Spurred by their overseers, the daemons started moving across the forest in a haphazard formation. Caustic saliva slobbered down pointed chins and eyes alighted with greed as the sights and scents of the Garden filled their senses.
Uthar was a volcanic wasteland where food was scarce and viciously fought over, and anyway, it was common policy for daemonlords to keep their soldiers hungry and needing. By daemon standards, the four small armies, minus the Kiaraki, were elites and disciplined, but the many wondrous foods that place offered were far too much of a temptation to resist.
Branches were stripped bare by hungry daemons or dutiful Thilgra, and fruits disappeared inside skin-satchels, were crammed into maws, greedily consumed or daintily supped upon by slavers and Gennoth. The syrupy substance oozing from the bark was rasped and licked clean, and many trees themselves were ripped open to find more. Even the leaves and the grass, when a curious daemon tried tasting it, revealed themselves to be edible and delicious.
An ecstatic wave rippled over the invaders. An unplundered land, filled with food!
For a daemon, that was the equivalent of heaven. Or at least, it would have been, if the Zubari hadn’t immediately herded the little monsters inhabiting it, and now an impressive array of slave-daemons and Thilgra soldiers kept the chattering crowd beyond the reach of anything different from jealous looks.
The Gennoth were too busy with their magical misurations and examinations to care, and the Zubari gleefully exploited the exclusivity to start the usual exams for new prospective slaves. The slavers were used to having to invent new methods from scratch to check health and potential, since the daemons came in many different forms, and even then they didn’t disappoint. On palanquins held aloft by slaves, the little monsters were checked for imperfections and when that revealed a uniform appearance, their teeth and feet and hands were examined for manual work. Their load-bearing capacity, both in their two-legged and avian forms, was tested and measured, and the results dutifully recorded.
The physical examinations revealed somewhat pathetic abilities, even if impressive when measured against size and physique, but in the ruthlessly economical vision of the Zubari, even a slave capable only of lifting a pebble was still worth a pebble, or that minus expense for minimum sustenance.
More satisfying for the slavers, was the absolute trust the little monsters seemed to have toward anything and everything. They were apparently incapable of even picturing the concepts of deceit and confrontation, reasoning only in terms of games and childish nonsense like “friendship”. Even when brought before two clearly irreconcilable realities, they just got confused, or thought there had to be something they didn’t understand. For the rest, they were flighty, playful, cheerful, curious but not inquisitive, with a short memory, eager to please and easily distracted – a defect easily mended if they thought they were doing someone a favor, in that case they became the closest to focused a creature like that could be -. Interestingly, they had no concept of property, taking, swapping, or leaving things as the fancy took them.
They were always mentioning this Mother of theirs, any further inquiry ending with confused looks at worst and undetailed description at best.
The slavers were almost scandalized to find that the monsters also couldn’t prove physical pain, a feature that attracted even the attention of the usual aloof Gennoth. Philosophically speaking, the ability to prove pain was considered by daemons among the Five Gifts handed out from the Father that qualified something as a living being, and were shared by all moving beings with no exception. That something could speak and walk and react and not prove pain put a spoke in many a religious reasoning.
Not caring for mystical diatribes, the Zubari just recorded the discovery in their extensive notes, writing off the new race as Ghrazi with a non-living status, like minerals, and signaling its potential as pleasure-offerers and toys. Considering the numbers found and supposing there weren’t more of them, maybe they could be bid off as luxury goods, curiosities and personal servants? Whatever it was, many Zubari were mildly impressed that there could be something even lower than the already low Thilgra.
Of course, physical pain was only one of the many different types of pain that could be inflicted. But that would have to wait for more extensive testing back in Uthar. For now, the Zubari kept a loose leash, allowing their new slaves plenty of freedom to pick fruits and play and roam, at a reasonable distance, all to keep them pliable.
Not knowing and not caring about examinations and conversations, the Kiaraki and the Xaglar hunters felt their claws twitch with the need to crunch bone. Little was more alluring to a wild daemon than the chance of brutalizing something that didn’t fight back, and jealous and greedy looks were thrown the Zubari’s palanquins' way. It took a few pummelling from Thilgra’s armored arms to convince the rest to try and take out their eagerness on the garden itself.
Many took to it with enthusiasm, smashing trees until only splinters remained, gnawing the ground and kicking and ripping out the grass. But it wasn’t the same without the squealing and thrashing and many continued doing it only to swing their weapons and feel something crunch underneath.
The overseers – slightly more disciplined daemons, or at least more aware of the prices of failure – let the footsoldiers do their little sports, intervening only when a scuffle risked deteriorating into more than a new scar, or when overly enthusiastic scavenging threatened to slow the march. Whips and marking rods were put to work then, and the squeals of burned daemons mixed with the jeers and laughters of those who weren’t.
It wasn’t enough to quell the worst of it, and even the usually focused Xaglar, without an enemy to be on the lookout for, got restless.
Eventually, Zubar was convinced, for the sake of the mission and behind solemn oaths to bring the matter to the Father, to relinquish two of the newly-dubbed Ghrazi, one for the Xaglar and one for the Kiaraki. The two little things, all curious eyes and eagerness to please, disappeared among the thronging daemons, reappearing later as pieces hanging from belts and scales.
Even like that, it was a horde of locusts that fell upon the Garden, the daemons razing and spoiling what they didn’t devour. Only the presence of four Ascended and many Gennoth Overseers kept the horde from razing the Garden to the ground, and even then a good chunk would end as a splinter-laded, trampled wasteland.
The glade beneath Ilienta was invaded, the pool and brook befouled and thrashed. The strange golden idol into the pool was pulled down when it became clear it was some sort of mechanical construct and turned into pieces, even as it continued trying to pat its destroyers, the Gennoth had their slaves take for later examinations. The great tree itself proved more of a problem.
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Radiating with that hateful light the daemons recoiled from, it still had a strange allure that had many a lesser daemon amble for it in stunned fascination. But as soon as they touched it, they were violently dragged inside, their squeals quickly silenced. The tree pulsed a little, then stood unbothered.
Pushing down her own compulsion to go near to it, Zongatis had her Gennoth erect a cordon around it with the Father’s magic. It weakened the lure enough that the overseer’s lash was enough to pull back any straggler.
Suddenly, a clamor went up, followed by a wave of excitation: an enemy had been found!
The demigods reacted differently: Kiarak and Zubar cautiously lingered behind, sending her eager troops forward and keeping them close by respectively. Zongatis urged her own, almost striking down a Gennoth in a rare moment of lack of control. But none could match Ulvanach’s fierce delight, he and his hunters salivating as they rushed among the trees.
What they found was a forested space in a bend of the brook. A huge pile of leaves had been massed between sandy rocks that seemed to have grown out of the ground. Rows of leaves had been lined beside it, each holding a single fruit. Golden pitchers waited, filled with gleaming water.
Another group of Ghrazi dwelled there, and eyed the new arrivals with marvel and curiosity. But more impressive was the strange, three-headed, tentacled beast standing among them. Far taller and mightier than the rest, and very much different, the beast didn’t run or squeal or did anything the daemons could recognize, instead, it stood where it was, its head rotating slowly as each face took a look at them.
The Xaglar, delighting in the chance for a confrontation, hung back, but not so the Kiaraki. Wanting to get to the Ghrazi before the Zubari, many rushed forward, howling and waving weapons. The beast took their charge with a thoughtful look. Its tentacles suddenly darted out, grasping a few daemons and squeezing the life out of them in a single motion.
It was so sudden after the complete peace that the others balked, and were easy prey for the tentacles.
As the beast stuffed one of the carcasses in a mouth and chewed thoughtfully, Ulvanach barked and growled orders. The Xaglar spread themselves all around, moving from tree to tree and rushing among the grass. Blowpipes were drawn out and brought to mouths, and the sounds of whistling projectiles filled the air.
The Xaglar used their own caustic saliva as projectiles, mixing it with juices of or even whole daemonic bugs and hardened pieces of clay cursed by the Gennoth among their numbers. The projectiles impacted against the beast’s skin, burning and sizzling as a strange metallic scent rose.
The beast staggered, one of its faces blinked as if surprised, and then lashed out again, two of its tentacles bringing down a tree, as the Xaglar atop it somersaulted away.
Ulvanach skittered away, barely avoiding being invested by another crashing tree. He snarled, and his hunters fired again, to just as little effect.
Another growl, and the daemons loaded new ammunition. As another round of whistling went up, a swarm of hooked centipedes erupted from the projectiles impacting the beast. Covering the beast in madly writhing, they spat jets of scalding ichor that gnawed deep into the beast’s skin, digging furrows out of it. That seemed not to enrage it as much as to slightly annoy it, and the beast’s more animalistic head pulled out a massive tongue that swept the bugs by the dozens, ripping them to pieces and dragging the rest into its maw.
Its tentacles darted out, and a Xaglar was pulled screeching from a tree.
Grinning fiercely, Ulvanach unslung the bone whip he carried rolled around his shoulder and waist. The wicked weapon gnawed the ground apart as it was swung, making a violent crack.
As his Xaglar did the same, the Demigod rushed forward, far faster than any of his daemons. The beast swung at him, but Ulvanach threw himself forward, sliding under the tentacle. His whip darted out, slapping another tentacle away, while his hunters took the attention of the others.
As a Xaglar was pierced straight through by a tentacle diving into his chest, Ulvanach ate the last of the distance. The beast’s body felt as tough as a mountain and twice as firm, barely sliding back as he smashed into it. With a nimbleness his size wouldn’t give away, he rolled back, planting a claw into the ground as he brought his body contorting between two tentacles. His whip moved as if it was alive, taking out an eye of the beast’s face.
All around him, the Xaglar shot projectiles and attacked with their own whips. The beast fought back fiercely if ponderously, snapping off the whips coiling around its body, pulling their owners to smash against the ground or crushing them with its own tentacles. But its attention was divided among many enemies, and the Xaglar were relentless, keeping up their barrage even as they dodged and weaved.
And Ulvanach was there.
The demigod thrusted his claws into a tentacle, pinning it to the ground before ripping out its hand savagely. The beast paused for a split second, contemplating with mild stupor the stump running with golden ichor. Too long. Ulvanach took out a bone dagger and drew it into its eye. He twisted and twisted, feeling… something inside breaking and mushing. He had to pierce something important because the beast’s movements became erratic, its remaining eyes losing focus.
A tentacle coiled around his neck, trying to pry him off. Another slammed into his gut, again and again. He shuddered, tasting blood, but he grit his fangs and twisted savagely.
After a few tense moments, the beast seemed to lose its strength. It went slack, slumping with a weary sigh.
Snarling, Ulvanach ripped the now limp tentacle off his neck. He spat a glob of blood, then leaned to run his hand into the beast’s blood. It burned, his flesh sizzling and steaming, but it was nothing compared to the fire inside. Using the golden ichor as ink, he marked himself. On the right shoulder, where the latest battle accomplishments were displayed, not the left one, with the marks of his hunting prowess.
Standing atop his fallen enemy, Ulvanach let out a roar of triumph, the cry being picked up by his hunter until the Garden trembled with their howls.
Hearts thumping, raw and still thirsting, Ulvanach turned to his second.
“How many?” He growled, watching the many marks of prowess on ragged skin and stifling the burning need to tackle him and take them for himself.
The Xaglar, knowing what his chief was like under the blood greed, lowered himself down in gruff obeisance.
“Four,” he said, and then, after a glance at the umoving monster. “A worthy fight. The Darkness be pleased.”
“Darkness be pleased,” Ulvanach echoed. He’d very much prefer the hunt, but even a blood-drenched fight was better than nothing. And this beast… it was strong, but also stupid. Not repositioning when surrounded, no particular tactics, no defense. Just stood and took it. He had his share of the type, the brute who relied on thick skin and regenrating muscle to carry the fight through, but his instinct told him something wasn’t right.
A quick sniff around reminded him what it was, as many curious glances from golden eyes looked up at him from behind the rocks. Another clutch of the little beings. Was the beast guarding it?
Ulvanach had nothing but contempt for the weak, and the only place the defeated found in his hearts was as fond memories of successful slaughter. Still, he could understand not wanting to part with things you owned and the pride of fighting for it. That put the beast he had just slain a marginal way up in his considerations, enough that he would take a trophy out of it if he could.
He didn’t care for slaves, so he let them to the Ghrazi. Sure enough, there wasn’t much remaining for the Zubari to harvest when they arrived.
Ulvanach looked up, where a distant figure drew circles into the sky. If he squinted, he could almost make out another clutch of the puny things nestled on a beast’s back, looking down with curious, innocent eyes. A distant wail echoed in the distance, if of anguish or rage, he couldn’t say.