Under the heavens, they had no equals. They thought of themselves as beings above lesser men, creatures at the top of the food chain.
They didn't see other living beings as living beings. No, not at all.
They saw them as fools whose only purpose was to remain beneath their feet. Fools born as tools to fuel their goals, their ambitions, their games.
How could beings like them ever have an ally?
No — to begin with, they had no understanding of what ally even meant. That concept might as well have come from another universe, for it held no meaning to them.
It didn't ring a bell.
They were so used to tampering with minds, manipulating, twisting, corrupting everything that could define a 'being' in ways so vicious and malicious that the same being would inevitably end up a broken doll, destined to be their slave.
That was what they knew. Slaves. Puppets. Beings under their control.
Anything else looked utterly wrong to them.
And so they did their best to trap Goremaw, to plant doubt in him, and to inevitably make him pave them a way into the minds of his subordinates.
What was horrifying was that they had refined their craft so well, so thoroughly, that it was impossible to know who was controlled and who was not.
And so they took over the minds of the most important beasts under Goremaw. Then they sacrificed a grandmaster — not the one Kaden had met, but another — declaring him the traitor.
The beast itself had been under their control all along. Before Goremaw even approached it, the grandmaster acted exactly as Brain instructed and willingly accepted punishment.
Goremaw's little brain cells fried under the weight of contradictions. He sensed something was wrong, but couldn't grasp what.
In the end, he broke. He yielded. He accepted Brain's words.
The minds of beasts had always been easier to bind than those of men.
From that moment forth, it was no longer Cerveau and Steelbeasts against the Warborns.
It was Cerveau and their slaves against the Warborns.
Just as it was always meant to be.
And now… they were ready to return, to prepare for the approaching storm, ready to do whatever it took to place Waverith beneath their feet.
And once that happened…
The legacy of the Cerveau would twist into something new.
They would be untouchable.
They would forge an empire never seen before.
One with only slaves as its population.
…
Elsewhere, in a place riddled with snakes…
Darklore — Snake's Tribe
"We do not need to participate in this war."
Medusa's voice was cold, venomous, as she gazed at the three beings before her — all snakemen.
The first was a woman. Green hair cut short. Scaled green body glistening with poisonous sheen. Sharp nails curved into talons, and deep, feral purple eyes slit like a serpent's, glaring with open disdain.
She wore almost nothing, only thin scraps over her breasts and private parts, leaving her scaled flesh bare to the world, as if hungry for the lecherous gazes she would draw. Her tail, thick and powerful, slid across the floor of ancient scale beneath them.
The second was a lean man, body nearly skeletal, mossy-green hair cropped above cold, blue-slit eyes. His tail flicked lazily behind him, and a poisonous smile carved his lips.
He was dressed in crude furs — bear skin stretched and knotted tightly over his wiry frame.
The third was an ancient snakeman, wrinkled and shriveled. He trembled even while seated, his scaled fingers thin and crooked, heavy with rings of every color, nails sharp as spearheads.
Medusa could not even tell if he was truly looking at her, his face buried beneath folds of withered scale and endless wrinkles.
"It'ssss an opportunity, Medussssa," the woman — Bety — hissed, tongue flicking with every word.
"An opportunity to cause us problems," Medusa retorted, gaze unflinching. "We do not need to involve ourselves in the affairs of humans. Let the Steelbeasts be fools. Let them die. Meanwhile, we will consolidate our power, expand our territory, raise more warriors."
"That will kill us."
The old man's voice trembled, heavy with a strange intensity, as if he were on the verge of weeping — though his withered body seemed long past real emotion.
Medusa's serpentine hair writhed, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, Old Naka?"
The old man stayed silent. It was deliberate, disrespectful.
Medusa's jaw clenched. Bety snickered. Waly's poisonous smile stretched wider.
Finally, Old Naka spoke, unmoved by the fury radiating from Medusa.
"One clear enemy is better than two unclear ones. There is no neutrality here. One wrong step, and our tribe will be ash. If we remain still, we will be slaughtered."
The air grew heavy.
"Do not forget, foolish ruler," Old Naka rasped, "we lie between Waverith and Goremaw's territories. We are the middle ground. When war comes, they will march through us. And even if by miracle they don't, the victor will still wipe us out to rule unchallenged."
Waly chuckled, poisonous smile curling. "Old Naka is right. Neutrality is death. We must choose."
"And when they win, we win too," Bety added, tongue slipping across her lips.
Medusa whispered coldly:
"And if we lose? Or if we win, only for our allies to turn on us? What then? What you propose reeks of unnecessary risk."
"Life itself isss risk!" Bety snarled, her purple eyes blazing. "If you fear repercussssions, if you fear failure, then ssstep down and let one with more poisonousss fangsss take your place!"
She leaned closer, eyes burning with twisted hunger, and licked her lips obscenely.
"You are not fit to be ruler, Medussssa. You are fit only to be a worthlessss mother with broken fangs, coddling worthlessss hatchlings!"
The silence after was suffocating.
So still that even the fat leech crawling on the ground could be heard dragging its slush-like body.
Medusa's glare could have killed an awakened being. Poison filled the air, her hair writhed into serpents, nails lengthened into claws.
"I dare you to repeat that, Bety."
Bety did not flinch. She smiled, lips parting to spit even greater venom — but…
"Stop."
Old Naka's voice cut through.
All eyes turned. His eyes were open — ghastly, wide, pure white, no pupil, no iris.
That sight froze the room.
Medusa sank slowly back into her seat, though her gaze remained frigid. Bety sneered. Waly's poisonous smile grew.
"Medusa," Old Naka rasped, "your worries are understandable. But no tribe rises without gambling on terrible odds."
"A ruler must be decisive. Playing safe will save you today, but doom you tomorrow."
"And you said allies may betray us," Waly added, chuckling. "But do you forget who we are? We are snakes."
The meaning struck her instantly.
Medusa's eyes widened in horror. Something was wrong.
"We made a vote," Old Naka declared, his pale eyes gleaming. "A vote to decide the ruler of the Snake's Tribe."
Medusa shot up, her chair crashing to the ground.
"You cannot do this!" she hissed.
"Oh yes, we can." Old Naka's voice shook with cruel conviction. "This council was created to choose the better ruler. You are not fit for the storm to come. The generals already support this."
Waly produced a green-scaled document from his ring, smirking.
Medusa's body trembled.
Bety laughed, cruel and triumphant.
"Medusa," Old Naka said, his pale eyes unblinking, "easy way… or hard way?"
Waly chuckled darkly.
Medusa fell silent, still processing the betrayal. Her mind instinctively replaying a sentence heard before…
'A ruler who shares power willingly must be ready to be beaten by the same hands they once strengthened'
But it was far too late to ponder upon these wise words.
And on the ground, the fat leech writhed violently, overwhelmed not by its own rage… but by the rage of its mother.
—End of Chapter 244—
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