Chapter 15: Chaos in Euclides da Cunha

Forest Path — 1666

The road back to Euclides da Cunha felt longer than Tetanus remembered. The Black Cube in his pouch weighed little, but its presence was oppressive, as if the object were whispering in his mind in an ancient tongue.

Al-Yasiin’s head, meanwhile, didn’t stop grumbling from inside the pouch, cursing every ten seconds of delay that kept them from civilization.

“By all the hells!” Al-Yasiin’s muffled voice complained. “You’re taking so long it’s like you’re trying to drive me mad before we get there!”

Tetanus simply ignored the complaints of the decapitated head he carried.

When they finally reached the tavern, the sun was setting, painting the village in shades of orange and casting long shadows. The same bald tavern keeper stared at him as he entered, eyes wide at Tetanus’s state—covered in dried blood, dirt, and something that looked like the bluish fluid of the cavern dwellers.

“Room,” Tetanus said, tossing a few coins onto the counter.

The tavern keeper grabbed the coins, bit one out of habit, and nodded, throwing him a rusty key. “Upstairs, last door on the right.”

Tetanus climbed the creaking stairs, entered the room, and locked the door behind him. The space was small, with a narrow bed, a cracked wooden table, and a nearly spent candle. He tossed the pouch onto the bed and pulled Al-Yasiin out, setting him upright on the table like a macabre ornament.

The decapitated god’s head looked around, nose wrinkled in disdain. “What a disgusting place. Smells like piss and cheap booze.”

“Fuck off,” Tetanus replied, sitting on the bed and taking a deep breath, his mind swirling with everything that had happened in the last few hours. “Now talk. What’s this Black Cube?”

Al-Yasiin sighed, as if dealing with an impatient child. “It’s a cosmic mistake, maggot. A piece of another world that shouldn’t be here.” His eyes gleamed with a strange fervor. “It fell from the sky like a meteor, centuries ago, when this land was just wilderness and naked natives. The locals found it, worshipped it as a god, and then… well, it started calling things.”

“What kind of things?” Tetanus pressed.

“Abominations. Creatures that don’t belong in this world. Things that make even my old kingdom look like a nursery.” Al-Yasiin frowned. “The cube is a kind of door that shouldn’t exist.”

Tetanus pulled the artifact from the pouch, holding it up to the faint candlelight. The black surface seemed to absorb the flame, the lines on it pulsing faintly, like veins under skin.

“And why does the Baron want it?”

“Because he’s a greedy idiot,” Al-Yasiin said. “Thinks he can control the cube’s power, use it to… I don’t know, rule the Empire? Get rich? The man’s a maggot with maggot dreams. But one thing he doesn’t know is that the cube doesn’t obey any maggot. It corrupts.”

Tetanus stored the cube again, his fingers tingling after touching it. “And why should I keep it?”

“Because I need it,” Al-Yasiin growled. “And you need me. That pact you made with the Princes of Hell? They won’t let you slip away so easily, cyclops. But I know their tricks. I know all the tricks.” His lips curled into a chilling smile. “Take me with you, give me the cube when I need it, and I’ll teach you how to survive this whole mess.”

Tetanus stayed silent for a moment, briefly wondering how Al-Yasiin knew about his pact, but at this point, he didn’t question anything anymore.

Trusting Al-Yasiin would be the last sensible thing to do. But he didn’t have many options either.

“Fine,” he finally said, standing. “But if you try to screw me over, I’ll toss you into the first river I find.”

Al-Yasiin laughed, a hoarse, toothy sound. “Fair enough. Now put me by the window. I want to see the sunset. Been centuries since I saw one.”

Tetanus grabbed the head and placed it on the windowsill, where the last rays of sunlight bathed the freckled face of the ancient god.

Outside, the village of Euclides da Cunha carried on its quiet life, oblivious to the greater horror Tetanus carried in his pouch.

Tetanus let out a dry laugh as he lay on the bed, almost in disbelief, staring at Al-Yasiin’s head on the windowsill.

“Killing gods?” He rubbed his face with a rough hand. “You’re talking like I’m some legendary hero. I’m nothing but a fucked-up mercenary who survived his own ruin.”

Al-Yasiin rolled his eyes, lips twisting into a sarcastic smile.

“Oh, sure, because ordinary mercenaries carry pacts with the Seven Princes and cosmic artifacts in their pouches, right?”

Tetanus ignored the jab. He stood, walking to the room’s window, where the last light of what passed for day painted the village blood-red.

“I have friends. Or… had.” His voice grew rougher as he mentioned them. Farpa, Gume, Zara, Lâmina. Names that stung like knife wounds. “Four years rotting in a dungeon while they—who knows what happened to them, trapped. If they’re even alive.”

Al-Yasiin watched Tetanus with a calculating gaze.

“So you want to ditch the cube and go chasing after your lost little buddies?” He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “How touching. But let’s not forget the tiny detail: YOU don’t have a choice.”

Tetanus turned, his yellow eye glinting with restrained fury.

“Everyone seems to think I don’t have a choice. The Princes of Hell threw me into this shit, and now you show up, another voice telling me what I have to do!”

“Oh, poor little mercenary with no autonomy,” Al-Yasiin mocked. “You already chose when you accepted the pact with the Princes of Hell, when you took the cube. Every step led you here, from your birth with the Anti-God’s mark, your fate was sealed. Now you want to run? Like a chicken? Cluck-cluck-coward!”

“I didn’t run from anything!” Tetanus slammed his fist into the wall, cracking the wood. “But I’m not going to go around like an obedient dog, whether for the Princes or a decapitated head!”

The room fell silent for a moment, only the sound of Tetanus’s heavy breathing echoing.

Al-Yasiin studied him, and then, surprisingly, his expression shifted. The arrogance gave way to something more calculated.

“Alright, cyclops. Let’s make a deal.” He tilted his head (as much as a head could). “You want to find your little friends? Fine. I’ll help you. But the cube stays with us. Don’t give it to the Baron. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, and if that artifact falls into the wrong hands…”

“Whose wrong hands? Yours?” Tetanus cut in.

“No. Theirs, you maggot-brained fool,” Al-Yasiin scowled. “The Princes of Hell aren’t the only ones hunting this little cube. There are worse things out there.”

Tetanus crossed his arms.

“And how do you suggest I find my friends?”

“The Baron could be useful,” Al-Yasiin admitted. “He has contacts, eyes all over the Empire. But don’t tell him about the cube. Lie. Say the dungeon was empty. That you found nothing.”

“And if he doesn’t believe me?”

“Then you kill him, and we get out of here,” Al-Yasiin replied, as if it were obvious. “But first, ask for information. Mercenaries like yours… someone knows where they are. We just need to ask the right people.”

Tetanus stayed silent, weighing his options. He didn’t like political games. He didn’t trust Al-Yasiin. But the thought of finding his friends… that was worth the risk.

“Fine,” he finally said, grabbing the head and stuffing it back into the pouch, ignoring Al-Yasiin’s protests. “Tomorrow, I’ll talk to the Baron. But if this is a trap…”

“Oh, please,” Al-Yasiin’s muffled voice came from inside the pouch. “If it was a trap, I’d have burned you alive by now.”

Tetanus smirked, humorless.

“Doubt it.”

He snuffed out the candle and threw himself onto the bed, staring at the dark ceiling, replaying every year of his life that had led him here—fights, betrayals, discoveries, friends, enemies, and losses, so many losses.

Euclides da Cunha, Tame Ox Tavern, 1666

Tetanus woke with a start, another nightmare. The image of crows from his dream remained vivid: black wings blotting out the sky, beaks tearing into his flesh, and a guttural voice whispering his name.

He rubbed his face, feeling the spiral mark on his chest pulse. The pouch beside the bed was quiet, but he knew Al-Yasiin wouldn’t stay silent for long.

A soft knock at the door made him lift his head. He rose, walking slowly to the door and opening it cautiously.

A skinny boy, likely the tavern keeper’s helper, held a tray with a plate of hard beans, a piece of dried meat, and a glass of murky water. “Your food,” the boy muttered, avoiding Tetanus’s gaze before scampering down the hall.

Tetanus took the tray, closed the door, and devoured the food quickly, without savoring it. The beans were cold, the meat too salty, but he didn’t care—he needed energy for what lay ahead.

As he chewed, he grabbed the pouch, opened it, and looked at Al-Yasiin’s head, which stared back with a sarcastic smile. “Sleep well, maggot?” the head asked, its voice as acidic as ever. “Or did the crows peck you down to the bone?”

Tetanus swallowed the last piece of meat and wiped his hands on his pants. “How do you know about the Baron?” he asked. “You said he’s messing with the wrong stuff. What do you know about him?”

Al-Yasiin laughed, his yellowed teeth glinting in the faint dawn light filtering through the window. “I know things. Labatut’s a name that’s echoed in the shadows for years. He was a general once, but now he’s a relic collector, obsessed with power he doesn’t understand. He has contacts in dark places. But in the end, he’s just a maggot thinking he can control the Black Cube. And you will be too, if you hand it over to him.”

Tetanus stuffed the head back into the pouch, slinging it over his shoulder. He checked the silver sword in its sheath, glanced at the Black Cube in the pouch one last time, and left the room, descending the tavern’s creaking stairs.

The tavern keeper watched him from the corner of his eye but said nothing. The main street of Euclides da Cunha was quiet, with fewer people each day.

Tetanus walked straight to Pierre Labatut’s grand house at the top of the hill. At the iron gate, the guards recognized him, but their faces were tense, as if they feared what he’d brought from the dungeon. “The Baron’s waiting,” one said, opening the gate.

Tetanus nodded and knocked on the manor’s door, the sound echoing through the stone courtyard. A malnourished black youth opened the door, leading him to the same grand room where he and Labatut had spoken before. The dark tapestries and iron chandelier still cast dancing shadows, but the air felt heavier now, thick with a tension Tetanus could feel on his skin.

Pierre Labatut sat in his cushioned chair, the silver-handled cane resting on his knee. His deep blue eyes gleamed as he saw Tetanus, a cold smile curling his lips.

“You’re back,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with surprise. “Few return from that dungeon. What did you bring, Tetanus?”

Tetanus stayed standing, his hand already tense near the sword’s hilt. Al-Yasiin’s muffled voice began whispering from the pouch, almost inaudible: “Kill him, kill him, kill him!”

Tetanus ignored the head, keeping his gaze fixed on the Baron. “No artifacts,” he lied, voice firm. “The dungeon was empty. Just bones and monsters. But I didn’t come here empty-handed. I want information.”

Labatut raised an eyebrow, his cold smile unwavering. “Information? Interesting. And what kind of information does a man like you seek?”

“My friends,” Tetanus said, choosing his words carefully. “They were mercenaries, like me. Part of a group in Minas Gerais, called The Last Comradeship. Four years ago, they vanished. I want to know where they are, if they’re alive. You have contacts, Baron. You must know something.”

Al-Yasiin’s voice kept whispering, more insistent: “Kill him now, cyclops! Don’t trust this maggot!” Tetanus clenched his teeth, struggling to stay composed.

Labatut leaned back in his chair, tapping the cane against the floor in a slow rhythm, his eyes studying Tetanus. “The Last Comradeship…” he murmured, as if tasting the name. “A name I’ve heard, yes. Mercenaries from Minas Gerais, right? Tough men and women, but it seems they got into trouble with the Empire. Or with someone dangerous.” He paused, his gaze narrowing. “Why so much interest, Tetanus? And why should I help you without seeing what you brought from the dungeon?”

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The tension in the air thickened, the silence between Labatut’s words heavy with suspicion.

Amid it all, Al-Yasiin kept whispering: “Kill him, kill him, end this!” Tetanus gripped the sword’s hilt, muscles taut, feeling closer to an inevitable clash.

Without taking his eyes off Labatut, Tetanus slowly opened the pouch, ignoring Al-Yasiin’s grumbling, and pulled out the human-skin bible he’d found in the dungeon.

The pinkish cover, with faint veins pulsing beneath the surface, looked even more grotesque under the chandelier’s flickering light.

He tossed the book onto the polished wooden table between them, the impact echoing in the silent room. “Found this,” Tetanus said, voice firm but cautious. “*The Birth of a God*. Not what you wanted, but it’s something. In exchange, I want to know more about my friends. Where are Farpa, Gume, Zara, and Lâmina?”

Labatut leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with icy interest as he examined the bible. He reached out, his long, pale fingers brushing the cover, and Tetanus noticed a slight tremor in his expression, as if the Baron recognized the object’s value. “Fascinating…” Labatut murmured, opening the book carefully, the pages crackling like dry parchment. “A rare relic… You have no idea what you’ve brought, Tetanus.” He looked up, the cold smile returning. “But it’s not the artifact I asked for. The Black Cube. You swear you didn’t find it?”

Tetanus held the Baron’s gaze. “Just carrion and dick-swinging monsters, like I said,” he replied, voice dry. “But if you want more, give me something in return. My friends. What do you know about them?”

Labatut closed the bible with a snap, leaning back in his chair.

“The Last Comradeship…” he said, his tone almost thoughtful. “Yes, I know of one. Gume, the big black guy, right? A man with the strength of a bull. The Empire took him, Tetanus. Forcibly recruited into the imperial army in exchange for his freedom. They saw potential in him—a warrior who could crush rebels without blinking. But he had no choice, of course. The Empire never makes kind invitations.”

Tetanus felt a knot in his stomach, the image of Gume—the friend who always laughed loudly, even in the worst situations—now chained to the Empire, making him clench his fists. “And the others?” he asked, voice more urgent.

Labatut raised a hand, as if asking for patience. “Information comes at a cost, my friend. You brought this bible, and that’s a start. But if you want more, I need something more… substantial. Let’s make a deal. Meet me at midnight, at the abandoned chapel on the north side. Bring whatever else you found in the dungeon, and I’ll tell you what I know about your friends.”

Al-Yasiin’s voice erupted from the pouch, still muffled but furious: “Kill him now! He’s stringing you along! Don’t trust this maggot!” Tetanus pressed the pouch against himself, silencing the head.

“Midnight, then,” Tetanus said, voice sharp. “But you’d better have something useful, Baron. I don’t like wasting time.”

“Don’t worry, Tetanus. I always keep my end of the bargain.” He waved a hand, dismissing him. “Until then.”

Tetanus turned to leave through the front door, Al-Yasiin’s voice still whispering: “You’re really that dumb, huh? He knows you’re lying! Kill him before he kills you!”

Euclides da Cunha, Abandoned Chapel, Midnight, 1666

The night in Euclides da Cunha was thick, the starless sky covered by dark clouds that seemed to swallow the moonlight. Tetanus walked the steep path leading to the abandoned chapel atop the northern hill, the cold wind cutting through his dirty chainmail.

Al-Yasiin’s head, tied to his waist, wouldn’t stop grumbling. “This is a trap, maggot,” the decapitated god’s muffled voice hissed. “Labatut’s not just some old man with a cane. He reeks of cosmic rot. You should’ve killed him in that mansion, like I said!”

The chapel loomed ahead, a crumbling stone structure with a collapsed roof and broken stained-glass windows reflecting the faint light of a lone torch burning inside.

He gripped the silver sword’s hilt, feeling the weight of the impending encounter, and pushed open the chapel’s broken door, the creak echoing into the darkness.

Inside, the torchlight illuminated Pierre Labatut, standing in the chapel’s center, his silver-handled cane planted in the ground like a spear. His blue eyes glowed with an unnatural intensity.

“Punctual,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with menace. “I’m impressed, Tetanus. Few have the courage to come here at midnight.”

Tetanus stood at the entrance, hand on his sword, body tense. “The information,” he said, voice dry. “Where are my friends?”

Labatut laughed softly, pulling a folded document from his coat and tossing it onto the dusty floor between them. “Gume, your big guy. He’s in Salvador, serving in the imperial army. A fort under construction on the coast. The document has the details. But…” He tilted his head, gaze sharp. “You know I didn’t come here just for that. The Black Cube. I know you have it, Tetanus. Hand it over now.”

Al-Yasiin’s voice erupted from the pouch, a furious whisper: “I told you, cyclops! Kill him! He’s playing you!” Tetanus slowly crouched, picking up the document and storing it in the pouch without taking his eyes off Labatut.

“I don’t have any cube,” he lied. “You’ve got the skin book. That’s all I found.”

Labatut sighed, the sound heavy with impatience. “Don’t lie to me, mercenary. I can feel it.” He struck the cane against the ground, the sound echoing like thunder. “Give me the Black Cube, or you won’t leave this chapel alive.”

Before Tetanus could respond, Labatut made a quick gesture, and two figures emerged from the shadows behind him.

Assassins, clad in dark cloaks, their faces hidden by leather masks. One carried a curved dagger, the other a chain with weighted ends. They moved with supernatural speed, surrounding Tetanus in a blink.

Tetanus acted on instinct. The silver sword flashed as he drew it, slicing the air in a precise arc. The first assassin, with the dagger, lunged, but Tetanus dodged, his blade tearing through the man’s chest with a wet sound. The man fell, blood pooling on the stone floor.

The second spun the chain, aiming for Tetanus, but he rolled aside, the chain striking a column and raising a cloud of dust. Tetanus charged, driving his sword into the assassin’s throat before he could react. The body crumpled, lifeless, as Al-Yasiin laughed loudly from the pouch: “That’s it, cyclops! Chop them to pieces!”

Tetanus turned to Labatut, panting, the sword dripping blood. But the Baron didn’t seem concerned. He tossed the cane to the ground, and then something horrific began to happen.

His human form contorted, bones cracking like dry branches. His skin stretched and tore, revealing a grotesque body that grew to seven meters tall, covered in shaggy black fur. His feet swelled into round, deformed stumps, supporting a hunched, grotesquely muscular frame. His hands elongated, ending in massive claws that scraped the floor. His hair, now long and wild, fell over his shoulders, the transformation retaining the sideburns of its former bearer, and in the center of his forehead, a single red eye glowed, fixing on Tetanus.

His teeth, large as elephant tusks, jutted from his mouth, curving outward like horns. The monster Labatut was real, an abomination cloaked in human skin.

“You don’t understand what you carry, mercenary!” Labatut’s voice, now a guttural roar, echoed through the chapel. “The Black Cube is mine! Hand it over, or I’ll rip your soul out with it!”

Tetanus took a step back, sword raised, the mark on his chest burning so intensely he groaned in pain. Al-Yasiin, still in the pouch, shouted: “This is what I warned you about, you idiot maggot! He’s not human! Kill him now!”

The abandoned chapel trembled with Labatut’s roar, the stone walls creaking under the pressure of his monstrous form. Tetanus tasted the metallic tang of fear on his tongue but didn’t hesitate. He’d faced worse.

Or at least, that’s what he tried to believe.

The monster charged with absurd speed for its size, its giant claws slashing through the air toward Tetanus. He rolled aside, feeling the rush of air as the claws passed inches from his face. The silver sword gleamed as he counterattacked, driving it into the monster’s flank.

Black blood spurted, but Labatut laughed, a deep, distorted sound that echoed like thunder.

“Silver tools?” he spat, yanking the sword from his body like it was a thorn. “That won’t kill me, you insolent fool!”

Tetanus didn’t respond. Instead, he spat on the ground and drew his hunting knife, aiming for the red eye in the monster’s forehead.

Al-Yasiin shouted from the pouch: “The eye, cyclops! Stab the damn eye!”

Labatut sensed the intent and roared, slamming a deformed foot into the ground. The impact cracked the chapel’s floor, throwing Tetanus back. He crashed into a wall, pain exploding in his back, but he was up in an instant, teeth gritted.

The monster charged again, its claws gouging deep furrows in the stone floor. Tetanus waited until the last moment, then dove aside, letting Labatut barrel past. With a swift move, he drove the knife into the monster’s deformed knee, twisting the blade.

Labatut howled in pain, staggering but not falling. Instead, it spun with a sudden lurch, striking Tetanus in the chest with a blow that sent him flying. He crashed into the chapel’s stone altar, feeling something break inside him. Blood filled his mouth.

“Get up, you maggot!” Al-Yasiin bellowed. “He’s strong, but you’re smarter! Use the environment!”

Tetanus quickly scanned the room. The chapel was in ruins, but there were still useful things—fallen iron chandelier, rotten wooden beams, scattered debris.

Labatut advanced again, frothing with rage, his massive teeth glinting in the faint light.

Tetanus grabbed a sharp piece of wood from the floor and hurled it at the monster’s eye.

Labatut dodged at the last moment, but the distraction was enough. Tetanus darted aside, grabbing the heavy iron chandelier and, with a grunt, hurled it like a spear at the monster’s chest.

The metal struck true, embedding in the dark, furry flesh. Labatut screamed but still didn’t fall.

“Need more silver, you idiot!” Al-Yasiin snarled.

Tetanus had no time. The monster was furious now, attacking wildly, smashing columns and walls with its blows.

Then Tetanus spotted Labatut’s silver cane, discarded on the floor during the transformation.

He dove for it, rolling between the monster’s claws, and grabbed the cane. He felt the weight of the precious metal, the handle etched with ancient runes.

Labatut noticed and roared frantically. “GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE BRAT!”

Tetanus leaped, driving the cane’s sharp end straight into Labatut’s red eye.

The monster shuddered, an agonized scream escaping its throat. Its body began to convulse. Still, it didn’t fall—blinded in its only eye, the monster Labatut resisted.

The monster Labatut, now blind in its single red eye, which oozed viscous pus down its furry forehead, let out a roar that made the chapel’s stones tremble. With a sudden lurch, it spun its massive body, giant claws slashing the air, and charged toward the chapel’s broken window.

The impact of its escape shattered what remained of the stained glass, shards flying like deadly confetti. The monster vanished into the night, its roar echoing as it descended the hill toward Euclides da Cunha.

“Damn it!” Tetanus spat, ignoring the throbbing pain in his chest where Labatut had struck him. Al-Yasiin’s voice erupted from the pouch, frantic: “Go after him, cyclops! He’ll destroy the village! Kill that thing before it summons something worse!”

Tetanus needed no urging. He grabbed the silver sword from the ground, sheathed his hunting knife, and ran after the monster, the pouch slapping against his thigh as he descended the steep path.

The village was in chaos when Tetanus arrived. The dirt streets, once quiet, now echoed with screams of panic.

In the central square, Labatut held a man by the neck, the poor soul’s body already limp, his head crushed between the monster’s claws. Blood and pus dripped from Labatut’s ruined eye, mingling with the dark fluid oozing from his toothy maw. He roared, hurling the corpse into a house, which collapsed in a cloud of dust.

Tetanus charged, the silver sword gleaming under the faint light of scattered torches.

“Hey, you bastard!” he shouted, drawing the monster’s attention. Labatut turned, the empty eye socket leaving a trail of pus, and let out a guttural bellow, charging at him. Tetanus rolled aside as a claw tried to crush him, feeling the ground shake with the impact. He countered, driving the sword into the monster’s furry flank, but the blade barely pierced the thick flesh. Labatut spun, its makeshift tail—a mass of fur and twisted flesh—striking Tetanus and throwing him into a market stall.

Al-Yasiin’s voice came from the pouch, laced with sarcasm even amid the chaos: “Great plan, cyclops! Die crushed in a dried fish stall! Try the eye again, you donkey!”

Tetanus stood, spitting blood, and saw something unexpected. Some villagers, armed with hoes, stones, and even pots, began appearing in the streets, shouting and hurling objects at Labatut. An old man threw a stone that hit the monster’s head, while a woman tossed an iron pot that bounced off its shoulder. They did no real damage but distracted the creature, giving Tetanus a chance.

He ran, using a wrecked cart as a springboard to leap onto Labatut’s back. The monster thrashed, trying to reach him with its claws, but Tetanus grabbed the long, wild hair, climbing to the nape.

With a shout, he drove the silver sword into the space where the ruined eye still bled, twisting the blade with all his strength. Labatut roared, the sound so loud it made the villagers cover their ears, and staggered, its round feet faltering as it tried to balance.

Tetanus didn’t stop. He yanked the silver sword, still embedded in the eye, and, with a brutal thrust, drove it deeper, feeling the metal scrape something solid—perhaps the creature’s larynx. Labatut let out a final scream, a sound blending rage and despair, and finally collapsed, its massive body crushing what remained of the central square.

The ground shook with the impact, and a cloud of dust rose, blanketing the village in silence for a moment.

Tetanus slid off the monster’s body, panting, his chest burning with the spiral mark. The villagers approached slowly, some still clutching their makeshift weapons, their faces pale with fear and relief. Al-Yasiin, from the pouch, seized the moment: “Not bad, cyclops. You’re not *that* useless. Now grab a trophy! Show you’re the alpha male!”

Tetanus ignored the taunt but approached the monster’s head. The teeth, large as elephant tusks, still gleamed under the torchlight. He chose one, a curved, yellowish horn, and used his hunting knife to pry it free with a wet snap.

The tooth was heavy, curved, the size of a man. Tetanus held it as proof of what he’d faced. The villagers stared, some muttering words of gratitude, others simply in shock. Tetanus didn’t care for their admiration.

He grabbed the pouch, checking that the Black Cube and Gume’s document were still there, now with a new goal in mind. Onward to Salvador, where Gume was held by the imperial army.

Tetanus stood still for a moment, Labatut’s curved tooth in hand, its weight almost as oppressive as the Black Cube in his pouch.

The central square of Euclides da Cunha was in ruins, debris scattered and the monster Labatut’s grotesque body sprawled like a furry, lifeless mountain. The stench of black blood and pus mingled with the smell of dust and charred wood. The villagers, still gripping their hoes and pots, kept their distance, their faces wavering between relief and terror.

Al-Yasiin’s voice broke the silence, muffled from the pouch: “Not bad, cyclops! Killed the beast and got a souvenir. Now, how about getting out of this hole before more trouble shows up? That cube in your pouch isn’t exactly subtle, you know.”

Tetanus nodded silently, unable to deny the truth in his words. The Black Cube seemed to pulse more intensely now, as if Labatut’s death had awakened something within it.

He stepped away from the monster’s body, heading toward the Tame Ox Tavern. The main street was quiet, save for the murmurs of villagers beginning to gather, trying to comprehend what they’d just witnessed.

Tetanus didn’t look back. He needed a plan, supplies, and above all, a horse to reach Salvador. The document about Gume, tucked in the pouch, was his only solid lead, but he knew the Empire wouldn’t release his friend without a fight.

At the tavern, the bald tavern keeper stood at the door, eyes wide as he clutched a broom like a weapon. “You… you killed that thing?” he asked, voice trembling. Tetanus merely grunted, carrying the creature’s tooth as he passed, climbing the creaking stairs to his room. He locked the door, tossed the pouch onto the bed, and pulled out Al-Yasiin, setting the head on the cracked table. The decapitated god stared at him, the sarcastic smile still fixed on his lips.

“So, cyclops, what’s the plan?” Al-Yasiin asked, eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and provocation. “Gonna race to Salvador after your big buddy? Or finally listen to me and figure out what that cube can really do?”

Tetanus pulled the document from the pouch, unfolding it carefully. It was a military report, sealed with the Brazilian Empire’s crest—a crown over a green and yellow shield. It stated that Gume, identified as “the black man of immense strength,” had been taken to a fort under construction on Salvador’s coast, under the command of a captain named Marshal Deodoro Fonseca.

The text mentioned Gume had been “rehabilitated” after serving a sentence for unspecified crimes, but Tetanus knew “rehabilitated” was just a euphemism for forced servitude. He clenched his fists, crumpling the paper. Gume, as Tetanus knew him, didn’t deserve this.

“Salvador,” Tetanus muttered, more to himself than Al-Yasiin. “I’ll get Gume. Then I’ll find the others.”

Al-Yasiin laughed, the harsh sound filling the room. “So noble, cyclops. But you’re forgetting one detail: the Black Cube. It won’t leave you alone. And now that you’ve killed Labatut, others will sense it. Their lackeys, or worse. You think you can just carry that thing around like it’s a bottle of cachaça?”

Tetanus took the Black Cube from the pouch, holding it in his hand. “What does it do, exactly?” he asked, voice low, almost wary. “You said it’s a door. To where?”

“It’s not just a door, maggot. It’s a key. To places you don’t want to know, but that’ll find you if you keep carrying it. It calls abominations, Tetanus. But it can also lead you to my enemies—the gods who reduced me to this.” He gestured to himself with a chin movement. “My tormentors. If you want freedom, want your friends, you need power. And the cube is power. But only if you know how to use it.”

Tetanus stored the cube. “And how do I use it?”

“Patience, cyclops,” Al-Yasiin said, the smile returning. “First, Salvador. Find your friend. But don’t give the cube to anyone. And, for the love of the hells, stay sharp. Because whatever Labatut was, he wasn’t alone. Others will come.”

Tetanus nodded, but suspicion still weighed in his chest. “I’ll get a horse,” he said, standing. “I leave at dawn.”

Al-Yasiin laughed again. “A horse? Good luck, cyclops. In this backwater, you’ll have to steal one. And if you’re stealing, get a good one. None of that nag nonsense.”

Tetanus ignored the taunt, but a corner of his mouth curved into a half-smile.