The War For The Pallid Throne

Sidewinders

The mother of entropy gave her children dominion over life. These engineers shape in ways no mortal can achieve. What else could design the beasts of the sea and the spirits of the air? Though the gods and goddesses of war live and die in the plains of Kath'le Kal, their creations bleed over into our world. Have you ever seen a whale, fought a lion, or heard the snapping pinion feathers of a harpy? I know their work, though I see no stitches. Engineers don't use needles or thread and I dare you to find the seam in their quilts. Beware these warriors: while they hold dominion over life, they think only of death.  

3

Icarus slept for days, gathering his strength in the hollow cavity of a fallen hive. Every two hours he woke to peel the tar off his back. The substance itched like fire, but hurt when he tugged on the loose pieces, ripping out his scales and fur. Piece by piece, he tore away the black sheetrock until his skin was free, scabs poking out of the soft tissue with calcified seeds to replace his scales. Then, wisps of hair returned, covering his neck and around each scar. He flapped the useless stumps across his back and touched his fingers. That part of him would never be whole again.

The rains came two days after he took shelter—a torrential downpour of red fluid that was the lifeblood of all engineers. Names were not the only gifts provided by the Great Devourer. From that crimson rain were shaped the larval worms of the horde.

But first, he needed a proper hive.

Icarus put his fingers to use, carving out a system of caverns so that the liquid could pool inside. Tiny fractures in the rock were easy to exploit, creating a network of arteries and veins. Soon, the scarlet rain began leaking through the ceiling and poured onto the floor, running between his toes. He cupped the fluid in his hands, which turned to clay beneath the luminescent digits of his spirit. Icarus coated the rocky walls with the substance that quickly turned to flesh. Then he constructed deep vats to hold the scarlet rain and seeded it with his blood to prevent it from coagulating. He needed time to shape his handmaidens.

Finally, it was time to build the kiln. No other part of a hive was more important than the kiln. Icarus used the deepest part of the cavern, a towering atrium with salt deposits at its base. He mixed the clay with calcium and drops of milk from his ear, molding bricks with a hollow center and a thin glaze with pockets to breathe. Icarus then stacked them along the walls, filling the empty spaces with pale sap from under his tongue. The mixture hardened into rubber cement, holding the bricks in an elastic web.

A single drop of his blood was all it took to start the fire. He tore at the scar over his wrist until a drop, ruby red, spilled onto the floor. Suddenly, the mortar quivered, and the bricks soaked up his blood through tiny pores in the make. That's when the walls thumped, sweat beading across Icarus's brow as mist gathered in the open corridors. He tasted the walls with a forked tongue, sweet and sour with a dash of iron. Perfect.

With the kiln ready, his true work could begin.

"Now, Fortessa, to repay you for your poor hospitality," Icarus said, swirling the red clay between his fingers.

He clicked his tongue and thought about what designs to choose. What about the Black Rock Spider? Icarus once used them to bring down the walls of Numeria's garden. The blueprint was practical, but the legs were tricky to get right. He bundled muscle fibers into springs and cross-stitched adrenal glands into each joint. The portions were thick, and weaving motor neurons into loops was like stringing a needle through a strand of hair. If done right, the spider came out able to leap high and into the neck of its foe. Venom was easy enough to make from the cyanide pouches lining Icarus's gill. However, the design was lightweight and the flesh soft at the ankle. Fortessa's ants were too numerous to strike one at a time and took advantage of delicate predators.