Mother of Midnight

Vivienne felt incredible.

Not merely strong. Not merely full. Transcendent.

Power surged through her in glittering, opalescent currents, rushing through every limb, curling into the tips of her claws, her horns, her tail. Her breath came slow and deep, her chest rising with satisfaction as the echoes of so many lives whispered within her.

She had never felt this powerful before. Not even close.

The number didn’t matter. Five thousand souls, ten thousand, who could say? It was a sea. A tide of essence she had cracked open and drunk like wine. And it still lingered on her tongue, bitter and glorious.

She reconstituted herself slowly, luxuriantly, in the middle of the now empty fields. There was no rush. Her body shimmered back into being like a reflection coalescing on black water. Crystal facets slid into place along her arms. Her skin stitched itself together from vapor, light, and scale. When she blinked, her eyes shone with the weight of multitudes.

Around her, there was silence.

Gone were the bodies of the fallen. Gone were the desperate, the defenders, the defiant. The wind whispered through the scorched grasses, but otherwise, the land was barren of motion. Only the dead remained, and she had devoured them so thoroughly that not even ash was left behind.

Only a few flickering lights remained on the edge of her senses. Survivors, if one could call them that. Pests, more accurately gnats, behind gilded shields, hunkered down beneath shimmering domes of barrier magic. She could feel them. She could taste them. Little sparks of will, clinging on behind defenses laced with prayer and technology.

They were clever. Their barriers were not crude. She had tested one, tried pushing a tendril of her will into it and it had bitten her back, a sharp snap of pain and containment. To tear into even one of those bubbles would demand her full attention. And while she could certainly do it, it would be... inefficient.

Vivienne narrowed her eyes, lips curling into a smile that was all fangs and satisfaction.

Her work wasn’t done, the strongest prey always came last. And powerful barriers? Oh, those were the signs of delicious meals. It was like marbling on meat—extra resistance meant extra flavor.

Vivienne moved across the ruined fields with lazy elegance, her gaze sweeping the landscape for the glint of aether-shields. She found them in clusters, scattered like burrows left behind by frightened vermin. Several dozen in total, each bubble shielding three or four trembling figures, sometimes fewer.

Her smile stretched.

“Now… where was the closest one…” she murmured, turning slowly northeast. Her tail swayed behind her with idle anticipation, carving lines in the soft dirt. That was where she’d left the encampment mostly intact. Not out of mercy, but because she’d chosen efficiency. The flesh was gone, the aether siphoned clean from the air, but the structures? The walls? The wards? She had let those remain.

“Yes, there we go.” Her voice purred with delight as she spotted the glint of magic on the horizon. Then she was off, bounding forward like a dancer in freefall, feet barely brushing the ground. The wind hissed past her face. Her horns glistened in the sun.

As she closed in, she caught the first scent, clean sweat, burning oil, and desperation. Delicious.

It looked like someone important had holed up here. One of them wore ceremonial armour, the gold and teal plating still glowing faintly with blessing sigils. A paladin, maybe. Or something close. And beside him? Ah. Robes. Rings. Headpieces. At least two of them were priests, the kind that got invited to the upper floors of temples rather than sent to scrub the stairs.

They hadn’t seen her yet. Their attention was on something inside the barrier, maybe praying or arguing.

Then one of them looked up.

Their heads snapped around in unison. A moment later, they were shouting, scrambling for weapons and scrolls. One pointed. Another dropped to their knees.

“Hello, lovelies,” Vivienne cooed as she approached, slowing to a playful stroll. Her voice rang through the empty air like bells wrapped in silk. “That was quite rude, wasn’t it? Making me work for my food.”

“Stay back, abomination!” barked the knight, sword drawn and gleaming. His hands were shaking. His voice cracked on the last syllable.

Vivienne giggled. Not a cackle. Not a roar. Just a soft, sweet laugh. She raised a single clawed hand and swiped lazily at the barrier.

The impact was like a tuning fork striking crystal, light shimmered, water rippled, and the shell dented. Her claws dug in, steaming and hissing where they touched the spell. For a second, she thought it might crack.

But no. It pulsed with a watery glow and healed itself instantly.

Vivienne’s eyes gleamed. “Oho. Resilient. I like that.” She leaned in close, her face just inches from the barrier. “Do scream for me. It makes the flavor dance.”

She plunged her claw through the barrier and met barely any resistance. The surface of the water shimmered, resisted for half a heartbeat, then parted like torn silk. Her claw pierced through and twisted, splitting the barrier wide with a shriek like boiling steam. It collapsed in a rush, a curtain of wet magic hitting the ground with a splash.

The priests within barely had time to scream.

Vivienne surged inward, black tongue snaking out with glee, claws slicing through robes and bone, jaws widening far beyond any natural shape. The aether inside them tasted ancient and sacred and oh-so-precious. She drank it in, humming softly in delight, like a child sipping warm honeyed milk. Divine or not, they fed her all the same.

She didn’t pause to savor it for long.

Vivienne moved with smooth, lazy grace from holdout to holdout, cracking their little domes like eggshells. Some screamed. Some wept. A few begged, but none escaped. She didn’t always kill them with her claws—sometimes she just leaned in and breathed them away, consuming the power that held them together, leaving behind nothing but robes and steaming puddles. With every soul, her body gleamed brighter, shimmered harder, the prismatic glow under her skin pulsing like a heartbeat.

Then she came across one she couldn’t crack.

She halted mid-step, her claws tapping against the golden barrier as if testing the weight of it. This one didn’t waver under her touch. It pulsed with stubborn, sacred defiance. Runes traced through it like veins of sunlight. Inside stood a man in immaculate white and bronze robes. Regal. Composed. Still.

Familiar.

She circled the dome slowly, her tail dragging deep furrows into the blackened earth. The man turned to face her, arms behind his back. Not a trace of fear in his posture.

Vivienne cocked her head. “And who are you?” she purred, each word stretching long and sweet. “You don't smell like the others.”

The man’s eyes met hers, calm and sharp. “So you do speak,” he said, tone perfectly even. “The stories were right. I thought you were mindless. Akhenna’s Beast. Nothing more.”

A glimmer of recognition danced behind her many eyes. Her smile widened, fangs glistening.

“Ah!” she hissed. “I remember you now. The man in the laboratory. The one who watched while my daughter screamed.”

Her tone dropped like a blade.

The golden barrier flared bright under Vivienne’s claws, singing as it resisted her fury.

“Curious,” the man said coolly, watching her pace with all the calm of a scholar observing a specimen. “You acted like you wanted to tear it apart whenever we brought it to you.”

“She,” Vivienne hissed, voice suddenly thick with venom. Her eyes narrowed, all five of them burning with a deep and furious light. “She is not a thing, meat. I will tear you limb from limb for every cruelty she suffered. You tortured a child.”

He didn’t flinch. “I took samples from a monster. Like you.”

“She is a sweet little girl,” Vivienne growled, rounding on the golden shell again. “And she was afraid. Of you.”

She lunged, claws crashing into the radiant surface. The force split her fingers apart with a sharp crack. Vivienne snarled, pulled her hand back, and watched as it sloughed apart into black sludge—only to pulse, twist, and reform into a perfect claw moments later.

“I’ll show you exactly how monstrous I can be.”

The man exhaled slowly, as though exasperated. “You’ve already done enough. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to amass an army of that size?”

Vivienne threw her head back and laughed. Not a joyful sound, not even a cruel one—just pure hunger, delighted by how soft this little thing behind the barrier sounded.

“In a world like this? I can only imagine. But listen to yourself. You talk as if those thousands were nothing but numbers. Morsels in your strategy. Did you love even one of them? Or were they just more tools in your little laboratory?”

The man’s expression remained unreadable. “All who live under the grace of Praxus are willing to die for the cause.”

“Then are you?” Vivienne stepped in close to the barrier, her breath misting the golden shell. “Willing to be one of the many? One of the faithful sacrifices?”

“Of course.” He said it like a statement of fact. “Though I cannot do my work if I’m dead.”

Vivienne tilted her head, grinning. “How noble. How very pragmatic. I’m almost tempted to say it—‘You and I are not so different.’”

She tapped a claw gently against the barrier, almost affectionate.

“But that would be a lie. I know what I am. I don’t hide behind faith, or righteousness, or whatever god you pretend to serve. I’m no martyr. I feed because I want to. I kill because it pleases me. I am under no illusion that what I do is good, or just.”

Her grin widened, slowly, terribly.

“But you… you dress up your cruelty in gold and doctrine. That makes you worse than a monster.”

“I disagree,” he said calmly, his hands still folded behind his back. “But I doubt we will come to an accord on this. I do not entreat with monsters, unlike those dirty animals you seem so eager to defend.”

Vivienne broke into laughter again, the sound rich and dark, echoing off the shattered remnants of nearby barriers. “Oh, that’s adorable. ‘Dirty’, is it? I’ve seen your city, little man. I’ve walked its alleys. I’ve smelled its rot. And I’ve lived in Serkoth long enough to make the comparison. Their streets are cleaner. Their air is sweeter. Their people—better fed, better clothed, better cared for. Orderly, polite even. Funny how the so-called savages know how to wash their hands and look after one another.”

She took a step closer, her voice lowering to a near whisper, like a secret passed between old friends. “So if they’re dirty, what does that make you? What does that make Aegis? Filth? Trash? Something not even worth digesting?”

Her tone sharpened, crystalline and venomous. “I promise you this. I will eat every single person on that side of the continent. I will crack your borders open like eggshells. I will desolate your kingdom and replace it with something so unspeakable, so unholy, that no one will be able to mention Aegis without choking on dread. I will flood your soil with so much pain that even Praxus will turn away from it. I will feast, and when I am done, the only memory of your Sovereignty will be a bloodstain the world forgot to clean.”

For the first time since she had arrived, the man smiled.

Vivienne tilted her head, eyes narrowing with a glint of curiosity. “Oh? Do my words amuse you?”

“Somewhat,” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. “You speak with such certainty. Such venom. But you are a fledgling champion. Newborn rage wrapped in borrowed power. I know very well what Zerathiel can do to your kind. You will be slain and all shall be brought into the grace of Praxus.”

Vivienne snorted, a low, mocking sound. “Praxus, Praxus, Praxus. Is that all you people know how to say? Every breath, every prayer, every excuse wrapped around that name like it's a shield. But let me tell you something: all he wants is to eradicate chaos. To sterilize the world into a dull, stagnant rot. That’s not grace. That’s cowardice. A fool’s errand for a fool god.”

The man’s smile twitched. His jaw tensed.

“Oh?” she purred, voice curling like smoke around his composure. “Don’t like hearing your idiot god get insulted?”

She struck the barrier again, this time with a savage slash of her claws that shattered her hand at the wrist. A spray of crystal and ichor flared from the impact, but the barrier cracked, hairline fractures spidering outward like frost across glass.

Vivienne didn’t flinch. Her hand was already reforming as if drawn back together by invisible threads. “Do you want to know something interesting?” she asked, voice lighter now. Playful. Almost sing-song. “Something very fun?”

The man said nothing at first, but eventually asked, “What?”

“Akhenna told me she doesn’t mind the concept of order. She said chaos and order are both necessary. In balance, they shape the world.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he scoffed. “Then she lied to you. Akhenna is the bane of this world. As are all the other gods. She brings nothing but ruin in her wake.”

Vivienne’s smile slowly stretched, her black lips parting to reveal far too many teeth—long, thin, needled things that shimmered faintly with crystal sheen. Her eyes sparkled with cruel amusement, like a cat toying with a wounded bird.

“Funny,” she said, her voice low and silky, “that sounds like it would apply more to me than her. Not that I care. She’s as much a bastard as any other deity.” Her tone turned to lazy contempt. “They all are. Dressed-up tyrants arguing over who gets to choke the world first.”

Her tail lashed behind her once, the heavy obsidian blade at its tip hitting the floor with a resonant clang. The barrier trembled. Cracks crawled outward in a brittle spiderweb pattern, jagged lines of stress now streaking through its previously pristine surface.

“Ooh,” Vivienne cooed, her voice dripping with anticipation. “I’m getting close. I can feel it. One more push, maybe two… and this whole little shield will come tumbling down. And then? Then you’ll be just another morsel in this glorious feast. You do know you’re alone now, yes? Your friends, your guardians, your little choir of righteousness? They are all part of me now. You have no allies left here.”

The man’s eyes burned with conviction, but his voice stayed even. “I am never alone. I always have Praxus with me.”

Vivienne gave him a look of theatrical sympathy. “Oh, that’s adorable.”

Then she lunged.

Her body slammed into the barrier with explosive force. There was no finesse in it—just brute momentum, monstrous hunger made physical. Her form detonated against the invisible wall, a geyser of black ichor, jagged crystals, and twisting shadows exploding outward in a spray of gore and light.

The barrier held.

Barely.

As the viscera began to slither and crawl back together, the formless mess reformed itself into her silhouette. First a shadow, then limbs, then her wicked grin. Her chest rose with something like laughter, wet and throaty.

“Hmm. Getting thinner, little shell. One more, perhaps.”

The fractures had multiplied. The barrier was no longer glowing. It was bleeding.

Suddenly, the air split open with a deafening crack. A sound like the heavens tearing, sharp, resonant, and impossibly loud rippled across the battlefield, silencing even the whispering wind for a moment. The sky above flared with a streak of unnatural brilliance, a descending lance of fire and judgment.

Within the fractured bubble, the man stood tall, eyes reflecting the incoming blaze like twin mirrors. He smiled, slow and steady.

“It seems my god favors me more than yours favors you.”

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed.

She opened her mouth to reply, but never got the chance.

Something tore through the sky, a blur of incandescent fire and divine fury. It struck her mid-sentence, a comet of blistering light that hit with the force of a cannon shot. Her body crumpled around the impact, then flew backward like a ragdoll flung from a siege engine.

She barely registered the searing heat coursing through her, the flames licking at her limbs, the holy aether trying—failing—to cauterize her into ash. The pain didn’t bother her. Pain never did. But the force of it—

She slammed into the ground like a meteor, carving a shallow crater in the field as dirt and shattered turf erupted outward in a messy explosion. The shockwave rippled through the earth, snapping spears of grass into the air like brittle arrows.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then her fingers twitched.

Her smile, buried half beneath scorched soil and torn crystal, slowly returned.

Vivienne rose slowly, brushing dirt and debris from her limbs with deliberate, unbothered motions. Her dress, scorched and torn in several places, clung to her in blackened ribbons. Yet even now, it was mending itself, seams threading back together and burns fading to nothing.

“Hells,” she murmured with a flicker of amusement, smoothing one sleeve. “That tailor really knew their craft.”

The fabric shimmered faintly as it reformed, ethereal threads stitching across her curves with the patience of magic, memory, and precision. Even now, after all this, after the explosion of power, after her metamorphosis, after the fire, her wardrobe refused to fail her.

She looked up.

Floating in the air above her, framed by the scorched remnants of the sky, was a silhouette she knew far too well.

Zerathiel.

A man who looked like he had been carved from divine wrath and forged in golden steel. Gleaming wings spread behind him in rigid arcs of light and machine. His face, cold and flawless, stared down at her with righteous fury.

He had been there. He had helped bind her in that prison. And worse, he had taken her daughter.

Her black eyes narrowed, tail coiling behind her like a striking whip.

There was no time for a witty remark.

Zerathiel moved. He dove like a spear hurled from heaven itself, trailing fire and radiance in his wake. The air cracked around him, parting before his momentum, his flaming sword raised to strike.

Vivienne twisted, instincts flaring, but she was still too slow. He crashed into her like a falling star, driving her back again. The heat of him scorched the air, but this time, she was ready. Her claws lashed out and caught his forearm mid-swing, just before the burning blade could pierce her skull.

Their eyes locked.

Hers, bottomless and starless.

His, bright with sanctified fury.

The fire hissed between them, trapped and trembling in the struggle.

He tried to wrench his arm free, but Vivienne tightened her grip, claws piercing into the smooth plating of his forearm. The metal split with a shriek, black liquid hissing from the wound as her talons drove deeper. His serene, too-human face barely shifted. No grunt, no pain, no anger. Just that hollow, mechanical calm.

She hated that calm.

Before he could angle his wings or shift his stance, she yanked him forward. The movement dragged his footing out from under him, and he stumbled—just enough. She drove her shoulder into his chest and took him down with her, slamming him into the dirt hard enough to send cracks spidering through the ground beneath them.

He struck back immediately, one glowing fist smashing into the side of her skull. Bone crunched. Her face caved in under the blow, eye sockets fracturing, jaw dislocating—but her claws never loosened.

She didn’t need perfection. She needed control.

Even as the side of her face began to stitch itself back together in grotesque swirls of flesh and ichor, her tail coiled around his leg and yanked him tighter to her. She clung like a beast dragging down a stag, all weight and fury, giving him no space to breathe, no opening to escape.

She knew she couldn’t match him in speed.

So she made sure he couldn’t move.

She would not give up this advantage—not even if he tore her in half trying to get it back.