by Cebelius
Then, she moved.
In the space between heartbeats, she seemed to all but teleport to stand in front of Shy. She was hazy and indistinct for a moment, then solidified as she met the dryad's gaze. The Rod of Arcs began discharging, angrily sending questing tendrils of electrical energy out as the blood-spattered monster slammed a clawed hand around Shy's throat and jerked her close, sniffing at her as though she were a piece of meat.
Her voice was last with desperation, and rage. "I smell Boss on you ... where is he!?"
With no more than the grip on her neck, the woman hoisted Shy up and held her effortlessly, shaking the dryad like a child with a broken doll as she screamed again, "WHERE IS HE!?"
There was an insane glint in the woman's eyes, and it was clear she'd completely lost her mind. Shy looked into those eyes and shook her head. It was the only thing she could manage. She might not need to breathe to live, but she still needed air to speak, and she wasn't getting any of that at the moment.
The enraged woman screamed and flung Shy aside to slam into the first-story stone wall of the building a few feet away, and were she a mortal her skull would have cracked on impact. As it was she felt things breaking inside her and slumped, stunned and unable to keep her feet.
She only dimly saw the battle start through the black encroaching at the edges of her vision.
Marcus began it, swinging his heavy mace in a broad swipe that passed through the body of the phase beast as she shifted, putting herself in front of Shy again and glaring at her. Her face peeled back, splitting into bizarre tendrils of flesh like a macabre flower to show her naked skull as she screamed, "Look what he DID TO ME! I will have him! HE HAS TO FIX THIS!"
A bubble of emerald energy snapped into place around Shy and it sparked as the beast woman's claws were deflected. She screamed incoherently and turned toward Mila, clearly able to guess the source of the magic that frustrated her.
Marcus cut off all sight of Mila when he slammed his door-sized shield down between them, raising his mace as Yuri's two-handed sword cleared its sheath and he charged.
The phase beast shifted, but so did Marcus. As she appeared at the edge of his shield he moved it into the space she occupied and she stumbled as her double caught up with her. Yuri had anticipated the move, doubtless from years working with the minotaur, and before she could recover he slammed his sword into her side with all the strength of his charge.
The monstrous woman — her skull still exposed — let out a piercing howl of pain and tore at the shield, leaving deep gouges despite the seeming fragility of her claws as the force of Yuri's blow slammed her against it. The two warriors kept her pinned there as Yuri maneuvered and with a hard grunt shifted his sword and drove it through her body.
Her screech grew in volume as she wrenched herself sideways and off the massive blade, but it was clear at a glance that the blow was mortal.
Blood poured from her wounds as she shifted back to Shy — still protected by the bubble of magic surrounding her — and hammered at it with her claws, her knees, and even her head, screeching in her insanity. But the moment, which seemed to last forever to Shy, was only a few seconds long. The phase beast had lost too much blood. The wound was too grievous, and she sagged against the magic shield as her strength failed her.
Her face settled back into place over the naked bone she had shown in her aggression, and she whimpered as her life fled, "It's not fair ... I didn't do anything wrong." Her eyes found Shy's as she pleaded, "I don't know what happened! Take me to Boss, please!"
Yuri's sword penetrated her chest, exploding out the front of her body and slamming against the shield as he impaled her on it. Her head was jerked to the side, but she refocused on Shy and held the dryad's gaze as the last of her life fled.
Her body slumped to the ground.
'Look at you. Too weak to protect yourself even WITH me. Pathetic.'
The rod's derision was the last thing on her mind though as the green-tinged shield flickered and died. Shy could only gaze in shock at the corpse of the woman in front of her.
This was the woman Terry had while we were captured. It has to be.
"Shu!"
An older man stood at the doorway to the shop, his horrified gaze on the corpse at Shy's feet.
"You've killed her! My baby girl! WHY? Why did you have to kill her!? She was only protecting the store! This wasn't her fault! MURDERERS!"
He lifted his head and bayed, "Guards! Someone! ANYONE! HELP ME!"
The man stumbled as he rushed from the doorway and fell down next to the corpse, sobbing as he cradled her limp body against his own, heedless of the blood. Shy wanted to reach out to the man, to say something, say anything, but instead she was lifted to her feet and pain lanced through her as she was reminded of the damage she'd suffered. Marcus stood her up, then picked her up as it became clear she couldn't stand on her own.
My back is broken.
She stifled her pain, blocked it out as best she could. She was not mortal, and the damage done to her could be mended. She needed moist ground, and time.
Or perhaps Laina's milk will do for me what it does for ...
Her eyes fell on the corpse again and she shivered in reaction as much as pain. She looked up at Marcus, met the big minotaur's eyes, and said, "Take me to the keep. Please ... there is nothing we can do."
"I have questions," Yuri said quietly as he cleaned his sword and sheathed it. "Questions that need answers."
"Soon," Shy whimpered, her thoughts whirling. "Once I know the answers myself. Say nothing to Tee for now, please. This isn't his fault. He couldn't have known. None of us could have known. I have to ... I have to think about this."
The four of them were away down the street now, and the wailing sobs of the bereft old man began to mingle with the roaring flames coming closer to his shop. Shy saw Mila glance back at him, and knew she wanted to go to him, but in the end she turned away. It was obvious he would not be moved, and whether the flames claimed him or not would be his choice to make, not theirs.
"Boss has to answer for this, not you," Mila said, her voice hard. "We all heard her, saw her. She knew you were one of his. He did something to her ... something that destroyed her."
Shy nodded brokenly as the tears started to stream down her face. Some of it was pain, but most of it was an entirely different kind of agony. The kind no amount of magical healing could fix.
What do I do?? If he learns of this, it will ravage him!
"What did he do?!" Mila asked, her voice low and urgent.
Shy met the tiger woman's eyes and shook her head, and there was open misery in her voice as she said, "He had sex with her."
10
Behemoth
Florence sat at the base of the Ridgeback mountain range that ran east to west, about fifty miles inland from the Bancor Ocean. A deep river surged past the city and a harbor had been dredged to permit ocean-going trade ships to dock there. It was the only city accessible by water for two hundred miles in either direction along the coastline, for Cecaelia — the Lady of the Waves — did not permit cities to be built along that stretch of coast.
The city itself was built somewhat into the side of the mountain on the western side of the river, and the keep was an imposing mass of stone, more hollowed out of the sheer cliffs than built from them. A curtain wall protected the inner bailey of the keep and a second wall sheltered the roughly two square miles the city squatted on, which trended down on a gradually easing slope toward the docks.
A single road left Florence through a western gate, and that road did not split until it crossed a pass through the Ridgeback at the point where the range itself began to trend northward. Florence was an isolated city, and its destruction would be a great coup for the Twilight Zone. There were no cities closer than Florence to the leading edge of the zone to the north, and without either a template to fuel expansion or a great slaughter, the dusts of the zone were held at bay by the vast expanse of nothing that lay between it and th
e city.
Three campaigns had been launched against Florence over the past two hundred years, and all had been thwarted by the great naga who had ruled there.
No more ... no more. Master will be pleased.
"Tell me what you know."
The source of the deep, rumbling basso was a vast creature, at least in comparison to its second, who stood a mere six feet in height.
That worthy raised rotting hands to a black cowl and pulled it back, revealing red irises that glowed faintly with an inner light that only accentuated the pools of black they girded and the blood-shot whites of eyes too large by half for the skull they had been forced to occupy. The eyes did not track together, and one rolled errantly while the other focused on its master. Its face was bare of flesh or muscle, but the bones glistened with blood and ooze that trickled from cracks and holes. The skull of the creature had been broken apart to accommodate its unnatural occupant, and brains pulsed with unnatural life in the gaps. The muzzle parted, but it made no further effort to parody living speech. Sound came from the wickedly-curved beak embedded in the back of the jaw. Its voice was burbling and wet.
"Volai is dead. Albrecht Ross commands Florence. Dragon Asturial is nearby. War body unattended as golem proxy seeks template flesh. Crypt entrance open as promised. City is rioting. Many flee by road."
The beak hung open after it finished speaking, and drool began to pool and drip from the lower edge as the brainiac waited for commands.
"Hmmmm ..."
The rumbling went on longer than mortal lungs would permit as the Arch-Locutor contemplated its options. Its vast body had a roughly decahedron shape under the layers of knurly scales ranging from tan to gangrenous green that served it as armor. It was ten feet on a side, the bulk of which hung some twelve feet in the air, suspended amid four spider-like legs that ended in heavy elephantine pads. Each leg was six feet in diameter at its base and covered in heavy scales. Four wicked black talons flexed horizontally from each pad, gouging the forest floor absently as the behemoth thought. Singular eyes a foot tall and twice as wide were centered over huge, disconcertingly mortal mouths that opened between each pair of legs. The body had no defined front or back, and few other distinguishing features save for a nest of tentacles that dangled from its underside and wove about, seemingly aimless.
The eye of the behemoth that faced the brainiac had three separate pupils arranged in a triangle, each surrounded by an iris of a different color: putrescent tan on top, blood-red on the left, and a dull orange on the right. It blinked ponderously as the pupils swam from their triangle to random positions, only to reassemble with the red iris on top this time, and the maw opened as a thick, rope-like tongue passed out and around, licking thick, almost sensual lips and leaving them glistening.
Several of the tentacles started to weave purposefully underneath its body. They began to swirl in a circle, the ends seemingly chasing one another. The brainiac watched as light began to seep from the ends of each tendril, afterimages that concentrated until they formed a solid oval of bright-green power. Lightning arced through the space described, and with a thunderous crack the portal opened. Zone beasts began to pour through in eerie silence as the behemoth spoke to its subordinate in urbane tones.
"Take these and spread them along the road. Cause casualties. Wreak havoc. Their goal is to force the refugees back into the city. Once you have done this, go to the war body. Your husk is looking a bit dilapidated, my old friend. I suggest you upgrade."
The beak embedded deep inside the skull of the creature opened wide and it couldn't quite contain a bird-like screech of enthusiasm. It had never eaten a dragon brain before. The thought of controlling such a magnificent body was euphoric.
"Once you have obtained the body, fly to the zone and request a replacement locutor for me from the Dust Lord. Once he adjusts you to fit the new body you'll no longer be suitable ... and I am certain after such a great conquest he'll be well-pleased with you. Tell him that if he has no better immediate use for you that I'd like you to come back and destroy Florence. I anticipate he'll have you return immediately, as this place has long been a point of frustration for him. I will siege it until you return. There will be precious little they can do to stop you, and with the thousands of deaths the city will provide I can plant a death seed here, just as planned. The carnage will either solve the template problem for us, or the ensuing chaos and siege will draw him out to me."
The behemoth licked its lips again, obviously titillated by the thought of having a new toy to play with.
"If dragon moves?" the brainiac asked.
The ponderous creature's lips rolled as though tasting something it didn't like, then its bulk shifted and it said, "Dragons are avaricious and single-minded. I do not believe this one will move until she has what she wants from the template, and if she hasn't gotten it yet there is still time. In the worst case return to me, and we will seek alternatives. We cannot siege the city until the dragon is dealt with, and I would prefer you not be destroyed, as you've served me uncommonly well. Go now, and feast. Consider this opportunity a reward for your long and gruesome service."
"Thank you, Master. Death and dust will dance in Florence."
The behemoth's lips pursed, blowing a kiss, before widening into a broad smile as the irises rotated with dizzying rapidity before settling with orange on top. All the while more and more zone beasts poured through the portal it was keeping open. "Templates cause chaos wherever they go. That one should appear here, of all places, is a marvelous stroke of luck. This will be a glorious coup for the Dust Lord ... and for me. Go now, and carry out my commands without fail."
"I go ... Master."
As the brainiac fled into the forest with a small but growing army at its heels, it could not restrain a piercing shriek of savage joy. It had hoped to be instructed to go and capture the template personally, but the thought of a dragon husk of its very own was just as good.
If not better.
Once it set these beasts to their task, it could go hunting.
11
Blood Debt
Asturial considered herself to be patient. She had gone to the docks only to find that the entire district was awash with flame. The buildings she had been directed to were blazing infernos.
She'd been tempted to return immediately to the keep to report that Vaktosh's family was dead, but when a lizard man stumbled from the flames carrying a child in his arms, she had stopped it and asked if he'd known Vaktosh's family.
The pitiful creature had quivered with fear and sunk to its knees, babbling that the family she wanted had already fled the city and was on the road heading west. It had then begun to plead for its life and freedom, but Astur had no need of slaves; particularly weak ones with children. She'd stalked off toward the gate.
If I don't at least make an effort, I'll have nothing to say to the template when I return, and making up stories is for weaklings.
There had been a riot in progress near the gate, but with a bellow she'd unsheathed her sword and held it aloft. The voice of her proxy was puny compared to her true roar, but it was adequate to the task of cowing the masses, who parted before her in recognition of her immortal might. As she made her way toward the gate unopposed, the riot seemed to die away behind her.
Fear is, after all, a great motivator. Let them tear themselves to pieces after I am gone, but while I am here I will have order.
When she reached the gate she found it clogged with people. It was so tightly packed that no one could move, and there were wails and screams from inside the tight space as people were crushed underfoot. The wall was thirty feet thick, and the tunnel through it was absolutely impassable. She raised her voice and bellowed, "Who leads here!?"
A centaur slammed the butt of his spear down, came to attention, and said, "I do, by order of Commander Ross. I am Fae—"
Tail lashing with impatience, she cut him off. "I don't care what your name is. Do you know what I am? Not who, what."
; The centaur, already looking visibly shaken, nodded. Given Astur had met Ross, she'd have been shocked to learn he hadn't spread her description throughout the garrison. That he had spoke well of him, and of his concern for the well-being of his men.
"Good. Get these people out of my way. You have two minutes to clear that tunnel. Fail and I will ensure that your body is on the bottom of the pile I leave as I make my own way through."
"I'll do my—"
"NOW!"
The centaur wheeled, issued commands to the squad that had until her appearance been standing helplessly by, and the lot of them started yanking people bodily out of the tunnel, passing them back as though they were buckets on a fire chain. As they did so the leader bellowed, "Start lowering the gate! SLOWLY! CLEAR THE TUNNEL!"
As the people were walked, thrust, or thrown clear, she began scanning the crowd for lizards.
None here. Damn.
The thirty feet of tunnel in front of her was cleared in a little over a minute and a half and the centaur cried, "GATES HALT!"
The heavy portcullis boomed and shuddered to a stop about eight feet off the ground. The centaur turned to speak, but Astur passed him without a word, utterly finished with the man. He'd done his job, he would get to live, and he'd have a story to tell his children.
'I served a dragon today.' Rare privilege.
She smirked as she moved, eyes flickering around as she came out the other side and beheld another mob. There were some here who were bloody and many who were unconscious, having been bludgeoned half to death by the crushing press in the tunnel. Still no lizards though, so she shouldered her massive sword and draped her hand around the hilt as she strode on down the road.
This is so tedious. I don't know if I would prefer to find them or not at this point. With all this trouble, by the time I DO find them, they'll owe ME.
Now that she was clear of the press at the gates, she saw people running down the road rather than walking, and frowned. Given the city was on fire and its people were so intent on fleeing that they'd formed a crush at the gates, perhaps there was some plague?
