Xellyndra: The First Born Hybrid
~upon the former site of Benwick Castle~
After the razing of the pitiful shack, Xellyndra stood in the midst of the rubble. With delight, she gazed upon her work, for she well knew it spawned pride in the heart of the Goddess. All around her tiny body, where the castle had stood, there was now a lake of molten rock, red and bubbling. Emerald eyes gleaming impishly, her soft blond hair danced around her innocent face, tossed about by the burning wind. Whispered words of praise she gave to her Goddess, making a gift of the destruction around her.
Her prayer ended, she turned, smiling eyes lighting upon her Mother’s form nearby. She started toward her, undaunted by the fiery lake. Fire, Heat, these were her siblings. She had no cause to fear them, for they loved the young girl, as much as she loved them. In truth, she could have swum across a pit of lava, and suffered no harm.
A surge of flame rose up from the ground, enveloping the thin body. The blazing cocoon should have occasioned no alarm, for she often clothed herself so. But then, she began to scream. Halting in her tracks, she fell heavily to her knees, writhing in agony. Clothing, hair, and a dozen concealed weapons, fused to her flesh almost instantly. Skin blistered. Blisters burst, oozing thickly before the skin began to blacken.
And then the flame was gone, and so was she, leaving only the echo of a wolfish howl of suffering.
The lake of molten stone shifted, flowing swiftly into a new shape, manipulated by an unseen force. A frigid wind rushed in, cooling the bubbling surface. Where Benwick once stood, now the Mark of Carey reigned, in seamless trails of stone, as though burned upon the now barren land.
~in the Cave of Carey~
A gout of flame burst violently from the center of the Mark of Carey on the cave floor, and receded almost instantly. It left in its stead the pitifully charred form of a young girl. Pale skin now blackened and cracking, Xell lay limp, breath whistling painfully in and out of her lungs.
Just to the side, a second mark appeared, a pentagram encircled, formed by bloody lines, seeping upward from the floor. From its center rose Lucian, chosen of Baal, Dark Messiah of Carey, the Iron Fist of the Inquisition.
A soft Voice spoke into the ears of each, whispered words of death and pain. Loving Hands stroked over their bodies, caressing and torturing in tandem. Bodies never touched, for the Goddess was the jealous keeper of Her Daughter, Her Chosen. Yet as the seed was ripped from each of their bodies, a deeper touch came. Minds, hearts, souls, Lucian’s and Xellyndra’s, twining in the most intimate of embraces, guided together by the Hand of the Goddess, allowing the moment’s taste, and then drawing them apart again. Bliss, and agony, combined, as was Her will.
Where the two marks overlapped, the floor rose up, twisting, molding into the rough form of a woman. Into this construct, the seeds were thrust, into the makeshift womb. They touched, embraced, joined, and began to grow. Quickly, violently, a new being surged to life. The form expanded and developed in minutes only. Rapidly it grew too large for the womb, ripping its way out. The artificial mother was torn asunder, collapsing to sink back into the stone. In her place, the newborn stood, full grown, the first Born Hybrid, spawned of the Chosen and the Messiah, cultivated by the hand of the Goddess, in accordance with Her will.
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