ORIGIN - A Monumental Task

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"Small things," was an unfavorable start to an answer, but he had her attention back just as quickly. Despite being hidden away in pinholes, her eyes narrowed in a particularly intrigued expression. Maw peeled back just slightly, Draconua tilted her head. Magically powerful things, yet condensed in such a small package? On one hand—impressive of the Lessers to grasp sentience; on the other—why not continue to make those physically powerful and magically charged… ? The answer blipped in the chaos of her thoughts a few moments later: a quiet sort of ah, recalling that these new generations were surely not formed by Him. He would not afford such pitiful things, she thought. All or nothing.

"Those, then," she rasped, entirely distracted by herself yet again, "they aren't… completely prey." It was less a statement, more a rhetorical question without the lilting end indicating as much. At the Hunt—ironically also the one that intended to deal with the infestation of Order—but he'd not been erring towards any outcome but to be a bystander. As such, she didn't really commit him to memory as anything but an overly curious prey item.

A definition for "stag" was finally in mind, though: "I've not seen Master Astraea, yet." Not that she'd been looking.

With that apparently necessary tangent out of the way, she fell quiet again; the only noises from her was the rattling of breathing and leather-on-leather while she picked up the pace. The Hound wasn't intending to be hot on Vargas's heels, but from Nidhogg's perspective, it'd very much seem like it. When she was introduced, her head tilted down—faceplate glinting in the light—and to either side, trying to get a better look at the thing coiled up in the wall. Curving horns eclipsed the Black Spire. His poor intimidation tactics and reaction were both entirely justified.

From here, she could see the glint of black iridescence, of toxic-green like splitting forks of electricity. Dangerously curved teeth and sinister little eyes. All set up in the most aggressively wary manner possible. Interesting enough of a creature. If only she could see him better.

Draconua barely restrained—woah—the urge to cast in chaos, to force the beast from his hiding place. One thing at a time. Besides, if she was meant to show him His magic, then there was her opportunity. Energy thrummed underneath her skin as she swung her head like it were on a ball joint, rattling, "come out, and then we can begin." There was not a trace of reassurance in that voice; no promises of safety or warmth. It was merely her, nearly without any inflection to betray her motives.

But, she couldn't stop herself from grinning thinly.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas only offered one quiet note regarding stags. "I have seen Master Astraea strip another Master to nothing but fungus-bubbling bone in seconds. I would not recommend seeing him as prey," he warned quietly. And it was a genuine warning: Nemean's begging screams still haunted him. It was difficult to horrify Vargas, but holy fuck had Astraea managed.

And easily, too.

The Leviathan strode to one side, silent, to give Draconua and Chaos-One room. He could have corrected it, but now he wanted to see how the black spawn would react to the commands of the 'Sleepless Chaos.' Would it obey? Fight? That might be hilarious. It wouldn't win, of course; but then how might Draconua react..?

Silent, and just a tad out of the way, Vargas waited.

Her command had him intrigued.

Begin? Begin what, exactly? Obviously training, but-... How? What could something THIS BIG train him in? Orthoclase was huge. Vargas was enormous.

Draconua was-...

Nidhogg had to crane his head back to stare up at her. Draconua was gargantuan.

A thought went through his mind--or more, a fleeting emotion, one without words. If it had had words, it would've been something along the lines of Ah, fuck it! with a sort of half-depressed, half-cheerful, flippant abandon.

With a slithering movement he was out of his crevice, skittering down onto the rock and bounding in strange and serpentine leaps for Draconua's forefeet. He stopped a few yards away and peered up at her, black-tipped toxic tongue dipping out as if to taste the air, then sort of sitting there in a venomous-looking "mlem."

"I'm Nidhogg," he told her, firing Vargas a brief stare (cut short, because Vargas scared him)--then looked up at her. "Can you teach me to get that big?" he then asked. It was doubtful--doubt even vibrated in his hesitant tone--but he wanted to be a monster, too. He wanted to smoosh Vargas whenever the Master asked him to do stuff.

What was the point, anyway?

Might as well be giant, and not have to listen to anybody!

"What are you going to train me for?" And then, in a completely idiotic (yet somehow eager) addition completely at odds with his former posturing: "Can we fight?"

@Draconua

Draconua huffed—derisively or in amusement?—and tilted her head, despite the Leviathan's facing away from her. Naturally, "I would not." She sighed this rather monotonously, as an assurance rather than a defense. Whatever the Master's shape, he (or any other) was to be revered for their work and their power. She wouldn't dare to make an attack, except to prove her own might. (How well had that gone, hmm?)

The purple behemoth paced to one side, placing himself out of frame for this… creature of his to take center stage. His coiled-up form unraveled and poured out from the nook; a shadowy thing indeed, with an inner flame that burned hotter and brighter than Vargas's. All those toxic eyes were locked solidly on her, set on bony ridges. They betrayed no feeling of fear, of rage—nothing predictable.. Despite his head reaching up to only her elbows and his stopping yards off, Draconua lowered herself some to snap in his general direction. It was a half-hearted and distracted gesture, at best.

Slinking, strong, impulsive—this was a familiar sight. Grasping claws and rending teeth, venomous quills and blood. All that kept Nidhogg from being completely impressive was size; yet, he had an advantage over many of the "new generation" that she'd seen. They would not stand a chance against such a thing. Perfect for the purposes of an army, yes?

The Sleepless Chaos twitched back into motion, briefly stumped by how do I become the size of a school bus?: "perhaps. Have you used His—the Creator's—magic before? Wreaked havoc in His name? He might favor your form, then." Then, perhaps, Nidhogg could be made to be so large—if that were even within His range of ability. Draconua did not doubt this.

For training, she took a rattling breath and grinned more wickedly, "how to destroy any shred of Order you find."

She tipped her head up and down, scanning the beast yet again, "fight?" A grin. Hussaresque wings spread out from her flanks. Coarse hairs bristled as she straightened to an even more imposing silhouette. Her voice came in a low rumble: "show me what you have, then."

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas remained a tad back, silent. He observed.

No one had truly trained Draconua; would she somehow grasp how to train others, in turn? Would common sense be enough--did she have common sense?

Were this one of his own champions, he'd have wandered off, left them to it. But he didn't know this one enough-... to trust her? No, that wasn't it; he wanted to observe. Granted, he didn't want to lose Chaos-One to something foolish, something not its own fault, something-

Ahh.

Ahh, it was about to attack her.

The snap was met with a halfhearted hiss, and forgotten just as quickly. Words were actually listened to, for once; where the others had demanded of him, this one... offered.

Offered something that echoed in his bones. That roared in his mind. Destroy-... Yeah, that sounded good. As for magic, he hesitated briefly. "Magic? No," he said bluntly; not really, at least. He'd tried, mostly failed, and generally just been a big pain in the ass to everyone around him.

Her offer to "show her what he'd got" was met with another moment's hesitation--the instinctive knowledge that Draconua was Way Too Big, that she'd obliterate him with but a swat of one massive forelimb. That she'd crush his back with a single bite. Then that old, familiar chaos rippled through him--savagery incarnate--and he darted toward her.

Only to skitter back, using his tail to sweep, with a slash like that of a hockey stick, whatever loose dirt and pebbles he could toward her face.

He had a split second inkling that this may have been a bad idea with the brief realization of: Are those even eyes-?--but there was no time, now, to undo it.

@Draconua

No? Draconua could demonstrate it for him, then. Perhaps, urge him to wear it. It would be so simple—yes?—to forsake control and evoke nothing but entropy in as many states as needed... An exchange of power over a grasp on oneself. The Sleepless Chaos had no baseline for what self-control was. All she'd known for five thousand years was this razor-thin border between herself and being completely unhinged, wrapped up in the heat of the moment.

When Nidhogg's tailswipe flung dirt into both her eyes and nostrils, she tumbled head-first over that line: an animalistic screech immediately tore from her throat, and she thrashed her head to one side. Eyes screwed tightly shut. For the moment, she was blinded.

Hussaresque wings spread wide, the claws and leather between them glistening in the light. They settled to be perpendicular to her flanks, and jabbed out at that uncomfortable angle. Of course, they were far too high up to even glance against the serpent's body—unless he was a fool and standing right in their way. No, most of her assault was focused on the spot she thought he may be in, or near. One eye eked open, burning with dust, and through the blurred sight... there.

A wicked tentacle erupted from the ground, slicked over with oil. It writhed in place a moment—almost like it were seizing—and then swung wildly for anything to grip. If it snared so much as a quill, then it whipped up and made to squeeze with a rabid sort of intensity; like a child vying to break a toy.

... it was a good thing Vargas was present to step in, if he... gauged it to be necessary.

@Vargas

Vargas didn't step in--just waiting to one side, leaving poor Nidhogg to absolutely fend for himself. He could've fought, screamed, scratched, but the powerful muscled oil-thing lashing out and gripping him sparked a different instinct.

A... questionable one.

The serpent twisted, a yelp escaping him at the squeeze of the thing. He was already learning, from this--he should've been ready, should've tried to dodge--but he'd make do.

Maybe.

"AHHHHH," he said, and then attempted to dig in: writhing in the grip of the tentacle, he thrust his jaws for it and tried to... eat it.

It wasn't a battle so much as a feast, if he had it his way.

And it was almost certainly corruptive.

@Draconua

listen idk

He was... eating the tentacle?

It threw Draconua for a loop—she was instantly snapped out of her chaotic impulses. A step she'd meant to make to advance on the serpent came to a stuttering halt. Every one of her eyes blinked in slow waves (though it wasn't visible.) All her thoughts pointed in the same direction: what?

Before, on the fields of war, many a creature had been caught her Oilslicked grip and used any means necessary to find release. They clawed, writhed, bit—the whole nine yards. None had ever tried to just consume it like it were a prey item; much less succeeded in that endeavor.

She was... kind of impressed.

The call for seriousness manifested again, though, as the profaned beast recoiled and lost its stability. Her grasp on it waned, and it was mere moments before Nidhogg would (maybe) set his sights back on her. The Sleepless Chaos was not intimidated by him, but she was here to demonstrate.

Allowing the tentacle to decompose the rest of the way, she spread her wings out and rattled, "stop that." Claws flexed while she reared up. Pinhole eyes fixed on the newly-formed puddle of Oil and she brought a crushing weight onto it; whether or not Nidhogg was in the crossfire. One cannot bite air, right?

Except, nothing intentional came of it. Not even a gentle stirring of the breeze where she'd intended. No, a crushing grip smashed her wings against her flanks, fell upon her shoulders with such a ferocity that she thought they could have broken. Draconua squirmed in place against it, sputtering quietly—then, masking it with a furious roar.

A pretense of posturing, if you will.

@Nidhogg

"STOP THAT."

Nidhogg looked up. Shreds of black-slicked flesh (was it flesh-?) hung ragged from his jaws, and he stared with blank intensity at Draconua, much the way a small dog caught in the midst of tearing up a toy might glance up: lost in his fun, but giving confused attention to the owner that it had--momentarily--forgot existed.

The roar had him flinching back, and he wriggled and spat out his mouthful.

He was here to be taught, and he was a little shit, and so he reared back and opened his jaws to imitate the roar--even to surpass it, if he could. Black jaws opened, light glinting across rows of small and jagged teeth.

What came out sounded more a sarcastic mockery than imitation, though that hadn't been Nidhogg's intent. He was just... really bad at roaring, apparently. It was a high-pitched word, its delivery almost dull, as though he were simply saying it aloud: "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

He squinted. That wasn't right. If there were awards for the least intimidating monster calls, Nidhogg had just come out on top. First prize, blue ribbon, center podium winner.

And then he struggled again, against the remains of the tentacle, hoping to drop to the ground.

@Draconua

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