And this is where the change should come as well, what we must learn from the smoothskins. There is as much growth and honing done in peace as there is done in conflict. Constant conflict only leads to escalation, and that escalation can deny entire generations their right to prove their worth, as we well know from the incursion twenty years agon.

-From Aphorisms: 16:12-14

She tore through the twilight of the temple, racing against its fast-approaching twin arriving in the world above.

Cull the others. Gods. She still couldn't believe it. Nor could she think of any that she felt justified choosing. If it was a situation like One-eye, defending herself, saving the brood from his corruption, there would be no issue. She knew what to do about that.

It will never be easy, will it? An unintended lesson we all must learn.

Distraction. Goals.

This is true.

What would the others be going for? She leaped down the stairs into the recessed section where the statues of the gods squatted eternally, landing in a spray of gleaming earthbone disks and other objects. The sound was cacophonous in the subterranean space.

With the rain gone, the water had gone still, and the echoes within had gone deathly silent.

It was odd to find the roar of the water and rain more comforting.

She gave a quick prayer and continued forward, scrambling up the stairs on all fours. More of the offerings clattered and crashed to the floor as she went. The haft of her ax bumped into something ornamental, knocking it over.

Weapons. She realized.

The others that were unarmed would find a way to arm themselves. Which meant one place and one place alone would be their destination.

The pillarwood grove.

It was the easiest place to get straight wood for spears or hafts, even just clubs.

Fire!

Yes! That could work.

It was far enough from the nesting sites. And it wouldn't burn quickly like the pines. Especially with how much rain everything had gotten for quite some time now.

She leaped out of the stairwell, ransacking her own nest. Bits and pieces flew this way and that.

The neonate's dwelling was in a state of complete disorganization. She hissed, looking up at the darkening sky.

No time!

It was the scattered earthbone spheres that decided her. She scrambled and snarled as they made her footing uncertain in her haste, making her slip and fall, nearly knocking her little wooden idol to the war god into the crackling fire.

She hissed, scrambling and catching it out of the air at the last possible second, quickly pulling it away from the coals towards safety. As she stood she nearly stepped on the brutal sting of the monstrosity, pulling up short and nearly slipping again on more of the spheres, nearly making her step on the sting again.

The neonate snapped her jaw and kicked the thing out of the nest. It landed in a patch of grass near the front entrance, of to the side of the usual path. She’d have to deal with that.

Later, torches! Her Instinct snarled impatiently.

She turned back to glare at the earthbone spheres, the disks. She had tried time and again to discern a use for them with no luck.

I should discard it all. All of this… junk!

Her Instinct growled from her hands, tightening them protectively around the wooden carving she held.

She paused, looking at the idol. She looked over at the leather wrapped rectangle, laying on its back, its symbol covered leaves fluttering in the wind. Most were stained with different colors of mud now. She hadn’t found a use for the thing, but she enjoyed looking at the whirling circles and symbols in the night. She shifted her gaze, taking in the rest of the mess that was her nest. The scattered spheres and disks, the hooks and the line.

Mine! Her Instinct hissed.

She didn't want to discard her possessions. At least, not the irreplaceable ones. They were hers now.

They were hers!

But she needed a clear space!

Hissing in frustration, she shoved all of the possessions she had gotten from Gix's grave back into the magic bag. Spheres and disks clacked loudly as she did, pouring handfuls of them in at a time.

Once her space was clearer and the bag was full, she clasped the bag shut and tossed it down the hill. With a clattering bump it came to a stop, resting against the wall of thorns. She quickly forgot about it as she cobbled together as many torches as she could carry.

She quickly dug out her proper nest, ruining the shape in the dirt that matched her so well.

Won’t need this. Not tonight, and can make a fresh one after. If there was an after…

Survive! Learn!

What was the lesson? No, need more time to let it incubate.

She dumped the pillarwood fibers and shredded the rest of the cloth she had as well. She poured all of the pine resin she had on top, save for a roushide bag she kept aside, in case there might be need of it. She also added cordage and rope. And all the sap she had collected in various shells and husks and hide bags. Still sticky.

I can always get more if I live. This was not a time to worry about waste.

The neonate poured the remainder of the firehoney onto the lot of it. Mashing it in, letting the foul smelling slick slime coat all of her materials.

Using a wide stone she heated up her pine tar and grabbed several suitable lengths of firewood. The neonate then set about making the torches, tying the fibers and shredded rags onto the sticks with the soaked cords. Making loops each time, so that if one failed, the others wouldn’t come undone. Coating the whole thing in the pine tar, which she was sure would also burn.

They creaked as she tightened down the knots, digging into her scaled hands. It had been easy enough to find handles with a knot on either end to hold the mass in place.

She checked the sky.

Fuck.

The hues of the sun were fading while those of the night were growing more and more saturated. Faint bright pinpricks of light started to appear. The many eyes of Zasa’Avi were starting to open.

That will have to do.

Compete!

She didn’t like leaving the loose materials unused, but she didn’t have time.

The neonate lit one torch and raced off back down the stairs, hissing in displeasure, still at a loss as to who to target.

Taking a cue from Axmaker, she took the axes she had stolen from one of the stockpiles she had hidden as well, sliding them into her rope belt.

She raced through the temple. She leaped over the stairs down at the center, grabbing one of the idols to swing right before letting go. She rushed straight west. A snapping jaw of determination and focus.

She wasted no time once she was out of the Pillarwood entrance, clamping the still burning torch in her teeth and climbing high into the canopy.

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The neonate could hear the combat.

Screams. Yelps of pain. Triumphant gnashing snarls.

It was not even fully night yet.

Her concerns mounted.

Her Instinct hissed. It will only get worse. It pulled her mind away from the sound.

She clamped her jaw, teeth gouging the wood handle of her torch. I have work to do yet.

When she got to the top of the tree, she was surrounded by the yellow orange flickering of the torchbugs. She almost snapped at one before remembering the glow it would spread across her face.

A fresh idea formed in her mind.

Staying high in the tree, she wobbled the torch up and down as she sprinted, silent in the mist. Mimicking the insects that buzzed lazily around the carnage below. Flaming droplets leaked down from the burning brand, but they all winked out shortly after.

Have to be careful.

Her Instinct exuded sunrise hued thoughts as she blended the light of the torch in with the other flickering lights of the torchbugs buzzing through the canopy.

Good! Learn!

She got closer, and looked down at the clearing, hiding the torch behind the trunk of the tree she was in. Her body was a cool pale purplish blue, matching the mist that still blanketed the island, making her hand and arm brighter to sell the illusion of the torch being an insect.

Looking down she watched as the lesser hatchlings squabbled.

Thwack!

Crack!

It was already vicious. Bloody wounds were exchanged back and forth. Squeals and growls echoed against the stifling canopy. Glittering teeth sailed through the air. She could smell blood and heard whimpers. Several starved looking hatchlings ran away.

Ignore. How many?

Fifteen.

Too many… Her Instinct growled.

Maybe. She scanned the surroundings. Her yellow eyes locked onto something. The neonate moved closer to it.

That.

Her Instinct purred. Yes. Compete!

Like in Design’s territory, there were several trees that had been blown over during the monsoon, caught up and snagged with vines. The living ropes were taut, keeping the dead trunks and branches from crushing the grove.

All it would take was a sharp blade to destroy most of the materials the other Greenscales were relying on. And she had torches and resin for the remainder.

But she needed to make sure none died here.

No accidents.

She turned, and took out a second torch, lighting it with the first before hurling the first as hard as she could. The flames clinking to it fluttered like a lamed bird through the air before landing anticlimactically with a bit of a thump.

She kept it up, getting to the third and fourth torches before a stone buzzed by her snout, making her snarl and hiss. The others had finally noticed. There were only seven left.

Close…

She hurled one torch at the female who had thrown the rock, making her squeal and beat at her own face as the ignited firehoney splattered onto it.

Face. Her Instinct named her with dark amusement.

She squealed in pain, and shoved her face into the dirt. Scrubbing it. Trying to smother the flames. Another hatchling lifted a stone, trying to take advantage of her distraction.

Rock.

Face spun, cracking Rock across the face with her tail. The stone fell, crushing his foot and making him squeal in agony.

It was all the time the neonate needed.

She leaped to a larger vine, grabbing it with her three toed feet as she put the torch in her mouth and slashed with her knife. She swung down grabbing the vine with her now free hand as well, shifting to her black and red.

She collided into the mass, swinging viciously with her weapon.

They scattered back. All save one, who got a vicious slash across his bicep for his bravery. He squealed loudly and fell, scrambling away as his one arm went limp, the wound deep.

Face had managed to put out the flame, but her focus was on Rock, who she had pounced on top of, slashing his snout before he managed to kick her off with his good foot.

She left them to it.

Four. Four lessers she could handle.

Stripe, Spots, Mask, Tail. Her Instinct wasted no time in naming them as well.

She took the torch from her mouth.

The other torches had all lighted fires. She stood with her back to them, reds, oranges, and golden yellows. They burned the wastefully unused bark and fibers.

Utilize! Become! Her Instinct snarled.

Backlit. Yes… It would help her look impressive. More threatening. More like the monster she wanted to be.

She emphasized the black in her pattern, then boosted the saturation of the red, knowing it would stand out brightly even with the flames behind her.

“Flee.” She hissed.

They glanced at each other, then did something she hadn’t expected. They attacked together.

The neonate hissed as Stripe swept with his tail, forcing her to jump over it, twisting awkwardly as Spots’ jaws snapped close to her arm with the torch. The warrior dodged back from the swiping claws of Mask, shoving the torch in her face to force her back. The forth, Tail, got a minor cut on her wrist as she tried to grab the knife.

The neonate snarled, frustrated at their awkwardness, their hesitation. It was like they were unsure of what they were doing. But most of all she was furious that in spite of their terrible technique it was difficult for her to break through to convince them to leave. There were just to many.

She gnashed and roared at them, spining, viciously trying to strike, to dodge, to block.

Exploit the weakness. Her yellow eyes searched in the flickering firelight, guided by her Instinct.

The fire blazed behind them.

Stripe snapped her jaws and kicked out. The neonate shifted, turning to take it on the shin rather than the thigh, grunting.

It stung like nettles.

Thigh won’t lock up at least.

Spots rushed forward, snapping at her again. She started to dodge, then saw his one arm coming up, glinting claws slashing. Snarling she intercepted with the haft of her torch. Burning firehoney stinging before burning up as it splattered onto them both.

She turned and slashed with her knife. He stepped back, not trying to catch her wrist. He winced as he moved.

Spots! Her eyes locked on, scanning, searching for her prey’s injury before she had to shift focus.

Her slash became a stab at Tail. The idiot just stared at the blade getting closer!

Fuck!

She didn’t have a reason to kill the dense female, pulling back her strike at the last moment before Tail finally moved out of the way. She twisted and whacked the idiot in the mouth with the flat of her blade, chipping teeth.

At least try damn you! She didn’t realize she would feel spoiled by facing competent opponents before this.

The neonate spun, trying to mask the hesitation by swinging the torch at the Mask to keep her back as well. Her eyes shifted back to the injured male, scanning his spotted pattern. Studying it.

Spots side! It was hard to see in the harsh light, but the pattern there wasn’t symmetrical! That had to be it!

Without hesitation she kicked at that oddly colored portion. It connected, and she felt something inside Spots break. A fracture or an infection she couldn’t tell, and didn’t care.

He yelped and fell to one knee. His pattern flickering pale as he gave in.

No! Hue is wrong! It was too dark, too defiant.

Don’t trust it! She could see his legs coiling to spring, but to attack or flee she couldn’t tell.

I won’t leave it to chance!

The warrior swung her torch with a roar!

Thwack!

It hit Tail right across the face, knocking him writing to the ground as he struggled to put himself out like the other Greenscale before him, his black and red snapping back in place before the pain took control.

He ran, still on fire, heading to the river.

Three! Only three!

She heard Face and Rock still squabbling, glancing over and seeing Face continuing to knock Rock over. What was taking them so long?

She never finished the job. Did she not have a justification?

No… It was something else.

They haven’t killed before. They don’t have the conviction. Her Instinct whispered, tightening her grip on her knife. Weak! Kill them! It gnashed.

No! Lack of knowledge isn’t a reason. She glared at Tail, who stepped back.

She snarled, and put the knife away, pulling out a second torch, her last. She lit it with the other.

“I said flee.” She growled. It rumbled in her chest. Deep. Powerful.

It felt… wonderful…

The fear left her as she recognized it in their eyes.

They saw it. They recognized her as one of the apexes. And rightly they feared her for it.

They just don’t want to believe it yet. Or perhaps it was that they believed she couldn’t justify their deaths.

Make them! Kill them! Victory! Become!

Trickery was a weapon she could wield with wild abandon.

She charged, her torches leaving lines of light and splattering drops of fire as she laid into them. Stripe tried to sweep again. The neonate leaped and landed on top of his tail, and he yelped as she dug in her toeclaws.

She swung both clubs as he tried to slash.

Axmaker.

She would copy what she had seen before.

Thwack!

His hand, his strike knocked aside!

Thump! Crackle

A thrust into his chest, knocking out his wind. Maybe breaking a rib.

Yellow eyes darted. Spots at the river. Face had the stone lifted high over Rock. Where was the threat?

Mask!

Mask thrust with her claws, sluggish and awkward. Blue shock flashed around her eyes as the neonate sidestepped easily, expecting the attack. The warrior’s head snapped forward, teeth glinting in the flames. She bit off Mask’s little finger with a soft snick.

Blood fountained, and Mask screeched, watching in horror as the neonate crunched the bones, swallowing the digit. White fear made her stand out brilliantly in the primitive flickering glare as she staggered away and ran, holding her one hand.

Tail also fled, and the neonate chased, partly because she was heading towards the vines holding the trees anyway.

She heard Stripe snarl behind her. She turned and threw both torches at him to make him stagger back for a second, falling down to not be hit by the burning brands. She used the distraction to scramble up into the canopy after Tail.

She might be able to justify killing that idiot. She wasn’t even trying to blend. Her black and red extremely visible.

Yes! Kill! Her Instinct knew that would be justifiable.

Crunch! It sounded like Face had finally worked up the nerve.

The neonate looked down.

Stripe was climbing below her. Face was running from the now blazing grove. Spots was entering the canopy by the river. She growled. It was too late for him. She was at the snagged tree.

“Last warning. Flee.”

She took out her knife, and slashed at the vines.

Each one popped as it was cut, the strain making the others groan louder and louder. She saw Stripe slow in confusion before snarling and rushing forward.

She cut the last vine.

With a groaning thundering boom the dead trees crashed down onto the burning fires. The canopy shook. She was nearly hurled free from the treetops. Tail was, but he was caught by yet more vines, and was struggling to get firm footing.

Displaced hot air and smoke billowed out into the night, burning and blowing away the fog in a large area.

Spots snarled and fled, holding his side, face burnt.

Stripe hissed at her. “Damn you you ru-”

Twang! Thwick!

Something thin shot through his neck, leaving two neat holes. Spot’s eyes were wide with shock, fear, dirty yellow and white flickered in his pattern. Blood sprayed out as he fell into the raging fires below.

Shit! She turned to chase after Tail, to kill her quickly to deal with that challenge befor-

A whirling sound!

Spurk!

The fire hardened haft of an ax bloomed out of Tail’s temple even as she got on a branch and started to try and scramble away. Her body twitched for a moment. The ax’s owner climbed up and planted her foot on the lesser, broad muscled arms shattering vertebrae and skull alike as she twisted.

Axmaker roared at the neonate.

And Bowmaker isn’t far from here either. But there was something worse.

The fog in the area was blown and burned away. She was exposed.

Twang!