Mother of Midnight

Chapter 186 – Titanic Barbs

Leaping off the wall had been both thrilling and, in her mind, absolutely flawless. Vivienne knew how graceful she looked as she sailed through the air, her body twisting with precision. She had taken the plunge just for the enjoyment, for the thrill of it. But now, standing at the foot of the wall, she faced a new problem: how to get back up.

She couldn’t simply climb; the stone was too sheer, and there was nothing solid enough to grip. She thought for a moment, eyeing the distance. She really needed an aetherbeast with wings. If she could find one, she could consume it, take its blueprint, and finally be able to fly. But that was a hunt for another time.

Then, it hit her. She'd done this before, hadn’t she? Back at Bell Castle, when they visited Vailora. She had shifted into her colossus form and ascended the walls with ease. Why not now?

Smirking, she let the transformation begin. Her body expanded swiftly, and in an instant, Vivienne grew into her colossal form. Her muscles bulged, and her tail swelled with power. Her movements were quick, confident. She felt the ground tremble beneath her new weight, but it didn’t matter. She was already towering, large enough to do what she needed.

The soldiers on patrol below were too distracted by the spectacle of her growth to notice her intent. As she stretched out toward the wall, her claws found purchase, and with a smooth motion, she melded into it. Her form became one with the stone, the weight of her transformation pressing into the structure as she climbed, using the wall itself to support her.

The Drakthar soldiers below finally realized what was happening, their shouts of alarm rising into the air. Spears were drawn in an instant, leveled toward her, but it was far too late. By the time they’d reacted, Vivienne was already standing atop the wall. The soldiers were still scrambling, trying to regroup, but she simply tilted her head and let a slow smile curl across her lips.

Now on top of the wall, Vivienne stood tall and unbothered. The soldiers, eyes wide with wariness, had already leveled their spears in her direction, but she was unphased. The fear they were hoping to elicit from her was wasted. With a casual huff, she tilted her head slightly, letting the moonlight reflect off the sharp edges of her crystalline skin.

"You shouldn’t be pointing your spear at a lady before you take her out to dinner, that’s just rude," she said, her voice playful but dripping with a certain sharpness. The soldiers seemed a little taken aback by her sudden nonchalance, their hands trembling ever so slightly on the spears. It was clear they hadn’t expected the towering, intimidating figure before them to speak with such ease.

One of the soldiers, his voice tight with tension, barked, "Identify yourself!"

Vivienne straightened her posture, her iridescent eyes gleaming under the pale moonlight. “Lady Castillo. I am currently in the employ of your High Fang, whom I would like to report to." She gave them a warm smile, though it was the kind that felt almost like a promise of something dangerous rather than reassuring.

A soldier to her left squinted as if trying to recall something. "I think I saw her before," he muttered, his voice laced with uncertainty. "She leapt off the wall earlier… She’s with Lady Serkoth.” There was a noticeable distaste in his tone when he mentioned the name of Lady Serkoth, but Vivienne merely blinked slowly in response, feigning innocence. As expected, they began to lower their spears, though their eyes remained wary.

"He is currently in the barracks by the gatehouse," another soldier chimed in.

Vivienne grinned widely, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "Wonderful!" she exclaimed, clapping her claws together in a mocking gesture of enthusiasm. She felt like she had all the time in the world to enjoy herself in this moment. Before any of the soldiers could react, she effortlessly hopped down from the wall, her long, obsidian tail trailing behind her.

As she soared over the edge of the battlements, she felt a rush of exhilaration, as though she were tasting the freedom of flight. However, the ground was still far too close for comfort, and despite her confidence, Vivienne didn’t escape entirely unscathed. When she landed, her bones cracked under the force of the impact—an ache rippled through her form, a sharp reminder that gravity was not so easily defied.

Vivienne didn’t let that stop her. In the blink of an eye, she quickly shifted, her body flowing into her base form before coiling back into her prime form with a fluidity only she could achieve. The pain from the landing melted away as if it had never existed, replaced by the familiar surge of aether coursing through her.

She straightened up, dusting herself off with a theatrical flourish, completely unfazed. A smirk crossed her lips as she glanced back at the soldiers who had remained atop the wall, no doubt watching her with their mouths agape. She waved casually at them as if this were nothing out of the ordinary.

"Well, now that I’ve had my fun," she murmured to herself, setting off toward the barracks with renewed vigor.

It didn’t take Vivienne long to find the barracks—it was nestled right beside the western gatehouse, its wooden beams and iron reinforcements exuding the rugged practicality she had come to expect from the Drakthar. Two guards flanked the entrance, their expressions impassive yet wary as she approached. Their eyes followed her every step, hands subtly tightening on their weapons, but neither made a move to stop her. Wise.

She stepped inside without a word, the scent of sweat, leather, and old blood clinging to the air. The barracks were dimly lit by a few scattered oil lamps, casting flickering shadows along the wooden walls. A large table dominated the center of the room, covered in what was likely a tactical map with small wooden tokens marking troop movements. Some sort of strategy discussion, she assumed. Not her concern.

Her attention flicked past the game pieces to the figures gathered around the table. She recognized a few from previous meetings, though their names escaped her. Council members, no doubt, their gruff voices rising and falling in heated debate. But at the head of the table stood Kaelvar, frowning deeply, his clawed fingers drumming against the wood in thought.

As she stepped further inside, his crimson eyes lifted to meet hers, and oh, she could just taste

the apprehension that flickered across his face. It was subtle, a mere tightening of his jaw, a brief narrowing of his gaze—but she caught it. That brief moment of hesitation, of uncertainty. Delicious.“Lady Castillo,” he greeted curtly, his voice as sharp as a drawn blade.

“Kaelvar,” Vivienne purred, a smirk curling across her lips as she strolled toward the table, unhurried. “I thought you might want to know that I wiped out about seven hundred soldiers last night.”

The room fell into instant silence.

Oh, how she loved making them go quiet. It was far too easy with the Drakthar. Their rigid structure, their strict adherence to strength and dominance—it made them far more reactive to a show of power. Serkoth’s forces, on the other hand, were more controlled, more composed. Harder to shake. But the Drakthar? They always gave her the reaction she wanted.

Kaelvar’s expression barely shifted, but the way his claws dug slightly into the edge of the table betrayed the weight of her words. “Is that true?” he asked, his voice steady but carrying the edge of something unreadable.

Vivienne shrugged, feigning indifference. “Yes. Including one or two commanding officers, if their tents were anything to go by.” She reached out, idly flicking one of the wooden pieces on the table as if it were no more than a trinket. “I wasn’t paying too much attention to ranks—just getting in, eating, and getting out quickly. Did eventually get found on my way out, though. Had an annoying priestess after me, along with her little entourage.”

The room remained heavy with silence, only now tinged with something else—calculation. Tension.

Vivienne leaned forward on the table, letting her weight rest on her elbows as her sharp claws tapped against the wood, each click deliberate, measured. Her smirk widened, amusement dancing in her many black eyes. They were so easy to toy with.

“Now,” she drawled, stretching the moment, letting anticipation settle like a storm on the horizon. “Do you think I am worth that three hundred gold?”

Kaelvar hesitated. She could see the conflict flicker in his expression—pragmatism warring with whatever personal grievances he held. She was an outsider. A weapon in their hands, but one they could not fully control. He didn’t like it, but he wasn’t foolish enough to dismiss the results.

“I… yes. I suppose,” he finally admitted, the words stiff in his throat.

From the other side of the table, one of the councilors cleared his throat. Kaelvar flicked an ear in acknowledgment, giving him a nod. The man, older and bearing the scars of many battles, regarded her with the wary look of someone studying an unstable beast, one that might snap the moment the leash was removed.

“That certainly helps,” he said, measured and slow. “But what happens when the enemy is repelled? What will you do then?”

Vivienne tilted her head, tapping a single claw against the wooden surface. A sharp scrrrt followed as she lazily dragged it across the table, carving a thin groove into the wood. Not deep, but enough to leave a mark. She watched their eyes follow the movement before answering.

“Probably go back to Serkoth,” she mused, tone light, as if the answer was obvious. “Buy myself a home for my family. Settle in.” She flicked her gaze back up. “Why?”

The first councilor hesitated, but another spoke up, his voice rougher, blunter. “He wanted to know if you will turn your hunger towards our people.”

The first one frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “Not how I would have phrased it, but yes.”

Vivienne hummed, considering. “I could,” she admitted, and she didn’t miss the way the room tensed, shoulders stiffening, eyes sharpening with barely concealed unease. “I could wipe out a significant portion of this city if I wanted to. The Drakthar aren’t particularly strong.” She let that hang in the air, watching their hackles rise.

Then, she shrugged. “But my plans would be in jeopardy if this city were to fall. That would be inconvenient.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken. They didn’t like that answer. Not the way she had phrased it. But, crucially, no one voiced a complaint.

Vivienne smiled, flashing a hint of teeth. Good. Let them stew in it.

Vivienne tilted her head, her smirk lingering as she tapped a claw idly against the table. “Are there any signs of Aegis beginning their siege?”

Kaelvar straightened, doing his best to project authority despite his shorter stature. His ears flicked slightly, betraying some irritation, but his voice remained steady. “No. It is likely they were expecting to fight alongside Nythara. The battle with Vailora was unexpected. The sounds of fighting can still be heard in the distance—they’ve been at it for almost a full day.”

Vivienne’s claws drummed a slow rhythm against the wood, considering. “I see, I see,” she murmured, her gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if already losing interest.

Then, without a hint of concern, she clapped her hands together. “Well, I’ll let you morsels continue your strategizing,” she said, stepping back. “I’m going to go visit my daughter. Toodaloo!” She gave a cheerful wave, pivoting on her heel and striding out, her tail curling in amusement as she left them to their brooding.

This was troublesome. Why couldn’t Vailora have been left to sleep?

Because her older sister had decided to throw her lot in with a god, for some reason. And not just any god—Praxus. Why? The gods were either brutish idiots, like Serranos or Praxus, or conniving snakes, like Sirasyr or Akhenna. What good had ever come from trusting them?

Well, Virdan, the god of the loam, was fine enough. He kept to himself, didn’t meddle in mortal affairs too much. If only the others followed his example.

But still, Vailora had been stuck doing warm-up exercises with Nythara for—what, a full day now? She wasn’t really keeping track. The passage of time blurred when one didn’t particularly care about what was happening. Her limbs moved more from habit than effort, her grip shifting on the haft of her hammer as she blocked yet another thrust from Nythara’s swordstaff.

She yawned.

“Why bother?” she asked, voice thick with disinterest as she deflected another strike. The force of the impact barely registered. “When have the gods ever done anything for us?”

“Because this world has suffered for long enough.” Nythara’s stance was firm, the light of her dawn-born heritage shimmering faintly along the edges of her blade. “Praxus’ vision will be a change for the better.”

Vailora snorted. “So?” She flicked her hammer’s shaft around, catching Nythara in the side with a solid thud. Her sister staggered but recovered quickly. “Let his champions and followers fight for it. In the end, it’s just the mortals who will suffer anyway.”

Nythara’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t immediately answer. It was a familiar argument, one they’d had more times than Vailora cared to count.

She rolled her shoulders, adjusting her stance. Her sister might be older, but that didn’t mean much. Those of the tempest were always better warriors than those of the dawn.

Nythara exhaled sharply, pivoting on her heel to reset her stance. Her grip tightened around her swordstaff, her knuckles whitening, but Vailora could see the hesitation creeping into her movements. Good. Maybe she was finally realizing how ridiculous this all was.

“Praxus doesn’t care about mortals,” Vailora continued, rolling her neck. The joints popped. “None of them do. They meddle, they make their grand plans, and we’re just the pieces they move around the board.” She lifted her hammer onto her shoulder, tilting her head. “If you think he’s any different, you’re fooling yourself.”

Nythara’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It isn’t about whether he cares or not. It’s about what he can build.”

Vailora scoffed. “Build? Tear down, you mean. That’s all his kind ever does. This ‘vision’ of his? It’s just another leash, another way to chain the world to their whims. And here you are, helping him forge it.”

Nythara’s expression hardened, and this time when she moved, she didn’t hesitate. She surged forward, the tip of her swordstaff aimed for Vailora’s ribs. Vailora grinned, bracing herself—this was better. No more pointless words. Just a fight, the way things should be.

She sidestepped, letting the blade skim past her, then twisted her body and brought her hammer up in a wide arc. Nythara barely managed to pull back in time to avoid taking the full brunt of the strike, but the sheer force of it sent her skidding backward, boots scraping against the stone.

“Face it,” Vailora said, resting the hammer’s head against the ground, her grip lazy. “You’re wasting your time. And mine.”

Nythara’s breathing was heavier now, her golden eyes sharp with determination. She adjusted her stance, shifting her grip on her swordstaff. "You can't just sit on the sidelines forever," she said, her voice laced with frustration.

Vailora smirked, rolling one shoulder as if shaking off the weight of the fight. "Watch me," she drawled.

With a sharp exhale, Nythara suddenly brought her blade down, slashing through the air—not toward Vailora, but toward the ground. A pulse of aether shot through the earth, and with a flick of her wrist, she sent a torrent of uprooted trees, jagged stones, and soil hurtling toward her sister.

"You are just like Mother," Nythara spat over the roar of debris. "Lazy. No vision. No looking into the future!"

That struck a nerve.

Vailora didn't retreat. Instead, she gritted her teeth and surged forward, her hammer swinging in a powerful arc. The head of the weapon collided with the incoming mess of dirt and shattered wood, sending splinters flying in all directions. Dust billowed, but she barely noticed, her grip tightening around the haft of her hammer.

"Mother has it right," Vailora growled, stepping through the chaos as if it were nothing. "Let mortals and gods do as mortals and gods do." Her stormy eyes burned, her smirk gone, replaced by something far sharper.

She planted her feet, twisting her body, and swung her hammer again—this time, straight for her sister.

Nythara barely had time to raise her swordstaff before the hammer crashed against it. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air, forcing her back a step as her arms strained to absorb the force. She gritted her teeth, eyes narrowing.

"You don't understand," she hissed, pushing back against the pressure. "Mortals can't just do as they please. Not anymore. The world is breaking—"

Vailora twisted, shifting her weight before Nythara could finish. With a swift motion, she wrenched her hammer free and swung again, this time aiming low. Nythara jumped back, just barely avoiding having her legs taken out from under her. She landed lightly, her blade flicking up in a defensive stance, but Vailora was already closing the gap.

"Breaking?" Vailora scoffed, driving forward with relentless aggression. "It's always breaking. That's what it does. And every time, someone like you comes along thinking they can fix it." She feinted a high strike before reversing the motion and slamming the hammer into the ground instead, sending a pulse of force through the earth. The stone cracked beneath their feet, but Nythara only leaped to the side, using the momentum to launch into a counterattack.

"And you think standing still is the answer?" Nythara shot back, lunging in with a precise thrust. Vailora twisted her body, the blade glancing off her armor, sparks flying as steel scraped against steel. "How long until it crumbles beneath your feet?"

"Then it crumbles," Vailora said, catching her sister’s next strike on the haft of her hammer. She shoved forward, forcing Nythara to retreat another step. "And something new takes its place."

Vailora surged forward, pressing her advantage. Her hammer blurred through the air, a force of thunder given form, and Nythara barely twisted in time to avoid a direct hit. Even so, the shockwave from the swing sent her skidding back, her boots carving trenches into the earth.

"You talk about vision," Vailora sneered, rolling her shoulders. "But all I see is you struggling to keep up."

Nythara’s grip on her swordstaff tightened. She steadied herself, breathing hard, but Vailora could see the strain in her arms, the way her stance wavered just slightly.

Good.

With a sharp inhale, Vailora feinted a swing at her sister’s head before abruptly twisting downward, her hammer striking low. The moment it connected with Nythara’s leg, a sickening crack split the air. Nythara cried out as her knee buckled, pain flashing across her face. She barely managed to stay upright, but her footing was ruined now, her balance faltering.

Vailora grinned, triumph surging through her like lightning in her veins. "Looks like I win this one, sister."

But she had underestimated Nythara’s resolve.

Before she could press her advantage, a blinding flash of golden light erupted from Nythara’s palm. Vailora barely had time to register it before something struck her square in the chest—raw, divine force, condensed into a single devastating blow.

She felt her ribs crack, the wind driven violently from her lungs as she was hurled backward. The sky spun. The ground rushed up to meet her.

Then everything was pain.

That’s what she got for being cocky.