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UE Rewrite: B4 — 9.5. Trap Sprung
🕑 Added 2024-10-04 22:58:51 +0000 UTCPoV:
1. War/Red (Our General Of Bloodlust Is About To Make A Move!)
2. Elinor (Our Cold Empress of Death!)
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The howling wind whistled through the trees of the ancient forest, battering the slick trunks and flinging the rain at an angle. Its intensity was gradually subsiding, something Red took careful note of from the rumbles of the distant thunder.
The jungle floor was matted with thick mud, each step heavy as Red trudged forward without effort, given his Feats. His eyes glowed a deep crimson, his aura casting a faint light onto the waterlogged foliage. Steam hissed off his armor as the rain evaporated on contact with his rising body heat. The corpses of black-skinned ri’bot lay shredded in his wake.
Pulsing conflict tugged at his senses, drawing him deeper into the dense underbrush along the rushing waters of the raised river. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his claymore, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin.
Something is brewing below… A challenge awaits a challenger.
A flicker of movement from the shadows caught his attention. Without turning, War sensed the presence of a Xaltan warrior—a shadow in the trees, swift and deadly. He tensed, ready for the ambush.
Suddenly, the warrior leaped from the canopy without a sound in the hailing rain, his thread-like bindings lashing through the air. Reacting on instinct, he spun, his blade slicing through the wet silk with ease given his rising power, the force sending the frayed ends flying.
The Xaltan barely had time to register his failure before the razor’s edge cut clean through his body, to tumble into the underbrush for the insects to feast, unable to utter a word before his death.
War laughed, his voice a deep, guttural sound that echoed through the jungle. “Where are all your strongest warriors, Xaltan? I am bored of your Young Bloods, trembling in the shadows, toad,” his roar joining the rolling thunder.
His eyes darted to another shadow in the trees, yet before he could strike, a bolt of fire shot out of the darkness, creating sparks as metal met metal. Chief Zargoth’s blazing body brightened the former fortified mines, the clang of steel following as newly awakened Mystic collided with the Xaltan, their weapons clashing in a series of blows, sparks flying as fire danced in dazzling patterns.
Red slung his blade over his armored shoulder, studying the short battle with calculating accuracy as the scarred chieftain and enhanced Xaltan Young Blood fought. His grin widened as Zargoth’s fiery short sword cut clean through the Xaltan’s throat, ending the exchange in a spray of steam and blood. The toad warrior crumpled, his body limp before it even hit the mud.
War stepped forward, Zargoth landed beside him, breathing heavily, the rain sizzling as it evaporated from his flaming skin.
“You made your choice,” War said, glancing over Zargoth’s wounds, noting the deep cuts on his wrists and ankles, the marks from where the threads had bound him. “Can’t say it’s the smart decision.”
Zargoth chuckled, rubbing the raw skin with a grimace. “It seems I did.”
“You look like shit,” War added with a smirk.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Zargoth shot back, bouncing on his toes despite the pain and making Red shake his head at how things had changed between the Roxim and Empire. “But I’ve still got a fight left in me for what they did to my people.”
War clapped him on the back, forcing a cough. “Good to have you.”
Around them, a dozen or so Mystic Fire Walkers descended from the trees, their bodies aglow with the same fiery Mysticism as Zargoth, the heat they generated turning the rain into vapor to swirl around them.
War observed them appreciatively before turning back to Zargoth. “An elite fighting force, as taxed as they are. It could be worse. Think you can do me a solid?”
Zargoth wiped a streak of blood from his cheek, his expression one of grim determination. “I owe you my life, and the life of my people. Name it.”
War’s gaze flicked toward the direction of the caves, where the lowering river was now retreating from. The witches were still bound by the control markers of the Scarlet Hand, their spirits twisted by Jennifer’s foul deity.
“I know you want to see this through to the end, Chief,” he began, “but if your Fire Walkers could focus on getting the witches out and burning those control markers, we’ll call that debt even. Fair?”
Zargoth hesitated, his eyes drifting toward his fatigued elite warriors, who were already preparing for the next fight, keeping their blood pumping with stretches. “It’ll be a hard thing, asking them not to use their Mysticism after just regaining our legacy. Hmm… You’ve got my word: the witches will be their priority.”
War’s grin returned, feral and sharp. “Good. Now I can fight without holding back. I can feel the Empress getting closer… The haunting chill her cold resolve brings. My brother and sister are drawing nearer, as well… Death and Famine will be at our backs soon.”
Zargoth adjusted his grip on his short sword, his face grim and without joy due to the humiliation and destruction the Xaltan had wrought on his people. “You seem to know the way, War. We’ll follow your lead.”
Red nodded, his senses tingling as the pulse of conflict grew stronger, pulling him toward a dark opening in the hillside ahead. “Prepare yourselves,” he warned, his voice low but charged with anticipation. “There’s a powerful enemy ahead. It’s going to be a party.”
The air around him crackled as his aura flared, the red glow of his fighting spirit enveloping him like a cloak. His eyes burned with a molten intensity, and his claymore shimmered in the dim light, the blade reflecting the red of his aura. Every movement he made seemed to leave a trail of steam in its wake on his path forward.
“Jennifer will sacrifice every last Xaltan to achieve whatever is hidden below and escape… If you can get past whatever awaits us and attack her direction, do it.”
Zargoth made a few clicks with his tongue, instructing his people on formation and orders regarding the witches, falling in lockstep with him. “Leave you to die, if it completes the mission… No complaints here.”
The hurricane had tempered out, its roars now falling into a rolling thunderstorm . But the real storm—the one inside War—was only just beginning. A clever ambush and harsh prisoner treatment? No problem from him. However…manipulating loyal and hardworking women to his empress to fight the very person they served? Unforgivable.
Together with Zargoth and the Fire Walkers, War advanced toward the cave, the sound of their footsteps drowned out by the sizzling rain and the rhythmic thrum of distant thunder.
His grip tightened on the hilt of his claymore as the dark mouth of the cave loomed closer, and he cut down two more Xaltan lying in ambush. The pulsing sense of danger grew stronger with each step and War’s smile widened upon reaching the dark interior.
“It’s going to be one hell of a fight,” he muttered under his breath as an ominous wave of danger rushed up from within, his eyes gleaming as he prepared to face whatever waited for him in the darkness. “Into hell we ride.”
War’s boots squelched in the soaked jungle floor as he pressed on, leading his elite force through the thick mist and rain that obscured their surroundings. His grip on the hilt of his claymore tightened as they approached the mouth of the cave, its entrance perfectly smooth, too mathematically carved to be natural—it was a marvel, really.
The atmosphere shifted, growing heavy, oppressive, as if the very air was resisting their approach, the tides of war shifting against him. A twinge of unease crawled down his spine, the first hint of something foreboding awaiting them.
His crimson aura flickered, casting an eerie glow on the surrounding stone walls, water trickling down the carved surfaces in small streams. The sound echoed, mixing with the distant rumble of thunder and the faint patter of droplets hitting stone.
Something’s wrong… Jennifer is hinging everything on whatever is hidden in these tunnels, so there should be barriers, opposition…but there’s nothing. Just a hollow emptiness ahead. Not a flicker of conflict or battle awaiting as if all emotion vanished in an instant.
“Stay sharp,” War muttered, his voice barely a growl as he scanned the hallway upon stepping into the slow moving streams of the entrance.
The smooth stone was polished with precision, as if someone or something had carved it with more precision than fine sandpaper and meticulous care. The flowing water winding along the floor reflected the faint light from his aura, creating shifting patterns on the slick walls that only added to the unease pulling at his core.
Behind him, Zargoth’s Mystics flanked the narrow passage, their flames glowing softly in the damp air. One of the Fire Walkers surged forward, his body poised to strike as they reached the only non-flooded branching hallway. Yet, War halted the moment he stepped over the threshold, his muscles tensing, his skin prickled.
What is this feeling…
The Fire Walker bent down, his eyes narrowing as he inspected a faint marking on the ground with discarded, burned items. “The human Gabriela’s scent,” he whispered, his nostrils flaring as he stood.
War’s pulse quickened, his mind flashing to the witches under Jennifer’s influence.
“Help!”
“Red! We… Where are we?”
“Is that you, Red?!”
War could hear faint cries ahead as if triggered the moment he’d touched the branching hallway, a haunting sensation sending chills down his spine in a way he’d never experienced. His jaw clenched, his heart thudding with the weight of their desperation. Jennifer’s methods were more than just twisting the weak and using them as bait.
This isn’t a trap like before… This is something real.
The smile that had been playing on his lips had long faded, replaced by a grim determination. He turned to Zargoth, his voice low, but the authority in it unmistakable.
“Whatever lies ahead, I’ll handle it. Get your Mystics to free the witches, burn those control markers, and I need you to go after Jennifer. I’ll draw the attention of whatever is ahead.”
Zargoth opened his mouth to protest, but War silenced him with a look. “Chief, this isn’t a negotiation. You’re to get them out, leave me, and go after Jennifer. I don’t know how much time I can buy you.”
For the first time, an unsettling feeling gripped him as he turned back toward the silk-filled cavern ahead of them. Something beyond anything he’d felt lay ahead—something darker, and, without a doubt, it was more powerful than him.
The air around the Fire Walkers grew more dense as they continued, following his lead. Red could see it, but it was there—he felt its hunger—a shadow lingering just beyond the range of his senses. A heavy presence pressed against his chest, forcing him to pause, despite the cries of the witches for help.
He placed a hand against his breastplate. I can feel it in my undead heart…that rare flicker of doubt, gnawing at me… My death is up ahead. War’s end.
He swallowed hard, forcing down the anxiety that threatened to rise. There was no turning back. For the war to be won, sacrifices had to be made—even if it meant facing the one battle he could not win. His grip on his claymore tightened, the metal cool against his palm as he stepped forward, his aura pulsing brighter to encircle the ri’bot warriors behind him.
With every step, the air grew colder, more oppressive. The sound of distant water rushing through the lower tunnels filled his ears, along with the faint cries of the witches and the muffled clash of battle beside him. He could hear the Fire Walkers making quick work of the Xaltan warriors hiding in branching tunnels, cutting them down with swift, brutal efficiency.
Yet War’s gaze never wavered from the path ahead. He had one focus now—the nest.
The hallway gave way to a large cavern, its center dominated by a massive structure of silk, threads woven into a complex web that spanned the entire chamber. At its heart, a group of women huddled together, their eyes wide with confusion and fear. They were trembling, clutching each other for support, unsure of why their empress had abandoned them as bait but too loyal to disobey.
War’s lips twisted into a grimace as he advanced, his thoughts flickering to something Elinor had told him on their journey to meet the Roxim: There is only one path for us, War—the way of the strong. No fear of death, only the fear of failing our duty.
The words echoed in his mind, a reminder of the unyielding resolve that had brought them this far. He could feel the weight of his duty pressing down on him, the burden of his position pulling at his every step. But there was no room for fear, no time for doubt. He would follow the way of the strong, and press through the fire of doubt.
As he approached the center of the cavern, a sudden chill ran down his spine. His eyes narrowed as the silk threads shuddered, the air around him growing unnaturally still. The hair on his arms rose, his every instinct screaming at him to run as thélméthra emerged from nowhere, surrounding them at every angle, their many legs clicking against the stone with a sickening rhythm unlike what he’d heard described by Tiffany.
Yet, one thing snatched his attention, the silk beneath him shifted like a living organism.
Jennifer has thélméthra under her control? Shit.
The witches’ screams pierced through the cavern, his eyes narrowed, and without wasting a moment, War tightened his grip on his claymore. His aura flared, casting a blood-red light throughout the cave, filling the space with a frenzied force. The steel-like silk trembled under his feet.
“Move, or I’ll cleave you down where you stand!” he roared, not to his enemies but to the Roxim Fire Walkers, who were momentarily stunned by the sight of the massive arachnids. “Get the women out! Zargoth, I’ll handle this!”
His voice sparked them into action, their hesitation melting under the weight of his command. The Fire Walkers darted forward, weaving around the silk-wrapped chamber toward the human girls. But Red’s gaze was locked on the largest thélméthra as it emerged from the silken nest above the witches.
“Let’s go!”
“Hssssss!”
Steam erupted from its joints, many others doing the same, and in one swift motion, the creature lunged at him, its speed astonishing for its size. War raised his claymore in defense, meeting it head on.
[Immovable III: Failed]
What?!
Hit with a force unlike anything he’d expected, his feet slid across the slick stone, arms trembling under the spider’s advancing, unstoppable force. His aura flared as he shouted, meeting its gaping maw and bracing for its giant, quivering fangs on either side of his arms, but it wasn’t enough to stop the creature’s momentum.
War’s eyes widened in shock as he was forced off the ground. The thing was somehow even stronger than it looked—far stronger. For a brief moment, it was as if the entire world slowed down, and he found himself flying backward with the arachnid carrying him with its flailing advance.
His body slammed into the cavern wall, its twitching fangs somehow not cleaving him in two yet. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, not that he needed it, but he didn’t have time to react before the creature was on him again.
Its jaws unhinged, the foul breath worse than Death’s and gaping mouth hissed spittle that splattered his armor. In the next second, it sprayed out transparent ooze that mostly dribbled to the stone floor, yet a small stream splattered his right side, causing his metal to bubble—acid—melting past his empowered defenses.
Shit! This isn’t good… The acid is eating through my armor and skin. If it reaches my bone…
Keeping it at bay with all the strength he could muster, his eyes widened when his sword started to bend. Gritting his teeth, War planted his foot against its lower jaw, keeping himself braced against the wall and away from its thin, jewel-like teeth inside its mouth, as large as railroad spikes.
He pushed upward to create just enough space to maneuver, flipping his freed blade sideways to use the flat of it to brace against the creature’s sudden snap of its fangs. They struck, stopping them just in time from snapping around his torso—the stone behind him wasn’t so lucky, fracturing under the pressure and being shaved away by the diamond-like fangs. The pressure was unbearable, his entire body vibrating from the force he exerted.
Dammit… This thing’s strong. His muscles strained as he held the creature at bay, but he could feel his sword bending under the pressure.
Instinctively, he knew something wasn’t right with it, though; if it was this powerful, it should have dispatched him long before he was even aware of its presence, yet it was thrashing about as if in pain. If he timed it right—
In a split second, the thélméthra pulled back to snap its fangs again, more acid spraying out. War seized the opportunity. With a grunt of effort, he dropped beneath it as a cloud of noxious gas expelled from its mouth and dove through a gap in the falling liquid, tucking to roll upright. The creature slammed into the melting wall, breaking through into a secondary tunnel with a thunderous crash.
War didn’t have time to celebrate as heavy stones hit him in the collapsing tunnel, and he pushed himself up, stumbling out of the billowing cloud of debris. In shock, he lifted his left arm, half gone, armor, flesh, and bone replaced by a melting goo.
Son of a bitch… One arm down. And it’s worse than I thought.
Checking the damage in the cloud of dust that surrounded him, he realized part of his armor was bent, applying pressure to his spine and his sword was bowed from the force of the arachnid’s fangs—that one wild charge had almost crippled him.
Releasing his armor and weapons to repair them, his narrowed eyes shot up as he danced to the left, dodging a spear-like leg that cut through the haze, barely missing his torso.
My left arm is done for, but I’ll manage… They’re clumsy. I can win.
The leg pierced the smooth stone floor like hot butter, throwing the thélméthra drone off-balance and giving him time to jump away.
A pulse of ruby light returned his repaired sword and armor, his internal power taking a slight hit for the energy cost. His foggy eyes lifted, scanning the zone to get a feel of the battlefield, taking it in with a single sweep of the mayhem that had taken the cave.
The Fire Walkers were moving the witches while trying to stay out of the way from the flailing spiders, the cries of the women still echoing through the chaos as they were carried toward the exit by force. The toads were racing to get the hell out of the chaotic storm that was dozens upon dozens of oversized tank-like spiders, thrashing about and stumbling toward Red’s agitating aura.
The silk that had once clung to the cavern like an oppressive fog was now ablaze, thanks to Zargoth’s fiery assaults in trying to free the witches. The room shook as more of the thélméthra emerged from thin air, their jerky, erratic movements betraying their lack of coordination.
Steam hissed from their joints, and some of them thrashed wildly, as though fighting against invisible enemies…or the very bodies they had been trapped in.
Red’s sharp mind took in the ritual that was uncovered from the writhing sea of silk; Xaltan Elite Warriors and Xaria were now withered husks within the circles and lines spanning the zone. The result was obvious. Jennifer had used the witches to create a ritual to put the Xaltan elites’ spirits into thélméthra bodies.
You mad zealot, War chuckled, the shock of the ambush wearing off as he dodged another wild swing from a drone that could go through him, armor and all. Obviously, thélméthra complex nerve systems and abilities are too much for them… A missing arm is trouble, but I have a chance!
One of the creatures lunged at him, its movements sluggish and uncoordinated. War sidestepped easily, right hand tightening around his hilt to deliver a slash with his claymore across its legs in one smooth motion. The blade hummed with his renewed focus, yet only sparks flashed as his blow was deflected: the exoskeleton was too strong for him to get through.
The steel-like silk rising to entangle his legs—it was too slow. Leaping away, he noticed the Fire Walkers now gone and their lingering fire somehow smothered by the shifting threads.
Good. I can cut loose then. If they’re exoskeletons are too hard…what about those cracked jewel-like eyes of yours?
Red danced around two more that advanced, maneuvering to bait one to pounce on its comrade, spear-like arm breaking into its side and making his grin widen.
That’s it, boys! Work for me here.
The creature screeched, collapsing in a heap of twitching limbs as if giving up because it certainly wasn’t dead. Another thélméthra trampled over it, its legs flailing wildly. Yet, War’s attention was on the one with a cracked eye, using its own awkwardly placed leg to jump onto its body, swinging his claymore in a wide arc to crush it—several more cracks appeared.
Not good enough! Again!
This time using the blunt hilt of his weapon, it shattered, sending bright blue liquid pooling out as the thélméthra’s legs curled, steam hissing out of them. Red swiftly repositioned, swinging his blade to connect with the creature’s opened segmented front leg, slicing through at a fractured section in its armored joints—time hadn’t been kind to them—it cut clean through with a sickening crunch.
The creature shuddered, its other legs giving out beneath it without the stability of its full legs as it crashed to the ground. But even as he flipped his blade around to sink it into the leaking eye socket, two more took its place—his claymore sunk halfway to its hilt, and still, it twitched and thrashed.
No wonder every race feared these things! Abandoning his blade as steel-like thread shot out of the ceiling to grab him, it vanished in a pulse of light before returning to his right hand. They don’t die and are tough as hell!
Their movements were only growing more desperate and erratic, though, as if they were fighting the very air that surrounded them. War could see the fear in their jerky movements, the steam hissing from their bodies as they struggled to maintain their grip on reality.
Panicking, War thought, his grin widening. Good.
He held up his arms, his aura of conflict irritating the already fracturing consciousness of the Xaltan mutants. Their attacks had become more frantic, more dangerous to each other due to their size, disorganized—confused.
War glanced toward the back of the cavern, where Zargoth was burning through a thick silken wall, his flames bright and hot. The chief’s focus was unyielding, ignoring the battle, but even he was beginning to show signs of fatigue.
I’ve got to buy them more time.
He turned back to the thélméthra, his eyes narrowing. There were still too many of them, their massive forms slowly building momentum and lumbering toward him, their gem-like eyes gleaming with a mix of desperation, rage, and pain.
Red set his ground, his aura flaring once more, brighter than before to keep them on him instead of the chief. His claymore shimmered with renewed energy as he brought it up in a defensive stance.
In that moment, the giant thélméthra that had crashed through the wall emerged again from an upward eruption of stone, its body writhing with anger. The silk around it shifted like misty tentacles, coiling and uncoiling as it raced over its comrades, trampling and breaking past the exoskeletons of those unlucky enough to stumble into its path, but it was growing more precise in its movements.
War’s grin returned, feral and sharp. “Bring it on.”
* — * — *
Elinor’s boots hit the soaked ground with a soft thud upon a hilly area along the Wandering River as she dismounted her father’s sleek, obsidian-colored steed.
The distant rumble of thunder echoed behind her, and her sharp gaze swept the scene. The once raging river was now calming, its surface less turbulent, yet the water was still choppy from the heavy storm that still lingered from the hag’s display of raw power.
She turned to look at her assembled forces, their focus unwavering and a forced smile twitching at the corner of her lips as, out of everywhere in the valley, a soft light that cut through the tumultuous black sky to illuminate their singular hill.
Autumn, you are going to be trouble…
Her dad reigned in his horse beside her to cut the wind resistance, studying the bending landscape, his cloak billowing in the gales. He’d been fairly silent for most of their journey, no doubt thinking about her uncorrupted mother’s inevitable return.
Camellia leaped down from Ash’s horse, landing lightly on the muddy banks of the river with a small smile. Famine pulled up beside her as the curious spider’s gaze followed the path of the flowing water before she glanced up at the flashing heavens, her deep crimson eyes holding a spark of curiosity.
“Riding across on a beast is very different from using silk to cross. We will have to try my method next time. Oh! Empress,” Camellia chimed, placing a hand on her hip before looking to the northwest. “That sound from Ke’Thra’Ma’s fortress… It’s not something we need to worry about, right? Mother was always interested in whatever the White Ape did.”
Before Elinor could respond, a sharp wind rushed through the trees. Grace dropped down from the sky, his long, bound white locks swaying as he set a flushed Valentina onto the soaked grass. The tiger girl’s breath was heavy, but she regained her composure quickly, her usual energy subdued as she straightened her back and shook out her soaked hair.
“Brrr! Sky walking, Grace?! How in the world—nevermind. It’s just cool,” she mumbled, her face going even more crimson as Quin emerged from the roaring waters, the giant gorilla child rising up the slope to meet them. “What was that horn sound? It was louder than the thunder!”
Grace chuckled but didn’t speak, loosely leaning an arm against his sheathed blade before turning his full attention on her. Elinor’s cold green eyes shifted toward the horizon, a dark smirk pulling at the corner of her lips as she exhaled slowly.
“Interesting. Yes. Concerning? Not something to focus ourselves with at this moment,” she replied calmly, her voice cutting through the pelting rain that slicked their skin and clothes. “Autumn will certainly be a problem, eventually…” she voiced, looking up at the break in the clouds, where the hag likely observed, “but that is another issue for another time.”
Her thoughts briefly wandered to the Hag of the Everborne Marshlands, to the Tempest that could be unleashed with ease. The raw power that Autumn held was a wildcard—a threat she had to monitor and keep track of. Well, Tiffany at least had to.
That is the released power of a Tempest at the Countess’ level… Queen Alivau was seriously holding back when I embarrassed her in front of a hundred thousand of her citizens… I'm still walking a tightrope in Kaspir. And if a Countess can do this…the King or Grand Duke could command hurricanes that could reshape the world on a scale I’d rather not speculate at this point.
She could feel the strain already building on Roman’s plate as they pushed for the establishment of a more permanent portal between their realms. She needed something more solid, more secure—a leash on Roman’s ambitions to prevent the type of chaos they’d witnessed from ever escalating on their side of that portal.
Roman is very intelligent…a strategist of the highest level, who managed to get me involved in his antics. There’s more to his Quest World than we currently are aware of, and I’m sure he is withholding key information…because I’d do the same.
Shaking the thought aside, her focus returned to the present. Her new world needed to be rebuilt first, which brought her to the present.
She tugged at the ethereal threads of the thélméthra drone she’d brought, her fractured Nexus still capable of commanding her troops and speaking to them telepathically, if in range, that was.
Its many eyes gleaming faintly in the rain, reaching them at what most would consider an alarming rate; Camellia had brought it across the river with them by attaching a string to it, its sleek form navigating the murky waters with little effort as far as she’d been able to observe. The race was certainly well adapted to just about any environment.
“What do you command, Empress?” it asked, standing stalk still as it approached and Camellia circled it in her human form, soaked red locks sticking to her face with abandon.
Burrow into the soil, Elinor ordered, her voice firm.
It obeyed without hesitation, silk escaping its sack at its backside to form into a drill with its precise manipulations to bury itself. Within a matter of seconds, it had created a nest and used its silk to cover itself with the mud.
Elinor was slightly amused by Camellia’s unimpressed and judging glare.
How would you rate the performance?
The thélméthra princess bent down to poke at the mud with a huff. “Slow. Inefficient. Inelegant. And that’s by my very low standards compared to my little sisters, much less our mother. It’s defective compared to what it should be, which is not my mother’s doing…”
Her eyes widened and she jumped up. “Not that you are the reason for its—”
Chuckling to herself, Elinor shook her head and glanced around at her forces. No, it is likely me who is the problem. As you said, your mother was a master at her craft—a World Queen. She turned her sight back to the nervous spider princess, fidgeting with her silk behind her back. And for that, I refuse to believe she would create anything but perfection in you.
Camellia’s twitches froze, her very complex mind working around that very simple concept that likely had never entered her many brains. “I…never thought about that concept. I am perfect as my perfect mother created me. Hmm. I will have to think about that, Empress.”
“Empress,” Death whispered, his hollow eyes shifting toward the southeast, “War feels…off to me. Something has shaken him.”
“I feel it as well, Brother,” Black growled. “He advances the cause, yet something makes him hesitate.”
Elinor’s smile became a line as she peered through the pelting rain, lightning streaking across the heavens before the rumble shook the air.Valentina firmed her brow, flexing out her claws, Quin rolled around her four massive arms, and Grace bowed his head in prayer to Nungal.
Well…then we shouldn’t keep him waiting. Drone, you are to burrow into Camellia’s former tunnel system and locate where Jennifer is. If you get the chance and find her… Do not hesitate. Kill her, immediately. Defend anyone who is an ally. And above all…do not let her escape while we attack the front.
“It shall be done, Empress.”
The drone drilled further into the hill, and Elinor mounted Ash’s horse again.
We ride to the aid of your brother… Leave only death in our passing.
Steed rising up on his hind legs, Ash’s cry rang out with Famine. The grass around them withered, the very air turning foul and the howls of the dead rose from the depths of the underworld to meet the force of War that was ahead of them.
You sent the challenge, Jennifer… Death answers, and Hell rides with her.
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