Mother of Midnight

Chapter 262 – Egg

Nurel drove his spear through the last of the glass creatures and twisted hard. The construct gave a soundless shudder, then splintered apart into a pile of glittering shards. For a moment, all he could hear was the rasp of his own breath and the faint crackling of broken crystal beneath his boots.

Around him, the others were doing the same—panting, wounded, slumped in the dirt but alive. His battle brothers and sisters had held. Somehow.

The tide of monsters had been a nightmare. A terrifying, unexpected nightmare.

They were supposed to be the distraction. A simple eastern push, meant to draw the defenders' attention away from the real assault on the north and west walls. Their orders were clear: apply pressure, force the animalfolk to divide their strength, bleed them of resources while committing as little of their own as possible.

But they hadn’t made it more than a few dozen strides past the rise. The battlefield was stained with their blood, littered with bodies—both human and those glass-fanged horrors. Whatever they were.

Nurel wiped the back of his hand across his brow, smearing blood and sweat together. He’d stopped trying to tell the difference. His armor was chipped, his arms ached, and his nerves were frayed like old rope.

“How in Praxus’ name did they even control beasts like that?” someone muttered nearby.

He didn’t answer. No one did. None of them had any idea.

Maybe it didn’t matter.

Nurel was a grunt. Just one spear in a sea of bodies. He didn’t need to understand what was happening. He just had to survive it.

But even that was looking less certain by the minute.

He glanced at the line. The detachment that had once been eight hundred strong looked more like six hundred now. Maybe less. The fight had cost them dearly. Too many good soldiers had fallen.

He swallowed hard and tried not to think about Cvere, or Khen, or Priest Rudar.

Then a voice rang out, sharp and commanding, cutting through the fog of exhaustion.

“Man the siege towers! We push forward now!”

That was the high captain. Still alive. Still barking orders. That was something.

Nurel lifted his head toward the wall. The towering silhouette of the city loomed over them, dark and still. Somewhere behind those stones, their enemy waited.

He remembered when the front line shattered—when that giant mutt of a creature burst through their ranks like a meteor, limbs a blur of black fur and claws. He had seen her grab Priest Rudar like a doll, smash him into the ground, and vanish into the chaos.

They had barely held together after that.

But the beast had retreated, dragging the bodies of their fallen back toward the wall.

That should have given them some time. But now, orders were orders.

Nurel adjusted his grip on the spear and moved toward the siege tower, legs trembling, mouth dry.

No rest for the weary.

Still, he would keep putting one foot ahead of the last in the name of the Sovereignty and the Machine father if it was the last thing he did.

He had a family to return to, a son soon to be wed with an appropriately meek woman and his own Submissive wife to return to. Both were pious and excellent followers of the church.

Nurel grabbed the wooden bar of the siege tower and with a dozen of his battle brothers they pushed the construct forward.

He was still nervous about more of those creatures approaching, but there was no sign of that endless tide.

The siege tower groaned as it rolled forward, wheels grinding against the blood-soaked earth. Nurel’s shoulder strained beneath the weight of the wooden beam as he shoved with the others, each step dragging through muck and crushed crystal. The stench of burnt hair and ruptured aether sacs clung to the air, mixing with the sharp tang of blood and sweat.

They moved slowly. Slower than they should have. But that was to be expected. Half of them were wounded, and the other half were too close to the edge of breaking. Fear was heavy on them now. Not the kind that made men flee, at least not yet, but the kind that made you look over your shoulder too often. The kind that made you flinch at shadows.

Nurel swallowed the lump in his throat.

There had been too many things today he didn’t understand. The glass beasts. The sorcery that had poured from the walls like song and wrath given form. And that giant creature. No, that woman. That thing. A monster in the shape of a woman, all teeth and claws and fury.

And yet, here he was. Still moving. Still doing his duty.

They reached the base of the slope. The tower creaked as it began its slow climb. Behind them, more soldiers formed up. Fresh ones, pulled from the rear to reinforce what was left of the detachment. Not many. Just enough to keep up appearances. To make sure they didn’t falter in the High Captain’s eyes.

Nurel glanced up at the wall.

No movement yet.

That wasn’t comforting.

He could feel it in his bones. They were being watched. Judged. The silence from the defenders was too deliberate, too precise. As if they were waiting for something. Or someone.

A cold wind stirred his sweat-soaked tunic, and he shivered despite himself.

One of the younger soldiers beside him, barely more than a boy with a pale face and clenched jaw, muttered, “Think Praxus is watching?”

Nurel didn’t answer right away. He didn’t believe in the gods the way the priests wanted. Not anymore. Not since Khen died screaming under one of those crystalline monsters. But he looked at the boy anyway and forced a grim smile.

“He’s watching,” he said. “We live under his grace.”

Another shove, another heave, and the siege tower locked into its final position. Hooks were thrown. Ladders raised.

Time to climb.

“Spears forward,” the captain barked.

Nurel took a deep breath and pulled himself up onto the ladder, boots thudding against the wooden rungs. He didn’t look down. Didn’t think. Just climbed. The wall loomed ever closer, tall and silent and waiting.

The top of the wall was only a few strides away. Nurel kept his grip tight, knuckles white against the polished wood of the ladder. The wind was sharper up here, carrying the faint scent of old blood and something else. Something wrong.

A whisper of movement.

He froze.

It hadn’t come from above. It came from the wall itself. From within.

Then it happened.

A scream tore through the soldier two rungs above him. Not a battle cry. Not pain. Just pure, helpless terror.

Black limbs surged out of a hairline crack in the wall, spindly and too long. Like the legs of a spider that had never learned how to die. One wrapped around the soldier’s throat and yanked. There was a sickening crunch as his body slammed into the stone, then slid limply down the ladder, knocking two others with him.

Nurel nearly lost his grip.

“Hold formation!” the captain shouted from below. “Keep climbing!”

But it wasn’t that simple anymore.

All across the face of the wall, cracks began to bleed shadow. Creatures pulled themselves free, claws clicking against stone, their bodies shifting like smoke poured into glass. Some scuttled down the wall, others simply dropped. Wherever they landed, soldiers died.

One landed next to Nurel, talons curling around the rung just beneath his feet. Its head, if it had one, turned slowly toward him. A face like cracked obsidian, with hollow eyes glowing faint blue.

Nurel thrust his spear down, jamming it into the thing’s shoulder. It didn’t cry out. It didn’t even flinch. But it let go, falling backward off the ladder and vanishing into the air like a smudge wiped from glass.

“What are these things?!” someone screamed.

“Hold! Keep climbing!”

He didn’t know who was shouting anymore. Maybe it was just his own voice.

Another soldier screamed as he was dragged into a crevice that hadn’t been there a moment before. The wall was alive. Not breathing, not shifting, but awake. And it did not want them here.

Nurel reached the top. Just one more rung. He forced himself up and over, panting hard, spear ready.

The top of the wall was quiet.

Too quiet.

The defenders were gone.

Only the wind greeted him.

Behind him, more of his brothers and sisters climbed up, some faster now, some slower. And the creatures—they were crawling along the inside of the wall, herding the soldiers upward, toward the trap.

Nurel stepped forward.

Then the first of the hidden beasts lunged at him from behind a battlement.

He spun, barely deflecting it with the shaft of his spear. Its claws scraped across the stone, missing his face by inches.

He barely had time to steady himself before another soldier vaulted the final rung behind him, only to be seized mid-step and dragged into the shadows. Nurel turned, thrust his spear, missed. The creature vanished again like smoke on wind.

He couldn’t keep track of them. They were everywhere and nowhere at once.

Then he heard it.

A scream.

Not a battle cry. Not the sound of someone dying. This was something else entirely.

It rolled over the wall like thunder. A long, drawn-out wail of anguish and fury that seemed to come from deep within the stone itself. Every soldier froze. Even the creatures stilled for a breath.

It wasn’t human.

It was too vast, too raw, a sound that dug its claws into the gut and twisted.

Nurel felt it in his teeth. In the marrow of his bones. He turned instinctively toward the source, but it came from the other side of the wall, somewhere far within the city.

“What in Praxus’ name was that?” someone whispered.

No one answered.

A heartbeat later, another scream echoed—a sharp, guttural cry that cut off mid-breath, like the world itself had been gasping. Then silence again. Unnatural, total.

He continued to climb, using his free hand to shove his spear at any limbs that reached too close.

What kind of horrors had these beasts unleashed?

Vivienne let out a strangled cry and doubled over, her claws digging deep into the rough stone bench beneath her. A sickening pressure pulsed through her core, deeper and more intense than anything she had ever felt before. This was not injury. This was not fatigue. This was something else entirely. Something ancient. Something primal. It was primordial.

“Rava... Rava, it is happening!” Vivienne gasped, voice cracking as the pain surged through her.

“I know,” Rava growled softly, already moving to her side. Her hands were strong and steady as she reached out to brace Vivienne’s trembling form. “Breathe. Slow. Deep.”

“I am breathing! I am trying—” Vivienne screamed, but the sound twisted and thickened, growing into something guttural and alien. The echo bounced off the stone walls, sharp and eerie like a banshee’s wail. Her back arched involuntarily, muscles tense and trembling. The obsidian scales along her skin cracked and flexed violently as her body strained with the effort. Her hips widened far beyond what should have been possible, stretching and aching under the unbearable pressure.

“I hate this part,” Vivienne hissed through clenched teeth, voice low and raw. Aether shimmered faintly beneath her skin, crawling like restless shadows just beneath the surface. Her body fought a battle of its own, caught between collapse and transformation. “I could reshape myself a thousand different ways, but no, we had to do this the hard way. Had to do it naturally.”

“Hold still,” Rava murmured, voice calm but firm, kneeling behind her. Her hands did not waver despite the thunderous crack as Vivienne’s heavy tail slammed against the ground, sending a shudder through the wall.

The pressure built relentlessly. It crushed and burned. Then suddenly it shifted. Vivienne’s whole frame tensed like a coiled spring as something moved deep inside her, pressing lower and lower. Her eyes flew wide open, filled with both terror and awe.

“It’s coming. Oh stars, Rava, it’s right there! I can feel it! It’s right there!”

Vivienne’s breaths came in ragged gasps, each one shallow and sharp, her body trembling under the immense strain. Her claws dug deeper into the stone, leaving faint scratches as she fought to stay steady.

Rava’s hands never left her, supporting, grounding. “You’re doing well. Just a little longer.”

A deep rumble vibrated through the ground beneath them, faint but growing stronger. Vivienne’s ears twitched; distant sounds drifted in on the air. The faint clang of armor, the low murmur of voices—soldiers moving on the battlements above. The wall was alive with tension.

“Do you hear that?” Vivienne rasped, eyes darting toward the narrow cracks where the sky pressed down on them.

Rava nodded, voice steady but tinged with concern. “The battle goes on. But here, now, this is the most important fight.”

Vivienne swallowed hard, grit flashing in her eyes. Her tail lashed with growing force, striking the stone with a rhythmic thunder that matched her pounding heart.

The pressure within her surged again, unbearable, stretching her to the limit. A sharp, searing pain flared, radiating through her hips and spine. Her body instinctively pushed back, muscles trembling with the ancient, overwhelming force of creation.

Her voice broke, a strangled cry barely held back. “It’s so big. Too big.”

Rava tightened her grip, voice soft but steady. “That means it’s strong. You’re strong. We’re strong.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rava! Fuck!” Vivienne snapped, her voice raw and ragged.

She clenched her teeth, wondering why this pain was so much worse than she’d expected.

The entire pregnancy had been strangely... normal. Almost eerily so.

Despite not being a biological creature, she had felt every discomfort of a human pregnancy, as if her body had automatically insisted on experiencing every ache and strain in full.

The worst pain she’d endured since arriving on this world had always been linked to dawn aether—harsh, burning, otherworldly.

But even that didn’t come close to this.

This was something utterly different.

She let out another scream, raw and ragged, cutting through the distant clamor of war like a jagged blade. For a moment, even the relentless sounds of battle, the clash of steel, the thunder of hooves, the roar of aether, seemed to falter, as if the world itself paused to listen. The echo bounced off the stone walls, twisting and folding in the shadows around them.

Vivienne’s muscles clenched tight, every fiber screaming in protest as the pressure inside her intensified beyond anything she had ever known. Her claws gouged deeper into the rough stone bench, nails biting into the surface as if trying to anchor her to something solid. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each one hotter and more desperate than the last.

Rava held her firmly, her arms a steady, unyielding support as Vivienne’s body began to convulse with the final surge. The air around them thickened with charged aether, faint crystals shimmering in the dim light like restless spirits.

Then, with a guttural cry that seemed to shake the very foundations of the wall, Vivienne arched her back once more and felt the ancient, unnatural weight shift within her. The egg began to emerge—huge, smooth, and glistening, cradled in the deepest part of her being.

Black sweat poured down her forehead, mixing with the faint dust and stone particles that hung in the air. The room felt alive with tension and raw power, every heartbeat a drum counting down the moments.

Rava’s voice was low and steady. “Almost there, love. You’re doing so well.”

Vivienne gritted her teeth, willing herself to endure just a little longer.

With one final, shuddering push, the massive egg slid free, slick and heavy, falling into Rava’s waiting grasp. The surface was cool and smooth yet somehow vibrant, humming faintly with latent energy. Vivienne heaved, a deep, involuntary motion. She did not need to breathe, her body was no longer bound by such organic necessities, but the sensation clung to her like a ghost, an echo of mortal exhaustion.

Slowly, she lifted her arms, weak and trembling, and Rava carefully passed the enormous egg into her embrace. It was nearly as large as her torso, a weight both physical and profound. Vivienne’s thoughts spun with wonder and confusion. How could something this vast have fit inside her? And why had she laid an egg at all, this ancient, alien way of birth that seemed so at odds with everything she was?

Before she could dwell further, Rava’s sharp gaze snapped upward, ears twitching.

“They have reached the wall,” she said quietly, tension threading her voice.

Vivienne let out a noncommittal noise, barely acknowledging the news. Her muscles ached, her mind heavy with fatigue, but the war was far from over.

“Deal with it,” she muttered. “I need to sleep. Except I do not, do I?” She let out a mirthless laugh, the sound hollow in the stillness.

Rava nodded without hesitation and leapt upward, disappearing from sight as she went to face the encroaching enemy.

Vivienne wrapped her arms tighter around the egg, holding it close to her chest like a fragile, sacred burden. The weight of it grounded her, anchoring her to the moment even as exhaustion threatened to pull her under.