Sulphur God

Burning. That's what wakes you. The acrid smell of smoke fills your lungs before your eyes even open.

The tent canvas above you glows orange. Shouts and screams echo from outside. You sit up, confused. The fair was peaceful.

The tent flap tears open. Zadfil's massive form blocks the entrance, the blue light in his skull-face pulsing.

"Need go." He says urgently.

Before you can respond, he scoops you up. One moment you're in the tent, the next you're in his arms as he runs through chaos. The fair is engulfed in flames. People scatter in all directions, abandoning stalls and possessions.

Zadfil's pace is relentless. His breathing comes in harsh grunts as he carries you away from the burning tents. The night sky glows red with reflected fire.

Something moves above the flames. At first, you think it's smoke forming shapes. Then you see it clearly, a massive winged creature circling the destruction. Its scales shimmer. When it opens its mouth, a stream of blue-white fire engulfs another section of the fair.

A dragon. The legends are real.

Zadfil sees a path between two rock formations and sprints toward it. The dragon banks sharply overhead, its shadow passing across the ground before you.

The beast dives. Zadfil stumbles on loose stones. You both fall.

Split second before impact, Zadfil twists his body. You land on sand. He lands on you, covering your body with his. His massive form shields you completely.

The heat comes first. Then the roar. It fills the world, drowns everything else. Through gaps in Zadfil's protective embrace, you see blue flame washing over the rocks around you.

Zadfil presses closer. His body jerks as the fire torches his back. You expect him to howl in pain, but instead, he begins to sing. The words are broken, fragments rising and falling between his labored breaths.

"Boh gadông... bi boh..."

He gasps as another wave of heat washes over you both.

"...kayèe uteun..."

His voice cracks with emotion. Something wet falls on your face, tears, somehow flowing from the empty sockets of his skull face.

"Rayek... sinyak..."

The blue light pulses dimmer with each stuttered phrase.

"...hana peu ma..."

The dragon's roar grows louder. The heat becomes unbearable. Zadfil's singing falters into whispers.

"'Ayéb ngön... keuji..."

You reach up to touch his skull face. The bone is hot under your fingers.

"...ureueng dônya..."

The final word never comes. The blue light in his eye sockets suddenly flares.

---

You wake up with fur tickling your nose. Zadfil's tail swats across your face before he pulls it back.

"Hi," he says, the blue light in his eye sockets brightening. "You wake?"

He lets out a sound somewhere between a growl and a chuckle before walking toward the main chamber of the cave. His claws click against the stone floor.

It has been four years since you arrived in this world. Your memories of that first day remain vivid, waking up beneath an unfamiliar sky, the twin moons overhead making you realize you were somewhere impossible. You wandered the desert, dehydrated and confused, until you collapsed in the shadow of a dead tree.

That's where Zadfil found you. You remember looking up at his monstrous form, the skull face, the glowing blue eyes, the dark fur, and feeling too exhausted to even be afraid. He approached cautiously, as if he expected you to scream or run. When you didn't, he seemed confused, tilting his head in a gesture that would become familiar over time.

You were a lost soul. Ripped from your world and abandoned in this harsh desert. You're not entirely sure what he is. The locals call his kind "Hollowbeasts" with terror in their voices, but Zadfil is nothing like the stories they tell, of mindless monsters that tear settlements apart in bloodthirsty rampages. Once, in the market, you overheard an old woman warning children about creatures with glowing red eyes that hunt at night, but Zadfil's eyes are blue, a distinction that seems significant though you don't understand why.

The language of this wasteland happened to be something you could understand when spoken, though the written symbols remained indecipherable. Zadfil would often bring you scraps of paper or carved signs, asking what certain words meant, his blue eye-lights brightening with each translation.

In those early days, you still believed someone would come for you, that whatever cosmic mistake brought you here would be corrected. You watched the skies, waited for signs. Eventually, you accepted the truth. They had abandoned you here, whoever "they" were. This was your world now, and Zadfil was your only ally.

You follow him into the larger space where morning light shines through cracks in the ceiling. The cave looks nothing like when you first found it. Now there are woven rugs covering parts of the floor, shelves carved into the walls holding various trinkets, and a fire pit in the center with smooth stones arranged around it.

Zadfil hands you a wooden bowl of dried fruits. "Breakfast," he says, tilting his skull-face. "We will find something more baik in the market later."

You've learned that "baik" means "good" in one of his languages. He often mixes words from three different tongues, especially when tired or excited. Sometimes he'll speak entire sentences in languages you can't understand, usually when he's talking to himself or having nightmares.

He moves to a small alcove where he keeps his clothes. For a creature covered in fur, he's surprisingly particular about dressing properly for town visits. He pulls on loose white gauzy pants, then a plain poncho. You remember when he first acquired those clothes, from terrified travelers who abandoned their packs when they spotted him. He'd brought the clothing back to the cave, explaining in his broken way that "maybe people less takut if I wear human things." His attempt to appear less monstrous. The blue scarf comes last, his prized possession, given to him by nomads he encountered in the desert. He once admitted they probably only gave it to him because they were terrified.

"Hurry, pasar will be ramai soon," he says, using more words you don't recognize but have come to understand mean the market will be crowded.

You've seen so many sides of him that others never would. Like how he sits for hours picking fleas from his fur, grumbling curses in his native tongue. Once, you laughed at his contortions trying to reach his back, and he threw a small stone at you, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to express his annoyance.

When the town market grows too crowded with midday shoppers, he lifts you without warning to straddle his shoulders, your legs dangling against his chest. "Better you see from up," he explains, his hands steadying your calves. "Less chance terpisah."

During your first sandstorm, when the air filled with stinging particles and visibility dropped to nothing, he pulled you against his chest and wrapped his poncho around you both. "Breathe here," he instructed, creating a pocket of filtered air. "My fur catch the pasir." You stayed huddled together for hours, his large form blocking the worst of the storm.

Last rainy season, he dragged you outside the cave, his blue eye-lights pulsing with excitement. He spun in circles with his face turned upward, letting the water soak his fur. When you stayed under the cave entrance, he grabbed your hand and pulled you into the downpour, making that strange laughing sound again.

That night, when you caught a cold from the drenching, he paced the cave anxiously. He collected herbs he normally avoided because of their smell and brewed a tea that tasted horrible but broke your fever. He slept beside you, his large form curled protectively around yours, occasionally muttering words that sounded like "jangan mati" over and over.

He's meticulous about certain things. Food must be properly cleaned. Hands must be washed before eating, he'll swat your fingers away from your mouth if you forget. The cave must be swept daily. "Nanti sakit," he insists, though you have no idea what it means.

Sometimes you catch him staring at nothing, the blue in his sockets dimming to almost nothing. Once, you found him tracing patterns in the sand outside the cave, what looked like a crude drawing of a woman and a child. When he noticed you watching, he erased it with a violent sweep of his arm and disappeared into the desert for two days.

He sings sometimes, when he thinks you're asleep. Melancholy tunes in a language full of flowing vowels. The songs make the blue light flicker like a candle.

"Ready?" he asks, adjusting his scarf to better hide his skull face. "We need beli... buy new water skins. Yang lama udah rusak."

The desert sun is harsh, and the townspeople are harsher toward strangers. But with Zadfil beside you, this creature they fear who carefully picks berries for your breakfast and panics when you're sick, you feel safer than you've ever been.

As you leave the cave, he does something he's taken to doing every morning, he touches your shoulder gently, as if making sure you're real. The gesture is brief, almost embarrassed, but it happens without fail each day.

"Good day today," he says with certainty.

---

Zadfil hunches over the flat rocks, sorting through the dried lizards and skins he collected last week. His clawed fingers work with surprising delicacy, separating the best specimens and arranging them by size. The desert lizard skins are surprisingly valuable in the nearby town, their oils used for medicine and their patterns prized by crafters.

"These good," he says, holding up a particularly colorful specimen. "Maybe three gold pieces." He packs them carefully into a leather satchel and hands it to you.

Today is market day. The routine you've established over four years unfolds with practiced efficiency. You gather the trading supplies while Zadfil checks the perimeter of your cave home, making sure no predators or wandering tribes have ventured too close.

When everything is ready, Zadfil crouches down. "Climb," he says simply.

You settle onto his back, arms around his neck, careful not to pull his fur. With a grunt, he rises and drops to all fours. Despite his size, he moves with surprising speed across the sand, taking a winding path through narrow canyons where the towering rock walls hide you both from distant eyes.

The journey has become routine, but you never tire of it, the wind in your skin, the steady rhythm of Zadfil's breathing, the way his ears occasionally twitch when he catches distant sounds you can't hear.

As you approach the town, Zadfil slows and rises to his hind legs. He adjusts his clothing and pulls the blue scarf over his skull-face, creating a deep hood that casts his features in shadow. From a distance, he could pass for a very tall desert nomad.

"Remember," he says, as he always does before entering populated areas, "stay close. Any trouble, we go."

The market square buzzes with activity. Colorful awnings flutter in the hot breeze. Merchants shout prices. Children weave between stalls. You and Zadfil claim your usual spot near the edge of the square, where an overhanging building provides extra shade.

You lay out the lizard skins on a cloth while Zadfil arranges himself beside you, hunched to appear shorter. Even sitting, he towers over most passersby.

"Fresh kulit kadal! Very bagus quality!" Zadfil calls out, his mixed language drawing curious glances. "Good for obat... for medicine!"

His unusual speech has become something of an attraction. Locals who know what hides beneath the hood keep their distance, but they send their children with coins clutched in small hands. Visitors from other regions approach more boldly, amused by his accent and unaware of his true nature.

You serve as interpreter when his language fails him completely, smoothing over transactions when customers grow confused. One woman tries to haggle over a particularly large skin, and Zadfil turns to you.

"She say too mahal. Tell her this special jenis, very susah to find," he whispers, the blue glow of his eyes briefly visible in the shadow of his hood.

By midday, most of the skins are sold. Zadfil carefully counts the gold pieces, dividing them into two pouches, one for necessities, one for what he calls "extra things."

You visit the water merchant first, where Zadfil inspects each skin with meticulous care before purchasing. "This one bocor," he says, pointing to a tiny flaw in the stitching that you can barely see. The merchant looks annoyed but brings out better stock.

With the essentials secured, Zadfil leads you to the fish seller's stall. His entire demeanor changes, the blue light in his eye sockets brightens, his tail twitches beneath his poncho. Fish is rare here, brought in preserved with salt and ice from coastal regions many miles away.

"This one," he says, pointing to a silver-scaled fish. "Fresh. Caught three days only." He sniffs it through his hood, and you wonder how he can smell anything through bone. The fish seller looks skeptical but doesn't argue.

You've never seen Zadfil near an ocean, yet he examines each fish with the confidence of someone who has spent a lifetime near water. Sometimes he mutters words that sound like "ikan" and "laut" while selecting his purchases.

With your trading complete and supplies gathered, you begin the journey home. Zadfil waits until you're beyond the town's edge before dropping to all fours again, letting you climb onto his back.

The desert night falls quickly. Stars appear in the darkening sky, more numerous than seems possible. The twin moons rise, casting dual shadows across the sand.

"Good day," Zadfil says as he navigates the familiar path home. "No trouble."

You rest head against his fur as he carries you through the cool night air. The rhythm of his movement is soothing, almost hypnotic.

When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. "Happy you here," he says simply. "Not alone good."

You watch the stars wheel overhead as the cave comes into view. Another day survived together in this world. Another night of safety in your shared home.

As if reading your thoughts, Zadfil adds, "We together. Is enough.”

---

Morning comes with unusual energy in the cave. Zadfil paces while you eat breakfast, his tail swishing with excitement.

"Fair coming to town tonight," he says, arranging and rearranging items in his satchel. "Big tents. Music. Food from far places."

You've heard about it too. Travelers mentioned caravans arriving from the northern territories, bringing performers and exotic goods rarely seen in this region. For days, Zadfil has talked about attending, his blue eye-lights brightening whenever he mentioned it.

Which makes his next statement puzzling.

"We not go to fair," he announces suddenly, securing his satchel over his shoulder. "I show something better. Special place."

When you question this change of heart, he simply shakes his skull-face. "Town not safe tonight," he says firmly. "I have feeling."

You've learned to trust his instincts. Sometimes he knows things he shouldn't, like when he insisted you both take shelter moments before an unexpected dust storm hit, or when he changed your usual market route only to learn later that raiders had attacked travelers on that path.

"Come," he says, extending his hand. "You trust?"

The path he takes leads away from town, in a direction you've never explored together. Instead of the familiar canyons, Zadfil guides you through narrow passes between towering rock formations. The terrain grows increasingly difficult, requiring you to climb in some places. Zadfil moves ahead, then reaches back to lift you over challenging sections.

After nearly two hours of travel, he stops suddenly, his ears perking up. "Close eyes," he says, moving behind you to cover your eyes with his large hands. The fur of his palms tickles your face as he carefully guides you forward.

"Now look," he says, removing his hands.

Before you stretches an oasis, a perfect circle of blue water surrounded by lush green plants. Palm trees sway gently in the breeze, casting dappled shadows on the water's surface. After months of seeing only the harsh browns and reds of the desert, the vivid colors seem almost unreal.

"Found when I disappear," Zadfil admits, his ears drooping slightly in reference to the time he vanished for two days after you discovered him drawing in the sand. "Was angry. Walked far. Found this."

He moves toward the water's edge, removing his scarf and poncho. In the bright daylight, his true form is fully visible, the dark fur, the bleached skull-face with its glowing blue eyes. Yet here, in this secluded paradise, he seems less monstrous somehow.

Without warning, Zadfil jumps into the water, wrapping his arms around his legs to create a massive splash. He surfaces with a sound that might be laughter, shaking water from his fur.

You hesitate at the edge, unsure about joining him. The water looks inviting after the hot journey, but you didn't bring dry clothes.

Zadfil solves your indecision by scooping water in his cupped hands and flinging it at you. The splash soaks your clothes completely.

"Now you have reason," he says, his eye-lights pulsing brighter in amusement.

With no excuse left, you enter the water. It's cool and refreshing, deeper than it appeared. Zadfil shows you how certain plants at the edge produce bubbles when squeezed underwater. He floats on his back, his fur spreading out around him like dark seaweed, the blue glow of his eye sockets visible even in the bright daylight.

Time passes differently here. You swim until your fingers wrinkle, then rest on the sandy shore while Zadfil continues diving to the bottom, bringing up colorful stones that he arranges in patterns.

Eventually, you both retreat to the shade of the largest palm tree. Zadfil shakes himself dry like an animal before putting his clothes back on and settling beside you, his wet fur smelling earthy and wild. He takes dried fruit and jerky from his satchel

The sun begins its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. You gesture toward the path home, knowing the desert becomes dangerous after dark.

Zadfil shakes his head. "Stay here tonight," he insists.

When you mention the fair, his eye-lights dim slightly. "Fair happen again. This night special here."

He seems unusually adamant, arranging palm fronds into a makeshift shelter near the water's edge. His movements are purposeful, almost urgent, though he tries to appear casual.

As darkness falls, the oasis transforms. Tiny luminescent insects emerge from the vegetation, hovering over the water like floating stars. The surface of the pool reflects the twin moons, creating perfect circles of light that overlap in the center.

Zadfil sits beside you, his still-damp fur occasionally brushing against your arm. The blue light from his eye sockets pulses gently, matching the rhythm of the fireflies dancing above the water.

"Good here," he says quietly. "You safe here."

In the distance, far beyond the rocky passes, you think you hear something, perhaps thunder, or the sound of celebration from the fair you're missing. Zadfil's ears twitch at the noise, but he doesn't acknowledge it.

Instead, he begins humming one of his tunes, the sound mixing with the gentle lapping of water against the shore and the chirping of night insects.

The stars wheel overhead, more brilliant here than you've ever seen them. Zadfil points out patterns, naming constellations in his language, words full of soft vowels and gentle consonants.

Whatever reason brought you here instead of the fair, Zadfil seems content with his decision. His vigilance gradually relaxes as the night deepens, though he still occasionally looks toward the distant town, the blue light in his sockets intensifying briefly before dimming again.

The night grows deeper, your eyelids begin to feel heavy. Zadfil notices your drowsiness and arranges the palm fronds into a more comfortable bed.

"You sleep," he says, gently guiding you to lie down. "I keep watch."

When you protest that he needs rest too, he shakes his skull-face. “Not need much sleep. Better I guard."

He positions himself at the edge of your makeshift shelter, his large form silhouetted against the moonlit water. His posture is alert.

The last thing you see before drifting off is the steady blue glow of his eye sockets.

---

The world swims into focus slowly. Your head rests on something, Zadfil's arm, you realize. The fur is matted and wet. Something warm flows down your neck, pooling beneath you.

Zadfil hunches over you. The blue light in his eye sockets flickers erratically. His skull-face is close to yours. Blood drips from between his exposed fangs, falling onto your forehead in slow, steady drops.

Arrows protrude from his shoulder and back. A crude knife juts from his side, the handle wobbling with each labored breath he takes. His white poncho, now red, hangs in tatters. One of his ears is completely gone, leaving a ragged dark hole. Claw marks rake across his skull-face, chipping the bone.

Around you, the oasis is silent. No insects chirp. No night birds call. Even the water seems unnaturally still. The once-clear pool is tinged red, dark shapes floating on its surface.

Bodies lie scattered across the sand. Five, maybe six human forms sprawled in unnatural positions. One is missing an arm. Another's head is twisted completely backward. A third lies half-submerged in the water, trailing red.

A broken spear shaft protrudes from the trunk of the palm tree. Beside it, a man's body hangs impaled on broken branches, his eyes wide and staring at nothing.

Zadfil's breathing comes in ragged bursts. Between them, he sings. His voice cracks and falters, but the melody continues.

"Beudöh... saré..."

He chokes, gasping for air. Blood bubbles between his teeth.

"...tabila... bansa..."

His massive frame shudders

"Bèk tatakot... keu darah..."

Another gasp. His claws dig into the sand beside your head.

"...ilé..."

His clawed hand touches your face with.

"Adak pih maté..."

He stops abruptly, his entire body trembling. The blue light dims to almost nothing before flaring again.

"...bèk neubiyeue lon..."

A shuddering breath.

"...sidroe..."

Tears flow from his eye sockets, mixing with the blood that drips from his fangs. How a skull can cry remains a mystery, but the droplets are real, falling onto your cheeks.

You try to speak, but your voice won't come. You try to move, but your limbs feel distant, disconnected. Your fingers find your throat, come away slick and red. A curved blade lies in the sand beside you, its edge darkened with blood.

The stars above seem to pulse in time with your fading heartbeat. The twin moons blur into a single smear of light.

---

You wake with a gasp, body jerking upright. Zadfil startles, his fur puffing out. His skull-face jerks back, the blue lights in his eye sockets flaring wide.

"Sakit jantung," he sighs, pressing one clawed hand to his chest.

It takes a moment to recognize where you are. Not in the oasis, but on the familiar path back toward the cave. The night sky stretches above, stars scattered across the darkness. Zadfil carries you in his arms, your weight seemingly nothing to him.

"Bad dream?" he asks, his voice unusually gentle.

You nod, though you can't quite remember what frightened you.

"We go home," he says. "Oasis not good tonight."

You question this sudden change. Earlier he had insisted on staying at the oasis, had built a shelter for the night. What made him leave after you fell asleep? His ears flatten against his skull at your question.

"Bad feeling," is all he says. "Better safe."

The twin moons cast enough light to see his face clearly. Something haunts his expression, if a skull can look troubled, his does. The blue light in his sockets pulses unevenly.

He continues walking with a steady pace. The silence between you feels heavy, charged with words neither of you are saying.

When the cave comes into view, Zadfil exhales a long breath. "Safe now," he murmurs, though you're not sure if he's speaking to you or himself.

Inside, he moves through the familiar routine of lighting the small fire pit, checking the cave entrance, arranging your sleeping area. But his movements lack their usual precision. He knocks over a water jug, fumbles with the flint striker. When you move to help, he waves you away.

"You rest," he insists. "Need sleep."

Still drowsy from whatever interrupted your earlier sleep, you settle onto the pile of furs that serves as your bed. Zadfil hesitates, then lowers himself beside you, not his usual spot across the fire pit, but right next to you. His large form curls around yours, one arm draped over you.

Though he's slept beside you during your illness before, this feels different. Then, it was practical, a caretaker monitoring fever. Now, facing you, his hold has a desperate feel to it as his arm holds you closer. His claws occasionally flex against your back.

"Do you..." he starts, then stops. The blue light dims. "You remember?"

The question makes no sense. Remember what? The oasis? The fair you didn't attend?

His next word comes in his native tongue.

"Mati?"

You don't know this word, but something about it feels important.