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Orti Anima Sanguineque: chapter 6: Dear horrifying Lovecraft-loving flesh shaping sister and I
🕑 Added 2025-12-24 17:07:24 +0000 UTCPOV: ELIJAH "GYES" DOE
North.
I’m walking toward the north.
Toward darkness so thick it feels like drowning.
The Hunter part of me feels as if it knows darkness. Welcomes it even. Darkness seemed to be where my insight blooms the most, where the eyes open, where the truth that the world obscures becomes visible.
I've been walking for an hour. Maybe more. Time is strange here. It moves in waves rather than lines, lapping at the edges of perception.
The terrain has changed gradually. The rough stone of Tartarus proper giving way to something smoother. Worn. Ancient beyond accounting.
And everywhere—everywhere—there are marks.
Not carvings. Not writing. Just... impressions. Places where something stood for so long that the stone remembered its shape even after it departed.
I run my fingers along one such mark. It's humanoid. Roughly. But too large. Fifty feet tall, maybe. With too many arms. Too many suggestions of arms. Like the stone couldn't decide which configuration to record so it recorded all of them simultaneously.
The mark is warm.
That shouldn't be possible. Stone shouldn’t logically and naturally retain heat in Tartarus, well the place where I was at least. There's no sun. No fire. No warmth.
But this mark is warm.
Which means whatever made it was here recently. Relatively recently.
I continue north.
The darkness thickens. My torch, silver flame, messenger-kindled barely pushes it back. The light just sort of... stops. Like it's hitting a wall.
My insight is screaming. Telling me there are things here. Watching. Waiting. Things with too many eyes or no eyes at all. Things that exist in the spaces between spaces, peeking through.
I can see them if I focus. Shapes in the darkness. Tentacled things. Winged things. Things that are neither tentacled nor winged but somehow both and worse.
They don't approach. Don't threaten. They just watch.
Curious, maybe. Or cautious.
Either way, they're giving me space.
The path slopes downward. Gradually at first, then more steeply. I'm descending. Deeper into Tartarus. Deeper into whatever lies beneath the prison.
The air changes. Gets heavier. Tastes of metal and decay and something sweet that makes my teeth ache.
Blood.
Old blood. Dried blood. Blood mixed with something else. Something divine.
Ichor.
I stop at the edge of a precipice.
Below me, maybe half a mile down, I can see light. Not golden light. Not silver. Red. Pulsing. Rhythmic.
Like a heartbeat.
I consider my options. The smart thing would be to mark this location and return to my brothers. Report what I've found. Plan an approach.
But the Hunter in me, the gamer in me, the one who walked through Yharnam and didn't stop until every secret was uncovered, that part wants to know.
Needs to know.
I start climbing down.
The descent is easier than it should be. The stone provides handholds exactly where I need them. Like the path is accommodating me. Helping me descend.
That should worry me more than it does.
Halfway down, I pass through something. Not a physical barrier. A threshold. A boundary between one state of being and another.
The air on this side is different. Thicker. More present. Like it has weight and substance and intent.
And I can hear something now. Not just the heartbeat. Voices.
Many voices. Layered. Speaking over and under and through each other.
I reach the bottom.
And stand in a nightmare.
It's a cavern. Vast. Maybe miles across. The ceiling lost in the red-pulsing darkness above.
The floor is not stone.
It's meat.
No. Not meat. Flesh. Living flesh. Breathing flesh. Flesh that moves and pulses and occasionally sprouts eyes that open, look around blindly, then sink back into the surface.
And growing from the flesh, rooted in it, fed by it are structures.
Buildings, maybe. If buildings could be grown from bone and sinew and suffering. They rise like tumors, organic and architectural at once, their walls made of ribs and their windows of stretched membrane.
And everywhere, crawling over the flesh-floor, slithering between the bone-buildings are things.
Giant things.
These are alive. Truly alive. Flesh and blood and horror. Twenty feet tall, thirty, some even larger. Each one unique. Each one wrong in different ways.
One has arms that branch into dozens of smaller arms, fractal and infinite. Another has a face that's just mouths, nested within mouths, speaking in languages that never existed. A third is inside-out, organs exposed and gleaming, but somehow still functional, still walking.
They're not attacking each other. Not really. They're... coexisting. In a sick, twisted ecosystem. The smaller ones scurry between the legs of the larger ones. The larger ones occasionally grab a smaller one and eat it. The eaten one screams. Then regenerates. Then continues about its business.
Nothing dies here.
Nothing can die here.
Because this place is alive. The floor. The buildings. The inhabitants. All of it is one vast organism, endlessly eating itself and being reborn.
And in the center of the cavern, maybe a mile away, is the source of the red light.
A heart.
Not metaphorical. Not symbolic.
An actual heart. Easily the size of a building. Probably bigger. It beats with that same rhythm I heard from above, pumping blood, corrupted ichor through veins that spread across the flesh-floor like roots, feeding everything, nourishing everything.
This is a spawning ground.
These giants, these horrors, they're being born from the flesh-floor. I can see it happening. Lumps in the surface that grow and swell and burst, releasing fully-formed monstrosities that stand up, look around, and immediately start participating in the sick ecology.
And standing near the heart, overseeing it all, is a figure.
She's enormous. Fifty feet tall, maybe more. Humanoid from the waist up, a woman's form, beautiful in a way that makes my eyes water. But from the waist down, she's serpent. Dragon. Something between. Her scales shimmer with colors that don't have names, shifting through spectrums that human eyes were never meant to process.
And behind her, growing from her back like extra limbs, are dozens of animal parts. Lion heads. Eagle wings. Scorpion stingers. Bull horns. All grafted on, all moving independently, all watching different directions at once.
I know what she is.
Niko's briefing mentioned her, something that could have such an appearance. One of Tartarus's daughters. Half-sister to the Hecatoncheires. Our half sister through our mom.
Echidna. Mother of Monsters.
And she's working.
Shaping something in the air before her. I can't see what, the distance is too great, the red light too distorting. But I can see her hands moving with the precision of a surgeon. Or a sculptor. Or a god playing with the fundamental forces of creation.
I should leave. Should signal. Should get my brothers and figure out how to deal with this.
But the Hunter in me knows: observation before action. Intelligence before engagement.
I start moving along the edge of the cavern, staying to the shadows, using my insight to track the movements of the flesh-giants, finding the safe paths between their notice.
There's a structure to their movement. Patterns. The smaller ones stay near the edges. The medium ones patrol in slow circles. The largest ones remain near the heart, like guards.
And above it all, Echidna works.
I get closer. A quarter-mile. An eighth.
Close enough to hear her speaking.
Not to me. To the thing she's shaping.
"No, no, that won't do. The metabolism is all wrong. You'll burn through hosts too quickly. Need to make you more efficient. More sustainable."
Her voice is pleasant. Conversational. Like a mother talking to a child while helping with homework.
"There. That's better. Now for the defense mechanisms. Can't have you vulnerable to fire. All my best children die to fire. Very frustrating. Let's give you... yes, regeneration. Fast regeneration. And maybe heat resistance. And—oh, this is clever, what if you could absorb energy attacks? Turn them into fuel? Yes, I like that."
She's building something. A monster. Custom-designed. Optimized.
"Now for the psychological profile. You'll need to be aggressive but not suicidal. Cunning but not too cunning, powerful beings et nervous when monsters start thinking too much. Loyal to your siblings. Territorial. And absolutely vicious when cornered."
The thing she's shaping begins to solidify. Take form.
It's a chimera. Lion body, goat head growing from the back, serpent for a tail. Classic design. But I can see the modifications. The way the muscles are layered for maximum efficiency. The way the bones are reinforced with something metallic. The way each head has its own brain, its own nervous system, allowing for independent operation.
It's beautiful in a horrifying way.
Echidna steps back, admiring her work.
"There," she says with satisfaction. "You'll do nicely. Now go join your brothers and sisters. And remember: stay in the southern reaches. Don't go past the boundary stones. The northern deep is not for you. Not yet."
The chimera bows, actually bows and then lopes off into the flesh-landscape, joining the ecology.
Echidna watches it go. Then turns.
And looks directly at me.
"You can come out now," she says pleasantly. "I've known you were there for ten minutes. Your divinity is very loud. Difficult to ignore."
Fuck.
I consider running. But she's already seen me. And I'm betting she's fast.
So I do the other thing.
I step out of the shadows. Torch held high. Non-threatening posture.
"Apologies," I say. "I'm new to Tartarus. I didn't know this area was claimed."
She tilts her head. Studies me. "New," she repeats. "Yes, I can see that. You smell like birth. Like the moment between not-being and being. Very recently born."
"Within the day," I technically confirm.
"And already wearing a form that isn't your true shape. Already hiding." She smiles. It's not unkind, but it's not safe either. "Smart. True forms draw attention. Especially in Tartarus."
She starts walking toward me. Each step makes the flesh-floor ripple. The giants nearby move aside, giving her space.
"You're one of them," she says. "One of the three. The children Ouranos threw away. My half-brothers."
"Yes."
She stops maybe twenty feet away. Examines me like I'm a specimen. "Gyes, I think. Yes. You have that feel. The youngest. The strange one. The one who sees too much."
"You know about us?"
"Of course, I know about you. Gaia screamed your names when you were taken. The whole of the universe heard. Everything in this universe that knows how to listen to her, that is connected to her heard her. Every being, every entity, every stone. We all know that the All-Mother had her children forcefully taken away from her. We can all hear her, ever mourning."
She circles me slowly. I resist the urge to track her movement. Keep my eyes forward. Non-threatening.
"You're different from what your form suggests," she continues. "The current shape is just clothing. Underneath, you're... vast. Complicated. All those things I can see and I can’t see. All that potential. Compressed into such a tidy package."
"I find it more practical."
"Practical," she laughs. It's a surprisingly warm sound. "Yes, I suppose it would be. Hard to sneak around when you're the size of a mountain."
She completes her circle, returns to facing me directly.
"So, little brother," she says. "Why are you here? In my spawning ground? In the southern deep?"
I consider lying. Decide against it. She'd know. "Reconnaissance," I say honestly. "Trying to understand Tartarus. Who lives here. What the structure is. What the threats are."
"And have you found answers?"
"Some. And more questions."
"Good." She nods approvingly. "Questions are more valuable than answers. Answers end conversation. Questions continue it."
She gestures at the cavern around us. "This is my workshop. My nursery. Where I create my children. Not all of them, some are accidents, happy little surprises but most of the deliberate ones start here."
"Why?" I ask.
"Why create monsters?" She seems genuinely puzzled by the question. "Because someone has to. This world needs predators. Needs challenges. Needs things that would cull when it becomes needed. More than that, without monsters, how could there be heroes? There are no monster-slayers. Without fear, there is no courage. I provide a service."
There's a logic to that. Twisted, but logic nonetheless.
"Besides," she continues, "I enjoy it. The creation. The problem-solving. Figuring out how to make something that's never existed before. It's art. Beautiful, terrible art."
I look at the flesh-floor. The endlessly regenerating giants. The bone-buildings. "Is all of this yours?"
"This cavern? No. This is my Father, Tartarus's own flesh. The prison expressing itself. I just borrowed a piece of it. Made it productive."
"Borrowed."
"Tartarus doesn't mind. It likes being used. Being purposeful. Better than just sitting empty, waiting for the sky to throw one or two more tantrums when things don't go his way.
She moves past me, toward one of the bone-buildings. Gestures for me to follow.
Against my better judgment, I do.
Inside, the building is hollow. The walls are lined with what look like cocoons. Each one pulsing. Each one containing something growing. Developing.
"My current projects," Echidna explains. "I like to keep multiple iterations going. See which designs work best. The cocoons provide protection and nutrients while they mature."
She runs a hand along one cocoon, almost affectionate. "This one is going to be something I'm going to name a gorgon. Stone gaze, serpent hair, lethal beauty. Classic design, but I'm trying to refine the petrification effect. Make it faster. More complete."
"Why are you showing me this?" I ask.
She turns to look at me. "Because you're family. And because I think you understand. That in some way, you are like me, something other, different, special. I could be wrong but when I look at you, It's like looking into a mirror, it's like looking into genius, it's like looking into madness."
That's... disturbingly accurate.
"I am not sure I am what you think I am," I say. “I just know that I am…different.”
"Same thing. Madness, the one we have in our cores, I believe it can takes many forms." She moves to another cocoon. "This one is going to be a manticore. An ape like face, lion body, scorpion tail. The face is the hardest part, needs to be ape like enough to lure prey close, but not so ape like that it triggers empathy."
I'm starting to realize something.
Echidna isn't hostile. She's lonely.
Down here in the deep, creating endlessly, surrounded by her children but understood by none of them. She's lonely and I'm the first person who's willingly come here in... probably forever.
"Do you get many visitors?" I ask.
"Visitors?" She laughs. "No. Most beings avoid the spawning grounds. Too disturbing. Too organic. The dracaenae won't come within miles of this place. The others would rather stay in their forges. The older entities..." She trails off. "The older entities don't visit anywhere."
"The older entities?"
"Things that were here before even Tartarus became prison. Things that exist in the deepest places. They don't communicate. Don't create. They just are. Watching. Waiting."
Well, that sounded totally not creepy and nightmare-fuelling at all.
"Do you know what they're waiting for?" I ask.
Echidna is quiet for a long moment. "Yes," she finally says. "But I don't like to think about it. Because when they wake, when they rise... even I won't be safe. And I'm a daughter of Tartarus itself."
She shakes herself. Changes the subject. "But that's future problems. Present problems are more interesting. Like: what do you three plan to do?"
"Survive," I say honestly.
"Just survive? Not escape? Not take revenge on your father?"
"Eventually, maybe. But right now, survival is enough."
She nods slowly. "Smart. Ambitious plans get you slayed or worse in Tartarus. Better to be patient. To learn. To wait for opportunities."
"Is that what you do?"
"Among other things." She moves back toward the entrance. I follow. "I create. I observe. I prepare. When the world above finally tears itself apart and it will, like all things. they always do, I'll be ready. My children will be ready. And we'll inherit whatever's left."
We exit the bone-building. The flesh-floor squelches underfoot.
"I should go," I say. "My brothers will wonder where I am."
"Yes, you should." She doesn't stop me. "But Gyes? My brother?"
I turn.
"Be careful in the northern deep. Past the boundary stones. That's where the old things sleep. And they've been restless lately. Something has disturbed them. Maybe your arrival. Maybe something else. But they're aware now in a way they haven't been for ages."
"I'll be careful."
"Good." She smiles. "Come back sometime. I enjoy the company. And I'd like to hear how your survival plans develop. Maybe we can help each other."
"Maybe," I agree.
Then I turn and start the long climb back up the cliff face, back toward the surface, back toward my brothers.
Behind me, I hear Echidna return to her work, humming tunelessly as she shapes new horrors into existence.
Comments
Sky_Arceus_77
Oh, now I feel kind of sad for Echidna. Like she wants company, and creates her children to fill that void and even though she loves them they are not what she seeks: Companionship, friendship. That is just sad.
Silver flare
Ahh.. the obligatory creepy maybe ally maybe enemy soulsborn npc. Was wondering when they'd meet one. She's either has obscure knowledge they'll need to barter with a quest for or she's a future boss fight they'll have to tackle eventually. could be both really.
