Mother of Midnight

Chapter 176 – Deeper

It was almost comical how similar the Drakthar Clan Hall was to the Serkoth one. The layout was nearly identical—the raised table at the center, the placement of the chairs, the positioning of the hearth. It was as if the Drakthar had taken the same blueprint and decided to improve upon it with sheer, overwhelming ostentation.

And gods, did they.

Everything dripped in red and gold, from the heavy embroidered banners to the gilded trim on the chairs. The polished wood of the long table gleamed with inlays of swirling gold filigree, and even the cushions looked too lavish to be comfortable, more for decoration than function. She could appreciate the color combination in theory, but did they really need to drown everything in it?

Rava nudged her side. “Viv.”

Vivienne blinked up at her, momentarily pulled from her internal critique. “Sorry, I was distracted by the atrocious taste of the Drakthar.” She swept a hand toward the room with an exaggerated grimace. “What are we doing again?”

Rava exhaled through her nose. “Introducing you to the High Fang of the Drakthar.”

Vivienne turned her gaze toward the head of the table, finally giving the man there her full attention.

The High Fang cut an imposing figure, even seated. His features were sharp and wolfish, his fur streaked with silver—not enough to give away his age, though that might’ve been more a testament to the longevity of his kind than any true youthfulness. His gaze was intense, assessing her with the quiet scrutiny of a predator evaluating something new in its territory.

Around the table, tension coiled thick in the air. The other members of the Drakthar council were visibly uneasy, some better at masking it than others. One young woman, seated a few places down, had her hands white-knuckle tight around the shaft of a spear, her jaw clenched.

Vivienne tilted her head at her for a moment, then turned her attention back to the High Fang.

“Oh. Right.” She gave a small, lazy wave. “Well, hello.”

A muscle ticked in the High Fang’s jaw, but it was Kaelvar who spoke first, his voice edged with exasperation. “Are all in your entourage lacking in manners?”

Vivienne’s lips curled, black eyes glinting with amusement. “Excuse you,” she said primly, “I have impeccable manners. I just haven’t seen a reason to display them yet.”

She caught the barest flicker of something on Rava’s face—just a crack in her usual stoicism, a tug at the corner of her mouth. Ah. There it was.

The High Fang’s glare sharpened.

Vivienne, utterly unbothered, wiggled her fingers in another slow, deliberate wave.

Rava finally cut through the thick silence. “This is Vivienne,” she said, voice steady, almost too casual. “She’s the one who killed Alisaria.”

The room shifted in an instant. A sharp intake of breath. A scrape of a chair leg. The grip on that spear tightening even further.

Vivienne smiled.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

The High Fang leaned forward, forearms braced against the gilded table, his golden eyes flicking between Rava and Vivienne. His claws tapped once against the polished wood. "You expect me to believe this is the one who slew Alisaria?"

Vivienne's grin widened, her lips splitting just enough to hint at the needle-like teeth hidden beneath. "What part are you struggling with?" she purred. "That I’m small? That I’m pretty?" She pressed a hand over her chest in mock sympathy. "I understand. It must be difficult for your kind to grasp that size and brutishness aren’t the only ways to be dangerous."

The young woman gripping the spear at his side was the first to snap. "Mind your tongue, wretch—"

The High Fang raised a hand, and she fell silent, though the fire in her eyes did not wane.

His gaze returned to Vivienne, measuring. He made no move to offer them seats, clearly intending to keep them standing. Rava remained stoic beside her, unfazed by the insult. Vivienne, however, let her amusement show, clasping her hands behind her back and rocking on her heel as if they were engaged in idle conversation rather than a tense meeting.

"You will tell us, in your own words, how you killed Alisaria," the High Fang commanded.

Vivienne let out an exaggerated sigh. “So serious.” She tapped a claw against her chin, tilting her head. "Do you want the short version, or shall I really paint a picture for you?"

The man to the High Fang’s left, an older, grizzled figure, exhaled sharply. "Just get on with it."

Vivienne’s grin remained, but her voice dropped, taking on a lilt of something just beneath the surface—something dark, something teasing, something that had nothing to do with humor.

And then she spoke.

She wove the tale deliberately, her voice wrapping around the room like a tightening noose. She described the fight in vivid, deliberate detail—the way Alisaria moved, confident and assured, so certain in her own superiority. How Vivienne had let her believe it, toyed with her, tested her, watched her think she had the upper hand before showing her teeth.

She spoke of the moment realization had struck—that flicker in Alisaria’s eyes when she understood she had miscalculated. When she had felt it, deep in her gut, that this was not a fight she would win.

She described the end. The wet snap of bone, the gurgling breath, the way Alisaria crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut.

And when she finished, the room was utterly still.

The spear-wielding woman’s grip was white-knuckled, her fury vibrating in every tense muscle. The older man had gone stone-faced. Even Kaelvar, who seemed permanently irritated, had no snide remark.

The High Fang, however, was unreadable. He simply regarded Vivienne for a long, silent moment, weighing, measuring.

And then, without looking away from her, he spoke.

“Aeryn,” he commanded, voice smooth but firm. “Stand down.”

The spear-wielding woman—Aeryn—visibly bristled, but she obeyed.

“Do you want to know the best part?” Vivienne purred, her voice thick with dark satisfaction. "She tasted amazing. Her flesh was divine. Pun intended."

A low, hungry chuckle rumbled from deep within her chest as her face split open, revealing the full extent of her monstrous features. Her smile stretched impossibly wide, sharp teeth gleaming like jagged ivory, and her obsidian tongue snaked out of her mouth with a slow, deliberate motion. It was like a serpent unfurling, tendrils of it curling against the edges of her lips as it slid, almost sensuously, up the side of her cheek.

The room froze. Eyes flicked from Vivienne’s grotesque grin to the flicking, sinuous appendage, unable to look away. She could almost taste the disgust wafting off them, thick and sharp.

The air in the chamber shifted. Disgust twisted the faces of some of the gathered Drakthar, while others masked their reactions behind unreadable expressions. The grizzled elder at the High Fang’s left curled his lip, while Aeryn’s grip on her spear tightened to the point that the wood groaned in protest.

Rava, beside her, let out an exasperated sigh through her nose.

The High Fang, to his credit, did not outwardly react. His golden eyes remained locked on Vivienne, their glow sharp and cold.

"You ate her?" His voice was unreadable, caught between disbelief and something else—perhaps something dangerously close to offense.

Vivienne's grin only widened, her sharp teeth glistening in the firelight. She let her tongue slither back into her maw with a wet snap, her lips closing over the rows of razors that lurked within. "Well, of course I did," she said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It would’ve been a waste otherwise. Such a shame to let such quality meat rot."

Aeryn let out a noise somewhere between a snarl and a growl, stepping forward, only to be halted by a single glance from her father.

The High Fang’s fingers curled against the table, slow and deliberate, his gaze narrowing. “What are you?”

Vivienne didn’t flinch, not even in the slightest. Her face stretched into a wide, amused smile as she met his challenging stare. “I am Vivienne Marie Castillo. Aetherbeast and Champion of Akhenna.” She finished with an exaggerated bow, a playful sparkle in her eyes as if the entire room was a stage and she was putting on a show.

There was a slight tension in the air, a stillness before the storm. She let it hang for a moment, the tension in the room palpable, until it was broken by the sharp voice of Aeryn.

“You should be put down, beast,” she spat, her grip tightening around the spear. The sheer venom in her tone was enough to make the air crackle, but Vivienne’s grin never faltered.

Vivienne’s eyes slid to the Drakthar council, then back to the young woman who dared to insult her. “You are welcome to try,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “I will defend myself though.” Her grin widened, showing off rows of razor-sharp teeth, making it clear she wasn’t afraid of any challenge.

Kaelvar’s voice cut through the tension next, laced with condescension. “So Serkoth cavorts with aetherbeasts now?” His words were heavy with disdain, and as he said them, he placed a paw on his daughter’s shoulder, holding her down. She winced, but his grip didn’t loosen.

Rava, standing beside Vivienne, spoke up without hesitation. “Serkoth deals with champions, Kaelvar. In addition, aetherbeasts cannot think, therefore she would be an exception, no?” She didn’t so much as flinch under his gaze.

But Kaelvar wasn’t finished. He leveled his gaze at Rava, his eyes cold. “She admitted to eating people.”

Vivienne didn’t bat an eye. She leaned back slightly, running a hand down the side of her dress as though the conversation were nothing more than a casual chat. Rava, with a casual elegance, replied, “So far, only undesirables. Enemies of the state and criminals. Her power is useful to the clan and to the Lekine people as a whole.” Her voice was smooth and confident, unwavering as she made her case, her gaze momentarily flicking to Aeryn. “In fact, I’ve tasted some rather fine delicacies.”

The room fell silent for a heartbeat, the shock from Rava’s words hanging in the air like a thick fog. Finally, Kaelvar spoke, his voice tight with disgust. “It’s monstrous!”

“Do you fault the predator for hunting prey?” Vivienne’s voice was a calm, deadly hum. She stepped closer to the High Fang, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor, the only sound in the room apart from the uneasy breathing of the council. “At least I don’t hunt indiscriminately, and in many ways, I am more merciful. Rarely do I draw out a kill.” Her words were soft but full of bite, as she passed the seated council members, her gaze never straying from Kaelvar.

Her presence was magnetic, oppressive, like the shadow of a storm looming just on the horizon. Without so much as a glance at the council, she moved toward him with slow, deliberate steps, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. Each movement she made exuded a calculated confidence, the air thick with an eerie calm.

“I could be worse,” she continued, her voice a whisper of silk and venom, “but I choose not to.” She stopped just mere meters away from Kaelvar, her eyes never leaving his. She tilted her head, her grin twisting with something predatory, something that felt ancient, like the hunger of a beast long forgotten.

“I am merciful, all things considered,” she added, a soft laugh accompanying the words as she let the weight of her gaze linger on him, just a little too long.

Kaelvar’s nostrils flared as his fingers tightened on the edge of the table, his claws digging into the wood. “Should I command it,” his voice rumbled like distant thunder, “you would not leave this city alive.”

Vivienne’s lips curled upward, her smile spreading like a dark contagion. “And should you attack me or mine, you would not leave this chamber alive, meat.” The word “meat” slipped from her lips like a cruel whisper, laced with contempt, her eyes flashing with dangerous amusement. The air crackled with the tension between them, like an electrical charge about to snap.

The silence in the room grew heavy, thick with the stares of the council. Every eye was on the two of them, some brimming with anticipation, others with unease. The silence shattered with a sudden, swift motion.

Aeryn, her patience snapped like a taut string, leapt over the table and lunged. Vivienne caught her movement from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t flinch. The spear shot forward, piercing her chest where her false heart lay, the tip sinking deep into her flesh with practiced precision.

Vivienne’s smile never faltered, though her eyes darkened with twisted amusement. She watched, half in awe of the accuracy, as Aeryn’s spear burrowed deeper. Without a hint of hesitation, Vivienne grabbed the spear by its shaft, her fingers curling around it with a vice-like grip, and pulled it in farther, dragging the weapon — and the girl holding it — closer to herself. She felt the heat of Aeryn’s breath against her skin as the woman froze, eyes wide in shock, disbelief, but Vivienne’s expression remained unfazed.

With a low, sensual moan that could have been mistaken for something other than pain, Vivienne’s voice slipped out, dripping with mocking pleasure. “You are so deep.” The words hung in the air, heavy and laden with implication.

Her body shifted, twisting in a way that defied natural movement, her spine bending with an eerie fluidity as she leaned closer to Aeryn. It was a predator’s movement—slow, deliberate, and brimming with an unspoken promise of violence. The spear, still embedded in her chest, felt almost like an extension of herself, as though it belonged there, as though it had never truly been a threat to begin with. Her black eyes, gleaming with amusement, never wavered from Aeryn’s stunned, disbelieving gaze.

The room was deathly silent now, the council frozen in place. No one dared to speak, to move, to even breathe too loudly, as if they feared drawing Vivienne’s attention. The weight of the moment pressed against them all, thick as blood in the air. The only sound was the faint creak of wood as Kaelvar’s grip tightened on the table’s edge, knuckles paling beneath his fur.

Vivienne tilted her head, as though contemplating something, as though weighing Aeryn’s worth in that very instant. Then, her grin returned—dark, razor-sharp, utterly unapologetic. The sweet thrill of power coiled within her, a slow-burning fire licking at the edges of her being. This was control. This was the delicate, intoxicating balance between fear and dominance, and she was reveling in it.

She moved with sudden, effortless brutality. Her claws tightened around the spear’s shaft, and with a sickening crunch, she crushed it in her grip, the wood splintering apart like brittle bone. The force sent Aeryn stumbling backward, her balance stolen from her as she crashed against the table, her breath escaping in a sharp gasp. What remained of her weapon trembled in her grasp—a useless, shattered remnant of what had once been her confidence.

Vivienne reached down, fingers curling around the shattered remains of the spear still embedded in her chest. With a slow, almost theatrical motion, she yanked it free, the wet, fleshy sound of tearing muscle and sinew filling the tense silence. It slid from her body with a sickening ease, slick with black ichor that clung to the splintered wood like tar. Yet, there was no flinch, no sign of pain—just the same easy, almost bored expression as she flicked the broken weapon aside. It hit the ground with a metallic clang, the sound sharp and final, like the toll of a bell before an execution.

She stepped forward, the wound in her chest sluggishly weeping dark ichor, the scent of iron thick in the air. Her shadow stretched long under the dim lighting, stretching unnaturally, swallowing Aeryn whole. The young woman was still pressed against the table, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts, her knuckles white as she gripped the useless remnants of her broken weapon. Vivienne let the silence drag, drinking in the fear, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

Then, she leaned down, so close Aeryn could see the sharp glint of her teeth behind those smirking lips. Her voice came soft, honeyed, sweet with cruelty.

"Want to try that again?"

The words slithered from her mouth like poison, their weight heavier than any physical threat. The promise in them was clear—Vivienne was not something Aeryn could fight. She was something to be survived.

A chair scraped against the floor as Kaelvar moved, but before he could speak, Rava exhaled sharply.

"Viv, tone it down. We don’t actually want any of them dead."

Vivienne let out a dramatic sigh and turned her head toward Rava. “Fair enough. But if they try something that vapidly idiotic again, I can defend myself, right?”

"You may fend them off, but not kill. They technically aren’t enemies of Serkoth right now," Rava said, her voice level but firm.

Vivienne rolled her eyes but relented. Her form shimmered, her very being losing all cohesion for a moment as she shifted, her body warping into a shapeless mass of black before solidifying once more. The wound was gone, as if it had never existed. With casual ease, she moved to Rava’s side, pressing close as the taller woman draped a muscular arm around her shoulders.

Vivienne barely had time to savor the tension in the room before the heavy doors to the chamber slammed open, the sound echoing like a war drum against the stone walls. Every head snapped toward the intrusion as a figure stumbled inside—a scout, judging by the light armor and the Drakthar colors he wore. His chest heaved, sweat slicking his brow, and yet he still forced himself to stand tall, his discipline barely masking the urgency radiating off him like heat from a forge.

Kaelvar was on his feet in an instant, the motion sending his chair scraping against the floor. For the first time, Vivienne got a good look at him standing. And what a disappointment that was. She had expected someone called High Fang to be more… imposing. Instead, he was barely taller than Aeryn. So that’s where she gets it from.

His voice, however, still carried weight. “What is it?” he boomed, his tone edged with impatience. “We are in a meeting right now!”

The scout swallowed hard, his breath still uneven. “The Sovereignty has arrived.” The words hit the room like a thunderclap, all lingering animosity forgotten in an instant. “They are calling for our surrender.” He hesitated, his throat bobbing as though the next words physically hurt to say. “They have the Dawn Titan with them.”

Silence. A heavy, suffocating silence.

Vivienne felt the shift in the room like a predator catching the scent of fear. Even the most seasoned warriors present stiffened, jaws clenched, ears flicking back in what could only be instinctual dread. It was almost amusing.

Kaelvar’s fingers dug into the edge of the table, claws scratching against the polished wood. “The Dawn Titan?” he repeated, as if saying it aloud might change the reality of it. His gaze flicked toward Rava, Her gaze all but confirming what she had reported earlier.

Aeryn, still half-recovering from her earlier humiliation, forced herself upright, the broken spear still gripped in her shaking hand. “How many?” she asked, her voice quieter than before but steady.

The scout exhaled sharply. “Scoutmaster Talyra estimates twenty thousand soldiers. Possible presence of a champion.”

Vivienne’s grin widened, baring sharp teeth. Now this is interesting.