Chrysalis

Chapter 825: Wake the Beast (937)

The door was shaking on its hinges.

A piece of Legion history, the door to the Consul Chamber had stood for three thousand years. Abyssal steel, forged during the Rending, formed the core of the massive doors, which stood over ten metres tall, covered in potent enchantments of hardening and regeneration powered by Mythic cores. Atop that unbreakable frame, layer after layer of compressed, living stone had been placed, bonded together to create an impenetrable bulwark that defended the highest officer of the Legion.

Intricate and detailed carvings covered the outer face. Legend had it that the hands of the founders themselves had held the chisel. The images were mirrored from one door to the next, the form of the ideal Legionary imprinted in glorious, expressive lines. A body of steel, weapon drawn, perfect form, eyes that blazed with determination and a heart that burned even brighter.

Despite its incredible density and weight, despite being a bulwark that could receive a blow from a battering ram without shifting an inch, it was shaking.

Outside the door, two of the finest soldiers the Abyssal Legion could produce, stood to attention. Praetorian Guard, armoured in the rarest of the rare, full Abyssal Steel Praetorian armour. The two stood an imposing four metres tall, weighted polearms held steady. Two veterans, they had earned the honour of guarding the Consul Chamber through numerous campaigns in the depths of the Dungeon, fighting the worst enemies the sentient people of Pangera could face.

It could not be seen behind their visors, but sweat beaded both of their brows. The rolling waves of pressure that hammered against the door and bled through beat down on them. Lesser beings would be on their knees, blood pouring from their mouths, but within their coveted armour, they were safe.

Inside the chamber, it was far worse.

Idly, Commander Myriam began to wonder if this was how she would die. Not at the hands of an ancient, or some other terrible monster in the depths, but here in the heart of the Legion’s strength, crushed to death by the rage of her own superior officer.

She felt blood well in her mouth so she leaned slightly to the side and spat in her helmet which she held tucked under her arm. It wouldn’t do to stain the floor of the Consul’s office.

It was quite a thing to see, the legendary berserker rage of the Consul. This was the power that had given her the ability to rocket through the ranks, ascending all the way to the highest office atop the bodies of innumerable monsters.

Minerva drew deep steadying breaths as her fists clenched and unclenched. If she’d had her axe in hand, goodness knows what might have happened, thankfully it hadn’t come to that.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The overwhelming pressure that filled the room pulsed with every exhalation of the Consul, causing the reinforced stone that formed the walls to creak and groan.

Blind, overwhelming rage filled her mind, blanketed her vision with red and flooded her body with strength. Containing it was difficult, just standing still was a trial. That power yearned to be used. It thrashed and coiled and whispered in her ear. She could lash out, she could strike, she could kill. Anything to let it out, set it free.

Just breathe.

Head down, eyes closed, the Consul went to war with herself in a way she hadn’t done for decades.

I’m in control, not you.

She grit her teeth and slowly unwound her fists, allowing the tension to drain from her muscles one by one.

Commander Myriam leaned to the side and spat once more as the pressure slowly began to ease. It looked as if she wouldn’t die today after all. The next time she came to report to the Consul, she was coming in armour, no matter what it looked like.

“I apologise for my lack of control,” Minerva eventually ground out as she finally managed to force down her anger. “Your words took me by surprise.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Myriam replied dryly.

The radiating aura that had been so crushing only moments ago receded to a more a more tolerable level, though it remained, simmering beneath the surface.

“Those damned lizards. They choose to flout the laws that have stood for thousands of years now? Which idiot thought this could possibly be a good idea? I’ll wring his idiot, scaled neck…”

Minerva stopped pacing back and forth behind her desk, a habit she had unconsciously fallen back into, and breathed again. It wouldn’t do for the rage to emerge again so soon after she had put it away.

“I communicated to the Mahaan that you would be displeased, Consul. I also noted that the gathered clutch were predominantly younger and untested.”

“Throwing away disposable pawns so they don’t have to taint their own claws,” Minerva grunted, a mannerism in which she was almost identical to her husband. “The whole enterprise reeks of cowardice.”

“I suspect that they believed our own disagreements with the Mother Tree would lead us to look the other way as they instituted this program. I tried to warn them, Consul.”

“Too stupid to listen. Pride will doom this world a second time. I will not carry water for these fools.”

She slammed her hand down on her desk and the shockwave blew Myriam’s hair back. Remarkably, the table held.

“Send in the scribe!” The Consul roared and the massive doors opened a crack.

The scribe entered in full armour, gleaming with enchantments that protected the wearer from outside influences. The commander nodded. A wise play. Except the Consul’s face darkened at the show of weakness. She stomached it, for now.

“Withdraw all forces from the lands of the Ka’armodo, on every strata. End all joint exercises, training and missions, immediately. Close all diplomatic channels and make preparations to relocate every base and training facility that falls within their sphere of influence.”

Myriam was staggered.

“Are you sure, Consul?” she asked, her voice steady despite her shock. “Some might see this as a grave overreaction. Certainly the Ka’armodo will not look kindly on us abandoning them in the face of the coming disaster.”

“Us? Abandoning them?” Minerva sneered. “We did not turn our backs on three thousand years of tradition. We didn’t spit on the memory of those who died in the rending. We didn’t break the taboo and create self-sustaining monsters to do our bidding and fight our battles for us. We have held fast, fought the good fight and stood firm in the face of the worst this world has to offer for the good of its people. A sand baked hunk of lizard meat thinks to test our resolve? This is the Abyssal Legion and we are unmatched beneath the surface. We have battled since the cataclysm to preserve this world and I am not going to stop now.”

The Consul stood straight.

“Some lines you only have to cross once. There is no going back. They will tell us it was only a rogue element. They will tell us it was done without knowledge or approval. They will tell us we are too hot blooded and need to calm down. They can get stuffed. From this day forward they are poison and we have cut them out.”

She glared at the scribe who quivered in his armour in the face of the most powerful human in the world.

“I have spoken,” she ground out.