grievinglands
patreon
TO&FQ: Book 3: Chapter 3 (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-06-26 13:55:53 +0000 UTCChapter 3 - The Fires of Rage
“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”
- Mark Twain.
Seraphina stood atop Cornelia’s central head, arms crossed, her face a storm of fury carved in sharp lines. The wind tore through her short blonde hair, now matted with blood and ash from the forest battle. Below her, the Hydra’s massive body slithered forward, each sinuous movement sending tremors through the earth, flattening ferns and snapping saplings like brittle bones. Cornelia’s three heads swayed, alabaster scales glinting under the sickly orange sun, filtered through smoke rising from the distant woods. The monster’s eyes—six glowing orbs of lantern-glass yellow—scanned the horizon, hungry for chaos. Seraphina’s cloak, torn and stained, snapped behind her like a war banner.
Milani Village came into view, its lanes choked with fleeing villagers. Wagons teetered under piles of grain sacks, heirloom quilts, and dented pots, while men shouted orders and women herded children toward the open fields. The air reeked of a panicked fear.
Seraphina’s lips curled into a sneer. These people, who had called her Mina, who had smiled and patted her head, had kept her ignorant, a pet in their quaint little cage. They would pay for their deception, for daring to name her after some stupid dead child, for thinking they could bind her.
“Cornelia,” she commanded, voice cold as a winter blade, “eat them all.”
Cornelia hissed, a triune chorus of delight that rattled windows in the nearest cottages. The Hydra surged forward, her enormous body—thicker than the oldest oaks—moving with a speed that defied her size. Her serpentine form coiled and struck, covering ground in fluid, predatory bounds. Villagers screamed, their orderly evacuation collapsing into chaos. A man tripped over a crate, spilling apples that rolled like severed heads. A woman clutched a toddler, sprinting for the tree line, only to freeze as Cornelia’s shadow loomed.
The left head struck first, jaws gaping to reveal rows of dagger-like teeth. It snatched a burly farmer mid-stride, his pitchfork clattering uselessly to the ground. With a single gulp, he vanished down the serpent’s throat, a faint bulge sliding beneath her scales. A notification flickered in Seraphina’s vision:
You have killed a Francois Bouillon. 10 experience gained.
She smirked, noting that the rules of this world had most likely acknowledged Cornelia as her familiar, each death now feeding her power.
The central head spat a jet of caustic acid, a shimmering green arc that melted a wagon’s wooden frame to bubbling slag. The family aboard screamed as the structure collapsed, pinning them. Cornelia’s central head darted down, swallowing a shrieking woman whole, her flailing arms disappearing into the maw.
You have killed a Martha Roads. 8 experience gained.
The right head tossed a fleeing boy into the air with a playful flick, only for the left head to catch him, snapping him down like a morsel.
You have killed Alberic Applebush. 12 experience gained.
The young noblewoman’s heart thrummed with dark satisfaction, the emerald amulet at her neck pulsing out her will to the Hydra. She scanned the chaos, searching for familiar faces. There, by the mossy stone wall, stood Grena, the old woman who had called her pretty. The old woman who had forced her to help about on her farm like a slave in exchange for a few pieces of fruit. Grena was helping a child who had fallen to the ground. Seraphina’s eyes narrowed, a memory flashing—Grena’s casual mention of Levine’s affection, her attempts to let the village sink its claws into her heart, as if Seraphina were a prize heifer to be claimed at the countryside fair.
“Cornelia, there,” she pointed, voice dripping venom. “The old hag.”
Cornelia’s central head swiveled, locking onto Grena. The Hydra slithered forward, crushing a cart under her bulk, splintered wood flying. Grena looked up, her weathered face paling as she saw the beast. “Mina, no!” she cried, stumbling back, the child fleeing behind her. But Seraphina was no longer Mina. Cornelia’s right head lunged, jaws closing around Grena’s torso. The old woman’s scream cut off as she was lifted, legs kicking, before being swallowed whole. Her shawl fluttered to the ground, a pathetic remnant.
You have killed a Grena Tallows. 15 experience gained.
The blonde girl laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that echoed over the screams. “That’s for your lies, Grena,” she spat, though no one heard.
The amulet burned against her skin, feeding her rage, drowning the flicker of guilt that dared to rise with the feedback from Cornelia’s hunger. A hunger that matched her own. She remembered Grena’s kindness, but it was tainted now, a mask for manipulation. She crushed the memory, letting fury reign.
Her gaze swept the village, landing on two boys cowering behind a toppled barrel. She recognized them instantly—Joren and Tild, the brats who had pelted her with mud pies a short while ago, jeering, “Blank head! The Stupid girl with no memories!” Their taunts had stung, a reminder of her vulnerability as Mina. Now, they would learn the cost of crossing Seraphina de Sariens.
“Cornelia, those two,” she ordered, pointing. “Make it slow.”
Cornelia’s heads hissed with glee as the Hydra slithered toward the boys. Joren tried to run, but the serpent’s tail lashed out, a soft touch, tripping him. Tild screamed, frozen as the central head loomed. With surgical precision, the right head snapped down, biting off Joren’s legs at the knees. Blood sprayed, but before he could bleed out, the head spat a sizzling jet of acid, cauterizing the stumps in a hiss of burning flesh. Joren’s screams turned to choked sobs. Tild tried to drag him away, but the left head bit down, severing his legs too, followed by another acid spray that sealed the wounds. Both boys writhed, their cries piercing the air.
The girl watched their struggles, savoring their screams. But there was the rest of the village that required devouring.
“Finish them,” Seraphina said, her voice devoid of mercy. Cornelia’s right head scooped up Joren, swallowing him whole, while the left head took Tild, their screams muffled as they slid down her throats.
You have killed a Tild Stocker. 4 experience gained.
You have killed a Joren Stocker. 5 experience gained.
The notifications looked like gravestone markers to the girl.
Seraphina’s lips twitched into a cruel smile. “No more mud pies,” she muttered, the amulet’s pulse egging her on.
The village was a maelstrom now. Cornelia rampaged, her heads working in deadly concert. The left head tore into a pen of livestock, gulping down bleating sheep and lowing cows, their bones crunching audibly. The right head smashed a wagon, swallowing chairs, tables, and bundled quilts, the wood splintering in her jaws. The central head chased a group of villagers toward the smithy, their screams fading as they were devoured one by one.
You have killed Lana Rhodes. 12 experience gained.
You have killed Pitr Northman. 13 experience gained.
You have killed a Chen Galais. 9 experience gained.
The Hydra’s speed was relentless, her massive form weaving through lanes, toppling walls, and crushing fences.
Seraphina raised a hand, summoning the Crystal Dagger spell. A shard of pink crystal materialized. She hurled it with superhuman strength at a man fleeing. The shard struck his arm, exploding in a burst of gore, his limb torn apart in a spray of blood and bone. His body collapsed from the raw shock of it.
You have killed Caleb Froster. 14 experience gained.
Cornelia hissed in annoyance, her left head rising and turning to Seraphina. “Too messy!” she rumbled in the girl’s mind, voice like grinding stones. “Hard to eat when they’re splattered!”
“Then be quicker,” Seraphina snapped, summoning another crystal. She threw it at a woman running with a child, aiming for her leg. The shard hit, exploding her thigh into fragments, her scream cut short as she fell. Cornelia’s left head snapped her up, but the child escaped, only to be caught by the right head’s acid spit, melting into a puddle.
You have killed Esmerelda Valsous. 14 experience gained.
You have killed Mathilda Valsous. 3 experience gained.
The monster’s rampage continued, her heads weaving a dance of death. One tossed a villager skyward, the fat baker who made the most delicious tarts, only for another head to catch him mid-air, swallowing him with a satisfied gulp.
You have killed Antoine Miller. 19 experience gained.
Another head smashed through a cottage, devouring the thatch roof and the furniture inside, beams cracking like dry twigs. The village was unraveling, its quaint charm reduced to rubble and screams.
Amid the chaos, a bellow rose above the din. Arnell, the bear-like blacksmith, stood before the Hydra, hammer raised, his face a mask of defiance. Beside him, his son Vito wielded an old, heavy sword, trembling but resolute. Arnell swung a two-handed hammer at Cornelia’s right head as it lunged, striking her scales with a clang that echoed like a bell.
The Hydra recoiled, hissing, “Ouch!”
Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. Arnell, the slavemaster who had forced her to work for nothing—even at her worst, the girl had always paid her employees. Arnell, the man who had dared to ask about his son Vito’s prospects with her, had the temerity to resist.
“Cornelia, the boy first,” she ordered. “I want him to feel a fraction of what I had to suffer before he dies.
Vito charged, swinging his bar at Cornelia’s central head. The Hydra’s left head darted down, jaws closing around him. His scream was brief as he was swallowed whole, his bar clattering to the ground.
You have killed Vito Ironward. 15 experience gained.
Arnell roared, grief and rage fueling his swings, but Cornelia’s scales were as thick as the Dragon she had eaten, and they held, barely scratched.
Seraphina summoned another Crystal Dagger, the pink shard gleaming in her hand. She threw it with deadly precision, aiming for Arnell’s head. The crystal struck, exploding in a burst of red, his skull shattering like porcelain. His massive body crumpled, the hammer falling from lifeless hands.
You have killed Arnell Ironward. 27 experience gained.
You have learned Crystal Spear (lvl.1)
The girl covered her mouth as she laughed. She had finally learned a spell from the next tier of her magic.
She surveyed the village, now a wasteland of broken homes and scattered debris. Cornelia continued her feast, crunching through a final wagon, its wheels spinning uselessly as she swallowed it whole.
Villagers who had fled were hunted down, Cornelia’s speed outmatching their desperation. One man climbed a tree, only for the Hydra’s tail to uproot it, sending him tumbling into her jaws. A woman hid in a cellar, but the central head smashed through, dragging her out.
There were more kill notifications as Seraphina accrued a paltry amount of experience.
The last pockets of resistance faded, the village reduced to silence save Cornelia’s satisfied rumbles.
The Hydra lowered its head, and Seraphina slid down from Cornelia, landing lightly. She walked through the ruins, feeling nothing but satisfaction. A memory flickered—Mina laughing with Levine, helping at the smithy—but she crushed it, kicking a smoldering beam. The village was gone, its people, animals, and possessions devoured or destroyed. No trace of Mina remained.
The girl felt empty, but it was the good sort of empty. The sort of empty one feels after watching a good film or movie.
Cornelia’s heads lowered, all three tongues flicking out to lightly caress her mistress’s face.
“All gone,” the Hydra rumbled, a hint of contentment in her voice. Seraphina nodded, her face hard. Above, a few Wyrm-drones circled, attracted to the devastation in the fading light. She ignored it, her mind already turning to the next step. Milani was erased, but her past still called, a whisper of Aranthia and unfinished business.
“Come here, Cornelia,” she said, ordering her pet to return to its smaller size. “We will leave in the morning, I think. All this activity has left me feeling quite tired indeed.”
The now much smaller serpent wrapped itself around her mistress's arm and neck, her three heads nuzzling the young girl’s cheek. Seraphina made for Gaellan’s house to rest for the evening, a grave of ash and memory buried in Cornelia’s belly.
“Actually,” she said, stopping herself halfway to Gaellan’s house. “Go hunt for any survivors, Cornelia, while I get some rest, and leave nothing alive save for a horse. You know what a horse is?”
“Stupid animal with four legs…” the Hydra answered as it slipped off Seraphina and grew back once again to its enormous size.
Seraphina was very thorough when she set her mind to something.
Comments
True_Jolly_Roger
Palpatin.jpg
