World of Nowyrth Ch. 2 The Ceaseless Mob

Kolt leapt from the ledge without hesitation, letting gravity to take him. Drawson’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his mind. Slight concern, he reminded himself, watching his reckless companion plummet toward the forest floor.

Just before impact—CLICK! Kolt tapped his metallic boots together, activating the thrusters built into the soles. A burst force slowed his descent as he landed lightly on the forest floor. Turning back, Kolt let out a hearty laugh, boasting, “Bet your jealous now, eh Drawson! Now hurry your skinny ass down here. Unless you think you can top that!” Kolts tone was lace with competitive energy as he ended his sentence.

Drawson gave a small nod, accepting the challenge. He finished his drink in one gulp, stowing his mug and bottle into the left pocket of his jacket. He took a hook and rope in one hand and faced back toward the cave, offering a respectful bow of gratitude for its shelter. With hook and rope in hand, Drawson steadied himself. He crouched low, muscles coiled, and then pushed off the ground with explosive force. Propelling into the air, he swung his arms upwards to gain momentum, tucking his knees tightly to his chest as he initiated a clean backward rotation. His movements were precise, his body rotating with controlled grace.

Mid-flip, Drawson expertly latched the hook onto the cliff ledge. As the line caught, his descent slowed, and his boots braced against the rocky wall. Carefully, he scaled downward, his grip firm on the rope. Step by deliberate step, he navigated the jagged surface, slowing descending toward the forest floor.

Kolt, clearly unimpressed, yawned and leaned lazily against a tree, his gaze fixed upward as the sun’s rays pierced through the branches above. He waited idly by as Drawson kept his descent, until a sharp crack resounded from deeper within the forest. Kolt froze, immediately dropping into a crouch. His keen eyes scanned the surrounding shadows, his focus darting from shape to shape, muscles tensed, his breath felt heavy through his stone mask.

A guttural, throaty growl emerged from the depths of the forest, trailing off into a long, ragged exhale. The sound sent a chill rippling through the air. Kolt raised his hand in a silent signal, prompting Drawson to halt mid-descent. Drawson paused, his grip tightening on the rope as he turned toward the forest.

The veins surrounding Drawson’s void eye pulsed ominously glowing faintly crimson before intensifying into a neon scarlet hue. His pupil shifted into the likeness of a blood moon—his Mutant Eye had awakened. Through this ability, Drawson’s vision cut through the forest gloom revealing a monstrous figure, its blood formed the figure and outlined it in red.

A towering beast, 12 feet tall, loomed among the trees. Its fungal form, grotesque and unnatural, emitted a stench so foul it seemed to poison the very air. Wooden armor, cobbled together like relics from an ancient knight’s era, encased its grotesque body. Thick, stem-like limbs supported log-plated shoulders, and three long claws extended menacingly from each hand, dripping with a vile mixture of red and green ichor. The creature’s helm resembled a decaying mushroom cap, festering with patches of brown and green, and exuded a dark, toxic mist.
Drawson’s breath hitched as his gaze widened further. The creature was not alone.

Beyond the hulking monstrosity, a legion of mushroom-like mutants trudged forward in grim unison. Hundreds of them marched through the forest, each step shaking the ground as they crushed branches, shrubs, and even smaller creatures beneath their heavy, log-covered feet.
Drawson carefully climbed toward the ground pulling his hook from the ledge and coiling it together in his hand as he placed it on his belt. Drawson sprinted toward Kolt, sliding just beside him.

“Mush Heads. There’s a swarm of them!” Kolt’s voice was low but urgent, his eyes flickering between the shadows of the forest.” We need to be very fucking careful. One wrong move and the whole herd will be on us.” He shot a tense glance at Drawson. “Is the leader nearby, Drawson?”

Drawson carefully leaned out from their hiding spot, his Mutated Eye glowing with its eerie crimson light as it scanned the horrific scene before him. The field teemed with Mush Heads of various sizes, their body gnarled and monstrous. Some carried the carcasses of animals too slow or foolish to evade their wrath. Others bore darker burdens—human limbs, mangled and lifeless. Some were small, disturbingly small. Almost as if they were…

Drawson inhaled sharply, pulling back to steady himself, his fingers clenched into fist.
Kolt noticed the change in his demeanor. Following Drawson’s line of sight, he let out a guttural gasp. “Bastards…” he muttered, his voice breaking. He tore his gaze away from the grisly trophies and stared at the ground. “We can’t help them… not anymore.” His tone hardened. “Focus, Drawson. FOCUS! Where. Is. The. Leader?”

With a deep, steadying breath, Drawson re-engaged his Mutant Eye, sweeping across the horde. Then, he froze. There it was.
Standing at the heart of the swarm was a fungal behemoth—a towering monstrosity at least 18 feet tall. Its crown-like cap gleamed repulsively, fused into a warped helm dripping with gore. Limbs and organs of past victims dangled from its crown as though displayed as trophies.

Its body was encased in jagged, dented metal, streaked with blood both old and fresh. Drawson’s eyes locked onto its chest plate, where a corroded sigil—a human skull with hollow, accusing eyes—seemed to stare straight into his soul. Thick, vine-like appendages riddled with thorns twisted around its arms, embedding into the creature’s fungal flesh.

Its five elongated claws gleamed wet with crimson, poised like blades sharpened to kill. From its shoulders draped an immense cape of mismatched hides, stitched together with a sickening array of colors—ivory, ebony, chestnut, amber, and rosy pink. Drawson’s stomach churned at the thought of how many lives it must have taken to create such a chilling… sight.

The Crowned Mush Head’s hollow gaze swept toward Drawson’s direction. Instinctively, he grabbed Kolt and pulled him behind the nearest tree, pressing his side against its rough bark. Kolt locked eyes with Drawson from behind his stone, demonic mask, his voice in a low whisper. “Did you see it?”

Drawson gave a quick nod, his face tight with tension as he kept his watch over the crowd. Kolt exhaled sharply, checking the magazine of his sidearm. Only two bullets remained.

Snapping the magazine back into place, he muttered, “We don’t have enough charge. We’ll have to move through them. The trees and shrubs should cover us, but we need to hurry if we’re going to reach the Charging Gen in time. “

Kolt’s jaw tightened beneath his mask as he took a steadying breath Despite his effort, his hands trembled slightly, betraying his nerves. His gaze flickered back toward the herd of lumbering Mush Heads, their grotesque forms shrouded in the eerie mist of the forest.
Without warning, Kolt bolted from cover, darting toward another tree. A Mush Head passed mere inches away, its plodding steps oblivious to the man crouched nearby. Drawson wasted no time, following Kolt’s lead. He sprinted silently, weaving through two more trees before diving into a dense bush.

Drawson lay motionless, his breaths shallow, every muscle coiled as two Mush Heads approached, their crude limbs swaying with each heavy step. The earth beneath them trembled faintly, each stomp punctuated by an ominous groan.

Heart pounding, Drawson gripped his knife in one hand, his other clenched tightly, readying for a fight. The mutants halted, their eyeless heads tilting toward the bush as though sensing his presence.

Suddenly, a rock sailed past, clattering against a tree several feet away. The Mush Heads pivoted toward the sound, lurching away from Drawson’s hiding spot.

Drawson glanced upward to see Kolt gesturing urgently, motioning for him to keep moving.

Drawson mirrored the hunters form, sinking low into the dirt and crept through the forest. Together, the two hunters kept their pace, darting behind trees and slipping past Mush Heads left and right. Their evasive dance barely escaping the mutants’ notice. Drawson, rolling behind a tree swiftly, caught sight of a pack of Mush Heads moving in his direction, forcing him to scale upward. He moved carefully amongst the trees limb, each step deliberate to avoid making noise. He looked ahead of him and spotted a nearby branch, close enough for him to grab onto. He transitioned into the next tree with ease, brachiating along the underside of the bough until he found a supportive branch to hold his weight. He then fell into a swift sprint, leaping onto another tree, and slowly traversing down toward the forest grounds, taking careful caution not to alert the Mush Heads that were only a few feet away. Drawson dropped down and crouched toward the grassy floor, quickly spotting a boulder pressing against a cluster of trees.

Drawson spotted a potential escape route and signaled Kolt, who caught his eye, to keep moving while he took the exit. Kolt nodded, sticking to the tree line and staying out of sight from the Mush Heads.

Drawson zipped up his jacket, tightening the drawstrings at his waists to ensure it hugged his body. He adjusted his belt, securing his tools to prevent anything from falling during his next maneuver. Taking a moment, he tied his boot laces tighter and tucked them securely into his boots to avoid tripping.

As he knelt, preparing to leap, a faint, eerie groan broke the silence. Drawson froze, his body stiffening as he slowly turned. Mere inches away stood the Crowned Mushroom-like abomination, its presence overwhelming. The crowd of Mush Heads continued their oblivious march, unaware of their leader’s position.

Drawson stared cautiously, his breath shallow, as the monstrous figure let out a bellowing exhale—a faint, pained whisper emanating from its unseen mouth. No words came, only the sound of its agonizing breath.

Drawson glanced back toward the gap between the boulders; the light was fading fast, and he knew he had to move. Taking slow, deliberate steps backward, he kept his gaze locked on the mutant before him. The Crowned Mush Head unleashed a guttural screech, its dark, vibrating tone cutting through the air like a blade.

In an instant, Drawson bolted, sprinting toward the gap. With a desperate leap, he twisted his body midair, barely slipping through the narrow opening, and landing hard on the other side in a rough roll. Quickly regaining his footing, he patted himself down, ensuring all his belongings were intact.

Damn! Thought Drawson as his eyes fell on his hook, wedged tightly between the boulder and tree. Sighing, he approached the rock, testing its rough surface. The boulder was riddled with cracks and ridges, with sharp protrusions and glinting flecks of minerals catching the fading sunlight. Its uneven surface provided ample handholds and footholds for a climb.

Drawson began scaling the boulder, each step accompanied by the muffled moans and heavy stomps of Mush Heads on the other side. Reaching the top, he extended a hand toward his hook and tugged. It didn’t budge. Frustrated, he gripped it with both hands, pulling with all his strength. Suddenly, a sharp grasp clamped onto his hands. His breath hitched as he looked up. The Crowned Mush Head loomed over him, its pronged claws digging into his skin, its anguish scream reverberating through the forest.

Drawson yanked his right hand free with a sharp jerk and thinking fast, reached for his revolver—a beast of a firearm. At 18 inches long, weighing a solid 6 pounds, with a thick 8-inch barrel firing 3-inch rounds packed with a chaotic charge, it was a weapon designed to obliterate.

Drawson gripped firmly to his black steeled revolver, its grip held convenient finger grooves, wielding a G10 grip, textured with refined piranha scales that held a dark grey shade. The weapon’s thick, vented barrel gleamed with a polish finish, its perforations designed to direct gases upward, minimizing recoil and muzzle flip. He raised his iron, aiming it squarely at the Crowned Mush Head’s grotesque face. The creature, oblivious to its impending doom, loomed closer. Drawson’s finger found the trigger, initiating a violent spin of the revolver’s cylinder. Bolts of white lightning surged around it, racing toward the muzzle in a dazzling display of raw energy. The trigger clicked; a deafening shot erupted, releasing a thunderous force that sent Drawson crashing to the ground. The explosion echoed across the realm.
The Crowned Mush Head staggered but remained unscathed. It’s eyeless, burning visage peered down through the smoke before it lumbered away, leaving Drawson panting heavily, his mind racing. What did it want? Was it toying with him?
Kolt arrived moments later, extending a hand to help him up. “GODS DAMN, Drawson! I forgot how powerful that thing was.” He hauled Drawson upright, adding, “We need to move. Hell knows what your gunshot woke up! Let’s just hope that nothing happens on our journey… Hell, we’re Hunters! I doubt we’ll be so lucky.”