The War For The Pallid Throne

War Beneath the Tonsil

They say Kath'le Kal was split in two the day when brother and sister killed each other beneath the throne. There is a wound there now, a crater and a pulsing sore formed from fire and gastrointestinal fluid. The sands stir and the rivers of pus and blood flow to dam the hole. Yet this wound will never heal. Yes, there is an ulcer in the belly of the Great Devourer that burns and itches, itches, and burns. No wonder she is in such a bad mood.

12

A full day after the battle, and his wings were still too soft. Xerxes licked the silver stalk as soft as butter; too salty. He had to dilute it, so he dunked his head in a vat of water, draining the fluid by half. These injuries were far deeper than he had feared. It took everything he had to fly back to his hive, landing upon his mother's soft palate seconds before the last of his membrane tore through. The pain was hard to ignore, a throbbing sore like a welt just under the tongue. Still, it was his pride that took the biggest hit.

Xerxes was foolish to believe that his tempest would be enough for a second war. His younger brothers and sisters still had much to learn, but Icarus was ready. That titanic abomination had soaked up the static and launched it right back at Xerxes's harpies. The feel of those luminescent threads slipping through his fingers gave him chills.

At least Xerxes now had a taste of what it was like to lose control of his brood. A taste he wouldn't soon forget.

As painful as defeat was, Icarus's assault had fallen short of its goal. Xerxes was alive, and now was the time for change.

The return of the crimson rain signaled an end to the month-long drought. That red liquid was thick and fell faster than rainwater, crashing upon the starving sands. The plains of Kath'le Kal soaked up the fluid like a thirsty animal. Yes, this water was gone in a flash. That's why the design of a hive was just as crucial as the larvae within.

Xerxes had perfected his kiln with sweeping arches that hung down from the soft palate. He coated the surface with a waxy layer, so droplets never stuck but slid down the sides, collecting into pools below, broad leaves of flesh and pale corridors that dug into the roof. Still, that was only the tip of the iceberg. The roots of his hive sunk deep into the soft palate, drawing the first taste of the crimson rain before it seeped through the tissue and fell to the sands below.

When the rains finally stopped, his hollow corridors were filled to the brim with soft clay ready to be shaped.

Of course, others tried to copy his design; to emulate perfection. Xerxes killed them, knocking their hives down while they budded from the ceiling. They were the first engineers to die, the ones who got too close, the ones bold enough to test their wings and fly.

No other engineer would rule the skies or command the storm like him. Still, if he was to overcome Icarus, he had to try something new, something unexpected. That's why he ditched the antennae and tossed out the wings.

Elegant designs were hard to walk away from, but new ones always waited in the wings for those bold enough to step forward. There was an idea bouncing around in Xerxes's head. An idea that came when he stumbled upon another engineer's designs.

Pillaging the remains of one of his younger brother's kilns, he found a strange mixture deep within. Tiny sacks of green and black fluid that tasted much too sour. Separate, these fluids were harmless and like the ichor that pumped through the veins of all eldriatus. However, mixing but a single drop of black and green fluid generated an intense flame. One that burned through the kiln and deep into the sands below. The younger engineer was mixing the substances into the blood of his creations. One beast with green veins, another with black. Yes, larvae that dared to sink their fangs in both would bathe in white fire.