In the midst of Goor’s search for his tripede, a pack of ravenous beasts surrounded him. Just when he had recently familiarized himself with Zooard’s labyrinthine home, a maniacal crescendo of scampering steps was heard, approaching his present location. Goor slowed his shimmy through the narrow crevice, his chest and spine both a few inches away from opposing spiked walls. He contemplated his response to the looming noise. If he had heard it before sliding his frame into such an inconvenient hole in the wall, he was confident that he could engage them. Unfortunately, that was not to be. Seeing as how he was nowhere close to the midpoint of the passage to begin with, he made the decision to inch his way back to the entrance. Like clockwork, a second stampede of steps was emanating from that end as well. Goor thus retreated to the very center of his potential tomb.
The spikes did not feel as sharp in Goor’s fat hands as he would have imagined them, his bleeding palms aside. As the rumblings reached their mutual climax, Goor hoisted himself up, each hand to each wall, scaling upward until his dome grazed the ceiling. Even in the darkness of the cave, Goor could see wriggling dark shapes flood into the recently vacated space below him, nasty creatures given form by the silver streaks of their glistening fur, highlighting where their thrashing heads and squirming bodies ought to be in the otherwise blinding void. They were undoubtedly canine in nature, broadcasting scores upon scores of barks and growls against one another as they gradually filled the crevice. More alarming than that were their eyes. Not only were all of them fully visible, piercing through the dark like chaotic gaggles of intersecting orbs of light, but some of them were embedded on parts of the body that Goor, hardly a veterinarian himself, would consider to be improbable. On certain bodies, there were more than two eyes, some: a bunch, others: a cluster, some frames were adorned with nothing but eyes. And they were all looking up at him.
The demon dogs’ occupying mass pushed against the walls to the point that Goor could no longer feel the flatness of his palms. Instead, the tension went to his arching fingertips as they struggled to maintain their hold on the walls that he could feel were slowly but surely moving away from him. Some of the dogs, if they could even be labeled as such, had their, he presumed, front legs propped against the sharpened barriers, waiting patiently to meet with its suspended plaything above.
“To me.”
The commanding voice blew through the crevice like wind through a musical instrument. The wild monsters, wasting nary a second, lined up and systematically exited the area one at a time until there was only Goor, hanging on by the tips of his fingernails.
Zooard entered the newly widened crevice, torch in hand. He looked up and greeted Goor with a jovial smile. He was quick to apologize for taking his pets for a morning walk at such an inopportune time and place. Zooard declared that he would not take his pets along this route again.
“With that being said,” he continued, “It would be most wise for you to remain with Fracaso well before the ritual starts, would it not? She needs you there after all. Besides, without my guidance, you’ll never know what you could run into down here.”
Goor could sense a hint of strain in Zooard’s voice.
“Come along, friend. The ritual is starting now!”
—
Goor sensed a shift in the sanctum’s atmosphere as soon as he stepped inside, partly based on seeing rows of Zooard’s mutts perched on the wooden beams above him, their misshapen snouts pointed stridently towards Fracaso and her group. The priest in question stood at the far end of the room, over a makeshift altar of piled stones, ornamented by a naked man, twitching and bleeding on its uneven summit. The poor fellow, one of Fracaso’s fidelitous followers, was moments away from being rendered inanimate by a large dagger lodged in his chest. Rather than despairing, however, his face betrayed a most jubilant smile while bubbling redness gushed from his mouth. Stepping closer to the altar, Goor realized that the dying man was indeed babbling the same maddening chorus alongside his surrounding ilk. With the collective gaze of the dogs trained on him as well, Goor reluctantly assumed his post at the unopened door. A stretch of time passed. The man on the altar turned to an inactive slab of flesh. The incantations stopped and heaviness seized the air.
“Well?! Is it done?” Zooard bellowed from above.
Fracaso remained silent, as if unaware of his presence. In a stroke of rage, Zooard, finding his patience truly thinned, raised his hand. The creatures surrounding him perked their heads in simultaneous fervor. An audible undercurrent of growls began to radiate from every direction, traveling closer and closer to the priest yet it did not propel her to move. Then, as the beasts mobilized further, a gleaming light burst into the open darkness. All attention is drawn toward the lone source of brightness in the sanctum. Its form was that of an enormous eye, human in its clear oily white iris and mesmerisingly sharp green pupil. And before anyone could even garner a solid impression of what they were seeing, it was gone, withdrawn into nothingness.
“…What was that?” uttered Zooard.
“Magnificent,” Fracaso murmured, her head steered skyward in lingering awe, “This one draws close.”
Her followers mutter among themselves. The sanctum was abuzz with newfound vibrancy and commotion. Zooard, all jittery with boyish excitement, leapt down and rushed to the altar, shoving some of the men aside, hoping to somehow harvest any remaining shred of the euphoria by the simple virtue of standing right beneath where the phenomenon once was.
Goor continued to stand by the Dokkra door, still adjusting to what he saw. If the size of that eye was to be believed, then the door that once seemed to Goor, gigantic and imposing, paled in comparison. He would be lucky to stuff a single lash (if it had one) through this cramped doorway. Stuffing a body tethered to that thing was out of the question.
“When can we expect our esteemed guest to return?” Zooard asked.
“When you provide us with more people.”
“Are these gentlemen not enough?” Zooard gestured toward the muttering men.
“I will need a sizable increase in recruits and a moderate expansion of the altar’s surface area. This current arrangement will not do. Not at all. This dagger is also dulled. Hone it, would you?”
Fracaso tossed the blade to Zooard before making her abrupt exit, her men marching behind her, but not before halting momentarily by the door.
“Ah yes- the Dokkra structure. It would be best to increase its size, no?”
“By how many magnitudes?” Zooard responded from a good distance away, his ears seemingly beholden to each and every single one of her footsteps.
“I say you need to expand the ceiling of this place. Renovate the room so that it eclipses this very mountain. And then some.”
“We will do that,” Zooard affirmed.
“We?” Goor thought loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Why, of course! Your propensity for opening doors is invaluable to us.”
“There is no door for me to open! She told you to build a new one so I have no part to play here. I will be taking my leave now. With my pay.”
“Sorry, Goor. I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to exit my territory. There is no telling if you would leak all that we have witnessed today to any undesirable parties, yearning to be privy to our plans. Surely you can understand.”
“Right,” Goor replied before proceeding to barrel through clusters of barking miscreants blocking his path. His arms were summarily pelted with sinking teeth from all directions. Two of Fracaso’s men had taken to the air, blades spinning in their palms as they landed in front of the haggard locksmith, leaving him no time to react. With efficient ferocity, they jammed each of their blades into the rusting joints of his metallic legs, forcing them to be straightened and stilled, grinding their target to a halt. In response, with a sweep of his forearm, Goor launched one of the men off his feet and into the depths of the rampaging litter that surrounded them, before seizing the other man by the back of his skull and colliding it with his own. His opponent fell, followed closely by Goor himself as he was continuously besieged by the hellhounds, pummeling his every body part, save for his heart and fingers, well until his vision began to falter and the darkness of the cave enveloped him.