Chapter 2: The Queen's Court
The air in the throne room tasted of copper and stale fear. It stuck to the back of the throat. Zazan lounged on the twisted obsidian, one leg draped over the armrest, her scorpion tail idly tracing circles in the dust near Feitan’s face. He was on all fours beside her, a leather collar around his neck, tethered by a thin silver chain to the throne’s leg. A line of droplet hung from his slack lips, gleaming in the witch-light that bled from glowing fungal growths on the walls.
“You’re thinking too loudly, swordsman,” Zazan said, not looking at Nobunaga.
He stood ten paces away, rigid. The venomous threads that had once bound him were gone, but the command in her voice was a colder, more effective chain. His sword, still at his hip, felt like a thousand pounds. A dead weight.
“I’m not thinking anything,” he muttered.
“Liar.” She smiled, a slow crack in her predatory face. “You’re replaying it. Uvogin’s last roar. The sound his skull made. Or was it the silence after? The part where you weren’t fast enough.”
Nobunaga’s jaw clenched. The muscle there jumped under his skin. He said nothing. The memory was a fresh burn, and she kept pouring salt on it.
A clatter of chains from the shadowed archway to their left. Two of Zazan’s insectoid drones dragged a third figure into the murky light. Shizuku. Her clothes were torn, her trademark vacuum cleaner nowhere in sight. One eye was swollen shut, but the other blinked rapidly, taking in the scene—Feitan on the floor, Nobunaga standing like a statue, Zazan on her throne.
“Found her rooting through the eastern slag heaps,” one drone hissed, its voice a dry rattle.
“Bring her here,” Zazan cooed.
Shizuku struggled, but it was useless. The drones forced her to her knees before the dais. She looked up, her gaze skipping over Zazan and locking onto Nobunaga. “Nobu? What the hell is this?”
He couldn’t meet her eye. He stared at a point on the wall behind her, where the stone wept a dark, viscous fluid.
“This,” Zazan said, leaning forward, “is the new order. Your friend understands. Don’t you, Nobunaga?”
He gave a single, stiff nod.
“See?” Zazan said to Shizuku. “He’s learning. Now you will, too. But first, a lesson in discipline.” She shifted her gaze to Nobunaga. Her tail stopped its circling and rose, the venomous stinger glistening like a black jewel. “She speaks out of turn. Punish her.”
Silence, thick and heavy as the humidity before a storm.
“Nobunaga,” Shizuku whispered, confusion giving way to dawning horror.
“You heard me,” Zazan said, her voice dropping to a sensual murmur. “A backhand will do. Show her the price of a raised voice in my court.”
Feitan let out a wet, guttural sound that might have been a laugh. His chains jingled.
Nobunaga’s hand trembled at his side. This was the test. This was the real binding. Not the venom, but the choice. To spare her was to condemn them both to something worse—to the transformation that had broken Feitan into this drooling thing. To obey was to sell a piece of his soul he’d never get back.
Uvogin’s face flashed in his mind. He’d failed him. He’d been too slow, too distant. A comrade died. Was failing another the same as killing them yourself?
His feet moved before his mind could find an answer. Three strides brought him in front of Shizuku. Her good eye widened, reflecting his own hollow expression.
“Don’t,” she breathed.
He couldn’t speak. His throat was sealed shut with shame. He raised his right hand, calloused and strong from a lifetime of gripping a sword hilt. For a fraction of a second, he saw not Shizuku, but Uvogin laughing, barking at him to stop being so stiff. The memory was a physical blow.
His hand swung.
The crack was loud in the cavernous room. Shizuku’s head snapped to the side. She didn’t cry out. She just grunted, a hard expulsion of air, and slumped, caught by the drones. A bright red weal rose on her cheek.
Nobunaga’s hand fell back to his side. It tingled, burned. He felt sick.
“Good,” Zazan purred. “Very good. See, Shizuku? He knows where loyalty lies now. It lies with me.” She gestured languidly. “Now, for the main event. You have a useful power. A cleaning power. How quaint. I have a better use for you.”
Her tail arched over her shoulder, the stinger poised. Shizuku struggled, true panic setting in. “No! Nobunaga! Feitan! Do something!”
Feitan just watched, his dark eyes gleaming with a horrible, fascinated light.
Nobunaga remained frozen. A statue of guilt.
The stinger plunged into the junction of Shizuku’s neck and shoulder. She screamed. It was a short, sharp sound, cut off as her body began to seize. The drones let go, scrambling back.
Shizuku’s scream dissolved into a wet, gurgling rasp. Her body didn’t just convulse—it slumped, boneless, hitting the rough stone floor with a sound like a sack of wet grain. Her skin shimmered, losing its opacity, becoming a translucent, sickly gray. Nobunaga watched, his breath trapped in his chest. This was different from Feitan’s change. This was slower, more insidious.
Bones cracked with a series of dull pops, not snapping but softening, their structure receding. Her limbs retracted, flowing back into her torso as her clothes melted into the shifting mass of her form. The vivid red mark from his slap faded, absorbed into the overall pallor. A thick, clear mucus began to seep from her pores, coating her.
“There we are,” Zazan whispered, her voice full of warm approval.
The process took less than a minute. Where Shizuku had knelt now lay a large, slug-like creature about the size of a dog. Its body was a mottled gray, pulsating gently. At its front, a single, milky eye opened, lidless, looking at nothing. A small, circular mouth drooled a continuous stream of viscous, clear slime onto the floor.
“This floor is filthy,” Zazan said, waving a hand at the dust, dried fluid, and tracks of grime. “Clean it.”
The Shizuku-slug moved. It pivoted its bulk and began to crawl a slow, deliberate path along the base of the dais. Where it passed, its underside secreted a thicker gel. The grime and dust absorbed into the secretion, leaving a damp, strangely polished streak on the stone behind it. The action was mindless, diligent, and utterly pathetic.
Feitan let out a low, choked sound. “Heh. Clean.”
Nobunaga felt the bile rise in his throat. He remembered Shizuku’s calm, logical voice analyzing a battle, the soft whoosh of Blinky. This was what remained. A living mop. A thing that groveled in its own slime.
“Look at her work,” Zazan said to Nobunaga, tapping his thigh with the tip of her tail. “So thorough. No complaints. No inconvenient loyalty. Just purpose.” She leaned back, satisfaction etched into her features. “This is what peace looks like, swordsman. The peace of no more choices.”
The slug continued its endless, circular trek, polishing the prison floor. Its single eye never blinked.
Nobunaga’s hand found the worn hilt of his sword. The urge to draw it and end the creature’s miserable existence was a physical ache in his arm. But that was the trap, wasn’t it? Mercy was just another form of defiance she’d punish. He was here to enforce, not to pity.
“Your turn will come for that, you know,” Zazan mused, watching his white-knuckled grip. “Not a slug, I think. Something else. Something that suits all that… honorable rage.” She smiled, showing too many teeth. “Maybe I’ll make you the collar around Feitan’s neck. Or the leash.”
Feitan’s chain jingled as he shifted, a dark anticipation in his eyes.
“But not today,” Zazan finished, her mood shifting like the lightning outside. “Today, you just watch. You learn the new rules. The first rule is everything you were is garbage. The second rule is my will is the only thing that’s real.” She pointed at the slowly cleaning slug. “That’s your comrade. Remember her.”
Nobunaga remembered. He remembered Uvogin, too. The failure was a cold stone in his gut, heavier now. He released his sword hilt. His empty hand hung at his side, useless.He watched the slug creep past his boot, leaving a shiny, clean trail in its wake