by Sain Artwell
After contemplation, Sorcerer King left the flooded hallway behind. The duel outside had ended with both contestants dead. Down the street, a group of sentinels fought deepkin bandits, both sides incurring heavy losses.
Sorcerer King spread her wings and left behind the burning streets. In the end, she deemed it unlikely that Mlevanosk had known of Sorcerer King’s plans. However, to be on the safe side, she ordered Knights of Myrwing to slaughter the defensive forces at the cliffs near Carrion Scourge, and lure hordes of vine horrors into Blackmetal City, ensuring its demise.
Chapter 25 - Blood Jungle Massacre
“Exactly like I remember it, only a hundred years older,” said Alron.
Fei shook her head. “You’d think the weirdos who drink the blood of their dead would reuse the vestiges too. No sense leaving them there.”
“Old ways hold strong here. ‘A dragon lives forever in their vestiges. So too do we who carry them’.”
“Right. She’s such a ball of sunshine down there.”
The mummified remains of Oqhizt remained silent, curled up, submerged at the bottom of a giant urn embedded in the ground. A simple temple roof kept the drizzle out. Bas reliefs depicted an embellished story of her life’s journey from a lowly bloodslave to an honorary elder of clan Talotl. Rotting flowers and food floated in Oqhizt’s tepid, watery grave. In a walled graveyard between ziggurats honoring ancestors and dragongods stood hundreds of large and thousands of smaller urns.
“Tzipazas! Fried tzipazas! Nourishing and delicious! Honorable to sacrifice!” hollered a wrinkly wyrmkin woman from behind a wagon-stand parked right outside the graveyard. Beside her, a small girl in rags sat in a puddle, peddling flowers.
“What exactly were her words?” asked Fei.
“‘Please do revive her, she is not as dead as they claim’,” Alron recounted.
Fei scoffed. “For someone so smart she sure left us poor instructions.”
“She was busy dying,” Alron reminded coldly.
“So is Oqhizt.”
“Hm.”
“Any plans yet?”
“Nothing concrete.”
“So…” Fei peered around the wyrmkin visiting the graveyard. “Which of the clans of the Blood Courts should we kill first? I say Talotl.”
“Don’t touch anyone, yet. If Mlevanosk said Oqhizt can be revived, then she can be revived. We may need the cooperation of the elders of the Blood Courts.”
“Hehe…” A grin overtook Fei’s lips in an instant. “Cooperative. I like that…” She flexed her claws, soulfire dancing on her claw tips. “I had new ideas for the next one, a shorter death but far more painful, takes a while to ignite soulfire in the source of vis, but when it does, it burns good, very good.”
“Excuse me, you are Alron and Fei Ansang, yes?”
Alron and Fei spun around to see a woman on the road near them. She wore a large headdress of emerald green bones and feathers, and nothing but adornments and ritual body paint on her stark red skin. Her claws and tail hung low, and she carried no weapons.
“Indeed we are,” said Alron. “And who are you?”
The woman bowed. “Kme of Talotl, the thirteenth elder of the Blood Court clan Talotl, and fleshbender known for her mastery of the Vampiric Rain. Ever since we heard of your escape, I have eagerly awaited an opportunity to introduce myself, should the dragons will it.”
“How… awfully suspicious.” Fei cocked her head, stepping forward. “You just so happen to meet us the day we arrive.”
Kme kept her head bowed. “A fortunate coincidence. Praise the dragons.”
“Unfortunately, we’ve grown suspicious of coincidences as of late.” Alron lifted Apocalypse from the ground and brought it to rest on his shoulder. “Before you speak further, convince us that you are not Sorcerer King’s agent.”
“How should I begin to do such a thing… I could curse the Stars, but so many denounce them here that it is hardly a true proof of allegiance. Ah? What if I told you that I learned of your escape from my aunt, who represented the Blood Court clans in Sorcerer King’s last council of sovereigns. Upon learning this, I asked myself: If they come here, where will they visit? And so, here I’ve been since, waiting to strike a deal.”
Suspicious… I dislike her face.
And yet she is alone. I sense no scrying eyes. We will give her a chance.
Alron nodded to Kme, and said, “Speak.”
A smile tugged Kme’s lips. She continued to bow. “I was but a girl then, but I remember the truth—as much any story can be true—of the last dragon war. I remember Oqhizt’s secret, the trick she used to regenerate regardless of how wounded she was, so long as even a droplet of blood was left.”
“Hm.” Alron glanced at Oqhizt’s urn, pondering.
Kme lifted her head ever so slightly, grinning wider, sharp canines in view. “So, what say you? Secrets to her ritual in exchange for a taste of your essence.”
“You seem to be mistaken,” said Alron.
“I am?” Kme feigned surprise. “Please, if you would educate me as to how I’ve misunderstood your needs, so that I may make a better offer?”
Alron shattered Oqhizt’s grave with his fist and hoisted her mummified and mangled remains. His claws sank into her slimy chest cavity, where they brushed against all three of her semi-liquid vestiges. A familiar strong voice called his name, and memories flooded his mind: Memories of their final battle against Carrion Scourge—memories that had once been too painful to watch.
War raged around them. Cannons bombarded the massive mountain of thorns ahead, as they rose around Carrion Scourge’s humanoid vessel—a horrifying monster of bones and vestiges animated by vines squirming like worms. Oqhizt’s flesh was connected with Alron’s, deeply intertwined. She was in his veins, and between his tissues, constantly patching up the torn ligaments and muscles as he battled the animated vines. She bore his pain, even embraced it. When he needed her to, she created blood doubles of herself to block an enemy he didn’t have time to. When Mlevanosk tired, she formed blades, and spikes of solid blood. Where her lovers faltered, she spilled blood to cover them…
Alron shrugged off the memory, switching to another vestige, another memory.
…They were laughing. It was the night before the final assault. Oqhizt’s cheek hurt from grinning. She lounged sideways across Mlevanosk’s deliciously round butt and Alron’s stomach, and raised her voice to imitate Fei in a mocking tone. Wasn’t often that the domineering Ansang heiress admitted she had fears like any wyrmkin, and the chance to get even was just too good! Everyone laughed. She couldn’t remember when she’d last caught Fei off guard like this, and Oqhizt wasn’t about to let it go yet! She adopted an even better imitation, and mimicked Fei admitting she loved everyone, not just Alron, and that she didn’t want to lose anyone. Everyone except Alron and Fei laughed. In his calm rumbling voice, he chastised Oqhizt with words that sunk deep into her heart…
Aron detached, and focused on the third vestige.
…Death was near. Not even the constant torrent of vis Alron was flooding her with could fuel Oqhizt’s regeneration. Every swing of Armageddon Blade tore limbs off of Alron. Each time, pain tore through Oqhizt like a flood. Each time, she turned vis into blood and blood into flesh and flesh into bone, never stopping the process of regeneration. Then, something impossibly heavy passed right through Alron’s lungs and spine, right through where Oqhizt had hidden her dragon-core. Instantly, she lost access to Alron’s vis. She didn’t have enough to fix herself and him. Without a moment’s hesitation, Oqhizt used her remaining vis to regenerate Alron. As darkness crept towards her, she liquified her flesh into blood and shaped it, imbuing a blood clone with her memories so that it could absorb her vestiges and carry on living…
Alron awoke from the brief traipse through Oqhizt’s vestiges, locking eyes with Kme.
“Firstly,” he began, “Oqhizt’s secret was continuing life through blood clones. Secondly, you among others of Talotl drank of her
blood, consuming her unfinished clone. Thirdly, your knowledge of her revival ritual implies you chose to drink of her blood, rather than revive her a hundred years ago. And lastly, do not delude yourself into thinking that you, and the clan of Talotl, and the Blood Courts were not complicit in the imprisonment of the rest of my women.”
His grip firmed on the hilt of Apocalypse. Alron leaned closer to Kme’s face, as cracks of doubt appeared over her projected confidence. “So tell me, Kme of Talotl, how may you serve us?”
A raindrop fell from her headdress and ran down her brow. Kme licked her lips carefully, maintaining her confidence. “Her blood clone is scattered across the older members of Talotl, but not all of her essence remains intact. You need the aid of an exceptionally skilled fleshbender to rebuild it. I would add that I was but a wyrmling at the time of Oqhizt’s death. My part in her fate, and that of you and yours, was as influential as the role of the weather in tzipazas sauce’s saltiness.”
“Hm.” Alron glanced at Fei, who was giving the woman a judgmental glare.
I still dislike her face, but I will abide by your decision. If nothing else, she sounds honest.
“So be it.” Alron straightened, relaxing his grip on Apocalypse. “You shall lead us to the ones with Oqhizt’s blood and finish her ritual of revival. Do this, and I shall grant your wish, so long as it does not impede our quest. For the sake of our cooperation…” Slowly, Alron bowed his head low.
Fei gasped. “What, why—”
“…I offer apologies for my abrupt reaction. Recent times have chipped my patience to a ruin of what it once was.” Alron straightened, and put Oqhizt’s remains in a bag.
Kme blinked, taken aback. “That is…” She regained her composure, nodding. “Thank you. I shall strive to be worth your gesture. Now, might I suggest a change of scenery? Breaking a grave urn is considered something of a taboo amongst the naputz, stealing the remains of a revered folk hero doubly so.”
Indeed, wyrmkin scowled at them with varying degrees of scorn and bewilderment. Two temple guards were hurrying down a nearby ziggurat, but not too fast—they did not look eager to harass someone handling a blade as big as Alron’s with one hand.
“If I might be so bold, I have a secret chamber in the Great Sunken Ziggurat to the south, which is unknown to all but my most trusted servants,” added Kme.
Fei engulfed them in flames, invisible flames, and flew onto Alron’s shoulders, veiling them.
Alron scooped Kme off her feet, and flew. “What preparations do you need for the ritual?”
“I can extract the essence of her blood clone from the elders, so long as their blood is not vaporized. I feel that at this point, it’s prudent to mention that I would muchly appreciate it if you aided me in killing off the other elders of Talotl, without overtly damaging the clan’s holdings or members without Oqhizt’s blood. I intend to take over once the others are dead. We may discuss the details while conspiring on the best approach to take down the clan elders. They are rather powerful, each of them an awakened master.”
“No need to make the issue needlessly contrived. Which way to your clan elders?”
“North-west, the town behind the woods which drip with slime. But are you certain? A few of the elders may prove rather troublesome opponents.”
“No. They won’t,” said Alron.
His wings cut through the rain as it began to pour. Capital of Bones whistled below—a patchwork of neighbourhoods floating on rafts, towering ziggurats of bone-white bricks, and swampy canals. The edge of the forest was an abrupt line around the lake atop which the capital had been built. Thick gnarly trees, like hands with too many fingers and barely any leaves, dripped with dark red ichor. Between them, the slime formed mucous webs and spawning-sacks of venomous leeches. A herd of six-limbed mire drakes craned their elongated necks up from the writhing corpse of a swamp star, as Alron struck wind with his mighty wings.
A few miles later, a triumvirate of stacked stone ziggurats broke through the canopy. Modern dragonfire lanterns burned in their windows, and cannoneers stood at watchposts, overlooking a small village of stone buildings and houses.
“Which building houses the most elders?” Alron asked, and Kme pointed, her voice gagged by wind and rain.
An oracle’s scry brushed over Alron, noticing his arrival, but it was too late. He stepped onto a balcony, releasing Kme as he kicked open a door. He settled into a steady pace towards the ziggurat’s warmly lit chambers. Fei fell by his side, gathering herself into a soulfire facsimile of her true body. She conjured two of her Dreamfire Parade warriors. Kme coughed, struggling to catch up.
“Wait! There are traps!” she shouted.
Thwip-thwip-thwip of a thousand darts filled the air. They bounced off of Alron’s dragonized body. Slabs of hard bonestone, a white mineral mined from Hungering One’s jawbones, fell to block them in, and noxious fumes began to fill the room. Alron swung Apocalypse once and broke everything. His steady pace downward never faltered. Spikes launched at him from catapults, and entire corridors were engulfed in flames and flooded by vis corroding blood. Between Dreamfire Parade and Alron, none of it posed a challenge.
Deep beneath the water level of the surrounding swamp, Alron broke ten reinforced doors barring his entry and entered a chamber of elevated tiers. Light from the hanging braziers reflected off of the bejeweled and gilded bas reliefs, which told the epics of clan Talotl from the Age of Claw and Fang to yesterday.
Cross-legged on a tall block of carved stone sat a wyrmkin woman, her skin as red and adornments double as heavy as Kme’s. Of the thirteen total seats, only six were filled.
“Kme! What is the meaning of this?” demanded the woman, outraged.
A man laughed on his pedestal. “Finally showing your true scales.”
“Foolish girl. Foolish girl,” muttered a thin, wrinkled man.
Rushing steps and shouts filled the hallways behind Alron. Secret doors opened in the sides of the chamber, and warriors and drakemen—wyrmkin twisted into gigantic war beasts by secret rituals of fleshbending—filled the chamber and encircled Alron. They growled war cries and twitched, eager to lurch forward.
Alron raised Apocalypse in a single-handed grip and dragonized the entire chamber as a show of strength. Pale stone turned dark red. Rough surfaces smoothed with fleshy scales. When Alron spoke, his voice was measured and even. “Whoever wishes to die, raise your claws.”
Silence of heartbeats and breathing followed.
“Those among you who’ve eaten of Oqhizt’s flesh, raise your claws.”
Hesitantly, the elders did, all but one.
She scoffed loudly. “Ridiculous! How dare you bring a dragongo—”
Apocalypse cut her off in the middle. With a single bound, Alron caught up to the sword he’d thrown, and cut the rest of the elders down with his outstretched wings. He’d cut them through their dragon-cores, ensuring certain death even if they were fleshbenders capable of regeneration.
“Do your part,” Alron said to Kme.
She jogged up to his side and cut her wrist. Droplets of her blood mingled with that of the dead, and animated it. Blood flowed up, down, and sideways, returning to Kme’s wound. She shuddered with some perverse delight.
“Where are the rest of the elders?” asked Alron.
Kme turned to the gathered warriors, and said, “You heard the question. This is an opportunity to earn the favor of your new ruling matriarch. Go. Capture the elders, and bring them to us.”
What followed was a series of short man-hunts throughout the Talotl clan estate and surrounding marshlands. After Kme absorbed the blood of all her fellow elders, she, Fei, and Alron convened in the underground throne chamber.
Braziers crackled softly. Scent of blood was fresh, with a faint undercurrent of swampy dampness from Oqhizt’s slimy remains. Alron’s vis was dissipating from the walls, slowly undoing the dragonization. Ever since stirring his dragonsoul, the effects lingered longer, but they would never be permanent, un
less he abandoned free will and ascended. Fei sat cross-legged on one of the thrones, wearing a newly adopted headdress and loincloth. Meanwhile, Alron stood over Kme’s shoulder, watching her work.
Thin trickles of blood flowed over and around her fingers, forking and entwining, before gathering into a viscous droplet hanging from her index finger. “I must warn you, there’s a chance she won’t be back the way she was. A century is a long time, and parts of her blood clone will have degraded,” Kme said.
“Is the ritual ready?” asked Alron.
Kme frowned. “Almost…”
Rivulets of blood snaked and meandered, slowly adding to the growing droplet, until, with a tiny snap, it detached. The droplet splashed over Oqhizt’s rotten rib-cage, and slid through the slits betwixt her mangled bones. Like a small ooze, the red blob wiggled about, stretching its liquid limbs over the glowing vestiges which made up Oqhizt’s dragon-core. Kme hissed a curse, rubbing her arm to make her wrist bleed more.
“What’s wrong?” asked Fei, descending from her chair.
“Less was left of her clone than I thought. She needs vis to grow, and I hadn’t thought to prepare any blood slaves.”
“As if clan Talotl has none,” said Alron.
Kme shot him an annoyed look. “No need to be that suspicious of me. If I’d been given time, I would’ve prepared them. It’s not as if I want this ritual to fail.”
“Hm.” Alron studied the miniature blood clone. He sensed no connection to it, and wasn’t certain whether or not it would be able to accept his vis the way his bonded women did. Alron unraveled the armor on his arm and slashed his wrist. He poured vis into the blood and let it dribble onto Oqhizt’s corpse.
