The Hate Complex

Prelude to The Hate Complex

1899 - Dawn of the Fall

Nobody knew why the Barrow family had chosen to remain in the North. Perhaps it was the beauty of the snows, or the way the winter air kissed their lips. Or perhaps it was the fact that the North-Western tip of the continent had been the home of their family for generations, and they felt they ought to adhere to tradition. They were miles from the capital, and were constantly pelted with salt spray fresh from the Northern sea, which chilled them to their bones on a good day. And yet there they remained, relentlessly clinging on to that little portion of land that was their birthright.

Morning saw Elton Barrow clearing the weeds from his garden, his wife Elia indoors resting. The baby in her belly had taken a toll on her strength, in the nine months she had been carrying it. It would come any day now, Elton Barrow thought, with slight trepidation. Every morning when he rose he wondered what it would feel like to carry his own son in his arms, a real, living thing, squirming in his grasp.

He looked upon the land beyond his garden, regarding the great sinkhole that had opened up a mile or so in the distance, swallowing the farm which lay atop it. After that incident he had thoroughly checked the foundations upon which their house lay, finding them secure, to his relief.

It had been two weeks since that strange occurrence, when the ground had opened that voracious orifice. A few had moved away, but most had stayed, savouring the crisp air and the sight of the bitter salt sea. He strode inside to look upon his sleeping wife, her face so peaceful and relaxed. Suddenly, he noticed a wetness between her thighs. He froze; it was coming. Her eyes flickered open, and she stirred.

"The baby is coming, Elia, your waters broke!", he said urgently, and her eyes snapped open. He supported her on his shoulder as she stumbled to their bedroom. He placed her on the bed gently and rushed to the phone.

The doctor would be coming from the capital though, he would not reach them in time! He cursed, putting the phone down, and rushed over to the bedside cabinet, pulling out some rubbing alcohol for disinfectant. Her darted to the kitchen, returning with a basin of warm water and placing it down beside the bed, before settling in front of his wife. She opened her legs, inhaling sharply, eyes closed tight. He pulled off her skirt as her torso began to constrict.

She began to scream in pain, as he slowly helped ease the baby out of her. Soon enough, she was yelling and screaming like a mad thing. Then something emerged. It was round and dark, speckled with a dull brown. He inhaled sharply, his heart in his throat. What on earth... More came forth; it was a baby, but it was long dead. He retched as the rotted thing came cascading out. Shivers went all down his body as he looked upon his son. It was black and rotten, with skin soft and breaking. Elia had passed out, sweat pouring down her face. His heart rate was rising; what on earth was going on? Then the smell rose from the thing, a thick, cloying stench, almost sweet. It smelled of rot and death. A sickly liquor was flowing out of Elia, spilling onto the bed. A dark, lumpy stew of decay filled his hands as he sat frozen in shock, eyes wide.

He scrambled over to Elia's chest, feeling frantically. Her heart had stopped, he realised, in cold shock. He kissed her lips, rising to pump her chest with both hands, but it was no use; his wife lay dead in her bed of decay. He stumbled up, his heart going mad, and left the room in a daze. Then he screamed, opening his lungs, baring his grief for all the North to see. Elton Barrow tumbled onto his garden, so clean and weedless, and his heart stopped. His face lay in the dirt, and the earth drank of him lustily, as weeds grew up to embrace his body.

Lucian stepped from the shadows, tall, dark and grim, and stared upon the scene. He heard Terralas scuffling about in the house of the Barrows behind him. He emerged next to Lucian with the body of the Barrow wife slung over his shoulder, blond hair flowing atop his head. Lucian looked at him coldly, eyeing the body, whose lower half was covered in a filthy sheen.

"Their bodies will never be found, why shouldn't I take one of them?", Terralas muttered, frowning.

"I always detested those little experiments of yours...", Lucian said with disgust.

"Well, Father lets me, so you can't do anything about it", he said, tittering. "Those humans never saw this coming, I'll wager..." Lucian sighed heavily, regarding the grassy plains before him.

"Yes, soon the entirety of the North will be deserted, and soon after that the world will be as barren as a desert", he murmured. Terralas grinned lustily, skinning his lips back to show the gleaming teeth beneath. "Haven't you thought about why Father is doing this?", Lucian asked, staring out over the plains, doomed as they were.

"We don't question Father, Lucian...", he muttered, a hint of fear in his voice. "We know that all will eventually suffer the same fate as these Barrows, but the plant life will remain... what else is there to know?"

"I just told you, the 'why' of it all...", he muttered, frustrated. Lucian hesitated. "Ironic, isn't it, that all those weeds Elton Barrow spent so many years pruning will outlive him..." The massive sinkhole lay solemnly, it's mouth a gaping chasm. He shook his head. "Think of Father's power... Men will come to think of this as place the Origin of their doom, but none will dare approach it... None will come near, lest they desire the cold embrace of death." He strode out across the plains, Terralas at his heels, the body of Elia Barrow slung across his shoulder. Lucian's long, dark hair flew in the wind, swirling around his face, as he descended to rejoin his Father.