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This post contains potentially sensitive material:

strong language

Most watched on in horror, disgust, shock.

Garnet-Delta, however, perfectly invisible to the natural eye (though certainly not to magic) watched with awe. The promise their Lord offered, cradled like a warm flame to its chest. Its own eyes widened, magic flaring, as the shadows came to life-- it wanted to see what that thing was, to get a good look through the darkness and see it slaughter.

If that was what it was, to be a weapon, to be able to rend and destroy and be an Instrument of the Lord, oh how badly did Garnet-Delta find itself wishing to be apart of that symphony. Certainly, it was a bit jarring; instinct made its fur stand on end, a tiny hiss parting through its teeth at the darkness that swallowed a life whole and spat out skin... but.

Should that be the fate that awaited a loyal servant, to become something that... efficient, and powerful... It perhaps would like to remain able to lounge on a warm rock once and a while, sure, but fuck! Garnet-Delta wished it could watch that scene again and again and again. Hell, it wanted someone else to speak out of turn.

Claws dug into the stone. Invisible eyes flicked to Kethri, watching the wide-eyed, hopeless look with delight. It focused back on the Lord and her world-ender, and found itself with the softest purr starting in its chest.

Khavur still had yet to gain a scintilla of a clue as to what was happening here. If only a ray of a hint could hit any one of its two heads, that would be great, thanks. But alas, the double-headed draconic beast was left with blankness and void. First, it saw... hatching. Creation. Like it and its siblings. A naming, of its own self, unlike anything Khavur had ever witnessed before. That brought it back to perilous, impervious void. Then, a burst of sound disrupted that obstinate void; sound that seemed to morph into patterns, words, but the words were unintelligible to the Reaver of the Dark Above. Then came another sound, in reaction to the first, that managed to pierce that void of unknowing. Laughter. It was... the strangest and most twisted laughter Khavur could've ever imagined coming from a living creature with a soul.

Khavur's large-horned head had its mouth clamped shut, but the small-horned head giggled along... quietly. Idly. Like a dull and mindless mimicry rather than a truly meaningful addition to whatever joke was being laughed at.

When the laughter stopped, the left-horned head went quiet too. Then there was listening, much listening to be done, as a declaration of some sort was made. Khavur had no idea that there was another entity it was to serve besides Master Big Purple Friend. It seemed like now Khavur was not only meant to know, but also to question who. Fortunately, it also seemed like their Lord was providing answers... for free! Khavur wouldn't have been able to answer otherwise, not even a guess could've been made! So it listened gleefully to that answer.

The noise-- or, more so the attitude of its maker was what they were all to aim for; to be the firearm for their Lord's hand to shoot from. So they must be meant to serve... their Lord? To serve the Chaos that desired their destructive capabilities, the havoc they could wreak. Right? But then, if they were all meant to do this, would they also be treated to a vicious and gruesome death, like the sound-maker there? Khavur had watched it, yes, unsure of how to react. The motion of it all made Khavur's survival instincts (magnanimously bestowed upon it by its creator) leap and scream, but its mind was just... blank as ever, confused if anything. Master Big Purple Friend (yes, Khavur knew it was Vargas, but it much preferred this misnomer) never did anything like that to the brood for doing what he wanted.

So then... why did their Lord?

Magic reached out. Khavur's craving for understanding often had this consequence. But it had never done this before.

"I'm confused." It was nothing but a whisper from that large-horned head, but it still ran a shock down Khavur's entire body. Why had it said it? Its emotions, laid bare. The compulsion had been so strong. And now, to boot, both of its heads felt... itchy. But on the inside, somewhere Khavur couldn't scratch.

The coil of Khavur's tail around its body tightened momentarily, its fear gripping it and clenching its whole body fast. But it didn't feel a need to blurt out that emotion anymore, and that was what caused the fog to remain in its mind. It still did not understand, and now it understood less.

Great.

Nidhogg was that puppy struggling to get out of its owners arms. It was that child, racing around its parents legs to run right into trouble. It was the kitten clawing at the hands that held it.

It was the black child monster bounding two steps past Alpha to watch, wide-eyed and rapt, the scene unfolding before it. It quickly lost interest in Mary, bar to briefly wonder if it could hunt her, kill her, but it was not experienced in these sorts of things yet so this was but a passing instinct, without real thought to it. It was when Scout began shouting that Nidhogg's interest was truly piqued.

It could not understand much, in life.

It could understand LOUD NOISES.

When Scout started shouting, it lifted its own voice in a tentative, sing-song screech to try and match her, though for the most part it was background noise. "AhhhHAAAAaaaAAA... AAAA? Aaaaa..." But when Lord Dhracia began her cackling, Nidhogg's attention snapped to her like a whip. "AAAAAAAAAA-AAA-AAAAA!" it shrilled (unless someone clamped its jaws shut); half-imitating, half-thrilling along, like a dog pup howling at a siren.

And when Scout started screaming, well--toxic eyes lit with interest and it struggled to get at her, to get to the darkness around her--not to help her but to... well, to join in, somehow. It didn't know enough to know what it might be getting into, only that this called to it. Its bestial shrieks became a constant screech, its struggles to approach, stronger.

This was...

This was...

This was something that it should be involved in. Something that it wanted to be involved in.

And that's all that Nidhogg knew.

Doctor had watched the rest with curiosity.

A child hatched: very well; interesting, but nothing particularly spectacular. He had to admit to himself surprise--and interest--that a pudgy, pale toddler was the creature Vargas had been so carefully protecting. Lord Dhracia herself was of interest to him, but perhaps not as much as for the others; his was a clinical detachment as he subtly studied her. What made her different-? Did she have more powerful magic, or was it a matter of political standing--of hierarchy? Both, perhaps-? Was she related to the human he had worked with? (She looked it, though... different, too; her feet were not unlike his own, he saw.)

Of course, when Scout had vaulted into her tirade's he'd spoken: and that brought him to the here and now, pulling back against the stone, watching as Dhracia broke into cackling laughter. Fear trickled through him, but with it came that same curiosity, that same ravenous scientific interest. What would happen? Had Lord Dhracia been provoked? Were her words culminating to a point, or were they a mad rant launched from a loss of control out of anger?

And what was this shadowy stuff slithering across the rock..?

Doctor's eye widened, and he went quite still. Tentative, he reached his magic forth, searching for resonance: what was this magic? What was it doing? When Scout was engulfed--still rearing out of it to fire off her last, admirable-and-mad words of defiance, Doctor shuffled a hesitant, quick step backward. But his interest... His interest spiked higher. She was screaming, yes: in pain, then. -Dying? What was the shadow doing; what was it capable of doing? What wouuld the effects be, if it were stopped halfway? COULD it be stopped, and if so, by what means? Could whatever damage was inflicted be reversed-...

The shadows pulled back, leaving only a skin, and Doctor found himself with twinned horror and fascination leaving him frozen in place.

What has that sort of power..? he wondered--and then looked to Dhracia. Ahh... she does-... But why? How? His mind flickered, his eye going back to Scout's hide and stone, and he wondered how the mechanics of it worked. He took a hopping step toward it, to get a better look, pausing--still a couple yards off--to study it.

this is entirely too gratuitous and plentiful of a post,
feel free to ignore these like, 700 words of alpha feeling things and real bad
The cradle split, the creature within pushing at the curtains like they were just a mere hindrance. Fat-fingered, round-armed, pudgy; faintly fuzzed atop the head like Beatris and Two had been.

But, there was no explosive surge of energy with the emergence like Alpha half-expected after such a wait. Certainly, Oil was purged and scattered across the earth, but that already was seeping into the earth; but the world did not crumple and yield immediately for this spawn - this... world-ender. This creation that Vargas had been enlisted for; perhaps even made a Master to create... ? It was... pathetic.

It couldn't do the math to understand how such a pitiful thing could succeed in whatever task the Lord placed before it. Selenite shifted next to it, staring from beneath a cage of quills and limbs and seeming infinitely more capable of whatever was necessary. It was a clumsy thing yet, but it was not blind, and it would grow because it had not been Created in the same way as Khavur had. This creature hadn't emerged fully-grown... or had it... ? Would it stay so small forever... ?

Alpha kept its mouth shut.

Shut even through Scout's initial outburst - it was too busy formulating a response if confronted about bringing such a stupid beast into their Tunnel. Doctor assuaged things as best he could, but it was the Lord, and She was laughing. Driven to (mad?) hysterics with every passing insult. Alpha gnashed its teeth, staring holes through the springbok and willing her to vanish. There was no expectation to work with, once She'd stopped laughing.

"I AM CHAOS, AND YOU ARE MY INSTRUMENTS OF EXECUTION!"
None at all to prepare it for all the flurry of color and voice that followed it. Some of those watching from behind it cowered at that poisonous voice, the carnage that weaved through Scout's being; others - Nidhogg - dove for the centerpiece, craving a piece of the action; Alpha... ? It remained solidly in place, too frozen in its shock, awe, terror to do anything else. It was too taken by a familiar compulsion to see only what She willed it to. There wasn't an order to simply stride forward, a gesture - demonstration. No, no - this was Command. It was destined for the Overseer to witness this, for its spawn to watch -

(One's own mortality - Gembound or not - was a terrible thing to witness at the behest of someone so powerful.)

- watch until there was nothing left, and Alpha took in the breath it didn't know it'd been depriving itself of. A disgusting pile lay on the floor, all stripped sinew and hide and horn. Quills rattled from behind it, and the Selenite flattened itself across the floor, knife clattering from the loose grip. The orthoclase fretted - it hadn't taught them to fear death like it did. Succeed, and they wouldn't be next. It gnashed its teeth again, gaze drifting towards the Lord and its Master, once again.

Because, just like Delta, it wasn't happy and content with this - this normalcy. This was the festering nest it'd fought to exist in: a terrific sepulcher of every sin ever committed, by it and every other beast before and after it. It wasn't -

was -

was, was.

No.

It wasn't sure. Of what? That this felt wrong. Why? The same as the Hole. Some internal sense - Chaos, writhing Chaos feeding into itself over and over -

Alpha's quills, at last, started prickling. They didn't rattle or anything of the like, but it was composure lost; a shield between the sudden turbulence its conscience stuttered through and Her dangerously shattered. All its vulnerabilities exposed for a fleeting second. For all it knew, that could be its last. Toxic eyes focused in with desperate intensity as it stiffened and simmered behind a pulled-taut face. It paid no mind to the spawn, now - it's own self was more important; it was Her tool to use, after all. A blade proven to have a cutting edge - or perhaps more like an axe... ?

What came from the chrysalis fascinated the child, from the first finger peeling through stone. The selenite shifted from where it had been crouched by its Overseer-parent, shakily rising to its feet to dance toward the wall and scale it with unsheathed claws. It shifted to put its improvised knife in its jaws, and looked away just long enough to seek handholds and hook its talons into the soft stone; even though it was a practiced-enough skill that it very well could have simply done so while watching... the proceedings go on.

It stared from its new vantage point, enraptured by the new addition - a clumsy, baby-fat-coated little thing, fleshy and pale but not in the same, sharp way as this Lord. They both had fingers and stood on two limbs, but She held wicked claws and poison that the hatchling did not. A treacherous little thought sparked in Selenite, then - sister. That Oily chrysalis had been there with them, unhatched as it was, then. Fresh, new, minuscule in that time.

Glimmering eyes drifted towards Dhracia. Mo- No... that wasn't right. Alpha was its mother - Zoisite said so, even though it was dangerous in the same jagged way as She was; no... not quite jagged, not like a knife. Selenite flattened itself against the wall, mouthing its own knife carefully. The baby was its sister; and it wanted to approach -

Oh, that's a lot of noise - what's taking it... ? Why can't it look away? No, nononono it wanted to go away, hide back again. Its knuckles popped with how hard it clutched at the stone, tail ramrod-straight behind it. The infant broke long enough to flounder back down to its Overseer-parent, barely peering around a leg while pressed belly-flat to the ground. It shuffled slightly, just enough to press against Zoisite's hide.

It couldn't bring itself to look at what was left after the carnage - it could only think of death and all the times it'd fancied cutting into flesh and sinew with nothing but its bare claws and teeth; and acting on them. Selenite hated it, feared it, worried it.

ohnoohnoohnoohnoOHNOOHNOOHNOOHNO

Labradorite had no idea what was happening, except that it was terrified and the hooved-creature was DEAD and it wanted to runhiderunhiderunhiderunrunrun.

All other gembound were shut out- forgotten, ignored in it’s panic. It didn’t care about it’s orders, and didn’t realize it might be putting itself in more danger by doing this, it just knew that it wanted to get somewhere safe- which was really anywhere but here.

So it bolted, still hugging the wall, weaving around any gembound that got in it’s way as it made a mad dash towards safety. It tripped over many things it probably shouldn't have, reckless in it's panic, but it was running pretty fast, and it would just be a straight line to the tunnel's exit, right?

is my tiredness obvious enough yet?
(au where everything is the same but i remember how to write hemlocke)

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

graphic themes

gore

Ignoring all generic reactions of astonishment and worry about the state of the all-important creature they'd held as a closely-guarded secret for two cycles now, Hemlocke was... enthralled in the most literal sense. Captured by the Lord's magic, forced to watch on as her wicked words spilled and darkness pooled all around to shred a stupid little beast to nothing but hide in moments.

The trials of Old, in all their savagery, had never been steeped in wretched, blatant horror like this. Hemlocke had seen its fellow runners swept up by Eyehooks in a single goring claw; had itself dismembered once or twice; its shell shattered and it left to barely breathe on the sands, only for it to survive on the charity of another runner and betray them just before the finish line - hah! There it was.

Ruby-red eyes glinted from its high-up vantage point as it all ended. Vindication thrummed through it, dribbling into that nasty cocktail that was the alien's most base tendencies. It'd survived thanks to betrayal and the stupidity of others. The pile of scraps on the floor was a victim, torn-to-shreds as a demonstration of how fleeting the Lord and Her amusement was; but it was perhaps sustenance enough. Enough to keep the rest of them alive, if they did well enough at simply watching.

What was one little hoof-beast in the long run, anyways? That had never mattered before.

Feathers fluffed, but it knew: in all its relegation to little but its duty to run until it inevitably expired, it knew this slaughter was of an Old way. The inevitability they were all made to test and prove as designs for. To continue in a future iteration, even though the magic that made your initial existence would be twisted into an unrecognizable state. Hemlocke... couldn't agree with the gratuitousness of it - the senseless violence to make a point, but it quailed in the face of authority.

Where would it be without? Named and determining its own fate? Hah... came the bitter thought, overwritten by a harsh HAH! A joke.

What was thought? What was feeling? How was Ruby-Beta supposed to look at this strange spectacle and form a reaction that made any kind of sense in its muddled, confused brain? How was it supposed to look at this child, who looked so much like those creatures that Vargas had been caring for, who were apparently the most important creatures in the caves, yet who also had an air of something else, who had taken up so much of Vargas's thoughts and efforts and even his fear, who stood under the Lord's gaze as if it were nothing, who garnered a reaction such as "It will suffice" from the tall woman that had pulled so much terror from Beta's heart?

How was it supposed to feel about this?

But it knew how to feel about Scout going off - shock and horror. Because nobody could speak to Master Vargas in that way and get away with it, not even speaking of this Lord that had such an air of power and authority. And even worse, when she started to laugh. Fear plagued Beta in that moment, just as it did Vargas because surely the Lord would destroy them all for this, as Vargas had warned she would should the spawn come out less then perfect.

But, instead, it just watched. Watched as the shadows devoured. Watched as they destroyed. And Beta wanted to be sick. It watched in horror indifferently as Scout was rendered to nothing before its eyes. It definitely didn't hear the Lord's words reverberating through its core. You are carnage that is MINE to wield! I AM CHAOS, AND YOU ARE MY INSTRUMENTS OF EXECUTION! No, that definitely wasn't something that it would dwell on in the coming days.

This was the price of rebellion? Or perhaps the price of stepping out of line? It didn't understand, though. The Lord had almost seemed like she had admired Scout's fire. How do I think? How do I feel?

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

gore

violence

The madness of it nourished her. Severing of flesh, snapping between final screamed words, cracking noise the champion of tumult--slick and wet--slurp, crunch, digest. The antelope's body was a writhing mass of worms beneath lifeless skin. When the monster was sated, it dripped oily onto the stone, gurgled across the floor and wrapped around the Lord's leg, leaving behind the fossil of what once was. A mangled banner of Disorder flown by an other--a self-chosen representative, sacrifice for a worthy cause. Outshining even the hounds of Disorder themselves in units of destruction. Lord Dhracia broke in laughter again. Now this, this was droll.

“YOU ARE ALL WORMS! This is you! Get used to it!” Lord Dhracia spilled over the pandemonium of gagging gembounds, screeching babes and fleeing cowards. Magic lashed around her, prone to the electrical exacerbation of her entropic presence. She laughed and laughed, and this--this was her showing restraint. But she had to get the message across somehow. Woe to the fool who accuses Lord Dhracia of slackery.

One of them probed recklessly at her stone, or maybe the meat surrounding it, which only tickled her because--now, wasn't this just the cherry on top--this was perhaps the only moment that Lord Dhracia was hiding nothing. She really thought this was hilarious, and still they were dubious--enough to venture into her metaphysical space to see what was really there. Oh, stop! You're putting me in stitches. So she gave them what they were looking for, took a hold of their grasping magic and pulled and let it snap back like elastic--

Khavur will feel an overwhelming sense of glee carrying a disturbing undercurrent of homicidal impulse.

And perhaps to accompany it, to betray that something had the nerve to even try to graze Lord Dhracia, another roll of heat surged through the room, nipping at the heels of those who fled and bearing down with deadly threat on those who hid.

Brisk steps vaulted her forward until she loomed over the remains of the antelope. A pity such a fine candidate for disruption had to be utilized this way, but such was the nature of unpredictable Chaos; there would always be better potential to come. Viscera shone and bubbled in cloven chunks, red and black. The rumpled skin with stick legs and empty hooves peered up at her, neck twisted into a sideways, fractured skull, crooked and shorn jaw with tongue limp. A solid dark red stood out from the mass--inorganic (but organic, in its own way) and smooth, the beast's reservoir clinging to strands of fascia and muscle. Lord Dhracia pinned the stone with a single long claw off her toe, grabbed the antelope's carcass by its horn, and separated the stone from the skin with a wet rip. The body hung in her hand. She tilted her head, peering down her nose at the stone under her toe.

“Desperate pieces of meat, all of you,” the Lord rolled this disappointment on her tongue, presenting with a thoughtful grin--this ominous extension of candidness. “But you have promise, some.” Some. The strong would rise up and devour the weak to become stronger. That was the way of Disorder--dismantle, consume, grow bigger, dismantle brighter. She bent down and plucked the dark red agate, smirked, and cast her eyes to her audience. The scene was sorely lacking in a spotlight; perhaps her next bone to pick. “None of you are truly alive until you accept His darkness. If you ever want to see what lies beyond this spawning chamber...”

What's that? A carrot?

You all have minds, and surely those minds have inquired. Didn't you wonder where the human and the hybrid came from?

“He is your only way out.”

They would have seen them, by now, she was sure. The dripping, oily beasts; not just the one she had wrapped around her wrist, but the dozens crawling the ceiling, the unfortunate souls trapped beneath the unnatural spire, or the ones who pledged themselves to Him on the altar. Become like Him. Open yourselves to His corruption, make yourselves His weapon, and you'll know worlds upon worlds beyond this one. Submit to Disorder's decay and know freedom in the forfeit of control.

Lord Dhracia turned back to Master Vargas.

Or.

Succumb to the infinite, cooling, freezing servitude of Order. Run to the Hive, who would give you constancy and certainty. Find your place in his lattice and disappear among his fractal geometry, just another glistening facet, just another vehicle for a microchip in the brain. Belong. Never be alone.

She stepped, precise and powerful with intent.

Or.

Resist either influence. Carve out a life of your own, at least, dare to. Thwart the devouring destruction that rippled out of the origins of this nest, stave off the infection of the brainwashing Hive, and live. Know freedom on your own terms. Be alive as though nothing had ever sought to warp the material of you in the first place.

Lord Dhracia extended her hand toward the Leviathan and dropped the stone from her palm into his.

“I am Lord Dhracia. The next time you lay eyes on me, you will bow,” she said over her shoulder to them--a cutting dismissal. She was done with them. Let them dwell, let them remember, let them hate, let them admire, let them choose. But there would never be peace in this nest as long as she had anything to do with it. It would never be lent a supporting hand to flourish under Disorder, or to serve under Order, or even to humble under Natural Order. All three forces were spun into this web by Lord Dhracia. And all three forces would resonate as the Lord plucked each to her liking.

Lord Dhracia was no God. But she had spent enough time watching them to know how to play the part.

The lights suddenly rattled. It was not her doing--it was beyond her, now. Something else was here. The flickering subsided.

She leered down at Mary, who was staring dumbly after the carnage. The hollowed carcass hanging from her fist evanesced into a mist of viscous black globs, another joining the collection under her stole. Bloodstained hands would steal the honor of breaking that virginal illusion of purity in Mary--livid red against her arms as Lord Dhracia picked her up, vibrant and intrusive gashes of colour against the deceptive paleness of her bomb's facade. With Mary at her hip, Lord Dhracia stepped toward the shelter of a ridge, beckoning the Leviathan. “Come, Master Vargas. We have business to discuss yet.”

Please allow Mary to post first, followed by Vargas.