Slumbering Sloth

Vikram's eyes widened as he comprehended the horrifying truth. The black sun wasn't a celestial body or some mysterious force; it was a mass of the gigantic worm's offspring. The writhing mass of younglings dispersed in every direction, each one resembling a smaller version of the colossal worm.

Vikram ran as fast as his legs could take him. It was all thanks to the foresight he had as he started running the moment he felt something was wrong. Otherwise, only God knew what his fate was.

The young worms continued to rain down behind him, creating an otherworldly scene as they wriggled and squirmed on the desert floor. Vikram's heart pounded in his chest, and his breaths came in ragged gasps as he sprinted past the bizarre storm.

He glanced back briefly, witnessing the relentless descent of the worm offspring. The trio of warriors and the old man struggled to keep up. Vikram's mind raced, calculating the best route to escape the onslaught.

Vikram rushed forward, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the rain of worms. The desert landscape was still alive with the wriggling forms of the young maggots, and he could see multiple humps of sand that seemed to be moving around. He didn't want to find out what these little creatures did, having had enough revelations for one day in the Blood Desert.

Running tirelessly, Vikram finally stopped when he saw a cave in the distance. There was no imminent danger following him, allowing him a moment to catch his breath. He carefully put down the two baggages he had been carrying and sat on a rock just outside the cave.

Taking a deep breath, Vikram closed his eyes, contemplating the events that had unfolded. The desert was more terrifying than he had ever expected. Opening his eyes, he noticed the girl tending to the old man. His gaze lingered on the old man, and a question formed in his mind.

"Old man," Vikram spoke, his voice breaking the silence, "Do you know anyone from the warrior trio?"

...

As Vikram observed the unfolding scene in the cold desert night, a shiver ran through his perfectly crafted body. The biting cold seemed to penetrate not only his physical form but also his consciousness, a stark reminder of the unfamiliarity of this harsh environment.

The icy winds whispered stories of a South India that rarely experienced such extremes, leaving Vikram grappling with the dissonance between his accustomed warmth and the current frigid reality.

With a body that bordered on perfection, Vikram found himself facing a challenge he hadn't anticipated—the struggle to adapt to a climate so different from his origin when he had a body that was almost perfect for everything.

It was a phycological toll that the desert was having upon him. 

As the cold gnawed at him, he couldn't help but wonder about his real body left behind, a distant concern lingering in the recesses of his consciousness.

Shaking off the intrusive thoughts, Vikram focused on the present, where four distinct silhouettes emerged from the darkness.

The warrior trio, a formidable force, was accompanied by an unexpected character—the hunched-back steward. However, the distressing sight of the old man being mistreated drew Vikram's attention.

The tableau in the cold desert unfolded further as Vikram's attention shifted to the peculiar dynamics among the warriors.

The two smaller warriors, like mischievous imps, continued their torment of the hunched-back steward, their actions a blend of cruelty and thoughtlessness. Meanwhile, the hulking figure, resembling a dormant beast, remained an imposing yet inactive presence, unfazed by the unfolding drama.

The hulk-like warrior, seemingly impervious to the events around him, posed a latent threat that hung in the air. Vikram speculated that the power within those massive limbs could unleash devastation with a mere gesture.

The thought sent a shiver down Vikram's spine, emphasizing the potential danger lurking in the cold desert night.

Vikram stared at the warrior duo, and the warrior duo stared at him, now even more brazenly. The stare was broken when the old man who was the head of the slave group. 

The old man had presented him with a wooden bowl filled with an aromatic dish. Yet, as Vikram peered into the bowl, an instinctive urge to throw up washed over him.

Suppressing the unpleasant sensation, he accepted the offering with a forced smile, not wanting to offend the old man who seemed pleased with his gesture of gratitude.

With the Head Slave bringing up the bowl, he also sneakily gave him a small package and lingered for a moment, and asked. "Master, ar..." 

Vikram glared instantly, and the old man shivered, bowed his head, and returned to his job.

"My Lord, If you're..." Vikram glared again, and the Head Slave shivered, and lingered for a moment, chosing his words carefully, and continued. "If you're going through this journey, you would need this..." The Head Slave handed a leather packet, and when Vikram opened it, he saw cigarettes.

Vikram felt instantly speechless. 

The Head Slave, understanding Vikram's confusion, elaborated further. "My Lord, these cigarettes are made from Mahogany leaves, combined with a unique mix of herbs. The smoke from each inhalation will be immensely painful, but it possesses vitalizing properties that can heal injuries and restore your body."

As he handed over the packet, the Head Slave clasped Vikram's hand tightly, his eyes filled with complex emotions. "Please, My Lord, use them with caution."

As Vikram took the bowl and the packet from the aging old man, he instructed him to prepare four additional bowls of this... thing, as though he hadn't heard the heartfelt concern of the old man. 

Vikram saw the old man going to prepare additional food, albeit, now a bit more depressed, but Vikram heard some grumbling murmur from the old man. 

"Damn Natherite!" 

Vikram analyzed the word and thought that it was the name of people who lived in the 'Natherine' region, although he didn't know if there was even a Natherine region, which he thought was where the warrior trio was from, which was again a guess. 

'It's all about the play of guessing what is correct or not.' 

Vikram thought as he shook his head and looked at the content inside the wooden bowl, and again, his mind and body had a strong feeling of retching out his already empty stomach. 

What was inside the bowl was the younglings of the gigantic worm that he had previously seen. He had seen the old man catching a couple of worms with some sort of leaf that had grown frequently from the desert. 

These little buggers would burrow into your flesh within seconds if you catch them bare-handed(Vikram had asked the old man.) That was why a special leaf was used. Vikram was first confused about how the leaves of a plant would grow in a drought-filled region, but he later understood. 

According to the old man, the sticky sand which was hidden by a layer of normal sand had a high content of water. The worms that were hidden inside the sand had a layer of coating that had a high H2O content. 

This was just a hypothetical conclusion that Vikram had come up with based on the knowledge that the old man had shared. 

As the four individuals gathered together, a semblance of unity emerged in the cold desert night. The head of the slave group, previously grumbling discontentedly, ceased his complaints as the warrior trio and the steward joined their ranks.

With a collective understanding of the impending night, they worked together to set up a makeshift camp. The cold desert offered little comfort, but the camaraderie among the diverse group provided a sense of solidarity in the face of the harsh environment.

The warrior trio, no longer the focus of the slave group leader's grumblings, contributed their skills to the camp setup. The hulk-like warrior displayed a surprising adeptness in handling the surroundings. The steward, though still bearing the marks of mistreatment, got to work with a saddened face.