12​ Beetles

TORCH LIGHT FLICKERED in the dungeons of the palace, casting a yellow-orange glare upon the recent devastation. Antipa caught the faint whisper of small feet. The young ones entering the spacious dungeon cell stepped over four blackened bodies.

After a day and night in confinement, her fatigue had worn off. The Heaven’s Guardians were easy to kill. The viral mutts had given her difficulties. However, none of the undead remaining in Icarthya neared the power of Beezer or Lyrin, which was as she’d planned it. Success in the capital was paramount after all. She could take care of the Necropolis and their other hideouts if her sister failed. If Beezer had stood outside her cell, she would not have gotten free in one piece.

The viral mages had managed to deflect her attacks only to incinerate the guards. It had taken a deal more to destroy them, taking half the dungeon in the process. Two of the remaining soldiers she’d gutted with a dagger, her reserves of power low. It had then taken her over thirty minutes to summon enough magic to melt the chains binding her.

Tolan Laman was a fool, underestimating her as always; he should have put nine or ten of his undead slaves to watch her. She would still have escaped, but it would have been more interesting. You should have killed me, she thought. You had your final opportunity to thwart me, grandfather. Now, it’s my turn, to finish what was started long ago.

Several of the undead urchins, stood in a row before her, held bloodied daggers. Others had shards of metal. Their lips were sewn shut and their eyes glazed as they stared through her. Good, for unlike her twin, she had little patience with sniffles and wide-eyed cuteness. Not that virals were capable of such, but children often angered her beyond reason. Her sister had ventured a theory on the subject once, resulting in a wonderful fight. Rade had since kept her ridiculous ideas to herself.

Her grandfather did not understand what a force of nature she’d become. One could not hold back a storm, and she was qualified to know. Sometimes in her dreams, she remembered the touch of her lover’s lips on her skin, the feint aroma of spices and fermented milk, which he had liked so much. Another woman, another time, but fragments of memories that were now hers. Yes, time to put things right.

With an almost careless gesture, she gave the command. The line of children raised their daggers and pieces of metal. They slit through the magical bindings on their lips, an act impossible without her order. She’d been careful, waiting until her powers were strong enough. Collecting these urchins, hiding them, preparing them, had taken several years. Far across the ocean, her sister was enacting her half of the plan. She had better be.

The beetles emerged, climbing free as young jaws dislocated and little eyes bulged. A primal, almost instinctive feeling arose deep within her. She crushed it down. She couldn’t see what her sister did in these pathetic things. They were nothing other than vessels, their destruction a necessity.

The insects swarmed at the children’s feet, building in waves. Once the writhing mass of carapaces had submerged the undead urchins, she whispered a second command. The insects reorganised their tottering structures to form arms, legs, and heads.

The bones of what had once been boys and girls formed the core of these manifestations, reorganised to give them more height. Twelve stood before her, bodies human shaped, faceless, and otherworldly. Immediately she began summoning her army and hundreds of wights responded. Twelve wights each, they stepped into these new bodies, and the transformation was complete.

Twelve fresh Exemplar Guardsmen now stood before her. They wore armour and red cloaks, human-looking enough to fool Antipa herself. The remainder of the wight army hovered, an ethereal mist in the background.

Then the guardsmen crumbled, forms disintegrating into a mass of beetles. The ghostly army faded, and was gone.

Antipa screeched her frustration. She swore, stamping her right foot. Taking deep breaths, she then forced herself to calm. The ritual had almost worked. Her obnoxious sister had been better at such things. The key ingredient was patience, or so Rade had always claimed.

No matter. She would get it right. I just need the right sacrifice, she thought. The urchins hadn’t been enough. Yes, the angel dead needed to feed on the blood of the living.

Very well, she thought, but whose blood ... ah, of course. The ancient role of Darken, the shadow guarding the imperator’s back. The perfect choice since every Darken bore an angelic blessing. A blessing in the blood she could exploit. Yes, that would prove powerful enough.

She did not, however, know the Darken’s identity. She had murdered her own decades ago of course. Well, what else could she have done, when her own Darken had threatened to expose her? Rade had done likewise. Back then, she had not understood the power of a Darken’s blood. What a waste. This time, she would need to draw the imperator’s bodyguard out from the shadows, and there was only one way.

She smiled, feeling better. After all, she’d planned to murder the imperator. Antipa always did love when everything came together, clean, efficient, and on schedule.

Just the way she liked it.