Flames of blue leapt off Shalia’s fingertips, sprouting silvery wings and dancing about her hair in a cacophony of purple swirls. Bringing her bloody hands to her heart, she dug them into her chest cavity, using her long fingernails as scalpels. She plunged her swollen digits into the soft mush behind her rib cage, and extracted a sphere of light.

Swirls of gold, bronze, and black brushed over its glowing surface. Her wound slowly closed, as if knitted together by invisible hands. Corpses littered the altar, dismembered in hideous ways. Their arms and legs were either broken or scattered among puddles of blood. Shalia did not enjoy killing them, but their lives were necessary for her survival. Looking upon the massive carnage, she raised the glowing orb gracefully above her head, and began to chant. Droning bass, piercing soprano screams, and monotone whimpers exited her thin pale lips as she summoned the Great Ones to her aide.

Like puss oozing from a wound came Lioslith, the first Great One to be brought forth at the forming of the two worlds. He bubbled and spit as his liquid-like body rose from the blood-drenched dirt. Gaining form and solidity, he slowly pinched and pulled his body into a human-like shape. As the seconds passed, he refined himself into a god-like beauty. Shalia was not fooled. She knew underneath his golden exterior lay a putrid evil.

Next came Maliea, the last of the Great Ones to be formed. Unlike Lioslith she preferred a graceful entrance. Gliding upon wings of silver, her angelic and well endowed form seemed to caress the very air upon which she traversed. Many a man, and even a few women, were seduced by her delicate body and long flowing hair- only to be devoured. The Great Ones were well known for their hunger for flesh.

Shalia began to weave a web of protection around her rail thin and plain body. She would not allow herself to die until her purpose was fulfilled. The Great Ones now came in swarms, the scent of blood attracting them like sharks (unlike sharks, though, they did not advance to sate any innocent physical hunger).

The Great Ones chose their forms so as to attract prey. Most settled for rape, or consumption of the body. But a sick few chose to sate their ever-present hunger on the souls of the innocent. However they chose to feed themselves, their targets were usually the young, strong, and beautiful of a species. Shalia was none of these, but she was living, and she held the Orb of Desire.

The Orb attracted them like flies to manure. It held the passions, the pain, and the longing collected over thirty years of Shalia’s life, and it was a feast in the eyes of the Great Ones.

“Hear me!” The eyes of hundreds of Great Ones shifted from the gleaming orb to Shalia’s face. “This night I ask one thing. One thing for the dead flesh you see before you… And for my Orb of Desire. I ask little, but I do ask, and so I am prostrate, needy, and a supplicant to your will. Will you hear me?”

The Great Ones approved. Shalia was safe, they knew, but she was still respectful, as was demanded by the old ways.

“We will hear you, Flesh, but perhaps we will take all you offer and give nothing in return… How can you be so confident in your power over us?” This came from Flamish, the Trickster. He would take young naive women and torture them with cooing words, then leave them to confess their sins to their fathers and be killed.

“I cannot perceive to be powerful, Great Ones, but I do know the old ways, and you may not feast on my kill unless I speak the chant of Desolation. Is this not true?” Shalia bent down in supplication, hoping the truth would not sting their vanity too badly.

“Come now Flamish, this Flesh has offered us a feast, and like all good guests, we must repay her in some way. Think of all the travelling bards whose daughters you have desecrated, how they sing for their supper. Now, I at least am prepared to loosen my chords for my supper.” This was Maliea, who played games by using manners and courtesy. It lulled her victims into a false sense of security. “Cannot you see how frightened this poor beast is, obviously she needs our help.” Maliea licked her seductive lips at this obvious insult.

“All I ask is this…”

“Hold thy tongue vile animal, for I cut it off meself!” Up flew a giant crow, a red crow- the color of blood. This Great One was new to Shalia. She began to sweat.

“I beg forgiveness. I was rude to speak so soon.” Shalia hated bowing and speaking carefully around such evil beings as these.

“Ah, ‘twas little harm, fair maid. Come, warm my tail feathers with your soft hands.” The entire company of Great Ones began maniacally laughing at the Red Raven’s slander.

“I am no maid, your graciousness, and my hands are cold with clotted blood. Would you be so kind as to inform me of your greatness' identity?”

“Ah, my sick child, I am the nightmares you saw upon the faces of your victims, the worm in your apple, the clench in your throat as you catch your love rutting on a common whore, I am the nausea, the fear, the anger. You may call me Roger.” And to this try at comedy, the Raven caused an avalanche of hoots, snickers, and sick laughter only comparable to a million psychopaths watching little girls parade around in tutus.