Camazotz watched with amusement as the bird and the monkey struggled to halt the advance of his worms.

  The larger specimens had already burrowed deep into villages that had once been purged. In their fear, the mortals burned their own homes and drowned their own kin to stop the spread. Camazotz squirmed with mirth.

  Their slaughter meant nothing.

  It did not hinder his worms’ reproduction. It did not disrupt their strategy.

  If anything, it accelerated both.

  The toad alone could produce near-countless worm phantasms. In their bare state, they were vulnerable to wildlife—but once guided into hosts, they became devastating tools. Many of the infected still hiding among the population were of this subtle variety.

  The second type he deployed was an improved version of the strain once used by Itzcamazotz. These matured faster, bred more aggressively, and possessed unsettling intelligence. Unfortunately, they preferred brain matter, making them rarer due to limited nourishment.

  The third strain compensated for that flaw.

  Less concerned with wisdom, these worms consumed anything available. They grew quickly and in great numbers, swelling into massive forms. They were the primary force battering the domains of the foolish bird and monkey.

  Camazotz and Itzcamazotz had slowly devoured those domains for some time now.

  The feast had nourished him so thoroughly that his old body could no longer contain the corruption flowing through it. He required an idol—perhaps even a chosen—to act as an additional vessel.

  But such luxuries were beyond his reach.

  So he chose another path.

  Metamorphosis.

  Over the past few days, he had begun separating himself from Itzcamazotz entirely. Shedding more than flesh—shedding identity. The transformation had been so complete that he felt a new name stirring within him.

  That could wait.

  Names were for beings who survived.

  The present mattered more.

  Camazotz carved a deep burrow beneath Lake Chapalac—a hidden hollow vast enough to cradle his expanding body. There, surrounded by suffocating water and ancient sediment, he conducted his corrupt rituals undisturbed.

  It was a damp, cramped sanctuary.

  A womb of rot.

  From its depths, he watched the coming demise of two gods.

  The weakness radiating from them made him salivate. Though he could not observe them constantly, each village purge revealed glimpses of their dwindling divinity. Through his worms—his many eyes—he tracked their exhaustion patiently.

  He stalked them from below.

  His bloated worm-body undulated with hunger. The transformation had consumed nearly all his divinity, yet he continued to grow. His form was not complete.

  Not yet.

  When the molting finished, he would grant the two gods the courtesy of witnessing his rebirth.

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  Already, the thick worm-mass extending from his thorax hardened incrementally. Corruption flooded his grotesque frame, preparing it for the next stage.

  His many short, stubby legs wriggled as he burrowed deeper beneath the lakebed. Clawed forelimbs tore through rock and sediment with alarming ease.

  Deeper.

  Deeper still.

  Until he felt it.

  Ancient faith.

  Sluggish. Heavy. Old beyond memory.

  It pulsed beneath the lake like a buried heart.

  He could not absorb faith as easily as corruption—but with preparation, he could digest it.

  Camazotz regurgitated condensed corruption, filling the hollow around him. Slowly, deliberately, he spun a thick cocoon, weaving corruption into a dense, glossy shell.

  He took his time.

  Crafting it carefully.

  A masterpiece of ruin.

  Time slipped away unnoticed as he worked. When the cocoon finally sealed around him, an immeasurable span had passed.

  Faith approached.

  It enveloped the black shell in an ancient aura. Time itself seemed to distort. The cocoon visibly aged—hardening, crystallizing—until it stabilized under the saturation of that primordial energy.

  Inside, the creature thrashed.

  His body contorted violently, as though enduring unending agony. Each movement allowed more faith to seep inward, piercing the frail silhouette writhing within the armored casing.

  Evolution accelerated.

  Corruption and faith clashed within him in a catastrophic cycle. Either force alone would have destroyed him. Only the near-infinite corruption filling his being prevented annihilation.

  He would not have another opportunity like this.

  If he failed now—

  He would die.

  If he succeeded—

  The bird and the monkey would face something far worse than worms.

  They would face rebirth.

  And Camazotz would show them the meaning of courtesy.

  -

  Itzcamazotz watched the fleeing lesser god with quiet amusement.

  If only lesser gods awaited him in that direction, he would have little difficulty consuming them. And yet—

  The divinity radiating from that land made his skin prickle.

  His corruption recoiled subtly beneath that distant aura.

  It gave him pause.

  For a moment, he considered devouring the little firefly outright. But revealing himself so brazenly would be disadvantageous. Impatience was a flaw he could not afford.

  Instead, he called to the still-growing abomination.

  The creature had been savoring the offering the Tliltic had hunted for it, crunching through flesh with deliberate delight. Itzcamazotz felt its satisfaction through the thick miasma connecting them.

  He was eager to witness the terror it could inspire.

  So he sent it.

  The miasma obeyed his will, stretching farther down the mountain, creeping toward the lesser god’s domain. It blanketed the land in suffocating corruption, an extension of his body—one that empowered the magnificent insect barreling toward the distant glow in the sky.

  Soon he would know what kind of god hid behind the firefly.

  Unless that hidden deity chose to remain concealed while its people were torn apart.

  A fate that should have belonged to Mort—

  Now reserved for Itzcamazotz and his creation alone.

  He could already feel the surge of corruption generated by fresh deaths. The hundreds. The thousands before them.

  Euphoria pulsed through him.

  A throbbing, sadistic elation.

  It made him feel alive.

  More alive than he had ever been.

  Below, the massive insect clacked its mandibles as it hurled itself down the mountain. Its movement was astonishingly swift. Spear-like limbs extended forward, blurring with momentum as it charged enthusiastically after the fleeing firefly.

  Even so—

  It was slower.

  The radiant speck in the sky widened the distance between them.

  Unfortunate.

  But that flaw would be corrected.

  Once Itzcamazotz baited out whatever god had sponsored the lesser one’s ascension, he would adapt. He would once again find a chosen worthy of his time. The few he'd found already broke too easily in comparison.

  Corruption shaped chosen into useful vessels far more efficiently than faith ever could. If the vessels didn't break from the extensive favor bestowed upon them, that is. Itzcamazotz smiled wickedly at the thought.

  The abomination’s next evolution would depend on the power revealed by that hidden patron.

  He could not afford to nurture another so soon; the strain would drain him dry.

  No.

  This one would suffice.

  To ensure pressure from all sides, Itzcamazotz birthed more Tliltic. They scattered like shadows, carrying his worms to neighboring villages.

  Why wait for the slow crawl of infestation?

  The Tliltic would act as messengers—heralds of his love.

  None would suffer the despair of solitude.

  None would be alone with him whispering inside their skulls.

  It was a simple dream.

  One that drew closer with every agonized scream that fed his power.

  Corruption spiraled around his form as his thoughts spiraled with it. The thick miasma flooded his mind, swelling his delusions to grotesque proportions.

  His grandeur inflated within his skull—

  So vast it felt as though his head might burst from the pressure.

  And still—

  He wanted more.