Memento Mori, Memento Vivere
(TW: blood, violence, death, ect. Please pass if you have sensitivities! Take care of yourselves)
Chapter 1
My name is Chryses, and I am bound--not by chains, but by a pact etched in blood and desperation. My mortal life ended with one clean swing of my wife's axe. I remember the weight of her rage, the warmth of my own blood, and then... nothing. Until my spirit wandered into the haunted shade of Necromoria's woods. There, the god found me--furious, hollow, and ripe for the taking. They offered me a deal: vengeance, in exchange for servitude. I was too consumed by rage to question the cost. And now, in this warped afterlife, I obey my god, Necromoria's every whim and command. I literally cannot refuse them.
I stepped to the mouth of the cave--a hollowed wound in the earth that served as my temple, my prison, and my home. The air outside was cool and still, carrying with it the scent of pine and the faintest hint of decay. Around me, the forest murmured with life, blissfully unaware of the god it harboured.
I looked up at the clear sky, the sun casting a warm glow on my face, and said, "The weather is fair today, isn't it?"
But Necromoria didn't respond, leaving me to the echo of my own voice. I sighed, my shoulders slumping slightly as I turned back to the cave, the hem of my ornate funeral gown brushing against my knees and my split cape following. Onyx and gold thread shimmered faintly in the dappled light filtering through the canopy, and my claret hair spilled down my back like a curtain of blood.
I tried to hide my disappointment, but it lingered like a bitter taste in my mouth. "Ugh… don't be that way," I said, my voice taking on a pleading tone. "Remember, today is the most auspicious of days--you said so yourself. The day I pledge my body and soul to you in exchange for your power. With such a trade, my Lord, how could I refuse you?"
Still, Necromoria remained silent, their golden eyes fixed upon me from the depths of their abode with an intensity that made me shiver.
Offended by their reply with an obscene gesture, I rolled my eyes and said, "Disgusting. I'll return with your birch bark. Why you insist on such a fragile, stubborn parchment is beyond me."
With a heavy heart, I turned and made my way deeper into the woods. The forest seemed to close in around me, the trees reaching out with gnarled branches like skeletal fingers. Necromoria tells me I often look like an angel carved from sorrow. A cruel joke. I tried not to think about the journey waiting for me when I returned. Would I remember something new this time? A flicker of the life I lost? The only name that's clung to me through the void is Lottie. I whisper it sometimes, like a prayer.
I reached the grove--a quiet place I'd harvested from more times than I could count. The birch trees stood like pale sentinels, their bark peeling in soft curls. Fortune smiled on me--wry and bitter. There was enough bark to satisfy their note-taking needs. I carefully peeled away strips of the pale bark, my fingers working methodically around the birch's smooth trunk. The recent rain had left it soft and yielding--perfect for harvest.
"There," I murmured to myself, examining the bundle in my hands. "That should be enough bark to satisfy them. I'm glad it rained--still so pliable..."
Something caught my attention, and I paused mid-thought. "Hmm?"
I cradled the damp bundle and paused. The woods had gone still--too still. Then, a sound: a rustle, heavy and deliberate. My ears twitched toward it, alert. Footsteps. I turned, just enough to see them. Shapes slinking out from the treeline, shadows solidifying into form.
Two of them. Gaians... also known as Beastmen--One was wiry and hunched, with the glinting eyes of a rat. The other lumbered beside him, broad-shouldered and thick-jawed, more beast than man, like a boar that had learned to walk upright. The stench of sweat and piss rolled off them in waves.
I didn't speak. Didn't flinch. I turned away, back straight, chin high, walking as if they weren't worth acknowledgment. But I'd taken barely ten steps when a rough, filthy hand latched onto my arm. A heartbeat later, the world spun sideways. My body slammed into the forest floor, hard. Bark and broken twigs exploded beneath me like brittle bones, the bundle jolting from my arms. Cold, damp earth pressed against my cheek. And still, I didn't scream.
The skinny Gaian called Rat looked at me with an opportunistic gleam in his eyes. "Look what we have here, Boar. We found ourselves a doll."
I pushed myself back up from the ground where they'd shoved me, dirt clinging to my clothes. My voice rang out defiantly, proudly. "Get your filthy mitts off me, you brute! I am Chryses Napella--I will not suffer disrespect to my flesh."
Boar snorted with boisterous, gruff laughter as his meaty hand seized my braid. "Ha! You're not goin' anywhere, missy. Should've shown some manners to your elders, eh? Haha!"
Pain shot through my scalp as he yanked on my plait with savage glee. I clawed at his grip, my voice rising to a severe scalding hiss, "UNHAND ME! Let go of my hair!"
I clenched my jaw, swallowing the snarl rising in my throat. If only the Rite had been completed. They would already be grovelling--on their knees, trembling in awe.
Rat circled around us, eyeing me appraisingly. "How much d'you think we could fetch for her? She's got that look, like nobility. Or something holier."
"Enough to retire, prolly," Boar grunted, still holding fast to my braid. "Let's hit the Isles. I hear the Mer-Girls have shapely tails..."
I straightened as much as I could despite his grip, my voice sharp with indignation: "Do not speak of me as if I am not present, gentlemen."
Rat sneered at me. "Serves you right for ignoring us first. Let's see what treasures you carry, missy..."
His grimy hands began rifling through my belongings, and I struggled against Boar's hold. "Watch your hands, you filthy cretin--my book!"
My voice cracked with genuine panic as the Rat snatched the grimoire from beneath my satchel strap. Bound in worn black leather and encrusted with dark jewels, it gleamed like a treasure--but in any hands but mine, it was nothing more than a useless trinket. This book was crafted by Necromoria themself, inscribed with ancient scripts no other tongue could decipher. It was a spellbook written solely for me, bound by blood and magic--a key to power that no thief could unlock. And yet--Necromoria would not care. They will punish me a thousand times over for losing it.
I thrashed in Boar's iron grip, my silver eyes blazing with desperation, fingers clawing frantically toward the precious tome as the Rat flipped it over in his filthy claws, a cruel grin spreading across his face.
Rat held up my tome, his face twisting with disgust. "Seriously? This stinking book is all she's got? What a damn letdown."
"Won't fetch much, will it?" Boar grunted.
Rat tossed the book aside carelessly, and I watched in horror as it hit the ground with a dull thud. "We can still sell the girl. She'll get us more coin than we'd know what to do with in the slave markets. Let's ditch the book, Boar--let's move."
Panic seized me as I saw my precious tome lying abandoned in the dirt. "Wait--NO! My book!"
A soft crunch of twigs sounded behind us. The men froze mid-conversation, the air thickening into a silence heavier than any threat. Slowly, we all turned.
There she stood--tall, shadowed, radiant in her terrifying, otherworldly way. A beastwoman, yes, but unlike any I had ever seen. Her features were sharp and angular, carved with a predatory elegance. Pale sepia skin seemed to glow faintly in the dappled forest light, while her sunset-colored eyes burned like smouldering embers beneath thick lashes. In her clawed hands, she cradled my book, turning it over with delicate care. She was beautiful. Terrifyingly so. And an icy shiver ran down my spine as a strange, unsettling thought took hold--I knew her. Or had known her. Her raven hair curled around my thoughts as I wondered.
"It's rude to throw books, you know," she said, examining the situation. "I was wondering what all the noise was about." Her voice carried an odd mix of amusement and disapproval.
Her voice was velvet wrapped in iron--soft, yet unyielding. Her gaze never wavered from mine, as if the others around us were invisible, irrelevant. She looked at me like she could peel back my skin and stare straight into the frightened soul hiding beneath. I forced myself to look away.
Was she here to save me? Or to finish what the others had begun?
Beneath the edge of her collar, faintly glowing scars pulsed--a tangled web of runes, alive and restless, flickering with fierce heat. She wasn't poised to strike. She was waiting. Waiting to be commanded.
The woman looked at me with an almost playful expression. "You just need to say the word, pretty miss. Just tell me to save you."
I didn't have time for games, not with Boar's grip still tight in my hair. "Then do it already."
A dangerous smile crossed her lips as she set my book aside carefully. "You might want to close your eyes, lovely. I'd hate for you to see the mess I'm about to make."
I obeyed, pressing trembling palms against my eyes until phosphenes danced behind my lids. The darkness offered no sanctuary. Then came the screams--high and keening, cut short by wet, meaty impacts. Bone splintered with the sharp crack of kindling. Steel sang through muscle with obscene ease, followed by the heavy splash of blood painting bark and loam. The very trees seemed to shudder. Somewhere in the carnage, a low growl rumbled like distant thunder. My knees buckled, driving into the damp earth as bile rose in my throat. The metallic tang of blood thickened the air until each breath felt like drowning.
I should have been stronger. The thought carved itself into my mind with surgical precision. I should have been better than this cowering wretch.
And then--silence. Not peace, but the terrible quiet that follows violence. Even the forest seemed stunned. Only the panicked rustle of wings as birds fled their roosts.
After what felt like an eternity, the woman approached me again. She held out my tome, its cover now clean of dirt.
"Here. Your book, Miss."
She stood over me like a crimson spectre wreathed in gore, blood coating her armour in abstract patterns of violence. Dark arterial spray had painted one pale cheek, yet her hands--those same hands that had just orchestrated slaughter--cradled my grimoire as if it were spun glass.
I snatched the grimoire from her gore-slicked fingers, leather binding warm and slightly damp--I didn't want to know why. My shoulder slammed into hers as I stumbled past, desperate to put distance between myself and the carnage. Away from my incompetence. My heart hammered against my sternum like a prisoner against cell bars. Run. Run. The word became a mantra, driving my unsteady legs forward through the underbrush. Back to the cave's familiar darkness.
Her voice called after me, carrying a note of amusement "A thank you would be nice, you know!"
I sprinted through the woods, the weight of the book and the smell of blood clinging to me like guilt. Necromoria's cave waited ahead, dark, cold, and safe. Or so I hoped.
I arrived back at the cave, retreating through its narrowing throat until shadow swallowed me whole. Deeper I went, past limestone teeth and weeping walls, until I reached the impossible heart of Necromoria's domain: a forest that shouldn't exist, breathing within stone. Bioluminescent fungi erupted from every surface in a fever dream of colour--electric blues bleeding into venomous greens, sunset oranges pulsing against violent purples. Their alien glow painted the damp air in shifting veils.
This wet, echoing hollow had long since replaced my sun-drenched courtyards and marble halls. The memory of morning light streaming through tall windows and the scent of sweet bluebells felt like something I'd dreamed. I missed home. The ache settled in my chest, familiar as an old wound.
Necromoria reclined atop their throne of flesh--a mushroom bloated beyond nature's intention, its surface yielding like diseased skin. It pulsed with sickly bioluminescence, casting their pale form in corpse-light. They beckoned me closer with fingers that moved like dying spiders.
I hesitated. My feet, still muddy from the forest floor above, refused to carry me forward. But resistance was performance, and we both knew the script.
Of course, I obeyed. I had surrendered choice long ago.
I clutched the bundle of birch bark against my chest, still catching my breath from my frantic run. "I brought back the bark. I'll store it first."
I tucked the bark carefully into the woven basket, adding it to the brittle collection of older strips. What had once been pristine white had faded to the dull, sickly grey of old bones. The sight made me sigh through gritted teeth.
I climbed onto the yielding surface of the mushroom beside them, my weight causing it to dimple and weep strange fluids. They stank--not just of death, but of sweetness too thick to breathe, cloying as overripe fruit left to ferment in summer heat. The scent clung to the inside of my nose and coated my throat like spoiled perfume mixed with honey and bile.
Necromoria's cold fingers wrapped around my wrist like iron shackles, pulling me closer. Their deathly pale hand tilted my chin upward, forcing me to meet their gaze. The pulsing golden glow of their iris seemed to bore into my very soul. "My pet, it's about time you returned. What sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into?"
I froze at Necromoria's touch, my skin crawling where their fingertips pressed against my jaw. My eyes darted nervously around the shadowed room. "I was nearly kidnapped," I whispered. "A rat and a boar thought I'd fetch a fine price. I was saved by a woman--raven hair that seemed to swallow light itself, eyes like molten sunset. The woods were alive with noise today... I haven't seen that many people in one place in a long while."
Necromoria's laugh erupted sharp and mocking. "Ha! It's hunting season, silly girl. Why do you think I'm tucked away in here like a spider in its web? I'm not about to go playing pincushion for some half-starved ranger with itchy trigger fingers. That girl sounds like the Nightingale's whelp-- she's all dark beauty and deadly grace. I guess she's getting curious about who she's going to be guiding through the shadows."
My eyes widened in shock. I nearly gasped, the breath catching in my throat like a trapped bird. "You know her? Who is she? Will she be helping me reach the ritual site?"
Necromoria released my chin with a dismissive flick, reclining back with a low, tempered groan. Their skeletal fingers massaged their temples in slow, circular motions. "Cool it with the questions, kid. You're like a broken bard spinning the same desperate tune. You'll get your answers when you're supposed to--not a moment before. Now pack it up. Once the ritual is done, you're fulfilling your end of the bargain."
The weight of my fate settled on my shoulders like a funeral shroud. I muttered the words that had haunted my dreams, "Start my journey. Seek and destroy Lousheia. My body becomes yours... and my soul can finally rest..." I paused, a shiver of revulsion running down my spine. "What would you even do with my body? Actually--never mind. I'm better off not knowing."
Necromoria grinned--wide, crooked, and full of teeth that had no business existing in any mortal mouth. Too many, too sharp, arranged in rows like a shark's maw wrapped in human lips. They threw me a wink that made every hair on my body rise. They were shameless. A nightmare that had learned to flirt, wrapping horror in practiced charm like poison in honey.
The two of us set off toward the border where our woods kissed the neighbouring forest. Sometimes, in my peripheral vision, I caught glimpses of movement between those distant trees--a flash of dark fabric, the suggestion of a watching figure. Now I suspected it had been the blood-soaked woman from earlier.
The walk stretched in oppressive silence, broken only by the soft squelch of our footsteps on moss-slicked ground. Necromoria practically hummed with anticipation as they led me deeper through unnatural fog that clung like cobwebs to my skin.
We emerged at a clearing where ancient stone rose from the earth--a dais carved from black granite, its surface worn smooth by centuries of rain and ritual. Meeting ground. Neutral territory between powers I barely understood.
Movement caught my eye, and I froze. A veiled woman materialized in the stone chair as if she'd been carved from shadow itself, so sudden and silent that my hand shot out instinctively, fingers digging into Necromoria's arm. Without that anchor, I would have screamed.
The woman raised one pale hand in greeting, then pressed it warmly to her chest and bowed forward in her seat--the traditional Petillian salute. She was wrong in the way that dreams are wrong. Too tall, too frail, her limbs stretched beyond mortal proportions as if someone had pulled her through a keyhole. Yet she sat with regal bearing, proud as any queen upon her throne of stone.
Then she leaned forward, resting her sharp chin on skeletal fingers that seemed to have too many joints. Behind the gossamer veil, a smile bloomed--wide and predatory, with corners that curved far beyond where human lips should end.
The Nightingale moved with the fluid grace of poisoned honey, each gesture deliberate and hypnotic. Her voice dripped with saccharine sweetness that barely masked the razor's edge beneath. Dark energy crackled around her like living shadows, the air itself seeming to recoil from her presence. "My beloved god, and cherished guest, welcome to my domain," she purred. "Please have a seat, we have much to discuss about your trials, little Chryses. But first, I hope you enjoyed my offerings to you. I hope you find peace in these woods--such as it is. I want only the best for my God's newest temple."
My words caught in my throat like thorns, coming out in broken fragments as terror and reverence warred within me. Despite my fear, years of conditioning took over, and I sank into a trembling curtsy, my knees nearly buckling. "Yes, Mistress," I managed to whisper.
The stone chair bit through my clothes with winter's teeth, but I settled into it anyway, spine rigid. Her perfume drifted across the space between us--jasmine laced with something rotting, beautiful and repulsive in the same breath. The Gaian from earlier stood at her shoulder like a loyal hound, all predatory grace and watchful eyes. We shared a look--predator recognizing prey--before I forced my attention back to the Nightingale.
She gestured toward the forest's edge where her offerings waited. Chalices brimming with blood, still warm enough to steam. Chunks of raw flesh that glistened wetly in the dim light. My throat closed at the metallic stench, but I knew better than to refuse.
I forced myself to acknowledge the viscera spread before me like a grotesque feast--chunks of raw flesh glistening with congealed blood, organs still warm and pulsing with residual life. The metallic stench filled my nostrils, making my stomach churn violently. I fought to keep my expression neutral, swallowing back the bile that threatened to rise. "They strengthened me, Mistress," I managed to say. "Every last drop."
Nightingale's response was a melodic coo, soft and loving like a mother to her favored child. "Good, little dove. Your obedience pleases me greatly. Now, onto the matter of your trials. Necromoria, I believe this is your territory?"
Necromoria dropped into one of the ancient stone chairs with all the grace of a sack of bones. Their skeletal hands clapped together in childlike excitement. "Hells yes, Songbird! You're gonna be on your own for this one, kid. Well, not entirely--Songbird's lending you her precious scion, that brooding brat lurking over there in the shadows." They gestured dismissively towards the woman shrouded in darkness. "She's going to assist you on your trials, though this is more of a formality. Songbird and I are going to be waiting for you at the ritual site like patiently. Follow your way through the maze, and you'll find us eventually. Just remember--Songbird's not particularly patient, so don't keep us waiting, har har!"
Nightingale's laughter tinkled like wind chimes made of shattered glass, clearly amused by Necromoria's familiar teasing. "It is The Nightingale, my liege," she corrected with mock severity, though her eyes sparkled with genuine fondness. "Enough of your silly pet names. Any more and you will spoil me beyond redemption." Her attention turned to me like a spotlight. "And to you, darling Chryses, she is truly a blessing wrapped in shadow and steel. She is strong, malleable, and brilliantly cunning. Use my daughter, Belladonna, as you see fit--she is yours to command. She will obey any order without question; all you have to do is ask with the proper authority." Her voice took on a warning edge. "Hopefully, you'll be able to complete the trials without assistance. It is what we would prefer to witness--your own strength, your own will. However, Belladonna could walk to my temple blindfolded through a hurricane. Use her if you become lost in the labyrinth or if the trials prove too challenging for your mortal limitations. But be warned, little dove--if you lean on her too heavily, if you show weakness where strength is expected, I will not give my blessing."
My hands trembled slightly as nervous energy coursed through my veins, but beneath the fear burned a flame of fierce determination. I met her gaze directly, summoning every ounce of courage I possessed. "I will not disobey your will, Mistress. I will treat her with the respect she deserves, I promise on whatever remains of my soul."
At that touch, the scarred flesh beneath the woman's throat blazed with eldritch light, and understanding crashed over me like a tide of ice water. Belladonna. The name tasted of poison and petrichor on my tongue. She was beauty distilled into its most lethal form--a flower that bloomed in shadow.
Necromoria's grin spread across their gaunt features like a crack in dried earth, wide and malicious, revealing teeth that gleamed like yellowed bone. Their eyes narrowed to predatory slits as they loomed over me. With deliberate cruelty, they reached out and flipped my carefully braided plait with a sharp flick of their wrist. "Good luck, scion," they whispered, their voice a rasping chuckle that sent ice through my veins. "Hehehe."
Nightingale raised one elegant hand, her fingers moving in a graceful summoning gesture that commanded absolute obedience. Necromoria immediately glided to her side like a moth drawn to flame. For the first time in what felt like hours, I could draw a full breath. "We will be waiting," The Nightingale said, her voice carrying the finality of a funeral bell.
I steeled myself, pushing down the writhing mass of self-doubt that threatened to paralyze me. My spine straightened with newfound resolve, and I lifted my chin with as much dignity as I could muster. "I will not disappoint you, my lord. Thank you, Nightingale, for your blessing and your trust in me." My voice rang clearer now, steadier. "I am ready to undergo my trial." I turned toward the shadowed figure, extending my hand in a gesture of partnership. "Come, Belladonna."
Belladonna's response was barely more than a whisper carried on the stagnant air, her voice distant and hollow. She didn't meet my eyes, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the stone chairs, resigned to her fate like a prisoner accepting her chains. "...Yeah."
Necromoria swept into a mockery of courtly grace, their bow so theatrically deep it bordered on insult. Yet when they extended their hand, it was with the fluid elegance of a serpent offering an apple. The Nightingale accepted the gesture, her fingers intertwining with theirs as if sealing some unspoken pact. Then she turned that terrible gaze upon us--eyes like winter stars burning in an endless void, paired with a smile so achingly warm it could have melted frost from stone.
A writhing mass of shadow and spores erupted around the pair, dark particles dancing like malevolent snow in the air between worlds. Necromoria led her into that swirling void, and they dissolved together into the darkness, leaving only the echo of their presence and the sudden, oppressive weight of true silence. The woods held their breath. Now came the reckoning--and my long-overdue apology.
Thank you for reading the first chapter of my story, visit my Patreon 18+
https://www.patreon.com/c/RaccoonHandsCosplay
