Chapter 7: Just Like Tooth Decay

Brazilian Empire — Minas Gerais, Last Comradeship Camp — 1662

The scorching midday sun fell like a curse over the Last Comradeship camp. Tetanus, now fourteen years old with muscles more defined after months of brutal training, struck a gnarled tree with his rusty curved sword. Each slash left a deep scar in the bark, parallel marks that told the story of his bottled-up rage.

“More strength!” he whispered to himself, mimicking Zara’s tone. “The enemy won’t wait for you to play nice.”

Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with the dust clinging to his skin. The routine was always the same: wake before dawn, train until his hands turned red, eat whatever was available, and occasionally talk with his friends—Gume, Lâmina, or Farpa. But today, something was different.

A piercing scream cut through the air.

Tetanus froze, the sword still embedded in the wood. The sound came from Tiradentes’s large tent. It wasn’t a battle cry—it was pure, raw pain.

Without thinking, he yanked the sword from the tree and ran.

The commander’s tent was closed, but the screams continued, muffled by the thick canvas. Tetanus pushed through the entrance without ceremony, ready to face any threat—

And found himself staring at a surreal scene.

Tiradentes, the formidable mercenary leader, was hunched over a man writhing in an improvised chair. The patient—a scout Tetanus recognized—had eyes wide with terror as Tiradentes, wielding bloodied pliers, yanked something from his mouth with a sharp motion.

“STOP CRYING!” Tiradentes roared, holding what looked like a molar with the pliers. “YOU SAID NO ANESTHESIA!”

The scout spat blood into a dirty bucket beside him, groaning.

Tetanus stood frozen at the entrance, his sword slowly lowering.

“What’s going on here?”

Tiradentes turned, the pliers still dripping. His eyes lit up when he saw Tetanus.

“Ah, the kid! Come in, come in. Want a little treat too?” The scout choked in the background.

“Why are you pulling teeth?” Tetanus asked, bewildered.

Tiradentes shrugged, wiping the pliers on a stained cloth.

“In my spare time, I’m a dentist. Someone’s gotta do it, and I’ve got the steadiest hand.” He tossed the tooth into a glass jar filled with others, clinking like coins. “Plus, it pays well. Mercenaries live off war, but dentists live off fools with cavities.”

The scout mumbled something unintelligible, clutching his swollen face.

Tetanus looked around. The tent was part war room, part macabre clinic. Battle maps covered a table, next to bottles of alcohol and torturous-looking tools that didn’t seem meant for humans.

“You here for a reason, or you want a check-up too?” Tiradentes asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Heard screams.”

“Oh.” Tiradentes laughed. “So you came to save me? Good to know.” He turned to the scout. “Get out. And put a warm cloth on that.”

The man fled like a scared rabbit, leaving a trail of saliva and blood.

Tiradentes cleaned his hands and grabbed a bottle of beer, taking a swig before offering it to Tetanus.

“Drink. I’ve got a job for you.”

Tetanus waved it off. “What kind of job?”

Tiradentes grinned, his teeth glinting in the tent’s dim light.

“Something’s stealing our supplies. No one sees it, no one hears it. It just disappears.” He leaned forward. “I want you to find out what it is.”

“How much does it pay?”

Tiradentes laughed again, tossing two gold coins onto the table.

“This now. More when you come back with answers.”

Tetanus picked up the coins, feeling their weight in his palm. It was more money than he’d ever held.

“And if it’s something… I can’t handle?”

The commander let out a hearty laugh.

“Then that’s your problem. You shouldn’t have joined this life if you couldn’t handle it, kid.” He pointed to the forest beyond the camp. “And don’t come back without knowing what it is.”

“Alright. When do I start?”

“The thefts always happen at night. So… tonight.” Tiradentes clapped his shoulder. “Good luck.”

Tetanus didn’t know if he was joking, but the gold coins in his pocket said it didn’t matter. It was time for his first mission as a mercenary—and, for the first time in a long while, something akin to purpose.

Tetanus left Tiradentes’s tent as the dead light of dusk painted the camp in sickly orange hues. The mercenaries were gathering around fires for dinner. He needed to prepare, but first, he wanted to talk to Zara. If anyone knew how to survive a nighttime patrol in the forest, it was her.

Asking around, he learned she’d gone to a nearby stream. Tetanus followed the beaten dirt path, the sound of running water reaching him before he saw the stream. The vegetation was denser here, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and green leaves.

“Zara?” he called, pushing aside low branches.

What he saw made him freeze for a moment.

Zara stood waist-deep in the water, her back to him, the muscles of her shoulders defined under her tanned skin. Her red hair, loose and wet, fell in dark strands down her back. She splashed water on her face, rubbing her neck, and Tetanus realized, with a sudden jolt, that she was completely naked.

His heart raced. He should leave. Immediately. But his feet felt rooted to the ground. How convenient.

“Gonna keep staring, or you gonna tell me why you’re here, kid?” Zara’s voice wasn’t angry, but it carried a mocking edge. She didn’t turn, but he saw her shoulders tense slightly, as if ready to crouch or spin in an instant.

Tetanus choked.

“I—I didn’t know you were—”

“Taking a bath? In a stream? Shocking.” She laughed, a hoarse sound, and turned slightly, just enough for him to see the profile of her face but not enough to reveal more than he’d already glimpsed. “Spit it out.”

He closed his eyes for a second, forcing his voice out.

“Tiradentes gave me a mission. Something’s stealing supplies. I’m investigating tonight.”

Zara went quiet for a moment. Then he heard the sound of water moving, and when he opened his eyes, she was facing away again, stepping out of the stream with smooth motions. He quickly averted his gaze, but not before catching her reflection in the water—strong curves, white scars crisscrossing her skin.

“So you’re hunting ghosts.” She grabbed a linen shirt hanging on a branch and dressed with practical, unhurried movements. “Got any guesses what it might be?”

“No.” He was still staring at a tree. “But Tiradentes said no one’s ever seen it.”

“Because it’s either real quiet or real fast.” She appeared beside him, fully dressed, her hair dripping. Her yellow eye studied his face, and he couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or amused by the situation. Even though he was taller than her, he couldn’t help feeling intimidated by the mercenary captain.

Tetanus swallowed hard.

“You believe in that stuff?”

She shrugged.

“Seen too much to doubt anything.” She walked past him, heading back to the camp. “Come on.”

He followed, relieved she hadn’t punched him—and, secretly, a little disappointed too.

---

Night fell over the camp. Tetanus adjusted his worn leather armor, the rusty curved sword—more familiar than any other weapon—hanging at his waist, its worn handle molded to his hand. He carried a canteen of water and a small sack with strips of dried meat, the gold coins from Tiradentes tucked into an inner pocket of his armor, their weight a constant reminder of the mission.

He left the tent, the cold night air biting his exposed skin. The camp was quiet except for the crackling of fires and the snoring of sleeping mercenaries. Zara, Gume, Lâmina, and Farpa had already turned in. He was the only one staying up late.

Tetanus moved silently, his eyes adjusted to the dark, each step calculated to avoid twigs or stones that could give him away. Tiradentes had been clear: something or someone was stealing supplies, and he needed to find out what.

He circled the camp’s perimeter, keeping to the shadows of the trees surrounding the clearing. His senses, sharpened by months of training, picked up every sound: the rustling of leaves, the distant croak of frogs, the wind carrying the scent of damp earth.

Under the faint light of a forgotten torch, he noticed something on the ground—tracks. They weren’t normal. Each mark was from a single foot, deep and irregular, as if whoever made them leaned on something for balance. There was no sign of a second foot. He frowned, his hand instinctively touching the sword’s handle. One foot? The idea seemed absurd, but the tracks formed a clear trail, leading away from the camp into the dense forest.

Tetanus followed the trail, sword in hand, the rusty blade reflecting the pale glint of stars occasionally piercing the clouds. The path led him through a winding trail, the trees growing taller and more twisted as he moved deeper. The forest’s silence was oppressive, broken only by his own footsteps and the pulsing of the mark on his chest, which seemed to throb with an unease he couldn’t explain.

After about half an hour, the trail opened into a clearing where an abandoned farm stood, its wooden fences broken and the main house’s roof collapsing. The one-footed tracks continued, leading straight to the property. Tetanus slowed, crouching behind a fallen fence to observe. The air smelled of rot and something else—a metallic tang, like fresh blood.

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He approached an animal collapsed near a barn, its legs bent awkwardly, its thin body trembling with exhaustion. Tetanus moved closer cautiously, sword ready.

The horse’s neck bore strange wounds: two deep punctures surrounded by bruises, as if something had sucked its blood. The animal let out a weak groan, its eyes dull, making Tetanus recoil at the sight. He touched the marks with his fingertips; the skin was still warm, but there was no fresh blood.

He stood and continued following the tracks, which now led to the main house. The door was ajar, hanging on rusty hinges. He pushed it slowly, the creak of wood echoing in the silence. The interior was dark, the smell of mold mixing with something heavier, more visceral. His eyes adjusted, and he saw a body.

The farmer—or what was left of him—was sprawled on the dirt floor, his face unrecognizable, swollen and purple with bruises. His skull was caved in on one side, as if repeatedly struck with something heavy and blunt, perhaps a club or a piece of wood. Blood pooled around him, already starting to dry.

Tetanus approached, sword raised. He examined the body without touching it, noting scratch marks on the man’s hands, as if he’d tried to defend himself. The one-footed tracks were everywhere, circling the body like a macabre dance.

He stepped back. Something was wrong here—this wasn’t just a common thief. Whatever did this was more than human. He looked around for more clues, but the house was empty except for broken furniture and cobwebs. The tracks led out the back door, vanishing into the forest’s darkness beyond the farm.

Tetanus hesitated, his hand tightening on the sword. With the blade in hand, he followed the tracks out of the farm. Now, the forest itself seemed to watch him.

---

Tetanus followed the one-footed tracks, the forest’s darkness swallowing him as the trees closed in around him. The trail was treacherous, with exposed roots and loose stones, the air heavy with humidity and the metallic scent that had haunted him since the farm.

The tracks continued, deep and irregular, leading him deeper into the woods. The forest’s silence was suddenly broken by a strong wind, a howl that seemed to come from nowhere, sending leaves swirling around him.

Tetanus stopped, sword raised, eyes scanning the darkness. The wind wasn’t natural—he felt it in his bones. The trees creaked, their branches bending as if pressed by an invisible force.

Suddenly, something struck his hand with inhuman force, wrenching the sword from his fingers. The blade flew, spinning through the air until it lodged in a tree trunk meters away, out of reach.

Tetanus spun, heart racing, searching for the attacker, but there was nothing but the wind and dancing shadows. He clenched his fists, muscles tense, and grabbed the canteen at his waist, an idea forming.

His sharpened senses caught a faint shift in the air to his left, a near-silent sound of something moving fast. Without hesitation, he opened the canteen and flung the water in a wide arc.

The water hit something in the air, and what was once invisible took form. The creature materialized as if the water had torn a veil, revealing a grotesque being that made Tetanus step back.

It was a Saci, but not like the childish tales of the empire. This was a malnourished abomination, its coal-black skin stretched tight over jagged bones, as if it hadn’t eaten in decades. Dressed in a makeshift red jumpsuit, its single leg, thin as a dry twig, ended in a deformed foot with curved claws digging into the ground. The other leg stump—or whatever the devil it was—was a grotesquely long penis. Its face was a mask of horror: sunken eyes glowing with a sickly red from constant smoking, like dying embers, a mouth too wide, always grinning, filled with crooked teeth like bone shards. A tattered, dirt-stained red cap hung on its head, emitting a faint supernatural glow. The Saci held a lit pipe, its laughter a sarcastic hiss, as if mocking existence itself.

“Thought you’d catch me that easy, kid?” the creature spat, its voice rough and full of scorn. “I’m hungry, and you look like a nice snack!”

Before Tetanus could respond, the wind intensified, and more laughter echoed around him. Six other forms appeared, each as grotesque as the first, materializing as if the air itself had vomited them. It was essentially a gang of Sacis, all with the same starved, deformed look: skeletal bodies with visible ribs under cracked skin, arms too long ending in hands with knife-like nails. Their red caps, some torn, others stained with dried blood, seemed to pulse with a life of their own. Each hopped on a single leg, their other limb swinging unnaturally.

The creatures circled him rapidly, their demonic laughter cutting the air like blades.

Tetanus pressed his back against a tree, swordless, heart pounding. They were fast, unpredictable, and didn’t seem the type to play fair. The first Saci lunged, spinning through the air like a whirlwind, claws aiming for Tetanus’s face. He dodged by a hair, the strike tearing bark from the tree behind him. Another Saci kicked at his legs, trying to trip him, while a third threw a handful of dirt in his eyes.

Tetanus spat as he stumbled back, rubbing his face, his rage reigniting.

He spat out the bitter dirt sticking to his lips, his eyes burning. The Sacis’ laughter echoed like rotten church bells, each cackle a needle in his skull.

“Look at the little orphan, all scared!” one screeched, spinning on its single leg like a crazed top.

“Gonna cry? WHY DON’T YOU RUN BACK TO YOUR MOMMY’S SKIRT?” another spat, its claws scraping the ground like sharpened knives.

Tetanus didn’t answer. His body moved before his mind could catch up—a feral instinct that smelled of blood and opportunity. The first Saci attacked, launching itself like a human dart, claws aimed at the boy’s neck.

Tetanus dove to the side, twisting his body in the air. His hand closed around a fallen branch—rotten but long enough to serve as a club. The Saci zipped past with a hiss, but before it could recover, Tetanus swung and smashed the branch against its nape.

The impact was wet. The Saci faceplanted into the dirt, its red cap slipping like peeled skin. The others paused for a fraction of a second—long enough for Tetanus to snatch the cap.

“Die without this, you bastard!”

The fabric glowed, pulsing like a dying heart. The Saci choked as if suffocating, its skeletal body writhing. Then, with a sharp crack, it vanished in a cloud of sulfurous smoke.

The other Sacis howled with rage.

“SON OF A BITCH, HE KILLED LIL UZI JO!”

“YOU’LL PAY WITH YOUR SKIN, FILTHY ORPHAN!”

The attack came from all sides.

One Saci leaped from a tree, claws aiming for Tetanus’s eyes. He ducked, letting the monster sail overhead, and drove the rotten branch into the ribs of another charging in. The wood shattered against bone, but the creature just laughed, spitting a stream of black saliva.

“That won’t work, BRAT!” And then it vanished in a cloud of sulfur.

Tetanus ran, the gang of Sacis hot on his heels.

He rummaged through his sack again, searching for anything to use against them. He found nothing but another canteen of water, so he figured he might do them a favor and clean their filthy mouths.

The Saci screeched as the water hit, its skin steaming like raw flesh, cracking and smoking, revealing a more demonic form beneath.

“WATER! CURSED WATER!”

Tetanus ran, the forest a blur of shadows and branches whipping his face. The wind howled, carrying the Sacis’ laughter, a demonic chorus that seemed to tear the air itself. The one-footed tracks, now multiplied, marked the ground ahead, as if the gang of mocking spirits was toying with him, leading him into a trap.

The mark on his chest pulsed hot, a burning pain that seemed to respond to the chaos around him.

The six remaining Sacis pursued, hopping on their single legs with impossible agility, their skeletal bodies slicing through the air like living blades. They hurled insults, their voices blending into a tumult of scorn and hatred.

“Look at the little punk running!” one, with a crooked cap and a scar across its face, screeched. “SCARED OF US, YOU LITTLE SHIT?”

“YOU’RE BIG BUT YOU AIN’T ALL THAT!”

“NO, IT’S ‘YOU’RE ALL THAT BUT YOU AIN’T BIG,’ YOU DUMBASS!”

Some Sacis were so chaotic they even argued among themselves.

“CHECK OUT THE BOSS’S STRETCH!” another bellowed, its grotesque penis swinging as it leaped between trees. “Oops, forgot—ORPHANS DON’T HAVE MOMMIES!”

Tetanus gritted his teeth, rage burning hotter than fear.

He stopped running, planting his feet in the muddy ground, and turned to face the creatures. His hand tightened on the rotten branch, now reduced to a jagged stump, but it wasn’t like he needed a sword to fight.

The first Saci attacked, spinning in a whirlwind of claws and teeth, its pipe spewing acrid smoke that burned Tetanus’s lungs. The mercenary dove to the side, the strike missing his face by inches, tearing bark from a nearby tree. He countered, driving the branch into the creature’s thigh, the impact reverberating through his arms. The Saci screamed, but not in pain—it was a laugh, a gurgling sound.

“THAT ALL YOU GOT, KID?” the creature spat, its skin cracking where the branch hit, revealing black, pulsing flesh, as if the Saci was unraveling into something more demonic. “YOU’LL NEED MORE THAN A LITTLE STICK!”

Tetanus didn’t wait. He yanked the branch free and, with a swift motion, aimed for the red cap. The creature tried to dodge, but he was faster, his fingers closing on the tattered fabric. The Saci screamed, a sound not human, like scraping metal.

Tetanus pulled hard, clutching the cap, and the creature exploded in a cloud of foul-smelling smoke, the stench burning his nostrils.

“Two!” he shouted, more to himself, adrenaline surging through his veins. “Who’s next, you bastards?”

The five remaining Sacis stopped, their laughter ceasing for a moment. Their eyes glowed with hatred, their forms shifting, skin cracking further to reveal tendons and bones that looked like burning coal and sulfur. One pointed a claw at Tetanus.

“YOU KILLED LIL UZI AND JOE!” it roared, its voice shaking the forest. “GET HIM, BOYS! GET HIM!”

They attacked in unison, a blur of single legs and razor-sharp claws. Tetanus dove backward, rolling through the mud to avoid a strike that tore a chunk from his leather armor. He sprang up, grabbing a fist-sized rock and hurling it at the nearest Saci. The rock smashed into the creature’s face, shattering a crooked tooth. The Saci staggered, cursing.

“SON OF A BITCH! MY TOOTH!” It spat a stream of black blood but didn’t stop, lunging at Tetanus with monstrous speed.

Tetanus dodged by a hair, feeling the claws tear through his armor’s sleeve. He needed his sword. His eyes found the rusty blade lodged in a tree meters away, but another Saci was already there, laughing as it yanked the sword free and tossed it into the darkness.

“WANT YOUR LITTLE KNIFE, KID? GO FETCH IT IN HELL!” the Saci mocked, twirling its pipe like a weapon.

Tetanus, with no time to think, darted to the side, diving between trees, using the terrain to his advantage. He grabbed another branch, this one sturdier, and swung it like a club.

One Saci leaped at him, but Tetanus spun, striking the creature mid-jump. The impact sent the Saci crashing into a tree, the sound of breaking bones echoing through the night. The creature rose, its skin now fully cracked, revealing a red glow beneath, like lava.

“TRUCO! FOOL!” the Saci shouted, its voice now deeper, almost inhuman. It charged again.

The mercenary was faster. He lunged, using the momentum to snatch the creature’s cap. The Saci howled, its body convulsing before exploding in another cloud of fetid smoke.

“Three!” Tetanus shouted, panting, his chest burning with the action.

The four remaining Sacis were enraged, their forms growing more demonic. Their skin cracked like charred tree bark, their eyes glowing with a red so intense it lit the surroundings. They no longer laughed—they growled, their mouths spewing flames.

“YOU’RE MAKING THE CREW WORK FOR IT!” one, with a torn cap, spat, lunging at Tetanus with an outstretched claw.

The mercenary ducked, letting the claw slice the air above his head, and kicked the Saci’s single leg, making it lose balance. He seized the moment, grabbing the cap and yanking with all his strength. The Saci screamed, its claws raking Tetanus’s arm, leaving bloody gashes, but the cap gave way. The Saci melted slowly into dust.

“FOUR!” Tetanus roared, blood dripping down his arm, the pain only fueling his rage.

The three remaining Sacis changed tactics. They didn’t attack directly but began circling Tetanus, hopping from tree to tree, their laughter returning, now crueler, more desperate. One threw a rock, hitting the mercenary’s shoulder, drawing a groan of pain. Another raked his face near the nose, leaving an ‘X’-shaped gash, momentarily blinding him.

“TIRED YET, ORPHAN?” a Saci mocked, its voice echoing from all sides. “YOUR RAGE WON’T SAVE YOU!”

Tetanus blinked, trying to clear his eyes, and felt a blow to his back, strong enough to drop him to his knees. He rolled to the side, dodging another attack, and grabbed a handful of dirt, throwing it at the nearest Saci. The creature recoiled, cursing.

The mercenary seized the chance to dart to a fallen tree, using it as a shield. He searched for something—anything.

His eyes found a broken branch with a sharp tip, like an improvised spear. He grabbed it, feeling its solid weight in his hands.

When the next Saci attacked, leaping with a deafening scream, Tetanus drove the branch into its chest. The wood pierced the cracked skin, and the Saci howled, its demonic form pulsing with a red glow.

The mercenary didn’t hesitate—he yanked the cap off with his free hand, and the creature melted into dust, the stench nearly making him vomit.

“FIVE!” he shouted, his voice hoarse.

The two remaining Sacis hesitated, their eyes glinting with what might have been fear. Their forms were nearly unrecognizable now, skin fully cracked, revealing a demonic musculature that seemed made of embers and shadow. The larger one pointed at the mercenary.

“YOU WON’T WIN, KID!” it roared, its voice shaking the trees. “WE’RE ETERNAL!”

“Then why you scared?” Tetanus spat, gripping the makeshift spear with both hands.

The larger Saci attacked, spinning in a whirlwind so fast Tetanus could barely track it. He raised the spear, but the Saci dodged, its claws slashing the boy’s flank, tearing through armor and skin.

Tetanus grunted in pain, warm blood flowing, but he used the pain as fuel. He swung the spear, hitting the Saci’s single leg, making it fall with a screech. Before the creature could recover, Tetanus leaped on it, ripping the cap off with a savage pull. The sulfurous explosion threw him back, but the Saci was gone.

“SIX!” he shouted, panting, collapsing to his knees.

The last Saci stood still.

It didn’t attack, just stared at him, its eyes glowing with a mix of hatred and respect.

“You’re different, kid,” it said, its voice low, almost a whisper. “But this ain’t over.”

Before the mercenary could respond, the Saci leaped, spinning in a flaming tornado. Tetanus rolled to the side, spear still in hand, and threw it with all his remaining strength. The wood struck the Saci in the shoulder, bringing it down. Tetanus ran, ignoring the pain in his flank and shoulder, and ripped off the final cap with a roar of rage. The last sulfurous explosion engulfed him.

Tetanus stood in place, his chest heaving, adjusting to the exhaustion.

When the smoke cleared, the forest was silent. The Sacis were dead.

Tetanus stood panting, his body covered in cuts and blood. He held the seven caps in his hands, the fabric still warm, pulsing faintly.

He rose, staggering, unable to find his sword.

The forest was quiet now.

Too quiet.

After all that chaos, he remembered he still needed to return to the camp. Tiradentes wanted answers, and Tetanus had gotten far more than that.