The Last Watcher

Zorath lucks out when a young geologist happens upon him, trapped deep underground

The Whisper in the Abyss


The cave explorer, Lena, felt the air grow colder as she descended deeper into the uncharted fissure. Her headlamp flickered, casting jagged shadows on the limestone walls. The rope tethering her to the surface swayed gently, her only lifeline in the labyrinthine depths of the earth. She’d heard rumors of this place—an unmapped sinkhole in the Nevada desert, whispered about by locals as “the Devil’s Throat.” Most dismissed it as folklore, but Lena, a geologist with a penchant for the unknown, couldn’t resist. Now, at 800 feet below the surface, her instruments were going haywire, and an eerie hum vibrated through the stone.


“Lena,” a voice rasped, dry as ancient parchment, from the darkness below.


She froze, her breath catching. Her headlamp swept downward, revealing nothing but jagged stalactites. “Who’s there?” she called, her voice echoing.


“Down here,” the voice croaked, urgent yet brittle, like wind through dead reeds. “Please… I see your light. Come closer.”


Lena’s heart pounded, but curiosity overpowered fear. She rappelled further, her boots scraping against the rock. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of dust and decay. At the bottom of the shaft, her light caught something—a massive, skeletal figure sprawled across a cavern floor, its limbs unnaturally long, its frame towering even in its prone state. It was over 15 feet tall, a grotesque caricature of a human, skin stretched taut over bones and sinew, like an animated mummy. Its weight, even in this emaciated state, had to be immense—600 pounds at least, she guessed, her geologist’s mind calculating the density of bone and desiccated muscle. Its eyes, sunken and glowing faintly, locked onto hers.


“Don’t scream,” it whispered, its voice a mix of desperation and command. “I mean you no harm. I am… trapped.”


Lena’s hands trembled on her rope. “What are you?” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.


The creature’s bony fingers twitched, clawing at the stone. “I am called Zorath,” it said. “Once, I was a watcher, set to guide your kind. Long ago, I walked among the stars, tasked by powers beyond your ken to shepherd humanity. But I… fell. I succumbed to desires—lust, power, the fleeting joys of flesh. For that, I was cursed. Buried here, where no light can touch me, lest I burn to ash.”


Lena’s mind raced. A watcher? Some ancient guardian? The thing’s size and condition made it hard to dismiss as delusion. Its skin, cracked like desert earth, clung to a frame that seemed to pulse with an unnatural vitality despite its frailty. “Why should I believe you?” she asked, edging closer, her scientific curiosity warring with survival instinct.


Zorath’s skeletal jaw creaked into a grim smile. “You seek truth, do you not? I feel it in you. Help me, and I will share secrets no mortal has known. But you must not tell the authorities. They know of me. They sealed me here centuries ago, fearing what I might reveal.”


“Who are ‘they’?” Lena asked, her voice steadying.


“The ones who guard the old ways,” Zorath hissed. “Men in shadows, who hoard knowledge and call it order. They found me in my weakness, bound me in chains forged by forgotten arts, and cast me into this abyss. Send help, but only those you trust. Swear it.”


Lena hesitated. The creature’s story was madness, yet its presence was undeniable. She could feel its weight, not just physical but existential, pressing against her. “What do you need?” she asked.


“Bring others,” Zorath said, its voice growing fevered. “Strong ones, to break the seals above. But no light—never light. It will burn me to nothing. Swear you’ll keep my secret.”


Lena nodded slowly, her mind already mapping the logistics. She could contact her climbing team, maybe a few trusted colleagues. But the risk… if this thing was telling the truth, the authorities—some shadowy cabal—might come for her too. “I’ll try,” she said. “But I need proof. Something to show you’re not just… a hallucination.”


Zorath’s eyes flared brighter, and it extended a skeletal hand. In its palm, a faint glyph pulsed, glowing with an otherworldly light that made Lena’s head throb. “Take this,” it said, pressing the glyph into the air. It floated, etching itself into her mind—a map, she realized, of constellations no telescope had ever seen. “Proof of my truth. Now go.”


Lena ascended, her heart pounding, the glyph’s image burning in her thoughts. She reached the surface, gasping in the desert sun, and checked her gear. The map was real, seared into her memory. She could bring help, but the creature’s warning echoed: no authorities, no light. Zorath’s curse was clear—it was a fallen god, a watcher who’d betrayed its purpose, doomed to rot in darkness. And now, Lena held its fate in her hands.


She stared at the horizon, weighing her choice. Help the monster and risk everything, or expose it and face whatever hunted it. The desert offered no answers, only silence.


The Abyss Unleashed


Lena couldn’t shake the glyph’s glow in her mind, a celestial map that whispered of truths beyond her world. Against her better judgment, she returned to the Devil’s Throat three weeks later, leading a dozen college students from her university’s caving club. They were young, eager, and reckless—perfect for the task, she thought, and unlikely to be on any authority’s radar. Each carried heavy gear: ropes, pulleys, hydraulic jacks, and tools to break the ancient seals Zorath had described. She’d told them only fragments of the truth—a trapped figure, a rescue mission, no mention of the creature’s monstrous form or cosmic origins. The students, thrill-seekers all, didn’t question her. Their headlamps bobbed like fireflies as they descended into the sinkhole, their chatter echoing off the limestone.


At 800 feet, the cavern opened before them, and Zorath’s massive, skeletal form loomed in the dim light. The students froze, gasps turning to screams as their headlamps illuminated the 15-foot-tall mummy, its 600-pound frame of bone and sinew twitching with unnatural life. Its sunken eyes blazed, locking onto Lena. “You kept your word,” Zorath rasped, its voice a dry wind. “But they… they are not enough.”


Before Lena could react, Zorath moved—faster than its emaciated form should allow. Its bony claws slashed through the air, tearing into the nearest student, a wiry sophomore named Kyle. Blood sprayed, and the others screamed, dropping gear as they scrambled for the ropes. Zorath’s laughter, a grating, hollow sound, filled the cavern. One by one, it hunted them down, its massive limbs crushing skulls and snapping spines with sickening ease. Lena stood paralyzed, her mind reeling as Zorath consumed them, tearing flesh and bone with jagged teeth, swallowing chunks whole. Blood dripped from its maw, pooling on the stone floor.


“Lena,” it said, turning to her, its skeletal face smeared with gore. “You alone are spared. You are… necessary.”


She stumbled back, her voice choking. “You said you needed help! You said—”


“I lied,” Zorath hissed, its eyes flaring. “I am no mere prisoner. I am a watcher, cursed for my sins, but no longer bound by them. These—” it gestured to the mangled bodies, “—their essence strengthens me. And you… you will birth my vengeance.”


Lena’s stomach churned as Zorath seized the students’ gear—hydraulic jacks, steel cables, and sledgehammers. With terrifying strength, it smashed through the cavern’s sealed entrance, stone crumbling under its blows. The earth shook as it carved a path upward, dragging Lena with one skeletal hand. She fought, but its grip was iron, her screams lost in the collapsing tunnel.


They emerged into the desert night, the stars blazing above. Zorath’s skin smoked faintly under the starlight, but it didn’t burn—not yet. “The curse holds me from the sun,” it said, towering over her, “but the night is mine. I was a watcher, meant to guide mankind, but your kind is a plague. I will bring you down, and my spawn—my Titans—will rule the ashes.”


It forced Lena to the ground, its intent clear. “You will carry the first,” it growled, its voice dripping with malice. “A half-human god, born to crush your world and remake it in my image.”


Lena’s mind raced, her eyes darting to a discarded sledgehammer nearby. Zorath’s plan was unfolding—world domination through a lineage of monstrous Titans, starting with her. But the stars above, the ones from the glyph, seemed to pulse, whispering something she couldn’t yet grasp. She had one chance, if she could survive the night.


The Light of Judgment


Under the desert stars, Lena lay pinned beneath Zorath’s skeletal grip, its 15-foot frame looming as it spoke of Titans and world domination. Her heart pounded, the sledgehammer just out of reach, when a distant roar cut through the night—a helicopter’s blades slicing the air. Zorath’s glowing eyes narrowed, its head snapping toward the sound.


From the darkness, a spotlight blazed, pinning the creature in its beam. Black-clad figures rappelled from the chopper, moving with military precision. Their gear bore the crossed keys of the Vatican—Swiss Guard, but not the ceremonial kind. This was their tactical response team, a covert unit whispered about in ecclesiastical circles. Lena’s mind flashed to the confession she’d made weeks ago, before recruiting the students. She’d told Father Marcos everything: the sinkhole, the glyph, Zorath’s cursed existence. He’d listened gravely, promising to pray for her. She hadn’t known he’d passed the word to Rome.


“Release her!” a voice boomed, amplified by a megaphone. Father Marcos himself stood among the team, clad in black vestments, a silver crucifix gleaming at his chest. Behind him, the Swiss Guard aimed modified rifles loaded with consecrated rounds, their faces grim under night-vision goggles.


Zorath snarled, its bony frame tensing, but the Guards moved faster. They fired steel cables from pneumatic launchers, the tips embedding into the creature’s desiccated flesh. Zorath roared, thrashing its 600-pound frame, but the cables held, reinforced with alloys forged in Vatican foundries. The team swarmed, driving titanium stakes through its limbs, pinning it to the desert floor. Lena scrambled free, her breath ragged, as Father Marcos pulled her to safety.


“You betrayed me!” Zorath howled, its voice shaking the ground. “I am a watcher, a god to your kind!”


“You’re a fallen thing,” Marcos said, stepping forward, his crucifix raised. “Cursed for your sins, and now judged.” He turned to Lena, his eyes soft but resolute. “You did right to confess, child. We’ve known of this creature’s kind—watchers who strayed. The Church has hunted them for centuries.”


The Guards secured the last stake, chaining Zorath spread-eagle under the stars. The creature writhed, its skin smoking faintly even in the moonlight. “The sun will rise soon,” Marcos said. “Your curse will end you.”


As dawn’s first light crept over the horizon, Zorath’s screams grew shrill. Its skeletal form ignited, flames erupting from its brittle skin. The 600 pounds of bone and sinew burned with an unnatural fury, the fire consuming every trace until only ash remained, scattered by the desert wind.
Lena collapsed, trembling, as Marcos placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s over,” he said. “The watchers are gone. You’re safe.”


The Swiss Guard packed their gear, the helicopter’s blades whirring to life. Lena stared at the scorched earth where Zorath had been, the glyph’s image still burning in her mind. The Church had saved her, but she wondered what other secrets they buried—and what else might still lurk in the dark.