88.- The Clock That Bleeds

Night had fallen like a shroud of shadows over the border plain of Rhok'thar, a silence broken only by the crackling of campfires that bathed the Frostscale encampment in a flickering orange glow against the endless snow. Lances of eternal ice, driven into the ground like defiant fangs, gleamed under the trembling light, while magical barriers pulsed with a faint blue hum, raised by mages who muttered ancient spells beneath their black cloaks. Warriors patrolled the perimeter, their armor creaking with each step, claws gripping axes and spears as their eyes scanned the distant mountains where the silhouettes of Rhokari lurked like specters in the gloom. The wind howled, a wail that carried snowflakes dancing like ashes in the frigid air, and at the heart of that hive of activity stood Slyth, counselor of Frostfang, before his tent, his yeti-fur cloak billowing behind him like a banner of arrogance.

He had achieved the impossible. He had manipulated Thrassk, sown discord between Frostfang and Rhok'thar, and planted the seeds of a war that would soon blossom into glorious chaos. Ghaul, the Speaker of the Rock, had屈服ed to his ultimatum—he would come to the trial, and with him, Rhok'thar's doom would be sealed. Slyth smiled, his gray scales glinting with a dull sheen under the firelight, his claws tapping against the hourglass clock hidden in his tunic, a tick-tock that echoed in his chest like a fractured heartbeat.

"Everything is in place," he murmured to himself, his voice a hiss that mingled with the wind. "Thrassk will dance to my tune, the people will roar for blood, and she will raise me above them all."

"Baelar," he called, turning to the captain of the Frostguard, whose sturdy frame emerged from the shadows, his eternal ice lance glowing with a blue shimmer that cut through the dusk. "I want eyes on those mountains. Let the Rhokari feel our gaze on their necks until Ghaul is ready to march."

Baelar dipped his head, his weathered face twisting into a grimace of unease. "This silence doesn't sit right, Counselor," he growled, his voice deep as the groan of a glacier. "It's too still. Too… empty."

Slyth let out a dry laugh, a sound that scraped the air like a claw on ice. "Silence is my weapon, captain. The Rhokari tremble in it, and Thrassk will fill it with his wrath. Watch, and fear no shadows."

Baelar nodded reluctantly, his lance striking the snow with a sharp crunch. "As you command," he said, before turning and barking orders to the patrols, their figures fading into the icy mist rising from the ground.

Slyth turned to his tent, the weight of the clock pulsing against his chest with an intensity that made him pause for a moment. The camp was an improvised fortress—lances forming a circle of death, magical barriers beating like a frozen heart, campfires spitting sparks into the gray sky. The mages, three hooded figures with staves humming with runes, raised their voices in chants that echoed like whispers from a forgotten age, while warriors sharpened their weapons in a steady rhythm, the screech of metal on stone filling the air with a melody of impending war. Everything was under his control, every piece on the board moved by his cunning claws. Yet the tick-tock of the clock seemed to whisper something he couldn't decipher, an echo that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

He stepped into his tent, the hanging furs closing behind him with a rustle, and allowed himself a moment of reprieve. The light of an oil lamp danced on the canvas walls, casting shadows that writhed like serpents. He shed his cloak with a sharp motion, letting it fall over an ice-carved chair, and pulled the hourglass clock from his tunic. The sand glowed with a faint light, flowing upward in defiance of reason, a motion that mesmerized him as he held it between his claws. He had felt its power before—ten months ago, when she had broken him with a single glance, when his guards had fallen like dry leaves before her will. Now, he needed it again. He needed instructions, confirmation, a glimpse of the next step in his ascent.

"Come on, you damned trinket," he growled, turning the clock between his fingers. He shook it, tapped it gently against his palm, and for a moment, nothing happened. But then the air vibrated, a low hum that rattled the lamp and sent shadows spinning in a frenzy. The space before him warped, as if reality itself folded in on itself, and she appeared.

She didn't emerge from a portal or form from the shadows. She was simply there, tall and slender, her voluptuous figure draped in a cosmic robe that seemed woven from stars and void. Her pale skin shimmered with an iridescent glow, as if stardust coursed beneath it, etched with faint lines that flickered in and out like the hands of an endless clock. Her hair, a cascading torrent, shifted colors with every motion—jet black, blood red, impossible violet—floating against gravity as if time itself guided it. But it was her eyes that stole Slyth's breath: no pupils, only miniature hourglasses where golden sand flowed in chaotic directions, and behind them, a single golden hand ticked slowly, marking a rhythm that thrummed in the counselor's bones. Around her neck, an hourglass pendant dripped black blood that evaporated into crimson wisps, and a halo of clocks and golden gears hovered behind her like broken wings.

Aevia.

Slyth dropped to his knees without thinking, his scales crunching against the frozen floor. It wasn't just fear that bent him—it was recognition, an instinctive submission to a power beyond his grasp.

"My lady," he said, his voice quivering with a mix of reverence and hunger. "I've fulfilled your will. Ghaul will come to the trial, the evidence is planted, and Thrassk is poised to unleash war. What's next?"

Aevia watched him in silence, her face a mask of indifference that betrayed nothing. Then her lips curved into an enigmatic smile, one that didn't reach her hourglass eyes.

"You've woven well, lizard," she said, her voice soft but resonant, like the tolling of a thousand distant bells. "The ultimatum was a masterstroke. Frostfang and Rhok'thar teeter on the edge, and the loom of chaos already spins."

Slyth looked up, his claws tightening around the clock with a blend of pride and greed. "And my reward, my lady? What's next for me? The trial is near, and I need—"

"Eager for your glory?" Aevia cut him off, her tone dripping with icy sarcasm that silenced him. "Patience, pawn. The loom doesn't weave for the impatient. Look, and understand."

She extended a hand, her long, pale fingers glowing with a light that seemed torn from the stars, and the air before Slyth shattered like a broken mirror. A vision rose before him: Frostfang engulfed in blue flames, its tunnels collapsing under the weight of broken lances; Rhok'thar reduced to a wasteland of blood and bone, its colossal warriors falling like toppled towers; and at the center, a dungeon growing like a living beast, its black roots swallowing the world as a throne of stone and shadow rose in its heart. The vision was a whirlwind of fire, screams, and unimaginable power, but before Slyth could grasp it, it faded, leaving him gasping, his mind reeling under the weight of what he'd seen.

"What… what was that?" he stammered, his claws trembling as he gripped the clock tighter.

"A glimpse," Aevia replied, her voice a whisper that sliced the air like a honed blade. "An echo of the tapestry you've helped weave. Isn't it beautiful?"

Slyth swallowed hard, his heart pounding with a mix of terror and ambition. "Yes, my lady," he said, bowing lower. "What must I do now? How do I secure the trial?"

Aevia tilted her head, her hourglass eyes spinning with a rhythm that dizzied him. "Nothing," she said, her tone so cold the air seemed to freeze around her. "Just wait. The next move isn't yours."

Before Slyth could protest, the space twisted again, a crack that shook the tent as if reality itself splintered. The air grew thick, heavy, and a new presence emerged, one that lodged Slyth's breath in his throat.

Kaili.

There was no announcement or warning—she was simply there, her tall, slender form clad in black armor that flowed like liquid obsidian, hugging her curves and muscles with lethal elegance. Her purple skin glowed with an inner light, traced with golden, silver, and red runes that pulsed like living veins. Iridescent wings, buzzing with a chaos of greens and purples, rose behind her, casting shadows that danced like serpents on the walls. But it was her eyes that paralyzed Slyth: black as bottomless wells, swallowing the light until the lamp seemed to dim, filled with a visceral disgust that pierced him like a spear.

Kaili stepped forward, her boots ringing against the frozen floor with an echo that rattled the tent's furs. "So this is the lizard," she said, her voice smooth but laced with contempt, as if speaking his existence was an insult. "The little pawn who thought he could play with the big ones."

Slyth tried to rise, but his legs refused, his claws digging into the ground as fear flooded him like a glacial river. "Who… who are you?" he stammered, his voice breaking like thin ice.

Kaili laughed, a sharp, cutting sound that echoed in the tent like the snap of a whip. "Who am I? Oh, poor thing, don't worry about names. Just know I'm the end of your pitiful tale." She leaned toward him, her abyssal eyes glinting with a malice that made him recoil. "Aevia said you've got a reward coming. Isn't that exciting?"

"My lady," Slyth cried, turning to Aevia with desperate pleading in his voice. "Help me! You promised—"

"Silence," Aevia snapped, her voice a murmur that halted his words like a guillotine. "I promised I wouldn't kill you with these hands, lizard. And I'll keep that. But my word doesn't bind others."

Kaili laughed again, a sound that filled the air with a venom that felt tangible. "Hear that, Slythie? She doesn't touch you. But I…" She paused, snapping her fingers with a theatrical flourish, and the air erupted in a chaos of shadows and buzzing.

Outside the tent, the screams began.

Black shadows burst from the ground like a living tide, tearing through the tent's furs and enveloping the guards posted there. Their armor cracked and split like eggshells, their bodies exploding in bloody fragments that splattered the walls with a viscous red that dripped like fresh paint. One tried to swing his lance, but the shadows seized his legs, twisting them until the bones splintered with a wet crunch, his scream choked off as his torso burst in a shower of flesh and blue scales.

Slyth turned to the entrance, his eyes bulging as the chaos spread beyond. A green miasma rose from the snow, a thick vapor that climbed the magical barriers and shattered them like glass, the fragments falling with a tinkling lost in the shrieks. The mages, caught in their chants, raised their staves in a desperate bid to fight back, but the miasma reached them first. Their robes disintegrated into black tatters, their skin bubbling and melting into steaming pools of liquid flesh that hissed against the ice. One tried to run, his staff dropping with a dull thud, but the venom caught him, dissolving his legs until he collapsed, a gurgling scream escaping his throat before his face melted into an unrecognizable mash.

The warriors at the perimeter fared no better. Swarms of plagued insects—black beetles with mandibles dripping a green ooze—erupted from the miasma, buzzing with a noise that pierced eardrums. They descended on the Frostscales, boring through their armor like it was paper, devouring their flesh in a frenzy that left twisted skeletons in seconds. A warrior raised his axe, slashing the air in a desperate arc, but the insects swarmed him like a living blanket, his screams turning to a choked whimper as his face vanished beneath a sea of black carapaces, his blood gushing in streams that painted the snow red.

Baelar stormed into the tent, his lance raised, his face a mask of fury and confusion. "Counselor!" he roared, his voice cutting through the chaos as he aimed at Kaili. "What in the hells—"

He didn't finish. Kaili snapped her fingers again, and black shadows coiled around him like a constricting snake. His white scales cracked and flaked away, his lance falling with a final clang as his body disintegrated in a whirlwind of blue dust that scattered across the floor like ashes in the wind. His scream, a broken roar, faded in an instant, leaving only the echo of his weapon ringing in the tent.

Slyth stumbled back, his back slamming against the canvas wall, his claws scraping the ground as panic consumed him. "No!" he screamed, his voice shattering like glass. "My lady, you promised! You promised power!"

Kaili advanced, her boots ringing with a deliberate rhythm that shook the ground beneath him. "Power?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she looked at him like an insect crushed under her heel. "Oh, how adorable. You thought you were important, didn't you? More than a squealing lizard with delusions of grandeur."

She seized him by the throat with one claw, her nails piercing his gray scales until blood welled in hot threads that ran down her arm. Slyth flailed in the air, his claws scratching uselessly at Kaili's armor, his eyes bulging as the air escaped him in broken gasps.

"Scream all you want, pawn," Kaili whispered, leaning in until her abyssal eyes filled his vision, her breath a seductive waft of jasmine and spice that clashed with the carnage around them. "I love it when they squeal before they pop. It's like music to my wings."

"Please!" Slyth begged, his voice a shattered whimper as tears of terror streaked his scales. "My lady, save me! You said—"

Aevia didn't move, her form still as an ice statue, her hourglass eyes spinning with an indifference that chilled Slyth's blood more than the wind outside. "I said I wouldn't kill you," she said, her voice a distant echo barely piercing the camp's shrieks. "And I won't. My word is law. But she…" She paused, her smile widening faintly. "She promised nothing."

Kaili laughed, a sound that rang like the cracking of bones. "Exactly, lizard," she said, tightening her grip until his scales began to splinter with wet crunches. "I don't make promises. I make art. And you… you're going to be my masterpiece."

With a slow, theatrical twist, she wrenched Slyth's neck, the crack of bones echoing in the tent like a mournful drum. Blood sprayed in a gush that splattered the floor, staining the hourglass clock that fell from his claws with a bright red that gleamed under the lamp's light. But Kaili didn't stop there. She raised her other claw, nails flashing like black daggers, and with a deliberate yank, tore Slyth's head from his body, the sound of ripping flesh filling the air with a grotesque snap. Blood sprayed her armor in a crimson arc, and Slyth's headless body crumpled with a dull thud, his claws still twitching in a final spasm of life.

Kaili held the head for a moment, turning it to meet its glassy, terror-frozen eyes before tossing it to the ground with a wet thump that rolled the skull to Aevia's feet. "Your reward, Slyth," she said, kicking the body with contempt as blood pooled in a sticky mire. "A throne of worms and a round of applause from the flies. Isn't it poetic?"

Outside, the camp was a hellscape of death. The campfires had guttered out under the miasma's weight, their embers hissing as the venom consumed them. Frostscale bodies lay strewn like broken dolls—skeletons devoured by insects, pools of melted flesh, shards of armor and snapped lances littering the snow in a mosaic of ruin. Silence had returned, but it was a heavy silence, thick with the stench of blood and rot, broken only by the distant hum of Kaili's wings as she loomed over the wreckage.

From the nearby mountains, Ghaul and his Rhokari delegation watched, their forms barely visible in the gloom. The Speaker of the Rock, his bone armor glinting and red eyes blazing with fury, clenched his fists as the Frostscale camp burned in shadows and green fire. The screams had reached them, a chorus of death echoing across the peaks, and now the silence spoke volumes.

"They betrayed us!" Ghaul roared, his voice a thunderclap that shook the snow beneath his feet. "These lizards came with talk of trials and attacked us in the night!"

The white-furred counselor, his staff trembling in his claws, stepped forward, his voice a quivering whisper. "Something's off, Speaker," he said, eyes fixed on the chaos below. "That power… it's not Frostfang's."

But the sandy-furred counselor cut him off, his tone firm and urgent. "Doesn't matter what it was," he growled. "Look at the wreckage—broken lances, Frostscale blood. They'll say we did it. We need to prepare!"

Ghaul nodded, his fangs flashing beneath his helm as he turned to his warriors. "To the defenses!" he bellowed. "Frostfang will pay with their tunnels for this outrage!"

As the Rhokari retreated into the mountains, the ruined camp stood as a grotesque testament: mutilated bodies scattered across the snow, Slyth's broken clock awash in a pool of glowing blood, the magical barriers reduced to fragments that flickered weakly before dying out. The wind howled again, carrying the stench of the massacre toward the horizon, a harbinger of the war that would soon engulf both realms.

Inside the ruined tent, Kaili wiped her hands on her armor, leaving red streaks that gleamed under the lamp's fading light. "See?" she said, turning to Aevia with a smile that bared dagger-sharp teeth. "Even pawns get their moment of glory. A splash of blood, a dash of chaos, and voilà—a masterpiece."

Aevia stood unmoved, her ethereal form a stark contrast to the inferno around her. The mangled bodies, the blood soaking the ground, Slyth's skull at her feet—none of it seemed to touch her. Her hourglass eyes spun with a steady rhythm, her voice a cold murmur that cut the air like an invisible blade.

"Pawns, once they've served their purpose, are disposable," she said, her tone so frigid that the blood pool at her feet began to freeze, red crystals forming on its surface. "One pawn falls, two realms clash. The loom is complete."

Kaili laughed, a sound that echoed like the splintering of a tree. "And what a pretty loom," she said, kicking Slyth's skull with a thump that sent it rolling into a corner. "Who needs lizards when you've got plagues and shadows?"

Aevia didn't reply. She raised a hand, and the air around her fractured in a whirlwind of golden sand and gears that roared with the hum of a thousand clocks. Her form dissolved into shards of light and dust, vanishing as if she'd never been there, leaving behind a deathly silence that cloaked the camp's remains like a shroud.

Kaili lingered a moment longer, her wings buzzing with a chaotic rhythm as she surveyed the havoc she'd wrought. "Rest in pieces, Slythie," she murmured, her voice dripping with sarcasm as the wind carried her words away. "Your big debut was a hit. Too bad you didn't live for the encore."

With a snap of her fingers, the remaining shadows rose in a vortex that consumed the tent, reducing it to black ashes that scattered across the snow. Kaili stepped back, her form fading into the green miasma still drifting over the camp, and silence reigned once more—a silence reigned once more—a silence that promised blood, fire, and the echo of a war that could no longer be stopped.