The ominous hive loomed over him, all black stone and twisted spires, humming with power and the roar of drones.

It was a dark, foreboding palace that reeked of blood and oppression; a palace Fayroe had only ever known as a prison instead of a home. The drones didn't stop him as he strode past them, nor did they halt his companion. Whether that was because he was Enforcer's spawn, or Enforcer was expecting them, Fayroe wasn't sure, but there was no room for hesitation or doubt in his thinkpan now.

He was angry. A simple, yet radical feeling, statement, from a boy who'd never been allowed his own anger. He was angry, he was ready, he was wiser and stronger than the last time he fled. He was angry.

Ashhur, with Fayroe's crown on his brow, walked with his full glory of mutations and tattoos on display, no longer hidden under a cloak and hood. Fayroe glanced back at him, to see the golden tattoos and glowing fins glittering in the torchlight. He, a fuchsia, was marching to confront the Imperial Enforcer, second only to the Empress, with a mutant at his side.

How far you've fallen, he could hear his father hiss. It wasn't their last name for nothing, Fayroe supposed.

The massive doors swung in for them and they entered the hive, following the red carpet to the throne room. Red, red, red- that's what it always came down to, wasn't it? Red for mutants, red for love, red for rebellion... Fayroe's fingers reached up and danced over the crimson scarf around his neck. He was a fuchsia, so what did his red mean?

He didn't pause at the doors to the throne block, throwing them open himself.

"Godric Fallen!" He bellowed, his voice echoing through the massive, dark, empty chamber.

A snarl from Lord Scordra, his father's lusus and guardian, answered him, and the monstrous, draconic scorpion crawled down the pillars that held up the gilded ceiling. Red eyes, red teeth, flashed in the dim light, and Ashhur was suddenly in front of Fayroe, his own massive teeth and claws bared.

"Well, isn't this amusing." Enforcer's voice rolled like a thunderstorm from the far side of the room, "I didn't think I'd see you home so soon, Fayroe. Are you done with your tantrum already?"

"No, Godric. I'm just getting started." Fayroe snarled, ignoring his father's lusus and walking right up to the throne.

"Oh, I see... Cute. And who is that you bring with you? Another pet?" Enforcer looked down at him, and Fayroe clenched his fists at his sides as he met his eye.

The fury in his chest was dented by the weight of fear pouring over it, but there was no going back now. He forced himself to look, look at the massive fuchsia that exuded power and poise over everyone and everything, over all corners of Alternia.

But not over him, he told himself firmly; not anymore.

"A friend." He managed to say, forcing his fins to flare instead of fold.

"Friend." Enforcer repeated, deadpan, "I thought I taught you better than that."

"What's wrong with having friends?" Fayroe challenged, "I don't see your fucktoy of a doctor here to help you."

Enforcer's amused smile slowly faded away, and Fayroe knew he'd crossed a line. "Why are you here?" Godric asked, the amusement in his voice gone. It was just cold, like his eyes and his heart.

Fayroe drew himself up. "I'm here to tell you that I am no longer your descendant. I may have your blood, I may have your horns, your fins and gills, but I am not your son, and you cannot claim me as such. In turn, I will not be claiming your dusty old throne. He will." Fayroe pointed to Ashhur, who was still squared off with Scordra, neither monster moving as they waited.

Enforcer began to laugh, but he stopped as Fayroe continued. "I met a troll a few months ago. A man who goes by the Deadscar Wanderer. You know him, don't you? He's just another of the countless lives you ruined, but he was one of your favorites." Fayroe's eyes narrowed, "I spoke to him, travelled with him, learned from him. And he taught me more than you ever did.

Once, I believed in our great Empire. I believed that the torture you put me through was for my own good. But look at me!" He ripped his jacket off, throwing it to the floor and spreading his arms to show the dozens of scars that marred him. Over and over, engraved in his skin:

Obey.

Obey.

Obey.

"You mutilated your own flesh and blood, you attempted to break that which was already fully devoted to you." Fayroe's voice was caught in his throat by the claws of anger, of grief, that his heart had grown.

"You were-"

"No! Be silent, I am speaking!" Fayroe shouted him down, before he froze. Makeno had done the very same to him, he recalled, pouring out his violetblooded heart over all Fayroe had done to him.

Now... Now, Fayroe understood.

"Because of you, I hurt a lot of people. Good people, wonderful people, and I did things that I can never take back or apologize for." He continued, tears pricking his eyes, "I hurt them because you wounded me, I made them angry because you made me furious. I loved you, father. I gave up everything for you, and you still destroyed what little I had. Well, no more!"

He stomped up the steps to the throne and got right in the Enforcer's face. Enforcer bared his teeth, but Fayroe seized him by the beard and yanked him forward, until they were nose to nose.

Fayroe flashed his teeth right back, his fins flared and shoulders hunched up. "No more, Godric Fallen! I loved you, and you made me into a monster. So it will be a monster that takes your throne the day I kill you, because by the gods, Messiahs, and the devil himself, I will kill you, and Ashhur Jaybez will take your throne."

"Do not make an enemy of me, boy." Godric snarled, "To do so is to make an enemy of this entire planet."

"Then I'll burn down this entire planet, and leave you in its ashes." Fayroe spat back.

"Why not just kill me, then? Are you truly such a coward?" Godric demanded.

"Because there is so much more that I can do than just kill you. Just as Deadscar did, as Warhound, Survivor, Ashhur, and Hierophant do- I defy you, Godric Fallen. Whatever it takes, I will tear down your Empire of fear and deceit, and when you are nothing but a fish crawling on your belly, left broken and with nothing, when you experience the neverending wasteland of hell you put me through- only then will I kill you, and it will not be a merciful reprieve." Fayroe spat, before he released Godric's beard, shoving him back.

He spun on his heel and marched back down the steps. "Come on, Ash." He said over his shoulder.

Ashhur clicked, before he turned to follow.

"And who said the two of you will leave here alive? Did you really think you could walk away after threatening the Enforcer?!" Godric demanded angrily behind them. Fayroe didn't turn back, not even when he heard his father's talons snap together. "Scordra."

"Ashhur."

"Yes."

Fayroe looked back, then, to see the tiny mutant hound across the open space, towards the scorpion scalebeast that was charging them. He looked up at his father and met his eyes, the only thing to break the contact being the spray of bright pink blood that arced through the air, followed by Scordra's window-shattering shrill scream of pain.

Ashhur practically materialized next to Fayroe again, licking the lusus' blood off his Severinity Claws.

"We are leaving." Fayroe announced, ignoring the writhing, agonized beast, "Trust me, father, it's for your own good." He turned away once again, and departed with Ashhur, leaving Enforcer to watch his own blood color spill across his throne room.

...

""The chosen child will come on a wave of blood."" Musrio repeated for the hundredth time that night as he paced the Decaying Mind's bunker, weaving through the mountains of stolen junk and treasure alike. Decaying just watched him pace, silently sat at the table crammed in the corner.

"That's why I brought all of you ancestors back to life, and that's why I gathered your descendants. So we can call this "chosen child" and save Alternia from Oliver's plan for world domination in the name of Neviserrath Apocriyna, the primordial eldritch fucker that ruined my life. Ribbit." Musrio continued, before turning to his ancestor, "Now say it again, the second one."

"The bane of worlds and the innocent constellation shall be the salvation of us all." Brigan repeated for the hundredth time, looking at the table next to him.

Musrio's feet paused as he looked, too, looked at the box carefully packed with the vials of blood. Every color was present, ancestor and descendant, collected by donation and thievery and kept deep underground, in the Decaying Mind's hive, safe from Oliver's claws.

"And that's the chosen child? This "bane of worlds?" Ribbit?" Musrio asked.

"No."

"Then what is it? Another god? A troll? What is the bane?" He demanded; they'd been going around in circles for days now, and Decaying only looked at him patiently, repeating what he'd already explained.

"A child of war, a child of pain. Rage, rage, red and black, bruised and bloody, yet oh so kind. Guardian of the star." He babbled.

"That just sounds like Deadscar." Musrio growled.

"The ancient warrior is not the one."

"Then who is?! It wasn't Drayco, it's not me, it's not any of us! But if we want the world to not end, we need the chosen child first! Could you be a little more helpful, please?! Ribbit?!" Musrio shouted. He stopped and took a breath, collecting himself. "Sorry." He huffed, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Sleep, deep, let the black recede?" Decaying suggested.

"I don't need sleep." Musrio muttered, looking around for his coffee.

He'd was exhausted, despite not needing rest; ever since he'd sworn to his own ghost that he'd put an end to it all, he'd been underground with his ancestor, pouring over every text and tome in an attempt to put the last of the puzzle pieces together. He hadn't slept, he'd hardly eaten, but as an undead being, he didn't really need to do those anyways. He still felt like shit, though, so he squeezed his way through the heaps of junk to get another cup of coffee, fishing the coffee maker off the top of a stack of books.

"Okay." He said when he had a fresh, hot mug in his hands, "Okay, from the top again. The "chosen child" isn't the bane, so it's the innocent constellation? Ribbit?"

"Yes."

"And the bane is their guardian?"

"Yes."

"And we need the bloods to summon them."

"Yes."

"We need to perform a vague as fuck ritual to call them, because nothing Neviserrath ever fucking does is simple. Ribbit. We don't know who the chosen child is or which side they'll choose." Musrio continued, his claws drumming on the mug now.

"Yes."

Musrio sighed. "You know who they are already, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then why can't you tell me? Why can't you and I just go get them now, before Oliver does? Ribbit?" He really didn't mean for that to come out in such a pleading whine, but fuck, he was tired and frustrated.

Decaying just looked at him sadly. "I am not the writer, story teller, seeker of the end or climax. This is not my story."

You will be the Harbinger of a story that must be told, and never forgotten. Musrio shook off the cold shiver that climbed his back when he recalled Neviserrath's words.

"Fine." He moved a stack of binders full of missing person's cases off a loungeplank and took a seat, one hand reaching up to play with his necklace. "Can you at least tell me when and where we need to do this ritual? Because we have all of the blood now, if we can just do it now, then-"

"Tick, tock, time is nothing in the Grimruinox. Now or later, future or the never past, the star will wait until the call. In a place of knowledge, of secrets and magic, the blood is spilled by dragon and usurper. First shall fall the first of all, and then one more, the false start of stories untold, until the bane of worlds and the innocent constellation are born of sacrifice." Decaying intoned, looking to his corkboard of incomprehensible newspaper clippings and red strings.

"Until the paint spills, until they all call together, until it all ties behind the boy with demons in his blood and gods in his brain."

"And that's me." Musrio nodded, draining the whole mug in a few deep swallows. "So the timing doesn't matter, but... A place of knowledge... Do you mean the Arcaneum? My bookhive?"

"Safe, a place of refuge, a place of choosing and summoning, among paperbacks and thumbtacks and scrolls. Is that not where innocence best dwells, in the silence of pages and secret eyes?" Decaying hummed, drumming his claws on the table.

"Fair point." Musrio muttered. He set the coffee mug down and put his head in his hands, fingers rubbing over the scar across his nose.

So much had happened in the past... How long had it been since he first summoned the first ancestors? Sweeps? He couldn't remember now; he was a lenachra, a creature outside of time and suspended in it at the same time. He didn't age, yet the world moved on. Time moved on. It was time for him to move on.

It was time.

Ashhur had stowed his claw caps away, keeping his arms folded under his cloak. All four eyes were trained on every moment Fayroe made.

Fayroe, on the other hand, calmly lit a cigarette and took a drag off of it, smoke curling out of their gills as they thought over what Ashhur had told them.

"Wow." He said at last, shaking his head. The jewelry on his horns jingled, and Ashhur's fins folded back at the noise. "So, to recap: my father's mate made your ancestor to be the next Enforcer, but your ancestor was such a royal fuckup," He grinned at the pun, "that I got made instead, and your ancestor got passed off to the woman who killed my father's mate. Did I get all that right?"

Ashhur nodded.

"So now," Fayroe planted a foot on the wall behind himself and took another drag, "you're here to challenge me for the crown because you think you deserve it."

Again, Ashhur nodded.

Fayroe threw their head back and cackled. Ashhur bared his teeth at the sound, then tensed as he watched the fuchsia reach up. Grasping the string of jewels that were strung between their smallest horns, Fayroe yanked them off and threw them at the mutant.

Ashhur's claws flashes in the gloom as he caught it. His eyes blinked out of rhythm with each other as he stared down at the pearly, pink gems, before his gaze shifted to Fayroe again.

"That's my fucking crown, Ashy. Take it if you want it so fucking badly, it doesn't matter to me what happens to it. I'm no more the Enforcer than you are." Fayroe took a final drag, then dropped his cigarette and crushed it.

"I do not want to be Enforcer. I want to be Emperor." Ashhur finally spoke.

Fayroe snorted. "Yeah, well, good luck with that. You're an abomination, and coming for me isn't going to get you anywhere. My father groomed me to be Emperor, sure, but look at me. Do I look like I'm in some big fancy ship commanding a planet?"

"... No. You are on the ground."

"Precisely. And you gave yourself up to my father's bark-beast, because you thought he'd make you stronger."

To the fuchsia's surprise, Ashhur bristled, his claws closing over the crown. "Do not speak poorly of Master Urfath! He is a good..." The redblood paused and made several clicks to himself, "Mentor!" He spat out at last, "He has made me strong! Has taught me much!"

"And yet, you can barely string a sentence together." Fayroe crossed their arms. "Trust me, if killing was all it took to be Emperor, I'd be a goddamned god." They paused, before they snorted. "Actually, allow me to correct myself: killing won't make you an Emperor, but it'll make you an Enforcer. My line is succeeded by the slaughter of one's predecessor." They nodded to the string of gems in Ashhur's hand. "That crown is bloodstained, angelfish."

Ashhur's fins flickered at the petname, but he looked at the gems again, holding them up to the moonlight.

"So... I kill you, then I kill this... father, and I become king. And from there... Emperor." He said thoughtfully.

Fayroe hummed, pulling another cigarette from the carton in his jacket pocket. "Or, you could skip straight to my father. Like you said, I don't want the crown. I'd honestly, probably thank you if you did the deed for me."

As he lit the cigarette, he missed the miniscule moment where Ashhur's face showed emotion, the mutant's expression one of startled surprise.

"You wish for me to kill him?" He asked, lowering his hand to hold the crown at his side.

"I don't care who does it, little fish. I'd do it myself, but..." They pulled down the shoulder of their jacket to show Ashhur the ugly scars that they bore now, in the shape of Lord Scorda's teeth. They chuckled humorlessly.

"Father has defenses. He spent my entire youth trying to turn me into his subservient pet, keeping me locked in my block. Anything I did- sewing, skateboarding, leading a goddamned gang- I was allowed to do in his good graces. And you know what he did when I did something he didn't like? When I didn't blow my nose or cry on command?"

"No?"

Fayroe stuck his cigarette between his teeth and stood up. He pulled his jacket off, to reveal the scars that decorated his arms from wrist to shoulder.

Ashhur blinked at the word that was written over and over, carved into the fuchsia's flesh.

"Obey."

"He tortured me, little fish. Cut me open with his own hands, shoved me in the white room, and "let" me play "tag" with his lusus." Fayroe rumbled, putting his jacket back on.

Ashhur blinked at him. "What about this one?" He pointed at his own lips.

Fayroe chuckled, pulling the cigarette out and waving his hand dismissively. "Oh, an ex of mine did that. That hurt a thousand times less than the rest of 'em."

The mutant nodded thoughtfully, all of his fins waving hypnotically. Fayroe had finished his cigarette by the time he looked up again.

"Where is the Enforcer?" He asked.

Fayroe shrugged. "Probably at his hive. Fucker doesn't get around much." Ashhur didn't understand why they laughed at that. "Why?"

"Because I am going to kill him."

That made Fayroe pause. "Yeah? How do you plan on doing that?"

"Combat."

"HA!" Fayroe shouted, his voice echoing through the alley, and Ashhur cringed away. "Ohh, little fish, that's not going to work. He's ten feet tall, four hundred sweeps old, and he's got a fucking scale-beast. Not to mention Dolion, and oh yeah, the entire fucking Fleet at his command. You? You can't touch him!"

Ashhur growled, bristling at the mockery, but he did stop and consider things for a moment. Then, for the first time, the mutant smiled.

"I do not need to touch him. I know someone else who can." Fayroe flinched as Ashhur stood and held a hand out to them. "Come with me."

Fayroe stared down at the mutant's paw pads. "Where are we going?" He asked, hesitantly taking it.

He stepped up onto the platform and looked around; the station was empty, as far as he could tell. No one was even in the ticket booth, the lights all dark. He found an old board that listed the trackscuttlers’ arrival times, but all of them were marked the same way: “Canceled.”

It was abandoned, he realized. Trackscuttlers were still a popular mode of transportation all over Alternia, and he idly wondered what would cause the station to shut down. Perhaps a better one had been built elsewhere.

Regardless, he put his curiosity aside; the inquiry of why a station was powered down was not his mission. Finally, he located a map of the tracks, in a case that stood in the middle of the station. It depicted most of the continent he was currently on, and it was easy to locate the desert; the landmass he resided on only had one, albeit a rather large one.

If Lucina wasn’t there, then he’d have to head overseas. First things first, though- he located the tracks that wound through the desert. There was only one track, and someone had scribbled over part of it in red marker.

Undeterred, Ishran followed the trail to the station he was currently at; it stood to the west of the desert, which meant he had to head east. Satisfied, he turned to survey the tracks by the station. They pointed north and south, but following the northern one would eventually take him the correct way.

A squeak of a shoe behind him was his only warning as a knifepoint was suddenly pressed to his shoulder.

“Give me everything in the bag, geezer, or I’ll gut you like an oink-beast.”

Ishran didn’t move for a moment, before he finally turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder.

Behind him, their only knife left pressed against the oliveblood’s skin, looking rather gaunt and messy, was none other than Fayroe Fallen.

The young fuchsia’s eyes were bloodshot, their undersides dark from lack of sleep. His fins were wilted, horns bare of jewelry; he’d either hidden them or sold them. He was covered in bruises and scrapes, his clothes worse for wear than ever before.

Outwardly, Ishran didn’t react at first, but his thinkpan was flashing warning lights as wailing sirens went off, unbidden memories whirling through his mind as he stared at those horns.

Pain, pain, pain- shackles, bolts embedded in his wrists, chains beating his back, dragging him like a dog, the coliseum, his hammer, smashing through skin and muscle and bone. Breaking, breaking, scars and bleeding and no rest. Beast and troll crying out, the deafening cheers as his knuckled crumpled bone like faygo cans-

The whirring, chittering, subsonic roar of the drones. His hammer screaming off of carapace, chitinous armor flying across sand, sparks from the contact and then- pain. Naught but pain, struggling to breathe, burning lungs and broken ribs and PAIN-

When he snapped back to himself, Ishran found himself knelt on the prince’s chest, the knife spinning across the floor and his hands on the kid’s throat, teeth bared. Fayroe had his arms up to shield himself, as if expecting a beating.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, please-! I didn’t mean it, please don’t kill me!” The seadweller’s wails suddenly cut through the ringing in his ears. They sounded terrified and desperate, sobs hitching in their chest.

Ishran stared down at the sniveling fuchsia, his hands lax around their neck as he tried to mentally catch up with what just happened.

“Please, I didn’t mean it- I’m j- j- just so h- hungry- I w- wasn’t going to hurt you!” Fayroe continued to babble, covering his face with his arms.

The oliveblood managed to lurch to his feet and stumble away. He leaned on the map case with one hand, his blood-pumper hammering in his chest. Adrenaline was screaming through him, the likes of which he hadn’t felt in a long time. He couldn’t breathe properly, he almost felt sick, but he managed to suck in a shaky breath.

“Who… are… you.” He spoke through clenched teeth. Behind him, the sniveling stopped abruptly.

“Wh- what?”

“You’re Enforcer’s spawn.”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing here?” He demanded, his voice shaky but even.

“I’m- I was just- I am-”

“Out with it, boy.” Ishran snapped.

“I was sleeping!” Fayroe shouted, his voice echoing around the empty station.

“… Here?”

“Yeah?”

“… Why?” Ishran wasn’t sure why he was asking. He didn’t even want to know, but the talking was making the buzzing in his skin fade. He turned to face Fayroe again, and saw the young troll had sat up, eyes huge in the gloom.

“Why do you care? Who are you?” They sniffed.

“I do not care. I am Ishran.” Deadscar stated bluntly, “Now answer my question.”

“I don’t take orders from lowbloods.”

Ishran’s brows settled low, and he turned away. “Fine.” He headed for the tracks.

“Wh- you’re leaving?”

“I have places to be.”

He heard Fayroe scramble to their feet. “Wait!”

He stopped.

“… Where… where are you going?” The fuchsia asked, trying to sound casual.

“Why should I tell you?”

“W- well- because you’re the Deadscar, aren’t you? Fath- Godric, talked about you a lot.” Oh, Ishran didn’t like that. There was a beat of silence, in which Fayroe was probably expecting a response. When that didn’t happen, he continued. “Take me with you.”

“I do not take orders from highbloods.”

“Wh- yes you do! You have to!”

“No.”

“But- but- but that’s-”

Ishran turned around to look at the descendant again. “I take orders from no one, boy, especially not the successor of the Enforcer.”

At that, Fayroe laughed bitterly, catching him off guard. “Successor? Not anymore, I’m not. Descendant, sure, but no successor.” He scuffed one foot against the platform. “… I got chased out. That’s why I was sleeping in here.”

They were interrupted as their stomach let out a feeble, yet loud gurgle, and they put their hand on their stomach. Their fins, somehow, drooped further.

“You are hungry.”

“I don’t have any money. I’ve got nothing but my hop-beast.” Fayroe huffed, shuffling his feet some more. “Godric saw to that.” Ishran looked around for said hop-beast, but Fayroe shook his head. “I left her with… erm… a friend. Or I guess, a former acquaintance, an engineer, who I made take her for a while. But she’s all I got.”

“Then we understand each other.” Ishran said, unmoved. Fayroe looked up, puzzled. “All that you see on my back is all I have anymore.”

“Oh…” An awkward pause fell. Tired of lingering, Ishran turned away again. “Wait- where are you going?” Fayroe called.

“To the desert.”

“Take me with you!”

Sighing, Ishran turned back once more. “Why?”

“I… I can be useful! I’m good at this survival stuff- I’ve lasted this long! It’s been…” They quickly ticked on their fingers, “Five weeks? Six?” They frowned, before looking back up. “Regardless, I can rough it, same as you, but I’m not… as good. Teach me, please! I’ll listen to everything you say, I’ll be helpful, I’ll-”

Ishran wasn’t really listening past that, memories once more overwhelming him. For a moment, he didn’t see a fuchsiablood, but a lime, standing before him and demanding to be taught how to use a bow. He’d been alone on the road for so long- his blood-pumper twinged with the thought of being on the move again with Amadri.

“- and, okay, I don’t know how to start a fire, or cook, or clean, but I’m willing to learn! I just don’t want to be alone anymore...” Fayroe’s words cut through the fog again, and the vision of Amadri was gone. “And I swear I won’t-”

“Fine.” Ishran said, making the younger troll stop.

“Huh?”

“You may join me. But you are to listen to my every order. You may be fuchsia, but I am your elder. You will not speak down to me, and I will not punish you for the sins of your father.”

Fayroe blinked at him, before they grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Okay! Yes! You’ve got it, Deadscar!”

Ishran nodded once, and turned away for the final time. “Come, then.”

“Wh- now?”

“Yes, now.”

He kept walking, hopping down from the platform and following the tracks. Behind him, he heard Fayroe scoop up their knife and run after him. “Thank you, thank you, oh you won’t regret this, I swear!”

Ishran only grunted.

“So where are we going?”

“The desert.”

“Yeah, I know. Why, though?”

“To find someone.”

“Oh. Who?”

“A woman.”

Fayroe sighed, giving up on making conversation. He trailed after Ishran, pouting in silence, as they followed the tracks. . . . Regret, regret, regret- Irritation buzzed under Ishran’s skin like stinging wasps. It’d been just over a week- nine nights, to be exact- since he’d set out with Fayroe in tow. It’d taken a bit of rearranging on Ishran’s part, and a stop in a town to pick up extra supplies, but they were managing well enough. The oliveblood had even been nice enough to get Fayroe his own sleeping cocoon. His tent was really only meant for one, but Fayroe was small enough that they could squeeze in it together to sleep.

They woke before the sun had fully set each night, ate, and set out, stopping for only fifteen minutes every four hours for water and a small snack. When dawn approached, Ishran found a place to set up camp. They had dinner, then went to bed.

All of that would have been fine, had he had Amadri with him. But-

Ishran was not a religious man, yet he was just about ready to pray for mercy. Fayroe did not. Stop. Talking. Perhaps it was because he’d been alone for so long, but what was usually blissful silence was filled with chatter about anything. By the end of the third night, Ishran knew Fayroe’s life story, albeit unwillingly and without any prompting.

The complaining, too, grated on his nerves like sandpaper on stone.

“My feet hurt.” Fayroe had whined, three hours into their journey on the first night.

“They will toughen.”

“Can we take a break?” Was asked the second night, after they’d just set out.

“No.”

“I’m thirsty!” was announced mere minutes later.

“Now is not a time for drinking.”

And “How much farther do we have to go?” was a constantly repeated question.

“Far.” was the constantly repeated response.

Over and over, on and on. Ishran was ready to stuff wax into his ears to make it stop; he longed to have his matesprit with him instead- at least her voice was soothing, and not the snotty, whining drivel. When they made camp, he gave Fayroe tasks that either sent him away or forced him to stop talking, just for a reprieve.

On the sixth night, still following the tracks, they made it to the desert. Ishran filled their canteens and refreshed their rations at an outpost before they’d proceeded.

The desert was made up of rust red sand dunes, towering higher than ocean waves in storms.

It took them half an hour to make it over the first dune, before Ishran had an idea and turned around.

Returning to the outpost, he rented a pair of scaly-hoofs; draconic hoof-beasts used for crossing the desert. On the creatures’ backs, they made it over the dunes with ease. The dunes eventually faded behind them, until they were crossing miles of sandy plains.

For the next few nights, they saw little around them, even as they continued to follow the tracks. There was sparse vegetation, and an occasional covered well where they could refill their drinks. An abandoned shack or two where they could camp. Wild lusii avoided them, and Ishran only ever saw them at a distance.

On the ninth night, though, Ishran urged his beast to a stop before a sign.

“Turn back! Forbidden land!” was scrawled on a sheet of metal in curly writing.

Fayroe came to a stop beside him, examining the sign, too.

“What now?” He asked, pulling down his scarf; he’d wrapped it around his face to keep the sand out of his gills and mouth.

“We keep going.”

“But it says-”

“I can read. But we keep going.”

Ishran snapped the reins, and his beast carried on.

The further they went, the more signs they saw, all in the same writing.

“Danger!”

“Turn back!”

“Cursed land ahead!”

“Monsters roam beyond!”

“Unholy beasts dwell yonder!”

Ishran ignored them all, until, at last, they crested a hill and came to stop at the sight before them.

Bleached white by the sun, the teeth gleaming in the moonlight, was a massive, monstrous skeleton. Beyond it, just visible on the horizon, was the twisted and warped remains of a crashed and abandoned trackscuttler, laid across the tracks.

“What the fuck is that?” Fayroe exclaimed as he rode up beside Ishran.

“A beast’s bones.” He replied, before he suddenly remembered the Decaying’s words:

“No water but the sapphire eye, guarding to the metal serpent. Beast of thirst, watching beast of slake, guarded by beast of bone. … Follow the screaming serpent’s trail, into the red, and find the corpse of lifeless gods.”

Ishran looked towards the trackscuttler again; from the distance, it was faint, but he could make out the gleam of water. A lake, if he were to guess. An oasis.

“A beast of bone.” He corrected himself, “We are close.”

“We are?” Fayroe repeated, surprised. “Oh, good.”

Ishran urged his beast into motion again, and they descended the hill, approaching the skeleton.

It truly was massive; one of the beast’s claws was four times the size of Ishran himself. He couldn’t be sure what it used to be, but it had a gnarled muzzle full of monstrous teeth, and he counted four eye sockets. Twisted and curled horns protruded from the skull, piercing the sky. To walk from the skull to tail would take a half an hour, at least.

As they were by the skull, though, Ishran stopped again. He looked around at their surroundings; nothing moved, not even the wind. He could see what looked like an outcrop of cliffs and rocks to the south. Looking up, he saw the moons were nearing their peak.

“We’ll stop here.” He decided.

“Already?” Fayroe asked.

“Yes.” Ishran turned and dismounted.

Fayroe had learned by then that he wouldn’t get a lot of explanations for much, so he dismounted, too. They put the tent up in silence, up against the jaw of the skull. After a moment’s deliberation, despite being out in the open, Ishran decided to start a fire.

“What if something sees it?” Fayroe asked uncertainly.

“That’s the idea.” Ishran grunted as he got a meal together and passed the seadweller a canteen. Fayroe had been rather selfish with the water, insisting he needed more due to his aquatic nature. Ishran wasn’t totally sure if that was true, but he was willing to give up a portion of his share if it stopped the whining.

Once camp was set up, they’d eaten, and the beasts were given their due of food and water, Ishran sat down, using the beast’s saddle as a chair on the ground. He pulled his dagger out of his boot, and dug in his bag, pulling out a half-carved figurine of a moth.

He set to work carving, flicking the scraps into the fire.

Fayroe sat on his own saddle, chin in hand, as his knee bounced impatiently.

“Whatcha making?” He asked, just to say something.

“A gift.”

“For who?”

“My partner.”

“You have a partner?”

“Yes.”

“What- what’re they like?”

Ishran paused and looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you care?”

“I dunno. Are they the woman we’re here for?”

“No. She is visiting her morail.”

“Oh.”

Ishran had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He resumed his work in silence.

“I’m bored.” Fayroe announced after two minutes.

“Then find something to do.”

“Like what? We’re in a desert! It’s not like there’s a filmhive out here.”

“Count the teeth in the skull. Go hunting. Brush the sand off the beasts. Take a nap.” Ishran listed without looking up.

Fayroe didn’t want to do any of that. After another minute of silence, they spoke again. “Why are we even stopped? We could keep going, you know.”

“We are where we need to be.”

“But there’s nothing out here!” Fayroe pouted.

“That’s enough!” Ishran finally snapped, setting his knife down and looking up. “I am aware there is nothing, but this is the spot I have been seeking.” He explained, ill-tempered, “Now is as good a time as any to rest, for I do not know what comes next. The beasts are tired, I am tired, and I am working out what to do. But there is no point running ourselves to exhaustion without direction, nor is there a point to whining! If you are bored, make yourself productive!” He snarled the last part, “You do not know what is out here, and our voices will attract unwanted attention. Do you wish to fight wild animals? You can’t even skin a dirt-spud!”

“But the fire would-” Fayroe began meekly.

“Would deter animals unused to the light, but be a beacon, perhaps, to the woman I am looking for! You have no thoughts other than those for yourself, boy, and I am sick of it! I did not force you to come, and if you are going to continue to stay, then you will hold your tongue and wait, same as I am!”

Fayroe had shrunk back so far he’d nearly fallen off his seat. Slowly, he scowled, and sat back up. He dropped his gaze, glowering at his shoes. “You sound like him.” He muttered lowly, ““Sit down and shut up, Fayroe. You don’t understand anything, Fayroe. I’m having you fucking tortured for your own good, Fayroe.””

“Perhaps that is because you never stop talking.” Ishran grouched without meaning to.

“Maybe that’s because I’ve never had someone to talk to!” Fayroe snapped back, just barely managing to keep their voice down.

Ishran opened his mouth, before Fayroe suddenly sat up and twisted to stare into the darkness towards the distant cliff outcrop.

Slowly, they got to their feet, eyes trained towards the south. Ishran paused, too, caught off guard by their sudden change in behavior. Neither of them moved for several seconds.

“Boy, what-”

“Sshh!” Fayroe flapped a hand at him, fin-fronds flaring wide as they leaned forward. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, but- do you hear that?”

Ishran paused again and listened, but no sounds other than the fire and the huffing of the beasts came to him. “What do you hear?” He asked.

Fayroe frowned, squinting towards the outcrop. “It’s like… a growl? But constant. A roar? It- look!” He suddenly pointed towards the cliffs.

Ishran fished a pair of farsight-goggles out of his bag and stepped up beside Fayroe, raising them to his eyes. At first, he saw nothing, until he saw the dust plume.

Following it with his eyes, he saw… something, racing towards them. It was dark, and hard to make out, even with the goggles, due to the distance. Whatever it was, it was making a beeline for their camp.

Ishran lowered the goggles.

“Sit down, boy.”

“Wh- shouldn’t we run?”

“No. We will wait for it to come to us.” Ishran returned to his seat, slipping the goggles into his bag.

Fayroe hesitated, but slowly took a seat again.

“What if it’s an enemy?”

“Then it will be dealt with.”

Ishran calmly picked up his dagger and block of wood again, and resumed his work, while Fayroe watched the thing approach.

“Do you have a gun?” He asked after a moment.

“No.”

“Crossbow?”

“I do not use long range weapons.”

“Oh…”

Finally, after fifteen minutes, Ishran could hear the rumbling, too. He decided to break camp and pack up, before he picked up his hammer, bags resting at his feet. Five minutes more, and he got to his feet as the thing roared up to the camp, only to come to a sudden stop.

Now that it was close, Ishran could see the noise had come from an all-terrain buggy, its driver bent low over the handlebars.

The driver in question slowly sat up, pulling goggles up off its eyes.

“Who are ye?” It demanded, dismounting its vehicle, “Thou be on accursed lands and must make leave, posthaste!”

“We could ask you the same thing, weirdo.” Fayroe said haughtily, his hand going for the knife on his belt.

“Stand down, boy.” Ishran ordered. He lowered his hammer himself, squinting at the jadeblood. “What’s your name?” He asked, voice carefully neutral.

The jade looked at him, tiny fins twitching. “Mine compatriots called me Cyber, but mine name be Alaric Evrren.” With a flourish of its hand, it bowed low to the oliveblood.

Outwardly, Ishran’s expression did not change. “Do you know a woman named Lucina?”

Alaric stood back up, brushing its hair back with a flick of its wrist. “Aye, be ye seekers of my ancestor?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

“We were sent by her husband.”

“We were?” Fayroe asked, surprised.

Both midbloods ignored him.

“Oh, thou speaketh of the great captain? Mine forefather, Faslet?” Alaric nodded slowly, eyes scanning over the two of them. It drew its tongue over its fangs thoughtfully, before it nodded and turned away. “Upon thine word, I trust thou. Follow, and I shall shepherd ye to Lucina.” It mounted its buggy again, slipping its goggles down over its eyes.

Ishran nodded and turned, heading for the scaly-hoofs.

“It’s a funny little weirdo, isn’t it? What does it mean?” Fayroe asked quietly as they sidled up to Ishran.

“They will take us to Lucina.”

“Yeah… who is that?”

“The woman I am seeking.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Once the beasts were saddled, the fire kicked out, and Ishran and Fayroe on their mounts, Alaric revved their buggy to life. It waved and shouted something, before it was off, tearing across the sand.

Ishran and Fayroe snapped the reins and gave chase.

The beasts managed to keep up with the buggy as they made for the cliff outcrop in the distance, the roar of the buggy’s engine drowning the night in noise.

Finally, Alaric swerved to a stop before the cliffs, and the other two slowed their mounts.

Cutting the engine, Alaric leaned on the handlebars and pointed. They’d come to a stop before a yawning cavern opening, one that looked troll-made. It was into the dark cave that the jadeblood pointed.

“Mine foremother lies within.”

Ishran nodded. “Boy,” He addressed Fayroe, “set up camp.”

“Aren’t we going in?” Fayroe asked, surprised.

“No.” Ishran dismounted and grabbed something from his bag, before he walked away.

“So… what’s with the muzzle?” Ishran heard Fayroe ask as he moved some distance away from the cave.

Putting his back to the other two, he turned his attention to palmhusk he’d procured. It was definitely nothing fancy- an older version he’d gotten for cheap at a pawn shop- but it still worked, and was durable for travel. Thumbing through the menus, he raised it to his ear as it rang.

“Aye?” The trembling voice of Ruthless picked up after a few rings.

“We found her.”

Fayroe sat up in time to see two distant figures rapidly approaching.

Within minutes, Incoding, Ruthless, and Innocent arrived at the camp.

Ruthless was sat behind Innocent, on the back of Vornik’s lusus, Alphadad. The three-headed howl-beast dropped down, letting them slide off his back.

Incoding pulled Glitch Rider, his motorbike, to a stop, cutting the engine.

“Hello again, Deadscar.” The goldblood grinned, hopping off his vehicle.

“Greetings. Where is the fourth one?”

“Huh? Oh, you mean Bri? He didn’t want to come.” Incoding shrugged, “Something something, “this isn’t where he belongs.””

“Ishran, who- who is this?” Innocent was staring nervously at Fayroe.

The fuchsia slid off the buggy, pulling himself up proudly. “Fayroe Fallen. I’m Ishran’s apprentice.”

“No, you are not.” Ishran rebuked.

Fayroe opened their mouth to argue, but seeing all three of the morails bristling at their mere presence, they changed their mind and shut it again.

“Why is he here?” Innocent frowned.

“I do not know. He followed me from the city and I cannot make him leave.”

“Hm. Sounds familiar.” Innocent mused.

Incoding growled, and Fayroe’s fin-fronds flickered nervously at the sound. “I- hey, look- I’m not doing anything, see?” They raised their hands in surrender, an uncertain smile on their face. “I’m just hanging out with Deadscar.”

“You can ignore him, Incoding. He will do nothing.” Ishran sent a pointed look towards the young troll, who nodded, hopping back up onto Alaric’s buggy and taking a seat.

“Yup! Doing nothing, see?”

“He’s the Enforcer’s brat.” Incoding rumbled.

“Sure am, but you don’t see him risking life and limb for some strange lady in a hole.” Fayroe huffed.

Incoding narrowed his eye, but Innocent stepped forward before they could continue.

“Where is the other one?” He asked, looking around, “I saw three trolls here a moment ago.”

Ishran looked around, too, only to realize Alaric had disappeared. “I do not know.”

“I hath been to see the foremother. Thou doth wish to see her slumber? I think not. I assumed thou would prefer to meet her in her wake.” Alaric’s voice echoed up from the cavern as it emerged from the tunnel. It came to a stop, looking between the morails, before its gaze settled on Ruthless. “Hark, forefather of mine. I am thine descendant, Alaric Evrren.”

Ruthless’ face was completely unreadable as he stared at the young jadeblood. He’d been silent since they’d arrived, his hands trembling at his sides. “Yer…” He said faintly, “Yer my brat?”

“Aye, thine bastard by blood.” Alaric grinned, its tiny fins twitching.

“You’ve got three of them now.” Incoding pat Ruthless’ shoulder sympathetically. “Makeno, Krakyn, and now this one.”

Ruthless could only nod, unable to take his eyes off the jadeblood’s horns. “S… So, she’s in there?” He croaked.

“Aye.” Alaric stood aside and waved into the darkness. “She awaits you, forefather.”

Ruthless swallowed dryly, but didn’t move.

“Ru?” Innocent gently touched the seadweller’s arm. He looked down at the limeblood, then at the goldblood.

“I…”

Innocent smiled softly. “It is okay. We will wait here with the others.”

Ruthless could only nod.

On stiff legs, he moved towards the cavern entrance. He didn’t look back as he was swallowed by the dark, and the others sat down to wait.

Ruthless didn’t know where he was going. It was incredibly dark, even for his sharp eyes. The wind brushing past his fins was cold, and brought him the impression of branching stone halls by the way it moved.

The smell of bleach and incense, of sopor, and the tang of copper were perforated through the air. He was in a brooding cavern, he realized; long abandoned but still operational. He could hear the hum and beeping of vats and recuperacoons in the distance, down the side corridors.

His mind was clamoring and silent at the same time. He didn’t know where he was going; he just moved, without his thinkpan’s command. Trembling fingers reached up and grasped the wedding rings that hung around his throat.

Finally, there was change to the dark around him; the tunnel curved to his left, before it opened into a large chamber, which he stepped into and paused.

A desk, a recuperacoon, dozens of lit candles, scattered papers, weapons- that was all he was able to register, before the shadows moved.

In the quarter of a time it took to blink, there was something sharp pressing against the side of his neck, the cold metal burning against his gills; a spear, he recognized distantly, as he felt a presence practically materialize behind him.

“Who the hell are you?” A low voice snarled in his ear.

Ruthless’ heart wrenched.

He’d know that voice anywhere, even after four hundred sweeps of silence. He closed his eyes, a shuddering breath making its way out of his lungs.

“Lucina.”

The name fell from his lips like the rasp of dying man’s last words.

The silence that hung in the air was momentary, but it spoke of a lifetime. Only to explode like a supernova as the spear hit the floor.

“Erimus?”

A sob punched its way into the seadweller’s throat, and he held his breath as he turned his head to look.

It was her.

She was here. She was real, and alive, and- and she said his name.

“Aye.” He croaked, his eyes brimming with tears. “Aye, Lucy, it’s- it’s me, I-” He went to reach for her, but she stepped back.

Erimus froze, his hand still extended, as he finally seemed to take in the jadeblood’s appearance.

Even in the dim light, he'd know here anywhere. She was his Lucina, but she was… hardened. Older, and greyed. She wore his old cape.

The cape he had buried her in.

“L… Lucina?” He repeated, confused now, as the jadeblood stared at him. “It’s me, it’s- it’s yer Erim.”

“Is it?” She asked; her voice was steady, void of emotion, but it cracked in the air like a whip.

Erimus swallowed the lump in his throat, and could only nod.

Lucina crossed her arms, looking the voiletblood up and down with her eyes. “You look like him.” Her eyes settled on the wedding rings hung around his neck. Her glare bore into them like she was attempting to melt them, scrutinizing the golden bands. Her gaze lifted back to his eyes.

“Where were you?” She demanded, her voice shaking now. “Where have you been, Erimus Faslet?” She stepped forward and seized his shirt, hauling the eight foot seadweller down to her height. “It’s been four hundred sweeps, you rat bastard. Explain yourself, now.”

Erimus reached up and grasped her hand in his own; her fingers were so cold. “I’m sorry.” He rasped, his throat strained and raw from holding in four hundred sweeps of grief. “I’m so sorry.” His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees before her, unable to tear his eyes away from her face. “Ye… Ye died, Lucina. And I- I couldn’t- I couldn’t do it on my own. I didn’t know ye were… like this. If I had known, Lucina, I would have clawed my way out o' hell ta come back- I’m so sorry.”

He bowed his head, his hand clinging to her fist like it was all that tethered him to the world. He was shaking, overwhelmed and painfully sober.

His breath hitched as he heard her fall to her knees, and felt arms wrap around his shoulders. Without hesitation, he embraced her, crushing her to him like he’d die if he ever let her go again.

Her face pressed to his neck, and he buried his in her shoulder. Violet tears slid down his face and sunk into the fabric of her cape. She was crying, too- he could feel her trembling against him.

“I’m so sorry, Lucina.” He whispered. “I’m so sorry I took so long. If I had known, I would’ve-”

“Silence, you fucking fool.” She muttered, hiccupped, before she laughed breathlessly. “You’re here now.”

Erimus could have cried anew. He nodded, his grip tightening around her. “Aye… I’m here now. I’m- I’m here, and I swear I will never leave ye again, Lucina Evrren.”

The rainbow drinker slowly pulled away, gazing up at her husband with tear-filmed eyes, yet not one had slid down her face. She reached up and cupped his stubbly, scarred cheek, and he melted into her touch, turning his head to brush his lips against her palm.

“What good is kissing my hand, Erim, when my lips are right here?” She whispered.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Do ye want me ta kiss you?” He breathed.

She said nothing.

And even after four hundred sweeps, after a thousand years, after they had both died and returned…

He kissed her.

He kissed her like he’d kissed her before, like he’d kissed her when they woke up in the morning together. He kissed her like how he'd done before, after they sparred. He kissed her like he’d he'd returned from a swim at sea and found her waiting. He kissed her like he was the one dying in her arms.

He kissed her like it would hurt to stop.

He felt her new fangs against his lips, and he only kissed her harder.

And she kissed him back, like four hundred sweeps had done nothing to erode their crimson quadrant. She kissed him like the ring around his neck was still on her finger. She kissed him like they’d just seen one another again at the end of a battle. She kissed him like they were in the crow’s nest, watching the stars. She kissed him like she had when she had to say goodbye.

She kissed him like it hurt, and she couldn’t stop.

She tasted booze on his tongue, tasted smoke and grief, and only kissed him all the more fiercely.

When they finally parted, if they ever did, they clung to one another, to the only other warm body in that cold cavern.

Outside, Erimus’ morails and companions waited for them. Outside, their middle child waited, too, adjusting the muzzle on its face. Far from them, deep in the sea, their eldest son waited to see them again. And their youngest waited to meet his foremother.

Outside, the world was waiting. But it hadn’t waited, it hadn’t grieved, for four hundred sweeps. So it could damn well wait, as the Deepbite and the Warhound parted only long enough to whisper to one another. Parted only long enough to remove the seadweller’s necklace. Parted only long enough to slide the rings back onto the fingers of their rightful owners.

Then they held one another, kissed one another, a little longer.

So... with no direction or plan, he set off into the city. His wounds were closed, but not completely, and by the time the moons were high in the sky, he was exhausted, aching, and upset. He hadn't eaten in a day. Makeno had been kind enough to give him dinner the night before, but he'd been too scared to ask for breakfast.

Ready to give up, Fayroe took a seat on the side of the street. He could probably find a tea shop or book store or something, but he didn't know where any of them were, and was too proud to ask.

The smell of incense and food swirled, heady and warm, around the cavern. Oliver could hear pots and pans clatter in the secondary cave, as a handful of followers worked to provide a free meal. It wasn’t anything special- ground meat and rice, with steamed vegetables- but there was enough to go around, and for some it’d be the easiest meal they’d get for a while. The incense curled out from the braziers hung from the ceilings above.

The soft shht shht of a towel over marble was an indication that someone had taken it upon themself to clean the altar and shrine. Oliver waited for the sound to stop before he called the troll over, gracing them with a touch and a thanks and a kiss to their forehead. When the troll stumbled away, Oliver heard the shift in the crowd as that troll was swarmed, the others eager to touch one their leader had blessed.

At her feet, Bohwie sat on his knees, his head tipped back into her lap as she ran her claws through his fluffy hair. He laughed as he watched the commotion, before he looked up at the oliveblood.

“How much longer, Olly?” He asked, laying his chin on their knee.

“Soon, darling. He promised deliverance. They’ll-” He stopped speaking as he heard, far above their heads, someone entering the cavernous tunnels. “-be here any moment.” He finished, chuckling.

Sitting up straight, Oliver rose to their feet, making Bohwie shuffle out of the way. “Darlings!” They called, the crowd instantly hushing and turning to them, “Tonight, we have two very special guests joining us. They have just entered our hallowed chamber, and will soon be upon us. Welcome them with the reverence you bestow upon Bohwie and I, for just as you all do, they serve a purpose greater than ourselves.”

The crowd murmured to one another quietly, shuffling about eagerly as Bohwie got to his feet.

Oliver listened past them, to the footsteps that were nearing the cavern’s entrance. “Darlings, it is my honor to introduce his most exalted, the child of the Empire, Fayroe Fallen, and the Father’s lover’s son, Zeruki Ursida.”

A hush fell as the two trolls stepped into the cavernous room, which held for several seconds.

“Uh… Wassup, fellow freaky-deaks?” Zeruki finally broke the silence, the jingling of the bells on his tail echoing and shrill when he moved. Oliver could smell fear emanating off the tealblood; he didn’t want to be here, clearly.

“Welcome, darlings. I’m quite pleased you made it here safely.” Oliver said graciously, descending the ramp and walking up to the other two.

“I brought him, just like you asked.” Fayroe said, leather shuffling as they crossed their arms; they sounded absolutely disgusted that they’d done a favor for the oliveblood. “So you’d better-”

“Yes, darling, I’ll help you, as I promised. But first, we have work to do, still.” Oliver assured him smoothly, before she turned to Zeruki. “Welcome, my fellow genetic deviant. I’m sure you have quite a few questions.”

“I sure as flip-fucking-fuck do. Where the hell am I, why am I here, and why did Faybee-baby-bitch show up at my hive? That’s illegal.” Zeruki huffed.

“Well, darling, you are among friends here. I am Oliver Maddel. This is Bohwie Akshai,” Oliver indicated the blueblood as he walked up behind her, “And all these trolls behind us are part of the Black Hand. We are servants of the Infinite Abomination, the most ancient and powerful-”

“Whoopidy-fuckity-doo, you worship a bitch-brat with eyes and tentacles that would be a superstar in Eastern Alternian bucket animation.” Zeruki interjected, sounding bored as he lashed his tail again and made the bells ring, “What the fffffuck does that have to do with me? I was having a nice tippy-time trying to get my lusus to stop eating the lounge-plank when pinky-pie and flufflekins showed up at my door.”

“Don’t you dare disrespect Persephone! I’ll-” Fayroe began.

“You’ll what?” Zeruki taunted, “Kill me? Go ahead and try, bitch-stitch-boy! Jokes on you, I wanna die! Your daddy-pops wants me alive, though! You wanna make daddy mmmmmad? Huh?”

“I could have you-”

“Have me what? Imprisoned? Tortured? Once again the jokey-pokey is on you, pinky-fuck! I’m into that shit! You’re powerless, chuckle-bucket-fffffuck!” Zeruki cackled.

Oliver realized he was quickly losing control of the situation. “Zeruki,” He interjected sharply, before he took a deep breath and continued calmly, “I apologize that we ruined your evening, but I asked Fayroe to bring you.” He gave the teal his most flattering and charming smile, “You see, darling, we have need of you. At this moment, you are the most important troll in the world.”

Zeruki was silent for several seconds. “Dope.” He said at last, “Why?”

“We need your assistance for something that could, potentially, change the world. I promise you, you’ll be royally compensated for your cooperation.”

“Compensated like… money, or like you’re gonna put me on that freaky-fucky table and cut my head off?” Zeruki checked.

“Whichever you’re into.” Oliver chuckled. They turned away, motioning for Zeruki to follow as they headed for the altar.

“Soooo…. What do I gotta do?” The teal asked.

“We just need some of your blood, my dear.”

“McChicken-fuckin-scuse me?” Zeruki asked, incredulous.

“Not all of it, of course! Just a few drops!” Oliver assured him.

“Why?!”

Oliver held out her hand, and Bohwie placed an old, tarnished, gold lapel pin- it was shaped like a scorpion, with two gleaming rubellite eyes- in her palm.

Fayroe sucked in a sharp breath. “Hold on a moment- you’re not going to- to bring em back, are you?” They asked nervously.

Oliver only smiled. “We need em, darling.”

“But- but ey-”

“Trust me, my dear, I know what I’m doing.” Oliver said soothingly. She gently placed the pin on the black marble, before she raised her head, turning it from side to side like she was observing the room. “Long ago,” She began, “I came across an ancient scripture, left behind by the original Black Hand. It detailed their rituals, festivities, and the god they worshipped.

This scripture… came with a prophecy.” Oliver said dramatically, hiding a grin when he heard the Black Hand collectively suck in a breath, “It was vague, as they often are, but I managed to piece it together- the Black Hand is due, nay, had been promised, a chosen one. This chosen child would usher in an age of glory, victory, and wonder- the age of nonsuffering- swept in on a wave of blood.

I thought, long ago, that I had found that child.” She let her voice fall into nostalgic sadness, “The one called Drayco Afasia. They were devout, beautiful, and were in line to succeed after Bohwie and I were gone. But before they could truly take their place as our chosen child, they were ripped away from us!” Her voice rolled from regret to wrath as she spat out the word.

The Black Hand reacted, growls and hisses emanating from the watching trolls. Oliver shook their head, clenching their fists against the cold stone altar, “The one called Musrio Almawt tore our child away from us, like a feral lusus takes away a grub. He stole our child, ending their life before it was begun! Then, unable to face the sin he committed, he took his own life in repentance! Only to meet our god, to confront the fact that he had taken everything away from us!” Their voice rose in pitch, as their followers jeered and snarled. They knew this story; Oliver had drilled it into them that Musrio was the enemy, conditioned them to react with malice at his name.

“Instead of smiting his soul from existence, however,” Oliver relaxed with a weary sigh, “our lord is merciful. It blessed Almawt with powers like mine, and sent him back to us, rebirthed and purified. It is my belief that our god intended for him to take up the mantle, to atone for his sins, and assist us with our goal. And so far, he has done just that! He has brought back many of those we require for the wave of blood! For that, we thank him.” She smiled warmly, and the scent changed to confusion and uncertainty, until she dropped the expression.

“But we cannot forgive him.” He continued darkly, “Not when he insists on impeding our work in any way he can. He returned our chosen child to life, but-” He let his voice crack, “I was too late.” He stage whispered, his voice thick with grief, “He had corrupted our child, convinced them that we are the villains, and has refused to continue his work for us.” He rubbed his knuckles over his mask, like he was wiping away tears, cleared his throat, and continued, “So I have been forced to play my hand, perhaps too early. I have brought back the Deadscar Wanderer, and the Hierophant- our beloved founder- and now…”

They held up the pin for all to see. “I shall bring back yet another that will join our cause. Once ey have joined us, there will only be two left! And once those two are within my grasp, we shall harvest their blood, all at once, so that the wave will begin, and our chosen child will come to us!” They announced proudly. The Black Hand were become frenzied, cheers and applause ringing through the cavern. “And once the child has come home, they will lead us into the age of nonsuffering!” Oliver cried over the crowd, “We are nearly there, my darlings!”

More chattering and clapping; Oliver allowed them the jubilation for a moment, before he motioned for silence. Instantly, his followers settled into breathless anticipation.

Laughing, Oliver turned to Zeruki. “So, my darling, do you see now why we need you? You are the descendant of one of the bloods. The connection through your bloodlines will allow em to grace us with eir presence. Will you do us the honor, and give us some of the azure ichor in your veins?” He purred silkily.

Zeruki was silent for a long moment; Oliver gave him that, letting him think it over. Finally, Zeruki took a deep breath, clapping his hands together.

“How do I put this politely?” He asked with mock cheeriness, “You’re flip-shit-fuck-trucking nuts, my guy. Absolutels-tootles buggy-bonkers, out the thinkpan fritz-frazzled. You feel me, Olive oil? I’m gonna go home, mmmmkay, and let my lusus gnaw on my skull so I forget all the lug-nut-lunacy your vocal box just spewed like my bulge during happy-fun-me-and-bucket-time. Okie-dokie?”

There was a collective gasp of horror from the Black Hand.

Icy fury stole through Oliver, freezing her already stony blood-pumper. However, her face did not change. Instead, she cupped her own chin thoughtfully, humming. “I see…”

“No you don’t.” Zeruki muttered, his tail chiming as he snorted.

“No, I don’t.” Oliver agreed and with a convincing giggle, dropping her hand, “But if that’s how you feel, then- well, I certainly won’t stop you from leaving. I won’t force you.” She carefully set the pin down, clasping her hands in front of her.

“Uh… sooo…. I can go?” Zeruki asked, startled.

“I won’t stop you.” Oliver repeated, their smile as cold as their veins.

“Uh… ‘Kay. Dope. … Bye?” Zeruki began to back away, his scent full of uncertainty.

“Oh, wait- just one thing, darling.” Oliver called. He turned towards where Bohwie was standing, waiting patiently. “BB, will you do the honors?”

Oliver didn’t need to see to feel the air suddenly become electrified- crackling, almost, and thick with an intangible power.

“I’ve got him.” Bohwie said calmly, although his voice was trembling with excitement.

“Thank you, my love.” Oliver purred, before they turned to the crowd. “The blessed abilities our lord has given us have come into great use this night, my lovelies. Does anyone have a blade we might use?”

There was a quick, and enthusiastic reaction. However, it was Fayroe who pressed a knife into Oliver’s hand. “Use mine. Just don’t get any of your own filth on it.”

Oliver gripped the blade’s hilt, laughing. “Of course not, dear.” He assured them. Turning towards the sound of Zeruki’s boots approaching, he held out the knife.

“Take it.” Bohwie rumbled.

The knife left Oliver’s hand.

“Slice your palm over the altar.”

Shuffling, and a rough scrape. There was no hiss of pain, no whimper, as the smell of blood filled Oliver’s nose.

“Turn your hand. Cover the pin.”

A brief pause, and a faint splatter of several drops hitting metal and stone.

“Give Fayroe his knife.”

“Ew.” The fuchsia muttered as he took the blade, wiping it down with a handkerchief.

“You’re going to stay here, and watch your ancestor rejoin us. You were willing to help, and gave your blood to us.” Bohwie intoned, before the energy in the air snapped and vanished.

Oliver heard several of the Black Hand take deep breaths, as if they’d just surfaced from underwater; they hadn’t been controlled, but the raw power

Bohwie possessed was still dizzying to be near. Zeruki spluttered, stumbling, as his body was given back to him.

“Wh-” He began, before Bohwie’s final order took over. He fell silent, and did not move.

“Thank you for your help, Zeruki.” Oliver purred as he stepped up to the altar again. “The pin is in place?” He checked.

“It is.” Bohwie assured him.

Satisfied, Oliver carefully peeled her gloves off and passed them to Bohwie. She rubbed her hands together, before she reached up and untied the silk band over her eyes. She let it fall to the floor as she pressed her hands together.

Energy surged through their body, up from their chest, down their arms, and into their head. Their eyes began to glow, as a dark, misty haze formed over their hands. The magic was not all consuming, no matter how hard Oliver tried to make it take over their body, as they were told it was supposed to.

But it would be enough. A bitingly cold wind cut through the warm cavern, racing around the room like a frenzied scale-mate. The lights and torches alike flickered, the scents from incense and food suddenly blown away. From Oliver’s perspective, he was alone; alone in a cold void, with only the sound of the wind and a deep thrumming, despite the hundred or so trolls in the room with him.

As the magic that gathered in her reached its peak, Oliver flung her arms out dramatically, throwing back her head. Her mouth opened in a wordless roar as she threw herself forward, slamming her palms down on the altar, on either side of the pin. Blood splattered on her fingers, the smell sharp and poignant in the void. It burned against her skin as the magic burst.

The wind built to a screaming whirlwind around him, the Black Hand crying out in alarm, only for their voices to be drowned out. Zeruki and Fayroe backed away in fear, as Bohwie stood resolutely beside his morail.

Darkness consumed Oliver inside and out as something tugged on his consciousness. Without thought, he seized it and heaved.

Green flames erupted in the torches that had been blown out, only to turn cyan. The darkness suddenly peeled off of Oliver and enveloped the altar they leaned on, gathering around the pin until it couldn’t be seen.

All at once, the darkness expanded, thrashing and solidifying into a shape.

A body.

Head, arms, and legs bloomed out of the torso, along with an excess limb. Fingers separated out of the dark, horns sprouted from the silhouette.

As the darkness locked itself into a physical form, the wind and roar and magic abruptly vanished, momentarily sucking the air out of the cavern along with it.

The black mist around the form fell away like fog, rolling off the altar and disappearing.

Oliver’s knees buckled, and Bohwie was immediately at his side to catch her. She gasped in air, her lungs frozen in her ribs as the energy was drained away. She had the strength to stay standing, though, unlike when she’d called Hierophant.

Bohwie stood him up, brushing back his hair and tying the mask back on his eyes. “Are you alright?” He whispered.

“I’m alright, BB.” Oliver assured him softly, smiling towards the cerulean’s face. “Did it work?”

“My, my, my… One moment, I am cutting open a subject. The next, the mother of the abomination has speared me through. Now I appear to find myself upon an examination table that isn’t mine. Most peculiar…"

A new voice, scratchy and sneering, spoke behind them.

Oliver turned as they heard shuffling, as someone sat up and rose from the altar top. They beamed, stepping forward and bowing low.

“Welcome back to Alternia, Dr. Dolion Ursida, the Bladepen.”

“… And that’s why we need your blood, darling.” Oliver finished.

“My, my, my…” Ey said, “That is certainly quite a story. I do not care for any sort of god, but I am not opposed to being a rat in your procedure. I shall have a vial delivered to your hive once I have the time.”

Oliver bowed graciously. “Thank you very much for your cooperation, doctor.”

Bladepen hummed, rose to eir feet, and turned to observe Zeruki, who was fidgeting with his tail. “So, you’re my descendant, are you?”

“Yeppers-peppers.” Releasing his tail with a flourish and a jingle, Zeruki stood up straight.

Bladepen cocked eir head to the side, observing him. “Hm. Malnourished, but reflexive. Serving the Fleet as an engineer, but,” Eir eyes locked on the bells embedded in Zeruki’s tail, “marked by the Enforcer.” Clicking eir tongue, ey steepled eir fingers. “Overall… disappointing.” Ey concluded, “Remove your helmet.”

Zeruki barked out a laugh. “Look, Bladey-bitch, you’re not my lusus, so I don’t gotta listen to you. You ain’t Fiona, and I ain’t Shrek. I’m not removing my helmet for shits or giggles after slaying your scaly-beasty-hivemate, okie-dokie? I’m uuuuugly, let’s leave it at that.”

Bladepen’s eyes narrowed slightly, before ey laughed. “Very well. What do they call you?”

“Zeruki. Zuki, Zuzu, Zuzuzuzuzuzuzuzu- but that one’s for my lusus only. Zeru if you’re here, Zeri if you’re queer. “The duder-bro who just stole a bag of chips” if you’re the oliveblood from the snackhive-”

“Oh my god, shut up.” Fayroe finally interrupted, twirling their needle-knife between their claws. Zeruki hissed at the seadweller.

Bladepen turned to Fayroe, their smile inexplicably getting bigger. “My, my… You’re Godric’s little one, aren’t you?”

Fayroe stiffened, fin-fronds fluttering. “Yes…?”

Bladepen looked them up and down. “Handsome, royal carriage, armed and dangerous… and, of course, bearing Godric’s majestic horns. Overall, satisfying.”

Fayroe curled his lip. “You’re weird.”

“So I’ve heard.” Bladepen purred, eir tail swishing back and forth as ey turned to address Oliver. “If there’s nothing more you need from me, I’d quite like to go see how my beloved has held up these past four hundred years.”

Oliver returned the cloying smile. “If it’s alright with you, darling, I’d like to accompany you. I wish to meet the Enforcer myself.”

“I don’t see why not.” Bladepen mused. Turning on eir heel, ey headed for the exit. “Come along, then.”

Zeruki looked around at the other three, then at the Black Hand. “… Yeah, no, I’mma dippin-dots-and-dash. This isn’t my kind of scene, so cut, print, kill the director. I’m out.” Flipping them all off, the young teal turned and fled.

While Bohwie and Oliver bid their followers goodbye and dismissed them, Fayroe headed after Bladepen, scratching listlessly at their lip.

“Dr. Ursida?” They asked as they ducked out of the cavern.

Dolion was stood a few feet away from the entrance, looking up at the stars. “Yes, master Fallen?”

Fayroe’s fin-fronds flickered; he liked the sound of that title. “What are you? To father, I mean?”

Bladepen made an amused sound, eir tail sweeping back and forth. “I am his physician, heart, and spade.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

Oliver and Bohwie emerged from the cavern a moment later.

“Shall we, darlings?” The oliveblood beamed.

Half an hour later, they were stood before the Imperial Enforcer’s hive. Bladepen and Fayroe took the lead, striding up to the gates. The drones on guard watched the group pass without reaction.

Dolion looked around, clicking eir tongue as they approached the front steps of the grand hive; it was large, imposing, and dark, exuding an energy of power over the lawnring. It was made of obsidian and gold, with architectural designs that could only be called “threatening.”

“Ohhh, so he’s a villain villain.” Bohwie said, staring up at the demented statues of drones in the process of dismembering lowbloods.

Oliver and Dolion both laughed.

Fayroe, however, had gone dead silent; Oliver could smell fear, barely contained terror, emanating from the fuchsia.

“His taste certainly hasn’t changed. How refreshing.” Dolion purred as they ascended the steps. The double doors were swept open for them by a pair of drones.

As the four of them stepped into the foyer, a fifth troll approached from the opposite side. He barely glanced at them at first, before he froze and did a double take.

“Wh-”

Dolion craned eir head back and beamed at the other troll. “Well this is a surprise. Hello again, Hounding.”

The giant purpleblood’s lip twitched, a growl rolling in his throat. “You’re back, too, doc?” He huffed, adjusting the ax laid across his shoulders.

“Indeed. Were you here to see Godric?”

“Hmph. Just fer a visit. Boss likes ta pretend we’re buddies; called me in fer a hive visit, an’ here I was thinkin’ it was work. Nah, fish-bitch just wanted ta have a beer and talk.” He rolled his eyes.

“How nice.” Bladepen smiled.

Hounding shook his head. “Whatever. I got shit ta do.” He turned and kept walking. “Getting’ real sick of finned-fucks tellin’ me what to do.” He muttered, just loud enough for them to hear.

Bladepen chuckled, before ey turned and kept walking. As the group headed through the doors on the far side, Fayroe dropped back behind Bohwie and Oliver.

They emerged into a dark, grand throne block, lit by braziers full of pink flames. Everywhere the group looked, there were depictions of deep sea monsters, banners of the Fleet, and- most prevalent- scorpions. They were carved into the ornate pillars, doorways, and even sewn as designs along the border of the carpet. The block was freezing cold, too, the air damp. It felt as if they’d stepped into a terrarium of sorts.

Out from the arched, tall and dark ceiling came a monster’s face; an ancient scorpion scale-beast, its scales bone white against the gloom. A death-rattle hiss in its throat, it bared its crimson teeth at the four of them.

“My, my, I’m coming across old friends aplenty today. Hello again, Lord Scordra.” Bladepen reached out and scratched the chitinous scales on the scale-beast’s chin, completely undaunted by the monster.

Lord Scordra, as the lusus was called, chittered and hissed; it was an odd sound, as it was both high pitched, and practically subsonic. The monster curled away, back into the dark ceiling, before it reappeared, crawling down an obsidian pillar.

It was a ginormous beast, with too many disjointed limbs and multiple glassy eyes. Its long, scorpion tail slithered over the ground as the monster snaked its way behind the raised platform at the far side of the throne room, curling around the dais.

Upon that dais, seated upon the throne, was the Imperial Enforcer.

“Dolion? Is that you?”

“Godric.” Bladepen breathed, eir tail practically vibrating. Faster than the three descendants could register, the tealblood was streaking across the throne room.

Ey ran up the steps and dropped to eir knees before the fuchsia, who reached out with black-gauntlet-covered hand and stroked his claws through the doctor’s wavy hair.

“I was wondering when you’d come see me again.” The fuchsia hummed.

“So sorry it took me so long. I’m afraid I was a little preoccupied for the last four hundred sweeps.” Bladepen groveled, taking the hand off eir head and kissing the steel knuckles.

Enforcer chuckled, deep and low. “Behave, Dolly.” He rumbled, grabbing the tealblood’s horn and tugging em to eir feet; his grip moved to one of the horns protruding from Bladepen’s jaw, which he used to pull the tealblood into a kiss. “Tell me, who are these friends you’ve brought with you?” He asked when he pulled away.

Oliver took the opportunity to step forward. She bowed as low as possible, as Bohwie did the same beside her.

“My lord Imperial Enforcer, Godric Fallen, I am Oliver Maddel, and this is my morail, Bohwie Akshai. We are no more than a humble oliveblood and cerulean, with a dream to see our enemies slaughtered before us. We’ve come to beg for your assistance. All we request and require would be a singular vial of your most royal blood.” Oliver spoke eloquently, laying it on thick. With their heads so low, Enforcer couldn’t see the shit-eating grins the two leaders sported.

The fuchsia laid his cheek on his knuckles, observing the two. “Rise, the both of you.” He ordered after a moment. Bohwie and Oliver instantly stood up straight.

“I would stand to greet you, but I cannot.” Enforcer narrowed his eyes towards Bohwie, “You resemble the one that robbed me of the use of my legs.”

The cerulean was not the best at being composed and articulate, as Oliver was, but he stood up straight, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Yes, sir. Dmitri is my ancestor.” He explained.

“Has he sent you to finish me off?” Enforcer asked, amused.

Bohwie spread his arms out. “Search me if you’d like, my lord, but I am weaponless. I don’t doubt I’d be cut down before I even took a step towards you, if your death was my intention.” He intoned, waving one hand to indicate the monster behind the throne; in truth, he wouldn’t even need to move to cut the fuchsia down. His abilities were far beyond his ancestors, but the Enforcer didn’t need to know that.

Enforcer laughed at that, before his gaze switched to Oliver. “Show me your eyes, oliveblood.”

Oliver obediently reached up and removed the band around their eyes.

“You’re blind?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, my lord. I was sightless from my hatching. My eyes were changed when I beheld the god I worship.”

“How is it that you return Dolion to me?”

“Through the god I worship, my lord.”

Enforcer said nothing, and his face gave nothing away. After a moment, he chuckled. “Very well. As thanks for returning my descendant, I will permit a single vial.”

Elation shot through Oliver so hard that his head spun. “Thank you, my lord.” He managed to say, bowing once more. Bohwie echoed his thanks and bowed, too.

Enforcer made a small noise in acknowledgement, before his gaze shifted to the fourth member of the party. “Fayroe.”

The younger fuchsia’s breath froze in their lungs. “Hello, father.” He managed to croak.

“Approach.”

On stiff legs, Fayroe did as he was told, but came no closer than behind Oliver and Bohwie.

A displeased growl rolled in Enforcer’s throat. “Fayroe, were you not released from the white room two nights ago? Then you turn around, flee the hive, and have to be dragged back by Dolion and company?”

Fayroe’s heart was hammering loud enough for Oliver to hear. “I didn’t flee, f- father. I went to fetch the Engineer, Zeruki Ursida, s- so that I might reunite you with Dolion.” He stammered.

Enforcer looked down his nose at the trembling fuchsia. “You’re pathetic, Fayroe.” He said at last, his voice as icy and dark as space itself, “Did I not just hear it was the oliveblood that brought Dolion back to me?”

“But I-”

“Enough!” Enforcer sat up sharply; had he the use of his legs, he would have stood. Lord Scordra stirred, letting out another subsonic hiss. Enforcer glared down at his descendant. “It matters not your intentions; you left the hive when you were ordered not to. You are meant to obey me, child!”

Fayroe flinched back half a step, a near silent whimper in his throat. They froze, their eyes widening with horror when they realized what they’d done. “I’m sorry, father, I didn’t mean- I’m sorry, please don’t-”

“Scordra.” Enforcer looked down at his lusus, “I’m finished with that thing. Do away with it.”

The draconic arachnid chittered shrilly, like it was laughing, gathering its feet under itself.

Panicked and desperate, Fayroe grabbed Oliver’s shoulder. “You swore you’d help me! You promised to get me away from him!” He cried.

Oliver turned her head and smiled at him. “I have done as I promised; he has rejected you, Fay, darling, and now you can go away.” She and Bohwie stepped away. “Goodbye, Fayroe.”

Fayroe’s head snapped up as the monstrous lusus shot across the floor towards him, the sound of his father’s laughter echoing around the chamber.

Oliver couldn’t see the carnage, but he heard the scream, the tear of flesh, the snarling-snort of a wounded animal, and fleeing footsteps, accompanied by the smell of fresh blood.

“Oh dear… did he hurt you, my lord?” Dolion said after a beat of silence. The giant lusus skittered up to the doctor, who knelt down and removed the needle knife from its nose. “There you go.”

Laughter rolled from Enforcer’s chest like an oncoming storm. “To think he’d defend himself… I certainly didn’t see that coming. How entertaining.” He turned his head towards the other two descendants. “You two, approach once more, and tell me this tale in full.”

“Yes, my lord, but- what about Fayroe?”

Enforcer’s smile was as coy and cruel as his lover’s. “Whom?”

~~~~~~~~~

(Credit for base)