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UE Rewrite: B4 — 14. The Price of Perfection
🕑 Added 2024-12-20 23:15:49 +0000 UTCPoV:
1. Garu (Our Ethereal Scout!)
2. Jennifer (Our Scarlet Hand Leader in this World!)
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Garu’s breath came slow, steady, vanishing into the cool underground air. Every sound had weight—the drip of water from above, the faint creaks of stone settling, the low hum reverberating like a distant pulse. He moved with precision, each step a whisper on stone, his webbed toes splaying to feel for traction before shifting his weight forward.
The scent hit him hard. Blood, sharp and fresh. Burned ash. Ri’bot and nalvean sweat. It clung to the air in distinct layers, telling him a story. Zargoth, an elderly ri’bot, and two nalvean.
He scanned the scuffed floor, tracking the path of scorch marks and an unnatural displacement of water—red liquid. Streaks of crimson dragged along the stone, broken by jagged claw marks. The Firewalker put up a fight, and the water displacement is a sign of nalvean Seaweavers…but what is this sparkling blue substance inside of it? It’s not like the aftermath of battles I saw during the great war with the White God.
His nostrils flared as he crouched low, fingers brushing over a patch of slick, fresh blood. Nalvean, brine and bile, not ri’bot. Vision rising, Garu followed the splotchy path. Far too much for them to survive. It seems Zargoth killed one.
Movement. Barely a shift in the air. Garu’s focus snapped to the side, red eyes narrowing on the faint quiver of a hanging root. Not wind. No, a hole in the stone that hadn’t been there when he’d entered.
Ancestors, thélméthra are something else… We were lucky to not have our home inside the valley with these creatures burrowed beneath its surface.
The slick, metallic predator’s approach was almost undetectable, its chitinous frame moving as if the air itself parted for it. It emerged from a crack in the stone it had created like a phantom, its onyx-black legs folding in smooth, soundless strides.
He contacted The Empress, informing her of his findings as he ignored the creature, shifting his attention to a small cluster of scattered gems, glinting dully on the ground. Emeralds, diamonds, each marked with symbols too small to read from his position. A copper disk lay among them, the imprint of a coiled beast etched deep into its surface.
Air converted to mist on contact with his skin, spreading a milky film further into the cavern. Garu slid forward, smooth as an eel through water, fingers brushing over the disk’s surface. The grooves were sharp, purposeful. Important. Nalvean currency. After reporting it, he was given control over the night fiend and new orders, pulling his gaze to the tunnel ahead, where the blood led.
With a silent prompt through the Nexus, the unintelligent arachnid’s spindly legs moved in a controlled burst of motion, spinning thread into a taut sack. He crept forward as it made quick work of collecting the smears of blood and items—the witches might be able to do something with them. Within a matter of ten seconds the drone managed to seal everything within a silken sack for collection later.
His eyes locked on the path ahead where the natural curves of the cavern twisted. The echo of murmured voices bounced off the walls. Empress, I hear them ahead. When you say don’t let them escape, I assume the charge is dead or alive?
“Naturally,” his Empress responded, voice as cold as the ice upon the Crowned Mountain. “The drone is reporting strange vibrations. Camellia, what is it sensing?”
Camellia’s reply came fast through the Nexus. “It’s saying there’s an active Nest Core ahead? No. It’s impossible. It’s indicating that…there is a living leader ahead. I’m on my way!”
Garu’s jaw tightened, feeling a sudden chill run through his veins the moment he stepped foot on the tunnel entrance and noticed the floor was impossibly smooth, yet had unseen texture for grip—thélméthra silk unlike anything he’d seen yet, certainly unlike the one beside him.
What does that mean? Garu mumbled, his senses sharp as he scanned the area ahead, smelling Jennifer’s passage in the stale air instead of the ground. Are they living? Should I prepare for an attack?
“No, if they were living, and an active Nest Core, then you would have long been consumed by now,” Camellia returned, sounding more confused by the minute. “A Nest Core is for important eggs—a guardian…or a princess. But Mother never made a Nest Core in my territory. My youngest sister’s was in the southwestern nesting zone. These are living eggs.”
Elinor’s voice cut through their thoughts, crisp as a blade. “Perhaps Jennifer knew something about your mother that you didn’t, Camellia. Press forward with caution, Garu, but expect an attack. Jennifer wouldn’t have come here if her life would be in danger.”
The arachnid princess’ thoughts curled inward, calculating, reassessing within the Nexus as Garu sent the drone ahead, crawling across the ceiling to scout.
“Mother would never think she’d die and produce another child. Her next natural cycle wasn’t for another few decades. No, she plans for everything. But…maybe…” Her voice faded, replaced by a tension Garu recognized as doubt. “Maybe…Mother knew I would convince my sisters to interfere with her battle with the White Ape, and… I made a mistake. I doubted. So she planned ahead…”
Garu’s fingers flexed against his drawn dagger as he approached the curve ahead. Locking onto a soft glow, a fading flicker of molten light. The air had changed, dry heat brushing against his face. His hand brushed against the wall’s edge—smooth, too smooth.
They used some sort of fire to melt through the wall, Empress. Fresh. His fingers pressed against the cooling bedrock, hot but more than passable in places since he was undead. Fire cut through here. Not natural. Too—contact!
A sharp metallic clang echoed off the cavern walls and Garu’s mind’s eye slowed, a threat reverberating through the light mist. His eyes flicked toward the thélméthra drone just as one of its legs spun away in a clean arc, landing with a sharp clatter.
Fast. Too fast.
His instincts screamed in ways he hadn’t felt since his death—no, since his first initiation into the Scout Unit. His muscles tensed, and he flung himself backward just as black thorns shredded through the air.
Twisting to the side, he flipped backward. Two struck like molten iron. One stabbed clean through his abdomen, the other punched through his side just beneath his ribs—both with so much force, they exited the other side. His breath hitched, sharp and shallow.
Not vital. Missed my organs. Barely.
No blood dripped as he twisted away, muscles coiling into desperate movement. His back pressed against the cold stone wall as he extended his senses through the fog, every breath controlled, his senses on fire, searching for further threats.
The drone scuttled back, fast—incredibly fast—but not fast enough. Two more thorns shot out, one smashing through its left cluster of eyes, shattering them in a spray of glass-like shards and smoke-like Death Energy leaking out. Another thorn clipped its abdomen, splitting open the exoskeleton in a spray of deathly fog. It wasn’t down but was losing a lot of energy potential.
Not good. Not good. The drone’s movements slowed for a moment, limbs stuttering, but it pulled itself into defensive posture, legs tucked close as Garu sent the order. Defense! Pull back! Who moves like that? If it was focused on me instead of the drone…
Garu’s eyes darted through the fog. Shadows flickered. Too fast. Too precise. He dropped low, undead heart steady but his nerves thrumming like taut strings. Hidden behind a rocky stalagmite, his fingers flexed as he reached out with his senses. Used the moisture like eyes.
The air shifted. Garu’s breath slowed to match the rhythm of the cavern’s faint pulse. He felt the dampness on his skin, the cool moisture hanging thick in the air. His nerves sparked as his breath synced with the fog. Moved with it.
A spike shot toward his face. He ducked, the sharp edge whistling past his eye. His pupils dilated, breath stuck in his chest. Organs. It’s targeting my organs. Attempting to dissect me.
His body twisted as two more thorns ripped past his ribs, grazing him. Garu’s focused vision tracked the angle of attack. From above. High ground. Near the cavern ceiling.
How can they see in the mist and complete darkness?!
His mist clung to the air, revealing subtle movement in the shifting moisture. Threads of displacement. The faintest drag of something moving faster than it should. The drone became far more fluid now that it was on alert, Camellia sending instructions for it to seal off its damaged portions with its silk.
He stepped to the side, letting his fingernails brush the stone for stability. The Empress’ voice came, but he was too focused to respond—one mistake was all it would take. Predict. Measure. React.
Another thorn came, but this time he saw it—barely—the thread of mist breaking before it shot through. He dodged to the left, shoulder grinding against stone as it skimmed past the corner of his third tooth, aimed to go right through his mouth to pierce his tongue and throat. Close. Too close. They’re adjusting. Learning.
Chuckles echoed through the fog, low and rough. They bounced from wall to wall, impossible to pinpoint. No. Not chuckles. Croaks.
It’s like I’m facing Scout Master Jelisa…
A shadow emerged, part of the mist itself. For a moment, Garu thought he’d imagined it, but then it moved, peeling itself from the fog like it had always been part of it.
“Impressive,” came the low, gravelly voice. Slow. Leisurely. Calculated. “Your nerves are tuned to the mist, boy. Your every shift, every twitch—precise. Mm. Yes. Yes, you’re one of them, aren’t you? One of the Ethereal scouts my grandfather warned me about.”
Garu’s fingers tensed on the hilt of his ancestral dagger, feeling the telekinetic force within reverberate through his bones. His heart stayed steady, breath measured, but his eyes locked on the form materializing in front of him.
The shadow became flesh. The fog twisted around the figure, following his movements as if it recognized him, when it shouldn’t. Elder Chief Varnak of the Xaltan.
But it wasn’t the frail, ancient chief Garu had been informed of. No. This one stood tall, shoulders broad, his body sleek and powerful like a thélméthra in its prime. The wrinkles were gone. Black skin gleamed with the sheen of youth. His eyes—sharp, piercing red like a hunting beast.
“You’re Ethereal,” Varnak muttered, his lips curling into a grin. He adjusted the thick coil of silk rope slung over his shoulder, his fingers tapping it like a warrior might tap the flat of a blade. “I’ve only heard stories. Never fought one of your clansmen during the Fire Wars. Always wondered if you’d live up to the legend.”
He’s testing me. Probing. No…not me. He’s testing his own abilities. Each strike is more accurate than the last. Calculated. Deliberate.
Garu shifted his weight. His eyes locked onto Varnak’s hands, watching the tension in his fingers. Every twitch, every shift of muscle spoke of a movement prepared but not yet acted on.
If I’m going to survive this. I can’t look at it as any normal enemy… I’m facing my Third Rank Scout Advancement Trial. Failure is death. Learn his movements, dominant limbs, instinctual directional changes.
The thélméthra drone lurched forward on command, fast, remaining front legs blurring in a burst of speed. Its fangs snapped at Varnak’s leg, but he moved like water—fluid, perfect. His step carried him out of range, a flowing motion as natural as a wave retreating from shore. In response, a crack ran down one of its raised legs—legs that should be far too dense to split.
Garu’s heart sank. Those aren’t Scout movements or attacks…
Varnak’s chuckle grew louder, the air around them vibrating with each sound. His breath pulsed through the mist like a war drum, shaking the fog itself. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this…young,” he rumbled, his body swaying with the fog’s movements. “Come, Ethereal. Show me if your kind is still worthy of its name.”
The fog shifted. No, it wasn’t the fog—it was him. His presence seemed to seep into the mist, becoming part of it. He’d only known a few Ethereal that managed that kind of oneness with the fog. For the first time since his first introduction into the Scout Core of his clan, Garu felt like the fog was hunting him.
Elinor, I don’t think I’m going to last long. His voice remained calm, but his eyes tracked every shift in the fog. Every flicker of movement.
Elinor’s reply was immediate. “Buy yourself one minute, Garu. Death and I will be there.” Her tone was cold as frost, as absolute as a promise etched in stone.
Garu momentarily lost track of him, crouching lower, his body perfectly balanced. His breath fogged the air, curling around his grin.
No hesitation. No missteps. Every shift is perfect. He gripped his dagger tight enough to make his bones ache. He bent low, breath shallow, his eyes locked onto the occasional shifts in the mist, but it was the drone that allowed him to keep up with the directional shifts. No gaps. No mistakes. He’s not guessing. He’s hunting.
The thélméthra drone attacked again, its legs a blur of speed and deadly precision. But Varnak was already gone, his movements faster than the drone could track at close range, which was mind-boggling in itself. It lashed out with its fangs, but he rolled under it, his hand brushing its abdomen with casual ease. Testing it. Testing himself.
“Smart,” Varnak said, his eyes locked on Garu as he managed to evade the thorns sent his way. “You’ve already realized, haven’t you? This body’s new and powerful, but my mind…that is what goes beyond understanding. I remember every step. Every mistake. I know how hard you grip. I know what your dominant foot is. I can feel every pulse in the air you track, the electrical flicker you send into it…evade it.”
The fog twisted, thickened, and Varnak’s grin widened, flickering into nothingness. Empress, I’m not facing a Xaltan… He’s on the level of an Ethereal Xaria. If I can buy thirty more seconds, it will be a miracle. Perhaps you shouldn’t come.
* — * — *
Jennifer traced every pulse of light that rippled through the translucent, fleshy surface of the massive egg before her. The glow came in slow, hypnotic intervals, each one a brief flicker of pale violet light pushing through the thin, veined membrane.
It wasn’t just light—it was a presence, a thrum of life that reached into the marrow of her bones, making her fingers itch. Her gaze flicked to Jumi’kerune, watching as he reached into his crystal centerpiece on his fascinating, runic platform.
With the care of a man about to perform surgery, the Grand Designer’s long, clawed fingers drew out a crystalline syringe unlike any Jennifer had seen before. “You have quite a few tools at your disposal.”
“Oh, I’m sure your dead mistress beyond the veil will guide you to your own treasure trove soon enough, human. Much of my items are home grown… Tested and developed over centuries of careful analysis and the combination of many projects.”
The tube glowed faintly from within, runic symbols circling its surface like orbiting stars. Her sharp gaze caught the faint shimmer of shifting light—not mere glass—something stronger, more fluid yet unyielding. As he turned it in his fingers, the runes flickered in sequence, releasing a soft chime like the hum of a distant bell.
Elder Chief Varnak’s nostrils flared. His sharp gaze locked on the item, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “No thread?” His raspy voice echoed low and rough in the cavern. “We’ve always needed their own hardened silk to breach the drone eggs—this won’t work.”
Jumi’kerune’s slit pupils rolled in a slow, deliberate way to give him the exasperated stare of a scientist speaking to a neanderthal. “Rudimentary biological adaptation. I understand your Mysticism better than you,” he muttered, amusement dripping from every word. “You think yourselves so advanced with your thélméthra threads and poison-stained fangs compared to your brethren… Such hubris. Watch and learn, Elder Chief.”
His platform hovered upward, the hum of its magic-infused mechanisms low and steady. Jennifer’s gaze didn’t leave the syringe as Jumi’kerune raised it to the egg’s surface. He moved slowly, steadily, ensuring it entered at a particular angle. The sharp point touched the membrane—for a moment, nothing. No give. No puncture.
Then, with the faintest push, the syringe’s needle slid through as if the shell had dissolved before it. The membrane didn’t burst, didn’t weep fluids—it simply allowed him entry. Varnak’s eyes widened with disbelief, his tongue clicking in surprise.
“Impossible…” he hissed, stepping closer to watch the needle’s progress with the intensity of a man witnessing heresy. “Not even a trickle of lost fluid.”
“Because,” Jumi’kerune said, tilting his head to the side as if lecturing a stubborn student, “your solutions were designed to overcome nature’s defenses through brute force. I—” he pulled back on the syringe’s plunger, slowly drawing out a rather tiny amount of pale, swirling essence from within the egg. “I design solutions that nature itself welcomes.”
Jennifer’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Alchemy mixed with the runic technology of lost ages, not biology. Efficient.” Her tone was light but her eyes tracked the fluid—a glistening, opalescent swirl that glowed faintly like liquid moonlight. “Did the Shadow tell you how to make this?”
Jumi’kerune’s snout wrinkled, a snort of derision escaping his sharp, toothy grin. “No. Well, only so far as to introduce me to the methodology of runic design. This,” he tilted the syringe to let the glow dance across his scaled face, “—this is mine. Not whispers from below. Research. Craft. Refinement. This is one of my perfections.”
He descended, platform humming softly as he approached his final living slave. The gaunt nalvean man knelt obediently, hands already busy sorting through an array of reagents. Nearby, trapped in a runic prison on the platform, the Roxim chief silently observed.
Among the display, Jennifer’s eyes locked onto a sliver of bark so white it looked like frozen lightning. It pulsed faintly, as if it still carried the rhythm of a heartbeat. The slave pulled it out with tweezers.
“Lifewood,” she muttered, eyes narrowing. “Where did you get something like that? You’re taking no half-measures, Grand Designer.”
The nalvean mind slave’s nimble fingers moved with mechanical precision. He dropped powdered silverroot into a ruby-like bowl and poured in a thin trickle of dark green oil, followed by a brown syrup, the two liquids hissing on contact. A sharp, acrid vapor rose, but the slave, well-trained, immediately lowered a translucent bag over it, letting the vapor condense into a bulging pouch.
Jumi’kerune’s gaze never wavered as he added two drops of crimson ichor—the blood of something Jennifer didn’t recognize. The vial’s hiss grew into a bubbling froth.
“Interesting,” she whispered, watching the mixture’s glow deepen to a molten orange. Her gaze flicked to the bottom edge of the bowl where faint runic glyphs shimmered.
Not simply alchemy. Rune work acting as an enhancing medium. Smart. Perhaps I’ll need to learn a few tricks before I leave his estate.
Jumi’kerune swirled the contents with a claw, his gaze sharp and hungry, yet the encroaching mist snagged her attention—Elinor’s people were getting close. He seemed to notice her slight unease.
“Perfection takes time, human. Unlike the haphazard mess of your witch’s circle that I saw, this…” He held the bowl up to Varnak. “This is art waiting to be set free.”
The Elder Chief’s eyes darted from Jumi’kerune to Jennifer. Her face remained impassive, but her gaze locked onto him with cold intensity. After a moment, his nostrils flared and he snatched the bowl. He hesitated, eyes narrowing at Jumi’kerune.
“Drink,” Jumi’kerune urged. “Unless you’re afraid of rebirth in the glory of your princess… Accept the power she can grant from her essence.”
With a sharp grunt, Varnak tipped the bowl and downed it in a single pull. He staggered, the empty bowl clattering to the platform and stopping just before the edge—a safety mechanism activating.
Varnak’s breath turned to gasps, his body locking up as veins of white-hot light burst through his black skin, illuminating every line of muscle, every tendon. His mouth opened to scream, yet, it didn’t come—tongue writing like hot magma—too raw, too primal while being reformed. It wasn’t pain—it was too much sensation…ecstasy.
He collapsed, twitching violently as his body curled inward, muscles convulsing. His black skin began to smooth, old wrinkles vanishing, muscle density increasing before their eyes. His breath came in short, desperate gasps, and the moment she blinked…he vanished.
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed as she felt a shift behind her. A metallic clang echoed, distant, through the tunnel nearby. She turned slowly, her gaze sharp. “He’s…a lot faster now, at least. Interesting brew.”
“Faster than fast,” Jumi’kerune remarked, eyes fixed on the egg as his platform hovered over it. It was almost as if the Elder Chief was no longer worth his time; he’d seen what he wanted. Now, the nalvean tapped a claw to his chin, his smile growing sharper.
“He’ll burn out, of course. The venom of a true thélméthra princess is far too potent to fully mitigate. Only delay with a surge of rapidly renewing cells. Once the fuel keeping them multiplying lapses… Well, I suppose you get the point. But until then, he’ll feel like a god.”
His platform’s hum grew louder as he turned to her with a far too prideful gleam in his gaze for what Jennifer knew Elinor was capable of. “See? We have plenty of time.”
Jennifer’s eyes flicked down as the platform’s underside gripped the egg. I wouldn’t underestimate Elinor after returning with a hag of that power. She may have won this battle for the valley and obtained the means to establish her empire, but that requires her attention. It will also introduce quite a few careful lines she will need to walk with the surrounding nations.
Her gaze soon returned to Jumi’kerune’s scaled face. “How long do you expect your experiment to last because I do not see an exit, Grand Designer.”
He pointed above, smile widening as the hum became a harsh vibration. Beams of red light shot from the platform’s points, searing the stone above into a triangular outline. The molten rock bathed them in orange light as slag fell harmlessly against a shimmering white barrier that formed around them.
Jennifer’s grin grew razor-sharp. “Well, I stand corrected. You seem to be very well prepared. How long until Elinor finds your home? It was a mistake to send your slaves out to collect the Roxim Chief. She no doubt has some evidence and knowledge now to connect a well-established nalvean helped me,” she commented, glancing at the glaring toad, trapped inside the hovering, ethereal cage of light.
Jumi’kerune’s grin mirrored hers. “Have you considered that I want her to find me? The ability to return the dead and spark such a visceral reaction from higher beings… It’s as if she were a deity made flesh.” Her gaze grew darker, cursing his intrigued tone to brighten. “I think we are in store for a rather fascinating turn of events in the near future. One’s enemy can become one’s friend under the right circumstances.”
She turned her focus toward his assortment of goods at the center of the platform before locking eyes with the Roxim chief. Jennifer wanted to laugh at his arrogance…but she stayed silent. After all, by helping her, he’d already chosen a side. He just didn’t know Elinor. Of course, she’d come to learn a few uncomfortable truths about her in their second confrontation.
My only goal is to keep her from Earth… Something is going wrong, and we have to recalculate. The fate of…everything rests on my ability to keep Elinor in the Outlands.
Speaking softly, she whispered, “Some designs are flawed from the beginning…but they’re all we have, I suppose.”
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