The Birth of Xargon

The Birth of Xargon

It began like all great stories, a very long time ago. I had a name then. I was young and full of pretence, foolish. I joined a cult of devil worshippers, not believing a shred of what their diction told me to believe. But nonetheless I took part in the rituals, read the books, said the words, danced the dances, took the lives. Drank the blood. I quickly rose through the ranks, I began to believe. I became the demagogue.

The night of contact came, until then we had only contacted lesser beings, the dead mostly. But on that night we were going for something bigger, something that would put our little bastard coven on the map.

We were going to talk to Charon, the ferryman of the Styx.

We formed the circle as usual, we readied the altar, we brought out the sacrifice. Until then it had been little things, no bigger than a dog or so, but tonight we needed to bring ourselves to the crossing point, not to draw a straggler from the near shore. This time we needed a human. We had decided on a teenage virgin female, it seemed only proper. Two of the lesser cultists dragged her out from the shadows and lashed her down to the black marble altar. I walked over to her and looked her over. It was obvious, one of the lesser fuckers from the cult had raped her, she was bruised around the groin and her sides were cut. I closed my eyes for a second, to listen to the two cockbiters at my sides. The one to my left%u2019s breathing was slightly jittery. I turned, as if to clear my head before the ceremony but stopped part way through my turn, looking at him. I opened my eyes, to see his pathetic face. I recognised him, he was one of the little nerds from the goth club in high school. He was quaking in his fucking Nikes. I put my hand on his shoulder and drew his face close to mine.

%u201CDid you like popping her cherry you cock?%u201D I spat with a sneer. He mumbled something. %u201CWhat was that fucker?%u201D I roared into his worthless face.

%u201CI didn%u2019t come in her%u201D he dribbled. What a pathetic bitch. I gripped his shoulder so hard that he screamed, his fat fucking tongue flopping out of his fat fucking face. I sharply rammed my free open hand into that ball of flab, which must have been his chin. It severed his tongue when his teeth hit. He fell to the ground instantly his worthless gurgling punctuated by bouts of vomiting blood.

Two higher cultists dragged him off back into the night. %u201CMake him eat that pathetic dick of his%u201D I bellowed after them.

I turned back to the girl. She was waking. Good. We needed her to be conscious, to complete the rite. I raised my arms high above my head, my mask bearer adorned me with the visage of Charon. The cult started chanting, shuffling around in their rings, three rings in total, all full of posers trying to get a rise out of casting some %u201CBlack Magick%u201D.

I looked into her eyes as I drew the blade from the mask, they were scared, but also hurt. This wasn%u2019t what I wanted, I didn%u2019t want her to be tortured, I didn%u2019t want her to suffer more than was necessary. My lip curled and I gritted my teeth, it was too far-gone now. The cult wanted death. The blade sang as it whirled towards her flesh, flowing through the complex patterns of summoning a higher guard of Hades. I put the blade through its final motion and through her breast into her heart, she tried to scream, but in a last effort of comfort I stifled it with a kiss of real affection and pity. We both cried.

Then it hit. Her womb swelled up and burst into a firestorm, and a man was left standing there in front of me, fully robed and carrying a long staff with a bell slung to it%u2019s end. Charon was standing before me. I tried to speak. He silenced me with an action I had not expected. He bowed before me. Thoughts appeared in my head.

You are the one who has summoned me.

%u201CYes%u201D I whispered.

Why?

%u201CWe wished to commune with the ferryman%u201D

And what if does not wish to commune with you?

%u201CHe will, because I have a word that he will listen to%u201D at this Charon laughed, audibly, mockingly.

What word do you know worm?

%u201CFusliae%u201D

There was a sharp intake of breath, or the closest thing that could have came from that servant of Hades. He stood up. And wrapped his arms around me. My body began to warm up. It was bearable at first, a light sensation under the skin. Then it blew into me. My flesh started subliming from my skeleton, fire erupting through the rifts in my tissues. Charon began to fuse with me. I then saw every single person to cross the Styx in an instant. I know I went mad, I have had a lot of time to pursue my actions. I know that I incinerated every single member of that wretched congregation in an instant. I know that I then left towards the nearest civic centre. I know that where Boston once stood is now a sea of glass due to my actions.

I lost a large part of my life to the flames. Two hundred years in fact. I came to on a mountain, a mage lying dead at my feet and a silver bracelet on my wrist, it has something to do with controlling Charon. That was three hundred years ago. I no longer have my old name. Now I am Xargon, the fireborn. I hunt spawn of Hades.

It seemed only proper.