Puffs of golden dust, laced with light blue strands circulated around the feet of this small, troubled Eron. Gritting his teeth, he moved as a firestorm. Burning everything in this path, his rage thirsted for more. As some Legionnaire recruits stood, fixed in line before him, barreling through them, forcing two down on all of their appendages, he spat and kicked viciously at their abdomens.

"Out of my direction, Rots! May the Terra God send you to your ancestors, if you cross me again!"

Confused, attempting not to make orb contact, the young recruits quickly moved back out of his way. Gingerly, some grabbed their scales in agony as their obedience to their seniors disallowed any protest from escaping. Holding in their anguish, they fell into line once more. As the San receded into the distance, the recruits heard grunts and a sharp inhale as one of their kin were assaulted. Punishing those in his path, Zilterra ruminated on his loss.

"How could the ancestors allow this? First, the filth humiliates me and then he is rewarded?" Grunting loudly, he allowed the fires of his tempest to billow.

"Me! The Lord of these fools! How is this happening?!"

Kicking hard on the post of a nearby Hall of Gloom, causing the structure to shake slightly, Zilterra felt his wrath swell. An angry cry of protest resounded in the Hall as a movement towards the flap, caused Zilterra's life fluid to boil. Another San came out, his recruits briefly glimpsing the cause of the ruckus, through the flap shaking with the motion of struggling to rest from the movement of the intrusion. Their orbs wide with curiosity craned necks lingered as the flap moved in the midday air, hard with the thickness of heat, pulsing with the multicolored fragments of dust.

"Leave it, Tis." Zilterra addressed the other San. "Just move back to your filths in there."

Tightening his orbs, Tis refused to yield. A member of Zilterra's class of San, Tis held no sympathy for his small, brutal comrade. His methods turning all of his stomachs.

"Leave my territory. I'll report you to the Baron for this." Tis threatened.

Moving in closer, his head turned upward, Zilterra maintained his ground. Standing a head above him, Tis remained nonplussed by the aggression forced upon him.

Smiling, he gazed pityingly downwards towards Zilterra. "I do not fear you as the others do. You're nothing." Leaning in close to the side of his head, Tis whispered softly. "Such a small hatchling, like yourself holds no power here."

Turning, he made to return to his recruits when a piercing blow shocked him to his knees, his lower abdomen radiating fiery pain. Tis' bioluminescence violently flickered in response to the attack, his body boiling in the blaze on his lower back. Before he could register the initial attack, a series of explosive spasms erupted around his body. Forced to the ground, he turned feebly to witness Zilterra holding a large rock before it met his cranium bringing about a forced death state.

------

Wheezing, his bioluminescence forming a beacon from his thorax, he studied the potential of his forces. The forecasted figures pleasing to him, etched in the skin of a Tulac, brightened in the Terra God's rays, allowed ease in scripting. Layers of forms piled his workspace. Lit by the open creases in his den, this being engorged himself upon pure Crimson as he mulled over the documents.

"You need your rest, Lord." A soft steady voice sounded behind him.

Startled by the soundless entry of this creature, Baron Richtol gasped, his wheezing doubling in response. Grunting and coughing to loosen the crimson, which lingered in his ingestion pathway, he turned the best he could with his large frame. His engorged abdomen proved challenging as it protested the adjustment. The large stone seat creaked as it ground with the smaller rocks littering his den.

"I've told you to make more noise when you come close to me." Richtol pleaded annoyingly, his breathing beginning to steady.

"I ruffled and scrapped my feet the best I could. If I may, I don't think you heard me over your own breathing." Queyan said, speaking softly as he moved into Richtol's viewpoint.

Holding his orbs as slits toward the eron who moved into his view, The Baron ruminated, "Such impudence. Queyan has been rather brash, as of late. I see he needs to be reminded of his pl-."

"My lord, I have updates." Queyan gasped softly, interrupting Richtol.

Quietly grunting acknowledgment, Baron Richtol awaited the beginning of the discussion as the elderly Eron waited many moments before beginning. Softly, the Baron's wheezes resounded in his workspace. His throat, weighted, long past the cycles where he could effortlessly move his own body, now it contained the consequence of cycle after cycle of indulgence, the greed of his impulses enlarged his build.

"We have a possible solution to our failures," Queyan said moving around to the opposing viewport in the room. The port displaying the training yards as well as the shifting kaleidoscope of the sky, streamed in light from the Terra god, glinting upon the stones encasing the floor, glittering and shimmering against each other as they reflected upon each other, illuminated the room for work purposes.

"Mmmmhmmm, the sky gods move interestingly." He thought to himself. Careless of the restless Baron to his rear, he slowly investigated. "They must concur with my assessment. Yes, they must know the way to safety."

Turning to face the Baron, he spoke now with authority. "Lord, two have shown wonderful promise. They, each, contain skills that can benefit us." Moving to his side again, he quieted ominously. "One of them is worth a thousand of our seasoned Erons."

Interested, the Baron moved his head to face the elder. "What was that you just said?" He said suspiciously.

Not turning, he kept his body in its position. "Yes, that is correct."

Shifting back in his place, Richtol gazed at his manuscripts. Crinkling as he placed his talon upon them, protesting the sharpness of his talons, the weight of his pad, Baron lost himself in the words Queyan expressed. His scales around his orbs tightened, grunting to himself, his respiration increased as excitement mounted.

"If this is true, then my plans can be suspended for another season." His head fell slightly as he thought. "Yes, this has to be true. The Terra Lord has truly blessed us. I must provide a suitable sacrifice immediately."

"My Lord?" Queyan stated rather annoyed. The Baron did not muster. "MY LORD!" Queyan boomed in the same illustrious voice he used in the training field.

The beckoning resounded throughout the room. Richtol winced at it permeated his hearing holes. His small, sharp teeth exposed themselves slowly as the scales around them retreated. Fury etched his visage, Richtol's eyes burned as Queyan turned nonplussed at his Baron.

"Would you like me to continue?"

"Yessss," Richtol replied venomously.

"As you wish." His voice remained calm and forward. "We must, first, heal them."

His features returned to normality, confusion causing his brow to furrow. Silently he waited. Queyan spotting the change allowing the emotion to take hold before continuing.

"Yes, they have been severely injured. One may not thrive after his rebirth cycle if we do not intervene."

"What?!" The Baron's talon closed into itself and pounded upon the table. "How can this be so? Why have I not received any word about this sooner?"

"That is why I am here, my Lord."

"Mmmmhhh." Richtol acknowledged, grunting low and deeply.

"Yes, quite the response. I have commanded the Patchers to acquire the necessary Sangre from your private supply."

"What is the meaning of this?!" The Baron bellowed. "You mean my destruction? That is my lot. No one has the right to it!" He pointed his talon in angst toward his aide.

"Precisely." Queyan continued. "No one does have the right to it. That is why I am here. I formally need your permission to draw out the necessary quantities so that the two can be functional before we are exterminated."

Richtol's talon waivered as he considered the words of Queyan. Slowly, he dropped it to his side again. His body becoming taught, ridged from the words eliciting such emotion from him. Thinking carefully, he understood the position his aide was in.

"In my haste, I provided accusations. This is my folly. Speak clear or lose yourself to my wrath." He threatened.

"Certainly, My Lord." Queyan allowed each syllable to manifest itself. "As I have stated, the two need your supply to help our cause. Would you allow this?"

Regaining his composure, he quieted. His thorax expanded slower as he calmed himself. Selfishly, thinking about holding onto the supply, his mind attempted to develop new ways to maintain his supply.

"If I don't relinquish any, then they decrepit elder will lose the two. Hmmm. He did say they are worthy of saving and necessary."

Looking back down to his reports, he gazed at the figures for a few moments as they stared back without a promise of victory. Certain death loomed if his reports were valid. His abdomen rumbled as he thought of the loss of any Sangre. The precious Crimson holding his body together. Going through it so quickly, he could not bear the thought of losing any.

"Ugh, but we need the two." He thought again.

"My Lord? Have you determined a path to take on this matter?" Queyan interrupted.

"Yes." The Baron stated back slowly. "Give them only the necessary amounts needed for the Patchers to do their work. Any additional, and I will pour that same amount from your life fluids."

"How magnanimous of you," Queyan stated, ignoring the intimidation. "I'll leave you to it, My Lord." Shuffling out of the workspace, Queyan smiled widely as his back was turned.

"I'll ensure that every last drop and more are used for these two. You are nothing to this cause Baron."

Richtol orbed the elderly Eron move from his site. His onyx orbs focusing upon him, forming tight slits. At the crown of his head, the bioluminescence excitedly erupted. His precious Crimson would be used to save his people.

"I will be the god of this filth. After I save them, I will be placed in the seat of the most high. I will be the Imperial Legate. No one can deny that I am their savior." Richtol thought with a venomous grin stretching upon his thin scales adorning his mouth.

Chuckling softly, he pushed his documents onto the ground. With great effort he hoisted himself onto his legs, the motion causing him to breathe deeply. Wheezing softly as he reached his starting position, he moved to the viewing port to witness the waning light of the Terra God. Soon the Labyrinth God will take its rightful place in the Gloom of night.

Some movement caused his orbs to shift to the right as he noticed Queyan slowly moving towards the stone structure where the Seeress resided. Annoyance mounting in his chest, the Baron's thoughts remained on his necessary sacrifice.

"This one is too crafty." He thought suspiciously while the shadows slowly enveloped Queyan.

Letting out a deep breath, he wasn't aware of holding, Richtol moved back to the entrance of his workspace. Two Erons stood at either side of the pathway guarding the entry point against the outside of the space. As he approached, they maintained their rigidity. Always impressed by their discipline, he watched them before giving an order.

"The one who just left this office. Have him followed. Report to me as soon as I finish my death and rebirth cycle. Not a moment later."

Quietly, the two acquiesced, moving out to follow his order. Smiling, Richtol relished the power he had, the power and obedience of his followers. Pleased with himself, he moved toward his own hovel, his enlarged pit summoning him.

"Yes, the next day the gods give us, I will work on Queyan's, much-needed obedience. That old fool must be broken into submission."

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