Never let yourself be driven by your anger, it makes you into prey. Only use it as an edge to dispatch your foes.
-From Aphorisms: 1:20-21
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I glared at Maruc. “You helped the one making traps see her that night, didn’t you?”
I will not be question-
“Didn’t you?!” Sure, the Kiddo had made a ton of enemies, but this was just… unfair.
Yes, I did, Thief. Now shut up and watch. I am interested to see how she dies.
Not if I have anything to do about it. I knew what He wanted. He wanted one of the bigger, stronger ones to do what needed to be done.
He expected that the others would be better at killing than the Kiddo. That without the mountainous chip on their shoulder, they were somehow going to be better at pushing through adversity or be better at adapting to new difficult situations.
He’s simple like that sometimes.
I checked on the hickory, quickly before he noticed.
Good, still down there.
I’d just have to hope that the Kiddo lived to the end of this gauntlet.
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The neonate felt like she would be able to tear down the Axmaker entrance before she managed to calm herself enough to enter it properly, her frustration making it hard to do the pattern to get in correctly.
She knew it was irrational to go back like this, that none of those things were what she should be focusing on. That this was only wasting more of her precious time.
I don’t care!
Mine!
She had thought she was done getting beat up, of having her things taken. Of being singled out by literally everyone else, not because she was a threat, but because she was a nuisance, a runt. Done being forced to sneak and hide and live in this constant state of worry.
They were just mad that she was better at it than they were, could outplay them at their own strategies, win despite her handicap.
No more.
She almost bellowed in the dark, craving the noise. The only thing that stopped her was that she needed the element of surprise. Who could it be though?
Trapmaker. Her Instinct snarled without hesitation.
The neonate growled softly as she continued to run. Of course. She remembered that glare, the flash of black and red. He had probably been asking the others where they had seen her. Track down possible entry sights.
If that was true, he had recognized her in the tree the other night, then. Did that mean that there was some secret way into his base through the temple? It seemed unlikely, she had checked thoroughly. Maybe he had found the Ropemaker entrance?
Yes! That had to be it. It was the only one that was open to the air.
All those traps take a lot of cordage as well.
Ropemaker must have been Trapmaker’s Resource.
It all made sense!
And the coward had snuck in to distract her once again, to keep her from figuring out whoever she could justify killing. Working with the others to either make sure she died or didn’t manage to get a kill of her own.
Bastards!
She didn’t think there were enough of the lessers left for her to find that she could also justify culling from the brood without using traits that she exhibited herself. She might as well get revenge on him before she was culled as well.
She slowed as she reached the center.
Faster.
After. The warrior had forgotten to pray to the gods earlier. If she was going to die she could afford a moment of prayer. And if she was going to kill without justification, she wanted to make sure it was really what she wanted, and she would need a calm head.
Her Instinct nodded in her mind, humming with approval.
Do it cold. Deliberately.
Just to make sure, the little hunter tried to think of a justification to cull Trapmaker. She couldn’t think of any. Strong, large, intelligent, resourceful. No, she couldn’t justify his death. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t relish in it all the same for this. And maybe she could think of one by the end of the night.
She wasn’t hopeful about that.
No telling what traps are now laid. There could even be some on the stairs heading out. She hissed, her tongue flickering up and down. He must have learned how to use the moss as well, she couldn’t smell him at all.
She encompassed them all with her spread arms, drawing both her ax and her knife. She could feel the rouse bag of pine resin she had on her belt, sticking to her. The blood from her injuries matting the fur before it spattered onto the offerings at her feet. Dripping slowly.
“Please, if I cannot prove my worth to the brood, let me prove my worth to you,” she whispered, her voice had a slight lisp because of her missing tooth. “If such a thing pleases you.” She pulled her arms in, bowing. She faced Haan-Kezk al’Shezd as she did. Of all the pantheon, he would be most pleased by a desire to kill.
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Please do, last daughter. Maruc said it with a smug grin.
I hate that He takes such open pleasure in such things. But I knew I could help the Kiddo so long as she helped herself out of this mess.
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She climbed the steps, quickly splashing water onto herself.
She washed herself clean so that she could head out to avenge the loss of what was hers.
She washed herself clean so that she could blend in again.
She washed herself clean, because it cooled her anger into a blade she could use to gut her foe.
She thought about leaving the pine resin in the rous hide bag behind. It wasn’t heavy enough to throw as a weapon. But it was probably one of the last things she had left.
Cover him in it and throw him into the flames.
Yes. She could do that.
The little apex set off at speed, keeping an eye out for any tripwires or odd materials left on the path and stairs. She took those two at a time.
When she reached the entryway, having found no traps, or snares, or ambushes, she let her tongue flicker out.
Still nothing. She paused, carefully taking a handful of the dried herbs and crushing them to powder. She didn’t worry about the sound. She could hear the roaring of the flames now.
She used her own blood and the juice from some of the berries in her hands to make it into a paste, stuffing them into her side with a silent hiss and plugging the hole at the base of her tail. The bleeding finally stopped, and the injuries soon went blessedly numb.
She let her tongue slide out again, more slowly this time, spreading the forks wide. She smelled something. Not Trapmaker though. She sniffed the air as well.
Blood.
The hunter’s eyes narrowed as she moved closer, and her flickering tongue nearly touched the stone steps. Her eyes, meanwhile, still searched for some sort of trap, darting left and right.
Blood and… what?
While the scent was familiar, she couldn’t place it. She needed to know who it was though. She placed her hand on one stair to steady herself.
The steps were wet.
Her eyes narrowed.
The blood didn’t belong to the person who walked up the steps last. They had already culled one of the others. She knew who it was.
Damn… She stood, and walked out of the stone entryway, into the light of the conflagration.
The pillar of fire would be visible from the outside now, the roof had fully caught. She didn’t glance to alert her foe, but she needed to see if the bag had survived. That something had survived.
Hours, days, months of work, burning to ashes before her very eyes.
Sparks shot into the air, popping like the shots of the tubewepon in miniature.
The neonate could still recognize some things. The rous hides were still in place, flames taking the place of the fur they once had. The leather underneath charring and curling as it split.
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The gator skin that she had wanted to fashion into something squealed as the last bits of moisture were being cooked out of it, frothing at the edges in a foam.
The tree behind was being scorched, large sections of it glowing with a hateful palette of red, orange, and yellow, even as part of the roof caved in, right where she had mixed all the materials into torches before running out of time.
The hoarded meat charred, the mud and stone walls toppled, the saved bones for marrow and crafts charred black and broken by the heat.
Sorrow, greed, and rage simmered inside. She smothered them to stillness, but her hands gripped her weapons tight enough for her knuckles to pop.
“How does it feel, runt?” Fisher hissed. Her prefixes dyed bitter yellow-green with her smug hatred.
The neonate glared at the apex. She was back-lit by the roaring flames of her shelter, the pillarwood supports giving way and the whole roof collapsing in a flare of sparks and crackles.
The tall female shifted her stance, taking her deadly stone tipped spear in both hands. Another was slung across her back. The neonate drew both the bloodoak ax and her matte black blade.
“Why ask a question you already know the answer to? Through first-hand experience.” The neonate let her prefixes drip with scorn and boredom. Masking the pain of her loss.
Her side throbbed for a moment and she shifted her stance.
Not all weapons can be held in hand. Some are only wielded by the tongue.
Her Instinct pondered at that, tinging slightly yellow.
Fisher snapped her jaws. “I don’t think you underst-”
“All I care to understand is how you figured out how to get in here,” the neonate interrupted, still lisping slightly with her missing tooth.
Never cede the conversation. Always attack.
She couldn’t stop herself even if she had wanted. The warrior had had too much time alone to stew over her resentment of the others.
Good. Her Instinct purred.
Fisher gnashed, starting to circle. “I saw that light when you disappeared, the night you took everything from me!” Her yellow eyes shone with ire. “All those things I relied on when I was washed onto that island! All the work!”
Fisher continued to stalk to the side, and the neonate had to match her, crouched, ready to spring as her rival continued, “All of my horde! All the planning, gone because you couldn’t just die!” She roared that last bit and kept going, gripping her spear more tightly, “And what’s worse, I wouldn’t have even been washed over there if you had just been eaten by that Kingbill!”
The Neonate scanned the other female as she started to circle right. She wanted to see what she would d-
Duck!
The spear thrust forward as Fisher lunged. The neonate bent low, the wound in her tail lancing with pain. She clenched her jaw and used the haft of her ax to knock the point harmlessly up and away.
She tried to flow forward, only managing an awkward stagger, closing the distance all the same. Her ax already swinging.
Fisher snarled and spun the back end of the spear at her with blinding speed.
The neonate shifted the swing to catch the strike with the ax.
Won’t wor-!
CLACK!
Loud as thunder! The polearm broke through the block with such force that the head of the bloodoak ax spun away with a buzzing sound.
Thanks to her Instinct though, the neonate managed to duck under the swing, having to spin with the strike to not wrench her arm. The shaft of the spear whistled through the air as it passed overhead.
She heard the ax head crash into the thorns of the warren somewhere, out of reach.
She turned her spin into another step forward, her back against the haft of Fisher’s weapon as she kept trying to close the distance.
She didn’t have time to worry about the head of the ax, it would have to do as a club, even if it might ruin it as a handle.
Make that reach awkward!
Fisher yanked the spear back, the obsidian sharp tip slicing a thin line along the neonate’s back, making her hiss and stagger away, falling flat before scrambling up.
She was forced to leap back from the thrusts, frantically knocking them aside with her bloodoak club and knife.
Confusion must have colored the neonate’s pattern, because Fisher’s bled orange for a moment and she started gloating.
“That coward male, he saw you!” Fisher snarled. “The idiot you tricked into drugging himself.”
Rage ignited the neonate’s soul. “So it was Trapmaker.” She snarled, yelping as she almost lost an eye to another thrust, a slice along her jowl starting to bleed. She knocked the haft away with her knife, hoping to cut through it. A chip flew free, but she wouldn’t be likely to hit the same place a second time.
“He wanted safety!” Condescending prefixes, glittering like evil stars from the aquatic apex.
Kill! Her Instinct snarled.
I need to close the distance!
No!
She blinked, knocking a thrust high and managing to close enough to hit Fisher’s forearm with the club.
Kill the other! Her Instinct continued, gleaming. Hope laced the emotions and meaning of what her Instinct was trying to convey.
What?
She hissed as the tip of the spear jabbed at her chest. It left a thin cut as she twisted. She needed a longer weapon.
There was a fragment of understanding to what her Instinct said, but she needed time.
She knocked aside another thrust before leaping away from several swings, whirled over Fisher’s head. The neonate’s back was to the fire now.
She didn’t have time. The bag of resin slapped against her thigh as she dodged again. An idea struck her, a plan forming.
Then I’ll make some.
She tried to close again, ducking under a thrust and pushing up with her club. She could feel the hole in her side had started bleeding again, distracting and wet, re-sticking the bag to her side as well.
Fisher stepped back, swinging.
The other apex should have leaped back.
Already inside the other apex’s reach, the neonate intercepted the swing with the club, not trying to block it but just to have it bounce up and over her head while she ducked.
Matte black blade moving to thrust.
Surprise filled Fisher’s eyes as she swiped with her broad flat tail, trying to keep the neonate back.
The little warrior turned, sticking out the knife point first.
Planting her feet and accepting the pain of the slap for a guaranteed thrust with her knife.
She grunted as it connected, wounds jarred, arm now wet with Fisher’s blood.
The bigger apex howled in pain as the blade sunk in easily, pulling away and gnashing in agony. The Neonate’s side bit and snapped at her own nerves as well.
Only pain. Overcome! She couldn’t lose. She would die. But why was there hope? What did her Instinct know? She paid for the distraction with another kick that made her snarl. Fisher lifted the spear high and brought it down.
Justified. Her Instinct hissed as the neonate ran to the side and swung both of her weapons to try to redirect the blow away from herself. She couldn’t understand, she didn’t have time to comprehend.
The little warrior rushed in and finally managed to get in close. Fisher tried to kick again but the neonate intercepted the other female’s shin with her foot, her toeclaws slashing, but not deeply. A distracting injury. Fisher hissed in pain.
Now!
She stabbed with the black blade. Fisher ducked around the strike, though the blade sliced a thin line along her snout. She snarled and punched forward with both hands.
Stars burst in her vision as the middle of the spear cracked into the neonate’s nose. Blood spouting from her nostrils. Filling them with the earthbonian reak of blood.
The warrior gasped, then snarled.
She rammed the end of the ax-handle into Fisher’s gut, making her double over and whine. A kick to the thigh followed, but it was like kicking a stone.
Damn!
She kicked again, pleased to see the tremor in it as she drew the knife in a scything arc. The bag of resin swinging from her belt, pulled away from her blood crusted hip, a distraction.
Fisher caught her leg and spun, throwing the neonate through the air. She bounced painfully on her cut back and tail wounds and yowled. Fisher already closing the distance.
They were even closer to the fire now, the heat burning hot.
Live!
Fisher slammed the butt of the spear down, protecting the stone head. The neonate rolled to the side just in time, only to have to twist again and again as the aquatic female kept trying to pin her.
She scrambled back on her elbows, knocking the spear aside as she did, trying to make room to get back up. She was moving closer to the fire.
Fisher stamped on the neonate’s ankle, gripping it painfully with her slightly webbed toeclaws.
She swung the spear horizontally, wood whistling through the air. The neonate couldn’t get out of the way.
Shit!
CRACK!
The neonate bounced twice before she crumpled into the sandy dirt, stunned.
Barely conscious.
Her vision blurred. Time had slowed.
Adrenaline. Not that it was much help now.
She was next to a familiar tuft of grass. A chitinous weapon laying there.
I forgot… She could have found a way to use that, surely? To kill… No… wait… it only hurt and numbed…
Distraction. Justified. Her Instinct repeated.
And that’s when she realized what her Instinct had meant.
I can’t kill Fisher, but I can kill Trapmaker!
COMPETE!
A new burst of resolve flooded through her, shoving away her mental fog. She dropped the knife and ax and kicked at Fisher’s shins, catching the butt of the staff as she did and pushed
Fisher yelped as she fell and cracked her skull on the worked stone path, her grip on the spear getting loose enough for the neonate to take it from her.
Scrambling to her feet, she stabbed at Fisher, catching the outside of her bicep as the apex’s senses came back to her at the last moment. Fisher rolled away and staggered up, pulling the spear from her back and snarling.
“Ever the thief.” She spat.
“Says the waterlogged fool,” the neonate replied.
Fisher snarled, thrusting.
Clack!
The neonate countered. She let her Instinct take charge, guiding it with what she had observed from Fisher, memorizing because her life depended on it. How she moved, how to hold the weapon. How it could slide in one hand to extend the reach. It wasn’t anywhere near as skilled, but it could be enough!
Fisher stabbed, then swung, forcing the neonate to leap back, a fresh cut just above the scar of her first major injury blossoming wetly. The neonate pressed a hand against the shallow cut for a moment, fighting back fearful memories.
Learn! Her Instinct demanded.
She gave a mental nod. Not just a spear. It was a long club as well.
She spun, whirling it about her head, forcing Fisher to duck under the murderstroke. It hit the ground and broke off the point but she didn’t care. This was better now that she had a proper target.
But it didn’t look good, she could tell by how Fisher was fighting she was dragging this out. Playing with me. She had to end this.
They rejoined, shafts clacking back and forth, swinging this way and that. She couldn’t win, but she could derail Fisher’s attempts to kill her though. How to buy time though without giving the plan away?
Distract. Talk!
“I should thank you.” She hissed, looking behind the other female, knocking aside a thrust, losing more ground. She flashed bright orange and yellow in her pattern, roaring out “Now!” as if to an ally.
Reaching for the bag of resin at her belt, she glanced over at the sting. Got to be quick!
It caught the other female off guard. She didn’t turn, but she hesitated for just a moment, a twitch, a tilt of the head, listening.
It was long enough for the neonate to throw the resin pouch into the fire.
FOWUMPH!
It blazed to light, the shadows harsh. Fisher hissed and covered her eyes in surprise.
The neonate bent down and grabbed the sting of the nightmare that had been One-eye and pounced on top of the other female. Kicking with both feet and landing ontop of her.
Fisher thrashed and a fist connected with the neonate, but she bore it so that she could ram the tip of the sting into the other apex’s chest. Just above the clavicle. She squeezed hard, struggling to keep on top of the larger female. Forcing the soporific out, feeling the remaining venom squelch into Fisher.
Her jaw was next to the female’s ear. “Thank you for telling me who I can justify culling from the brood.”
Fisher snarled in pain, and her claws raked across the neonate’s face, barely breaking the skin, her maw snapped, missing by inches. The neonate leaned in, pushing all she could from the sting into the other Greenscale.
Fisher’s eyes widened, finally realizing something was wrong. She bellowed, kicking with both feet, knocking the neonate down again. Struggling to stand.
It wasn’t enough?!
Wait! Her Instinct glowed like the morning sun.
Frantic she scrambled to her feet, but she needn’t have bothered. Fisher flopped onto her side, drooling, eyes unfocused, her breath bubbling the saliva. It slowed, but it didn’t stop.
The neonate panted, checking the fire.
Far enough away to not kill her.
She checked the moon.
Shit! It was starting to set. Three quarters through its nightly escapade.
Hurry! Her Instinct snarled, bouncing with turquoise jubilation.
She pulled the sting free, throwing it in the fire to burn, quickly snatching up her knife and the handle to her ax.
She ran to where she knew the bag was, in amongst the herbs she had planted. She plucked only berries, smearing them against the wounds. She would have to reapply the moss as well. Her knife slid into its sheath at her waist, and she ran into the temple, adding the dried herbs to her wounds and taking the whole drying rack down with her. Dumping it down in the water so that Fisher couldn’t use them.
She left the ax haft and her bag next to the platform of offerings.
Move!
She ignored her instinct and bowed again. “I have found my prey. Thank you all for all you do.”
That done, she sprinted down the path to the Axmaker entrance. Trapmaker had betrayed one of the brood in exchange for his own safety.
Something that Falsescaled would exploit that without hesitation.
He had to be culled.
And she had to be the one to do it, if she wanted to live.
Survive!
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It’s not over yet Kiddo. I looked at Maruc, noting how frustrated he was. This wasn’t good. He’d wanted a death and hadn’t gotten one.
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