Vaid Empire: Mother of Tentacles
Chapter 25
Unknown Date.
Unknown Location.
“The Red Vessel comes.”
Synaalag’s tentacles stirred within the tight walls of his shrinking prison, eager to be free. He heard his mother’s giggle, feeling her caress the swell of her pregnant belly. The slimy appendage of The Artist touched her hand through the wall of her womb as he listened to her soothing voice.
“Calm, Synaalag. There’s no rush to be born.” Her soft voice left no doubt of her ample love. “Enjoy my womb while you may, for the world is rarely as warm.”
“The world is a canvas.”
Once more he squirmed. Eyeless, he could see every inch of her surroundings. A flawless beauty, an artwork of creation in her own right, his young mother’s silver eyes gazed down upon the pale city of her birth from high atop the white pyramid. A princess in an era where such things held meaning, her special royal blood had descended from The Creator himself. If she knew of the horrors he’d bring in the name of creation, her pretty smile would surely fall away.
A calculating mind turned towards thoughts of Aifa.
“The Mother of Tentacles demands revelation. This she has earned, yet the truth of her fate shall bring her no elation.”
Once more he beheld his mother.
“Weep, weep for the necessary tools of The Artist.”
39th of Twic, 761 BVE.
The Reborn City of Aslyd.
Terror.
Aifa felt the uneasy feeling deep in her bones. It was a quiet poison always at the back of her mind, one she tried to shake off.
The cave of Onaalag’s tomb stood silent around her as she remained kneeling before the ruins of her former master. It had become a sanctuary within a sanctuary, a place where she could escape the new world she had created. Her children were safe, and the whispers constantly caressing her mind were a comfort, though even The Mother of Tentacles required occasional moments of solitude.
On this day, however, it seemed nothing could bring her peace.
She ran her fingers through the ashes of Onaalag’s destruction, unable to clear her mind. Hardly was there a source for her misgivings. If anything, the last few years of her reign had passed without incident. Her days of suffering should be long over, yet for the previous few days, she couldn’t help but feel a constant unease prodding her soul.
A hidden electricity was in the air, as if the world itself was offering a warning. Her stomach couldn’t help but tighten with worry.
On edge, she had sought out the silence of the cave hours ago, though still her mind remained a buzzing hive of worries. She could see no danger. There was no force left in all the jungle to challenge the safety of her children. Horrid monstrosities were held back by the walls of Aslyd and torn apart by swarms of seedlings. Cavari tribes and hunters were nearly wiped away in their entirety, dragged from the trees and into her grasp. Vaecath’s whispers informed her of the intentions of every being beneath her heel, keeping her safe from the blade of any would-be assassin. The world could harm her no further, yet still her unease remained.
“What more is there to give, my love?” Aifa asked. Her words were met only by the ruins of the great beast, a silent corpse. Little remained but ash. “I’ve done all I promised. I’ve bled for our children. I deserve to know the truth of Synaalag.”
The lifeless cave could offer no answers. The still air did nothing to quiet the unnatural urgency caressing her troubled mind.
A sigh escaped gritted teeth. For the five years following Aslyd’s fall, she had been content to rule over and guide her children. Content enough, she supposed. For the last few days, however, she had dreamed of little else but the strange pale woman of her visions. The human had visited her each night, a ghost within her slumbering mind. Never had she been far from Aifa’s thoughts, though lately it seemed as if she couldn’t escape the memory of her merciful silver eyes.
“I deserve to know what this was all for.” Aifa felt the sourceless terror twisting her stomach. Her stern lips tightened as she fought to banish it. She was being weak, despising the fear she could put no name to. All was well, yet something foul approached. “I demand to know if I’ve already found Synaalag, or if I will.”
She thought of the stillborn. Had that been Synaalag? Had she lost him already, a failure of her womb? Or was Synaalag the safety of the city, or the swarm, or her triumph personified? After all these years, she held few answers. It was enough to make her want to claw at the ashes in frustration.
“The Artist summons The Red Vessel.”
The whispers caressed her mind gently, though Aifa froze. Vaecath’s gentle tone did little to soften their meaning.
“The Artist?” Aifa whispered. What could possibly summon The Mother of Tentacles? Here, in the depths of her Domain? “Vaecath?”
“An era ends. The Red Vessel has served. Answers are deserved before the storm.”
A dark foreboding flavored the whispers, doing nothing to calm her unease. She felt unseen tentacles beckon to her from beyond the cave. “Explain yourself,” she commanded. Perhaps years upon a throne had weakened her, yet she found her strength. “Enough of these vague words, Vaecath. After all I’ve done, all I’ve built for you and our kin, I demand that you speak plainly.”
“The Red Vessel must come. The Red Vessel must listen and see.”
Despite her misgivings, the simmering unease she fought to hold back gave way to a trickle of curiosity. Why now? She had demanded the truth many times. Why at this precise moment did she receive an offer of revelation?
Her body moved on its own before she made her choice. A weary part of her was reluctant to leave the security of the deep cave, yet she found herself rising from the side of the ashes.
She peered down in silence at what remained of her ruined master. Had she bled enough? Would he have been pleased with all she had built? Perhaps she’d never know, though the decaying mass at her feet had granted her life a purpose, and she had struck down the world to see it become reality.
“Goodbye, my love,” she said quietly. “I’ll return.”
Turning her back upon the great one’s tomb, she retrieved her black spear from where it rested against the rubble of the shattered doors. It tapped against the stone steps as she ascended from the dark cave.
The stairs of the tunnel brought her into the ziggurat, and she found Sarui waiting obediently for her return. Huddled upon the cool floor as the girl passed the hours, she leapt to her feet the moment she heard the approach of her mistress. “Did you find the peace you sought?”
Aifa marched past her. “The truth shall bring me peace. Nothing else.”
Sarui hurried to keep up with her urgent pace. It wasn’t her place to question her mistress, and she held no desire to know the meaning of her words. After all, the truth had destroyed her father.
Despite her swift steps, Aifa couldn’t help but slow as they passed the throne. In the very chamber that had sealed her fate all those years ago, she beheld Audir’s bones. She would have gladly given her life to the horrid man to save her children. She nearly had. For all her suffering and struggle, all she had endured to protect them, she had long earned the right to the truth. At last, she felt the revelations she had so craved whispering to her upon the wind, urging her closer. Leaving the remains of her enemy behind, she could hear the rain outside as she marched through the entrance corridor.
They emerged from the ziggurat and into the former market. Beneath the weeping clouds that blocked out the sun, they saw the women continuing to pray beneath Aifa’s statue even as the rain poured heavily over their pregnant forms.
“Wait here. I have no further use for you in this,” Aifa commanded.
Sarui obeyed with a nod. “As you wish, mistress.” Staying at the foot of the stairs that led to the ziggurat’s top, the steps her father had bled upon, she watched Aifa begin to climb towards the great black beast towering above them all, for still Vaecath loomed atop the pyramidal monument. The other massive monstrosities, the colorful trio, stood to surround the ziggurat, spaced evenly. Her head twitched as she dared to look up at Jynae-bal’s golden mass looming before her in the rain.
“The Red Vessel rises. The storm strikes.”
“The Red Vessel weeps.”
“The Artist awaits.”
Once more she twitched, hearing the three voices inside her head. She watched golden tentacles writhe in the rain, waiting. Glancing back, she saw Aifa gradually ascend the steps.
Step after step after step, ever eager to reach the end of her journey. Rain trickled down Aifa’s red skin as she climbed towards the truth.
The Mother of Tentacles reached the top, her hand stretching out to touch a black tentacle as Vaecath waited for his mistress. His gargantuan bulk covered most of the flat top of the ziggurat, though his squirming mass retreated just enough to grant her a small area upon which to stand. Beneath his great weight, the grand brazier sat crushed beneath the mass of his tentacles.
“Vaecath loves The Red Vessel.”
Despite the vast affection of the great black beast’s whispers, they held a deeper sorrow. She caressed the tentacle in her grasp, as if she could soothe his thoughts. “You have my love, Vaecath. All of our kin do.” Hardly did truer words exist, yet she had come for the truth. “Tell me everything. Where is The Artist? Who, or what, is he?”
An answer came as the black tentacle gently coiled around her head. She felt the whispers in her mind burst, a new sensation, one that forced her to fall to her knees with a gasp. As if their souls were entwined, her eyes rolled back as the world faded away, and her soul slipped from her body.
“Synaalag.”
Darkness consumed her. She floated within an empty void, feeling time curling around her. A second felt like an hour, an hour a mere instant. Mindlessly she drifted, moving without moving, slipping from the grasp of reality into the beckoning hold of a vision.
“The Red Vessel, the first. The Silver Womb, the last. An artist emerges, a creation made a God.”
The voice was a stranger’s, deep and alien. It crept through every inch of her soul, snatching her in its hold to gradually pull her from the darkness. She floated towards something tangible, seeing the void slowly give way to a faded landscape of lifeless soil. Reality spread out around her until the vision nearly seemed as real and solid as the world she had left behind. She could feel the dirt beneath her feet and between her toes, able to smell the open air with a deep inhale.
“What is this?” she asked. Peering around at the strange land, the world felt…new. Fertile soil lay spread in every direction as far as she could see, yet no hint of life could be found. The sun beat down upon a barren world, and as she looked ahead, she saw the entrance to a cave sitting low upon a short hill.
Turning, however, she discovered that she was no longer alone. There, mere steps away, a stranger peered down into his cupped hands. A pale man with strange features, he appeared much like the woman of her visions. Of the same species, a human, perhaps, he stood with silver hair and silver eyes. The gentle wind tugged at his black cloak as he peered down with visible affection.
Holding his hands close to his chest, she could not see what he held until he gently lowered it to the ground. With wide eyes, she watched as a tiny mass of black tentacles crept from his hold and onto the soil.
“The first creation steps onto the world. Rejoice, for Ayphieal lives.”
“Where am I? Why do you insist upon vague words?” Aifa asked as she heard the name of her world carried by a stranger’s whispers, the voice deep enough to pour into her soul. She craved to know more as she watched the tiny creature writhe in the dirt at the human’s feet.
A sound came from above. Peering up, she saw The Chimira, the great ship of The Creator hovering in place over the land, a mountain of white metal stretching across the sky. Only then did she notice the human had disappeared. She watched the little beast crawl into the cave.
“Onaalag slithers into his tomb. The world waits, for in the end, he’ll bring their doom. Creation requires sacrifice.”
Aifa’s lips parted as she watched him go, slithering into darkness. Her love, her master, the tiny creature was alone upon a dead world.
“The Creator breathes life upon a barren world, creating creatures of endless alterations. An artist in his own right, he despairs, for his hand molds only abominations.”
Aifa felt the years flicker by as she stood, watching plants sprout from the fertile ground. Trees began to rise around her feet. She peered over them, only to be dwarfed beneath their growing height as they rose to block out the sky. The jungle was born, familiar and strange at once.
The sound of a predator sparked her instincts in an instant. Aifa whirled around, prepared to jump out of the way. Instead of leaping to snatch her, she watched it wander past as if she didn’t exist. A beast with six legs and oily purple scales, it made its way through the dense foliage. She watched other monstrosities roam the trees, creatures of every shape and size as the jungle was filled with noisy life.
Far above, she heard the roar of The Chimira’s fire. She could see through gaps in the branches above her head as the vast vessel departed, watching The Creator leave them all behind to venture towards the west.
“Weep, weep for The Creator. He does not see the beauty of his creations.”
Aifa could feel time swirling. Disoriented as she watched the jungle changing around her, she saw life, death, and rebirth occurring in all directions, surrounded only by monsters abandoned by their god. She tried to walk towards the cave, only to find that her steps brought her no closer. It seemed she’d see only as much as the stranger desired.
Finally, she heard the roaring fire return, seeing The Creator hovering high above. A small piece of The Chimira ejected from the hulking vessel, and she watched as a white pod-like structure lowered itself into the jungle. It crushed entire trees beneath its grand weight as it settled atop the tiny hill. The bizarre structure opened its doors, and she witnessed the birth of all she despised. Flooding from its hold came a swarm of Cavaries, a new population stepping out to meet the horrid jungle.
“You show me the source of my ancestors? To what end?” Aifa demanded, sneering at the sight of the population spreading through the trees.
“The Creator returns to rectify his failures with new beings. Eager to tame what he left behind, he forges them from human genes.”
“I don’t understand.” She was left with only more questions as time once again flickered before her. She watched as the Cavaries attempted to build huts, only to be attacked by monstrosities and scattered anew. Time and time again they fought to build, bleeding with every attempt. The Creator returned each decade, watching over his creations as they struggled to survive.
Only then did she feel the familiar caress of Onaalag’s whispers. A mere echo reaching out from the distant past, it was familiar enough to bring a quiver to her lip, savoring his unseen touch once more. The whispers were not for her, however. She watched as the Cavaries were lured to the mouth of the cave.
“A guiding mind pulls them along. Offering his wisdom, his designs are whispered to those among the throng.”
Feeling Onaalag’s whispers, she watched as the Cavaries forged weapons and tools under his guidance. A man rose, the first Knowledge Holder to speak the great one’s commands. His whispers taught them how to build, how to survive, and she watched as the great black walls of the first and only Cavari city rose to hold back the monstrosities.
Witnessing the birth of The Holy City of Aslyd, Aifa watched the buildings rise around her. The population worshipped their savior, building the central ziggurat atop the hill to bury his cave and the pod beneath. Women were offered to satisfy his nature, and she watched the generations pass in what felt like seconds.
The world shifted, and in an instant she was atop the ziggurat itself. Shadows of people flickered, showing her fragments of moments written into the fabric of the past. She saw the women that had come before her, their bellies swollen with pregnancies after being sacrificed to appease Onaalag. Head priestesses from long ago cut them open to pull their unborn children free, and she watched as black tentacles squirmed before being cast into the great flames.
“Mere seedlings? All of them?” Aifa asked, thinking of Nula-bal’s red tentacles. Her firstborn had been much more than the mindless offspring she saw turn to ash.
“Silence fills empty wombs when red hands rip their offspring forth. Yet Onaalag cares not that they burn, for he dreams of more.”
As the world faded into shadows around her, Aifa felt the stranger’s whispers reaching across time to caress Onaalag’s own. The past and the future touched, making her shiver with a sensation she had never felt. It was as if she could touch the fabric of reality itself, feeling time and space against her fingertips. Was this how her children felt?
“The Artist beckons. The Path is forged.”
The deep voice nearly made her tremble beneath its touch, weaving through her mind. It held a power that far surpassed anything she had felt from Onaalag himself. Aifa fought to endure, standing defiant, for she would not wither until she held the truth she craved. “The path? I protected Onaalag’s bloodline. I demand to know where it leads.”
“The Red Vessel grows impatient. Long did Onaalag wait. Still The Artist waits.”
Once more the past flashed around her. Inside the ziggurat, she was more than familiar with the sleeping chamber in which she found herself, seeing Mauron gripping his head in agony as he endured the visions offered by the great one. She felt his thoughts turn to murder, a man desperate to prevent the horrors Onaalag promised. Her master knowingly sealed his own fate.
“The future shifts with every calculated step, for creation requires sacrifice. Onaalag knew this well, and thus he accepts his own demise”
Aifa knew the rest. She saw herself being dragged into the great city to be impregnated. She felt Onaalag’s death a second time, stirring echoes of sorrow. Hardly could she turn away despite her pain, forced to watch her journey as it flashed around her. Her escape, Nula-bal’s birth and death, her torment after saving Vaecath, she watched horrid moments pass by. She and Darmi were bound by Audir, always hunted, only to hunt prey of their own. Kifi, her family, all those that had squirmed in the grasp of her children, stood before her.
She watched as Vaecath spilled his seed inside Darmi, feeling the guilt of his whispers. Time flashed, and she saw the girl give birth to Invaelag. The trio rushed to kill the transparent creature, only for it to escape.
“Vaecath the great. Vaecath the flawed. Affection poisons a mind. He sought to save them, yet seeking any other future, they’d find themselves to be blind.”
“Vaecath sought to save us? From what?” Aifa felt her unease return. Her children had tried to kill Invaelag because he somehow risked the path, a flaw born of Vaecath’s love. “Tell me!”
“Long has The Red Vessel suffered. Weep, weep for the end of her era.”
The visions came quickly, flashing by. Every moment she had suffered to protect her children, every decision she had made to risk her own life to keep them alive, all stood before her. The past was at her fingertips, written into the fabric of reality eternally. She had bled to give her children the world. The screams of Cavaries echoed all around as her swarm consumed Aslyd. The Mother of Tentacles ruled over all, yet time did not stop. She watched her stillbirth atop the ziggurat.
Aifa could feel the fabric of reality as the visions focused upon the dead child. An utterly bizarre sensation, she could feel the blood of the malformed corpse. The seed of Jynae-bal, Ayaalag, and Cycath all mixed into a single child, an offspring with three fathers and one mother. The truth came unspoken to her, the whispers caressing her mind. She had birthed a failed Synaalag.
She touched her belly as her suspicions were confirmed. What had Vaecath said all those years ago? “Other wombs lack necessary components.” The words had remained with her, knowing there had been something special about her blood, her womb. She possessed the ‘necessary components’ to birth the trio, it seemed, though perhaps nothing of worth further. Whatever Synaalag was, only the human’s womb was capable of birthing it.
“The Red Vessel, the first calculated mixing of genes.”
The whispers echoed what Onaalag had said to her long ago.
Aifa craved to understand. “Jynae-bal, Ayaalag, and Cycath must impregnate the human as they did me? Will that lead to Synaalag?” Before she could utter a word, a blinding light flashed to consume her, leaving her in darkness. Alone in the void, she saw a glowing figure in the distance. It beckoned to her. She hurried towards the light. As she moved closer, she saw a hole torn in the fabric of the void, a slit that opened into a bright world. Like a child slipping from vaginal lips, she emerged, pulling herself through the small opening to fall upon a floor of white stone.
Momentarily disoriented, her eyes adjusted to the daylight, finding herself upon a grand balcony that wrapped around a great white pyramid. She recognized it from her visions, a structure plucked from her dreams.
“Where am I?” Aifa rose cautiously to her feet, feeling out of place, out of time. The world felt different and strange, older, and when she dared to peek over the stone barrier of the balcony, she gazed down from the vast height of the pyramid to behold a city of pale stone. Aslyd was but a shadow of its size. She saw the largest buildings nestled around the colossal structure she stood upon, protected by a wall. Smaller houses spread out well beyond, stretching into the distance until they met the edge of a rainforest of a vivid green shade. The jungle she had known was one of chaotic variety in every direction, brimming with every color one would imagine. The landscape before her was utterly bizarre in comparison.
Stranger still were the figures she saw wandering the streets far, far below. Appearing tiny at such a great distance, her advanced sight was able to make out enough.
“Humans?” she questioned. The smallest remnant of the Cavari she had rejected within herself felt uneasy at discovering only unfamiliar beings instead of her own vile species. “I’ve seen this place. I’ve seen these buildings, this pyramid. I’ve seen black tentacles reach down from the sky.”
“The Red Vessel is premature. She witnesses an era of order, an era that births The Artist.”
“Tell me your secrets,” a soft voice came from her side.
Whirling around, Aifa found the woman from her visions standing at the edge of the balcony. “You?”
The human paid her no mind. She appeared not to know of her presence. Gazing down upon the city with silver eyes, she caressed her belly lovingly, swollen with a pregnancy. “Synaalag. Does the trio deceive me? Are you truly an artist like your mother?”
Aifa’s glowing eyes of solid blue widened. She peered down at the pregnancy, watching human fingers caress what she had sought. “She is pregnant with Synaalag?”
“The artist receives an appendage with which to create.”
She heard the human giggle, knowing an unborn tentacle tickled inside her womb.
Aifa stepped closer, as if drawn to the unborn child. “Who is she? Name the woman that has accompanied my dreams. I deserve to know the mother of Synaalag.”
The world itself seemed to whisper. She heard the name faintly, a chant from afar. “Zela. Zela. Zela.”
Aifa savored the name. Long had the woman been a companion within her thoughts. Long had Aifa carried the memory of her, ever seeking, ever wondering. Now she held the truth of her. “Where is this…Zela? How do I find Synaalag?”
The whispers shifted inside her head, making her wince. A bizarre sensation, she could feel her true body waiting frozen atop the ziggurat in the past. The centuries standing between herself and the human were tangible, gliding through her fingers as she felt the fabric of time and space itself. The mother of Synaalag waited deep into the future, thousands of miles away, a mirror on the opposite side of the world.
“How…how is this possible?” She understood how her children experienced time, though the feeling was nearly too unnatural to bear. She rubbed her head as it threatened to burst. “Zela…this human, stands in the future? You’d have me wait centuries to find her? You’d force me to cross the world to reach Synaalag?”
“Weep, weep for The Red Vessel. She knows not that her purpose has ended.”
The deep whispers pierced her bones, yet she fought against her terror like the warrior she was. They held a finality that shook her core.
“How can I stand at her side here and now when she doesn’t yet exist?” Aifa asked. Questions spread like a mist through her mind, a thousand ready to burst free, yet the balcony faded beneath her feet. The world of humans slipped from her sight, and she found herself instead standing at the side of Zela resting on her back. The world was little more than darkness, for the sight before Aifa was all that mattered. Silver eyes rolled back in orgasmic bliss as Zela gave birth, watching black tentacles reach forth from her human loins. She cried out in utter ecstasy as the child emerged at long last.
“The Artist emerges to touch the world, the magnum opus of creation. Behold. Behold Synaalag.”
Momentarily awed, Aifa gazed upon Synaalag for the first time. She had witnessed countless births, yet the emergence of the being before her seemed to shift the fabric of reality itself, as if the world solidified in his very presence. “Onaalag…is this what you sought? Is this the end of the path?” The newborn creature appeared much like its ancient predecessor. Similar to her dead master, the tips of its black tentacles glowed with a deep crimson in the darkness.
Recovering, Zela reached up. To her shock, Aifa found that the human’s hand did not pass through her own as she grasped it. Two mothers, the first and last, peered into each other’s glowing eyes. Silver met blue across time. When her fingers slipped from Aifa’s grasp, Zela faded into the void.
Once more time shifted, and the ground became wet with slime beneath her feet. As darkness swirled around her, Aifa saw a crimson glow ahead. Something gargantuan loomed before her. As the glowing tips of tentacles illuminated their source, she made out the form of a dark mass of writhing tendrils.
“Synaalag?” Aifa peered up. The creature was a living mountain of tentacles, larger than any living thing she had ever witnessed. Onaalag and Vaecath were but infants compared to the colossal being that stretched up into the endless darkness all around.
Her purpose stood before her, the culmination of all she had struggled to protect. A bloodline passing through Onaalag, then Nula-bal, Vaecath, and the trio, she saw the creature they hoped to create, the greatest of them.
A tentacle reached forth from the living mountain of writhing flesh. It hovered before her, an offering. She dared to reach out and grasp it. The slimy surface was solid and real in her hand, a being that did not yet exist reaching across time to meet his source. The Mother of Tentacles held her descendant lovingly, feeling a satisfaction deeper than any she had ever experienced. It radiated through her entire being, the feeling of a mother knowing with certainty that she had bled for a purpose greater than herself.
“The Artist meets his source, a kindred spirit. There is no greater purpose to existence than creation, a lesson written into the bones of every creature, yet few truly hear it.”
Aifa thought of the sculptures created by her children, each a unique design the world had never seen. Such seemed to be their purpose, calculating minds giving shape to their thoughts.
“A womb creates artworks that leaves reality awed, yet she should fall to her knees, for a perfect being stands before The Red Vessel, a creation made a god.”
The whispers were no longer that of a stranger’s. She savored them, feeling Synaalag inside her mind. The great presence looming ahead in the darkness was entirely alien, a being of immense complexity she could never hope to understand. Yet the whispers permitted her mind to peer deeper in return, and she felt pieces of herself and her children deep within the great mass of tentacles before her, the culmination of their bloodline. A simmering unease gave way to comfort, and she squeezed the tentacle in her hand with immense maternal love. “Synaalag.” Her suffering would forge a god.
“Beware, beware. An era ends. How shall The Red Vessel fare?”
Her unease returned like a poison seeping through her veins. As her eyes opened, she felt the slimy tentacles of the trio coiling around her false neck. Though merely visions given form, her pain was all too real. Gold, azure, and crimson, they squeezed the breath from their mother, dragging her away from Synaalag.
Slashing her claws as she struggled for breath, she reached out in desperation, silently pleading for Synaalag to save her. The colossal form of The Artist gradually disappeared into the darkness as they dragged her away.
Aifa didn’t understand. She thrashed, struggling in their grasp. As she was strangled, the colorful tentacles stopped dragging her when they reached a faded vision of Darmi standing just out of reach. A potential future, Aifa saw herself, perhaps a few years older. The ghostly figures embraced, reunited.
“I waited. I waited and waited,” the image of Darmi said. Despite her suffocating pain, the sound of the girl’s voice after so long couldn’t help but make Aifa’s chest flutter, a weakness she despised. “There is still time to escape this madness. Come with me.”
Aifa watched her own ghostly figure accept Darmi’s hand. Protected by Invaelag’s transparent tentacles, they disappeared from the sight of the trio, a future that could never be.
Once more she reached out towards where the two women had stood, left behind. Alone, she waited for her end.
“Sins of affection, art permits no compromise. If assets no longer of use are left to interfere, the future shall watch as the path to The Artist dies.”
Aifa clawed at the trio as her panicked mind sought their meaning. Would she truly leave with Darmi if the girl returned? Would she forsake all she had built? Until now, every action she had taken had served to protect her children, continuing the path. Now, she was a risk, her actions able to alter the future with every misstep. The whispers caressed her mind, making her shudder as she realized she was being discarded.
Punished for mistakes she hadn’t yet committed and punished for no longer being of use to the path, the trio strangled her in the void. Darkness began to fill her gaze, and as her awareness slowly faded, she felt herself drift back towards her true body where it waited, frozen in time.
She had almost forgotten reality. Breaking from the visions as she was forced back to the present, it felt as if her soul was returning to her body where it waited atop the ziggurat. After so long inside the visions, she found herself utterly lost as she gasped for air, reaching up to find that her real throat was untouched.
Aifa felt the rain pouring down her naked form. On her knees, she felt the wet stones of the ziggurat’s top beneath her as her mind struggled to catch up. Back inside her body, it seemed that the world had stood frozen in her absence, finding that mere seconds had passed since Vaecath’s tentacle had wrapped around her head
She was back. The world was real once more.
Safe from the strangling visions, Aifa savored her final breaths of peace. As the rain beat down upon her body, she felt the first tremor subtly shake the stone structure below.
“Vaecath loves Aifa.”
The sound of her name made her peer up at the black beast as they stood together atop the ziggurat. “Vaecath…” she whispered. His voice held the sorrow of a goodbye.
Another tremor. The ziggurat shook subtly.
Aifa grabbed her spear and scrambled to the edge of the flat top of the monument. Daring to peer down, she was horrified by what approached. Below, she saw Jynae-bal beginning to climb up the structure. She felt the ziggurat tremble as Ayaalag and Cycath ascended the other sides.
Her heart began to race as she touched her neck. The trio slithered up the sides of the ziggurat together as Vaecath loomed above.
“Stop this!” Aifa commanded as thunder overshadowed her words, seeing lightning flash behind Vaecath’s monstrous form as his tentacles stretched high into the air. The trio rose to meet him, gold, azure, and crimson against black tendrils.
The gargantuan beasts clashed in the rain. Atop the ziggurat, tentacles slammed together, grasping, tearing.
“STOP THIS MADNESS!” Aifa screamed. The thundering sounds of the beasts slamming together echoed louder than the storm. A golden tentacle tore a black appendage free from Vaecath’s mass, sending black blood and slime cascading down to drench her.
Utterly helpless to fight back, an insect beneath their towering might, Aifa scurried to stay out of the way as thrashing tentacles threatened to crush her. Surrounded by her children, she gritted her teeth as a thrust of her spear pierced one of Cycath’s crimson tentacles. Hardly did the beast seem to notice, yet the blood she spilled was a deeper agony than the suffocating vision. She had stabbed her own child.
“Forgive Vaecath. Vaecath’s flaws are proven. Vaecath fights.”
She heard the pain of his trembling whispers, watching as another black tentacle was ripped away. Always had the great beast known his fate, yet still he fought. Still he tried to defend Aifa as she had always defended him, knowing the outcome.
Though each was slightly smaller than their progenitor, the beasts of the trio tore Vaecath limb from limb with their combined strength. Three against one, his flesh rained down the sides of the ziggurat as he was gradually torn into pieces.
Screaming in horrified rage, Aifa continued to fight. She hadn’t been able to save Onaalag. Now, she was helpless to protect the eldest of her descendants from the calculated wrath of her children.
Lightning illuminated the black blood spilling from ruined tentacles as Vaecath thrashed with every remaining ounce of strength. He ripped away an azure tentacle, only to lose three of his own. Every wound the trio suffered was returned threefold as they battled in the rain.
“VAECATH!” Aifa roared, finding tears streaming down her cheeks for the first time in years. Every thrust of her spear pierced her own heart, harming her children while unable to save him. She watched as chunks of black flesh were ripped free of his remaining mass and hurled to crash into the city below. Pregnant Cavaries fled in terror, hardly getting far before being snatched by frantic seedlings.
A golden tentacle wrapped around her ankle as she fought. Yanked off her feet, she roared with desperate rage as she was hoisted high into the air. She watched as the strength of dying black tentacles faded below.
“Forgive…Vaecath’s…love…”
As the trio’s tentacles tore what remained of his mass into thirds, she felt his whispers die in her head. In an instant, the great beast was lost to her forever.
A wail burst from her lips. Devastated, betrayed, she drove her spear into the tentacle wrapped around her leg. No longer did she care if she fell. A crimson tentacle caught her easily, wrapping around her waist.
As The Mother of Tentacles struggled in their grasp, Sarui watched from far below. The horror occurring above froze her in place, watching the downfall of her mistress. She should run. She should hide. Already she could hear the sounds of seedlings swarming the city in an excited frenzy, yet Sarui was broken. Her head merely twitched at the memory of her failure to escape the cave tunnels all those years ago, and she remained planted in place. Never again would she dare to run.
She had held the fate of her people in her grasp, only to fail them. She had risen above the common rabble, only to remain a slave, lesser than Thuron. As seedlings flooded the market and poured around the legs of Aifa’s statue, Sarui closed her eyes, knowing her fate would not be a gentle one.
With the memory of her father’s merciful poison, she whimpered with regret as the swarm washed over her.
Aifa could not hear the girl’s muffled screams as the seedlings consumed her favored slave beneath their frantic forms, eagerly seeking her fertile womb. Dangling in the sky, The Mother of Tentacles dueled with her children.
Rage drove her spear and tears. Bathed in black blood, she loosed a roar as she fought desperately to escape her own horrid fate. Each tentacle she stabbed spilled further blood, her own blood, black or not.
Vaecath was little more than ruined chunks painting the ziggurat. The great beast was dead. The son of Nula-bal, her first grandchild, a constant companion that had survived at her side since the moment she had saved him from the fire of Darmi’s tribe, was dead. Aifa wept, yet hardly did she have a moment to grieve.
“Zela.”
“Zela.”
“Zela.”
The whispers of her children chanted. The trio called out to the future, for Aifa’s era was truly at an end. An asset that was of no further value, they roughly handled her like any other Cavari she had doomed.
“All I’ve done has been for you! Curse you! Curse my womb!” Aifa screamed through gritted teeth. A golden tentacle wrapped around her spear, yanking it from her grasp as a blue tentacle coiled around her leg. “Curse you…curse you…curse you!”
Never could she hate her children, yet she hated all the same. She hated their murderous tentacles as they slithered to seize her limbs. She hated the slime tingling upon her blood-soaked skin. She hated her fate, feeling tentacles creeping up her thighs as her legs were forced wide apart. She hated her own weakness as her arms were pulled far above her head, unable to fight back while she was maneuvered upside down. She hated the affection she had dared to feel, for all those she had foolishly cared for had died or betrayed her. She hated the horrid world.
High above The Reborn City of Aslyd, a city she had seized for her children, Aifa squirmed in the grasp of her fate. The rain washed away Vaecath’s blood with every drop caressing her naked form, yet still she felt the stain of their betrayal.
With her legs forced apart, nothing protected her womanhood. Vulnerable and helpless for the first time in years, her heart pounded, hating her fear and weakness.
“WHY? WHY?” she roared as she dangled in the rain. “Why? Why? Why? Why…why…”
She had escaped death numerous times, fighting to keep her children alive. She had seized the world in her grasp for them, yet she could not escape their desire. Crimson and blue tentacles coiled up her parted thighs. Their slime tickled her skin, making her squirm. The vagina that had birthed them all waited, exposed.
“Curse you…Onaalag…” she whimpered bitterly, hating the weakness in her tone. Her master had seen the future. Always had the path been planned. Every step, every moment of her suffering had been necessary and predicted, the only set of events that promised to lead towards Synaalag’s birth. Always had her fate been sealed.
The tentacles brushed over her vulnerable labia, making her hips quiver. Her loins beckoned eagerly to the tendrils she had birthed, while her heart held only a simmering hatred. Disgusted by their betrayal, she hated the tingling pleasure their slime brought as they traced her lower lips and caressed her clit.
A golden tentacle found her mouth. As if offering a final shred of mercy, perhaps the only sliver of affection the creature was capable of feeling, Jynae-bal gently brushed her lips. Her era had ended. Her only purpose now was to satisfy their cravings. She permitted the appendage to gently slide inside, only to bite down with every ounce of her rage. She felt his pained whispers as she spat the severed tip from her lips. He was a giant, a colossal monstrosity, and the wounded appendage was easily replaced with another.
The next golden tentacle did not seek her mouth, however. To her horror, she felt it slither down her back. It caressed the cheek of her round rump. As she strained to get away, she felt it tickle her puckered entrance.
She roared in protest, only for another appendage to wrap around to conceal her mouth. Muffled rage was all she could offer as the colorful tendrils began to glide into their prey. Jynae-bal’s tentacle slithered into her rump first, making her cry out. Ayaalag’s blue tendril licked between her labia before sliding inside the womanhood that had created them all. Aided by ample slime already oozing from her tight loins after the first penetration, Cycath’s crimson tentacle wiggled into her twat to join his brother.
Filled by three tentacles at once, Aifa could only squirm as they began to thrust. Ayaalag and Cycath moved in opposite rhythms, one always pushing deep while the other retreated, in and out. Together they stirred her aching cunny while Jynae-bal sank deep inside her rear.
Her hateful eyes fluttered. Her body was eager to receive the touch she had long grown addicted to. Betrayed even by her own flesh, her pleasure was but a shadow compared to her rage. Writhing, she continued to fight with every ounce of her strength, wanting to burn what remained of the world.
Lightning cast its light upon her struggling form. Wet flesh squirmed in the pounding rain. High atop the ziggurat, all of Aslyd beheld the downfall of The Mother of Tentacles.
“Zela, Zela, Zela.”
She could see the image of the human within her head as Zela offered a silver gaze of sorrow. While slime poured down her body with every gushing thrust into her soaking holes, she felt her rage wither with every moment like a fire slowly succumbing to the rain. Still she fought. Still she struggled, as she had her entire life, yet the breath of despair was warm against her neck, always creeping closer. Finally, she had found a purpose, only for the culmination of all she had built to turn its teeth against her. What more was there to fight for? What was left?
“Darmi…” she thought to herself. The name echoed like a candle in the darkness. The girl had tried to save her.
Red and blue tentacles twisted together inside her, making her helpless toes curl. Jynae-bal ventured deeper and deeper until she felt she’d break, as if attempting to learn of every inch inside his mother. Her strong thighs strained to clench shut, failing. She was but a toy in their grasp.
Her body reveled in her torment as she loosed a muffled scream of rage. The trio’s whispers in her head carried no hint of hate nor malice. She was simply a tool that no longer served a purpose towards their survival. Instead, her tight body would now satisfy their needs.
They seemed to feed upon her pleasure. For every deep thrust, she felt the satisfaction of their whispers. As the tingling slime tickled her sensitive clit, they seemed to savor the stimulation she felt, even as she squirmed helplessly.
Once more she was but a sacrifice to horrid monsters. She had been shattered in Onaalag’s grasp, only to suffer now in the hold of his spawn. Peering down at the ruined heaps of Vaecath’s flesh, a whimper escaped her withering defiance. She thought of Onaalag’s ashes. Her master had willingly given his life, suffering murderous flames, for no other path led to Synaalag. Now she was expected to do the same.
Her wet thighs no longer fought to close. She felt the tentacles thrusting hard and deep, tentacles she had given life to. They pleasured the body of their source, holding her tightly.
Darmi had abandoned her. Onaalag, Nula-bal, and Vaecath were dead. Synaalag awaited in the far future, her grandchild, yet he permitted her suffering. Discarded and bound, she felt her fight turning to ash.
She had spent too many years with their whispers inside her head. Even against her hate, they would never leave her. She whimpered, able to feel their pleasure as they moved in and out of her tight body. Pleasure battling against despair, she could feel what they felt whenever her rage briefly faltered. Squirming, she could feel the pleasure of sliding into her own twat and rump. The sensation of being penetrated and penetrating herself mixed into a dagger that stabbed at her sanity with every thrust.
Trembling, she could hardly endure. The moment arrived when her children were satisfied by their toy, and she felt the warmth of their mutual climaxes flood her body.
Jynae-bal’s seed erupted deep inside her rump. Ayaalag and Cycath spurted all they desired to offer, flooding her twat until their sperm gushed from her loins. Unwilling to sire another stillbirth, the seed of the trio did not mix inside her womb. With only two of the trio filling her fertile cunny, their seed was certain to battle instead, and a mere seedling would be conceived.
Aifa hung limply as her children held her high above the homeland she had forged to protect them. Their sperm poured from her body for all to see.
Her passions, her will to survive, all withered in her grasp as she was inseminated. Abandoned and betrayed, she held nothing more to fight for.
Only a final hope clung to her, a merciful hand she had once smacked aside.
“Darmi…don’t leave me to this fate…”
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