Graphic (gore)

Nemean. Her named burned into his mind, pressing him to increase his pace and hurry down the incline that led to Fornax. He didn't know where she would be—she had a penchant to be everywhere she didn't need to be—but he could start with some guesses. First, the throne; he knew she liked to fancy herself there, but it was empty. Rightfully so. Second, the dilapidated city; but this was another dead end. Next he ventured through Tunnel K, betting he'd find her in her old mainstay of the mass grave. It was her born duty and so she'd return to Canis out of habit, instinct; it was where she belonged, even if she far preferred the glittering beauty of Orion instead.

Stopping outside of the Chambers, he lifted his nose to sniff—he could follow her boisterous magic just from its stench. He altered course, following the presence of her magic away from the Chambers and toward the West Wall. His footfalls splashed loudly in the shallow water that fell into the divots of ancient paths, his eyes scanning for her glittering light. It did not take too long to find her, sparkling and chittering with laughter near the hulking body of the Overseer, Vargas.

She turned to greet him, floating in the air, but Astraea yanked his head, throwing the topaz onto the ground. It clattered to a halt near Vargas' claws.

"Hah," squeaked Nemean's voice. "Who's this?"

"Aetius," he replied coldly.

"That's my—er, was my servant!" Her voice feigned sadness and shock; but in truth, she was hurt. She had just gained that servant!! How dare he! "Why!"

"Why did you reveal any kind of information to her!?" he growled, "Particularly—"

"WHAT!" Nemean's voice was shrill. "I told her she would definitely die if she told you, hahaha!" Her arms crossed over her belly and she erupted into loud, annoying laughter. She continued laughing, snorting, wiping tears from her eyes—

Did she think the situation was so funny? Astraea's eyes turned to slits, his ears pinning against his head as he stared at her with all the hate his heart could muster.

Her laughter cut out in a pained squeal and the fluttering of her wings stopped abruptly, her tiny body plummeting into the ground. She writhed and screeched, clawing at her arms as her skin boiled and spit, her own magic fighting the spores as they swam through her flesh.

"STOP!! MAKE IT STOP!!" she cried, her voice breaking into an ear-piercing scream, her body bloody and foul smelling; Pink Smithsonite began to crystallize at random parts of her body, where the necrosis had already revealed bone or organs. Thankfully for Nemean, she was not a large creature.

"No." His voice was cold, final; without even a passing look to Vargas, Astraea turned to leave, a smile growing from his angered frown. Behind him, Nemean continued to cry out in pain until her voice was muffled by her chrysalis.

(Astraea attempted exit, unless Vargas tries to stop him.)

Vargas had been listening, a grin seeming to be twisted onto his rigid-skinned face. Nemean's company was always amusing; they shared a sense of humor, at the very least.

When the clicking of Astraea's hooves came near, he turned, listening. They were the Masters; he wouldn't get involved in a debate between them. The atmosphere shifted, tangibly colder, dangerous--though Nemean seemed not to notice. But they were both Masters; he supposed she held no fear of her own colleague. Vargas twitched in slight surprise as the gemstone clattered to his claws. He peered down at it, then sat back a little--quiet, respectfully waiting for them to finish, though something about Astraea's demeanor had him uneasy.

He tried to follow the argument, if it could be called such. It was too fast, really; hardly a conversation at all. And before he could even get a grasp on it, Astraea's ears were pinning back, and his eyes were slits, and Vargas felt dread rise in him--and then, Nemean was screaming.

His massive head jerked, from watching Astraea to staring in dawning horror at Nemean. He stood, rapidly, jerking back a step--then forward, instinctively moving to aid his Master but-... How could he? I hold no power over this magic-... and it's not my place to interfere, he thought grimly, though it was barely a buzz past the shock that roiled through him.

He'd known that the caves were in disarray; he'd seen arguments before, of course, but-... Vargas jerked his head back to stare at Astraea; the stag was already retreating, Nemean's begging for release muffled by her gemstone.

He did not speak.

He did not move.

He remained, frozen, in the deathly silence that seemed to fall. Nemean's laughter was silenced, and the Overseer had no idea what he was meant to do now.

What the hell information did she reveal..? he wondered, in horror.

He turned back, blinking six acidic green eyes down at the tiny chrysalis. And this, at least, brought him back to himself, reminded him of his duties. Carefully, before the gemstone had fused with the rock beneath, he scooted it under an overhang--under shelter--and then went about gathering pebbles and the like to hide its location. Swearing to himself, he memorized its location; he'd have to guard her as she was reborn.

But holy shit. Astraea... what has happened? he thought, but did not say--the deer, anyway, was long gone.

He resolved to ask Nemean what had happened, once she woke--if she woke--but until then, he had his servants to see to. Astraea had killed Nemean's, it seemed; it was time to ensure that his were reminded to be respectful, lest this happen again. Careful, and almost as an afterthought, he picked up the nearly-shattered topaz from the ground. He folded this into his palm.

He would take it with him, as a warning--and an example.

exit Vargas