Biotheurge 00 Hatching

There was no fanfare, no ceremony that accompanied the hatching-day for Anathema Scalesbane's misbegotten brood. The Seekers had sought, the mage-labs had produced, and the Goddess of Balefire was appeased. The eggs she had borne had numbered six. Now there were dozens of spherical eggs half-buried in the Forward Cavern, their sickly-hued shells looking like diseased bone under the red-brown sand.

There was no knowing what the Red Demon himself thought of the proceedings. His terrifying behavior had not changed in the least. Many of the candidates had encountered him, though somehow all had survived. The same could not be said, however, for one of Dritanys's lesser aides. A tycharis male, while transporting a batch of eggs from the mage-labs to the Cavern, had been set upon by the Demon and unable to flee, considering his burden.

Neither aide nor eggs had survived the meeting. Did the Demon disprove of his progeny? Had he answered Anathema's challenge only to force himself upon her? But if this were so, wouldn't he have strode into the Cavern and slaughtered the lot by now?

They were questions that had no answers, but Dritanys-sul-Raduskal was not particularly concerned about them. She just wanted these eggs hatched, their contents forced onto the gathered candidates, and mother and offspring gone from her ship. It was bad enough that she had one inexplicable entity plaguing the corridors of the Fate. She did not need any more. Even though Anathema had sworn, somewhat, that those of the Fate were now as allies to her and her offspring, it didn't mean Dritanys was any more comfortable with having the corrupt goddess around.

In an organized sweep that stood in stark contrast to the chaotic way the Chosen had been gathered (discounting the few who had been mad enough to come for the clutch voluntarily), the Custodians of the Chosen had gathered their charges and ushered them, one by one, into the teleporters of the Chosen's Deck, and then guided them into Cavern where Anathema's eggs awaited them. There the candidates were free to scatter as they wish, some clustering together, others standing as far apart as they could, some daring to stand very near to the eggs and their mother while others tried to hide back along the stony walls. Once all had been accounted for, the Custodians departed, leaving the Chosen alone.

A few, loitering by the entrances, immediately tried to flee back out into the corridors they had been led in through, but though the two available openings were as massive as the tunnels beyond, they found themselves barred. Runes upon the floor and all around the circumference of the gateways flared with an orange-red light at their approach and the would-be escapees found themselves barred as if by solid, invisible stone. There would be no leaving until they were permitted to leave.

There was no public audience. Not a physical one, anyhow. There were devices hidden in the cavern walls, some technological and others magical, that even now recorded the proceedings. Elsewhere on the ship, inhabitants and strangers alike could tune their holo-computers or scrying spheres to watch from a distance, but none could watch in person. The Cavern wards kept people out as much as they kept the Chosen in.

In contrast to the dozens of eggs and dozens of candidates, there were only five physical witnesses to the hatching. One was, of course, the foul brood's mother. Anathema lay stretched out on the sand among the eggs, well avoided by most of the candidates, who she surveyed with dark pleasure written clearly in her wild eyes. The "sky" of the cavern was bright with its magical sun, illuminating the cavern, but her balefire flames still managed to cast a sickly green glow over her nearest surroundings.

The next three were the goddess's mismatched attendants, who rarely left her side. One was a dragon black as pitch, but with a bizarre green glow about the edges of its form. Her name was Litobora and banked green flames wisped upon her back, from which Dritanys had seen the beast form a variety of appendages when she needed them: arms, wings, tentacles--even extra heads. The second was a three-headed gryphon, green at the fore and black behind, balefire burning from the tip of its tail to the crest of each head. He was Xaphan. The last was nothing more than balefire compressed into the small form of a creature called a "mequis". Urobach was just a pet to the goddess, mad as a March hare and uttering no noises beyond the occasional cackle.

The last of the five stood upon an elevated viewing platform, which had the appearance of a stony outcropping jutting from the cavern walls. There were no stairs by which to reach it and more tycharan runes had been carved around its rim. Dritanys had arrived on the platform directly via another teleporter and would stand as the sole native spectator to the corrupt clutch. Usually others stood with her, her head assistant and the head of the mage-labs, but today Dritanys had bid them to stay away. Neither had complained. Chiaki did as it was bid, and Kednati had been reviled by how "imperfect" the eggs they'd recreated were. The spidery lab-witch was just as eager as Dritanys was to get these eggs hatched and gone.

With the candidates gathered, Anathema lowered her head and crooned something to her eggs, speaking to them in a corrupt language that only twisted creatures such as they could understand. The spherical eggs began to shake in response and Anathema's three attendants wordlessly set to the task of clearing the sand away from those which had been most buried: Litobora and Xaphan shoveling sand away with careful forepaws, while Urobach dug at the sand in the same manner as a dog.

Anathema had declared her children would be known as "Balespawn", and each newborn released a cry of triumph and challenge as it shattered its prison. Each one was green in some shade or another, with balefire already burning on its back, with claws, spikes, and even teeth of a foul mottled brown. Their eyes, as strangely green-on-red as their mother's, looked eagerly to their surroundings and to the candidates who waited there. But no hatchling moved towards the Chosen. Instead, they gathered around their mother and, one at a time, were gathered to her chest to be bathed and whispered to in that strange, corrupt language.

Dritanys knew not what the goddess told each one. She probably didn't want to know.

There were so many Balespawn, the process seemed to take forever, but there was nothing to do but wait. Finally, when the last had hatched and the last had been tended to, all the green-red eyes turned upon the Chosen.

"They are yours, children," Anathema said with a purr, eyes narrowing with anticipation. "Do as you wish."

The fiery green horde moved out like an army. Only one remained by her mother's side, swollen with pride as she sat by the goddess as Anathema's chosen one.

The Balespawn moved among the candidates like prospective buyers at a horse auction. There was no squabbling among the siblings but they eyed the collected Chosen with critical eyes, many snapping and lunging at the candidates to see how they'd react. Some of the candidates held their ground, much to their credit. Others yelped and jumped away, and Dritanys rather expected those to be torn to shreds, but was surprised to see the fearful ones were only hounded for a while, as if for entertainment, and then left alone.

Then the choices started to be made. Dritanys heard not a thing, as it seemed the Balespawn chose to speak on private lines of telepathy, but there was no mistaking the way one of Anathema's get would at last settle its attention on one candidate and no other. Then as each choice was made, the new bond was herded towards Anathema herself to be introduced, and then to the low tables behind the goddess where bloody meat awaited consumption. Dritanys didn't know if the little godspawn needed to eat, but each set to the meal with relish nonetheless.

Skrrrrrt.

In the relative silence that accompanied the many Balespawn methodically selecting their bonds, Dritanys heard that telltale sound all too easily. Her gaze snapped away from trying to track the many godlings and instead looked to the rune-encircled entrance across the Cavern from her platform.

Skrrrrrrrrt.

The screech of metal upon metal.

Skrrrrrrrrrrrt.

The dragging of a heavy sword.

Skrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt.

The light in the cavern began to fade, but not as if darkness encroached. The "sun" of the overhead sky burned no less brightly, but everything around it still began to suffer a lack of illumination. The cavern began to go dim.

Skrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt.

The movement upon the sands slowly ceased as distracted ears, and those not as familiar with the sound as Dritanys was, finally heard it.

Skrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt.

Fear clasped a cold hand around the hearts of those who already knew what that sound and the increasing dim meant. One did not soon forget an encounter with the Red Demon.

It seemed the clutch's father would present himself after all.

Skrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt.

The cavern faded until it was dark as midnight, everything reduced to colorless greys. The magical sun was white-hot and blinding but cast no radiance, nor did the neon flames of the multitude of Balespawn cast their glow upon anything but the backs they burned upon.

The rank odor of blood and rust, each acrid smell so much like the other, flooded the mighty room, accompanying the dim as heralds to the Demon's approach.

Skrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt.

The tycharan runes around one of the entryways glowed red as heart-blood as the Red Demon's masked countenance at last loomed out of the dim. The plume of his helmet seemed to brush the stony ceiling, far above any candidate's head. It was the largest Dritanys had ever seen him and it made her blood run cold.

Anathema didn't look too pleased, either. The corrupt goddess had surged to her feet and her glowing eyes were wide, wings half spread as if she were preparing to flee. So, she was not as unafraid of the Demon as her first mad encounter had suggested.

A mighty hand, the one that did not forever drag his heavy sword, lifted towards the invisible barrier that blocked both entry and egress. Dritanys shuddered as she watched her runes go out as quickly as snuffed candles, and started to back towards the teleporter upon her platform, preparing to beat a hasty retreat.

As the Demon hauled his bulk into the cavern, chaos erupted. There was no shame in fearing such an abomination, and the terror he caused in all the gathered hearts was soul-instinctive. Yet bonded or not, many of the candidates bolted for the entryway on the other end of the cavern--only to find the runes there still flared and blocked their escape. Dritanys heard many of them howl to be let out.

Others were too terrified to even move, or perhaps they thought they could escape being noticed if they pressed themselves against the walls as tightly as they did.

And then there were those that approached. Dritanys's sharp eyes could see them tremble, even elevated and at a distance, but they still approached: some of the Balespawn, the Demon's accursed get.

Once wholly inside the massive cavern, the runes behind him flaring in their futile barrier once more, Red Demon's crested head turned down to the pack of godspawn who had somehow seized the reins of the fear even they felt. Though the Balespawn were corrupt and powerful, they were not of the same essence of anti that their father was.

"Father," some of them whispered, while others only chirped softly, like little chicks.

The Red Demon was very still. Then the cavern vibrated, as if a mighty bass beat trembled throughout the whole of the ship from bow to stern, a strange not-sound that emanated from the towering monstrosity himself as he bent towards his brave progeny with hand outstretched.

Encouraged, several of them leapt into the offered palm, their flames casting light upon skin that was in fact not red, but white--simply layered with discolored taint and ancient blood of origins unknown. Anathema trembled visibly and Dritanys watched in fascination as the Demon examined his offspring.

Then suddenly their young voices shrieked a discordant choir of pain as the whole lot of them...unmade. Rapidly, but not so much that Dritanys couldn't see it happen, their young bodies warped and contorted. They screeched in otherworldly pain as they became as all the other cursed beings that had survived the touch of the Demon upon the very essences that made them. Their flesh discolored, tore apart with lesions, sprouted boils and blemishes of inflamed hues. Joints bent backwards, limbs drew out to distortion, others split or sprouted or withered away.

They became as mockeries to what they had been born to be, and the Demon poured them from his hand like discarded shells. Then the Red Demon lifted his head and looked around, hand reaching out for more.

Now the Balespawn fled.

"No!" Anathema howled, lunging forward as any mother would to defend her young. Her eyes were wild with fury, grief, and terror. In the dim she was nothing but a balefire-streaked shadow, flanked by the larger two of her three attendants, who similarly blazed but illuminated nothing.

Dritanys leapt onto her teleporter and fled, leaving Chosen and godspawn to their Demon-brought fate.

The Demon turned towards his assailants slowly, or perhaps it was only soul-deep fear that slowed what the eyes saw before them. His fanged mouth opened in a screech no other could voice, echoing off the walls and tearing apart the fragile threads of sanity, and Anathema recoiled in visible terror.

The Queen of Corruption was but a pawn against the Red Demon.

Anathema scrabbled on the sand to check her momentum, and barely managed to dive aside when the Demon suddenly swung his sword around, cutting a slow but nevertheless lethal path through the air. Her attendants similarly bolted away, knocking Balespawn and candidates alike with their feet and bodies as they became as intent on fleeing as everyone else.

The balefire goddess dove back across the sand, snatched her chosen heir up in her jaws, and vanished in a burst of green flame. Xaphan, witnessing this, vanished similarly. Litobora paused only long enough to snatch tiny Urobach up in a balefire claw before she, too, teleported away.

With nothing in the world that could protect them, and no way to escape, the candidates and Balespawn were trapped with the Demon.

Some screamed. Others cried. Prayed. Pleaded. Went numb and senseless with their fear. Magic-wielders tore at the runes that walled them in with every spell they knew, to no avail.

And the Demon walked among them.

Only one escaped of his own doing: a godling himself, Hisoki, registered as a candidate only as a formality, saw the girl he stalked and her new bond both squashed by the Demon's sword. Disappointment and frustration would come later. For now he just wanted to bow to the Demon's presence and disappear--which he did. He did not know why the greater being acted as it did, but he had no reason to stick around and find out.

The others had no choice. They did what they could to avoid the Demon, running from one end of the giant cavern to the other, pressing against the walls, even trying to bury themselves until the dark sand to avoid his notice. But their numbers thinned, by sword and by defiling touch, and none could escape.

It seemed like an eternity before the Red Demon finally stopped, dropping his sword back to the sand. Blood had been spilled in immeasurable quantity and countless were the malformed bodies, candidate and Balespawn alike, that writhed in the dark sand. But the Demon did stop.

He left the way he had come, taking fear, dim, and foul odors with him.

When Dritanys at last returned, she found only a fraction of survivors remained. Of the dozens of eggs and dozens of candidates and Chosen...only seventeen pairs remained alive and untouched, shivering among the carnage and suffering that--somehow--they had been spared.

Warily the Custodians returned, gathered the pairs, and took them back up to their rooms. Then some of Dritanys's mages arrived to collect the malformed creatures that were no longer what they had been. A series of spells purged the sands of blood and gore, readying them for the next clutch to be set there.

The survivors would never forget what they'd gone through, but those of the Fate only nodded to themselves with grim solemnity and resumed their duties.

As it always was, the Demon's motivations would forever remain a mystery.