Author: Matthew Freese | Banner: Matthew Freese

Once, there was a serpent.

With three tongues he tasted the air as he crawled across black, barren fields in search of oasis. A golden streak against the dark, the sight of him sent fear crawling down the spines of any unfortunate enough to bear witness. When he found patches of life amidst the wastelands, he feasted like a king. Life disappeared down his gullet, fangs sank into flesh as he messily consumed whatever he could reach. Venom dripped from his fangs, yellow and bright as it burned away at the victims like fire. Any who tried to fight back either fell victim to the searing drippings of his maw or were crushed by his thick and powerful coils.

It took little time for whatever lively spots he found to become dead, just like the expanse surrounding them. Once he had his fill and digested the inhabitants, he moved on, returning to the darkness where he was uncontested.

That life was good. The snake lost track of how many he’d slain, how many oases he’d made indistinguishable from the endless wasteland. Time became a blur, something wholly unimportant to the serpent. The black field never ended, another sanctuary always somewhere to be found and pillaged. He would do this for all eternity, and that was just fine with him.

Until one day. When the mundanity was broken.

A sound caught the snake’s ear as he feasted, one he had not heard before. Swallowing the gigantic blue amoeba whole, only memorable for being the last thing the serpent tasted, he slithered forth to investigate. A constant low roar, which he soon discovered to be a rushing river of scarlet. It kicked up dust as it raged, a crimson haze which settled at its sides and stained the vibrant surroundings in that single color. Spiders skittered out from the fog, pteranodons sailed up from behind it on leathery wings, and a green troll prowled the outskirts of the mist in search of prey.

Twisting through the fog, the ophidian menace sought further knowledge. Tongues flickered into the dust, recoiling at the bitter taste. Red clinged to gold, as if it were trying to blot out his beauty. Finally he pushed through the wall of particles, reaching the rapids and plunging himself into them. The stained water tried to carry him away, but the serpent held strong as he swam through the river.

He had seen much in his travels, but nothing even remotely like this. He demanded answers, refusing to let such an oddity elude him. The red water parted as a crocodile rose from it, scales as black as coal and bearing bloodshot eyes sparkling with madness. Snapping his jaws, the hulking brute sought to end the life of the intruder, racing forth like a bullet.

Water splashed and mixed with blood and venom as they tore at one another, sailing down the river’s length at the rushing water’s behest. They rushed past other pockets of life, even into other long expanses of black dotted with those fertile lands. Other snakes and crocodiles tore into one another while they passed by, as if the fervor of their war was infectious.

Eventually, they ceased. Their scales grinded against the coast, halted by their bodies being thrown to the sides of the river. Unfurling himself, the snake crawled off the brute’s twitching carcass, stained with blood which was hard to distinguish from the water. Smoke peeled off holes in the crocodile’s skin, where venom had beset and scorched.

His eyes scanned his surroundings, revealing to him that they’d come to a colossal tree. Its leaves shined red, decorating twisting branches that as far as the eye could see branched into smaller and smaller points. All around it was a jungle, one which contorted in unnatural ways and seemed to breathe like the beasts within it.

Tired and wounded, he wished to sleep, but such a thing would not come to him. The same predators he’d seen when he first reached the stream lurked all about, in greater numbers and with more variance and ferocity. He would not be able to sleep out in the open, they would have posed no threat to him at his prime, but his war had left him in gruesome shape. The denizens of this twisted oasis would pick him clean, crawl into his wounds and feast upon his organs.

The serpent crawled to the tree, slithering up the trunk with the last of his strength. He knew that something had to be lurking in that dense wall of cruel foliage, but it would be better than what was below. Reaching a branch, the ophidian wanderer nestled himself into the thick mass of leaves. His wounds burned as thorns pricked them, leaves dragging over the raw flesh and leaving the strange droplets they gathered.

It was only from this vantage point that he realized the river that had carried him here did not just end at the tree’s shadow. It also began from the timber, the roots encircling the start of the stream like embracing arms. Sleep claimed him, the revelation too much for his weary brain to bear, unconsciousness almost a defense mechanism for the simple mind.

The snake did not awaken, despite shedding his skin.

Instead, the next morning, vines stretched down from the branches. Even brighter gold than the serpent had been, they bristled with hateful thorns. Like fingers they ensnared a quadruped wrapped in armor and spikes, his brown hide splitting like upturned dirt as the venom which had once spilled from the ophidian jaws now sprayed out from the thorns whenever they so desired. He roared, his mind supposed to be able to foresee any occurrence, but falling so short in the face of this new horror. Bone crunched as the vines constricted him, lifting him off his feet and up into obscurity to never be seen again.

Not even blood or viscera fell, his totality subsumed by what had been born in that crimson brush.

The great tree shuddered, as if rejecting its new parasite, sending a tangled mass of yellow spite tumbling down to the dirt below. The vines tried to wrap themselves around the trunk again, seeking this time to strangle the life out of it. Like insects of a colony, the beasts of the forest, no matter their appearance, raced towards the aberration and attempted to tear it away from the centerpiece.

And like moths to a flame, they were merely consumed by something grander than themselves. Even crocodiles, like the one that had nearly killed the serpent, snapped their jaws onto the vines, only to find themselves biting nothing before their maws were latched shut.

But this conflict was not changing. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, time was once more losing meaning as nothing shifted. More servants of the tree would thrust themselves into the fray to be swallowed whole, the tree would hold strong against the vines’ crushing grip, and what was once a serpent was unassailable.

Unlatching itself from the tree, the thorn-decked destroyer departed. Through the illogical forest it writhed, uncaring of the biting teeth and lashing claws, until it finally found the flowing river. Plunging itself into the red waves, the stream carried it off, out of the purview of the fractal tree.

Eventually, with a vine digging into the side of the brook, it pulled itself back out and into the black plain it had first left. However long has passed, it could sense that life still flourished all across the expanse. But what it had done before would not be sufficient, not for the new golden one.

Instead of slithering, it sat still. Vines dug into the dark soil around it, spreading in all directions. When they found life, they would rip their way free from underneath it and drag whatever victim they discovered down into the abyss. There was no more concern for taste and enjoyment, only feeding the void inside itself. Eventually, this dark expanse would run dry, like a corpse rotted down to the very bone. It did not matter. When that day came, the aberration would go to another endless field.

And after that, another, and then another, for the rest of time. Until there was no time.

Once, there was a snake.

But now there were vines.

Vines wrapping around the throat of life, and slowly but surely squeezing it closed.