Prologue
The cut red plains were wide and expansive; eventually bleeding out into the pale turquoise blue sky with the light cream yellow sun smiling above and currently at its peak within the sky. At the center of the trimmed area, there was an oblong home made of concrete and steel with a flat metal roof and crescent-shaped windows. At the front of the house, soil hand been dug up. This disrupted dirt allowed for produce to be cared for like periwinkle stalks of wheat with heads blooming green, red, and yellow berries alongside a few flowers. In the back of the house, cages were stacked onto one another, most of them sized to hold a small beast. Some cells were clean, but others had sun-bleached limbs, tails, and horns in them and a few were stained purple.
SHING-THWACK! SHING-THWACK! SHING-THWACK!
Venice was in the front yard. He hummed to himself as he slowly walked around his plot of land, cutting down the last fistful of long grass. Thud. He dropped his scythe; the ruby-headed and white-handled tool gently hitting the ground. Creek. His knees whined as he stood up to stare at the set of weeds clutched in his hands; the fruity red stalks were as straight as an arrow with the edges of each blade subtly serrated like a knife. These will create lovely casings for the figure of my arrows, Venice thought as he pulled his head up to look around at his home. The yard was carefully trimmed thanks to his scythe; some areas were slightly higher than other areas but that was to be expected.
WHOOSH!
The rush of air and the cool feeling of brisk autumn air tickling his back and legs, Venice shivered and turned around. As soon as he saw who had appeared behind him, Venice gasped, a broil of nausea building in his stomach. The first Ambrosull, more tall than muscular, had the upper skull of a snow leopard and raptor legs wrapped in dyed pollen yellow, blue belle blue, and bubblegum pink ribbons of leather. The second Ambrosull was the biggest one that had ever existed at sixty, maybe ninety, feet tall; unlike the usual smooth wood that Ambrosulls tended to have this one had Sacramento green wood itself also twisted around and into itself in a surprisingly elegant manner. Despite the differences, both female Ambrosulls wore hoodless cloaks around their forms dyed black and the usual bright flames their consumed their coals for eyes were snuffed out entirely to better hide their identity to the unawares.
Venice bowed, lowering his head.
“Cha-Chasseuse Clot! Embryo of Bristlecone-Pine Clan!” He stammered, all too aware of the fact that he was coated in sap sweat from his morning in the fields. “It is an esteem to witness you both! What has conveyed you to my discreet domicile?
Chasseuse Clot sniffed, her glare upon him feeling as cold as ice. “Discreet is an utterly apt designation. Your clan used to retain so significantly ancillary estates about seventy-two rings ago. You surely did not lose all their property in that time. You are only one hundred and ten rings, are you not? Whatever transpired to all the wealth and riches?”
Venice winced, his coal eyes growing itchy with tears of ash. He did not dare answer the question, it was rhetorical, all three of them knew why his clan had all but been eradicated alongside their riches. “I…I perform whatever feasible to get by.”
“Of course you perform, precious,” Embryo hummed, her tone soft and gentle as the caress of a lover as she slowly brought her limb crushing hand to his chin. Venice almost wanted to resist, but he stopped himself from doing so whilst Embryo carefully forced his face up to look up at them. “Upright yourself, Venice. Ponder this as an instruction.”
He shuttered, but this time the squirming was followed by a dull pleasing frisson from his breeding tendrils hidden within his torso, slowly Venice obeyed the command. Rising to his hooves once more and allowing himself to look straight at the pair of Ambrosulls. “I…If I may enquire, what mission must I execute?”
For a moment, Chasseuse Clot shrunk in on herself, it was almost as if she was uncomfortable. But after a second, she stood up straight with a steely gaze. “It is with a weighty core to confess this, but I have entered climacteric. There will be no more imperial ambrosia made, nor will there be any more imperial progenies spawning our trunk. Any imperial ambrosia remaining has either been sequestered to stowage for safekeeping or gifted to the aristocrats and the remaining sentinels. They will merit from it additionally.”
Venice spoke without thinking. “Why was the imperial ambrosia not gifted to the inhabitants of the Kanter Metropolis or even the impoverished class? Numerous municipalities have already been erased due to Cracklin’ raids and thousands more of the population have been contaminated by the Cra—” The hit came so fast that Venice did not even have a moment to see it coming. SLAP! A sharp throb pulsed through his cheek, causing Venice to stumble back. Instinctively, he brought up a hand to his face only to wince at the feeling of wet ambrosia leaking from the area.
Embryo snorted; her posture visible going rigid. “Clot! He was merely posing an inquiry! There was no necessity to strike him so vigorously he extracted plasma.”
“He was interrogating his sovereign, a slap is a gentleness ruminating his duplicity,” His ruler scoffed, staring down at her right hand, her knuckles and fingers were coated in his lavender shaded viscera. “Addressing of which, Venice, cleanse your muck off my figure,” Chaussure Clot stretched out her sullied appendage. “If you had wrought in a complementary ameliorable conduct, you would be disciplined forthwith,” Venice could feel his insides shiver at the order even as his body remained still.
“Clot, this is scarcely proper,” Embryo barked, going as far as to shove the queen to the side. Venice could only wish he had such political power over his ruler to get away with something like that. “Go home! I will lend Venice the proceedings of his delegation and the object required to achieve it!” Chaussure Clot growled, her eyes darting between him and the one Ambrosull in Nectsull that could put her in her place. She opened her mouth to speak only for Embryo to stop her tirade before it could begin. “That is unless you persist an inclination to provide me a motivation to mistrust your governance?”
At that, the queen froze, and then only then did she finally concede. She took a deep breath before opening her mouth, thus allowing a sparkling blue cloud to drift out. The fog surrounded her, wrapping around her torso and appendages and eventually swallowed her up whole. WHOOSH! A gust of cold billowed from around her as the blue cloud dissipated to reveal that Clot was gone, it seemed as though she had successfully teleported back to the capital. Be that as it may, though, Embryo waited. One, two, three seconds before turning her full attention back onto Venice. Venice stared back, visibly relaxing now that the royal of nightmares was gone. Could she not forward me a document? I detest it when she vacations here, He thought, the stinging in his cheek reminding him why that was.
“I am remorseful regarding her,” Embryo stated, as she pulled a scroll out from her cloak. “I will endeavor to not to retain you for too prolonged extent. Pisteuse Knee is lifeless. She was incapable of surviving the modifications enforced upon her form. Her newborn would have been thereafter in line had she not drowned it prior to the emergence of your contact Jugular. Clot and I attempted everything, but we were not constructive in vitalizing her or the newborn even with the best physicians on standby.”
Venice slumped; he had been hoping that the disease plaguing the lands would have finally been brought to an end. But for some reason, the royal children seemed insistent on allowing this world to end. He almost wanted to know why if he were not terrified of what the answer could be. What would render someone to flee from amenity of all things?
Embryo continued, her tone sharpening to an edge. “I grasp it is regrettable. But we must proceed. The imperial spies have unearthed our final hope. Ribs I of the Imperial Ravish Clan sired a male descendant with a human sow. He is dead, but fortunately failed to slay his offspring, and his mate Venus Apple Titherspoon was unwilling to slaughter her son. The offspring is named Richard Orange Titherspoon, as of writing this he is twenty-nine Earth cycles old, so he should take to the Ambrosull conversion well. Richard has also sired a child, but Clot has recommended that we do not turn the child until it has accessed puberty. I am inclined to agree with her sentiment on this topic.”
Venice nodded, if Embryo agreed with something the queen had stated, then he knew to take it to heart. “I presume I am to ensnare him, turn him, and then carriage him to the metropolis via vapor trek?” Embryo shook her head, finally offering the scroll to Venice who did not hesitate to take it. Crinkle. The parchment whined in protest under his tight grip.
“Promenade or acquire a stagecoach. Assessments have determined that teleporting turning humans via vapor trek, particularly if performed regularly or over long expanses, can cause them physical destruction. Once or twice over fleeting vastness does nothing, but the expedition to the capital is not abrupt,” The female Ambrosull then took a few steps back whilst rummaging in her cloak again. Clink. Clink. A few moments passed before she pulled out a large belt that had two jugs attached to left and rightmost sides.
Splash! Even when using the surprising gentleness of an infant, Embryo could not stop the fluid from inside the thick clay containers from sloshing about as she placed the belt on the ground. Venice smiled, a blossoming airy feeling filling his chest. “You will script the imperial rulers through Bone. In these vessels is his ambrosia. You pen using this liquid, you transmit it through your vapor lung travel, and Bone passes it off to Chaussure Clot as rapidly as probable,” Embryo stated, and a pleasant sensation rushed out of Venice faster than he thought possible.
“Okay,” He sighed, staring down at the scroll. “I will function for the crown deferentially. I just…” Venice cut himself off, not wishing to impose anything on the most formidable Ambrosull in the land. I just yearn that imperial ambrosia was not the remedy. If my own peasantry ichor could have restored Innards, than…than… He shook his head, clearing the thought away, it was bet not to focus on the past.
“I presume nothing less of you Venice,” Embryo hummed, but upon making such a conversation ending statement, she did not leave. Instead, she brought a hand up to her mouth, her coals beginning to puff up smoke as if she were thinking over something. Venice felt his stomach drop, had he said or done something wrong? He opened his mouth, ready to grovel if needed, but Embryo chose this moment to speak up. With each syllable she spoke, carnation pink fog oozed from her maw. “You know I am one of the scarce Ambrosulls that Clot gave some imperial ambrosia to. I will conserve it just in case you require it later.”
“W-What!?” Venice yelped, but he would never get an answer. By then the cloud that had been encircling Embryo had completely consumed her. In seconds, her and the cloud she had spawned were gone. Venice sighed, scrubbing at his face lightly.
This was worse than anything he could have imagined. The last time he was summoned for his services, all he had to do was dispose of a Cracklin corpse. It was a disturbing task, but he was familiar with it. This, though, was new grounds for him. And now I am preconditioned to retrieve a Ambrosull of imperial plasma of all things, He thought, as he looked around his yard, he would have to find someone to watch his home. Maybe Jugular if she was feeling well? She had just come back from a mission, after all. Or maybe he could even get his sister Cure to do it? Alas, these proceedings are going to take an elongated period.
He stared down at the scroll again. Only hesitating for a moment before he opened it; the thing that greeted him was a colored picture of a human man. The male had large curly hair, a decently freckled face, and a set of almost perfectly straight teeth. The entirety of the image itself was bordered by a layer of twilight-purple dried ambrosia sprinkled with thick hair now stuck to that sticky section of the paper but undoubtedly and uncollected from his target.
Outstanding, the human is beautiful, too, Venice sarcastically thought, as the golden hazel brown eyes of Richard Titherspoon stared back at him.
