They (or at least, Koi and Hellfire) didn't want to be instruments of Chaos. They didn't want to kill, to hurt, to harm. That wasn't them. They wanted to be strong and to help people! To help! Not... this. Not this...
Though at the moment, the panic was starting to spread from Hellfire into his siblings, which wasn't good. Not at all. Even Luci was starting to get jittery, and they didn't get jittery. It was awful! Koi was trying to resist, to keep them all together, but it was... difficult.
Later, it would think itself a coward, for running. For not sticking with it’s ‘family,’ for blindly running in fear at the first sign of blood and gore. Later, it would feel nothing but ashamed of itself, running from it’s purpose. The chaos it was supposed to sow.
But it wasn’t thinking, not right now. There was no room for anything but fear. The thud-thud-thud of it’s heartbeat in it’s chest and temples. The repeating mantra of run run run faster faster faster. It's gaze locked on the Canis entrance. Only a little farther, faster faster faster.
It tripped and stumbled plenty, but didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Even as it arrived at the Canis entrance, it didn't slow down. It sprinted into the bone room, leaving a trail of oily slime and disturbed bones behind it.
[Exit unless stopped]
Being ignored by Overseer Orthoclase both chafes and comforts the finally recovered small hybrid, and they finally pull themselves together long enough to glide from their perch, now having gone internally a bit numb from the whole thing.
They land near Bloodstone, leveling the white owl who mentions them with a withering glare before looking up at the three heads and catching Koi's attention, flicking their tail against their foot and hoping to draw their attention closer to the ground, and further into the cave where they should all head for now, under multiple tiers of orders and fears.
Epsilon is having thoughts again, but this time they don't turn to their parent for an answer, or comfort- in fact, they only offer the two named by the Overseer a cursory glance before turning away to focus on keeping up with the wider strides of nearly everything in the cave.
The hybrid will prove itself. Sensible? An Enemy?
Who even knows anymore, with how they are all much more disposable than already assumed.
But they will be something worth noticing, by their end.
;Exit Epsilon unless stopped
This post contains potentially sensitive material:
Atmospheric changes signaled the fading weight of magic which pulled back as did the bodies of those it belonged to. The instruction for their audience to stay did not go unnoticed, over her shoulder and behind her as Master Vargas extended his remaining control over the crowd; but even so, swells of fear had dispelled some hearts from the carnage and command. Some beasts were simply unfit, by nature, to receive the truth of their conception. Not all of them could be successes. The destructive cycle was born of the unending need for improvement.
Lord Dhracia spent the seconds awaiting Master Vargas peering down at the babe on her hip. This one’s predecessors were advocates of the cycle. She thought of the ugly dog, briefly; with moss in its long pale fur and sunken eyes, its bones that throbbed under tight skin like a carcass cursed with life again. She thought of the hatred the dog carried, what compelled it so to sacrifice itself to a greater cause: destruction. Vengeance was a powerful motivator, and so too was purpose. The dog’s stone should be dead by now, but Lord Dhracia couldn’t help wonder if any of that insidious, everlasting hatred had passed on. At least one mortal flaw did. The child stared at nothing in particular.
Once in her company again, Lord Dhracia regarded the Leviathan with levelness impossible given the eruption minutes ago. And yet—it was as if no laughter had parted her lips at all, her threatening holographic gaze half-lidded. The quirk in the corner of her lips was born of something else.
“You must understand I had a point to make. Serving as the Hand of Disorder necessitates such mayhem, lest He finds one more suitable for the role,” not that Lord Dhracia didn’t enjoy spreading the guts of that little antelope all over the floor. Perhaps she enjoyed the competitive nature of her obligations a little too much. Any stab of joy these days was worth drawing the knife. “I don’t seek to upend your little operation, however. On the contrary, I’m impressed that you’ve managed to revive what the other Masters failed to—and in such amplitude.”
She did wonder what Astraea was up to, but Lord Dhracia had no interest in listening to his bitching about the nest’s years of abandonment. It was beyond Lord Dhracia. There was nothing she could have done. He should be grateful she arranged for it to be brought back to life at all, or else he and everything else in here would still be lifeless reservoirs.
“All your hard work is deserving of accolades, wouldn’t you think?” Lord Dhracia ventured, watching the monstrosity. She didn’t hide it that she was; she craved to spark more of his reactions, if only to nourish her own ego. “If you could have any one thing in existence, Master Vargas, what would it be?”
Lord Dhracia reserved her guessing, refrained from assuring him what she meant by this or what she was capable of. She wanted the answer unburdened by limitations. And maybe, if she liked the answer, she’d give it to him.
She watched and waited, infernal excitement baying in her chest.
He paced along behind her, a hulking, lurking monstrosity with no danger in it; those claws would not reach to rend the much smaller Lord before him, those jaws wouldn't close for it. And why would they-? Jupiter might have held the courage--the foolishness--to try; but what was death, to one such as Dhracia? Nor did Vargas have a reason. Not really. His own goals were coalescing, certainly, but his own plans lay within the framework of what had already been laid out before him.
Create. Test. Improve. Repeat.
Whatever he did, it would be by performing those actions: those for which he had been created. Perfection was ever his goal, and not in any rigid form, but in a writhing, wild ferocity of life.
Her sudden stolid demeanor, her near-apology, her explanation--it took him by surprise, and were his rigid face capable of lifting a brow it would have done so. His manner did not change: he was ever businesslike, to the point, and matter-of-fact. And so he would continue to be. Her reassurances, too, left him with a quiet, approving grunt: it lined up with what he'd planned to ask, unless she'd outright read his mind. His... grievance, though it wasn't quite complaint, so much as request. And here was her approval, too, and Vargas inclined his head.
Strange.
Accolades. That was what Lord Dhracia was now presenting--
He had not quite expected a reward--he'd feared punishment, or nothing at all. The reward of continued survival at the most, perhaps. But it would be a lie to say he hadn't considered what he might ask if offered, at least. And now, here came the respect: the loss of amusement, the somber, solemn eye. To the point, then. Back to work.
It was laughter that she was first given. Not dumbfoundedness, not greed or hunger or any fear, but laughter that Lord Dhracia felt was concocted out of modesty. And she wondered--had anybody ever asked Master Vargas what it was he wanted? Truly, from the depth of his heart, did anybody ever extend this consideration to him before? Did he ever ask himself? Was that why he found it amusing? This answer was one of few that Lord Dhracia didn't have; in all her lifetimes, it was information she'd never stumbled across. But she did love to indulge in novelties. So she humored him as he humored her, and listened.
His first declaration was that she could not give him what he truly wanted: freedom. But Master Vargas made the mistake of misconstruing freedom as Godhood, so that was what she would let him believe. Her quirk strengthened into a humble smile, as though to empathize with this notion of aching for creative liberty; as much as it was neither freedom nor Godhood. She couldn't fault him for thinking such wishes homogenous. Master Vargas possessed a limited scope of existence, and if he truly knew how binding Godhood was and how wretched freedom could be, then maybe he would have just settled for being relinquished from his job, since, basally, that was what he wanted. He already possessed the ability to create life--which Lord Dhracia lacked--so the only barrier between himself and this fantasy was his obligation to this nest.
Lord Dhracia kept it to herself, smiling dimly still. Her head tilted, encouraging him to go on as he confessed to something else in mind.
What it ultimately was, was security. She appreciated that he stepped around the concept of Order carefully. But both of them were cognizant creatures who could understand the need for organization--which wasn't necessarily Order, but more akin to Control. And if Lord Dhracia was made of anything, it was that. The very concept was where her power anchored. There could be no Control in Order if there was no disarray in the first place, so, see, this was the conception of Lord Dhracia: the Hand on the leash, the voice of command, the blade forged by intention.
So, security? She could give him that without the risk of incurring threat from the Creator. Never you worry, Master Vargas. If what you want is Control, I'm pleased to inform you that your desire is my domain. You could ask nothing better of me. Oh, how deliciously it all fell into place.
Lord Dhracia was made the fundamental force of Control for a reason.
She regarded his bow with satisfaction. He was ticking off all her boxes today, wasn't he?
“Mm. In terms of what you deserve, Master Vargas, I'll be blunt in that you've undermined yourself with such a mortal request,” she began. If she could tickle his brain with temptations of other things, she would, just to test his mettle. He could have freedom of a kind. He could be released from this cave, see the sky and mountains and oceans for the first time, suffer the hunt of the surface's inhabitants. He could be remade as something bigger, stronger, and lose his memories for it. He could become one of her own personal hounds and live the rest of his days fulfilling his chaotic makeup. Instead, he chose assurance in the safety of his followers. “But I find your modesty admirable. None before you ever would have asked as much.” They would have thrown their creations at Lord Dhracia's feet to rend, if it should please her. Master Vargas was always destined to be different.
A tilt of her head, she appraised him, as though chewing on his wish a little longer just to see how it tasted. “There is only so much I can circumvent. If He decides to come crashing through your roof to wipe this nest and start over, I'm afraid I will have barely taken a breath before you're cleansed from existence. That said, I can offer a compromise. Prove this nest's efficacy, and perhaps He will not be inclined to recycle you.” This wasn't a taunt. There was truth in what Lord Dhracia warned, that He could erase them in the blink of an eye; but just how much influence she had over His fickle schemes, to sway Him one way or another, that was where Control was put into practice. “One design of prime chaotic potential every four of your cycles. Fulfill your purpose, deliver me a Mother Valkhound to raze armies, and your kin will be spared. Should you fail to provide, I'll simply pick for you.”
There were a few she had her eye on already; but if he failed to provide, then at that point, the deal was moot anyway. The smile burned a little brighter, a little more earnestly, a little more insidious. But creating monsters shouldn't be a point of concern. It was what Master Vargas himself was created to do--he said it himself.
“You can start with that stone I gave you. What do you say?”
Had he known her thoughts, he could have told her no; no one had ever asked. But he'd never cared for that. He had been created for a purpose, and his enjoyment came from fulfilling that purpose. He had Overseen: shaped those created by others, creating out of them something great. Engaging his keen mind to observe, to calculate, to predict, to gauge: to learn what a creature was made from in but a glance. To pick out its strengths, its weaknesses, its usefulness. And he had been rewarded with success. He had ensured that he worked, and worked well. And when it came time to cull, well: never let it be said that Vargas had not enjoyed the hunt. Though Vargas had not been particularly cruel--if anything, in the context of his inherently brutal work, he had been merciful--he was efficient. And a certain fundamental joy, a contentment, came from a job well done.
To be free to do as he pleased, without worry of another breathing down the back of his neck: that would have been something, indeed. Perhaps he'd have grown bored with it. Wondered why he was creating; what the job was. Could it be "well done" if he'd assigned something to himself-? But he didn't think of this. Nor did he wonder of the reality of godhood; the word was thrown almost lightly, without thought, an example of ultimate power. Vargas--and Dhracia was right in this--knew little of any chains that bound a god.
When she began speaking, he was pleased to find her tone still matter-of-fact. There was no taunting in it. No games. She had fallen back--or stepped forth--into what he himself used: straightforward, factual, clear. He appreciated that, and his head tilted a little to show his attentiveness as he listened. And her first sentence--even her second, and third--he found curious.
He was still mulling this over, still studying her with toxic gaze, when she continued.
There was the offer. Vargas bowed his head in acknowledgment, and then lifted his eyes to her and spoke.
Back to work.
Vargas then looked to Dhracia, more sombrely.
And hopefully the rest of them would not be blind.
Master Vargas spoke lightly of demands, as if that he should demand of her was less a misstep and more a humored hypothetical. But he quickly corrected himself, and he assured Lord Dhracia that he sought no more than the persuasion she was so talented in--in exchange for merely doing his job! It wasn't so outlandish a request that it should cause him duress, which she supposed was what she'd been gauging; if he valued his creations more than he was supposed to, Lord Dhracia expected that he would have at least hesitated.
So why then did it concern him to shelter his followers from her?
Curious, so very curious; this monster with what she was beginning to suspect was a heart. Lord Dhracia had nothing to operate off of except assumptions; she'd never anticipated the Leviathan would grow into something so anomalous, but that worked in her favor, even if it made him a wildcard in terms of reliability--in the grand scheme of things. She filed this away. In the end, that he was obedient to her was what mattered. She would meditate on his reactions later. She would think of other ways to chisel away at him until she truly knew whether he could be entrusted with her motives. After all, this nest--one of His most successful, before His material exile--was in Master Vargas' hands now. He would be a major contributor in the years to come.
Lord Dhracia had to ensure that he was on her side, and hers only.
She tightened her smile and laughed briskly behind her lips. “I suppose so.” And yet that request was not modest enough to make Tamulus stay in this cave. It was not modest enough to make the rest of the Masters resume their work as soon as they were able. No, it seemed even asking her inferiors to do their job was intrusive to their personal goals, such that they'd forgotten how their goals should be His goals. Lord Dhracia should be agitated in her core by this, but she was only pensive of it. It would necessitate correcting. Later.
At the assessment of the stone, Lord Dhracia nodded and complemented his grin with a glimmer of delight. “I look forward to greeting the fruits of your genius, Master Vargas.”
But he was not so genius as Lord Dhracia doted; only seconds later, he insulted her with caveats, and her expression sobered. The child on her hip stirred, perhaps feeling that something in Lord Dhracia had dimmed. “Yes, you will. But don't forget why we cull our mistakes, Master Vargas,” she spoke lofty, peering down at Mary, as though her threat was a balloon she had simply plucked from the air and handed him in nonchalance. “We do it to give those stronger something to eat. And you know Chaos is ever hungry.”
Did he realize that his performance was a direct reflection of Lord Dhracia's command, her standards, her intentions? She could accept nothing short of perfection--
Lest suspicion settle on the back of her head.
They don't know how lucky they are.
Lord Dhracia hated all those creatures who flaunted their freedom of soul, their ignorance of damnation, their lightness of shoulders. She envied them and the lives they'd been granted. Facsimile of life was a blessing over no life at all; never again breathing, eating, sleeping, aging, growing, loving. Dying. All of these luxuries Lord Dhracia had been robbed of--but these creatures didn't really deserve to suffer by her jealousy, did they? They were all alive because of her in the first place. Her meddling. And they would survive because of her too. The tainting of this nest was but one careful device of many made to turn the tides of war; there was a reason why Disorder struggled to retain a foothold here, in its own domain.
Lord Dhracia didn't spare them because Master Vargas asked her to. If she truly wanted to rip them all apart, she would have.
Her gaze didn't move from Mary. “Mm, and before it slips my mind, Master Vargas--I've heard tell that the womb is pumping blood again.”
Whether the Hive realized what he did in sending his message, Lord Dhracia didn't know. It would work to her benefit too, so long as he didn't have his little insects waiting for Master Vargas and his followers. Lord Dhracia appraised the Leviathan again.
“I suggest you relocate your faction to further galvanize your work. Master Totum will accompany you; it's difficult to say what dangers may be lurking in the abandoned quadrants.”
Never let it be said that Lord Dhracia couldn't find bolts to match the wrenches thrown in her plans.
“With that, I believe our business is concluded. Do extend my well wishes to your Overseer, hm? I trust the two of you will have fostered quite the virile environment by my next return,” Lord Dhracia hummed. The final look she settled upon Master Vargas was an empty smile, absent of the amusement she might have granted him before, potent in its warning not to let himself grow too comfortable with her leniency. She had no qualms terminating the deal if she had to.
Lord Dhracia stepped away, and all the shadows hiding around her shoulders dripped and uncoiled onto her arms, her waist, her legs, and around her feet. She looked at Mary again, who would perceive only heat--biting, tearing, disintegrating--until there was nothing left for Lord Dhracia to look at but the churning and oily void itself. In a blink, she was gone, leaving nothing but evaporating wisps of a chaotic smear on the stone.
exit Lord Dhracia and Mary
Of course he knew why they culled their mistakes... He would have said as much, but even now, between Lord Dhracia's smile and her solemn stare, he dared not interrupt. He dared not clarify:
Before he could push this away, before he could summon up an obedient response, or even an insult if it had occurred to him to do so, Lord Dhracia's attention was away. Shifted, turned to Mary. And Vargas, instinctively, could not help but look down upon the child--the grimace in his gut not quite reaching his face as the boiling away into oil took her.
He waited, tail lashing like a cat's, as the wisps of chaos faded, as the final smear along the stone was all that was left behind. And for a moment he lifted the stone, then--waiting, as if just in case Lord Dhracia might return, have something else to ask--and studied it. Thought about his plans for it.
When he lifted his gaze again, there were eyes there, waiting: and Vargas blinked, it taking a moment for him to recognized the dark and battered armor against the deeper shadows.
Vargas gave them time to return, those who would return or be returned, and then he lowered himself to his haunches and began to speak. His voice carried, strong, authoritative; his eyes ranged among the others as he spoke. They settled first on Alpha.
The children hadn't exactly defended the chrysalis, but there was no point in excluding them. They'd done well in keeping themselves to the tunnel, for now, and that was enough--if they even understood his words.
Vargas went on, but he hardly thought to represent himself as some sort of hero. This was done to ensure their work would be uninterrupted, secure, and he showed no sign of anything so weak as pity.
He eyed them over, and realized he'd said rather a lot. A summary, then:
Those who choose to exit may have done so, though they may have to contend with Orthoclase-Alpha or Ruby-Beta rounding them back up; any older members who left despite orders might face anger from Vargas! Everyone can exit after having heard this offer!
@Doctor (Nidhogg) @Bloodstone (Kethri) @Orthoclase-Alpha (Hemlocke, Selenite) @Garnet-Delta (Zoisite) @Garnet-Epsilon @V-Labradorite-One
Ruby-Beta was gazing ahead blankly, thoughts and feelings completely having shut off at this point. Because this was all beyond it. This was all the grand, great world and it was a simple creature that wanted only to enjoy and relax and stay alive. Follow orders, do as it was told, and not think about complicated matters such as Lords and Masters and instruments of Chaos and Destruction. It had stopped responding, stopped reacting, staring ahead almost blankly as the two conversed, the only reaction coming out as the lights blinked out.
It flinched, sure, and stood, but it didn't freak out or flee - no, instead it simply crouched back again, intimidated by Mary's display of power. She wasn't just a kid. No, she was above it too. And that was when it realized what it was, saw itself for what it truly was in the mind of Mary and Lord Dhracia and even Master Vargas - it was only a worm. It didn't matter what it thought or felt, it was only a tool. And that was what Vargas had meant by being "remade". It wasn't a personal threat, only a warning that if it didn't live up to Her expectations, then it would be destroyed and its design reused.
It was almost like a load off its chest to abandon all delusions that it had any control, any freedom at all.
The thinking part of it was trying to fight back. The ingrained need to follow orders and its own emotional side were at war with each other but a single argument quelled the rebellion in it - if it did as Master Vargas ordered, then it was helping, in the end, ensure survival. Everyone's survival, not just its own. Because if Master Vargas failed, then they would be destroyed, as he had warned before the creation of Mary. Yeah, that was it, that was where it stood - follow orders, give up its attempts at personal freedom, and keep the caves alive. It was a win-win wasn't it?
It suddenly realized, too late, that one of them were trying to leave. One of the newer spawn was fleeing from the scene and Alpha had told it to keep them together. It jerked suddenly, whipping around to give chase, but it only got a few feet when it realized that it wasn't worth it - they were already escaping into Canis. It grunted with frustration and turned back towards Master Vargas.