Eternal

by E. Florian Gludovacz

in Issue 158, March 2025

The sword slid into the wyvern’s side with a gristly crunch, grating against ribs before  the point finally connected with the creature’s heart. The reptile gave a final, agonised shriek, spat a last ball of flame and collapsed into a scaly heap. Cjhoregg lifted his shield almost casually and deflected the flaming ball of toxic bile, sending it careening over his head and into the side of the cliff, where it fizzled out with green streaks running down the rock. He pulled his weapon clear and flicked the ichor off the blade before sheathing it.

Before him, the maw of the cave gaped in malevolent blackness, the craggy protrusions of rock giving the impression of fangs that would snap shut on him any second. This was his ultimate quest! Once he entered these caverns, the fabled Catacombs of C’reel, there would be no turning back. He smiled grimly and nodded to himself. He would claim his prize.

He slid a ring from his belt pouch, muttered a short incantation, and slipped it onto his finger. Suddenly, the dark subterranean corridor was limned in a pale blue radiance, that while not as bright as a torch would have been, nevertheless allowed him to see clearly what lay ahead. He hefted his sword and took a cautious step forward, first one, then another. The bones of other adventurers, some of them the wyvern’s victims and prey, littered the rocky floor and small, scaly creatures scuttled away from the warrior’s footsteps.

Cjhoregg sighed and rolled his tired, weary shoulders. He had been doing this type of thing for way too many years now. Adventuring, butchering, slaying, looting temples and treasuries, it blurred into one long progression of pointless carnage. He had rescued maidens, fought in wars, won and lost fortunes and small kingdoms, he had risked his life more times than he could count and what did he have to show for it? At the end of the day he was still a vagabond, a soldier of fortune, a lonely man down on his luck more often than not. His name was legend and men trembled in fear at the mention of him, but what was that worth? Did it make him happy? Was this really all there was to life? His reputation was larger than life, but life itself wasn’t large enough to contain his ambition. And that was why he was here. He would put his life on the line one more time, gambling for the highest stakes possible, make one final toss of the dice to attain the ultimate dream that surpassed all others.

When he had first heard tales of Hjondir the Sorcerer, he had dismissed them out of hand. He had fought and killed his share of magicians and enchanters, had battled with supernatural forces in various states of reality, but the tales of a sorcerer powerful enough to grant eternal life were just too fantastical to believe. Eternal life was granted by the gods, not by mortals, no matter how powerful they were. But the name of Hjondir had come up again and again in his travels and as he had grown older and wiser, he began to pay some heed to the tales he overheard. The man himself was apparently wise and old, not particularly evil by sorcerous standards, but he was rumoured to be extremely powerful and ill-tempered where his privacy was concerned. Rumours placed him in either a tower in the Wastelands, or deep within the caverns and catacombs located in the Black Mountains.

He knew for a fact that the tower in the Wastelands was a myth. He had traversed that desolate landscape with a small army of mercenaries back in the days of the Interregnum and had toppled the thrones of the warlords of the northern steppes. He knew the Wastelands well and knew for a fact that no towers – be they sorcerous or mundane in nature – existed in that land.

He smiled. Those had been grand days. He had united and ruled the northern fiefdoms for a while, had prospered and been revered as a king in his own right. He had achieved everything he had ever dreamed of! At least for a time. Winning a kingdom was a heady experience. He had revelled in the fighting, the blood and violence, had even enjoyed the coronation ceremonies, the celebrations, and the harem that came with his elevated status. What he did not enjoy, however, was ruling the kingdom he had won. Capable administration, impartial justice, even-handed benevolence were all fine traits in a king, of course, but he had been bored out of his mind within weeks. The palace intrigues had offered a brief diversion, but the back-stabbing, poison-sprinkling ways of the courtiers had proved tedious in the end. He’d had some of them flogged, others flayed, had personally strangled one in front of the assembled court, but what was the point? He was Cjhoregg, after all! He was the mightiest man alive, whose mere name made enemies tremble! What use did he have for a court? Did he want to grow fat and lazy? Did he want to grow old and soft? Of course, not! So he had abdicated and gone back to his wandering ways. More adventures, more slaughter, more carnage. It was a life. Of sorts.

On cold, lonely nights, sitting in front of a campfire with only his horse and his thoughts for company, he questioned his choices. Perhaps being a king wouldn’t have been so bad, after all. But no, that was not who he was! Over time, he came to realise that what he really wanted was everything! He wanted adventures, riches, power, and glory! And he realised that what he actually lacked was time! If he had sufficient time, he could really have it all! What he needed was eternity! Life everlasting! And on the trail of that thought he had recalled the tales of Hjondir the Sorcerer. The legendary mage who possessed the power to bestow eternal life! And so he had made his way to the Black Mountains, battling monsters and savages in the wilderness, until he had at last arrived here, at the mysterious Catacombs of C’reel.

A rumble overhead drew his attention back to the present. He froze in his tracks, listening intently. He gazed down at his feet and in a split-second decision threw himself backward against the wall. The noise became a grating crash as a section of the corridor’s roof collapsed in front of him.

“Damn my feet,” he grated. He should have noticed the slight difference in the floor’s texture and recognised the makings of a trap before ever setting his big feet down onto this section of the corridor. It was a stupid mistake!. The kind of error a green, unproven youth might commit, all starry-eyed with the promise and lure of adventure. “You are getting old and complacent,” he muttered to himself.

He climbed over the pile of rubble and continued down the corridor, once more alert and ready to face any challenge. Ever deeper into the labyrinth, partially natural, in some sections obviously wrought by the hands of man, he ventured. A dry, leathery rustle stopped him in his tracks, but after a few moments of intense listening, he decided that it was merely the noise of a colony of bats that was roosting in one of the side corridors. And still he went on, the air becoming warm and dry with the heat of the earth welling up from below, until at long last, he arrived at a wide cross-section of the tunnel, which terminated in a deep chasm that was spanned by a simple rope bridge. Frayed ropes were tied to rusty iron bollards and the planks that were woven into the ropes looked dry and rotten in some places. One handrail was still attached, while the other one had disintegrated into dust long ago. Just as he was about to approach the bridge, a shape emerged from the gloom, barring his way.

“Halt stranger! You shall not pass!” the sphinx said with a toothy grin on her sensuous, faintly feline lips. “First you will answer my questions.”

“And if I don’t?”

“If you fail to answer my questions, I shall kill you right where you stand!”

“That sounds fair,” he shrugged. “Ask your questions, then!”

“First, I want to know your name.”

“I am called Cjhoregg.”

“Oh, I have heard of you!”

“Many have. And what is your next question?”

“Why are you here?”

“I seek nothing less than immortality! I have come to win the elixir of eternal life!”

“Many have attempted to win that prize, yet few have succeeded!”

“Be that as it may, I will succeed! I will wrest the secret from Hjondir!” he replied with a steely glint in his eyes. “Now, ask your next question!”

“Lastly,” she intoned, rolling up her eyes in concentration. “Riddle me this, mortal man. What has…”

She never finished the sentence, as Cjhoregg’s blade pierced her larynx, cutting clean through her neck until the sword’s tip protruded just below the base of her skull.

“I was never any good with riddles,” he growled.

Luckily, he had never encountered a riddle he couldn’t solve with the application of cold, hard steel. There had been the time when the Priest-King of Yahltar had challenged him to a battle of wits. The challenge had been to navigate a labyrinth by following a series of questions and clues that were provided by the Priest-King’s advisors, who had been stationed at strategic points within the maze. A wrong turn would have resulted in instant death either by trap or in battle against the troops and monsters that were hidden throughout the structure. Cjhoregg had solved the problem by brute force. He had threatened, maimed, and killed the advisors until one of them had revealed the safe path. The Priest-King had been surprised when Cjhroregg’s sword ran him through and the barbarian mockingly challenged him to read the future from his own entrails. The temple virgins had been surprised for a different reason, but he liked to think that it had been a more pleasant surprise for them.

But that was all in the past. There was no point in revelling in ancient deeds and past glories, when there was a new challenge to face. Once he was immortal, he would have all the time in the world to reminisce. But, would he need to reminisce? The whole world would tremble before him. He would find new, grander adventures, face fiercer enemies, win bigger fortunes! Damn it all! Perhaps he would even challenge the gods themselves! And wouldn’t that be something to behold? He’d carve out his own niche in the heavens and transcend mere, puny human existence!

There would be time to consider all of this later, he mused. For now, he had to remain vigilant and not lose sight of his goal. He stepped over the sphinx’s body and onto the bridge. The ropes creaked and the ancient contraption groaned and swayed under his step. Halfway across the chasm, a wooden slat gave way under his foot and he momentarily lost his balance. He grabbed for the woven hand-rail and to his horror, it turned to dust beneath his touch.

“Damn!”

He flung himself forward, hitting the boards with the full weight of his muscular body. Another slat exploded into fragments and he desperately clutched for the rope that held the boards together. He wrapped his left wrist around the coarse fabric and held on grimly, as the rest of the slats exploded, leaving him to dangle above the endless depths below. After a long moment that seemed like an eternity, he pulled himself up by slow increments until finally, his right hand was close enough to wrap around the rope.

He began swinging back and forth slowly, ponderously, trying to gain momentum without upsetting the fragile bridge any more than he already had. He was just about to swing his leg over the rope. One, maybe two more swings, when something suddenly latched onto his ankle!

He glanced down and saw a luminescent tentacle emerging from the darkness. The tip wrapped itself around his ankle in a slow, sinuous caress that made his skin crawl. A moment later he felt the tension as the rubbery flesh of his unseen assailant clutched tightly around his ankle and began to pull at him with inexorable, patient strength. Suckers clung to the skin of his calf and hooks and barbs dug into his flesh. He gritted his teeth and held on to the rope for dear life. Finally, when he felt the tension on his leg ease up minutely, he let go of the rope with his right hand and wrenched his sword from its scabbard in a desperate attempt to save his life. He swung the blade downwards in a silvery arc of deadly steel, not caring whether he hit his leg or his foe. The fight, the struggle for life was everything in this moment. All that mattered to him was to go on, to fight, to battle with every last ounce of his being. He never felt more alive than in moments like these, when his life was poised on a knife’s edge.

The blade bit deeply, and his aim was true. With a sickly sucking sound the edge of his mighty sword slashed into the tentacle and with a wet, squelching noise, the tip parted from the extremity. A dull rumble rang out from the depths below, rising into a shrill crescendo that touched the ultrasonic and made Cjhoregg’s hair stand on end, even as he was dangling above the abyss.

Moments later, the wounded tentacle shot out of the darkness, making a lunge for his leg. He kicked down as hard as he could and hit the bleeding stump with his heel. Another roar told him that he had sent his message home with sufficient force and he was gratified to see the tentacle disappear once more into the chasm.

“Let that be a lesson to you,” he sneered.

He sheathed his sword awkwardly, pulled himself up with both hands once again and resumed swinging back and forth. This time his leg caught the rope and he managed to ease himself onto the wooden boards of the bridge. He allowed himself a brief break, lying back and breathing heavily. Finally, he sat up and inspected his leg. The severed tentacle was still wrapped around his calf and he saw his own blood oozing down into his boot. He touched the slippery mass and felt it twitching beneath his grasp. With a wince he pulled the tentacle free, feeling, as much as hearing the suckers and hooks pulling free of his tortured flesh. He tossed the tentacle into the abyss and sighed. This would leave a fine scar; one of so many that he had lost count of them all. He sometimes found himself staring at the back of his hand or his arm, discovering another scar on it and trying to remember how he had acquired that particular mark. Well, the suckers had left a nice pattern that would be difficult to forget.

Cjhoregg rose carefully, making sure to keep his balance on the swaying bridge and trod as lightly as he could, not wanting to upset the delicate remains of the bridge any more than he already had. Once he was back on solid ground, he glanced down into the depths, but everything was silent. He grinned and swung his sword in a mighty arc to cut the bridge’s remaining ropes. He watched the fragments of the bridge topple into the black depths and nodded in satisfaction. He was fully committed to his course of action.

“I will not turn back! Ever!” he cried and strode forward, further down into the bowels of the earth.

The corridor wound on and down. Now the rock walls clearly had encountered the kiss of the chisel before. The passage was rough-hewn, but straight and clean. No rubble or stray rocks encumbered the hero’s progress. Further on, sinuous carvings began gracing the walls, showing disturbing scenes of unholy rites and bloody battles of armies that were not quite human. The images were uncouth, unclean, and disquieting. Eldritch might have been an appropriate term, but he ignored them for the most part. He had seen worse things in his long, eventful life. There had been the time when the Archpriest of Merosz the Magnificent had led a host of paladins and warriors into the upper circles of Hell to do battle with evil itself. Cjhoregg had been young and naive back then and had joined for the perceived glory and renown the expedition promised. He had never been devout and had not cared to serve any particular deity, but the promise of fighting unearthly foes had been intriguing to him. He had always been strong and quick and fighting human adversaries had not held much appeal for him at the time. Now that he thought about it, he realised that he had always been searching for the extraordinary, the superhuman, the superlative. Back in his youth he had believed that a battle with demons might elevate him into the ranks of heroes. He chuckled bitterly. How wrong he had been. The Archpriest’s holy host had been annihilated by the hordes of hell and Cjhoregg himself had only escaped by sheer, dumb luck. While his comrades had been enslaved or slaughtered, he had stumbled and been left for dead. Of course, fighting his way back to the portal that led to the human realm had been gruesome, bloody work, but he had only had to face lesser demons and devils, and had eventually made good his escape. The experience had given him a different – perhaps somewhat cynical – perspective on life, but maybe that was for the best. He was beholden no no one, and served no master but himself.

Eventually, he arrived at a plain wooden door that was studded with the square heads of corroded brass nails. He studied it critically, but could not detect anything untoward. He grasped the heavy brass ring in the shape of an ouroboros and pulled mightily. The sign of eternity was clutched in his powerful grasp and he knew that he was nearing his destination. Hjondir and the elixir had to be near. His prize was almost within reach now! The ancient door should have given way to his strength easily, yet no matter how much force he applied, the barrier did not budge. Instead, he felt the flesh of his palm welded to the metal, stuck in place, making it impossible for him to loosen his grasp. At the same time, a dull red glow emanated from the door’s frame, bathing Cjhoregg’s face in a malevolent crimson light.

The walls of the cavern disappeared and he found himself floating in a grey void that pulsed with irregular scarlet bursts. The only tangible thing remaining in the whole world was the door and the ring that refused to relinquish its hold on his hand. He looked over his shoulder and beheld the horrific sight of a many-legged spiderlike entity looming over him. It was covered in coarse, bristly black and red fur that stood out in brittle tufts at odd angles. But the truly dreadful aspect was its eyes. They were not the black eyes of a spider, the blank multifaceted gaze of an arachnid staring back at him. Instead there were eight human eyes arranged around the creature’s head, all staring down at him with intelligent malice. Its mandibles clicked a few times and then drew back, revealing a vertical mouth with rich, fleshy lips.

“Why hello there, little human! How nice of you to join me,” it purred in a saccharine voice that was laced with knowing malevolence. “Welcome to the very beginning of eternal despair!”

“Go away, demonling! I don’t have time for your pathetic antics! I am searching for eternal life and you will not keep me from my prize!”

“Eternal life, is it?” the creature scoffed. “More likely, it’s eternal suffering for you, my little human! Cringe in despair, cower in fear, and feed me with your abject terror and mindless devotion! For, I’ll let you know, I am no demon, as you appear to believe! I am a god!”

“A god?” Cjhoregg spat. “You are no god! A godling at best! And an exceedingly ugly one at that! Now, release me from your cursed realm and let me resume my quest!”

“There is no more quest for you! This is your ultimate destination! I will suck you dry of blood and emotions, feed on your broken mind, and when I am done, I shall do it again and again! You belong to me and you will worship me one way or the other.”

The Lesser God began moving forward, scuttling on its many limbs in a pattern that was too complex for the human mind to grasp. Its eyes rolled crazily in its head and it shrieked laughter in insane peals that hurt the Cjhoregg’s brain from the inside out.

“Very well,” he groaned through gritted teeth as he drew his sword awkwardly with his left hand and spun it around in his grip.

“Your mortal weapon cannot harm me, human!” the Lesser God chuckled. It did, however, pause in its approach.

“Why don’t you come closer and we can find out together?” he offered with a wolfish grin.

“Mere steel will not harm me! This is my realm, my reality, and I alone dictate the terms of existence within its bounds! My belief is what makes things real! Now, bow to me, human and believe in my might and glory!”

With a sudden violent wrench, Cjhoregg pulled his right hand free of the ring that held him in place, leaving much of the skin of his right palm sticking to the brass ouroboros. He winced at the wet, sucking sound his flesh made as it parted from his bones, splattered blood in a ruby red arc as he whirled about and grasped the sword with both hands. In a lightning-quick lunge he covered the distance to the Lesser God and ran his sword into its soft underbelly all the way to the hilt. He stared into the two central eyes that were now only inches away from his own and twisted the blade viciously from side to side.

“How?” the God groaned in shock and pain. “I am immortal within my realm! I am invincible in my kingdom. A mere mortal should not inflict a single scratch on my divine body!”

“I don’t believe in gods. Especially not weak and pathetic ones of your ilk!” Cjhoregg whispered. He winked and pulled the blade up and toward him. The godling’s head split in half and the warrior was drenched in a spray of sticky, black ichor.

He turned back to the door and found that he was once again in the corridor of the catacombs. Perhaps it had all been an illusion? But no, his hand still throbbed and he felt the ichor running down his cheeks. The encounter had been real enough. It had been a clever trap, he had to admit. Cunningly elaborate and subtly devious to fool his usually alert senses. Hjondir had to be powerful indeed, if he could harness the powers of a god, however insignificant the creature might have been, it had still been a god and it took exceptional power to shackle such a being to any cause but its own.

He kicked the door and this time it crashed inwards, rusty hinges squealing in protest. The door slammed into the wall of the corridor that lay beyond and crashed to the floor in broken fragments, finally exposing the low and narrow passage that lay beyond. Checking for traps, the huge barbarian hero entered the confined space and approached the light at the end of the tunnel. The series of rooms he entered was lit by braziers and the floor was strewn with fresh rushes. After the darkness and dangers of the catacombs, these amenities appeared incongruous and surreal. The mundane luxuries stood in sharp contrast to the pain and deprivations Cjhoregg had endured to reach this place. This fact alone told him all he needed to know. He had entered the lair of Hjondir!

He moved through the rooms and soon found himself in a spacious laboratory or study. It was hard to tell which it was. The barbarian glanced around the room, taking in details in an instant. Shelves overflowed with books and scrolls. Herbs hung from a rack in the corner, swaying gently as the heat rising from the braziers stirred the air about. A stuffed crocodile was suspended from the ceiling, a wall of shelves held various jars, beakers, and containers. Many were cloudy, but he could make out small, vaguely fetal homunculi floating in some of them. They appeared to be the preserved remains of experiments that floated in clear liquid. Suddenly one of them opened its eyes and stared at him with pale, knowing pupils. It flicked a tongue as if trying to wet its lips before speaking, but of course no sound escaped the heavy glass jar. Cjhoregg shuddered and finally turned to the magician who was seated behind a desk that was cluttered with arcane items, alembics, and twisted glassware.

At last, he was face to face with Hjondir. Cjhoregg eyed the old sorcerer suspiciously, but the man did not appear the least bit threatening. He looked up from the crystal ball he had been studying. The gleam in his eyes was friendly and the crooked teeth that flashed in his smile did not hold any menace.

“Greetings, my friend,” the old bearded man said cheerfully. “Be welcome to my humble home. What brings you here, if I may ask?”

“You are Hjondir the Sorcerer?” he snapped.

“Indeed I have been called by that name. Yet, I am but a humble man who seeks enlightenment in this confusing world. Sorcerer is much too grand a title for a such as myself. I’m a collector of oddities and a hoarder of knowledge.”

“Never mind that! I have come for what was promised.”

“Have you now? And what might that be?”

“I have come to claim the ultimate prize! I seek eternal life!”

“Ah, yes, many have sought it, yet few have found it. It is no trifling matter to gain immortality.”

“It may not be a trifling matter, but it is my due! I have won renown beyond comparison throughout the world, I have bested your traps and your guardians! I stand here before you to claim my prize!”

“Yes, I have followed your progress in my crystal ball,” he admitted, pointing at the device on his desk. “What is your name, then, my friend?”

“Cjhoregg.”

“Ah, a name that makes the world tremble! Hero, king, and adventurer, murderer and butcher, thief and warlord. You most certainly are worthy of eternal life!”

“Then give me what is my due!”

“I am most pleased to admit that the elixir does indeed exist and that you may receive it, if you are absolutely certain of your wishes.”

“I am certain! I am ready!”

“Then I shall give it to you momentarily,” the old man said, smiling gently. He reached into a small chest that was placed to his left on the workbench and withdrew a delicate vial of clear, sparkling crystal. “Drink this and you shall receive what is your due! You shall not age and be revered throughout time.”

The barbarian’s huge hand snatched the small container out of the other’s grasp, fumbled with the tiny stopper for a moment.

“To immortality!” he yelled and tilted the clear liquid into his mouth and down his throat. Moments later, he began to sway, stagger, and then toppled to the floor in a boneless heap.

When he regained consciousness some indefinable time later, everything appeared warped. His movements were sluggish and his voice did not work when he opened his mouth. His motions met resistance, as though he were submerged in water.

Suddenly, a large, distorted eye appeared in front of him.

“Well, well, you have received your due. You shall live forever and occupy a place of honour.”

He tried to speak, but no words passed his lips. He glanced around, panicked for the first time. To his left and right stood enormous transparent jars. It took him a moment to comprehend what he was seeing! Homunculi floated in pale liquid. So close and so large! The sorcerer’s crooked smile was horrendously outsized in front of his eyes.

“The great hero Cjhoregg himself! Here, then, is the reward for all of your life’s deeds! You are the crowning jewel of my collection! You shall live forever inside your jar, my little homunculus!”

©March 2025, E. Florian Gludovacz

E. Florian Gludovacz has been a writer, musician, and artist since his teens. He was born in Austria and grew up living in different parts of Europe (Germany, France, the UK, and Austria). He currently resides in rural Southern California with his wife and their mixed Great Pyrenean Mountain Dog.