Drip-Fed

Apexus counted his measured breaths. ’31… 32… 33…!’ Having reached the divine number, he twisted the valve that regulated the path between the fluid contained into a spherical flash and the bubbling concoction at the heart of his construct of metal and glass. Alchemy was an esoteric art. Everything from the shape of the set-up to the thoughts of the alchemist mattered to the brew.

What ran down the connecting tube was not any regular water, it was the remnant of Apexus’ very own slime. Separated from his body, it turned into saline, though its physical properties did not matter whatsoever. It was its status as his ichor that Apexus wished to mingle into his creation.

Apexus counted down from 33, stopping when he had reached 1, never allowing his mind to consider the null. He placed both hands on the sides of the central flask. Through great mental exertion, he pushed his telekinetic abilities through the glass and stirred the liquid within. Two waves travelled in circles, always remaining opposite of each other, as if drawing the path of a twin helix.

As ichor and concoction mixed, it turned into a gas. The gas rose up through a forking shaft. Everything eventually rejoined by the exit point, turning again into a liquid that dripped into a vial. It was less than half full when the last of the gas was consumed.

Apexus removed the vial from its attachment, then placed a cork on it. The liquid inside was of a strange make, blue at the core yet golden around the edges. ‘Will you be my masterpiece?’ Apexus asked himself, then placed the vial behind the protective embrace of his ribcage.

“You emerge at the perfect opportunity, darling,” Aclysia greeted him, after he stepped out of their former pantry turned laboratory.

“Emerge,” Korith giggled at the choice of word.

“Like he’s some kind of moth,” Reysha chimed in.

Aclysia ignored the two of them and gestured for Apexus to step closer. “Bulubu has sent us a messenger. A Black Root has been found. He requests our aid.”

“He will have it.” Those four words had Korith and Reysha jump to their feet. They had already donned their battle regalia in anticipation of the promised answer. The Inevitable were no oath breakers and they certainly would not start now.

They stepped out of the Mobile Estate and into the sight of the demon. It had a body like a goat mixed with a rabbit, its head replaced with a singular eye on a stalk. Its mouth was located between its hooved front legs. “Finally!” it spat out and turned around. “Come, come along, come now!”

They joined with the demonic host of forces at the entrance of their ravine. All of the higher ranking demons save one were part of it. The one who stayed behind would assure that their base remained protected from any patrolling Shapeforms.

“Finally, we can go, go!” the Fleshgorger growled.

“Move, yes, we will move ahead now!” Bulubu agreed, vibrating with excitement. “Follow us quickly on uncertain feet, please! Krilkr leads!”

The group of over three dozen demons turned to the scout, who began to skitter ahead on millipede legs. Marching at a brisk pace just short of running, everyone followed along. Their formation, if it could even be called that, was loose and disorganized.

“I have a question,” Apexus said to Bulubu.

“Then say it, no reason, none at all, to preface it with a useless introduction to having a question,” the Jitter chirped, one of its eyes remaining locked on Apexus as they walked.

“Why are you always in a hurry?”

The question was met with immediate laughter. It spread from the Jitter to the surrounding demons. Where the Hellroot’s spawns were confused, whispered words soon informed them of what had been said. Immediately after learning it, they too began to laugh.

“Spoke, yes, spoken truly like a habitant of the Branches.” Bulubu’s blabbering came out in a constant stream. “Idleness is for death, for the respawning from the sacks of sap and resin and black ichor, that is when the demon rests. Oh, we much move, understand? Our enemy is everything outside this tininess of our tree.”

“You consider the Omniverse tiny?” Korith asked. The shortstack was the sole member of their host that actually had to jog through the unnaturally flat land.

“It must be tiny, it is infinitely expanding, so what is it infinitely expanding into if not a true infinity?” Bulubu answered. “We are a glowing, cosmic spec. Have you ever stood at the fringe of the roots? Have you ever set foot into the Dark?”

“The Dark!” “The Dark!” “The Dark!” the demon host around them echoed.

“All we have done is peer into the blackness between the branches,” Aclysia responded.

The Fleshgorger, Snarlesh, growled, “Privileged, dull, creative, creator of them – Parasytes!”

“So, you have been in the void?” Reysha asked.

“All demons have, all that live,” Bulubu explained. “Where the sacred Hellroots bury into the soil that imagination defines from the void, there all tiny Parasytes endlessly stream. There, the lowest of our kind fight the lowest of their kind, endlessly, endlessly, endlessly. Rest is not possible, never possible. War, death, rebirth, war, cycling and cycling until one rises.”

“Up the Roots and up the ranks,” another demon chittered.

“Precisely,” Bulubu chatted. “Every root is a domain. We rise and rise, mutating and strengthening, evolving in the vision of our lords and ladies. Impreh, the disposable many that throw themselves into the Dark, seeking glorious service! Tempths, us soldiers, us risen from muck!” The Jitter spoke most proudly while describing his level of power. “We fight those large Parasytes that break through the barrier at the Root and we are led by the Dergils.”

“Those that get taken notice of, those that perform well, our lords and ladies write into their books,” Snarlesh added. “The Empress, the greatest of all, the Empress of Blood added me to hers. Even written on the last of her pages, I am honoured. I am summoned. I am given to the visions of Warlocks.”

“They summon us, so we can taste our just rewards,” Bulubu continued.

“Rewards YOU denied us!” a random demon threw in. “Sweet flesh, salty blood, cracking bones!”

“Quiet, quiet, quiet!” The Jitter disciplined his subordinate with a violent slam.

The much smaller and weaker demon broke a leg. No one stopped for it. Black blood coagulated rapidly, particles of pitch rising from the sharp bone jutting out the skin. On three legs, the creature hobbled along, until its wound suddenly righted itself.

“Deslors lead the Dergils,” Bulubu continued his explanation. “Guards to the temples, far enough up the battlefield of the winding roots that they can see the base of the radiant trunk. Silver light shines upon them. Then come the honoured ones.”

“Tharnatos.” “Tharnatos.” “Tharnatos.” The demons sang.

“Great and terrible their power, the guards and honoured members of the court of our lords and ladies.” Bulubu trembled more than usual, excited at the excuse of mentioning his sovereign. “I am the creation of Fabian, Lord of Discord, master of the Deliriums, he who Rattles, Jitters and Trembles!”

“Inferior to my Empress,” Snarlesh snarled.

“You are inferior to me and you best remember!” Bulubu barked back, before wrapping up the explanation to his allies. “The Unreavs govern our roots and send dreams to your warlocks. The Unreavs manipulate the sack and the saps to create ever more capable soldiers. An Unreav’s efforts give rise to Tharnatos’ who become new Unreavs. New Unreavs claim new Roots, making new demons according to their designs.”

“They are gods, then?” Apexus asked.

“””NO!””” the thunderous and simultaneous answer came from demons as well as the sole angel present.

“There is no demon god, darling,” the angel stated firmly. “They are merely very powerful, immortal entities. They manipulate, but they cannot create.”

The silence that followed her words was resentment forged into an absence of sound.