36. Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Six
Vyper
The chamber lay still—too still. Silence like a patient strapped to a table, waiting for the knife.
I broke it with a hiss. “Ahhh… yes. Time for tonight’s test.”
The incantation spilled from my tongue in jagged syllables, precise as sutures, venom curling at the edges. The Vessel responded—always hungry, always obedient. Shadows bent closer. Riftlight flared like fever. Each reaction noted, expected. Reliable.
The glass darkened.
First the eyes. Always first. Black fire, twin voids consuming the light around them. Then the body—no, not a body. A seep. A hemorrhage of shadow into space, uncontrolled and perfect.
I smiled as my knees found stone. A prayer performed. Fascination genuine.
“My lord,” I whispered.
“Vyper.” The voice rasped through my skull, a thousand blades scraping bone. My grin widened. “You call me again. What morsel do you offer this time?”
“Dozens,” I said, savoring the word. “Rebellion stock. Riftborn. Their pain is fresh. Their screams… exquisite.”
The Vessel throbbed. A heartbeat. His weight pressed down, demanding my spine curve.
“And what do you ask in return, Insect?”
I unsheathed the scalpel, its edge still crusted with dried red. A comfort. “The Seer,” I breathed. “Her Rift is… resilient. Resistant. A subject unlike any other. I would probe it, break it, wield it. With her power, the rebellion could be excised. Root and branch. A clean amputation.”
“You seek to possess what is not yours.” The words slithered sharp. “Her Rift is not a door. It is a weapon. One that chooses.”
I flinched. A small tic. Not fear—correction. I drew a steady breath. “Then tell me how to unmake the choice.”
The God’s laugh made the Vessel tremble, cracks veining the glass like fractures in bone. “Ahhh… eager. Arrogant. The surgeon who thinks himself creator.” The smoke pressed closer. “But… yesss. There is a way.”
I leaned in, pulse sharpening to a single point. “Name it.”
“You must sever her anchor.” His tone was almost tender, like a doctor breaking bad news. “Offer me what she clings to most.”
I tilted my head. I smelt it in her blood earlier.
The smile cut the dark, all fangs. “The Dragon.”
The word slithered down my spine. “Mm. I see. The one called Eldrake .”
“They are bound,” Azh’raim hissed. “Rift. Body. Soul. Deeper than they know. When he breathes, she steadies. When she bleeds, he burns. They are one incision stitched across two bodies.”
My breath shivered out. “Then to sever it?”
“Bring me his soul.” The Vessel wailed with the pressure. “Break him—and she will unravel. Her tether will rot. She will yield.”
The chamber shook. Light flared like cauterization. His voice coiled tighter, softer. “And as you plot, he climbs. Even now, the Dragon comes. Step by step. Breath by breath. The scalpel will meet the flame.”
I stiffened, though I masked it with stillness.
“And she,” the God purred, “is not the only ripe vessel. The other female. The one with fire in her veins and grief in her marrow. That one will kneel when I call. You will break her for me.”
I cared not of anyone else. The Seer was my key to the throne. The chamber went silent save for the crackle of the Vessel. His presence lingered, then receded like a blade slipping from flesh.
“Fail me,” he hissed, “and you are mine.”
Then gone. Smoke curling where his voice had been.
I stood, chest heaving, scalpel steady. The diagnosis was clear. The Dragon was her anchor. Her undoing.
I turned the blade in my hand, light catching its edge. “Let us see,” I murmured, a grin splitting wide, unhinged, serpent-sharp. “Let us see how strong the bond truly is.”
And in the dark, I laughed—clinical, ecstatic, a scalpel slicing silence.