- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas grunted. His hind legs were finally working again, and he pushed up onto all fours, regarding Draconua with a half-absent, thoughtful expression.

"You will have to tell me what you do know, then," he began, wondering: was she remade? She kept mentioning new bodies; was she not a new creation, then-?

"For now, know this: this place--you are in a cave system to serve as a nest of the Creator's armies. A birthing womb, and a training ground. From here they are created, tested, trained. From here they are taken to fight in His name."

Vargas paused to let this sink in, watching her with narrowed eyes. He was still tensed for potential attack, and the pain of her cauterization--and its success--was not lost on him. But he spoke regardless, believing her submission likely to be real. Still, he drew no closer, remaining distant from her as his magic again slithered up his limbs to tend to some of the damage she'd done.

"Some time ago there was a rebellion. Do not ask me how long--those of us unable to sustain, those of us who perished, slept." Vargas did not remember falling asleep, though he did remember others failing, falling, here and there. He knew, at least, that he had not died; that, he would remember. "Master turned against master until this nest was in shambles. Some escaped to the surface. Only recently did we begin to reawaken, but another magic--a latent, foreign magic--had begun..."--an absent gesture, as he searched for the right words--"taking over the potential waiting here. It has taken the raw material and formed it into creatures that do not belong to the Creator, though some still hold potential for their use. Those Masters who did awaken had not begun to return the nest to its intended purpose until I woke--I do not know why. I began to run the Trials again, and to test, and I have since been made Master, from Overseer. Draco--this Womb--has only now been reopened to us. Do you understand?" he asked, more slowly. "Do you understand that you waken in a place of the Creator's-... Creation?"

Would she grasp that-? That this wasn't a battlefield, or a place of war, but merely a starting point, for the rest of them?

"The Master's Hand has come to us recently, and we will have time to attempt to return the nest to working order. Do you understand that?" he added, head tilting. It held no real hidden meaning, but he wasn't sure how much would overwhelm Draconua--or how much she cared to listen to.

@Draconua

... what you do know, then. Combat, bloodshed, pandemonium... Anything that had already been referenced many times in past narrative pieces, she was intimately familiar with. Here? No...

Vargas spoke of nests, of training grounds, wombs—created, tested, trained. Her hide twitched painfully; from both another seizing of joints and stupefaction. Claws made dust of the smaller fragments of stone beneath her. There was no need for him to pause and let such a thing sink in—Draconua already had her retort, gone unsaid: "Why am I here? Her design had been unchanged life after life. Each awakening came with the exact same sense of self: the center of gravity; the gnashing teeth; the merciless points. There was no need to test her—she'd already been proven.

Everything became clearer as the Leviathan spoke—the clash of tooth and claw, arrow in Oilstone; foreign influences seeping in through the wreckage; disarray even after reawakening. Draconua's teeth bared in a wide grin. Reclamation was her purpose. Perhaps He or one of His own had placed her here to seed the disorder that had gone away. To ravage these testing grounds as punishment. The thought of it made her heart race.

Do you understand that? asked the Master, and yes, she did. Her faceplate jerked down minutely, as close to a nod as she could chance. She was to challenge these caves, raze them, spawn what disorder had been lost so that He reigned.

"I do," the Hound rattled, and answered at last, "I know nothing but Chaos." Her grin grew wider—she was certainly misunderstanding what returning the nest to working order meant—as she asked, "where would you point me, first?" Did villages—perhaps made of stone she could demolish—lie in this so-called nest? Constructed in a pitiful defense?

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Where would you point me first? Oh, now that was a question, and once that gave Vargas pause.

...A long pause, in fact.

As a Master, did he not command her? Was she not his, now, to give orders to? He eyed her, considering. "Go and find the Master Astraea," he began, slowly. "A deer-like being, covered in fungus. Ask him if he knows what your purpose was to be, and if that purpose can still be fulfilled. It may be that you were to be sent out among our enemies--in which case, you will remain here," he added, and this held the confidence of a command, "until Lord Dhracia returns to take you to them. In the meanwhile, there are... elements of Order, unwanted, in the cave." Inspiration struck, then, though not yet fully formed into coherent plans. "White fungus, infective, leaks it into our nest. You would be of most use seeking it out, and destroying those who would carry and spread it."

Vargas considered, looking around the half-shattered ruin between them.

"If our Lord does not remove you, if Astraea holds no knowledge of your purpose, then I would assign you to root out Order, to guard this womb, and to take the young with you to train them in your methods of destruction." Maybe she could teach Nidhogg to find and root out fungus; the thing seemed like it would be a keen and single-minded terror, but directing it to a purpose was... difficult, at best. "Your thoughts on this matter?" he asked, formal--but there was a demanding in his tone. As if the question, itself, were somehow a test.

@Draconua

No information was found when one plugged deer into Draconua's mind—but, covered in fungus was a distinct enough descriptor. She envisioned a powerful beast, formed of many teeth and claws like this one. Nothing like the real thing. With that, it might take some time for her to locate Astraea. Without that knowledge, the Hound was filled with a zealous sort of delight at even a chance of being taken out to battle once more. Her grin went manic.

It then morphed into a grimace. Order? Her base existence recoiled. Guarding this womb and doing any such thing with something called a young were secondary objectives—seeking out that wretched outsider influence was prioritized. While that prevailed—

Your thoughts on this matter? "Only that I would purge every scrap of Order from His nest," and she bared her teeth with grim determination. One of her hands snuck into view, if only to prod at the poorly-healed, shimmering-black wound on her neck. It stung. A vulnerability that could be exploited. Yet, the compulsions were mounting. An innate need to destroy at all costs. But, the Leviathan would neutralize her for reasons as-yet unknown to her.

One last seizure jerked through her chest, her shoulders quivering for a moment. That was the worst of it. A few day's time spent resting and, "none of it will survive."

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Silent, for a beat--not thinking, for her answer was a good one and a response required little thought. The pause was to gather himself past the rising pain of the burns that she'd inflicted.

"Good!" he boomed, after a moment. "Then I will go and tend to myself, and you to yourself and let us hope we needn't clash in the future, for that does not serve His designs!" Sternness. Faint annoyance. Amusement. All balled together with a little bit of disgust at the unnecessary situation. But he felt a little better, didn't he-? All that pent-up chaos, released, if only briefly.

Perhaps he'd have to take his minions to the fighting pits, from time to time. Perhaps it would do them some good, too.

"Find Astraea when you can, and find out if you held purpose, or perhaps Totum knows. We are done here," he added, and turned to half-stride, half-limp back to the rest of the Chaos Forge.

exit Vargas, unless stopped
@Draconua

The Leviathan's retort was a dismissal; more of for himself than her. Draconua offered no response to him but a nod and continued staring past her Cheshire grin. Once his violet form had hobbled—there goes another bit of pride—past the Black Spire, the Hound contorted herself to sweep the jagged earth of her hole. She lined either wall with her own Oilstone shards and curled up at the back. His embrace burned into her back, but she swore that it soothed every wound on her body.

Here, she'd fester for some time, bask in this oozing embrace for a while longer.

Claws raked briefly at the broken stone of the entrance before she retreated fully. It broke and pushed upwards to block most of the entrance once more; but this time it was intentional. She should not be disturbed. The Hound grinned even as she plunged herself back into warm, sticky darkness and laid down at last.

She did not sleep.

exit Draconua