Serpent’s Feast: The Curse Of The Unclean Flesh
The village of Hanoth was unlike any other. Nestled deep within the mountains, hidden from the world, its people were strong, secretive, and lived by their own customs. Their wealth did not come from gold or trade, but from something far more mysterious—the flesh of serpents.
The villagers prided themselves on their unique delicacy, believing it gave them strength, cunning, and a life free from disease. For generations, they had hunted, cooked, and feasted on the creatures that slithered through the forests, never questioning the ancient tradition.
But there was one family—the house of Eliakim—that refused to partake.
"You must not eat these things that are unclean," Eliakim would warn his children, reading from the holy scrolls. "And whatsoever goeth upon the belly… it is unclean unto you." (Leviticus 11:42)
But the village scoffed at him. They were stronger than any who lived outside Hanoth. No pestilence touched them. Their warriors were unmatched in battle. If the curse of the unclean truly fell upon those who ate serpents, then why had they thrived for so long?
Eliakim's warnings were ignored.
Until the day the sickness came.
The First Sign
It began with whispers. A boy named Reuel, the son of a great hunter, had fallen ill. His limbs twisted in agony, his skin burned with fever, and a strange darkness crept into his veins.
His father, desperate to save him, turned to the village elders.
"He is cursed," they murmured, their old eyes filled with fear. "Something… unnatural stirs in him."
And then, he spoke.
Not in his own voice.
Not in any human tongue.
But in the low, slithering hiss of a serpent.
The elders stepped back. The boy’s mother wept. And somewhere in the depths of the forest, an unnatural stillness settled—as though something ancient had awakened.
The Death That Was Not Death
Reuel died that night. His family wailed as they wrapped his body, preparing him for burial. But as dawn broke, the mourning turned to terror.
The grave was empty.
The shroud lay torn.
And deep in the heart of the village, Reuel stood once more.
His eyes were black as night. His tongue flickered as he spoke in a voice that did not belong to him. His skin—cold, damp, covered in darkened veins—was no longer his own.
"Because you have eaten the flesh of the serpent, the serpent now dwells within you."
The elders trembled. "What is this blasphemy?"
But Eliakim knew. He had read of such horrors before. He clutched the scrolls and cried out:
"The Lord God said unto the serpent, ‘Because thou hast done this, thou art cursed… upon thy belly shalt thou go, and dust shalt thou eat all the days of thy life.’" (Genesis 3:14)
The curse of the serpent.
It was no mere superstition.
It was real.
And it was only the beginning.
The Plague of the Unclean
More fell ill in the days that followed. The strong warriors who once laughed at Eliakim’s warnings began to feel a strange pain within their bones. Their skin darkened. Their voices faltered. Some woke in the middle of the night to find their bodies coiling in ways no human should move.
And then came the hunger.
Not for bread.
Not for meat.
But for the raw, living flesh of those who had not yet been cursed.
The village descended into madness. Families turned against one another. Husbands devoured their wives. Mothers sank their teeth into their children’s throats, hissing in voices that were no longer their own.
The ground soaked with blood.
The trees whispered with unseen voices.
And the great evil, which had long slumbered beneath Hanoth, awoke.
The Price of Defying the Law
Eliakim knew there was no saving them now. The serpent had claimed its own. It had been fed for generations, worshiped through ignorance, honored with each bite of its cursed flesh.
And now, it was taking its due.
"They sacrifice unto devils, not to God; to gods whom they knew not, to new gods that came newly up, whom your fathers feared not." (Deuteronomy 32:17)
Those who had eaten of the serpent became the serpent.
Scales rippled beneath their skin. Their hands twisted into talons. Their eyes gleamed with an unholy light.
Eliakim took his family and fled, never looking back. The cries of the cursed echoed behind them, blending with the rising wind—a chorus of agony, of regret, of a horror too great to be undone.
By the time they reached the next village, Hanoth was silent.
Not a single soul remained.
The Library That Whispers
Years passed. The tale of Hanoth faded into legend, spoken only in hushed voices around the fires of those who feared the old ways.
But deep within the ruins of that cursed village, beneath the earth where no sunlight touched, the library still stands.
Its books, once filled with knowledge, now whisper with unseen voices.
Its scrolls, once written in ink, now bleed with something darker.
And if one dares to enter and read its forbidden texts, they will find a single warning scrawled in trembling hand upon the last page of an ancient manuscript:
"Ye shall not eat of any thing that creepeth upon the earth… for the
y are an abomination." (Leviticus 11:41)
The warning came too late for Hanoth.
Will it come too late for you?
