Six hundred years ago, she had been born.
Six hundred years ago, she had opened her eyes, for the first time in her life.
Six hundred years ago, she heard a ragged gasp.
Six hundred years ago, she made her first kill.
A week later, she had realized it had been her mother.
Such is the life of a basilisk. Born as servants to the void, they spend their lives consuming the lives of others; up until the day they give birth to their daughters. Once they hatch from their eggs, the newborns unhoned powers over decay will kill their own mothers, and the cycle will continue. Unless, another being slays them before they are of age.
In the past, the only creatures that possessed the strength and the audacity to challenge a basilisk, were the territorial dragons, and the mighty ursa majors. Nowadays, with the invention of high quality steel weapons, groups of lesser life forms, such as ponies or griffons, would muster the courage to confront the deadly serpents, and on very rare occasions would prevail.
Typically, these battles would end in the utter annihilation of those foolish enough to face them. As she would soon demonstrate.
She almost pitied the group of ponies that came charging at her out of the woods, weapons raised. Equipped with heavy armor and eyes wide opened, they were obviously ill prepared to face her.
But as a predator she is merciless, most of her victims hadn't been ready for death's embrace. She channeled energy through her lifeless eyes; watching indifferently as the equines dumb enough to stare at her were reduced into skeletons.
Those that hadn't been exposed to her flesh rotting gaze learned from their fallen's mistake, and either turned their eyes to the ground, or closed them entirely
Better, but they were still doomed to fail. Unable to predict her attack with their eyes directed elsewhere, the rest were crushed like insects, by a single blow from her immense body. Sticky red blood stained her dull grey scales, eliciting a hiss of irritation. Her role in life may have been to deprive it from others; but that didn't mean she enjoyed it. Especially when it was done messily.
Even so she felt a twinge of respect for the ones she had just killed. Though they had aimed to kill her, it was obvious they didn't expect to succeed. Behind them in the distance a small village was being evacuated, no doubt caused by the basilisk's presence. Throughout her long life she had witnessed scenes like this a dozen times, perhaps even hundreds; yet even now they still baffled her. What possessed these creatures to throw their lives away for others? She herself didn't fear her coming demise, but she would never willingly do anything to shorten its coming.
She had once asked why mortals performed these bizarre actions to a valiant minotaur warrior, who sacrificed himself to save his tribe from her. "Love," was all he had said before he had succumbed to her venomous fangs.
Contrary to popular belief, basilisks were not completely devoid of emotions. They could become angry, they knew what happiness was, and could even become depressed at times. But they certainly didn't experience this feeling known as "love", nor did they understand it. The concept of forfeiting everything for another was alien to them as a pegasus city in the sky was to a diamond dog.
The basilisk sighed, tiredly. That was enough contemplating for a lifetime; now she had work to do. She slithered hurriedly to her destination, leaving behind a black trail of acidic slime. If she was quick enough she may be able to pick off a couple of stragglers. Fat chance of that happening, she snorted irritably. The diligent eyes of pegasi were able to alert their communities of her presence long before she was within a hour's distance from them. Furthermore, the increasing production of carts ensured that even the injured and the most decrepit of individuals could escape her deadly wake.
Still, she continued onward. Perhaps luck would be on her side for once.
It wasn't. Once she arrived at the village, empty houses and trash is all that is left. A smattering of rats and other small animals being the only signs of life. She turned to leave, disappointed. Failure in a hunt was common, even expected, but as time went on she noticed that it was gradually occurring more often. At this rate she would starve before she was able to give birth to her child; a situation unprecedented amongst her kind.
Before she was able to call it a day, the cries of a foal in distress stopped her. Her forked tongue flicked out of her jaws hungrily, a foal may provide little sustenance but it was better than nothing.
Her acute hearing tuned into the despairing melody, searching for its player. The piercing wails comes from a small straw shack, which she did not hesitate to destroy. Her massive head tearing through the thatch roof to get to her prize. She peered down upon the mewling infant, not one to devour her catch before giving it a cursory look-over. The foal in question was a male earth pony that seemed to have been only several months old. His pelt a light yellow color, slightly stained by dirt, and his mane was a ridiculous pink sheen. The basilisk sneered at his coloration. How the ancestors of ponies were able to survive the wild with their insanely bright furs was beyond her.
The basilisk opened her mouth to crunch down on his fragile body, the most painless method of death available to her. The foal opens his previously shut eyes, once her foul breath is inhaled by him. His cyan eyes met her white ones as she waited for his reaction.
Unexpectedly, the foal giggled and his stubby forelimbs clutched her snout. The basilisk's eyes widen in surprise, understandably not expecting that sort of response. She awkwardly stares at the remarkable foal suckling on one of her scales; any thought of destroying him competently shattered. She couldn't just leave him either however. Doing so would almost guarantee he would expire from slow starvation; and she admittedly felt a strange desire to stay with him. Perhaps curious as to how he would develop?
She stayed in place for several moments, the strangeness of her quandary seemingly protracted its length.
And so in the first time in history: a basilisk would live to see the day she became a mother.
Here's a little game for you all. How many paragraphs in this chapter start with "the"?
An unlikely pair made their way through the forest clearing.
One was the personification of death itself. Longer than the tallest of trees, the basilisk's presence sparked a flurry of activity throughout the forest. Docile deer and contentious guivres alike, scrambled to get out of her path. Those that lingered within reach of her strike were injected with venom so corrosive it liquefied their insides. A swarm of insects, that believed that their small size would save them, paid gravely for their assumptions. A mild toxic gas was released from her open maw, snuffing the life out of them. Her glowing white, pupil less eyes showed no remorse as she systematically killed nearly everything within reach.
The other was her exact opposite. Small, pudgy, and utterly defenseless; the orphaned pony sleeping atop her head drew much attention to himself as well. Hungry aerial predators from above eyed him hungrily. Circling around the two from a safe distance, the opportunists waited for the helpless youngster's protector to drop her guard. When the basilisk occupied her jaws with the barely struggling form of a giant armadillo; a juvenile roc swooped down, believing that her attention had been sufficiently diverted.
It wasn't. With a single glare, the goat-sized eagle was instantly stripped to the bone. Its rapidly descending remains crashed into the basilisk's scaly skull. Its bones split apart, revealing the succulent marrow within them; evoking raucous cheers from the surviving scavengers. A single wishbone bounced of the basilisks head and onto the foals, rousing him from his slumber. His response to the unwelcome awakening was to bawl unrelentingly. The sounds of the foal's wailing froze the basilisk in her place.
The entire forest seemed to hold its breath as she cautiously checked on her adopted child. Like a crocodile carrying her hatching's within her bone crushing jaws, the basilisk mustered a tenderness previously unknown to her and gently cradled him within the coils of her tail. When he didn't stop crying after several more minutes, she carefully inspected his body for any signs of injury. She found none. Narrowing down the possible cause of his outburst; she hesitantly removed his diaper and prayed that there was nothing there. Thankfully there wasn't a single trace of anything brown and unpleasant, which could only mean that he was hungry.
Unable to produce any milk of her own, or locate a nearby lactating animal that she could "persuade" into nursing her son, she searched for an alternative. Knowing that his single barely developed tooth wasn't strong enough to chew through plant matter, she attempted to grind a nearby shrub into a consumable mush while accidentally crushing an unfortunate family of skunks in the process. When she stopped to check on her work, she huffed in annoyance. Even if her child would be able to ignore the taste of bloody stinking mustelids; not even she was be able to reduce the shrubs into a swallow-able pulpy mass with her titanic weight alone.
The incessant blubbering of her son was driving her mad to the point where she was seriously considering raiding the nearest farm for its livestock of cows. Luckily for the still growing Apple Family business, the solution to her problems came from a brave raven that dared to venture on her to head to snatch a piece of marrow. Relieved, the basilisk spared the plucky carrion bird for its service. Fishing a roc finger bone from the top of her head, she popped it into the youngster's mouth. Her cursed gaze having erased any trace of blood and flesh on the bone, the foal greedily suckled it, extracting the tasty marrow within. The foal giggled happily, no longer ravaged by the pangs of hunger.
She too allowed a rare smile to grace her scaled snout, glad that the crisis had been dealt with. Later when she had the chance, she would track down a suitable wet nurse and have him revert back to his proper diet but for now she would allow him to enjoy the essence of animals.
Essence, she liked the way that word rang off her forked tongue.
"What does thou think?" she asked her son. "Doth the name Essence not sit well with thee?"
The foal burped in reply.
The basilisk in turn smirked. 'Mayhaps I shall ask once again when he can speak?' She thought to herself. Looking to the sky, she saw the sun retreat into the horizon, the solar body quickly being replaced by the moon.
It was about time to retire for the day. Slithering towards an extensive series of burrows in the ground, excavated by her the day after her birth, she called these underground tunnels home. Sliding in, snug as a worm, she let out an earthshaking yawn, eager to let sweet unconsciousness take her.
But then she realized her son wasn't breathing.
A startled robin took flight as the ground beneath it erupted. The basilisk's tail ripped through the soil with the limp foal's body in tow. Luckily, the foal quickly recovered from his near suffocation once he was exposed to fresh air again.
She sighed in relief, which soon became an annoyed grunt. She needed to find a new home.
The creation of her new home was as long and arduous as it had been six hundred years ago. While she no longer had to fear cunning coyotes and other predators attacking her while her deadly gaze and fangs were underground, she now did battle with a troop of trolls for control over their cavern of caves.
The hulking brutes desperately tried to evict the scaled intruder from their home. Their natural blindness and affinity for wielding giant bludgeons allowed them to ward her off initially. But as strong as they were, practiced fighters they were not. The giant proboscis monkeys were bullies over those weaker than them and were accustomed to driving their smaller cousins, the orcs, off their kills. They never engaged in conflict with beings that reached passed the height of their knees, much less a serpent that dwarfed them. Though they were much more nimble than she was, their lack of sight was as much as a hindrance as it was a defense against her. In the relatively narrow corridors of the network of caves it was almost impossible for the blind monkeys to avoid her lethal fangs. The scent of rapidly dissolving innards assaulted the troll's sensitive sense of smell. Their instinct to flee into the night was barely overridden by the commands of their blue skinned leader, who howled orders in the safety of the back of his den.
The basilisk clicked her tongue in annoyance. She had underestimated the troll's will to defend their territory. She had expected them to fold as easily as their close relatives, the ogres, had when she invaded their jungle. While this was only a minor setback, she wanted to be done with this task quickly, having left her son in a hollowed out tree. Having sprayed the surrounding area with her scent, it was unlikely any predator would dare approach his hiding place. Even so, as a senior denizen of the harsh wilderness, she wisely refrained from taking risks. With the stakes high, she locked eyes on the troll's mohawked chieftain. Once he was felled, so too would his authority. Crashing towards him a train forged from muscle and sinew, the basilisk plowed through the vanguard of trolls guarding their leader. She ignored the painful thuds of clubs smashing into her sides; and swiftly wrapped her body around the alpha's.
The alpha male of the troop shrieked in mindless agony, the coils of the basilisk rupturing every blood vessel in his body. Scarcely an eighth of her size, she could have easily crushed the squealing primate's spine instantly. The basilisk, however, deliberately prolonged his death. Not out of malice, but so that the rest would gather around them, all within earshot of his imminent death. As she expected, his distressed groans brings his troop towards them. She allowed the furious trolls to slash and bite into her thick scaly hide. Victory well worth the price of a couple of scars.
Squeeze.
The basilisk's grip on the troll grew slightly tighter.
Squeeze.
Air was forcefully expelled from the troll's lungs, silencing his pained cries.
Squeeze.
The cracking of the alpha's ribs echoed throughout the halls of his home.
Release
The basilisk's grip on the troll abruptly slackened. The troll took the opportunity to refill his empty lungs with oxygen, gasping weakly in pain as he did so.
Whoosh.
The troll screamed as he was suddenly tossed into the air. Gravity soon returned him to the ground, his falling body followed by a sickening wet crunch. He was dead. His neck twisted in an irregular angle. The realization of his death spread like wild fire among the trolls. Intelligible grunts were apparently a coherent language when heard by demented ears. The trolls fled from their home, fates uncertain.
The basilisk watched them go, their retreating forms rapidly becoming smaller the further they ran. Once she was certain the trolls would not return, she raced to retrieve her son.
"Basilisk."
"Bah."
"Basilisk."
"Bah."
"Bas-uh-lisk."
Pbbbbt
The basilisk blanched in disgust as the odor of the foal's flatulence wafted throughout the stuffy caverns. She frowned at the foal’s inability to speak. Unlike ponies, young basilisks were born nearly fully developed. The only real differences between an adult and an adolescent being size and experience. Once their mothers were killed by them; fragments of the deceased parent's memories would be absorbed by the hatchling, providing her daughter the intelligence needed to survive.
Nudging the foal with the very tip of her tail, the basilisk wondered what drove her to raise him. He certainly didn't aid in her survival. His physical and mental weakness was a nuisance to her presently and could very well become a liability in the near future.
She peered down at the foal, watching him play with her tail as if it were a toy. Puny and frail as he was, the foal was nonetheless the bravest creature she had ever encountered. She had seen fearsome packs of wags tuck their tails between their legs at the sight of her. Witnessed sounders of notoriously devoted fanged-boar mother's forsake their litters when the threat of being impaled on her toxic fangs loomed over them. And she had once even dispersed a coalition of sub adult flying drakes from their hoard. But here was a tiny foal, nuzzling her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He was a strange one; that she was sure of. His bizarre behavior could quite possibly have been the explanation as to why she adopted him. She would be lying if she denied the amusement that the foal provided her, serving as a welcome break in her once monotonous lifestyle.
Her relationship with him, she realized, was not only that of a foster mother and son but a symbiotic one as well. In return for her protection, he would serve as a source of entertainment. It was heavily skewed in his favor, but it mattered not to her.
Satisfied that she now understood the nature of her attachment to her son; she laid her head to the ground in preparation for a well deserved rest. A milky translucent nictitating membrane slid over her glowing eyes, escorting her to the realm of dreams.
...
Tap.
...
Tap.
...
Tap
The basilisk's eyes reopened to glare at whatever was stupid enough to disturb her slumber. They were greeted by a tiny hoof, apparently the owner of them finding her reptilian eyelids so fascinating he had to touch them.
Grunting wearily, the basilisk's eyes were poked at by the giggling foal for the better half of the night.
My sister edited this chapter, so if there are any grammar/punctuation errors blame her. XD
Dragons, Dogs, and Bad Stories
"Where are they?"
Talon twiddled his claws nervously. A fully grown dragoon, he was armed with razor sharp talons, jagged teeth, leathery wings, the ability to breathe fire, and sheer size. Few things could harm him, much less scare him, but his master was more than deserving of his fear. Especially when he was displeased.
His master was a behemoth. A titan among dragons. Even while lying down, he towered over Talon. When standing up, he felt as if he were an ant.
His master loomed over him, the bizarre machinery lining the right side of his face and trailing to his throat intensifying his already terrifying scowl.
"I asked you a question, gnat."
Talon gulped. "A thousand apologies, your grace!" he bowed. "But a basilisk razed the village before my troops could capture its inhabitants.
His master's glare lessened slightly. "A basilisk eh?" he snorted a puff of smoke that could suffocate entire families. "Even I had trouble with those blasted worms in my youth." he dismissed Talon with a wave of his hand.
The dragoon sighed with relief. "Thank you, your grace."
His master sneered. "Fail me again, and I'll pluck off your wings."
There were two things Egghead the diamond dog was good at. Stabbing things and watching things. The short and stocky dog was a rugged looking creature. Practically bulging with muscles, and covered in dozens of scars beneath his piebald fur, he was a living testament to the terrible realities of war. He had once been an officer in a notorious diamond dog horde. A frontline fighter in the grueling shield wall, he and his spear, Gut Splitter, had slain more kobolds and gnolls than any other dog in his pack. He'd probably still be involved in those bloody conflicts, if that rampaging wyvern hadn't slaughtered his entire warren. Throughout the entirety of his violent life, Egghead had never seen such carnage. Corpses had been splayed everywhere, their entrails spilling from their eviscerated bellies. Diamond dogs, kobolds, gnolls, the wyvern had torn apart anything it could get its wretched talons on. Worst part was that the foul creature had done it for little reason other than to amuse itself. Like a cat, playing with a mouse. Its maniacal cackling plagued his nightmares to this day.
Homeless and alone, Egghead wandered aimlessly, eventually stumbling towards a traveling pony caravan. It was there he found his second calling in life. Staring at things. Or as they liked to call it, guarding things. When Egghead had made it clear to the ponies that he had no intention of viciously mauling them, they instantly hired the intimidating canine as an armed escort. Apparently they were frequent targets of brigands and goblin packs. They hadn't seen or smelt either party while Egghead was around.
Just as Egghead had thought he would get his bearings again, a basilisk had jump them out of nowhere, several months later.
"He is dying!" she had hissed over his employer's screams of terror.
"What?" Egghead asked, remarkably calm considering the situation.
The basilisk shoved a shivering ball of pink and yellow into his nose. "He is dying!" she repeated. She had stared at him intently, her distress nearly invoking her eye's power. "Fix him!" she demanded.
As it turned out; the foal had been suffering from a high fever. By happenstance, the caravan had been carrying a crate of medicine. Relived, the basilisk left the caravan alone, but only after she had dragged the crate and Egghead with her.
Unlike the basilisk, Egghead could actually purchase goods her child might need in the near future, something she had quickly realized. In addition, he could watch over him while she hunted. Egghead had balked at the prospect at first, but upon witnessing the demise of a chimera at her metaphorical hands, he had quickly accepted his new position in life.
In less than a year, Egghead went from renowned warrior, to protector of a shabby pony wagon, to a foal sitter. Not that he minded, in fact he was fairly content as of now. Foal sitting did not demand he trek across the country every day, nor did it entail the dangers of an axe blade cleaving through his skull. He was being payed a generous amount as well. The basilisk was in the possession of more than a few gems after she had killed a young dragoon. Sure he had to clean up after the foal's mess, but he had fought besides dogs that soiled themselves in the midst of battle, so he was already use to the smell.
"Daddy?" the small colt sitting on his head called.
Egghead barked in annoyance. "Egghead has told tiny pony many times, too many times, that Egghead is not tiny pony's papa dog."
"But you're a boy, and moms a girl, and you're both taking caring of me." the colt pointed out.
"Means nothing!" Egghead spat derisively."Egghead and tiny pony's mamma snake have not done stick-in-hole-dance. That means Egghead is not your papa dog."
"Then why don't you?"
Egghead laughed. "If Egghead tried stick-in-hole-dance with tiny pony's mamma snake he probably get swallowed by mamma snake's giant hole. Or melt. Either way Egghead die. And Egghead will not die just so he can pretend to be tiny pony's papa dog."
"I have a name you know."
Egghead grunted. "No you don't. Only one here with name is Egghead."
"Nuh uh! I named myself yesterday."
"Is new name better than "Pink Peach"?"
"Yeah!" the colt boasted proudly.
"What is it?"
"Marmalade!"
Egghead snickered. "Is good name."
The colt's eyes practically sparkled with joy. "Really?"
"Yes," Egghead said sincerely. "Egghead thinks tiny pony should keep name forever, so that Egghead can laugh at tiny pony any day and everyday." the diamond dog sniggered cruelly.
The colt pouted, angrily he stormed off. Minutes later he felt lonely, so he came back and climbed back up Egghead's head.
"What do you think mommy is doing?" he asked, idly clopping his hooves together.
"Killing things."
The colt frowned. "I'm bored."
"Egghead does not care."
"Tell me a story!" he insisted, pulling Egghead's ears for emphasis.
"Fine, Egghead tell tiny pony story. Story about how Egghead got his name," the colt beamed. "When Egghead was a puppy, his head looked funny. Papa and mamma dog thought his head looked like egg, so they call him Egghead. The end."
The colt glared at him. "That was a bad story."
Egghead grinned toothily. "All of Egghead's stories are bad."
The colt tugged on Egghead's ears until he finally relented.
"Fine!" he snarled, irritably. "Egghead tell tiny pony another story. Story about how Egghead got his second name, Egghead." Egghead coughed to clear his throat. "One day Egghead meets dumb dog named Bucketface. Bucketface was dumb cause he tried to make fun of Egghead who was much, much bigger than him. Bucketface says, "Hah! You named Egghead because parents too dumb to think of better name." Egghead was annoyed, cause Egghead knew that was true. But Egghead doesn't want to admit that so he says, "No, that is not why Egghead is called Egghead." Bucketface looks at Egghead funny. "Why are you called Egghead then?" he asks, thinking Egghead was lying. So Egghead grabbed Bucketface by the ear and said, "I call Egghead, because I break other dog's heads like egg." And then I smashed Bucketface's head against a wall. Papa and mamma dog were proud of Egghead, so they gave him second name, Egghead. And Bucketface's papa and mamma dog were mad at Bucketface, so they gave him second name too, Bucketface. The end."
The colt stared at Egghead for a few long seconds. "Diamond Dogs are bad at naming things."
Egghead nodded in agreement. "Yes we are. And your mamma snake is here."
The colt looked at him quizzically. "How do you know?"
"Egghead smells her."
"What's she smell like?"
"Dead babies. Lotsa dead babies."
As Egghead predicted, the basilisk slithered into into the den, a twitching goat in her coils.
"Milk it," she said, addressing Egghead. "Then thou may eat it."
Egghead bowed slightly. "Yes, mighty basilisk." he scampered off, dragging the goat with him.
The colt rushed to embrace her, clinging onto one of her scales. The basilisk tapped him on the head with the tip of her tail, the most contact she afforded to give, lest she splatter him.
While the colt had grown rapidly throughout the years, she was growing faster. While she was several centuries old, she was only beginning to hit adulthood. She had become several tons heavier and a dozen feet longer. Her scales had darkened slightly, and two small sail-like protrusions had sprouted from either side of her head. In time, she would become twice her current size, almost black in color, and develop a thick vast hood. But that wouldn't be until at least another millennium.
Her son looked up at her excitedly. "Did you get another dragoon on your hunt?"
The basilisk shook her head. The colt frowned in disappointment, but instantly perked back up. "What was the toughest thing you fought?"
"A kelpie."
The colt didn't know what a kelpie was, but gaped anyway. "Wow! What happened?"
"I stared at it. It died."
The colt frowned. "Your stories are as bad as Eggheads."
The basilisk peered down at her son. "Does thou wish to hear a story?"
The colt gasped happily. "Would I?"
She smiled at his enthusiasm. "Then I shall recount the origins of the world itself."
For several long minutes she stared at the setting sun for inspiration. Once she had gathered her thoughts, her words flowed like a river.
"Before there was land, before there was sea , before there was life, before there was time, there was Erebus. Erebus was everything, yet nothing. A tendril of darkness that never stopped and always grew. Erebus was all powerful, all knowing, eternal, and alone. Bu-"
A sudden ruckus cut into the middle of her story. "Bad goat! Goat doesn't bite dog, dog bites goat!" a horrible bray ensued, accompanied by the sounds of tearing flesh.
She sighed. "What did thou say?"
"Sorry mighty basilisk, but you brought Egghead a boy goat. There is nothing to milk, except nasty sticky stuff.
The basilisk scrunched her snout distastefully. She always found it difficult to discern genders.
"Can I have some?" the colt asked.
"No! Tiny pony cannot have nasty sticky stuff!"
"I meant the meat!"
"No!" Egghead refused again. "Is not natural for ponies to eat meat. When tiny pony eat it, his poo turns wet and nasty, and Egghead has to clean it up!"
"But I like it!" he whined, stomping his hooves.
"And Egghead doesn't like cleaning up after tiny pony! Go eat clovers!"
The basilisk rolled her eyes at the exchange. "May I continue?"
"Yes please."
"But then Ra was born, and his spawning brought upon light, time, and existence. The birth of the great phoenix stripped much of Erebus's power. No longer able maintain his ethereal form, he became imprisoned in a physical body, and was reborn as the primordial serpent, Apophis. The first of the basilisks, and the lord of death. Though Ra had taken his divinity away from him, Apophis bore him no ill will. Omnipotence and omniscient came at a high price, and Apophis was more than happy to cast them aside. Ra however, hated and feared Apophis. Ra believed that Apophis wished to regain his former strength and would consume Ra to do so. Convinced conflict between the two was inevitable, Ra struck first.
In an instant, Apophis lost an eye to Ra's talon, and so, the first, and greatest battle had been waged. While crippled, Apophis was was an even match for the upstart. Ra was speed itself, faster than the light he emitted, he was utterly untouchable. Apophis was slower, but unstoppable. He weathered his enemy's blows unflinchingly, doggedly pursuing his foe.Their clash went on for eons, neither party gaining an edge over the other. Sheer endurance would determine the victor of their bout.
Eventually, Apophis prevailed. Older and more patient, he was finally able to take advantage of on one of Ra's blunders, mercilessly crushing him between his coils. While victorious, Apophis was not pleased with the outcome of their battle. Already Apophis could feel his former power returning. Cradling the last fading embers of Ra's being, Apophis kept the remnants of his flickering flame alive.
Ra's remaining essence would soon be known as the sun, and her counterpart, the moon, was forged from Apophis's gouged eye. The two existed in perfect harmony, creating the world as we know it today."
The basilisk looked up, black had painted the sky while she had been telling her story.
"It is getting late. It time for thou to go to bed."
"But we haven't finished yet!" the colt protested.
"Yes we have." she said simply. She indicated to Egghead, who threw the colt over his shoulder, and unwillingly brought him to bed.
The colt struggled haplessly in his caretaker's paws. "But what about all the other stuff? Like the land and oceans, how did that stuff happen?"
"That will be for another time."
The colt grumbled unhappily, then perked up when he remembered something.
"Hey mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Can you do the stick-in-the-hole dance with Egghead, so he can be my daddy?"
"....Egghead."
"Yes, mighty basilisk?"
"What has thou been teaching him?"
"Many things," he grunted. "Egghead teaches him many things."
So yeah, after two days of being stuck in a bus full of people yelling in Chinese, I made it to my hotel and was able to finish up this chapter! Yay.
Oh and anyone is curious, Egghead's appearance is based of the English bull terrier breed.
