Mother of Midnight

Chapter 222 – New Toy

Vivienne, the goblins, and Caelum had been traveling through the forest for several days, their journey marked by the dying remnants of winter. The air was crisp, a mix of melting snow and damp earth, and the trees were still barren, their skeletal branches stretching toward the pale sky. As they moved deeper into the forest, the crunch of their footsteps was the only sound breaking the quiet stillness.

After a few hours, Caelum finally came to a halt, holding up his hand to signal the group to slow. He turned to face them, his expression serious as he scanned the forest ahead.

"The watch wall will be in sight within half a day's travel. We need a plan to get past." His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, the kind that came with the weight of experience.

Vivienne didn’t slow her pace but kept her eyes forward, already assessing the situation in her mind. Her tone was almost casual as she spoke. "Last time I passed it, I was the distraction. So long as it’s a different tower, I can do it again."

The goblins murmured amongst themselves, their low voices carrying in the quiet. Caelum raised an eyebrow, a look of skepticism crossing his face. "You would put yourself out like that?" His words were more than just a question; there was concern behind them, and Vivienne could feel the weight of it.

“Yes? Unless that machine angel thing is there, it should be simple.” Her voice steady, confident.

Caelum’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t press her. Instead, he nodded slowly. “It’s your call. But if things go wrong—” he trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. They both knew what that meant.

Vivienne’s voice dropped, her tone taking on a darker edge. “Oh, things will go wrong. For them.”

Caelum nodded. “Okay. I’ll get the goblins, Renzia, and Liora over safely then. We’ll meet on the pass?”

Vivienne dipped her head in agreement before lowering herself onto her belly. “Get off, lovelies. We have one more hurdle before safety.”

The goblins clambered down, their movements light but reluctant. Renzia gracefully jumped to the ground in a single motion, Liora in her arms. Kivvy lingered a moment longer, her sharp eyes searching Vivienne’s face.

“You really gonna do it, Vivi?” she asked as her feet touched the ground.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Vivienne’s tone was casual, almost dismissive.

Kivvy’s ears twitched, her expression unusually serious. “You’re putting yourself at risk for all of us.”

Vivienne huffed, the sound halfway between amusement and exasperation. “It’s barely a risk, and I’m doing it for you, for Renzia, and most importantly, my sweet girl.”

Kivvy frowned, clearly not satisfied with that answer, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she muttered, “Thanks.”

“Mhmm.” When the last of the goblins stepped off, she shifted back into her humanoid form, the supplies she was carrying hitting the snow with dull thuds. She turned to the group. “You’re all going to need to carry your own supplies. Should only be for a day, but don’t take any rests unless Caelum says so. If you can’t continue, do it anyway.”

The goblins exchanged glances, but none of them protested. They were used to hard travel, and they knew better than to slow down when danger loomed behind them. One by one, they stepped forward to collect their packs, grunting as they adjusted to the extra weight. Kivvy slung hers over one shoulder and glanced back at Vivienne.

"You sure you don't want backup?" she asked, voice low. "Even just me?"

Vivienne smirked. "Sweetheart, you lot would slow me down."

Kivvy rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Caelum finished handing out the last of the supplies and looked to Vivienne. “We won’t have time to wait around if something happens. If things go bad, make your escape. Don’t try to be a hero.”

Vivienne stretched, rolling her shoulders as her crystalline horns caught the faint light filtering through the barren branches. She let out a smug, breathy laugh. “Me? A hero?” She shook her head, amusement dancing in her five pitch-black eyes. “Sweetheart, I just like making a scene.” Then, with a grin, she added, “You just focus on getting them through.”

Caelum exhaled sharply but nodded.

Vivienne turned, glancing at Renzia. The mannequin hadn’t moved, hadn’t reacted, but she knew the silent construct was listening. "Take care of my girl," she said softly.

Renzia tilted her head ever so slightly. “Will-protect. Always.”

Satisfied, Vivienne cracked her neck, then took a few steps away from the group. “Get going,” she said over her shoulder. “The sooner you move, the sooner we can all be past this.”

Caelum didn’t waste time. With a final nod, he motioned for the goblins to follow, leading them deeper into the trees. Kivvy hesitated, giving Vivienne one last look before jogging after them.

Vivienne waited until the last of them vanished into the woods before she exhaled slowly. The quiet stretched around her.

Then, she grinned.

"Time to make a mess."

With that, she turned toward the watch wall and began her approach.

Vivienne moved with an easy, loping stride at first, weaving through the trees as if the forest itself had shaped its paths just for her. The snow, once a quieting blanket, had begun to thin, leaving damp earth and brittle twigs beneath her bare feet. She stepped lightly, her movement nearly silent as she pushed forward.

The trees stretched taller as she neared the watch wall, their skeletal branches casting thin, broken shadows against the faint moonlight. Her grin lingered as she picked up speed, darting through gaps in the underbrush, her breath steady, her body thrumming with the familiar anticipation of the hunt.

As the first glint of the watch wall’s towers peeked through the thinning treeline, she slowed. The air felt different here—sharper, colder, thick with the static weight of wards and watchful eyes.

Vivienne exhaled through her nose and melted into the shadows. Her form blurred, slipping from solid to smoke-dark wisps as she pressed herself into the gloom beneath the trees. The darkness welcomed her, curling around her body like a second skin, swallowing her whole.

Closer now. The distant creak of metal, the faint chatter of guards exchanging words. Their voices carried through the stillness, unaware of the predator lurking just beyond the light.

Her grin widened.

She didn’t have the luxury of time, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t make every moment count. Pain was fleeting—trauma lingered. If she couldn’t take her time carving them apart, she could at least leave them with wounds that never truly healed. Some scars ran deeper than flesh, and those were the ones she aimed to leave behind.

Seraphis stood atop the watch wall, his silvered eyes scanning the expanse of the forest beyond. The sky was clear, the air still, and yet… something felt wrong. He exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the staff at his side. He had always been gifted in divination, his foresight sharper than most, able to sense shifts before they occurred. It was why he had been stationed here—why he was trusted to catch the unseen before it reached their gates.

Yet now, there was nothing. No vision of danger, no tremor in the aether, no whisper of an impending threat. Only this gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach, the kind of unease that logic told him to ignore but instinct refused to dismiss.

His eyes flickered shut for a brief moment as he cast his senses outward, seeking clarity. The threads of fate stretched before him, shimmering strands that should have guided him toward understanding. And yet, they were silent. No disturbances, no warnings. Just the quiet hum of existence, undisturbed.

Seraphis opened his eyes, his grip on his staff tightening. Perhaps he was imagining things. But still… something was coming. He was sure of it.

“Something is coming,” Seraphis muttered, his voice just above a whisper. The words tasted wrong on his tongue—uncertain, hesitant. He was not a man prone to doubt, yet the feeling in his gut refused to be ignored.

One of the soldiers standing nearby stiffened at the words, his polished armor clinking as he turned to face him. “Shall we ring the bell, Your Worship?” he asked, his tone even, but the question carried weight. The bell was not to be rung lightly.

Seraphis exhaled through his nose, forcing his shoulders to relax. “Not yet. Have the rest of the soldiers on high alert for now. No less than four to a patrol.” He needed eyes everywhere, but he couldn’t risk setting the entire garrison into a panic over a feeling he couldn’t explain.

The soldier dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Understood.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and descended the narrow stairway winding down the tower, his footsteps fading into the stillness of the watch.

Seraphis remained, his grip tightening around his staff. He planted the base of it against the stone floor and traced a nexus in the air, calling upon his divination once more. The aether responded, weaving into the familiar intricate threads of fate. He focused, seeking clarity, expecting the same results as before—nothing.

But this time, it wasn’t just an absence of change. It was a void.

A true void.

Not the simple stillness of a normal night, nor the lack of interference from an unseen force. It was as if something had been carved out of existence itself, leaving behind only an unnatural emptiness where there should have been something. Where there should have been threads of fate, of cause and effect, of inevitability—there was nothing.

His breath hitched slightly. That was impossible.

Everything was something. Even nothing was something in its own way.

But this?

This was neither.

Seraphis stood still for a moment, his thoughts turning over the peculiar void in his divination. He frowned, gripping his staff tighter as he tried to make sense of it. The feeling gnawed at him, but there was nothing to confirm it. Not yet.

A rustle of footsteps echoed from the staircase, breaking his concentration. The soldier who had gone down to the lower levels of the tower returned, his face pale and his eyes wide with alarm.

“Sir,” the soldier said, his voice strained, “The garrison... they’re gone. I checked their posts—no sign of them. Not a single soul in sight.”

Seraphis felt a cold knot form in his stomach, the feeling of unease now sharper, more tangible. “Gone?” He repeated, his voice low and steady, betraying none of his inner turmoil. He had to remain calm. This was no time for panic.

“Yes, sir. No bodies, no traces. Just... empty barracks and a few personal belongings left behind. We’ve found nothing else.” The soldier’s report was hurried, almost frantic. “We’ve combed the entire lower floors, the armory, the eastern watchtower. There’s no one.”

The void—the absence he had felt in his divination—it all clicked into place. This was no coincidence. Something was wrong, and he had no answers for why it felt like the very air around him had turned colder, tighter. His stomach churned with the creeping realization that something or someone was making its way toward them, and they were utterly unprepared.

He met the soldier’s eyes, his voice suddenly sharp. “Get the remaining soldiers on full alert. Lock down the tower. No one leaves. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!” The soldier nodded quickly, saluting before turning to leave.

Seraphis didn’t watch him go. He was already lost in thought, his mind working furiously. His divination had been clouded, disrupted by something—someone. And it was too late to act now. He could already feel the faintest shift in the air, a presence that should have been impossible to miss.

Something—or someone—was drawing nearer, and he had no way of knowing what kind of devastation was about to be unleashed or even if there would be in the first place.

The soldier hurried off, but Seraphis remained still, his mind racing. The feeling of foreboding pressed against him like an invisible weight. He gripped his staff tighter, trying to focus, but the nagging sensation of something approaching was undeniable. His gaze shifted to the narrow staircase leading down, where the silence seemed too heavy, too unnatural.

Then, it came.

A scream—sharp, piercing—echoed from below, rattling the stone walls of the tower. It was guttural, full of raw terror. Seraphis’ heart skipped a beat, his senses snapping into focus.

Another scream followed, this one louder, filled with agony. The sound sent a shiver down his spine as it reverberated through the tower’s structure.

Then, a third scream. A terrible, soul-shaking cry that seemed to tear through the very air. It was the scream of someone who had already given up hope—lost to whatever horror was waiting below.

Seraphis’ blood ran cold. His breath caught in his throat. The air in the tower felt oppressive, suffocating, as if the screams themselves had stolen the life from the room.

“What in the name of Praxus...?” Seraphis muttered under his breath, his pulse quickening. The screams stopped, but the silence that followed was worse than the chaos. He could feel something crawling closer, something far more dangerous than any enemy he had faced before.

Seraphis clenched his jaw, gripping his staff so tightly his knuckles went white. He forced himself to move, to act. Whatever was happening below, it was beyond standard protocol. This was no simple attack. This was something else. Something insidious.

His gaze darted to the heavy brass bell at the center of the chamber—his workshop was on the upper level of the tower, and from here, the garrison could be warned. He strode toward it, his boots clicking sharply against the stone floor.

The moment his fingers brushed the thick rope, the temperature around him plummeted.

A presence.

Not approaching. Not closing in.

Already here.

A whisper of movement at his side—too close, impossibly close.

“Going somewhere?”

The voice purred at his ear, smooth as silk, dripping with amusement.

Seraphis wrenched himself away on pure instinct, spinning around and raising his staff. His heart lurched as his gaze landed on the figure now standing beside him, where before there had been nothing.

She was small, barely reaching his chest, but every fiber of his being screamed that she was the source of the suffocating, predatory air pressing down on him. She smiled at him, her sharp black lips curled in wicked amusement, her many eyes drinking in his reaction.

Obsidian scales gleamed under the dim torchlight, crystalline horns casting strange reflections on the walls. And her tail, thick and long, curled idly behind her, the sharp blade at its end gleaming like it had just tasted blood.

Seraphis' breath hitched. There was no way. He would have seen her coming. He would have sensed—

She had been there the entire time.

"Akhenna’s Beast." He exhaled her name like a curse.

Her grin widened. "You know me! How sweet."

Seraphis took a measured step back, staff crackling with divine energy. "I will give you one chance to surrender."

Vivienne let out a soft, delighted hum. "Darling, that's adorable." Then she tilted her head, her expression sharpening into something hungry. "But I think you already know how this is going to go."

Seraphis’ gut twisted. He should ring the bell. He needed to ring the bell.

But the creature was already moving.

And he was already too late.

Vivienne moved with lazy precision, her claws raking through the thick wooden beams like they were little more than parchment. Splinters flew, the supports groaning under her assault, the old wood straining to hold the weight of the massive bell.

Another deep cut. Then another.

The structure let out a sickly creak, and the bell lurched, dropping half a meter before catching on something unseen.

Vivienne frowned, her tail flicking in irritation. That wouldn’t do.

With an idle hum, she circled to the other side, stepping over the sprawled, bleeding form of Seraphis as if he were nothing more than an afterthought. His labored breathing filled the space between the destruction, shallow gasps echoing off the stone walls. She ignored him for now. There were more pressing matters.

The beams still clung desperately to the bell, as if defying her. Stubborn. But not for long.

Vivienne placed a hand against the thick wood, feeling the grain under her fingers, then curled her claws into it. She didn't just cut this time—she wrenched, tearing through the support with raw strength.

A sharp crack.

Then another.

The last beam gave way in an instant, and the bell—freed at last—plummeted.

The air howled with the rush of its descent, the deep, rolling echo of its fall shaking the tower itself. Stone and dust burst into the air as it slammed into the lower floors, metal screaming as it shattered through the levels beneath.

Then—

A deafening crash.

The tower trembled. A wave of force shuddered up through the floor. Far below, something caved in entirely, an avalanche of rubble burying whatever lay in the bell’s destructive path.

Vivienne exhaled, her lips curling in satisfaction as she turned back toward Seraphis.

"Well," she mused, stepping toward him with slow, deliberate steps, "that takes care of that."

Her gaze dropped to the celestial exomancer, watching as he twitched weakly, blood pooling beneath him.

"Now," she murmured, crouching beside him, her black eyes gleaming. "Let’s talk about you."

Seraphis let out a pained gurgle, his body trembling as blood bubbled between his lips. Yet, despite the clear ruin she had made of him, there was fire in his eyes.

Vivienne liked that. She wanted him like this—alive, struggling, defiant. Nothing was more fun than breaking something that refused to bend.

“Good,” she purred, crouching beside him, her claws tapping idly against the floor. "You still have some fight in you. Can you heal yourself? I’ll let you."

Seraphis didn’t answer, just kept glaring at her, his breath ragged. It wasn’t as though he could move much after what she had done to him. His robes were torn, stained with crimson. His once-pristine armor was dented, warped where her claws had carved through it like soft clay. His staff lay shattered not far from his reach, the shards of its nexus still faintly glowing.

Vivienne’s grin widened. Pathetic. But not useless just yet.

“Aww, come on,” she cooed, tilting her head. "You can’t be done already, can you? There must be something we can do to get you back into tip-top shape!" She reached out and tapped a claw against his bloodied chest, right where his ribs had cracked beneath her heel.

He sucked in a sharp breath, the pain evident even as he clenched his jaw shut. His fingers twitched slightly, a faint glow sparking at his fingertips, but it fizzled out before it could take shape.

Vivienne let out a soft, mock-disappointed sigh. "Oh, you’re not even trying, are you?" She trailed a single sharp nail up his throat, pausing just beneath his jaw, feeling the way his pulse still stubbornly beat beneath her touch. "I’ll give you another chance. One little spell, one tiny prayer, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll make this easy on you."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, warm against his ear.

"Or is your faith in the fool-god Praxus that weak?"

Seraphis twitched. His breathing hitched, his body still wracked with pain, but something in him snapped at that. His fingers clenched into fists before one hand shakily reached into his robe. Vivienne watched, her grin widening, her tail swaying lazily behind her.

There it is.

From within the folds of his tattered robes, he pulled a wand—slender, silver-veined, and cracked at the tip. Likely damaged during their little tussle, but still intact enough to function. He clutched it like a drowning man to driftwood, his bloodied fingers tightening around the worn grip.

Vivienne didn’t stop him. Didn’t even move. She simply watched, rapt with anticipation, as he forced himself to focus.

The air around them shifted. A dim, pale green light flickered to life at the wand’s tip, and he muttered a prayer under his breath, voice hoarse from pain. The glow grew brighter, casting eerie shadows against the stone walls.

Then, it happened. His wounds—open, raw, gushing—began to crust over. Not with mere scabs, but with something living. Tiny green vines, delicate and fresh, sprouted from his torn flesh, weaving over the gashes, closing them as they curled like hungry roots finding purchase in the cracks of a broken foundation.

Vivienne’s breath hitched, a shiver of pure delight running down her spine.

He could still heal. He could still fight.

She bit her lower lip, grinning so wide it nearly hurt. Oh, my new toy is so durable! She had been worried he’d give out too quickly, that he’d crumble before she even had the chance to really enjoy herself.

But no. No, he wanted to keep going.

How could she possibly waste such potential?

Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to kill him yet.

Maybe she’d take him with her.

After all, what fun was a toy that broke too soon?