Crimson

Chapter Twenty-Seven

As the terra god crested above, shining down its brilliant light from its celestial plane upon the multicolored rocks, Pligal walked tall towards the structured patchers den. Tucked deep into the bedrock, connected with a series of tunnels, anchoring the Baron's workplace and living quarters, it remained poised to heal the elites granted passage by Richol's word. Nearing the opening of the passage, the area where two death state cycles passed as Pligal rested, healed, and observed his wounds, both of the scale and of the mind.

Glancing up with her onyx orbs at the sounds of talons clacking upon the stone path, Sri watched expectantly for him. The one who graced her path, the young zes who look at her so knowingly. As if, he gazed through her scales and saw the true being within. Her hearts fluttered as the plasma emitting light upon the pathway, illuminated a large, thin figure. Her orbs widened as everything around her dissolved, the discussions from the other seywaw, the moving of fabrics and the sloshing of crimson in their containers all melted away as she remained focused.

Finally stepping into the room, Pligal's orbs shot around the large room as it passed over his pit, Dorn's empty pit and then upon her. Sri, the seywaw who held his attention, the one whose presence caused him to dissolve as his bioluminescence flickered, throbbed, silently echoing his contentment, his pleasure at meeting her orbs. Quietly, she stepped forward, maintaining her gaze. Each step toward him, his light pulsed as his abdomen fluttered.

Now, within arm's length from him, Pligal suppressed the urge to pull her close into an embrace, to allow his smelling holes to take in her aroma, basking in her scent. Feeling his genitals starting the engorging process, Pligal, quickly brought his attention to the luminescent beings, the ones of his vision, who in earlier times, would have provided reverence, gods to him, he would have worshiped as he refused to gaze upon their visages. Now, that thought lost as his piety dried away, husks of their former selves, absent any semblance of its former self.

Feeling his gaze drift as his attention waned; Pligal saw Sri's talons clench into a fist before an unreadable expression passed over her face. Quickly, the fist met his abdomen, as Sri's orbs became slits. Pain erupted from the impact of her assault as his light pulsed throughout his the entirety of his body as shock caused him to freeze after grasping his abdomen. The physical sensation washed quickly away as his mind sought understanding.

"Wha?" Pligal thought to himself, completely perplexed.

As he turned his attention toward her, his audioles became flooded with a torrent of admonitions as Sri assaulted him with choice words.

"How dare you flee like that! Do you know what you put us through?! If you ever leave like that again, the Legion will be the least of your concern!" Moving in closer, Sri whispered in a threatening tone, "You are irresponsible. Careless of your actions and how they affect others."

"Yes," Pligal said, now standing up tall. "You are correct. I do not wish any ill will. The blunder is my own. However, I think I may have a solution to fix all of this." Glancing around, he inquired, "Have you seen Dorn?"

---

Escorting Dorn toward the area adjacent to the acrid sea, the two escorts, much smaller than him, appeared as younglings next to this lumbering figure. Thoughts exploded in his mind as the terra cycle of events passed through. Now separated from his fellow Legionnaires, Dorn, unable to acquire any of his possessions lingering in the Hall of Gloom nor the pit of his death state within the hard bedrock below Richtol's abode.

Passing the Nordac, nestled against the looming epicenter of communication within the training yards sat an adjoining pathway. The pathway of torment as the new legionnaires identified. Here, the seventh zes would embark towards his journey of becoming a legionnaire or, if capable, the elite forces of the Clathor, Vior, and Glain. The Clathor, the strongest and most desirable of the three, trained vigilantly, hardening their scales, building their resolve to defeat any foe placed before them. No symbol befell any of these creatures for their power of presence evidenced their stature, their position within the Clathor. Under the order of the most high, the Imperial Legate, the one who held the power of the full might of the Legionnaires, the Clathor could not announce their position within this elite clan, unless directly ordered from her. A seywaw was chosen by a council of other seywaw clan leaders determined the sole direction of the forces.