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The beast sat, eyes transfixed on the ground, smoke billowing from its mouth steadily with each undulation of its chest. It cloaked itself in power yet remained in a state of repose, disregarding the world around itself. Such a predator had nothing to fear among this picturesque wilderness motif where it was the top of the food chain.
Swallowing hard, the Witches gathered their wits to face what lie before them. Readying their spears and staves they approached with caution, their state of mind in-between an acceptance of death through duty and the sheer instinctual terror that gripped their very souls.
“You will not need those,” the beast suddenly spoke, its voice strangely human.
Frozen by its words their hearts lurched from their chests in a sudden moment of surprise, their bodies now taut with the mercurial trembling of fear. It was aware of them now, surely it would not be long before it would cannonade into their sisters and begin tearing them limb from limb in an unstoppable display of bestial cruelty and dominance.
“I mean you no harm,” it insisted, as if in rebuttal their apprehensions.
What kind of chicanery was their mortal enemy trying to employ? It was most certainly trying to lure them in, perhaps to find the whereabouts of their other sisters. Such a clever beast. They could not afford to listen to its words, they must run. Run. Run!
“What do you mean then?” one of the bolder Witches spoke, coming forth to parley with the beast.
She was a fool. A fool! Now was the time to run, leave her, leave her now while they still had the chance!
“That I have no desire to harm you or your sisters.”
“Do not lie to me monster, I know what you are!” the bold one demanded the truth, “Son of the Dark One, creation of evil, you will not route our sisters further than your mother already has!”
The beast let out a very hominal sigh, “So it has already started then? It seems I have arrived too late.”
“Speak sense vile demon,” the Witch spat vehemently. The fear that enveloped her sisters was entirely lost on her, in its place there was only a guttural animosity that bled from her voice, its roots at the very fibers of her being.
“I am my mother’s child, not her puppet. While it may come as a surprise to you, I do not serve her, nor have I ever,” its words were weighted by their candor and carried by their sense of grief, “You should know all too well what a slave is worth in the eyes of their master, having owned so many yourselves. Before I left I was a broken tool that left much to be desired. I did not serve my purpose before my independence. And how could I? When only I knew the truth of what my mother desired? But I was not strong enough to change her or stop her. I am here to repay my final debt to my homeworld, and correct that which I could not before: my mother’s ambition.”
It took something distant to change the Witch’s enmity, for in her disgust she could not hear the beast’s words, nor accept that it was simply a man.
Her shoulders shifted in discomfort, as her neck narrowed in, “You are to come with us. While I would have you dead or in chains, it seems your fate is not my decision to make.” The Witch loathed him so much that even speaking such words evoked disgust for herself. She owed her life and her service to a greater being, and that was the only thing that stayed her hand.
***
Swallowing hard, the Witches gathered their wits to face what lie before them. Readying their spears and staves they approached with caution, their state of mind in-between an acceptance of death through duty and the sheer instinctual terror that gripped their very souls.
“You will not need those,” the beast suddenly spoke, its voice strangely human.
Frozen by its words their hearts lurched from their chests in a sudden moment of surprise, their bodies now taut with the mercurial trembling of fear. It was aware of them now, surely it would not be long before it would cannonade into their sisters and begin tearing them limb from limb in an unstoppable display of bestial cruelty and dominance.
“I mean you no harm,” it insisted, as if in rebuttal their apprehensions.
What kind of chicanery was their mortal enemy trying to employ? It was most certainly trying to lure them in, perhaps to find the whereabouts of their other sisters. Such a clever beast. They could not afford to listen to its words, they must run. Run. Run!
“What do you mean then?” one of the bolder Witches spoke, coming forth to parley with the beast.
She was a fool. A fool! Now was the time to run, leave her, leave her now while they still had the chance!
“That I have no desire to harm you or your sisters.”
“Do not lie to me monster, I know what you are!” the bold one demanded the truth, “Son of the Dark One, creation of evil, you will not route our sisters further than your mother already has!”
The beast let out a very hominal sigh, “So it has already started then? It seems I have arrived too late.”
“Speak sense vile demon,” the Witch spat vehemently. The fear that enveloped her sisters was entirely lost on her, in its place there was only a guttural animosity that bled from her voice, its roots at the very fibers of her being.
“I am my mother’s child, not her puppet. While it may come as a surprise to you, I do not serve her, nor have I ever,” its words were weighted by their candor and carried by their sense of grief, “You should know all too well what a slave is worth in the eyes of their master, having owned so many yourselves. Before I left I was a broken tool that left much to be desired. I did not serve my purpose before my independence. And how could I? When only I knew the truth of what my mother desired? But I was not strong enough to change her or stop her. I am here to repay my final debt to my homeworld, and correct that which I could not before: my mother’s ambition.”
It took something distant to change the Witch’s enmity, for in her disgust she could not hear the beast’s words, nor accept that it was simply a man.
Her shoulders shifted in discomfort, as her neck narrowed in, “You are to come with us. While I would have you dead or in chains, it seems your fate is not my decision to make.” The Witch loathed him so much that even speaking such words evoked disgust for herself. She owed her life and her service to a greater being, and that was the only thing that stayed her hand.
***