Axis woke the next morning exactly six hours after lying down to sleep, a byproduct of both Watcher and spec ops training that he couldn’t shake. And for having found an unlocked storage compartment in the hangar to sleep in, he was remarkably less achy than he had initially thought he might be. No early morning brain fog rendered him slow and groggy, a more enjoyable benefit of the aforementioned training, but he still craved a drinking bowl of ahsahchah, as was his routine. The beverage was one of the few things Axis enjoyed about the Empire, being a native dragon drink more potent than human coffee and also significantly more biting in its bitter flavor. A staple of Machinery Naval breakfast, Axis had no doubt he would find it in any nearby officer’s mess hall.
He tested his injured leg, and found that while it still would aggressively disagree to bearing any weight, was not so sensitive as to require being held aloft. He cautiously slid open the door to the storage compartment and when sure their were no Navy personnel watching, slipped out and made his limping way off the hangar into the military quarter of the Palace. Where Axis was all but forced to rely on his lenses in the upper levels of the Palace for their insistence on inefficient Royal architectural tendencies, down in the military quarter, everything was in the same standard arrangement as a dragon would find onboard a Ridley-class cruiser. Gray durastone walls, high but not multi-level ceilings, and dirty white tile painted with guide lines were here as they were anywhere the Navy staked a claim. Axis found the black line leading to personnel recreation areas and followed it in short order to the mess halls.
The officer’s mess, like the rest of the military quarter, could have been ripped straight out of a Ridley save that it was larger and held at least 20 eating benches instead of just one. Axis flashed his Grand Knight’s icon (which the medical ward had been gracious enough to preserve from the uniform Rothbard had torn to bits) at the mando-drake guarding the entrance and sat himself amongst the other officers. They cast sidelong glances at his unprofessional attire but none ventured a comment as he had yet to receive food. Not that he had to wait long for it, as a cook entered in short order with a cadre of slaves to set the table with the morning meal. “Some ahsahchah if you’ve got it,” Axis said to the cook as he passed by, and the bowl of steaming liquid appeared only a moment later to join his breakfast.
Each of the officers, Axis included, had barely tasted their food and sipped their drinks when the one directly across from him spoke up, louder than necessary and full of brash confidence, “You look like shit, friend. Not from the garrison are ya?”
“No, and so would you if you’d had all the scales ripped off your leg,” Axis answered flatly through a mouthful of food.
The drake made to open his mouth, likely to fire off some other probing remark was cut off by the officer to Axis’s left, “Can it Adrian. He outranks you.”
“Bad look for the Squires though,” Adrian carried on. “Coming to breakfast with no uniform looking like a bag of ass.”
Axis sipped his drinking bowl loudly and shifted his eyes to Adrian’s rebuker who took the hint in stride. “Can it, Adrian,” he repeated, “That’s an order.”
“But sir…” Adrian continued to protest, going silent and snapping his attention to Axis as he leaned his neck back and drained the remaining ahsahchah from the bowl.
“Look kid,” Axis said, clunking the porcelain on the bench, “if we’re gonna get into it about uniforms, your award pins are misaligned and out of order, your pauldron snaps aren’t shined, your seam covers are peeling from age, and you’ve ratcheted your kilt retainer to stretch your vest to hide the fact that you haven’t had it pressed in who knows how long. If you were one of mine, I’d have you scrubbing drive spheres to a mirror polish. Cool it.”
“Adrian…” the officer to Axis’s left warned for a third time as he suppressed a chuckle at the drake’s, fumbling jaw. Axis made no such effort at restraint, grinning at Adrian’s embarrassment as he dug into his breakfast meats. The other officers within earshot smiled as well, some even audibly snickering until Adrian abruptly stood and abandoned his spot at the bench with a hurried urgency to his gait.
Outright laughter followed him out of the mess hall and someone farther down the bench shouted “Bought time someone knocked that git down a peg!”
“Captain Darius Harrington,” Axis’s compatriot offered, extending a wing in greeting. “Adrian is one of my Knights aboard the ICS Horsen.”
Axis tapped his wing against Harrington’s, saying, “Grand Knight Axis Mortimer, special operations.”
“Mortimer?” Captain Harrington echoed, a curious note floating in his query. Axis braced for the recognition of his name in relation to the lockdown but it never came. “Mortimer… Like Captain Mortimer of the Helios?”
“Pi’s my sister,” Axis perked up. “You know her?”
“I met her this morning,” Darius replied with an enthusiastic nod. “She should still be here in the mess.” Axis’s pupils narrowed to pricks, and he had to actively work to keep his heartbeat from increasing at far too rapid a rate. “I’ll have one of my Squires fetch her,” Darius added, and the prospect of Pi’s icey dagger of a stare slicing up what Rothbard had left of Axis jolted him out of the shock.
“N-no, no, it’s fine, Captain,” Axis said quickly, trying to suppress the stress of a panic in his voice. “We’ll meet up in private later.”
“You’re sure?” Harrington asked. “It’s no trouble to me to have her brought over.”
“She isn’t… ah… exactly thrilled about me at the moment,” Axis glowered, opting for at least some measure of honesty.
“Family business?” Darius inferred with a knowing nod.
“Close enough,” Axis agreed with a shrug and would have paid more attention to the captain’s next topic save that his lenses indicated a message from Duchery command. He brought the HUD to full display and read, Selectee Axis, your presence is ordered at the base of the Loft of the Duchery. Effective immediately. He closed the HUD back to minimal activation, scarfed down what remained of his food, and stood to leave. “Captain,” he nodded to Harrington and left the mess as quickly as his damaged leg would allow.
His sense of urgency must have translated into his body somehow, as everyone he met along the passages to the nearest tram station shifted to the side to let him by. There was luckily a direct connection between the Naval quarter of the Palace and the Loft of the Duchery, which Axis expected but was nevertheless grateful for. Unfortunately, the tram’s passage to the Duchery headquarters was rather roundabout, and Axis had to dutifully wait in the car tapping his foot and shuffling his wings and feathers while dragons boarded and disembarked at three earlier stops. When the tram finally slowed to a stop at the Loft of the Duchery, Axis squeezed through the crowd as the only one making his departure, wincing several times as his bad leg made sharp contact with other dragons in his path.
The Loft of the Duchery had only one access point for the Palace’s trams and it was not so much a station as a solitary exterior platform overlooked by the Duchery’s imposing tower. Axis hadn’t left the medical ward this way, instead having looped through the Loft of the Eternal Phoenix for easier access to the surrounding Royal House towers. Standing before it now, Axis was surprised by the restraint for opulence it displayed. The tram platform was largely unadorned save for the Duchery crest worked into the floor, a snake like dragon curling in and around the Empire’s heraldry of planetary gears, talons artistically rendered far longer than was natural and fangs more prominent than they would be in reality.
Only one dragon stood at the rear of the platform to greet him. Duke Samuel Rothbard looked no worse for wear after their fight than Axis, save for his wing still being bound up much like Axis’s leg. He held his position with the imposing stoicism of a lone guard and made no indication he had seen Axis as the latter crossed the platform. He was dressed in the shining ceremonial plate armor worn by Naval officers and other ranking military members for special occasions, the pauldrons of which had been etched in the balanced scales crest of House DelRose and with each plate’s leading edge finished with enamel of a soft pink. Axis looked little better than a beggar next to him.
Only Rothbard’s eyes moved to fixate on Axis when he came close enough. “Selectee Axis,” he greeted him with stiff adherence to some formal decorum. There was no lingering ill will in his tone from their fight, but neither was it devoid of distaste. Axis couldn’t determine what, but he was certain something he’d done other than draw the Duke’s blood had Rothbard less than pleased.
“Duke Rothbard,” Axis responded.
“Selectee Axis,” Rothbard repeated before launching into a speech that had to be eons old, “Before you stands the Loft of the Duchery and the chance at selection. You have demonstrated a canny mind to receive the welcome of the Sisterhood, but now you will demonstrate to your true comrades that you are worthy of our company. Once you pass through the doors behind me, your sponsor shall present you as fit to Duchery High Command and from thence, you shall be tested. To step inside these walls will represent your complete devotion to this task and any task the Empress may henceforth set to you should you be selected. Within our ranks, there is no duplicity nor any forgiveness for compromise or indecision. Do you accept the gravity of your deeds here today?”
“Without question,” Axis answered, head tilting up ever so slightly in pride.
“Then prepare,” Rothbard said with a sharp about face. Three entrances were set in the base of the Loft of the Duchery. Rothbard stood before the far left and motioned with his good wing for Axis to take the far right. Once standing in the proper place and as if by omniscient power, the doors slid open to admit them. The space beyond was circular and barely large enough for a grown dragon to stand in comfortably, Axis having to flick his tail inward to avoid the shutting door pinching off his feathers. He waited a brief second only to wobble and steady himself as the chamber revealed itself to be an elevator climbing up at a far slower pace than was normal. But it needn’t have moved any faster, for no sooner had Axis begun to estimate how many levels up in the tower it had passed than it eased to a halt. The door slid open with butter smooth silence and Axis stepped out into a place so anachronistic with everything else both in the Palace itself and the wider planet that it had to have been part of the original structure when it had been built eons ago. Before dragons had mastered space travel and possibly even before the rise of industry.
He stood on the uppermost ring of a gargantuan arena’s seating section. It was easily over a thousand feet in diameter with cascades of seating benches leading down to the actual arena field, which itself was a full third of the space. The age was evident in that everything was made of lightly pitted earthen stone. Enormous, roughly hewn blocks formed the pathways and general shape of the arena while the benches, stairs, and arched rails were all carved and sanded smooth. Statues of great warrior dragon legends, that at the time they had been made may have been more real than simple legend, bookended each bench row whilst phoenix icons numbering in the thousands adorned the lowest viewing barrier above the arena floor. Everything was lit by a combination of ornate, alternating silver and gold candelabras which broke up the long lines of benches and four massive golden coffers belching bonfires as they hung on long silver chains from a vaulted ceiling too high to see its end.
In the arena field below, Axis could see the specks of other dragons waiting in two distinct rows, but more immediately before him and Rothbard was a dragon who could only be Chloe Nieves. She was robed in a flowing ensemble of layered whites and reds, including an ornate veil embroidered with her House sigil which hid her deformed face from the world. Only one who might have had the misfortune of seeing her outside her tower would know that she wore beautifully filigreed and ruby set silver talon caps to hide the fact that one of her talons always had its claws extended. She hid her mangled appearance well, even if her extensive coverings would invite questions.
An atmosphere of reverence and significance saturated the air so completely, even Axis’s laissez faire attitude felt choked out and he nearly started when Chloe dared to speak in so clearly ritualistic a place. Her breathing was ragged and strained, and she coughed and hacked before being able to push the raspy words out, but did manage to say, “Welcome, selectee Axis.” Then turning to Rothbard, added, “Duke Samuel Rothbard, you have chosen well a new brother for the Sisterhood.”
“He is yours from here on, Sister,” Rothbard replied, though there was definitive venom in his address of her.
Chloe seemed unperturbed by his evident distaste for her and returned her attention to Axis. “Descend the steps to the Seat of Judgement, Axis,” she said. He nodded and made his way down, finding the steps not only unforgiving on his still mending leg, but coated in a thick layer of grit and dust. Not only was this arena old, it was seldom visited.
The closer he got to the field, the clearer the dragons waiting on it became. One row was comprised clearly of Dukes, clad as they were in their ceremonial armor like Rothbard. Eight were present. The second row alternated between selectee and sponsor, and armed with that knowledge, Axis needed no guidance to find his way to a second carved staircase leading down toward the field. Katya was already present with who Axis guessed was Matriarch Aiza, and while he and Chloe took their places in the line, he counted only six selectees including himself. Additionally, though they made no obvious motions, the other Matriarchs were plainly off put by Chloe’s entrance, their bodies stiffening and eyes casting sidelong glances when they thought no one else would notice. His sponsor had spoken truly in saying her enemies were also his own, and the thought filled Axis with a retaliatory pride.
Rothbard joined his fellow Dukes shortly thereafter, face now hidden by a helm like the rest. He stood among them for minutes on end, the only sound in the arena the crackling of the raging fires overhead. No one dared move and even breathing felt as though it might be too intrusive an act. Finally some set time passed and the center dragon among the Dukes stepped forward, flanked by two others on his immediate sides. His helmet parted and retracted in three parts, revealing Duke Holland. “Sisters,” he spoke, his voice booming in the cavernous expanse of the arena, “nine we sent out to seek your favor and six you have found to be worthy to bear your names and ours. Present the chosen few, that we may all know them.”
The six Matriarchs fanned out their wings in unison and the farthest from Axis was the first to speak. “House Oriol presents Joseph Aster!” The named dragon took a singular step forward and with all eyes present studying his every motion.
“House Matene presents Peter Janeston!”
“House Keppel presents Romeo Tritanni!”
“House Aiza presents Katya Truminoff!”
“House Artaxiad presents Julio Horten!”
“And House - !” Chloe began speaking but was forced to stop, her neck curling down in what seemed to be a struggle to find air, but before anyone could move to assist her, she finally took a deep, rattling breath before continuing, “House Nieves presents Axis Mortimer!” Axis took his one step forward to join the other selectees, all of them watching Duke Holland for instruction.
“Very well, Sisters,” Holland said. “If these are your choices, our selection shall begin shortly. Dukes!” At his shout of a command, the remaining six of his compatriots strode forward and took attention beside their offerings to the Duchery. “Take them to their rooms to await trial.” Without any affirming speech, each of the Dukes angled off toward a separate recess in the wall forming the boundary of the arena field; that their selectees should follow being self evident. As Axis followed Rothbard’s lead, he caught the faintest beginnings of more natural speech from Holland as he joined the Matriarchs, “Join me in the observation room if you would, Sisters.” Anything else that was said between them Axis could not discern as he and Rothbard crossed through the recess in the stone edifice. It was a narrow hallway, lit by candles mounted sporadically along its length. It did not deviate except once on either side for an intersecting hall of equal proportions to create a crossroads, and once more farther down at a wooden door. Rothbard stopped here, fished an ancient, tumbler lock key from his vest, and opened it, wordlessly standing to the side for Axis to enter. Axis did so, and no sooner had his tail crossed the room’s threshold than did Rothbard almost hurriedly close it, continuing his vigilant silence. The door locking from outside created an audible clunking and Axis was alone.
Like the arena outside, the room was ancient beyond compare and made entirely of stone bricks end to end. Nevertheless, it still bore hallmarks of dragon sensibilities present in modern dwellings. It was comprised to two floors, the second existing as mostly a simple catwalk around the walls half way up save the section over the door, which had more surface than mere walking space. This level was supported by wooden brackets all the way around and two fairly beautiful columns flanking the doorway. Two sets of stairs provided access, formed by extra long bricks jutting from the fair wall. The decor was minimal, featuring a single, roughly made wooden bench with a shallow sitting cushion on the lower level and a larger nesting cushion occupying the upper. Light for the room came from a dim, flickering candle on a solitary stick sitting on the bench with one other rectangular item.
With little else to occupy himself, Axis ventured to the bench and examined the item. Like everything else around it, the piece was ancient beyond compare. It was made of two halves hinged together and presently closed. Upon undoing it, Axis recognized it immediately as a pricelessly old game board. A warmind game board. The pieces and spaces were all carved marble with the board itself held together by a wooden frame. Warmind was a classic Machinery game supposedly invented to keep the mind of warriors strategically sharp in times of peace, and those dragons within the ranks of the Watchers had taught both Axis and Pi how to play the game once they’d gotten old enough to understand the rules. While Axis had no one to play against and wasn’t particularly good at the game, it still felt appropriate to set the board if he’d already disturbed its rest.
He took a bit of time examining the game pieces and their intricate detail after having put them in their proper starting positions but invariably found his attention drifting. He began pacing around the room, even going so far as to press his head against the wood door to see if it was possible to catch any suspect sounds from the arena field. Nothing. Either the selection had not yet started or he was so buried behind layers and layers of solid rock that not even a terrified scream or bolt shot would reach his ears, and Axis was inclined to favor the latter as the more likely conclusion. He paced a while longer but settled on the seating cushion on the lower level again to conserve energy. He was tempted to unbind his injured leg to check its level of healing but thought better of it. He settled for flexing, unsheathing, and sheathing the talon until the shots of pain numbed from familiarity. Axis followed this by at first gently and with graduating intensity, placing pressure on the limb. Though at first excruciating as his muscles and nerves screamed in protest, these too eventually dulled to more bearable levels. He panted from the pain of the exercises, but far better to endure more controlled discomfort now than be forced to thoroughly abuse the leg unprepared should selection demand any kind of athleticism. He was certain it would.
Not that he was likely to be the first to be tested. The structure of his submission before the Matriarchs suggested to him that he’d be the last in line. Not that he was particularly bothered by this fact. It gave him more time to massage and work his leg and he repeated the exercises several times over. A lingering ache and soreness permeated it up to his shoulder when he relented, but it also only vaguely throbbed when he used it. He supposed he might have to return to the medical ward later to ensure he hadn’t damaged it further, but he at least knew it wouldn’t leave him vulnerable should he be put through the ringer.
His mind drifted as seconds turned to minutes and minutes to hours until it settled back on the warmind board, and in the absence of a summons, he began playing against himself. Being a novice to the game at best, Axis quickly stalemated himself. He reset the board to try again, taking more time to analyze the board and its possibilities on both sides. His mental gymnastics extended the game slightly, but Axis still brought himself to an unsatisfying draw. He rearranged the board yet again, but had lost any interest in continuing. His mind drew a blank as he sat, staring listlessly into the wood grain of the door until he had memorized all of its unique characteristics and imperfections. Axis shook his head with waking vigor, recognizing the dulling of the senses brought on by raw boredom. He scanned the room briefly before noting it was oddly absent a washroom or any adjoining space containing amenities for food or drink.
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What he had hoped to gain with a splash of water to his face was rendered to him by growing unease with the room’s lack of critical elements of dragon architecture, even so far back as this place. While non-dragons found it perfectly normal to combine where they bathed and where they relieved themselves and had no qualms about communal spaces for the same purpose, dragons were notoriously more private regarding both activities. They built separate spaces for facilities and cleaning themselves in their dwellings, and no dragon would willingly enter a public establishment that did not have at least three individual restrooms. While Axis had no such aversions to the non-dragon standard on account of having been raised largely outside the Empire by non-dragons, he recognized the utter lack of such infrastructure in this room as wholly alien to dragon sensibilities. Even slaves and prisoners were afforded such basic dignities on the matter of principle. At some point in his analysis of the disquieting realization, Axis had stood, and as cautiously as if the room was in some way haunted, he inched into its center, head craning up, down, right and left in more studious examination.
Minor imperfections in the wood and stonework that he would never have otherwise given conscious consideration on account of the arena’s self evident age began to pop at the edges of his vision like lightning strikes. His head swiveled in search of anything else he might use a stronger light source, and finding none, he snatched up the candlestick in his mouth and brought it within inches of each of the tresses supporting the upper floor. Not one of them was made of the same wood, even if they had all been fashioned in the same design. Some were clearly whittled with manual tools while some bore obvious marks of modern mechanical sculpting while still others had been finished and coated over being left bare and exposed. Even the implements securing them to the wall varied wildly from tress to tress, some supported by what might well have been the original iron stakes versus those that were held up by very modern masonry screws. A potential restoration Axis might have understood, but the inconsistency across tresses told a completely different story. Repair, not restoration, had been the aim; and it had happened many, many times over with only surface level attention given to historical and preservation accuracy.
Axis’s mind was racing with the potential ramifications, and he turned to the stone walls for answers. In these, he at first could find no signs of tampering or deceit. They all appeared and to his talon, felt much the same: weathered but smooth. His rush of apprehension was beginning to subside until his talon found a brick which felt markedly different from its brethren. It’s roughly hewn surface looked the part, trying to hook and scrape his scales as he dragged a talon over it. Axis brought his snout close, shining the candlelight against the stone, eyes narrowing to find the marks of the chisel that had sculpted the brick. He rapped a knuckle against it confirming it was indeed solid. A suspicious scowl darkened his features as he stepped just to the side to one of the brick’s brothers. Like all those that had come before, it was as smooth as a stream pebble quite unlike the one just next to it. And when Axis examined it just as closely as the one before, he found the smoothness to seemingly be the result of a thin layer of resin covering and protecting the rock beneath. Tapping it yielded only more discrepancy. The brick wasn’t hollow, but the sound it made was more akin to several thinner layers with voids between them. Axis’s confusion was rapidly degenerating to skepticism with a sinister bent, and he glared at the wall until no plausible explanation for this lack of uniform materials presented itself.
He spat the candlestick to the floor, unsheathed the talon of his good front leg, reeled back, and slammed his metal reinforced claws into the brick with enough force to crack a dragon’s skull. The force rippled up his leg and shook his bones, but he’d managed to bury his claws about half-way into the stone. Or whatever it was. He paused, readying himself with a wider stance and deep breath, and squeezed his talon, pulling against the wall. The brick held steady, but Axis continued to strain against it, loosing a powerful roar in his exertion and throwing his whole body weight into his tug. He heard the first tell tale crack barely a half second before his strength won out. The layer of masonry in his talon exploded, spraying shards all across the floor and pattering against his scales while Axis himself tumbled onto his back with a grunt at the release of force. He blinked several times to clear his eyes of powdered rubble and shook the rest out of his feathers as he rolled back to his feet. Axis retrieved the candlestick, and upon bringing it up to the brick he’d just crushed, a low snarl rumbled unconsciously deep in his chest.
The piece he had reduced to chunks had been a fake, a veneer covering the actual brick underneath which looked identical to the rough one next to it. Only, a single, deep crack had nearly split it in twain, and he knew his efforts hadn’t done that damage. While he prided himself on his physical power, true solid stone of the natural variety required force well outside the limits of even the strongest dragon’s body to break apart. Something else with far more raw force had done this and Axis was going to learn what. Closer inspection of the crack revealed its depth receded as it traveled up and that was all Axis needed to know. He took several steps back, gauging the distance and whipping his tail experimentally. Confident in his judgment, Axis danced to the side and slung his tail into the wall as if it were an opponent. The blow stung without the recoil of a living target, but it produced results. Several of the false covers cracked, some even completely crumbling to the floor. Axis guessed they had to be a porcelain composite of some kind. He adjusted and swung again, rapping the wall and breaking off still more of the fake wall. Over and over he struck his tail to the surface, building up a veritable pile of rubble and flying debris as he destroyed the facade. Only when much of the true brick had been revealed did Axis stop, extending both front talons this time and scraping away the bits and pieces of the shields that still remained. What he revealed brought him closer to an answer but also invited more severe questions.
The wall of solid rock may as well have been glass for what it looked like. A dense weave of spiderweb cracks laced through each brick, the center caved in and crushed from the source of the impact. The entire damage area had to be at least two dragons wide and at least as tall, one stray crack not even ending but disappearing again beneath covers as far as the upper level. Axis moved closer to the center of the destruction, picking at loose chunks of the ancient bricks. He had already ruled out a bolt cannon. While extremely powerful ones had the potential to create such carnage, those would have either left a clean hole through more than just the first layer of stone or blown it to pieces entirely. Explosive bolts would have done similarly, save for tactical versions, but those would have also blackened the impact area and left the brick brittle. It was certainly crushed and parts crumbled away at the slightest touch, but it hadn’t nearly turned to glass from heat. No, Axis was sure this was a pure, large scale impact with lethal force several times over behind it.
He moved back to better see the damage in its totality, talon tapping the now grit coated floor in heavy contemplation. He supposed a powerful mystic might have been able to use any number of their abilities to create such an impact. Only, he was standing in a secret room within a secret room within the Loft of Duchery, within the Palace of the Loft, which was on the planet the Loft. Even if a mystic assassin had managed to slip past Machinery Navy checkpoints on his way to the planet, however unlikely, he would have still had to contend with the layers upon layers upon layers of security that defended not just the Palace but the Duchery itself. And no amount of Second State shape shifting power could turn a biped into a quadruped. Axis scoffed at the lunacy of the idea, especially considering that if an assassin of such skill actually existed, there were far juicier targets in the form of the Matriarchs or the Empress herself an assassin would be far better served in seeking.
But a mystic’s Second State powers still seemed the most plausible means by which to explain the shattered wall in front of him. He had once seen Kirin’s friend, Spit Orlon, demonstrate far greater concussive power when they had joined forces to do battle against - …
No sooner had the name begun to form in his head than Axis felt every iota of heat drain out of him. Strength evaporated from his body, leaving only a lethargic dullness. His throat constricted, cutting off his breath. His scales shifted and locked, offering no gaps in their defense. And Axis’s pupils shrank down to mere specks at the aggressive, immediate onset of the Sense. In had been years since it had last pulsed to life within him, but the Sense was infallible and distinct beyond compare.
There was a Tocri’ah, a demon, near.
And judging by the intensity of the Sense the creature was somewhere in the arena chamber. Somewhere incredibly close. Axis didn’t bother questioning how the creature had managed to gain entrance to a place crawling with Dukes or why his Sense had not more gradually cued him to the Tocri’ah’s presence. He delved deep into his inner self, following Watcher teachings and searching for the beat of his Second State, his soul. It was significantly more difficult without the natural attunement for it some dragons possessed, but relentless Watcher training to overcome that deficiency was not without merit. Axis latched onto his body’s natural instincts of fear for the demons first, regulating his breathing, slowing his spiked heart rate, and forcibly relaxing his wound muscles. He traced back through these symptoms to the physical and metaphysical intersection of his essence, emptying his thoughts until the edges of his Second State began to fill his mind’s eye. It was alive with danger, spewing forth energy in the form of his fear out into the void of the transcendent plane which lay in synchronicity with the physical. If he could not contain it, the Tocri’ah would feast on it like a trail of breadcrumbs leading straight to him.
Now focused on his Second State, Axis reached in and made to pull back the energy spiraling from him. It obeyed initially but the rush of power obliterated his concentration, his legs buckling and his throat contorting in response. Axis gagged and shook from the toll his body took manipulating his soul outside the scope of his natural abilities. But his Sense was still heightened and he snarled in determination. If he could not do this, the demon would find him and torture him until it had extrated every last ounce of energy from him and then some. He dove back to his Second State, wrestling one tendril of whirling fear at a time, each one sending spasms through his body. He would not die here, least of all to one of those monstrosities. He dug his claws into the floor, digging into Kirin’s instruction on this technique even as his eyes watered from the strain he placed on himself. And he did not stop despite everything in his frame insisting he was about to explode from the inside. Not until he had twisted the river of his emotions in on itself, forcibly recirculating the negative energy through his soul.
He gasped for breath; heaving and wishing throwing up was an answer. But as he lifted himself from his crouched stance and folded in his limp, expanded wings, already the advantages of nearly collapsing his soul under the burden of its own power were manifesting. The greens of his eyes began to glow, weariness vanished, clarity gripped his thoughts, and the sinew beneath his scales burned with strength and speed well beyond the limits of a mere mortal. Even his injured leg sang with renewed potency. Axis would eventually lose the control of his Second State, but for now… For now he was invisible to the Tocri’ah who relied on radiant Second State energy to see and well within the range of ability necessary to kill it. And he had to kill it. If it had managed to evade the Dukes in the arena, then none of them had the Sense and thus no knowledge of its presence. If he did not stop it, it would latch onto the faintest discharge of energy and desperately destroy the source to sustain itself. Selection was now a forgotten dream in the face of this demon.
Axis strode to the door locking him in the room and with a whirling buck, sent it flying into the opposite wall of the hall, twisted guide tracks and iron lock clattering beside it against the stone. With the debilitating effects of his Sense checked by his recirculating soul, it had focused and narrowed, cleanly pointing him toward the creature. Not that he needed it, as a piercing, horrified scream, however damped by the layers of rock surrounding him, cut through the eerily still air. The hesitation of thought had abandoned Axis completely as he took off in a low, galloping charge in the direction of the sound and his Sense. He was on autopilot now. The vulnerabilities of instinct were gone, the distractions of careful strategy tossed by the wayside. He was operating entirely off Watcher doctrine, rendering neither necessary.
Axis banked around the corner of the hallway crossroad and kept his barreling pace. He noted the feature repeated itself every so often and that there was a slight curve to his path. He was no doubt running down a path contained in the arena’s inner retaining wall and the offshoots contained rooms identical to his own where gladiators had once been housed. Axis would have kept his breakneck pace if not for smelling the odorous scent of blood. His talons dug into the pavement of the hall and he swung into one of the side passages. The door at its end was already open and the stench of blood wafted fresh and strong through it. Axis slowed to a careful slink and entered the room. He was already too late.
Blood was sprayed everywhere, not a single surface devoid of it. The floor especially was wet with blood, staining Axis’s metal claws from the moment he set foot inside. On his right was a dragon corpse so mutilated it was barely recognizable as having once been a dragon. Its back was slumped against the wall and its chest and stomach had been torn completely open, organs and bile spilling out as the ribcage had been split and lay hanging against the skin and scales. The tail had been ripped off and jammed through the mouth out the back of the head while all four limbs lay pulverized around the body. The wings were nowhere to be found. A second dead dragon had been hung on the far wall by bricks impaled through his wings. His eyes had been gouged into bloody holes and each of his claws lay in a pile below him where his talons dripped blood from the wounds. Axis couldn’t see how he had died, but he recognized Peter Janeston from both their arrival at the Palace and the submission ceremony.
But he couldn’t save the already gone, and had not the time to pity them either. Axis snapped back around and accelerated back down the central corridor, pushing harder when another, closer this time, splitting scream of agony lit the hall before it was abruptly cut off. His Sense was becoming further refined the closer he got, as if telling his eyes where to look: like the scent for the Tocri’ah’s path. He nearly skidded to a stop at the sight of a third corpse, this one not in a room but tossed to the side in the hallway as though the dragon had been a child’s toy abandoned in boredom. In a growing pool of blood, the dragon lay in not two, but four pieces. It’s neck and tail had been pulled from its body and the body itself cracked, crushed, and finally split at the torso. Only a second of hesitation existed in Axis before he registered the dragon’s death and forced his legs to resume their breakneck pace. And he was rewarded when in the peripheral of his vision, the faintest tendril of smoke wafted around a corner. Axis’s eyes narrowed and he cut the same corner as tightly as he could, kicking off the wall with his hind legs to hold his momentum through the turn. He had been ready to tackle into the monster, but instead found it was already phasing through the door at the back.
Gotcha, Axis sneered, relishing the opportunity to fight the Tocri’ah in a more confined space. He kept running, unsurprised at the scream of recognition that came from inside the room, leapt, and hurled his body into the door. It’s wooden boards cracked and splintered under Axis’s weight and Second State enhanced strength, and where he may have tumbled into a roll from so reckless a maneuver under normal circumstances, his accentuated reflexes planted him firmly on the ground in a ready fighting stance. The Tocri’ah was already gorging itself on the terror of the drake in the room, it’s general bipedal shape bulking out and the shifting liquid smoke which comprised much of its mass warping around, distorting and altering its defined form while thickening and growing ever blacker than it already was.
Axis wasted no precious seconds, leaping forward, spinning and cleaning slicing off the creature’s one corporeal arm before landing between it and the drake selectee. A raging cacophony of sounds like the clashing of blades, howling wind, and rumbling earth loosed from the Tocri’ah, the closest thing it had to a screech of anger and pain. While Axis was largely invisible to the demon, his soul still created rippling disturbances in the Second State and now that it knew he was present, would be able to sense his movements. He braced, waiting for the Tocri’ah’s response, wings half fanning in anticipation. The room may well have exploded for all that happened.
The Tocri’ah bent low and bellowed an ear raking cry before its smoke-like essence surged around it and jettisoned out in six very real razor sharp tendrils whilst the creature itself regrew its lost arm along with two extra in an effortless conversion of energy to physical mass. Axis became a blur, flipping out of range of the blade-like protrusions and slicing two in half in his wake. The remaining four popped as they broke the speed of sound and impaled the other drake’s neck and chest. They buried themselves in the far wall, cracking it like a bolt shot and slamming the dragon’s body into it for good measure. Axis had no chance to answer, the Tocri’ah able to shift into its next attack with the brush of a thought and at impossible speeds. It seamlessly dissipated the tendrils only to have more and more sprout from its shroud of smog-like energy. He danced the outer edge of the room, dodging strike after strike as the pointed tips jammed into the floor with reckless abandon. And when this failed to stop him, the Tocri’ah’s head lost physicality, deforming into the head of a wolf and belching a searing tornado of cyan flames. “Come on!” Axis roared in challenge, the roiling of his Second State and howling of his Sense injecting him with the rush of battle. He jumped straight up, clearing the column of fire and battering away the onslaught lethal feelers with his wings. He latched onto the lip of the upper floor, swung once and shot down toward the demon, twisting mid-air.
Axis hadn’t expected to land a blow, only close distance. But this Tocri’ah was clearly older and more clever, warping back only a few feet to evade him and lengthening two of its arms to connect them both to Axis’s side in a brutal punch. The sheer force of blow ripped him from a dive to careening across the room into the stone of the wall. He was half buried in the bricks and coated in dust, all breath driven from his lungs and had he not been bolstered by his Second State knew every single bone in his body would have been utterly shattered. But Tocri’ah in the heat of a fight were relentless. Its composite dripping smoke morphed again this time into monstrous imitations of eagle’s wings and they surged it across the gap.
But Axis too was operating above natural limits, and he snapped his tail out just as the creature came into range, twisting it around the Tocri’ah’s neck. It ground to a halt, shrieking and scrabbling at Axis’s tail with its four arms as he squeezed. And he would have kept constricting until he ripped the monster’s head clean off were it not for seeing its bird wings dissipate. Before it could form lethal limbs, Axis bashed the Tocri’ah into the ground and hurled himself from the crater in the wall, aiming a talon to serrate its head. He never came close, the creature reversing its entire shape, head morphing to its other end and converting one leg into an insect’s stinger. Axis could only dart his head out, sinking his teeth into the limb and a twist of his neck ripping it off. He spat as the the appendage disintegrated into something like ash followed by a furious snarl when the Tocri’ah deconstructed its entire body into a formless cloud of smoke and flew out of the room. He tore after it and cursed his lack of bolt cannons or brick guns.
The mass of energy that was the demon distorted the very world around it as it hurtled toward the open space that was the arena. The stone of the corridor shuddered and dropped bits of loose rubble as it passed while the flames of the candles were snuffed out of existence. Axis knew he would have to act fast once it reached the wide space of the arena. Without weapons, the Tocri’ah would have the advantage at range, and he could feel his soul slipping out of his forced recirculation of its energy. Upon crossing over the arena’s center, the bubbling smoke pulsed and sprouted giant spider’s legs before coalescing the rest of its body, now with the horrid head of a sea crustacean and six human arms. The spider legs wavered and shifted once again into ethereal spears and the creature sprouted human versions to stand. Axis bounded sideways, doing his best to maintain forward momentum while evading the supernatural implements. Another furious shriek and the Tocri’ah’s chest tore open, releasing bolts of green lightning to join the barrage of tentacle blades.
Axis was brought to a complete halt amidst the assault. His feet were a whirl of motion keeping him clear of the primal electricity as it blew columns of sand dozens of feet into the air with each blasting contact in the ground. And for each dodging step, that same talon lashed out with Axis’s wings, shredding and battering away lethal tendrils. Axis loosed a vicious roar, gambling a bite into one such appendage and letting it yank his body forward as the Tocri’ah recoiled it. His neck strained with the force of the motion but it was nothing compared to the scraping drag in the rough grains the demon subjected him to when he refused to release the arm. Sand shot up beneath his scales with ruthless, abrasive force and Axis couldn’t maintain his lock jaw after the Tocri’ah lifted and pounded him into the ground three brutal times. Unabated, the creature continued to eject lightning at him, and Axis couldn’t contain a hissing snarl when a bolt grazed his side, leaving a crisp line of charred scales in its wake.
He faltered, noting his breaths were becoming harder and heavier and blood was leaking from the sand cuts beneath the scales on his legs. He was out of time. His Second State would free itself in moments and he would have no chance then. The Tocri’ah must have sensed its impending victory as well, as its torso reformed and the tentacle spears retracted back into its mane of smoke. It began taking steady steps toward Axis, the sea insect’s head also grossly morphing back into the vague shape of a human. Each step it took, grains of sand levitated around its feet and a rush of air passed over Axis. When it was nearly on top of him, its three left arms reached out to grasp his neck, a wing and leg and a schism split it from head to waist, opening into a maw of hundreds of teeth, dripping with the liquid smoke of its essence. Axis held himself steady, fighting back every survival instinct screaming for him to act as the Tocri’ah’s ghostly fingers began to brush at his scales.
Only when he felt them begin to try to grip him did he release the tension in muscles. He reared back in an explosion of motion and scissored his front talons. His right shot up to cleave off all three of the monster’s outstretched arms while his left careened down, gouging his talons through the beast from top to bottom. The thing reeled back in grotesque, violent writhing, all manner of howling cries of pain mixing and overlapping. Axis dropped back to all fours and made to rush forward and finish it, but wasn’t quick enough. The Tocri’ah lept back and its wails of injury deepened and warped until it screamed with a sound not unlike the thundering roar of full stroke afterburner. It’s cloak of fluid smog erupted from its back in a rapidly billowing cloud hundreds of times its present size. Formless at first and flickering at the edges as though it were fire, the mass of Second State energy throbbed once like a sickly heart before four gargantuan, bulging lizard legs sprouted forth, swiftly and immediately followed by a falcon’s tail, the veiny wings of a fly, and the contorting, massive neck and head of a worm with only a swirling mass of teeth for a face. The Tocri’ah’s original body faded to smoke and rejoined its expanded, chimeric form, now towering over Axis by hundreds of feet.
And he had no time to comprehend just how much stored Second State energy the demon had converted to material space before it smashed its head of fangs into the ground where he stood, devouring him. With the lumbering lethargy of so titanic a monster, the Tocri’ah arched its head back upright, the rumbling of its every breath shaking the chains of the bonfire coffers now inches away from it. It slowly began to move toward the edge of the arena, seeking climb into the spectator area, each footfall no less than a stone splitting quake. It would break through the walls of the Loft of the Duchery and sow chaos and terror through the Palace and City to sustain its new colossal form. Genocidal levels of death would be had at its whim and if the Dukes were unable to bring it down, the Machinery Navy would be forced to declare the ancestral home of all dragons, the Loft, as the site of an Exodus Event. Ridley cruisers would be rallied and the planet would be shelled from orbit, annihilating the Tocri’ah and all other life. The entire system would be quarantined and the day would go down in Imperial history as the day the Palace of the Loft finally fell.
And this fate drew ever closer as the Tocri’ah raised its disgusting, sinewed leg to crest the arena wall. But it paused, and drew its clawed foot back to ground, a gurgling mixing in its breath. Its head bent down, and if it had eyes, would have been looking to the base of its neck. A twitch rippled through its insectile wings, and a short shriek began to escape it before two sets of metal talons sheared through the nape of its neck and ripped around the circumference, spewing heaps of vanishing, ash-like blood. The Tocri’ah’s neck swayed only to collapse onto the arena stands with a resounding, all consuming crash of obliterated stone; and where it had been severed from its body, Axis Mortimer stood soaked and dripping in black ooze and with wings splayed, loosed a bellowing, triumphant, screaming roar of victory.