Path of Dragons 17 - Chapter 37 - Delicate Brutality (Patreon)

Orcish pregnancies weren’t supposed to last the better part of a year, and the size of Makit’s belly was evidence enough of that inescapable reality.  It bulged grotesquely, and to the point where, even had she been capable of standing, she couldn’t even push herself to her feet without it scraping the ground.  What’s more, the child within seemed to sense the gravity of the moment, and he reacted energetically – both physically and in terms of ethera.

Makit screamed in pain, her dull green forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat.  She tried to move, but she was far too weak to work her own limbs.  Instead, she just twisted and turned. 

“Are you sure?” asked Elijah, glancing toward Ok’tarik.

“No.”

Elijah understood the orc’s reticence.  He clearly understood the issue.  They both did.  But understanding and acceptance were two very different things, and the situation was anything but clean.  The solution followed suit.

There was no straight answer to the problem.

Elijah wasn’t certain if his plan would work.  For all he knew, he would kill both the mother and the child.  He didn’t think so.  He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.  But hope wouldn’t help Makit survive having a too-mature child ripped out of her stomach.

It was the only way, though. 

Natural birth just wouldn’t work, and for obvious reasons.  The only answer was a modified version of a cesarean section.  It was too bad that Elijah really didn’t know what he was doing.  While he might’ve understood the mechanics behind it, he was no doctor.  Far from it, in fact. 

“I wish Ron was here,” he muttered.

Briefly, he’d considered going back to Earth to fetch his friend.  Ron would definitely know what to do.  However, the situation was too urgent to take that much time.  Besides, there was a part of Elijah that didn’t want anyone to know what he’d done. 

Doubtless, someone like Ron would judge him for it.

He knew he couldn’t keep it secret for all time, but he hoped to reveal the depths of his compromised ethics when the danger had passed.  People tended to accept that kind of thing a little more easily when faced with a healthy mother and child, when the problem had already passed. 

Showing Ron a grossly over-pregnant orcish mother would only hasten the former doctor’s judgement.  And of all of his friends, Elijah respected Ron’s opinion the most.  He was the sort of man Elijah wanted to be but could never quite become.

Either way, Ron wasn’t there.  Nor were any other Healers.  Instead, it was just Elijah, the would-be orcish parents, and a few work-slaves who’d been conscripted as orderlies. 

They all looked like they wanted to be anywhere else.

Elijah didn’t blame them, either.  He felt something similar, though his misgivings were tempered by undeniable excitement.  Given a chance to go back and relive the moment he chose to use Dictate of the World Tree on the unborn child, he probably would have picked a different route.  However, now that the deed was done, and he was committed to the path he’d chosen, he was more than a little eager to see how things would work out.

That child represented something new.  Perhaps a step forward for an entire race.  There was a chance that he was even a glimpse into a future where Elijah wasn’t quite as dependent on the system.  A hint at transcendence, seen from the perspective a mere demigod.

Elijah wasn’t as well-versed in the history of the system as someone who’d grown up in the Empire of Scale, but he knew enough to recognize that as unprecedented.  He wasn’t as concerned with how that impacted his own growth, though.  Instead, he was wholly focused on the child’s future.

Would he be fully sapient from the beginning?  Would he be like a human child? A dragon?  Would he be something more akin to a guardian, bestial but intelligent? 

Elijah had no idea.

But he was eager to find out.

With that in mind, he once again turned to Ok’tarik and said, “This is not something we can undo.  Once I start, we’re committed.  Do you want me to go forward?”

For a second, conflict and worry creased Ok’tarik’s rugged face.  His heavy brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed.  Elijah even thought he sensed a bit of hesitation, there.  Uncharacteristic though it was, it was understandable. 

Finally, Ok’tarik nodded.  “This is the only way they both may survive.  I do not want to live in a world without both of them in it.”

It was a beautiful sentiment.  Elijah could only hope that he could give his ally just such a world, though he feared he would fall short.

After all, actions and consequences still went hand-in-hand.  Even magic couldn’t change that natural law.

Elijah turned his head to Ok’tarik, saying, “No matter what happens, don’t try to stop me.” His voice took on a grave tone, “It’s not going to be pleasant.  You’re going to want to step in.  Don’t, or she will be doomed.”

“I understand the situation.”

Elijah took a deep breath, then turned back toward Makit.  She glared at him, almost as if she knew what was coming.  She didn’t.  Elijah knew that much.  But she was perceptive enough to recognize that he wasn’t there to provide comfort.  The promise of pain must have been written across his face.

She writhed.

Elijah ignored her.  Instead, he knelt next to her pallet of furs, ignoring the stink of sweat and orcish body odor.  Something else traced through those scents.  It was life and death, ethera and vitality, all bound together by blood and the miracle of birth.

The child wanted to be born.

Elijah could feel as much when he placed his hand on her bulging stomach.  He wanted to taste the world and leave his mark upon the multi-verse.  He wanted to learn and conquer, dominate and love.  In short, he wanted to live.

And it was Elijah’s job to ensure that he had the chance.

He closed his eyes and focused on Soul of the Wild.  It told him that the situation was even more dire than his eyes suggested.  Makit was barely holding on, and she was incapable of providing any more nutrients – magical or otherwise – to her unborn child.  As a result, the infant had grown as much as he could.  Soon, he would exhaust his reserves and begin to weaken.  After that, it would be a long, slow descent until death finally claimed him.

Neither he nor Makit would survive unless Elijah took action.

The first step was to summon a nourishing rainstorm via Blessing of the Grove.  Stormclouds gathered near the ceiling of the ship’s cabin, and after only a moment, fat raindrops began to fall.  They came with nourishment, both ethereal and vital.  Elijah then used Grove Conduit before letting his Mantle of Authority spread out.

Sparks flew from the planks used in the ship’s construction, and it shuddered under the power of Elijah’s soul.  However, it remained intact, drawing power from the dock to which it was tethered.

Elijah paid it no attention.

Instead, he pushed the essence of his power to intertwine with the atmosphere, letting it seep into the very ship itself.  It fought against him, but Elijah would not be denied.  Once he was satisfied with that, he refocused on Makit.

The infusion of energy, vital and ethereal, had helped her regain some of her former glory, though not enough to make much of a difference.  The child had soaked up most of what Elijah had provided, leaving her too weak to resist the work-slaves’ grips.  In that respect, he was like a sponge.

Elijah played into that, adding Bough of the World Tree and Wellspring.  Elijah slipped a sliver of his soul into each one, adding both potency and the essence of his identity to each one.  Normally, he only did that when he wanted to cure the effects of corruption or to mend others’ cultivation systems, but in this instance, his instincts screamed at him to employ the technique.

He obeyed their call.

Makit screamed as if that tiny bit of his soul was pure hellfire, though she was far too weak to escape.  Oh, how she tried, though.  If Elijah had let any of his focus settle onto her reaction, he might have pulled away. 

He was no torturer, after all.

But he concentrated almost entirely on the child and his interaction with Makit.  For all that he knew he would soon need to cut the orcish woman open, Elijah would not do so until he was entirely certain that the child would survive. 

Makit was a secondary concern.

He’d explained as much to Ok’tarik.  He intended to save her, and he would do everything he could to reach that worthy goal.  But his priority was the child.

Ok’tarik had accepted that, though begrudgingly.  Making a father choose between his child and his mate was an evil thing, and ultimately, Elijah was well aware that he was responsible for the entire situation.

Was the end goal noble enough?  Certainly.  The orcs were prisoners, and without his influence, the child would be just like all the others.  Feral, with a low chance of survival.  Even if he did make it through the orcish development process, he would remain trapped in Orveth Kaal.  At best, he would become like his father, a powerful prisoner who could never hope to see anything but the confines of his captivity.

Now, he had a chance for something more.

Elijah hoped so, at least.

He hated that he cared more about that than about Makit, but there it was all the same.  Elijah was a lot of things, but perfect wasn’t one of them.  He didn’t even consider himself a particularly moral person, once everything was said and done. 

He wanted to make the right choices.  He wanted to do good.  But sometimes, there were only bad options available, and he was forced to adjust according to his capability.

The child absorbed everything Elijah could give, but he wanted more.  So very much more.  To meet that demand, Elijah dove into Grove Conduit and False Grove, digging deeper than he had in years.  The grove responded, sending a torrent of perfectly attuned ethera through Elijah to flood the atmosphere of the cabin.

The walls acted like insulators, keeping everything contained.  Soon enough, the air was cloyingly saturated, and to the point where flowers and moss began to grow from the treated wood.  A garland wove itself around Makit’s head before sprouting dozens of tiny but unrecognizable white flowers.

Vines and plants encircled her arms and legs, relieving the work-slaves’ burden.  It was a good thing, too, because they fled the second the vegetation came alive.  Even Ok’tarik’s shout couldn’t stop them.

The flora grew so thick that, after a few minutes, only Makit’s sweat-sheened face and her bulbous belly were visible.  Inside, the finally satiated child relaxed.

“It’s time,” Elijah said, summoning Thorn to hand.  He glanced at Ok’tarik.  “Last chance to refuse.”

“Do it.”

Elijah nodded, then choked up on the spear.  With his hand only an inch below the crystalline blade, he leaned forward.  Using it like a scalpel, he cut Makit’s belly open.  He did his best to replicate a normal cesarean section, but as he’d already established, he was no surgeon. 

And Makit’s was no normal pregnancy.

Fortunately, Thorn’s blade had no issue slicing through her flesh.  Blood seeped out of the wound, only to be absorbed by the vegetation.  Inch by cautious inch, the cut expanded until, at last, it stretched from one hip to the other. 

Elijah took a deep breath.

The world stood still as he plunged his hand deep inside the cavity.  He was met with slimy blood and other fluids, which he navigated until he felt the placenta.  It felt like a fleshy egg, slightly rigid but still mostly pliable. His other hand joined the first as he explored the unborn child’s form.  Two arms.  Two legs.  All curled around a normal torso. 

Elijah pulled.

It didn’t budge.

Even when he put the entirety of his strength behind the act, the child had only shifted an inch or two.  That was when he looked to Ok’tarik and said, “I need your help.”

For the first time ever, the orcish warchief seemed truly afraid and entirely uncomfortable.  However, he wasted no time on those emotions.  Instead, without hesitation, he obeyed Elijah’s direction and joined him. 

Together, they pulled.

The child shifted a little more. 

They redoubled their efforts.

Then, at last, something tore. 

Makit tried to scream, but her throat was too raw to express any significant volume.  Only a raspy gurgle escaped, accompanied by the wet sound of flesh ripping apart. 

Then, at last, the child came free.

He was covered in birth fluids and still encased in placenta, but he was alive and healthy.  Together, Elijah and Ok’tarik ripped the stubborn stuff away, and for the first time, the child was exposed to the world.

He opened his eyes, flicked them from Ok’tarik to Elijah.  Then, at last, he let loose a cry.

It was a satisfying sound.