The Madness of Lycaon

I served my father for many years, a silent witness as time withered body and mind upon the Arcadian throne. Once the age of abundance passed and our prosperity waned, I fought to restore our former glory. After our allies abandoned us, I still stood beside my king.

Yet despite my dogged loyalty, I was never blessed with his favor. That honor fell to Nyctimus, youngest and brightest among the many sons of Lycaon.

Each day I warmly greeted my brother, spurious welcomes concealing the rancor coiled beneath my venomous smile, a viper poised to strike. Nyctimus had no reason to suspect my ill intent, so trusting and good-natured was he.

Rumors abounded that he was most fitting to inherit the throne, how he was exceedingly diplomatic and regal out of his siblings. I swore this would never come to pass.

Perhaps some dark deity answered, else it was the Fates' design.

Lord Lycaon came to me in the dead of night, corrupted by delirium. Years of piety were tainted with doubt, questioning the purpose of daily rituals without receiving the smallest of celestial signs. Even the gods had deserted Arcadia, it seemed. The king spoke of heresy, an experiment to test divine foresight and challenge the heavens. We must drag them from lofty thrones, Lycaon hoarsely murmured. Those archaic rulers shall be unseated before mortal eyes.

As he whispered, seeds of darkness planted themselves in my mind. Using his mania to my advantage, I convinced my father there would be no greater transgression than deceiving the almighty with a cursed offering.

Frothing with madness, he agreed to my machinations.

The moment was nigh. Nyctimus lay dreaming as the serpent of malice sank its fangs in his throat. He awoke, gurgling as I loomed over him, blood dripping from a knife clenched in victorious hands.

Not content with one wound, the blade struck again and again. The light faded from his eyes as he watched me divide his flesh with savage glee. Long had I dreamed of that moment, dear brother. Did you foresee your destruction beneath my scheming smile? Have you ever sensed the scorching waves of hatred emanating from this raging pyre within me?

You never shied from my glance and always treated distrust with kindness. Now your foolish confidence has been repaid. I do not ask for forgiveness Nyctimus, for I know you would give it all the same. Cloying words are of no use to me.

Your corpse is all I require.

I found Lycaon walking the shore of the Aegean Sea, thoughts wandering beneath a waning moon. Upon hearing that the foul deed was done, a leer crept over his unhinged countenance. The table was set, now we await our guest.

A huge feast was proclaimed in honor of the cloud gatherer, the omnipotent sky god. The finest Arcadian bull was sacrificed for the occasion, greasy entrails and rich incense burned in tribute as the fatty smoke curled into the azure expanse above. Servants anxiously waited, wondering if the deity would make an appearance.

Despite the grand ceremony not even the lowliest of emissaries arrived. Waving a disappointed hand, the king signaled for the festivities to begin.

The bull had been roasted over blazing coals until the seasoned meat was tender and succulent, served with amphorae of the finest wine. Bread steamed, fresh from the ovens. Beside the warm barley rolls was a great assortment of goat cheese. Olives and onions were plentiful, as were the salted fish and river eels. Apples, pears, walnuts, almonds, figs, and more were eagerly consumed by the boisterous crowd.

Then the stew arrived.

The enticing scent made all in attendance gasp. It was a savory aroma wafting from a black broth of blood and pig's leg, seasoned with vinegar, greens, and garlic. The ravenous celebrants dined on the soup with great pleasure as the sky began to darken.

I observed the clouds forming above with puzzlement. Lightning streaked across the nebulous mist. A thunderclap shook the air, agitating the guests as the clamor echoed over the mountains. Panicking, men and women began to flee from the temple as the storm worsened. However, one man remained seated.

In the section reserved for commoners, a hooded old man sat before an untouched bowl of stew. A wooden spoon trembled in his withered hand. Deep lines scored that weathered brow, bearing the mark of countless decades.

There was a blinding flash - a tremendous rumble and the elderly man vanished. A hulking figure now towered over the humble seat. Cerulean eyes glowed, crackling with fury.

"Vile Arcadian! You will not drown me in the depths of your depravity." The Sky Lord pointed at the enormous pot of stew. It began to bubble, vegetables rising to the frothy surface, oil dripping over the edges as the thick broth boiled. A glistening white object emerged for a moment. The ivory skull of Nyctimus grinned.

Lycaon rocked on his throne, laughing madly. "Will you not partake in our feast?"

"Loathsome blasphemer! Speak no more and pray lenience, else I gift you with the promise of suffering."

"I am Lycaon, King of Arcadia, and I will not be forgotten. You will be proved as a mortal, then I will be God."

"Unrepentant fool! You've condemned this kingdom to ruination." Wind fiercely lashed the remnants of the banquet, sending food tumbling, overturning tables, and ripping cloth banners. I clung to a pillar desperately as the powerful gusts shrieked in my ears.

The ruler of storms slowly began to rise into the air as a whirlwind tore through the temple. His voice thundered over the screeching gale. "For these unspeakable sins, you and your sons shall be cast into a form befitting your savage nature."

A lightning bolt slashed the air and unleashed a deafening roar.

I witnessed the deranged king grow hunched, cackling as divine justice was administered. Spittle foamed at his mouth while he howled. I felt my own spine snap with an agonizing crack, bones twisting, forming aberrant shapes.

Tormented muscles popped, pulling, stretching. I writhed on the stone floor, unable to draw breath. My jaw broke, became unhinged. Burning skin itched painfully, peeling away to reveal the coarse hair growing beneath.

I snarled, snapping my teeth in anguish. My mind was fragmented, hazy recollections drifting, trying to focus. The storm was over. I felt sore, tired... and ravenous.

Nyctimus my brother, if only I foresaw the path my spite would take. Hubris made me believe I was destined to lead our people. But a festering evil consumed me, and I consumed Arcadia.

My father and siblings devoured our loyal subjects, gorging on human flesh as the once proud nation was victim to a horrific genocide. Hundreds fell beneath our greedy jaws. We were monsters, gluttonous creatures prowling in perpetual starvation. Soon not even the carrion feeders dared enter these cursed lands.

Did you think things would end this way, Nyctimus?

When we were playing soldier in the courtyard, could you have imagined your family would destroy the country we adored? I remember you giggling, riding on my shoulders as the long grass tickled my legs. Could we return to those halcyon days?

I feel the familiar pangs stabbing my gut, forcing me to howl. One of my brothers joins in with his mournful ballad. Soon we are all calling out to the moon, a haunting symphony of unspoken hunger and bitter longing.

Can you hear our lamentations from Elysium?

We languished among the ruins for decades, feeding on whatever meager sustenance we happened across. I cannot remember how long I stalked those crumbling palace halls.

A strange wind blew in one day, bringing the scent of hounds and wild deer. My ears twitched, picking up the clatter of hooves. There was something else, a woman singing an unfamiliar tune. I crept from my lair to investigate.

A young woman sat upon a majestic deer, broad antlers adorned with emerald leaves and delicate flowers. The rider gripped a glimmering bow and wore a quiver of golden arrows. She was the divine huntress, resplendent and fearless.

I unleashed a weary sigh. At last, the gods have come to free us of our misery.

But their punishment had only just begun. With utmost authority, the goddess called for my brothers assemble. "I have use of you, O sons of Lycaon. There is a quarry I must track down and I require the keenest of noses. What say you? Will you aid me on this venture or will you return to crawling over this desolate shore?"

We grumbled and growled amongst ourselves until I spoke. "What is this animal you seek?" I licked my snout, baring fangs in anticipation.

"It is no animal, but a boy. Bring me the spawn of Thanatos." The huntress tossed a scrap of clothing on the ground, which my brethren sniffed with curiosity.

"Unharmed?" I panted, eager to begin.

She pondered the question until a wicked smile grew. "If he puts up a struggle, do what you must. I do love a thrilling hunt, after all."