#the decaying

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.