ORIGIN

The occasion on which the so-called terror of the depths drags itself so far from Leo's bay is not, in fact, to hunt Lessers with bloody ruthlessness.

No; though it will never admit it to itself, the reason is for loneliness.

How many cycles have passed it by while it lurked alone in the dark, warm waters? Never changing, never fading; even the snap of jaws upon fish and the sensation of delicious wetness filling its mouth has become banal.

It has not seen its siblings in a very long time. One, it knows now, it will never see again.

The ache is a pain of its own right, one not stifled by adrenaline or rudimentary wound-care. One that sets its paws wandering without much thought to where it ends up—eyes set forward but unseeing, resting in the middle distance.

Oh, it will devote itself to the hunt again if it sees a reason. It's simply, right now, it does not see much of a reason at all.

It catches the form of the fluttering thing out of the corner of one of its higher-set eyes, one ear flicking back to see it better. It doesn't pay much attention to it at first, thinking it one of the butterflies that like to frequent lush caves such as this. Fun to chase and snap at—rarely worth the energy.

And then the little-fly speaks, and all eyes are on him. (All thirteen of them.)

There are many ways one could react to a beast of its nature. Fear. Disgust. Hatred.

Wonder is a new thing altogether.

For once in its life, Terror is struck without words. For a long moment, its only response is a mute tilt of the head, itself looking over this strange creature which has approached it.

Terror is not a particularly vain creature. Its body is made exactly as it likes it; to snap, claw, and kill. The stinging tendrils were a welcome addition, as was the darkening of its fleshy skin (better to hide in deep waters), but the overall make of its body remains the same.

Still, it cannot help the pleased growl in its voice as it speaks, mouths open all at once in a discordant chorus. "Hm. You'd be the first to say that."

It stretches in a strangely doglike motion to sit, thick back legs tucking at its sides. With a flick of its back, it sweeps its stinging tendrils around to rest at its far flank from the fairy. Its eyes wander over his form: it's never seen a speaking creature so small. It makes a policy not to hunt Greaters, these days (the chrysalis is inconvienient at best), but even if he were some Lesser butterfly, he would not be worth the trouble of snapping up.

Still, something about him sparks its interest. It takes it a moment to place, so small as he is, but the tiny fangs bared in his smile are evident if one looks.

How interesting. Small like a spider, then, not a mouse.

"Samael, is it? You may call me Terror." The closest thing it has to a name, really—it's had the phrase terror-of-the-depths in its mind since it was a child, and it's as good a signifier as any. "You've got hunter's fangs," it notes, idly. "More predator than prey, little fly?"

The curves of its lips bare fang, but it's an amused grin that ripples across their maws. "And you are a flatterer."

Is there a point in beauty, a reason for it to be recognized? Terror isn't usually one for beauty. But it can recognize a certain joy in the looks of things: the sight of an opponent with his throat torn out, blood spattered warm across sand, for example. No flesh in its mouth and no beating heart beneath its paws, but the sight still made its heart skip a beat.

Perhaps that is what the sight of it is like for this little hunter. Like warm blood. The thought pleases it immensely.

And it must admit, it is fascinated by the way Samael begins to describe himself. There are similarities there, yes, more than just their fangs. Their toxins, for one. It would have never known had Samael not mentioned, but the paralytic he mentions reminds it strikingly of the paralytic contained within its stinging tendrils. It enjoys using them to cripple prey, watching them twitch uselessly in the water. Why chase when one can make sure they never flee?

"We're very alike, little hunter," Terror replies. "Your nature is hidden in your flesh, and mine is hidden in the dark waters. Perhaps you can see my fangs—" and here, one mouth closes and grins for emphasis, "—my claws, my stingers. But in the depths where I belong, the first and last my prey see of me is merely a flash of blue."

A shame Samael's wings are not meant for the water in the same way. It cannot imagine the fairy would do well beneath the waves. It is a shame, because it has not hunted with another creature in its favored depths in... a while.

A while indeed.

"You must have been quite fierce as a child. It is a good thing our paths never crossed when we were young—I wasn't so smart about my prey, those days!" It laughs, lowly, at its childhood stupidity. A numbed, itchy mouth would have surely followed any attempt to take Samael as an easy hunt, if not worse. Smaller bodies are harder to catch, after all. "Has the game of predator and prey ever caught you wrong, then?"

Terror nods approvingly as Samael speaks of his own childhood. Hiding in plain sight is a different kind of stealth to its own, but it's still stealth, regardless. It can always appreciate a good ambush.

It can appreciate Samael quite a lot, it's found, and not only for his sweet words.

Have you heard of Golden Chargers? Terror shakes its head. It's not as familiar with the creatures of the land as it is with the monsters that lurk in the water.

But with every word Samael speaks of this vicious snake species, the more it begins to think that perhaps there are as many monsters above the water as there are below. It has seen snatchers—krakens, been victim to one's terrible tentacles, tasted its fever sickness in its mouth. It has seen the deep dark spiders which lurk in crevices, feathered with black fur, and these in particular are what it keeps in mind as it listens to Samael's tale of the serpent.

No underwater creature would have such a venom, though. That is what catches its interest the most.

"Anything that dares hunt your child will be in for an excellent surprise," it starts, and for a moment its thoughts still rest on the idea of such a creature in the caves. Over with a single bite...

And then Samael asks it about children, and its heart gives a terrible pang.

The thing is, the urge to give one's family teeth and claws and venom above all else is an urge it knows all to well. It is the urge to keep the ones they love safe.

It is something they failed, in the end. An unending chasm stretches between them and the sibling they will never see again.

"No," it responds, and it is here that its eyes glance away from the fairy.

Its voice is uncharacteristically soft when it speaks again. "My life-giver... was more twisted flesh and aberrant limbs than any shape of creature you may find in the caves. It is from it that I derive my form. I have its face.

"It was a beast of instinct, above all else. More hunger than consciousness. It gave life to me and my siblings on the sandy beaches of Leo, and then it tried to kill us."

It is still, for the most part, but the tentacles bordering its neck like a headdress begin to twist and wind around each other, upset. "I made it my purpose, then, to protect what family I had. To keep them safe."

It laughs, low and self-deprecating. "But I was young, then, young and arrogant. When one of my siblings did not listen to my earnest 'advice' as well as I wanted them to, I turned away. They were as much of a hunter in shape as I am, as you are—I assumed, in my selfishness, that if they knew so much that they could take care of themself.

"Cycles ago, there was a deathmatch in the cave of stars. Creatures of every shape and form gathered to spill each other's blood on the sand and prove that they were apex predators. I attended for sport.

"I do not know why my wayward sibling attended. Only that they did, and only that somehow they were ripped apart so thoroughly that they did not chrysalize. In the same event in which I relished the thrill of the hunt, playing at a bloodbath, my sibling died, and I did not know until it was far, far too late."

It has never told this to anyone. It is not quite certain why it tells this to Samael—perhaps it is only that he asked, and that has opened the floodgates on a kind of pain that has been waiting to spill for quite some time.

"Children, family... these are things that I love, truly. Where my life-giver failed, I wish... I wish to succeed.

"But in the light of my failure, I hesitate. I am better, now—I know the mistakes of my past, and I know that I will not repeat them.

"But found stones, lesser stones, they can shatter, break. I am strong enough to hunt the monsters of the depths, but if a stone broke in my paws... I do not know if I could take it."

"Grief is not like any wound I've ever had," Terror admits. It once lost an eye in a fight with a lion, but even that scar healed in the chrysalis. But even if it went through chrysalis again, Creosote would still be gone. This is a reality it still has to face. This is a reality it struggles to face.

The pain may never go away. But perhaps it will dull, in time...?

Perhaps there are creatures out there willing to help it dull.

Kindness, selflessness—these are things unfamiliar to Terror. Its own life-giver did not display such. The look it fixes Samael with when he offers a shard of his own stone is utter shock, jaws propped open. It has never expected such a thing, to be close enough with a Greater to offer, to ever meet a Greater willing to offer in the first place.

But, impossibly, he is here, and Samael's eyes are nothing but earnest.

"I would be honored to have a child with aspects of your form." It, too, is sincere. From one hunter to another: it knows any child with both their forms would be difficult to kill.

And it will look after this one, this time. It will make sure no harm comes to it. It will not fail its oath twice.

"Whenever you have chosen a chrysalis site—" it begins, "—come tell me. I lurk on the beaches of Leo, most days; the bay with the warm waters, do you know it?

"I... I am honored you would give a shard of your stone to me. To ease my pain... thank you." The words are unfamiliar in the way they tumble off its lips, but they feel so right in this moment.