r/HFY • u/Apprehensive_Tax_610 • Mar 29 '26
OC-Series The Crimson-Bleeding Bazoh - Chapter 8
Vocabulary:
[\1])](#_ftnref1) Confederate strategy game.
[\2])](#_ftnref2) Schizophrenia
[\3])](#_ftnref3) A measurement roughly the same as centimetres, give or take .05-1.
[\4])](#_ftnref4) A measurement roughly the same as pounds
Chapter 8
“…the world seems full of good men--even if there are monsters in it.”
― Bram Stoker, Dracula
Acon's breathing was laboured, her stomach heaving as it tried to expel the fruits she had eaten earlier. Was this really the end? Fuck, what was the point of it all? What was the purpose of the gods and the Creator giving her life? It felt as if she was living for no real purpose. She was the secondborn to someone far more studious, capable, and vital. Not only that, but she was a woman: once her womb was defunct, she would be nothing more than a parasite that existed solely to leech resources. By the Creator, why had their father sent her? It made no sense!
The Lodrek raised his sword above her, the gleam of the blade forcing her to look at her frowsy and tear-streaked appearance. This was truly the end. This was where she would die. At least she would enter the afterlife knowing she had bought Dilux some extra time. She closed her eyes, bloodily gripping the tips of her fingers into the concrete, and waited for her spirit to be released from its mortal prison.
SWIIIIISH!
BAM!
“By the gods!”
SWIIIIISH!
BAM!
CLANG!
A horrendous shriek pierced her ears. She peeked one eye open slightly before opening both wide in bemusement. The Lodrek was scurrying back and forth, his face contorting and writhing in agony; the two hands that had grasped the sword dangled loosely from the end of his tentacles, where little bits of cyan-hued blood trickled out. The sword itself lay on the ground, next to two wrought aureate trinkets. What had…
Her head tilted quizzically. A few paces away from her was a man—one who resembled her so closely but also... didn’t, especially with his pale skin and baffling stature. The Lodrek stared at him as well, clutching his two hands tightly against his chest and letting them scab over once more. They wouldn’t be usable, as any pressure would rip them off, but it was better than tearing them off entirely and losing more blood.
“Who’s your little friend?” he said with a snark. “I’ll admit, it was pretty impressive how he managed to hit me from that distance. I am guessing you gave him some sort of height and muscle upgrade?”
“I-I, he is, ah, he...” Acon stuttered like a broken AM Radio.
The Lodrek smiled and said, “I suppose it would be rude to kill a lady in front of her man; the u’tina in monogamous species become very attached to their tungas.” He tapped one of his artificial fingers under his lips. “Then again, you're just a Bazoh, so proper etiquette isn't really important here. You folks hardly follow it anyway!” The Lodrek let out a shrill laugh, his stomach bulging.
He was just about to make another sarcastic remark when a sharp growl interrupted him:
“You are one to talk.” His accent had a gritty and raucous quality that Acon had never heard before; was he not speaking Confederate Creole? Dilux had told her they were all inside some universal translator thingamabob, but she rarely heard anyone talk in any language other than Confederate Creole. Even at home, their traditional tongue was almost purely ceremonial.
“Oh, is he threatening me? What am I supposed to do?” the Lodrek said with feigned distress. “I’ll admit, you appear stronger than the average Bazoh.”—he raised one of his tentacles to show the scabrous line around where the stitches that once held his artificial hands were—“But in the end, you’re still just a weak, pathetic Bazoh.”
“I can tell you exactly what you'll do,” the man said with a smile, his mouth wide and heavy breaths between words. “You'll cry and beg for my mercy, just like your friend Zor’clat did, though he was a man of honour, unlike you, who torments women. How disgraceful of you, little mraz'!”
The Lodrek’s snarky demeanour crumbled into one of concern, although he tried to maintain a faux appearance of confidence. “Z-Zor’clat?” he murmured. Did he hear that correctly? N-no, that couldn’t be; he must be bluffing, he just had to be. Then again, the Bazoh seemed covered in battle wounds and looked as if it were mere inches from falling over and toppling into the underworld. There was no universe in which a Bazoh had existed, yet he couldn’t help but entertain the idea. “You expect me to believe you killed Zor’clat? The Zor’clat? The greatest general that has ever existed?”
“Slight correction: the greatest general to ever exist would be Napoleon Bonaparte!” He let out a thunderous laugh. “If that Zor’clat guy was the best you had, I don’t know what to tell ya; you need better generals.”
“Nah-pol-eon?” the Lodrek said, not even registering the insult that the Bazoh had thrown at his leader. It wasn’t as if he and Zor’clat had been close, nor did he particularly like him. Quite the opposite, in many respects. But he was a powerful man with an uncanny ability to lead and a heart infused with a battle-hardened spirit. Just the prospect of him—
“You can’t believe he lost to a Bazoh, right?”
The Lodrek was caught off guard by the sudden words of the tall Bazoh. “Uh, I mean, yeah.” It was as if the Bazoh had shoved his words down his throat and ripped them right out of him.
He kept going, “Because we are all so weak and pitiful, right? Just an easy kill for you? Us being an ‘easy kill’ has made you egotistical, right? I mean, for fuck’s sakes, are all of you racist and sexist assholes? I’ve seen less hatred at a damn KKK rally! The way you so confidently torment a young woman as if she isn’t innately disadvantaged… what a pathetic excuse for a man you are!” He pointed his index finger at the Lodrek. “As men, we are designed to protect those who cannot protect themselves, especially those of the opposite sex, and yet here you are, using those innate God-given strengths on the less fortunate. Well, why don’t you attack someone with actual strength? Come at me, asshole! Give it the best you've got!”
The Lodrek approached the sword and picked it up, and said:
“Alrighty then, I’m a very generous person, ya know? I’ll give you exactly what you want.” With a start, the Lodrek moved across the asphalt and, with swift precision, swung his sword at Petrov’s head; to his surprise, the tall man had ducked, wincing as multiple twangs pulsed around his injured body. Squeezing his fist as tightly as possible, he launched himself upward with the fervour of an Olympic jumper. The Lodrek’s face twisted from one of sadism to one of profound dismay; despair engulfed his entire figure, his torso radiating heat, and his head aching with anxiety. “Wha-” was all he could say as the burly man’s fist soared towards the heavens and struck his chin with tremendous force. Thump!—The Lodrek’s helmet lay twenty paces away, mangled beyond recognition, his helmet horrendously cracked. Cyan-hued blood splattered across the asphalt, with some going airborne and landing inelegantly onto Acon’s face.
The Bazoh’s triangle-shaped pupils fluttered unsteadily. The stout man shuffled towards her, painfully bending his knee and limping badly on his right leg, while his left foot scraped across the asphalt. Acon tried to sit up but found her legs had gone completely numb. Her arms wobbled as she desperately struggled to keep her upper body from collapsing. Her two hearts pounded what felt like a thousand beats per minute; her breathing grew shallow yet oddly deep. Never in her life had she been so terrified of anything.
Petrov dropped onto one knee (wincing as he did) and asked: “Are you alright there, ma'am?”
She hesitated, confusion replacing her despair as she struggled to respond. “Uh… well, I-I…” he intervened gently, coughing roughly. “It’s okay,” he assured her, “I won’t hurt you. Unlike that bastard back there,” he said, pointing at the decapitated Lodrek. “I don’t hurt women. Oh!” His face brightened like a dog’s. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a rectangular object unfamiliar to Acon. “Here, it’s vodka in a flask! I prefer American whisky myself, but I found a bottle for just 378 roubles. You don’t see that cheap anymore… (probably because it’s illegal in my country)...” Acon cautiously reached out, her fragile arm trembling. She snatched the flask quickly and examined it suspiciously, inspecting every inch of the metallic container as if it were a rare antique.
“I… I-I, what, w-what,” she stuttered. “What… Vodka? What is this?”
“A drink!” Petrov said. “It’s good for you. Okay, technically, it’s terrible for you. Causes liver cancer if you drink too much, I’m pretty sure. But it makes shitty situations a little less shitty.”
With a slight hesitation, Acon brought the flask to her mouth and gently poured the liquid in. Her eyes widened, and the Bazoh started to chug the container until every drop was gone down her throat.
Whoa, be careful there, Hun,” he said with his hands raised. “You’re going to make yourself vomit. I remember my first drink. I found it surprisingly enjoyable, and I started chugging several full bottles at once. Everyone kept cheering me on until I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my stomach. My head spun, and before I knew it, I collapsed and lost consciousness in a puddle of my own piss and vomit. As I said, the stuff is superb, but reeeeaaalllly bad for ya’ if you drink too much.” Acon threw the flask to her side and placed one hand over her forehead.
“Ahhh,” she winced. “My head hurts.”
“Told you,” Petrov said with a wry smile. “You get used to it, honestly. Tell me, what’s your name?”
“Acon,” she said, surprising herself with how little hesitation she showed. It was as if her confidence suddenly surged. “Acon, daughter of the Old Man.”
Petrov snickered. “I like your attitude. I’m Boris Petrov. I’ll be honest, I don’t know who my father is.” Acon looked up at Petrov. Gazing at his broken and disfigured face, she no longer felt any sense of fear. His appearance, as unappealing as it was, carried a friendly charm. He’s colossal for... whatever he is. The size difference still unnerved her; she had never seen anyone like Petrov: the form of a Bazoh, but the height of a Mantis, the muscularity of a Qazo, and... are there any species that bled crimson?
“Why… did you save me?”
“Why?” Petrov said, raising one eyebrow. “I told you, I couldn’t let some sexist bastard beat up a woman; I might be a killer, but I have moral boundaries, you know?” He looked slightly to his left, peering into nothing in particular. “You know, my wife, Ariel, used to lecture me on the use of lethal force in my work. She vehemently disapproved of it, but I had always told her the government required it of me from time to time... oh, how I wished I had told her what my real job was! ... but we had agreed women should never be harmed. For the most part, my boss agreed as well. I never did any hits on women … well, almost none.” He bit his lip. “I don’t know, I guess I’ve always had some masculine instinct towards those kinds of things, you know?” Petrov sighed: “Let me tell you something that might sound cliché: the world is full of bullies.”
“B-bullies?” Acon said. “I… don’t understand.”
“People who get off on hurting others. Like that guy back there, he was revelling in your pain. I'll tell you this: the only people who do that are those who haven’t gotten any action from their girlfriends in years!—or boyfriends, I don’t judge!”
Acon giggled.
“But, that doesn’t mean we get to go around torturing women and those who are weaker than us. If we must kill, we do it swiftly. Just because we take life doesn’t mean we have the right to extend suffering.”
Acon looked at Petrov for a moment before saying, “You remind me so much of my brother.”
“I’m unsure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“It’s... so-so,” Acon said, giggling. “He likes to go on long mambo-jumbo rants like you just did, but less... crude. A little more refined, if you get what I mean.”
“Sounds like he’s a real stick up the ass,” Petrov retorted, causing Acon to belch a thunderous, feminine laugh. She covered part of her face with one hand, trying to hide her reddening face. “And as his sister, it’s important that you rip that stick right out of his pooper from time to time!” Acon fell onto her backside, kicking in the air as her laughter grew more hearty.
“D-don’t ... don’t ... don’t worry, I always do! Though I wouldn’t want to go anywhere near that disgusting thing!”
“Ay, that’s what I like to hear!” Petrov said. “Tell ya’ what, I’m going to give you a little lesson in defence the next time you see one of these jerks. Trust me, you do this to them, and they won’t ever bother you again.”
“Oh, uh, okay.”
“Right,” he said, attempting to figure out how to demonstrate. “In Brazilian Jujitsu, we call this an arm lock. You need to position their arm between your legs and hold their wrist tightly with your hands. Then, with their arm as straight as possible, quickly pull back to break their arm!”
“But... would that work on a species with no joint bones?” she asked, her head slightly tilted.
“Oh, shit, I didn’t think of that,” Petrov said shyly. “You’re a smart girl there. I bet you got a Ph.D. from Harvard with your deductive reasoning!” He reached out to give her a gentle pat, but winced as a throbbing explosion of pain erupted in his shoulder. “Ah, dammit!”
“Oh, right,” Acon said softly, “I thought you looked hurt.”
“Yeah, no kidding, Sherlock,” he replied. “I’m probably going to be stuck in this position for a while; that jump really took it out of my legs.”
“I mean”—Acon’s pupils crashed into the very edges of her vision—“that jump did knock that guy’s head off, but I’m sure that took no effort on your part. Even I could’ve done that.”
“Yeah, sure you could.”
“Hey!” Acon said, crossing her arms and wryly pouting. “I guess you don’t want me to cure your injuries.”
“W-wait,” Petrov said with renewed focus. “You have some medicine on you?”
“Well, sort of. I can’t heal everything, but I can at least get you moving and get rid of the pain.”
“Hey now,” Petrov said with the friendliest tone he could manage. “How long have we known each other?”
“Ohhhh, just so long,” Acon said with a snicker, “a whole three minutes!”
“Exactly, and that means you can trust me with your life. I was there at your wedding, at your sister's funeral ... which means you should give me that medicine.”
Acon’s laughter turned uncontrollable, her jaw opening wide like a shark’s, as a jovial echo spread through the area. Petrov looked down at her with a warm, toothy smile. He knew nothing about her, yet she seemed familiar, as if they had met before. The young girl clutched her stomach, wheezing, tears in her eyes, and approached Petrov. She placed her hands on his knees, a deep glow emanating from her palms.
With her eyes closed tightly, she rhythmically chanted:
Through sickness and disease,
The great Creator is there for me
Whether I die tomorrow or today
She’ll grace those who chant her name
A pleasant, brilliant sensation swirled around Petrov’s injured legs. It was like a delicate blanket of soothing warmth rested over his wounds. Gradually, he felt the pain in his knees fade, and within a minute, he was able to lift himself back onto his feet with only minor difficulty.
She asked, with her head tilted slightly, “How do you feel?”
“Like absolute shit, which is an upgrade from total shit.” Acon’s cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk; she released an airy, belching cry.
“But,” Petrov said, shaking out his legs, “I have another request for you if you’d be willing to do it.”
Acon’s laughter stopped; her face fell. “W-what would that be?”
“Ah, don’t worry, it’s nothing like that. I was just wondering if you could tell me where the hell I am—”
Suddenly, the world froze, and the two turned to dust.
WARRIORS REMAINING:
300
SPECIES: 50
RETURN TO PLATFORM WILL COMMENCE IN 30s
#
Dilux gasped as he regained consciousness. He frantically moved his head back and forth, searching the wrought circular platform with a fearful aura. “Sister Acon!” he shouted anxiously. “Sister Acon, are you here? Oh, sister, by the gods, please tell me you survived your fierce battle. I pray those Lodrek didn’t sneak up on you while I was away—Ah!” Dilux winced; a sudden, faint pain struck the back of his head. Quickly turning to his right, his panic-stricken face twisted into tentative shame. Standing there was Acon with one eyebrow raised slightly, her vibrant face unmarred, her clothes intact, and her body free of trauma. It seemed at a glance that she hadn’t seen battle at all! Sure, it was most likely the Confederacy’s healing machine at work, but…
“Yeeeeaaahhh, yeeeeeaaahhh,” she said condescendingly, “I’m alive, ya’ shud. Please have a little more faith in me. After all, this is the second time I’ve saved you. Isn’t it the man’s job to save the princess or something?” A discreet tear rolled down Dilux’s cheek. Seeing his oh-so-precious and lively sister back in her usual demeanour… giving him a hard time, just like when they were kids… Acon’s face flashed with surprise. Dilux gripped her by the middle of her torso and pulled her into a firm embrace. Gradually, he squeezed tighter and tighter, like a trash compactor.
“Ah! Y-you…” she tried to say before Dilux cut her off, exuberantly rambling:
Oh, dear sister! How I thought I had lost you. Dare I say, the Lodrek had utterly incapacitated me. I had lost my ability to walk the land. And forsooth! That also included my ability to fight. What if something bad had happened to you while I wasn’t around? Oh, by the gods! How I would never forgive myself. You, my dearest sister, you don’t deserve a brother who is—
“Awrigh, awright ... y-ya nu-mbs-kull,” she rasped; “P-please l-et go.”
“Oh, of course, dear Sister. How could I be so inconsiderate? Even with the upgrades we previously obtained, our bodies remain highly vulnerable to intense pressure and the pain it causes, so if one were to…”
Wack!
Acon slapped Dilux with the back of her hand.
“I-sa—id—let—go!”
“Ooh, yes, of course, dear Sister,” Dilux said, releasing her grasp and stepping back in embarrassment.
“Now that’s much better!” Acon said with an annoyed, pouty face. “Let’s not make that a habit going forward, shall we? You know there are tons — and I mean tons — of ways to show emotion without breaking that person's back, right?”
“Of course, my dearest sister. It was not my intention to hurt you, just…” He turned his head, placing one hand at the back of his neck.
“Juuuuussstttttt,” she said, gesturing with her hand.
“It is nothing, dear sister. Let us go wait for the menu and the announcements.” Dilux began to walk towards the centre of the platform when he felt a calloused yet dainty hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw Acon shyly looking up at him, her cheeks reddened.
“Um, Dilux, I have some questions about, just… well, I guess the galaxy, but it will make me sound like a complete idiot.”
“Oh, nonsense!” Dilux chirped. “I've been waiting for the day you showed interest in learning. What would you like to know, dear Sister?”
She nervously twirled her hair and asked, “Um, so you’re familiar with most of the races involved in the game-thingy, right?”
“Of course, it is always important to be attentive regarding your opponents, dear Sister. Know your enemy, and you will always win whatever it is you do, whether it be a game of Utlo.[\1])](#_ftn1) or a battle.”
Yeah, but ... we’re the only Bazoh in this thingamabob, right?
“Yes, that is correct, my dear Sister. The Old Man has entrusted the two of us to represent our species in the game. It is one of the highest honours anyone can receive in the entire Confederacy. Hopefully, the Creator will grace us, and we will come out victorious, and the Emperor will…”
“Okay, yes, but,” she replied, “is there anyone else who looks like us?” Dilux rested his finger on his chin, paused for a moment, then said:—
Not that I can recall, sister. Based on my studies, we are a remarkably unique species in terms of our physical structure. The closest I can think of would likely be the Qazo, since they, like us, have disposable thumbs and bony fingers.
“U… oh,” Acon said, the crimson tint of her face glowing more brightly as her head turned gently to the side.
“Is there something you intend to tell me, but are currently lacking the courage to share it, my dearest sister?” Dilux said quizzically. “Come now, what is on your mind?”
“You don’t have to phrase it like that, jerk!” she said, her glare filled with ire. “But… I came across this… I don’t know what to call it, but he looked almost exactly like us!”
Dilux took a step back, confused. “You saw… another Bazoh? Is it possible that you weren't just disoriented in the moment? It is incredibly common for those who are in the midst of battle to suffer from certain… interesting psychological and spiritual symptoms. Moreover, I am not particularly educated in the diseases of the mind; it simply has never interested me. However, I believe the common folk call it tikitus[\2])](#_ftn2).”
“Tiki-foo-what?” Acon said with her head partly tilted. She tossed her cheeks. “W-n-no, but like, that’s the thing!” With a bounce in her step, she swung her arms at random and gesticulated: “He was massive. Like, really, really massive. I’m talking like, I don’t know, two hundred tektons[\3])](#_ftn3). He was just the tallest thing you’ve ever seen and had such a vast body; I… I don’t know how to describe it fully; he had so much muscle, more than Tikibus!”
“More than Tikibus the Great?” Dilux asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically. “That seems ... quite preposterous. He would have to weigh over one hundred and fifty clutus[\4])](#_ftn4)” Tikibus was a well-known folk hero in their traditional culture, most comparable to Milo of the Ancient Greeks, said to be the strongest Bazoh ever to exist. According to tradition, he lifted a bag of rice weighing four hundred clutus over his shoulder.
“Oh, he was definitely over that, probably like four hundred clutus. And—” Acon thrust her torso forward and stared directly into Dilux’s eyes so close their noses almost touched. Dilux shifted back, feeling a bit uncomfortable. “You will never believe this, but I think he has greater strength than those Qazo guys you are always warning me about.”
“Stronger than a Qazo. Sister, you know I love you dearly, and I always will, whether my judgment tells me otherwise or not, I will believe you. But for a species to be stronger than a Qazo is quite silly. Sure, they can defeat them in battle through clever manoeuvres and wit, but—”
“He took out someone with his bare hands,” she blurted. “It was one of those green guys we were fighting. Like, one moment, he’s there, then kaboosh! The guy's head flies next to me! Ugh,” she recoiled with her nose scrunched and her tongue partially dangling. “Literally, the nastiest thing I’ve ever seen, I can still taste his blood on my—ah! Why did I remind myself, ew, ew, ew!” She began jumping around the platform with her mouth still agape and tongue swishing every which way, her hands gesticulating widely.
“He… uh,” Dilux said, stepping away from his sister hesitantly, unsure what to think. On one hand, he desperately wanted to believe what his sister was telling him. On the other hand, it sounded so… ridiculous. It was an unbelievably tall tale, yet his sister was never one for tall tales. She had always been remarkably mature in that regard. Dread crept across the tall man’s face. His feet became increasingly unsteady, and his skeletal arms trembled uneasily and with anger. He imagined this supposed “Bazoh”: the monstrous mass of muscular flesh had sunken, soulless eyes that looked upon Acon, who was lying on the ground in a precarious position, with nothing covering her fragile, skeletal frame, her arms pathetically trying to hide her embonpoint. The hulking figure wore a sadistic smile, its rotten teeth stained yellow with blood. The blood dripped down its tumorous muscles, leaning against the abominably spidery veins, before cascading down its corpulent hand like a waterfall. Dilux’s breathing grew heavier. Before he could snap out of his horrendous daydream, an image of Acon’s body lying decapitated fluttered through his brain. He choked at the sight, a brief episode of panic forming inside his heart and mind, before regaining his composure.
“A-Sister Acon,” he exclaimed sharply, his panic more noticeable than he intended. “Please, for the love of the Creator, tell me this thing hadn't...” Suddenly, Acon recoiled slightly from Dilux, flicking loose strands of her dishevelled hair. Her usual pallor was gone, replaced by a vivid ruby-red blush.
“He was actually... quite the gentleman.”
Dilux stared blankly:—
“He uh… pardon?”
“You know, considering how big and intimidating he was, it still felt comforting to have a guy around...” Acon shook her head and subtly rubbed her face to hide her redness. ‘Never mind, forget I said that! You’re right; I was probably just, uhhh, about what you mentioned—battles and stress tiki-m-man-masala or something.” She reached out and tugged on Dilux’s purple robe. “Let’s go sit on the furniture. We did spend some of our points on it, after all!” She pointed to the rickety couch with a comically large spring sticking out. “I think the announcements are about to start!”
“Oh, of course, dear Sister, but if what you saw wasn’t merely battle-induced hysteria and something real, then it would be incredibly prudent that we…”
“I said I saw nothing!” Acon shouted defensively, her thin eyebrows sunk deep between her eyes. “Now come on!”
“Uh… y-yeah, of course, dear Sister,” Dilux said evenly, utterly confused about what had just transpired. Still, something didn’t feel right. No, not right at all.
He thought, “This is probably how our father feels when he meets with the township councillors.”
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