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Chapter Text

They waited for cycles for their mother to return.

She would not abandon them, they were confident. She’d just… had to run. But it was okay, because she’d be back any day now, now that the dust had settled.

…she didn’t.

Time wore on, and their mother did not return.

Time wore on, and hope turned to despair turned to a sort of acceptance. Time wore on, and they grew closer to the scavengers who had, at some point, become their family.

They were not a scavenger, of course. They were not foolish. They had long ears and strong hindlegs and a long, thick tail. Their fur was finer than most scavengers’, almost downy in texture when clean. As such, their guardians were not perfect, naturally—they were, after all, different species. The scavengers were kind, perhaps, but altogether unprepared to raise a slugpup.

Still, the scavengers had protected them when their mother could not. They’d given back the pearl, and the scavengers of the toll had taken pity on the helpless pup, taking them with them when the rain came. Just for one night, the toll’s leader had said.

One night turned to many. The pup grew, and they could not be called a pup anymore, growing into a sharp young slugcat who earned their title of Ambassador, for their skills in managing conflict.

This title was put to the test sooner rather than later, when news of the Scarlet Death reached their colony.

“…a red slugcat,” the messenger signed, eyes wide and hands shaking. “She found our toll. She—tore through our ranks so fast, faster than I’ve ever seen. I ran. I have—haven’t gone back. Not the first time—first time I’ve heard of, but I—I—”

Evidently, he gave up on trying to convey whatever it was he wanted to say, hands dropping to the floor. The Ambassador raised their hands to speak, but their (friend? Closest adoptive family member? Parent?), the Captain, placed her hand on theirs as if to say ‘shut up’ before stepping forwards.

“You are injured,” the Captain said, her gestures calm and clear, “and what you saw has clearly shaken you. I imagine you will be able to explain much more easily once you’ve rested—”

“Can’t rest,” The messenger said, evidently opting simply to jerk his shaking hands into as few signs as possible. “She could—have. Could have followed.”

“She can’t get into our shelters if we don’t let her,” the Captain pointed out. “You’ve little to lose by spending a cycle resting.”

The messenger just shook his head, giving up on signing altogether, but ultimately let the Captain lead him to the Apothecary’s shelter.

The Ambassador stood entirely still for a long moment, before wordlessly grabbing an old rag and setting about cleaning up the blood that the Messenger had dripped everywhere. After a heartbeat, they were joined by their brother, the Knight. The two made quick work of the mess, and the crowd that had gathered began to disperse, the initial shock over.

None slept easy that night.

----

The colony had barely begun to leave their shelters when the Captain scrambled up a pole, waving her hands for attention.

“I am sure you are all wondering about what happened yesterday,” she began, her gestures broad and emphatic so that even those on the other side of the room could understand. “It was… surprising and concerning to all of us, fear and curiosity are only natural. Unfortunately, the Messenger is in no state to recount his tale just yet—the Apothecary is tending to him, but he is still injured, exhausted, and thoroughly shaken. Do not pester him; I am certain he will speak once he is well.”

“That being said, he gave me some information privately on the nature of the attack that wiped out his colony. The perpetrator was a red slugcat, evidently driven by hatred towards our kind alone, as she ignored the lizards nesting nearby. She was apparently heavily scarred, missing one eye, and capable of creating explosives at a moment’s notice.”

(The Ambassador began to have an odd sinking feeling.)

“This is not the first such incident, he claims. Evidently, other colonies and patrols had been attacked previously, but news had not yet reached us. This is, however, the first attack of quite this caliber.”

“He calls her the Scarlet Death—evidently a moniker created by her previous victims. She has not been seen in our area, but should you see a slugcat matching this description, turn and hide before she sees you. The king has supposedly sent out many a hunting party to chase her off for good, and none have been successful. Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to face her yourself.”

Captain raised her hands as if to continue speaking, but stopped when she spotted the Ambassador pushing their way to the front of the crowd, waving their arms. “…what is it?”

(Just to make sure. They had to make sure.)

“How, uh. How did she move? Was there anything… unusual, that…” The Ambassador trailed off into a vague gesture. They knew, deep down, that what they feared was true.

“Oh! Yes, she jumped three times as high, propelling herself with explosions created with a flick of her tail. How did you…” The Captain went still as the realization dawned on her. She had been there on that fateful night, she had seen firsthand their mother’s abilities. “You don’t think—”

The Ambassador did not confirm what they had both already realized.

They did not put words to this thought, though, instead remaining still for a long moment before signing, “I’ll do it.”

“…what?” The Captain tilted her head, looking almost concerned.

“I’ll find her. I, I’ll stop her. One way or another. She’ll be—she’ll be more likely to listen to me than to you.” The Ambassador tried to appear more confident than they were.

(She hadn’t even gone back to search in the next cycle.)

Regardless. If any were to stop her, it must be them, the Ambassador knew. Whether it ended in some sort of victory, or in peace (they could not help but pray for peace. It was in their nature, they thought), they should be the one to settle this.

Their mother, out to kill their family. Her debt, theirs to collect.

And maybe they were right, and not lying, after all. Maybe she’d be quicker to listen to one of her own kind when they pleaded with her to cease her wrath.

They would try. They had to try.

Chapter Text

They were to set out the next day. The Messenger, upon hearing the news from the Apothecary, had tried to talk them out of it, but they had long since made their choice.

The Captain had given them a vulture mask with strings attached, so they could wear it around their head whilst keeping their hands clear. It wasn’t too fancy—they were far from high-ranking, however important their mission may be—but it would do to frighten off lizards, and was clearly scavenger-made to fit them, meaning that the tolls they passed would be more likely to let them through. Other than that, however, they took nothing but their belt (so as to be able to carry more weapons) and their hopes.

While they could think of little else to bring, they could not help but feel underprepared. If their mother was as the Messenger had said…

No matter. They had made up their mind, and they would not back out now.

First, however, they spent one last cycle with the colony, saying their goodbyes and enjoying a final moment of peace before they left.

The air was cool in the chamber that housed their toll. The day had been quiet, which gave them plenty of time to talk.

…at some point, this whole thing had turned into a celebration, apparently. Even the Messenger was present, accompanied by the Apothecary, who was rambling only semi-coherently about something or another.

The Knight was near the chamber’s corner, laughing about something with its friend the Firebrand. The Merchant and the Warrior were throwing rocks at the toll’s mask-marker, evidently trying to hit the strings of pearls that decorated it, as the Captain watched them with vague disdain.

The Scholar was showing the three resident kits how to draw patterns on the wall as their parent the Gatherer watched, leaning on a pole. The Ambassador shuffled in place awkwardly, glancing around. The Apothecary had offered them some bubblefruit wine, but they’d declined—it wasn’t like it had much of an effect on them, anyways.

They were forcefully thrown out of their thoughts by the sudden sound of a firecracker plant going off. They spun around, drawing a spear—had something broken into the toll!?—to find—

The rest of the cavern in a startled mess of confusion and fight-response. Many had drawn their weapons, and many more were gesturing madly as they searched the cavern for any sign of the threat—

And yet they found nothing. The panic began to fade as quickly as it had come—there was no threat, or not one that was obvious. But if that were the case, why—

…oh.

Their gaze landed on the Firebrand, who was looking only slightly guilty as the Merchant gestured angrily at her. Slightly nearsighted as they were, they couldn’t quite make out all of the signs used, but they got the gist of it.

They sighed. Yeah—yeah, of course. Of course it’d—

Stars above, the cycle was only halfway through, she couldn’t’ve waited until—

They leapt down into the cavern, stepping forwards. “What happened?” (They knew full well what had happened, of course, but they didn’t really know how else to start the conversation).

“She threw a firecracker at me—” The Merchant began.

“The Knight told me to!” The Firebrand protested.

“You just thought it’d be funny—”

“I mean, it was—!

“Calm down, calm down!” The Ambassador stepped between them. “I—Firebrand, you said the Knight told you to throw the plant?”

“She came up with the idea!” The Knight protested from where he had, until now, been trying very hard to pretend it wasn’t paying attention.

“I said it as a joke and you told me to, and I quote, ‘go for it’—”

“Right, right.” The Ambassador said hastily, before a whole other sub-argument broke out. “Firebrand, please apologize to the Merchant?” Noticing the Firebrand starting to raise her hands, they added, “Knight, you too,” shooting their brother an apologetic look as they did.

The Knight hesitated a moment, looking slightly annoyed, but evidently got the message. “…sorry.”

The Firebrand was more reluctant, just standing there sulkily until the Ambassador gave her a look and she followed suit, even more begrudging than the Knight had been.

Satisfied, they turned away and stepped back towards the toll itself. Most everyone had gone back to whatever it was they had been doing, although a few had left during the brief panic, including the Messenger and the Apothecary.

They stayed this way, sitting by the toll and watching the crowd, for what was left of the cycle. At last they let themself relax, if just for the moment.

…soon enough, however, the cycle came to an end, and there was nothing left between them and their duty.

Chapter Text

It was almost as soon as they left that the full weight of their duty (and how horrifically, woefully underprepared they were) hit them.

They did not know where the Scarlet Death was, let alone how to stop her, beyond the vague idea of her possibly, maybe listening to one who was like her.

And oh, how naive that was! To think that someone as violent, as cruel as the Scarlet Death (as their mother) would listen to any plea for mercy—

What they had set out to do, they thought, was impossible.

Still they kept walking. They owed it to their pack, their colony, their family—they had to try.

So try they did.

They may not have known where she was at that very instant, but it took very little thought to realize she must be going to the City, where the King resided. It was only logical, after all, that she should attempt to strike at their very heart.

…That, they quickly realized, meant they would have to go through the Shaded Citadel if they wanted to get there anything resembling quickly.

…Fine, That was… fine. There were Scavengers there, they could get a lantern; maybe even a map. They’d be—they’d be fine.

----

It took them the better part of two cycles to even reach the Wastes’ upper toll. They knew their way around the region, naturally, but that didn’t make it safe, far from it.

There were only three Scavengers present when the Ambassador arrived. All looked to be extremely on edge, and at least one had clearly been injured recently, judging by the pole plant leaf bandage over their left eye. Two of them immediately raised their spears when they saw them approaching—they quickly raised their empty hands before they could be shot. “Hey, hang on, I’m not—I’m not a threat, I—I’m from the lower toll.”

The bandaged one lowered their spear, glancing over at the two others. “I—right, the Captain mentioned a slugcat, didn’t she?”

The other armed one—taller, with bluish fur and pointed antlers—just narrowed their eyes. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

“I’m—just passing through! The lower colony—I’m going to. Uh, I’m going to—reason. With the Scarlet Death.” The Ambassador signed hastily.

All three were still, clearly startled, for a moment, before the blue one burst out laughing. “That—stars, what a—that is—are you aware of how much—how much of a suicide mission that is?”

“I—I have to try.” The Ambassador signed stubbornly.

The blue one shrugged. “It’s your funeral. I guess we—we may as well let them through, you think?”

The last part was clearly directed at their toll-mates. The bandaged one nodded, whilst the third (dark-furred, with paler markings) just shrugged.

The Ambassador cautiously stepped forwards, waiting to see if there would be any last-minute objections, before continuing more confidently. They cast one final glance at the toll as they scrambled up a mess of exposed poles before ducking into a pipe and continuing their journey.

It took a bit of acrobatics, but eventually they reached the Citadel gate and—

…they were doing this. They were really doing this. It was not that it hadn’t sunk in before, no, but—for every large step and for every small point from which they could not turn back, the reality of it hit them, over and over again.

They knew, as the gate closed around them, that it would not stop hitting them any time soon.

----

From there, it was easy enough to make their way through the shadowy corridors, armed with a lantern they had purchased from a trader near the gate. The Citadel was not too large, after all, once you knew where you were going. The biggest hindrance proved to be monster kelp near its bottom, and even they were not that big of a threat—it was simply irritating to collect enough spears for all of them.

So there they laid, in the Citadel’s easternmost shelter, turning their mask over in their hands. They knew that the worst of their journey had yet to come, and already they could not feel further from the comfort of their home and family.

…suicide mission. It was a suicide mission! Everyone they explained their plan to knew this, and perhaps so did they, somewhere deep down. Maybe, they thought, they’d known since they set out; or even sooner, from the moment they blurted out their idea during the Captain’s announcement.

Maybe they knew that this’d be the death of them.

Maybe they had to do it anyways.

They placed their mask on the shelter floor and sighed, staring up at the ceiling. Faintly, they could hear the rain roaring outside.

What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Text

The Ambassador awoke waist-deep in water, rain still audible outside. The shelter had malfunctioned, opening before the storm quieted.

It was still quite dark, as was typical of the Citadel, as they felt around for their mask, which was floating in one of the shelter’s corners.

They placed it over their face before heaving a sigh and leaving the shelter.

The rain made it rather difficult to climb up to where they needed to go—three times it intensified to the point where they lost their balance, plummeting back to the ground and having to start all over again.

Nonetheless. They shook out their fur and slid through the pipe, to find themself in some sort of a tunnel, which opened out to a long stretch of fairly flat terrain.

There did not seem to be any immediate threat, but they did not trust this. There was always a threat, always some new enemy lurking behind a dark corner.

They looked around once, twice.

They saw and heard nothing.

They took a step forward, then another, and another. Still nothing.

They broke into a sprint, dashing towards the nearest cover, which came in the form of a narrow gap between some of the strange rectangular bricks that made up this area. There they remained for a moment, before they slipped out onto the surface and ran forwards again—this time, cover came in the form of a small tunnel not unlike the one they had first entered through—perhaps they had once connected, supporting a road or building some sort, or covering something up, before time had worn away the stone and shifted the land.

They were jolted out of their thoughts by the sound of mechanical clanking and snipping.

It did not sound like anything they had heard before—they poked their head out of the tunnel to investigate—

And were greeted by the sight of a pack of terrible beasts—mechanical yet organic, with long, scissor-like beaks, steel legs, and piercing yellow-orange eyes. They resembled vultures, almost, and yet different—

One of the things had noticed them. They ducked back into the shelter, crouching as far from either entrance as they could, ears laid flat and eyes wide.

The thing snapped at the tunnel’s entrance for what felt like an eternity, but may well have been less than a heartbeat, before moving on and continuing its seemingly aimless journey across the vast, shadowy expanse. The Ambassador waited until the snipping faded out of earshot before ducking out of the tunnel themself, dashing across the expanse to the next spot of safety.

And so the cycle went on, the Ambassador evading the scissor-birds and hiding under great bricks and underhangs, the rain growing closer all the while, until eventually they reached the end of this path—a great, metallic cliff. They’d heard of the Traitor God, they’d seen drawings, they’d even seen it from afar on clear cycles—yet all of that paled in comparison to standing within arm’s reach of one of its colossal legs.

They’d understood, logically, that it was large enough to house an entire city upon its metallic spine, and that it stretched far above the clouds. And yet…

Their ears pricked at the distant rumble of thunder—they did not have time to sit and contemplate. Instead, they began to search for a way up—it took a little while, but they managed to scramble up a series of poles before slipping through a pipe, which lead them through a gate and into the tower itself. Immediately, they could see a shelter just across a deep pit—but, alas, they had not eaten. Instead they were forced to make a quick detour for some blue fruit, before making their way back down to rest.

Sleep came easier this cycle, perhaps due to how early they had awoken. They could almost pretend they were back in the Wastes, curled up beside their mother and brother.

----

Red was all she knew.

Red like their blood on her claws. Red like her own, streaming down her face like tears from where her eye had once been. Red like the stinging vomit that she had learned to use as a weapon. Red like cruelty.

(Red like her own pelt.)

That was all there was, she thought. Blood and bile and sickness and cruelty and death.

Every part of her was stained with it. Perhaps, she sometimes thought, as she could no longer make out where the bloodstains ended and her own deep red pelt began, it was simply in her nature.

…no. Cruelty was their nature, not her own. She was enacting justice, even at the cost of herself, and was that not the most noble act of all? To give herself, her life, her safety, to make sure that their violence never harmed another.

(Her pups, her dear children, gone, gone, killed, stolen—)

This was her duty. There was a blight upon this land. Their very presence was a poison.

To cut down a choking-vine was not cruelty, and neither was this. No, this was vengeance, this was justice. For her children, for herself.

(…there was not enough water, here in the city, to wash the blood from her fur.)

(No matter. She could hardly see the stains against her dark pelt, anyhow.)

Chapter Text

It took the Ambassador somewhere around two cycles to scale the great tower and reach the bottom of the structure proper. The leg, while not too great a distance, had threats around every corner—white lizards, dropwigs, spiders, pole mimics… they found themself hoping, by the end, that the underhang was treacherous and inconvenient enough that few creatures willingly made their homes there.

…they were wrong, of course. But it was nice to hope.

The first stretch had seemed promising—only one white lizard, which was fairly easily avoided once the Ambassador had spotted it. The fall was dark and deadly, but with their grappling worm in hand, it was easy enough to cross.

(That did not make them feel any less sick when they looked down.)

However, this luck, it seemed, simply could not last. They slid through a pipe feeling pretty hopeful about this stretch of their journey—

And froze.

They’d never seen anything like it; a great dark lump of something, clinging to the structure’s bottom with slimy limbs. Its body was marked with crosses, which (along with the tips of its appendages) shone the brightest, most unnatural blue that the Ambassador had ever seen, even in the dim light of the underhang.

They stood frozen for a long moment before swinging forwards, hoping to make their way around it before it could react—terrifying as it was, it did not seem fast, nor did it have visible eyes of any sort.

They were not fast enough—

It brushed against their tail, slimy, slightly sticky—

It would kill them, they realized, it would kill them—

In a moment of total panic—

They drew the first weapon their hand brushed across—

And threw—

The explosive spear hit the thing directly in the core. It curled inwards and away from them as the explosive went off, throwing it down, down into the darkness below.

The Ambassador breathed.

They did not have long to recover, though, for it was barely a moment before they heard (distantly, but not too distantly) the distinctive sound of a leaping cyan lizard.

They had to keep moving. So they did.

They encountered one more of the terrible things, but this time evaded it successfully. Other than that, there were a few strange orange lizards which, though peculiar, were easily avoided.

…No, they thought, they’d been right, in the beginning. The greatest danger was the fall, after all.

(But what a danger it was. They did their best not to look down, lest they become dizzy and lose their grip on the worm, but it could not always be avoided. It was out of luck more than skill that they did not fall.)

Finally, finally, when their paws had begun to ache and they felt in their gut that the cycle had nearly reached its end, they saw before them a great wall, with a long entryway leading into it. They ran through, swiftly outpacing the white lizard that perched above, and found themself in a large room. Below was another abyss, wherein to fall, they knew, meant certain death; but just above it was a shelter.

They’d eaten enough that they would not be hungry when they awoke. And so they slipped through, curled up, and fell asleep.

Their dreams were troubled, dark, and confusing, as they so often had been, these past cycles. They dreamed of beasts, and betrayal, and a world awash in crimson light.

When they awoke, it was with the faintest echo of a pain in their chest.

After that, it was only a short distance to the end of the underhang. Across the room, and then through a hallway, and—

They flinched back, squeezing their eyes shut.

They had not realized how accustomed they had grown to the darkness until they were free of it.

When they could open their eyes without giving themself a terrible headache, they continued onwards.

They reached the end of the ledge where they had emerged and felt their stomach drop.

They had not understood, fully, how far they had come, how high they had climbed—from the underhang, the drop had looked to be an unending void of darkness, punctuated by the occasional flash of greenish lightning.

From here, in the sunlight…

They were barely beneath the clouds, now. Before them stretched a vast expanse of metal wilderness, a sea of abandoned machines like a concrete jungle. Great towers—chimney stacks, sunbaked spires—rose up to their eye level and higher, the very tip of those great golden constructs pushing up and through the clouds.

Though they searched, The Ambassador could not make out the colors of their home, the Wastes, through the fog beneath. Still, they could make a guess as to where it should be—just south of the chimneys and west of the Citadel, where the Traitor God’s shadow fell.

…looking out over the world like this, they were struck with the feeling of how impossibly small they were.

What were their meagre years in the face of eternity? This world had stood long before they were born, and would stand long after. The God behind them, the world before them; they were barely a speck of dust living a fleeting second upon this vast world.

It was beautiful, almost, in a way.

They stood there, simply looking out over the world, perhaps for longer than they should have. At last they shook themself and turned away from the dizzying view, jumping to reach the top of the ledge above them and beginning their journey up the great steel cliffside.

There was another shelter just on the next ledge. They had not eaten, however, and so they continued on their way.

They quickly found themself surrounded by thick fog that clung to their fur, sending chills through their body even beneath their thick pelt.

They knew, then—they were in the clouds now. That was a surreal thought. Always, the clouds had seemed like the roof of the world to them—an unbreakable barrier, with nothing beyond. The rain was inescapable. The clouds were where the rain came from. Therefore, the clouds could not be breached either.

They had known it to be false, of course. They knew of the City; knew that there was a land above the clouds and free of rain. But they had not… understood it, before.

They still did not, in truth. It seemed, however, that they would be forced to, before their journey came to a close.

On they climbed. There were few predators here, save for the occasional vulture circling in the distance and a close call with a dropwig.

…this luck, naturally, did not last.

There were… cyan lizards, many of them. A family group, perhaps…?

No matter. Despite The Ambassador’s searching (and search they did), it seemed the only way up was past them.

Despite a close call wherein the largest of the lizards successfully bit down on their tail hard enough to draw blood, only to let go after being struck on the head with the blunt side of a spear, the lizards were not too difficult to escape. Common as they were, the Ambassador had learned how to deal with them. Swift as the beasts could be, they were not clever.

From there, the sailing was smooth enough, aside from white lizards blocking the way on two separate occasions. They managed to eat their fill of batflies and some convenient blue fruit before they reached the next shelter.

Chapter Text

By the next morning, the wound on their tail had stopped bleeding, though it had far from healed. They pushed themself to their feet (still slightly groggy, as though they’d woken up too early) and made their way out of the shelter.

Outside, they almost immediately had to contend with a pair of white lizards—which wasn’t too difficult, considering that the beasts were largely occupied with fighting one another. It was mostly a matter of lurking in the shelter’s entrance until the lizards had left.

After that, they were finally able to go outside, properly outside—

Oh.

That explained why they were still tired.

They hadn’t considered it, because the shelter wasn’t flooded—but they were above the rain, here, and…

The sky was cast in pale pink and blue and gold, the sun having barely risen above the horizon. Below them, the Traitor God’s form trembled, shaken by the rain that fell far below.

Was this what the City’s scavengers saw every day, should they wake up early enough? They thought they remembered something about the shelters there not fully locking, so that the inhabitants could leave throughout the night. That was an odd idea, but… they supposed it made sense. There was nothing unusually deadly about the darker part of the cycle, there.

The sound of footfalls caught their attention. They turned to see a pair of scavengers making their way down the poles—one dark brown, the other silvery grey. The brown one was signing one-handed; though the Ambassador could not make out what they were saying.

Neither seemed to have noticed the Ambassador, so they announced their presence with a small cough.

Immediately, both scavengers swung around to look at them, breaking off their conversation. Seeing the silver one reaching for their spear, the Ambassador hurriedly signed, “I’m not—I’m a friend!” To punctuate their point, they raised their empty paws, showing off how decidedly unthreatening they were.

The silver one didn’t look convinced. “Are you? You look an awful lot like—”

“—I know, I know.” The Ambassador’s tail twitched. “I’m from the Wastes—I’m headed to the city, I’m going to—”

The silver one began to sign again, but the brown one cut them off, placing a hand on their arm. “If they were going to shoot us, they’d have done it by now. Besides, look at their mask—”

“Could be stolen,” the silver one cast another suspicious glance at the Ambassador, though they were obviously beginning to relent.

“It wouldn’t be so well-fitted to their face if it were. You saw how the Scarlet Death carried hers—they didn’t fit, she had to hold them to her head.” If they saw how the silver one stiffened slightly, they didn’t show it. Instead, they turned back to the Ambassador. “My title is Storyteller, and this is the Dragonslayer. Sorry about him, he’s—”

“I can apologize for myself, thanks.” The Dragonslayer cut them off, slightly irritably. “I… am sorry, not that I have anything to be sorry for. You never know, with the… with her around—you cannot fault me for being cautious.”

The Ambassador dipped their head. “I—you’re right, I can’t. Er, I’m the Ambassador, pleasure to meet you.”

“And you,” the Storyteller offered. “I assume you are headed for the City?”

“I—yes, I am.” They very nearly tacked on a ‘how did you know?’ out of habit, before remembering where they were.

“What a coincidence,” The Dragonslayer said drily, “we were just leaving.”

“Yes, I…” The Ambassador trailed off. After the stillness dragged on a moment too long, they glanced up. “I should probably be going.”

The Storyteller dipped their head. “As should we. Good luck on your journey, Ambassador.”

The Dragonslayer paused for a moment as his companion began down the cliff, as though he had something he’d like to say. After a moment’s stillness, he seemed to decide against it, turning to follow the Storyteller.

The Ambassador watched them leave for a heartbeat longer, before turning back to the climb ahead. They were so very close to the top, now—craning their neck, they could see the top of the structure, not so very far away at all.

The thought sent a thrill through them. They’d never considered, out of their family, that they would be the one to see the City—a relatively low-ranking Wastes dweller, distinct only for their… other-ness, visiting the both literal and metaphorical top of their world…

Yet here they were—though, they reminded themself, the reason for their journey was far more solemn than simple sightseeing.

Still, it was hard not to feel some sense of awe.

It took them a little while longer to reach the top—they had never been the fastest climber. When they did, they paused, casting one last glance over the endless sea of clouds before slipping through the great structure’s entrance.

There, they found themself greeted by three potential paths. They moved directly for the rightmost one, which they knew for the City’s gate—

And nearly tripped over a dead scavenger. Their fur, evidently once a dusty brown, had been stained dark with their own blood; spilling onto the floor from where a spear remained lodged in their chest. Their body was cold and stiff, and their blood dry—whoever they were, they had been here for a while. A cracked mask lay a few steps away, having presumably fallen off when they were shot.

The Ambassador stared in horror for a long moment, before slowly dipping their head in respect for the fallen scavenger, carefully stepping past the corpse, and making their way into the gate.

…nothing happened.

Right, they remembered now—the King used a strange metal thing to open the City’s gate, so that, theoretically, only those his court approved could enter.

That never stopped anyone stubborn enough, of course, but it was the principle more than anything.

They gave a small sigh before leaving the room. They had to get to the same level as the City, somehow—the gate would not open for them like this, and they had not the time to jump through countless bureaucratic hoops in convincing the Court to let them in.

It took until the end of the cycle, when the sky went dark and the structure began to shake beneath them, for them to find a way. By the time they had crawled out onto the vast concrete wasteland, they were thoroughly exhausted.

Thankfully, the closest reaches of the City were rather nearby—just down a small drop down, a bit of poking around, and they were greeted with the familiar symbol of a shelter. They had not eaten previously, but there was a popcorn plant just outside, which served as a quick and easy meal.

They were asleep practically the moment they closed their eyes.

Chapter Text

Her end was in sight.

She knew what this place was—absolution, closure, the nest of their cursed kind.

They ran as often as they fought. She took no mind. She killed them all the same, for the crimes of one’s kin were close enough to their own, for cruelty was in their nature, for it was them or her.

Them or her, she repeated to herself. She was not like them, she was no pup-killer. She was enacting justice, she was—

Oh, but she’d heard this before, hadn’t she?

Over and over again, she hissed it to herself—no, she did not need to, because it was a simple truth. Their kind was a blight on this world, and voids be with her, she was here to kill it at the source.

(A dream lingered in her mind, too vivid, too fresh. Find a way out, if you still can.)

(She slashed through that thought. Out of what? Of justice, of her rightful duty to this land? She was no coward, nor a fool.)

They fled in fear. She felt nothing but vicious joy. Let them fear her. Let the drought fear the rain. Let the plague fear the cure.

Their beating heart was on the horizon, and it was only a matter of time.

The Ambassador had been just a pup when they attended their first funeral.

It had been for the Stargazer, a friend of the Captain’s, who had been fatally wounded by a lizard. The pup (for they had not yet earned their title) had spent much of the ceremony hiding behind the Captain, for they had not known quite what was happening, but had nonetheless been frightened and uncomfortable in the way pups always were when they could tell an adult was trying very hard not to cry.

Though they had not truly understood what it all meant at the time, the part of it that stuck with them the most was clinging to the Captain’s fur as they stared, wide-eyed, at the Stargazer’s body. Adorned with a decorative mask, her corpse had been arranged in a way that covered up her wounds, so that she might have just been sleeping.

But they knew she wasn’t, even if the concept of death had not yet truly clicked in their mind. She was too still, too stiff.

They pressed closer into the Captain’s pelt but could not tear their eyes away.

…

…They were not that pup anymore. They had not been for a very long time.

Still, as they moved through the City, they felt that same sense of quiet, frozen horror. There was no rain to wash the bodies away, here. If they were not buried or found by the lizards and vultures, they would stay in place until they rotted.

And there were so many of them.

They were not everywhere, no, the wild animals made sure of that. But the sheer number of bloodstains on the dusty walls, and the state of what corpses there were, painted a gruesome image.

(Many of them were half-eaten. Lizards or vultures would drag the corpses back to their den before eating, and the Ambassador had never known of a lizard with teeth that small.)

(They thought they were going to be sick.)

Still, they walked on, even as the sun began to dip towards the horizon (and how strange it was, to see the sun, rather than just the gathering clouds!). They walked on, trying their best to ignore the bloodstained sand beneath their feet.

For they were here for a reason. They had a duty, and there was little time left to fulfill it.

And if all went well, no more innocents would need to die. Not here. Not like this.

So they swallowed their nausea, and horror, and grief, and pressed on.

It was not very long before they managed to purchase a map from a pair of scavengers about halfway up the City’s tallest tower. There was a rather direct route, it seemed, from there to the King’s temple—but it would also be possible to bypass the toll in front of it entirely by going around, which seemed the easier route. And it was unlikely that their mother would have a map, making it possible that she’d—

Oh, but they were just guessing now, weren’t they? They could not see any corpses on the rooftops, but that was saying little, considering how many vultures lurked around this place.

…there was a shelter nearby (or rather two shelters, but one was in a location which they did not think they could get back to the rooftops from. The other was iffy, too, but less so, if the map was to be trusted). They would rest there and make their decision in the morning.

Or, rather, that was the plan. But as they dropped down the ancient alleyway and began to walk towards the shelter, they caught a scent that made them freeze in their tracks.

It was unmistakably that of slugcat.

And there was only one slugcat it could be.

Shelter abandoned, they raced out of the alleyway, past a fence, and across a small bridge, paying no heed to the dropwig attempting to hide nearby. They ducked through a pipe and heard, somewhere overhead, the sound of a small explosion—

She was there. She was right there.

This was it.

They had no time to think it through, though, because just as quickly she was gone, through another pipe far above. This passage was very vertical and very difficult to traverse without the ability to propel themselves with explosives, and by the time they reached the top, she had certainly gotten quite the head start on them—but her scent remained. They followed it through the half-collapsed building and past another abandoned alley before dropping down a smaller wall—oh, that would be a pain to climb back out of, but it didn’t matter because she was here. They stopped for a moment to catch their breath before ducking through another pipe and—

The room was large, dotted with half-broken poles and the remains of large columns. The sun filtered in through a vast hole in the ancient ceiling, casting the otherwise dim and dull grey room in a warmer light.

The mask of a toll stood watch, abandoned, and a few strings of dusty pearls waved gently in what little breeze there was.

And atop the first of the ruined columns stood the Artificer, explosive spear in hand.

She was facing away from them, not quite silhouetted in the faint light, but close.

Her fur was matted and rough with dried blood. She appeared to be studying the next column over—perhaps calculating her next jump?

Before they could think, the Ambassador cried, using Slugspeak for the first time in countless cycles, “Wait!”

Chapter Text

The Artificer froze for a long, terrifying moment, before slowly turning to face the Ambassador. “…and who are you?”

Her voice was rough and raspy, her one eye narrowed. The Ambassador felt something twist in their chest.

They raised their paws to sign, but saw how her grip on her spear tightened as they did, and quickly lowered them. Instead, they spoke, voice just as rough as hers from cycles of disuse. “I am the…” they paused for a moment—they couldn’t quite remember the word. Oh, right— “Ambassador.”

She narrowed her eye further. The Ambassador continued on, words fast and jumbled. “I—you must stop. You—please. You have hurt so many. Your—your violence, your hate, it’s—it’s meaningless, it’s—”

They had not spoken their birth language in so long, it was a struggle to find the right words without lapsing back into sign.

Clearly, the few words their mind could supply them with were not particularly convincing, for the Artificer raised her spear, staring them down for a long moment before speaking. “You have come all this way only to tell me to stop?”

They opened their mouth to respond, but the Artificer continued before they could say anything. “Your words are meaningless, naive. They care not for us. They are killers, the lot of them.”

“You’re wrong. You—”

“Have you no loyalty to your kind? To your kin?”

The Ambassador stopped, staring up at the Artificer. Their heart clenched.

She looked through them.

“Clearly not. If not traitorous, then blind.”

“But—” The Ambassador began to protest.

“But what? I would love to make peace, trust me. But there is—that is impossible. They are not capable of such things. If mercy were an option, none of this would have happened. It is them or us. Or are you so foolish as to—”

“If you want peace so much, then LISTEN TO ME!”

That startled the Artificer enough to make her stop talking, if only for the moment. The Ambassador took the chance to continue. “They are innocent! They hurt you because you hurt them. They are only acting out of self-preservation—”

“They why do they kill innocent pups?!” The Artificer snapped, raising her spear.

“They don’t—”

“I have seen otherwise,” She snarled. “They—they are hateful, selfish, cruel. They would kill us, too, if they saw a chance. All I do is refuse to give them one. We—”

“Stop that!” The Ambassador hissed, fur on end. “Stop—stop talking like we are the same!”

“Oh?” The Artificer stepped forwards, to the very edge of the pillar on which she stood. Her crimson-stained teeth were bared in something almost like a smile. “But we are, aren’t we? We are kin. We are not them.”

You don’t know how right you are, the Ambassador thought, but didn’t say. Instead, they reached for their spear. “You—you are a killer, you are a hateful, cruel—I would hate to be part of your voidsforsaken us!”

“Would you rather be one of them?”

“I—Yes! Yes, I would! I—I am far more like them than I am like you!”

She considered that for a moment, eye narrowing further. “Traitor.”

“I never asked to be loyal to your—”

But they never got to finish their sentence. They hardly saw the spear coming—it was by instinct and luck alone that they managed to jump aside just in time. They began to continue speaking, but before any words could leave their mouth, the Artificer dove towards the ground, forcing them to leap out of the way.

They landed in a roll and drew their own spear as they stood—and it was a good thing they did, for the next attack (another spear) came before they could dodge, forcing them to parry it.

They picked up the parried spear off the ground and tucked it into their belt before scrambling up a set of poles for the high ground. “Stop!”

But the Artificer didn’t seem to hear them. Instead, she leapt again into the air, using an explosion to propel herself far above the Ambassador. She landed atop the poles for a mere moment before she was airborne once more, landing neatly on the ground behind them.

They spun around to face her but lost their balance as they did, falling from the poles. They recovered quickly, and raised their spear to parry her next attack. “You—you don’t have to do this!”

Her only response was a snarl before she lunged for them again, snapping her tail against the ground to create a large explosion that threw the Ambassador a ways back. They recovered quickly, smacking the Artificer’s face with the side of their spear as she leapt to maul them.

She jerked back, startled, and they took the opportunity to run, scrambling up the pillar with some help from their spear. “STOP!”

She did not grace them with any sort of response. They leapt off the column and to the next—she was hot on their tail. She could easily catch up to them in vertical movement—this had been a terrible mistake. Here, on the other side of the pillar, there were some small crawlspaces—but they couldn’t risk ducking into them, lest they be cornered.

Their thoughts raced. She pounced off the top of the ruined column and directly for them—they raised their spear and thrust it directly towards her shoulder. She managed to twist out of the way at the last second, but it threw her off enough to give them a chance—they had two options, here. There was very little space between the pillars and the walls (perhaps, more accurately, they could be described as low walls in and of themselves)—they’d have to climb over if they wanted to return to open ground.

Or they could keep climbing onwards, to what they had seen to be an enclosed and largely vertical space.

…The choice was obvious.

They climbed back up the way they came as quickly as they could, leaping back over the two ruined pillars. They landed rolling, and by the time the Artificer leapt back over the pillar, they were back on their feet.

They looked her in the eye.

They were afraid, they were desperate—

They were angry.

For their family, for their people—for every single innocent scavenger that lay dead in her wake.

And at the fact that somehow—

Somehow, through all of this, all this violence, this monstrous hate—

Somehow, she still thought she was in the right.

Behind their mask, tears welled in their eyes. Tears of grief and of indignation.

They were breathing heavily. Already they were almost exhausted. This would not work. She would not listen.

There was only one way this could end.

Remembering what the Captain (their real mother) had taught them so long ago, they held their paws steady and aimed right for the Artificer’s chest.

She dodged, leaping into the air. The shot missed.

They were not deterred. They successfully dodged her next attack and spun around to take another shot.

And another, and another.

She dodged the first, parried the second. The third grazed her shoulder.

Her chest was heaving, too. They could not continue like this for much longer. She knew this as well as they did. She ducked behind a piece of rubble before hacking loudly.

The Ambassador knew that sound. In their youngest days, it had meant protection, meant safety. Meant that whatever came next, their family would be prepared.

Now…?

Sure enough, when the Artificer leapt out from her cover, the tip of her spear was coated in a sticky reddish substance, far more deadly than a normal spear.

The Ambassador managed to dodge. The spear embedded itself in the ground behind them, exploding a few moments later.

She took another shot at them, this time with a normal spear. They ducked to the side, but not quite fast enough. Thankfully, it only managed to clip the side of their mask before falling to the floor. They picked it up and flung it back at the Artificer, who parried it with an explosion before leaping for them again.

And again, and again.

They barely managed to dodge.

But her movements were slowing down. She was running out of energy.

She stopped with her back to them, clearly out of breath.

They saw their chance and took it.

They leapt for her with their spear drawn.

She turned around, eye widening.

At the very last moment, she managed to duck out of the way.

The Ambassador hit the ground hard. It took them a moment to get up, shaking their head slightly.

They saw her spear coming out of the corner of their eye. Instinctively, they raised their own to parry it.

They didn’t see the red tip until it was too late.

The Artificer picked up a spear off the ground. She’d all but won already. Even if the little traitor had survived, they would surely be in no state to run. Ending them would be trivial.

She stepped forward to do so, but—

As the dust settled, something caught her eye.

The explosion had shattered the traitor’s mask. It lay in pieces, scattered across the rusted floor.

Now, she could see their face.

And…

…

Their ears rang.

Everything hurt.

There was blood in their mouth.

In their mouth, in their eyes.

They could not see out of their right eye.

The right side of their face, their right shoulder…

They could barely feel it. Or perhaps it simply burned with a pain too intense for their mind to even process.

With some effort, they pushed themself to a half-sitting position, hunched over with their forepaws on the floor.

They looked up.

Afraid. Desperate.

Defiant.

They could not escape this. If she decided to shoot, it would be over.

(She didn’t shoot. She stood perfectly still, eye wide.)

This was no longer a fight they could win, and so there was no reason to even try.

But their voice was still their own.

“Where…” they rasped, “will you run to?”

She did not answer.

They repeated the question more forcefully. “Where will you run to?”

They could hardly speak through the pain. But they had to. They had to. This was bigger than them.

They moved as though to take a step forward but stopped as the agony increased tenfold at the movement. Still, they began to hiss their question a third time. “Where—”

“You…” her voice was soft, disbelieving. “Is… are you…”

But they were. They knew she knew. It was there, in the arch of their muzzle, in their thick fur (though hers was matted and dirty), in their oval-shaped eyes.

“No. No, no, no.” She took a step back. “No, you—you can’t—I never meant—”

They did not respond.

“You—they killed you—”

“They saved me,” the Ambassador corrected, barely a hoarse whisper. “You left me to die.”

“No, no. No, I—I never—” Her eye was wide with panic, her gaze darting from side to side, searching for a way out—for a way to avoid confronting the truth of it. But she found none, and so her sight settled on the Ambassador once again. “…my child…”

But she was cut off with a sharp hiss. “You have… forfeited your right to call me your family.”

She reached forward for a moment, jaws parting as if to speak, but her paws fell to her sides and her gaze to the floor. “This isn’t what I wanted—”

“That…” The Ambassador took a sharp breath. Every tiny movement was a new spear of pain piercing their side. “Is not… a ‘sorry’.”

The Artificer moved to respond, but they continued. “You… killed them. So many of them.” The Ambassador lifted their head, barely withholding a hiss of pain as they did. “So many of us. For—nothing. And even—even if there had—” A drop of blood dripped into their eye. They blinked to try and clear it.

“It was for you,” she whispered. She had dropped her spear at some point during the conversation; it now lay on the floor before her. “It was all for you.”

“How—” They bit their tongue as a fresh wave of pain wracked their body. “How could… you think this is what I would want?”

“…I…” her paws were shaking, now. Even through their eyes, blurry with pain and blood, they could see it. “…I am sorry. I am sorry. I am…”

“There is no… apology… for what you have done. Even if—even if… you were right, then… you still… could not be forgiven.” The Ambassador met her gaze again. “Why… are you sorry… only when it is me? What is… another corpse in your wake?”

“…it’s not the same.” Once again, she broke eye contact.

“Isn’t it?”

She did not respond.

“They are not… different from me. From us. I… really, I would hope… that I am more like them than like you.”

She did not respond.

“Children, parents, siblings… lovers, friends… dreams, stories that… that you ended. You have… you have done a thousand times… more than what we would have done to you.”

She did not respond.

“…kill me.” They looked her in the eyes, unblinking, defiant. They did not let her look away. “It is not different. Kill me, or… or understand.”

“I…” She reached forwards with claws surrounded by a crust of dried blood, before once again letting her paws drop. “…voids, what have I done?”

“You know… you know what you have done.” The Ambassador’s blood had begun to dry, forming a rough crust over their side. Distantly, they were aware of the fact that with wounds like this, infection was sure to set in if they weren’t cleaned soon.

But this was more important.

Her face was empty of expression, but tears welled in her eye all the same. She barely blinked as they began to roll down her face and fall to the concrete floor.

“What… voids, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, they, my child…” And she understood, and she meant it, and no words could ever encompass so great a sin.

The Ambassador made no move to comfort her. How could they? Whatever they said would have to be a lie. It was not okay. It would never be okay again.

They tried to push themself to their feet but stumbled as they pulled on their wounded muscles. Their head spun.

She clearly took notice, reaching out to catch them, but they pushed her away. “Leave. They will… kill you, if they see you. And they will be… justified in doing so. How would they know… you are not a threat any longer?”

“I have to… find someone,” they continued, “explain to them… what happened here. Your presence… for now, will only hinder that goal.”

She made little move to stop them as they limped away on all fours.

It hurt to move, still, but they had to. They could not stay here.

There were enough scavengers here that they did not fear the possibility of not finding anyone. It was their capital, after all. But they could not be seen with her. With their mask broken, they would not blame any scavenger for getting the wrong idea.

In a more open area—one like the alleyways they had passed through earlier—they could call for help.

They would be fine. They would live.

(They had to think that.)

They would.

…but even if they didn’t. Even if their wounds became infected, or if they bled out before help arrived… even if they died, this would have been worth it.

Because it was over. Because no more would die at her hand.

And was that not a worthy sacrifice?