Scales

There was a certain malice to the biting cold tonight. The kind that sinks to the bone and chills the blood. Melgera, the Mother Moon, cast her ghostly glow across the wet cobbles of the Western Precinct, her pale white light shimmering on the icy puddles in the gutter. No rain or wind disturbed her visage as she peered down through the clouds. Only silence remained to meet her gaze.

I knew why they had called for me this night. Long shadows and empty streets stretched as far as the eye could see. Even the infernos atop the Pillars of Light seemed like fading candles, their flame ready to be snuffed out with a gentle gust. I slithered through the alleys, my arms tucked deep inside my cloak in a futile attempt to stave off the wintery chill. The familiar feeling of cold iron met my prying fingers: fangs, which they said would soon feel more natural than my own hands. I prayed they were right. I had already sacrificed so much for them. My venom had turned veins purple and my blades had tasted blood. This work was never personal. I only knew what I needed to know, and it was not my obligation to inquire any further.

Finally, our rendezvouz drew near. A forgotten warehouse, left in squalor with no soul to call master. Years of neglect had taken effect. Tenacious little weeds pushed through the cracks in its walls and floors, ekeing out a meagre living where light rarely falls. Scattered holes in the roof allowed pallid rays of moonlight to fall into the building and cast an eerie glow on the abandoned storehouse. A dismal den which most folk ignore whilst staring straight at it. It was perfect.

I stalked through the dreary corridors, hunting for direction. A single breeze broke the silent night, almost hissing as it scraped along the derelict roof. With it, I noticed my clue. As the wind passed, it briefly swept up from the ground and trembled in the air, before settling back to the cold stone floor. A thin, translucent mould of a lower jaw. It beckoned me forwards. Tiny diamonds ran across its every side. They had left this for me. I took it into my shivering hands. It was fragile and dry and would not fill my stomach. But refusing a gift was an insult I could not afford to make. Once, many years ago, I would have been ashamed to do such a thing. Many months ago, I would have been honoured to do such a thing. But now, I know better. As I took it to my teeth and tore through the Old Viper's gift, I felt nothing.

Still, my night had only just begun. Nearby, an old crate, its wood rotten and weathered, sagged by the wall. I found the skin here for a reason. Silently, I clambered inside the box and found what I was looking for - a hidden tunnel that burrowed beneath the city. As the dark, tight, and winding pit glared back at me, my heart remained slow. Neither fear or excitement rattled within, simply a new base instinct that urged me forwards. I put my stomach to the earth and slithered down.

No light reached these tunnels. My feeling hands were all I had to guide me through the coiling passageways. The walls hugged close to my sides, constricting around me. It would be impossible to turn around. At any moment, a single dead end could leave me trapped, lost and alone to suffocate where nobody would ever find my corpse. To die in silence and darkness and panic was a dreadful thought. The walls felt tighter now. Squeezing and straining to choke the breath from my lungs. I needed to turn back, to scramble from the tunnel's gullet and to feel air in my chest once more. The silence was broken. A pounding heart and nervous gasps. Air grew short. I tried to turn but my body blocked its own path. Air grew shorter. I tried to reverse but I could hardly move. Air grew shorter. I began to claw at the soil and stone but I could barely make a scratch. Air grew shorter. My shaking heart flushed my body with heat.

I remembered. My blood runs cold. I cannot be afraid.

I left behind the dead man in that tunnel and continued reborn. My flesh felt cleaner, lighter, and fresher without him to sully its lustre. Steadily, his racing pulse became my patient heart. I tasted the stale air and crawled forward. Eventually, the tunnel opened up into a forgotten cellar. We were still west of the Merratharn but our exact location was unknown to me. A fleeting candle cast dancing shadows across the room. Ramshackle shelves holding nothing but dust lined the walls and a cracked stone staircase led to nothing but rubble. The floor and walls were lined with holes only big enough to slither through.

From the shadows, a figure stepped forth. They wore darkness like a veil. Beneath a drooping black hood, two reptilian eyes peered with neither malice nor mercy. A gentle flourish of their wrist, and a pair of fangs glistened in the candlelight. My eyes traced the blade towards their hand where mottled scales replaced common skin. A testament to the worth of devotion. For a moment I pondered how many folk had seen this shape glide through the night, silently and gracefully, before lunging in for a single lethal strike. But I knew tonight, their blade would not spill my blood, nor would their poison grant me eternal sleep.

I present my neck to the Old Viper. Although my blood runs cold, my flesh feels warm. That will be resolved tonight. Without words, a single prick bites my throat and the agony sets in. As my body writhes, I stifle groans of pain and collapse to my knees. Foggy darkness begins to set in as the venom courses through my bloodstream. My limbs become weak. Every artery feels as though it is clogged with smashed glass. Through gritted teeth and watering eyes, I glance back at that reptilian gaze. Unmoving and apathetic. A vision of perfection.