagers lay Colazo's bow. body at the giant's feet. The creature snorts as he looks at the corpse, but he soon returns its gaze to the clearing, to the next sacrifices. All eyes turn to Dow and me. It's our turn. My arms are so thin. The villagers' hands completely encircle my biceps as they lift me toward the tub. I don't put up a token fight this time. I can't even hold myself stiff to prevent my knees from hurting as they haul me up. I'm completely limp as they ease me into the cold.

old black water. Dow is faring only marginally better as they drag him to the platform. He at least fights enough to make it slightly harder to get him strapped into the seat. I pray for acceptance of my impending death. I want to approach it stoically, with my chin held high, but I don't. Before I can even get one pleading word out, they're shoving my head into the black water and forcing my mouth open. The liquid pours into my mouth, and then they're slamming my jaw closed and pulling my head

back up, clamping both my nose and mouths shut, so I have no choice but to swallow or suffocate. Once they see my Adam's apple move, they release me, letting me slump into the tub. The water feels like lead in my stomach. For a moment, nothing happens. Then I spasm in the tub. My spine arching as a black explosion erupts inside my head. The wave of violent darkness obliterates the life I've been leading, and for the first time in a long time, I see things clearly. I scream as the shroud falls away, revealing the truth. And while there is certainly pain in my scream, there is also relief. For seconds that seem like ours, the village and the giant and everything else around me falls away, replaced by newly surfaced memories playing out inside my head

at triple speed. When I finally returned to the present, a confused hush has fallen over the crowd. Without having to raise my hands to look, I know my skin hasn't blackened. I know it won't. From where I am in the tub, I can see the giant's head over the complex killing machine to which Dow is strapped. I meet the giant's gaze and speak his name in my mind. Chernobog, the black god. He stares at me for a long moment before my head is suddenly shoved into the black water again. The villagers think I didn't swallow any of the stuff, so they try a second time. While I'm under, my footbrushes something lying at the bottom of the tub.

I have an inkling what it is. So I grab it with one hand and feel it. It's a small pipe, the size and shape of a cigarette, with its ends capped. Just like the item that was inside Cortez. Only this one came from inside Loewin. When the men pull me up from the liquid, I released the object, knowing that the black water will keep them from seeing it. I come up with a mouth full of the liquid,

making sure to keep my mouth open as I swallow it all down. When nothing happens after a few moments, they let go of me, still confused and unsure what to do. To hammer my point home, I dip my mouth into the water and lift it, once again keeping my lips parted so they can see. Then I tilt my head back and swallow. The confused men by the tub looked at the priest, who stands next to the platform, looking as perplexed as them.

Finding that I have a second wind, I grip the edges of the tub and stand up. The man on either side of me immediately move forward and grip my stick-thin-arms, but a growl from Chernobab freezes them. The priests look at the black god, Some sort of wordless communication passes between them, and the priest returns his gaze to me and the men who grip my arms. He speaks in their ancient tongue, and I find that I can now parse the language. This is not so much a revelation as an expectation.

After all, I can now clearly remember learning the language. Leave him be, the priest says. As the two men let go of my arms, an awed murmur sweeps through the crowd. I nearly fall as I get out of the tub on shaky legs. What was once a constant throbbing ache in my left knee turns into a sharp pain with each step on that leg. Dow stares at me slack-mouthed as I work my way slowly toward him. I can feel the eyes of the people and the God on me the whole time. The skeletal frame of the killing device allows the giant to see through to the chair,

only partially obscured by the tools and the wood planks and the ropes and pulleys. When I finally get to the top of the platform, I'm breathing heavily. I lean over to catch my breath, hands gripping Dow's forearms, which rest on the wide wooden chair arms. Get me out of here, he whispers. Undo the straps. My breath back, I stand up and meet his gaze. I can't. Confusion transforms Dow's sunken face as I step to the side of the chair.

But as I reach over his head, confusion turns to rage. He shouts obscenities at me as I tap the sawblade-like contraption behind the string, holding the pitchfork up. The blade vibrates, cutting a few strands of the already thin string as I step back. The weight of the tool becomes too much for the compromised string,

and the weighted pitchfork head swings down. Since Dow has his head turned toward me, the tines sink into the right side of his head, slicing the empty socket open. His shouted words turned a gibberish as he twitches there, still glaring at me with his left eye, now partially obscured by the tip of an outermost tine. I stare back at him.

knowing it's what I must do. After several long moments of this, he finally stills. Once again, an impossibly deep silence takes hold. It's interrupted by a reflective snort from Chernobog. The priest, standing on the ground at the other side of the platform, nods once and then rushes up to me. He grabs me by my shoulders and turns me so we're both facing the crowd. Our lost sun has returned.

The crowd erupts into cheers.