The War For The Pallid Throne

Leviathan Vorax, Chariot of Eridanus

The white god has done much for us. He provided the Astralarium and Sundial, teaching mankind how to blind Leviathans. We owe the Basilisk our very lives and yet, why can't I shake this feeling that we've all been duped? I've heard the stories about men and women who cannot die after the Basilisk sunk pillars of ice into their hearts. They've gone mad, forever trapped in the city of glass. Yes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but what will we do when we learn our friend's appetites are just as depraved as the Great Devourer?          

10

Ilene slammed the door behind her, locking the bolt tight and resting her back on the hinge. The walls were thick enough, the door solid as stone, but she could hear the screams all the same.

Thud.

The door handle bounced off the middle of her back. Felix must have been pushing hard, clawing at the walls and breaking the bedposts. Good, the furniture, the candlesticks, the empty scrolls, and dull pencils. There were many distractions to hold his attention—anything to keep his teeth away from his own body.

Thud.

The final stage was always the hardest to endure. That taste, so intense the first time, so surreal and spine-tingling. It was like sinking your teeth into the sweetest fruit, the most tender steak, or the flavor of ice-cold water touching your tongue after days of fasting.

Nothing could or would ever compare to that first taste.

Thud.

Ilene was a little envious. She remembered her first time, that explosion of flavor across her tongue, that eye-rolling sensation of sucking marrow from the bone, that feeling of grit on the back of her teeth. No, not the teeth she saw in the mirror, nor the ones she unconsciously touched with the sides of her tongue. These were the needles that poked through her gums, the ones that bundled together, forming a paper-thin film across each molar, canine, and incisor. These were the teeth that cut deep, creating wounds that never stopped bleeding.

Thud, thud.

The door hinge dug into her back.

Ilene stole a glance at her wrist, tracing the edges of the bloody wound. It had been a long time since she felt pain. Felix had gone too far, but she didn't blame him. Ilene licked her lips, wrapping a worn cloth around the wound. There was already a puffy white color just under the muscle, a flowing pus-like substance that coated the veins and stuck to the nerves. Another hour or two and the scab would form. A small turtle shell over her wrist. She hated the feel; that sand-like texture and burning itch would keep her up all night, but, by the morning, good as new.

Thud.

Oh, right, she wasn't the only one putting in an all-nighter. Felix was in for a rough ride. His bones snapping, tendons plucked like taut string, and nails retracting back under the skin. The pain was excruciating, and in those moments, men were more akin to wild beasts. That's why the door was so thick and the lock sturdy as stone.

Thud.

Ilene was envious of Felix for another reason. He experienced his first taste in confinement under the watchful gaze of the scholars. Not everybody was so lucky. No, some people acquired their taste closer to home. Some lost themselves while their younger sister cowered beneath the sheets, so certain monsters only came from under the bed.

Ilene wiped the tears from her eyes. A moment of weakness. Her transformation was already partially complete when they nailed her to that wooden pole and set the plank ablaze. She was strong enough to undo the binding, flexible enough to slide through the rope, dangerous enough to kill every man, woman, and child who tossed a stone. Yet, she did nothing when the flames touched her heel. Nothing but weep for the one she loved.