After sleeping in Orion's ruins for a solid twenty hours, the monstrous hybrid slunk towards the core.

It still hated the vast openness of the room—there was no cover to speak of—so it wasted no time marveling at bioluminescent mosses and glimmering crystals. No, its focus was entirely on the cave's violaceous walls. Fetid green eyes roved across every nook and cranny it passed by. It hugged the outer edges, except where the crystal river was concerned. Then, it just prowled along the bank. Only when necessity called did it chance crossing the waters (and it did so by falling in and clawing its way up the opposite bank. No swimming done.)

So, the Place of Ascension was invaded by a sopping-wet kaiju. It halfheartedly shook the water from its quills and hide before prowling up.

It considered, briefly: I should've gone back. If only to make it known where it was. Perhaps, to bring a companion as Pride had advised. Garnet-Delta was in charge in its absence—let the thing get a taste of Overseerhood without taking its body—and would handle things, but that didn't account for it Alpha wound up dead and rotting.

"EMUH," it barked.

Rather than charge in headfirst, the monstrous hybrid lifted its head and ground out, "what's this? What are you?" Another creature like the Merchant? A master hidden from sight? Some scorned beast made to empower a rebellion? Alpha cast out its magic, feeling out for anything that might be in this cave.

It braced itself for assault, and it waited.

"WHO IS THERE?" and then, a cackle.

The rustle of wings was near-silent, only the stiff quills giving away Emuh's approach. The owl-beast landed before Orthoclase-Alpha, looking it dead in the eyes, its toxic gaze a mirror of the Overseer's own. A crackling aura, shifting with embers, changed: slipping neatly to a dark black and red, and then, with a tilt of the beast's head, to faint and shimmering gold. "Oh, which will it be? WHICH?" and another shift, talons scraping over stone. "OR IS IT HERE FOR THIS?" and the aura changed again, to a light glow that swarmed around it--and again, deepening into black shadows.

"Come for a trial, have you?! WHICH WILL EMUH GIVE?" it asked. A ruffle of feathers, a narrowing of eyes, and another question--or, at least, clarification of the first: "Is it here to test its claws and muscles--or to ascend its magic? It isn't STRONG ENOUGH for that," it added, and another cackle rang out along the end of its words.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Red flooded its vision without a sound, and the orthoclase blinked to find its eyes meeting Emuh's. It balked, shuffled back one step and then straightened up. Quills flared once as it lifted its head as high as it'd go—so it could look at least somewhat confident as it spoke, "Overseer Orthoclase-Alpha." Simple, clean, harsh... effective, it hoped. Did this beast care for titles and ranks? Alpha could not have known. In any case, it... lacked the gravitas to throw that rank around, still so uncertain of its own permissions and apparent freedom to choose for itself.

(Even now, it was panicking with the thought that it should have asked its Master for permission before coming here, or even leaving Draco.)

It stared back, narrowing its eyes—but, found its gaze wandering to the shift of feathers and magic crawling over them. Alpha shifted its weight to either foot and steeled itself against—

"It isn't STRONG ENOUGH for that."

—a growl stuttered out from between its teeth. Perhaps the owl-beast had meant its magical prowess was weak, but magic was core to one's being. Any insult to that was an insult to it. Hooked talons curled into the earth, and it started to pace. "Claws and muscles," it hissed lowly, "test my strength. I'll tear through you or anything else."

Pride was one hell of a vice.

Then, it lowered its head and grunted more quietly, "what happens if I pass your trial, then?"

"WHOSE OVERSEER? -WHOSE? WHOSE?" A cackle from the owl-beast, then. "YOU TRANSCEND." And then it was gone: a silent flutter, spines and glow fading into the shadows of the little cave.

The terrain transformed: the earth rippling ever-so-subtly, a few spines lifting in pointed threat and narrow chasms cracking apart to from deadly pitfalls. The darkness deepened.

Then, the cave when silent. There was a quiet scuffling from somewhere beyond, in the depths of the room, beyond the first chasm: a low growl stuttering out from between some other creature's teeth, as if in answer to Orthoclase-Alpha's own sound. An echo of it, a warning, a threat.

The glow of four toxic eyes slowly opened from beyond, slinking along, watching Orthoclase from its hidden haunt.

From somewhere disembodied, location unknown, the voice of Emuh called down. "Prove yourself, then! Or LEAVE. Emuh is not here to waste time on the weak!"

@Orthoclase-Alpha

"Master Vargas's," it growled just as Emuh went, then again; "YOU TRANSCEND" was hardly an useful response.

The dim cavern shifted—Pride had been right about this—and brought up stalactites and breaks in the ground. Alpha halfheartedly kicked a pebble to the side. It was at least a few seconds before the thing made a distant noise of impact. It cast its gaze back forward, quills rattling at the sound of another beast. Was it familiar? The orthoclase did not know. It coiled up like a spring all the same, every muscle tense as it gripped the stone and padded forward.

Leaving wasn't an option, now. It would stand its ground and scan its surroundings. Toxic eyes slunk across the way, but they were nowhere near bright enough to illuminate the rest of the beast attached to them. Alpha tucked its chin in, glancing side to side and reaching for its magic again. It attempted to discern what that was, and if any other creatures lay in the wings, stalking up on it.

It would not be caught unawares, if it could avoid it.

What would it be like, to look into the mirror-? For a monster that seemed to half hate itself, to find its perfect twin suddenly slipping from the shadows, identical down to replicated scars?

It had the same empty, focused face. The same perhaps half-constipated look, like it couldn't gesture with its lips, like it was intent purely on first using magic--yet humor aside it was an immense predator, all shell and claw and muscled sinew.

It had blood, and perhaps that was the strange thing: whatever this thing was, it was alive, and its blood held the perfect, replicated shape of Orthoclase-Alpha, a bright pulse in the mind and magic of the original.

The creature did not, however, speak: it didn't ask if this was a test, or where Orthoclase had come from. It merely circled back into the dark, easily tracked by the beat of hot blood in its veins, drawing ever-closer in the shadows.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Out of the shadows and—what's that face staring back at it? A reflection like it'd caught in stray crystals and pools of water so many times; carefully inspected once in a while to gauge how well its scars weren't were healing and going away. The only thing that knew all its vulnerabilities was the Alpha past a reflection. Usually, a pane divided the two.

The orthoclase went stock-still as it watched a… copy of it slink in and out of the shade. A copy, solid and real. It did have blood and the tracings of its entire frame. Six limbs, claws, an endless mess of quills. Long torso, rudder tail. Four glowing eyes, staring hollowly and emptily at it. Completely unengaged with it all except to steadily move closer like a circling shark awaiting the first drop of blood.

Forcing itself into movement felt like clawing out of a statue, or an immense pile of rubble. Alpha shifted in starts and stops, taking lurching steps away from the dim light. The glow of its eyes passed over the stalagmites as it padded forward. Closer, closer—and it thought, it has my body. Phantom pains from being forced out its own form throbbed through it. The same shape. Same eyes. Same face. Moves the same way, I think. It stayed its course even as it concluded: I don't like this.

It wound up tighter and tighter as it stalked forth, expecting a surprise assault. Magic flooded towards its fangs. Did Vargas make another— no, he would've said something. He would've lied. Useless, pitiful thing. Another Master, then… ? It couldn't conceptualize the presence of another.

"Who are you?" it barked, spittle running off its jaw, "state your designation!"

Paralytic venom coalesced in its canines, but it was a weak dose; perhaps too weak to be effective against... this other orthoclase. Alpha was not aware of this fact. It was too focused on its halting approach.

Four toxic eyes narrowed at the words, and in a sudden, violent rush, the other 'Orthoclase' bounded for the real thing. Even in motion it was identical, each surge of muscle beneath the carapace the same; and somewhere in the distance the owlbeast Emuh was laughing. The quiet cackles carried, even as this doppelgänger rushed in for a body slam: an attempt to knock the other Orthoclase off its feet entirely.

It offered no words: only violence.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Words met with violence—it should've guessed. That was the language it spoke, too. Inarticulate, but so expressive. The orthoclase's heart jumped into its throat all the same; looking yourself in the eyes and watching as the reflection jumped at you sparked a fear in you. It was uncanny. I don't like this, flicked through its headspace again, and it braced itself to stand its ground.

Emuh's cackling laughter rang around its head. This is a joke, it realized. It was being toyed with.

Once it'd dealt with the beast rushing toward it, it'd seek out that damn bird next. How dare it? Some sick thrill?

Claws curled against the rock, limbs spreading wide and distributing weight. Every single part of it would be steady if it could help it. Alpha didn't dare to move until the second before impact, where it lurched up to intercept its enemy's momentum. Forearms swept the side—there was no need to break them by smashing them between two bodies—and it lifted its head up to put them chest-to-chest.

No matter how successful it was in halting the assault, it felt all two tons of weight smash through its frame.

The cackling halted, and somewhere in the distance was the sense that attention was being paid. A mutter, far-off, but what it said was unclear past the clashing of bodies, the slam of weighted carapace and claws.

Snarls rang, more quiet huffs of strain than anything so much as threat. And the other-Orthoclase, stymied in inflicting any real damage, instead dropped its head--four legs scrabbling at the floor, two struggling to bear-hug the beast before it--and aimed all those little jagged needle-teeth for the point beneath the real Orthoclase's jaw. Quills or not, it seemed to know its own body, and where to strike to cause the most damage--the question was, who would get there first?

1/3

@Orthoclase-Alpha