A collective gasp, ragged and raw, ripped through the airship’s deck. Then another, louder, dissolving into a cacophony of retching and horrified cries. The paladins, still disoriented from Durosh’s mat-shaking, stared up at the impossible display. Their weapons, once held with unwavering conviction, clattered to the metal plating like dead weights. Axes, maces, consecrated lances—each fell with a hollow clang, forgotten. Faith, the bedrock of their existence, fractured and crumbled into dust before their very eyes. “The… the Glorious Ascendants…” a young recruit, barely old enough to shave, whimpered, his face ashen. He pointed a trembling finger at the projected image of the bloated, siphoning fiends. “They… they are… worms?” Around him, seasoned veterans, whose faces had witnessed countless horrors without flinching, now wept openly. Some fell to their knees, clutching their heads, their minds unable to reconcile the hideous reality with generations of sacred teachings. The 'Sun-Spire' was not a beacon of light but a feeding tube for grotesque parasites. The 'Holy Summons' were not acts of piety but nutrient-rich offerings. The foundational structure of their world, built on devotion and the promise of celestial blessings, imploded. Panic, cold and sharp, began to spread. Not the panic of battle, but of utter, existential despair. The crew members, those not directly part of the fighting contingent, stared down at the Shard-Lands below, as if seeing it anew, stripped of its holy veneer. What had they been fighting for? What had they been sacrificing for? Below, Vankar, his gaze fixed on the unfolding horror in the sky, felt a profound emptiness in his gut. The projected leeches, so alien and vile, pulsed with the energy he’d been taught to revere. His own ancestors, the very bloodline that had sworn loyalty to the Tribunal, had been unwitting shepherds to these… things. A cold despair settled over him, until a sudden, warm weight dropped into his waiting hand. He looked down. It was the Sun-Core, no longer radiating the ominous red countdown, but a gentle, steady warmth. It pulsed with a soft, comforting thrum against his palm. Durosh, still standing casually on the flagship’s deck, had simply tossed it down. Vankar traced the familiar lines of the heirloom, now cleansed of its malevolent purpose. He felt a deep, resonant peace emanate from within the artifact, a quiet sigh of release. The tormented souls, trapped within its circuits, had finally found their rest. Generations of familial anguish dissolved into a profound calm, leaving behind only the pure, raw power of the Sun-Core itself. Above, the flagship groaned. The widespread faith-shock had not only paralyzed the crew but had also destabilized the airship’s fundamental operating principles. Holy power, the very force that kept the airship aloft, relied on the unified, ardent belief of its adherents. With that belief shattered, the intricate wards and lift-sigils flickered, sputtered, and died. The massive vessel began to tilt, slowly at first, then with an accelerating, sickening lurch. From the central command cabin, a door ripped inward with a shriek of tortured metal. A figure emerged, something far more ancient and terrifying. It was the High Priest, Kothar himself, no longer concealed by the illusion of a frail old man. His skin, once wrinkled and pale, now stretched taut and translucent, revealing pulsating veins beneath. His eyes, sunken and black, burned with an infernal rage. His robes, once pristine, shredded to reveal a chitinous, segmented body, eerily similar to the leeches projected across the sky, only smaller, denser, and far more malevolent. He was a prime, a direct conduit. “My sustenance! My harvest!” the hierarch shrieked, his voice a guttural rasp that grated on the remaining sanity of the crew. “You! Void-Emperor! You have poisoned the well! Ruined my flock! You will answer for this sacrilege!” He lunged, not at Durosh, but at the very fabric of the ship itself. Tendrils, thick and ropy, burst from his back, tearing through the deck plating. The metal groaned and screamed as it was subsumed. Kothar’s body, already engorged, began to swell further, merging with the ship’s structure. What had once been an engine of holy war began to twist and contort, its gleaming hull rippling like muscle. The intricate sigils that once adorned its flanks shifted, transforming into glowing, malevolent eyes. The fore-decks elongated into a gaping maw of sharpened metal, engines becoming joints, and propulsion vents reshaping into powerful, articulated limbs. The warship was being consumed, reformed, given hideous, mechanical life. “The blasphemer… he is becoming one with the craft!” Vankar shouted, his voice hoarse with alarm. The ground below him began to tremble, the sheer size of the descending abomination casting a rapidly expanding shadow. Durosh watched, a faint crease forming between his brows. The creature, a truly unholy fusion of flesh and sanctified steel, roared, a sound that tore through the air and reverberated through the very bones of the Shard-Lands. Its new form was clearly visible now—a mechanized leviathan, larger than any beast known to the world, its numerous eyes fixed with hateful intent on a single, insignificant point below. His mud hut. The amalgam, a mountain of corrupted faith and repurposed steel, began its final, accelerating descent, a literal weaponized god-ship aimed squarely at Durosh’s quiet home. Its trajectory was perfect, designed to obliterate the very spot where Durosh tended his precious flowerbed. The bulk was a colossal, falling fist, poised to smash his perfectly swept porch and flatten his newly planted tomato sprouts. The beast's rage was absolute, its target undeniable. Durosh, still standing on the rapidly transforming deck, found himself faced with a choice, immediate and stark: either abandon the plummeting, crew-laden hulk, letting it crash and kill every soul aboard, or somehow divert the colossal leviathan, saving both the dying crew and his beloved—and now directly threatened—mud hut.

The Leech and the Leviathan