After his ascension, Sol went out with the hunters.

  His new abilities allowed them to move unimpeded through the forest. His blessings strengthened them into something greater than ordinary men—humans agile as leopards, patient as owls. Their strides lengthened. Their senses sharpened. Even the jungle seemed to part before them.

  They scouted deep into the wilderness, climbing treetops and scanning the canopy for signs of danger. The ominous clouds gathering around the mountain peaks had unsettled them all.

  When nothing revealed itself, Sol pressed onward.

  He led the hunters closer to the mountain’s base, layering blessings upon them to ensure they reached it before midday.

  At his side, Tezcalotl growled.

  The once-small cub had grown into an almost fully matured jaguar. Dim blue flames rippled along his fur, radiating a gentle heat. Leaves blackened and curled beneath his paws.

  Sol heard the warning in the growl.

  Corruption.

  It was rising.

  He paused and instructed the hunters to remain behind. Then, flaring with divinity, he ascended into the sky. The rapid expenditure sharpened his focus, pushing him forward with urgent purpose.

  Tezcalotl slipped into the gem at Sol’s chest, guiding the flow of divinity within him. The jaguar relayed subtle changes in faith and corruption as Sol climbed higher toward the mountain peak. Despite the oppressive aura, Tezcalotl purred with measured confidence.

  Sol skimmed over treetops before rising vertically along the jagged face of the mountain. He rationed his power carefully, counting the distance he could travel before needing to return.

  Then he saw it.

  Nestled between rocks and partially concealed by sparse trees stood a creature larger than anything he had ever witnessed on land.

  It had no fur.

  Its entire body was encased in glossy plates of chitin.

  The moment Sol drew nearer, instinct struck him—hate, disgust, and fear crashing into his chest all at once.

  The massive insect fed upon a heap of corpses. Many were torn in half. The stench reached him even in the air, nearly knocking him from the sky with nausea.

  Its enormous maxillae crushed bone, flesh, and cloth alike. Acid pooled within its mouth, melting everything it consumed as it chewed with lazy indifference.

  It was larger than it first appeared.

  Much larger.

  Sol refused to descend any closer. Even from a distance, the reek of dissolving flesh churned his stomach.

  He gathered his divinity into his palm, compressing it into a blazing sphere. He would smite the abomination from existence—

  —but Tezcalotl stopped him.

  The surge faltered.

  The adolescent jaguar manifested before him, growling sharply in warning. Anxiety rippled through their shared bond.

  Then the sky darkened.

  Ominous clouds churned overhead as corruption surged outward, cloaking the mountain in thick miasma. It poured down the slopes in waves, swallowing trees and stone alike. Only the highest branches remained visible before they too vanished beneath the deluge.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Sol watched the corruption roll forward like a living tide.

  Then it shifted.

  The miasma began to rise.

  Sluggish at first.

  He sneered at it, sensing no immediate danger from the slow-moving tendrils stretching toward him.

  Then, as if mocking his arrogance—

  The pillars of corruption lashed upward.

  They speared through the air with terrifying speed.

  A few nearly reached him, trailing fetid vapor that clawed at his divinity. Even their proximity felt invasive, probing at his essence, attempting to burrow into his heart.

  His gem flared.

  A small domain of radiant light blossomed around him, disintegrating the corruption as it tried to coil and constrict.

  But sustaining it drained him.

  His reserves, once safely abundant, began to fall toward dangerous levels.

  Tezcalotl snarled inside the light.

  Sol flared his power one final time and shot backward, retreating from the mountain’s grasp. He did not slow until he descended near the hunters once more.

  From the single glimpse he had managed before the corruption swallowed the creature, Sol understood the magnitude of the threat.

  If the hunters encountered that monstrosity—

  They would not survive.

  This was beyond him alone.

  He would need the lesser gods of Bahia Oscura.

  There was only one being he knew who matched such a presence.

  And yet—

  The miasma cascading down the mountain was far thicker than the corruption that had previously attempted to invade their lands.

  Whatever had made its home there…

  Had grown stronger.

  -

  Mort had seeded the thorn bushes all around the village.

  He infused them with varying flavors of divinity, urging them to grow until they reached waist height. Their thorns lengthened and thickened, intertwining so densely that even harvesting the sparse berries—destined to bloom from their red flowers—became a dangerous task.

  Unfortunately, Mort lacked the divinity to make them grow taller and bear fruit simultaneously. When he attempted both at once, the strain had been catastrophic.

  Renata had felt the violent suction immediately.

  She stopped the pull before it drained him dry, then sealed his shrine until he promised to scale his efforts more carefully.

  Mort had only smiled, accepting her terms while basking in the warmth of her concern.

  He was lucky to have his sister.

  And Xochiquetzal as well, whose refined control over divinity had helped stabilize his more… excessive tendencies.

  It saddened him that the villagers did not yet understand what the thorny plants would accomplish. To them, it seemed little more than an obstacle blocking passage out of the settlement.

  To Mort, it was a future fortress.

  The thorn fence would serve him well in the endless defense of the village.

  The ant queens perched upon his head and shoulders clicked approvingly at their new domain. The fence stretched long enough to house much of the swarm comfortably within its protective lattice.

  The two stags within the swarm leapt over it with effortless grace, making full use of the perimeter. The armadillos squealed in delight at another potential food source besides fallen enemies. Badgers joined them, burrowing beneath the thorn wall to form sturdy dens at its base.

  The living barrier was becoming an ecosystem.

  A stronghold.

  A warfront.

  The fence would halt the worms’ advance. Its soldiers would be the swarm and their beasts of war. Mort now fed them divinity directly, nurturing their three souls and encouraging the formation of divine cores.

  The queens would rise as guardians beneath him—true alebrijes. If the villagers placed their faith in these protectors, hope would bloom alongside them.

  Hope was necessary.

  Because the worms were endless.

  Their segmented bodies held so much corruption that only the queens could safely digest them. The corpses became nourishment, fueling the next generation of soldiers. Each new ant passed through multiple evolutions, emerging stronger than the last—creations any queen could take pride in.

  Still…

  How long could this balance last?

  Food supplies continued to dwindle.

  Most of the lake’s fish had been infected. When Xochiquetzal discovered the corruption lurking beneath the waters, she had purified it—but the cleansing destroyed what little life remained. She had only managed such a feat after excising countless parasites that pulsed with the same corrupt rhythm. A good thing, since Mort would have been busy removing the parasites

  Mort was grateful for one thing.

  Time.

  For now, he had it.

  The fragile balance he maintained gave him the confidence to continue. No villager had fallen sick under his watch. None had been injured by the worms infesting the forest’s edge.

  He would keep it that way.

  Mort lifted his gaze to the thorn wall stretching around his home.

  This was his village now.

  His responsibility.

  He would discern each danger as it came and crush it before it reached the people inside. The villagers’ faith wrapped around him like a cloak, steady and warm.

  It filled him with confidence for the future.

  No matter how endless the worms seemed.

  No matter how thick the corruption gathered beyond the trees.

  He would protect what was his. Fear of Itzcamazotz or not, Mort wouldn't allow himself to be tread upon again.