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Coatl remembered coming into existence. Every lizardman did, at least to some degree. The experience, they said, was always the same. Like an endless fractal, narrowing down to one of infinite possibilities, which then crystallized into a consciousness. A perfect pattern, born of a grand pattern, always ordered.

The recent insurgence of the forces of chaos had changed it, though. The pattern had grown unstable, shifting and mutating. Not to any great extent, at least not yet, but no longer was the individual strictly derived from the whole. There were imperfections. Little flames that consumed a part of the individual and left fresh, unique growth in their wake.

This was why, when Coatl first became cognizant of his own existence, he found himself inside a thick shell of calcium. Immediately, he recognized this as wrong, somehow, and yet comforting in a strange way. Everyone knew that lizardmen crawled from the spawning pools fully-formed, and yet he and his clutchmates had been born from eggs, growing like stalagmites from the bottom of the disturbed pools.

What was worse was that he couldn’t seem to break through the shell. There was no leverage to be found. His strong fangs found no purchase on the smooth interior, and he wasn’t strong enough to simply push through it. A saurus wouldn’t be. A kroxigor, maybe. Yet, if this was the will of the Great Plan, he would simply die here, and Coatl accepted that, albeit begrudgingly. Still, he attempted one last kick. If he positioned his leg just right, and then put all his strength into it, just like so-

-the egg exploded, shattering around him, and leaving the young saurus sprawled out in the holy waters of the spawning pool. Before him stood a kroxigor, one who still had pieces of his own egg stuck to his thick hide.

“You needed help,” he spoke, his voice a perfect monotone, yet the look in his eyes betrayed a measure of empathy.

Coatl needed a moment to establish control of his vocal cords. The air of chamber seemed to burn in his lungs as he breathed in fresh oxygen for the very first time. The beast that stood before him – his name was Tiacelel – was one of Coatl’s clutchmates. That much, he knew. All members of a singular spawning had a certain connection to each other. Yet this was a kroxigor. They were meant to be born alongside skinks, not saurus. Immediately, he could feel that same sensation of disorganization, and it gnawed at his mind. As if the world was just slightly off.

“Yes, thank you,” he finally replied, standing up. Even as he stretched out to his full height, he only reached the kroxigor’s chest in height. “What city is this?” he asked.

“Tlaxtlan,” Tiacelel replied. His voice was like the far-away rumble of thunder, a sound that Coatl found oddly soothing. “Come. We must meet the slann.”

He was right, of course. Coatl was further frustrated by finding such a relatively well-spoken kroxigor. His ancestral memories, imparted to him by the spawning pool, told him that such were rare, to the point of being unheard of in most of the temple-cities.

An extravagantly dressed slann met them just outside of the chambers. Though brilliant, they looked like little more than corpulent toads, and this one seemed unusually harried.

“Yes. Good. Thank the old ones, those disgusting eggs still result in something we can work with,” he croaked. “Saurus and kroxigor. Good, yes,” he restated, scribbling something into a stone slab with a glowing piece of bone. “Mutations?”

“Mutations?” Coatl asked. He knew mutations were a bad thing, instinctively.

“Yes, mutations. Report. What is unusual about you? Beyond being egg-born,” the slann replied, voice dripping with unseemly annoyance.

“Well-“ Coatl began.

“Noted. Reduced mental capacity of saurus. Looks weaker, as well. You, kroxigor?” the slann continued, fixing his gaze on Tiacelel.

“Nothing. I seem to be as expected,” Tiacelel replied.

The slann narrowed his eyes. “Noted. Smarter than average. Perhaps the strengths of our kind are being equally distributed. Damnable chaos. Jobs? Yes, good.”

“What is happening here?” Coatl asked. Everything seemed ever so slightly off, the world seeming as if it was teetering on the brink of collapse into something entirely alien. The slann’s anger, the kroxigor’s intelligence, and his own insecurity as to what was expected of him, all foreboding signs of disorder. Of chaos creeping in, slow and insidious.

“Many of our cities have fallen,” the slann replied, after a moment of silence. “Itza, Hexoatl, more to come as the beastmen rampage across our empire. Chaos spreads, and it has taken several of our lords. From them, a tainted storm was unleashed. The chaos moon rose. The world nears its end. But we press on. All is part of the Great Plan. The end is no excuse to deviate from it.”

Coatl and Tiacelel glanced at each other. There was a measure of unspoken understanding between the clutchmates. They knew what they had to do.

“Follow me. I will show you the city,” the slann sighed. Slowly, his demeanour was softening, as if he had been expecting something far worse than what he got. His throne, hovering off the ground, turned around and began to move, and the two new lizardmen followed.

Outside of the silent chamber, the city was a flurry of activity. Patrols of saurus matched the streets, all armed and ready to fend off whatever threats the city was faced with. The lizardmen were always warlike, yes, but this amount of activity seemed extreme even for them. Each crowd parted like water as the slann made his way through, none daring to hinder the mighty mage-priest, and so Coatl and Tiacelel were allowed through as well.

Their first stop was the forges, billowing out black smoke to the metallic rhythm of hammer on anvil. Kroxigors, led by a saurus, were smithing weapons and armor.

“This will be your main post,” the slann spoke, addressing Tiacelel. “You will be expected to build fortifications as well.”

Tiacelel nodded firmly. There was the faintest hint of frustration in his eyes, as if he would’ve preferred something else. Perhaps spending a few moments longer with his clutchmate. Yet, he obeyed the slann, and immediately approached the forgemaster saurus as the other two moved on.

“You, saurus, will be guarding the Chamber of Lords,” the slann croaked. “This is a great honor. In normal times, someone as young as yourself would need to endure years of rigorous training to attain it. As it is, we have no choice. Your fellow guards will train you as you perform your duty. You will also patrol the city, both alone and with a regiment, to root out any traces of chaos.”

It was a lot to take in for the young lizardman, but he was confident enough that he could do what was asked of him. The slann led him to the guards’ barracks and then left, assuming Coatl to know what to do. There was only one option, really. He approached the menacing, yet fairly ornate structure, and stepped inside.

The noise of the city faded away, and he was greeted by a crowd of saurus, engaged in their own small talk and training. The moment they heard him approach, though, there was a flurry of activity and weapons drawn, sharp obsidian-studded swords pointed towards the newcomer.

“Calm,” their leader, an older saurus who didn’t quite meet the criteria to be called an oldblood, spoke. The others immediately relaxed.

“This is a newcomer. Freshly hatched, it seems. Can you not smell the spawning pools on him?” he scolded his warriors. “Come. We’ll get you started on your service.”

Although lizardmen were always born knowing far more than the new-born of other species, with it, came certain difficulties. One had to determine, for example, what skills the Great Plan had endowed on any given new spawn. Typically, a saurus emerged from the pool ready to bear and yield arms, but even in the best of times, there was a certain variation within them. Some were quicker, and others strong, others yet natural commanders but less capable physically.

Coatl, it turned out, was average, with no particular strengths or weaknesses. This realization, after he had been extensively tested, was greeted with amused hisses and snarls from the older generations, though all good-natured. Each of them had been through the same vetting process, after all. Before the day was over, he felt more or less at home, and was assigned a bed in the barracks. He couldn’t, though, stop wondering how the kroxigor who had helped him out of his egg was faring.

Tiacelel, though smarter than the average kroxigor – not the equal of a saurus, but above his brothers, at least – was first assigned to repairs of fortifications that’d been damaged in the latest attempted raid by beastman scouts. It was menial work, but he didn’t mind. There was, after all, a job to do. He had no issues picking up the hammer and axe. So it went; the first day of his life, he didn’t speak a single word beyond the few he’d exchanged with Coatl, working in solitude despite being next to others of his kin. Such was their way; words were only spoken when absolutely necessary.

The next day he was surprised when one of the other kroxigors did try to speak. He’d only just arrived at the builders’ camp, before one approached him, holding an axe.

“Take… sharp cutter,” his elder grunted, handing the axe to Tiacelel, who held the massive thing with ease. He made a sweeping motion towards the jungle. “Cut growing.”

Tiacelel raised an eyebrow. “Cut trees?” he asked.

His co-worker nodded with a grunt, though neither were entirely sure they understood each other. Still, with some common sense, Tiacelel could see broken palisades and spear-walls around the outer perimeter of the city through the spear-holes in the walls. Some were bloodied, which meant that one chaotic creature or another had run right into them. Others, despite them being nearly the thickness of tree trunks, had downright snapped.

On his way to the gates, he ran into Coatl, who was standing guard by them. A gruff greeting later, the two exchanged a few words.

“I’ll be guarding the chamber of the lords later,” Coatl explained. “Sometimes, at least. They’re having me guard the gates to see if I’m disciplined enough to stand still an entire day.”

“Are you?” Tiacelel asked. If it wasn’t for him being a kroxigor, infamously humorless, Coatl could’ve sworn he saw a grin on his crocodilian face.

“Of course. They just can’t be sure because of the… taint,” he shrugged. “Where are you headed?”

“To cut trees. Or ‘growing’ as the others call them,” the kroxigor huffed.

“I wonder if they’d mind if I came with you,” Coatl thought out loud.

“So you’re not disciplined enough to stand guard a whole day?” Tiacelel grinned. That was definitely humor, and it made the saurus chuckle, too. Humor was a rare gift among the lizardmen, even with the higher classes. “But no,” he added. “We shouldn’t deviate from their plans. Yet.”

He went on alone, towards the massive trees of Lustria. Each one would take hours to cut down, even with his strength, but on the other hand, it’d be enough to wall in a large portion of the city, and the wood was tough enough that a common beastman had no chance of getting through. A warherd would, but they’d still grant enough time to mount a defense.

What neither of the two grasped yet was that to even have the thought of disobeying – of bending the sacred rules – was almost unheard of among their kind. It was another side-effect of the chaotic taint that’d fallen on the continent, disrupting the unwavering dedication to the great plan that they would’ve otherwise been born with. To the slann, should they find out, it would be heresy, or worse, worthy of summary execution.

Tiacelel set to work, bringing his “sharp cutter” down with enough force to penetrate the iron-like bark of the lustrian trees. Each strike sent vibrations through his very bones, and soon he found himself growing warmer. There was a certain grounding, balancing quality to simple work such as his. The kroxigor soon found his rhythm, and in turn, found himself relaxing as he worked on felling the tree. Each strike would’ve been enough to cleave a beastman in two, he mused, and he pictured the tree as such. He’d overheard some saurus talking about someone called the “brass bull” who had, apparently, led raids on several of the lizardmen’s cities, some of them successful. While Tiacelel had no other knowledge of them, brass was softer than these trees, and soon the kroxigor could almost hear a metallic clang with each motion of his axe, imagining himself cutting down the mighty beastman one chip at a time.

The tree, after hours of chopping, finally groaned as a gust of wind pushed it over the edge. The massive thing tilted, cracked, and then fell with a deafening sound of splintering, tough wood.

Now, all Tiacelel had to do was to cut it into suitable sections for the others to take over and further refine the wood into sharpened poles. With his sharp vision, the setting sun was of no concern, and he worked well into the night, taking a few minutes to sharpen his axe on occasion.

Then, he heard a voice behind him. Coatl, his shift over, had decided to come over and see how his clutchmate was managing, carrying a smaller axe of his own. “Wouldn’t it be easier to cut it lengthwise?” the saurus asked.

“Lengthwise?” the kroxigor asked, with his usual gruffness.

“Yeah. The wood is fibrous, isn’t it? And the fibers run along the length of the tree. Here, let me show…” Coatl grinned, and then hopped on top of the fallen tree. He brought his axe down against the tree and traced the head along it. “This way, you’d strike between them, rather than through them. First into halves, then quarters, and then, those would probably be light enough to drag to the city for the others to work on.”

Indeed, Tiacelel had thought of sectioning the tree into suitably long pieces crosswise, but that meant that he had to spend equally long on cutting off every length of it. The saurus’ insight felt like a revelation, and though he immediately felt frustrated that he hadn’t thought of it himself, seeing the smaller lizard try to do what he had just described made the kroxigor feel more useful again. Coatl’s axe barely chipped the wood. The saurus were strong, but they were no match for the kroxigors.

“Mm. Use our strengths, then,” he rumbled, climbing on top of the tree himself, with some difficulty. Once sure that Coatl was out of the way, he struck the tree length-wise, with as much force he could muster, and when he saw how easily the wood split, he roared with laughter.

“Strengths indeed. We make a good team,” he grinned, slapping the saurus on the back, firmly enough to almost send the smaller lizardman tumbling into the lush undergrowth.

The next few days, they didn’t see each other at all. Tiacelel was busy working the forge, and Coatl was still being trained by his fellow saurus. For the former, it was a quiet existence, but for the latter, he was quickly adopted by the others almost as a little brother, which, in a way, he was. They took the opportunity to tease him as a newcomer, but it was all good-natured. Except, perhaps, that one time they covered him in eggshells when he was asleep, to remind him of his unusual birthright. He also heard the nickname “Egg-brother” or even “Eggy” tossed around, though never directly to his face. It almost seemed like they were fascinated by the idea of hatching rather than merely spawning from the murky waters.

None wanted to admit it, but the influx of chaos had left them more eager to bond on a level beyond the professional, even the ones who predated the false-moon’s rise. For any human, this would’ve been what was expected, but for the lizardmen, who normally functioned as little more than cogs in the machinery of the Great Plan, it was all new. Yet, it provided for a far more tightly-knit community among the guards and warriors, as they now truly thought of each other as brothers rather than mere warfighters. Protective attitudes were suddenly natural, now.

Ixtli – the guard captain who had first ordered his men to stand down when Coatl had entered the barracks – took that attitude towards Coatl more so than the others. Enough so that he guided the saurus during his duties, sometimes in person, while sharing a little of the city’s history, as well as the current state of the empire. He was shocked to hear those details; several of the mightiest cities had not only fallen, but fallen willingly, offering no resistance to the rampaging hordes of beastmen, and even embracing their filth.

That shadow had not fallen on Tlaxtlan, yet, but as Ixtli explained, it was only a matter of time. That was, according to him, the biggest reason he offered Coatl such immediate training in the traditional weapons of the lizardmen. Of course, his unpolished and initially erratic fighting style offered Ixtli an opportunity to practice against an unpredictable opponent, something the beastmen were infamous for. He became a kind of father figure for Coatl over time, and although the latter certainly suffered some heavy blows in their training, Ixtli never took it too far.

“What happened to the other cities?” he asked, on one of those long days, as the two sparred. He managed to block a quick strike from Ixtli’s wooden club, though the impact was hard enough to nearly make his bones vibrate.

“They fell, like I told you. Stand with your legs further apart. You’ll be able to absorb heavier blows like that,” he explained and guided at the same time.

Coatl shifted his stance. His eyes were fixated on Ixtli’s club, trying to predict which way it’d swing next. “But why would they embrace chaos?”

“Rumor has it,” Ixtli grunted, and then delivered a low strike towards Coatl’s legs, one that he barely managed to dodge, and nearly fell backwards as he jumped. “That one of the lords was raped by a beastman. He then brought his corruption to the others.”

“I don’t see how they could let it happen. Surely someone would’ve-“ Coatl began, and then Ixtli’s club impacted with his ribs from the other side. He let out a wheezing breath and crumbled into the dirt.

“Never distract your mind with idle thoughts while fighting,” Ixtli admonished him, and then knelt next to the younger saurus, running his fingers over Coatl’s scuffed scales. “You’ll be fine. Some bruised ribs. Take it easy for the rest of day.”

He grabbed Coatl’s hand and helped him up.

“As for why they let it happen? Chaos feels good. Corruption feels good. It’s an addiction that quickly spirals out of control, driving the victim to seek ever more depraved acts to feel anything. The lords of the fallen cities went as far as mating with their mounts,” Ixtli spat in disgust. “They’ll come for Tlaxtlan eventually, and we must be ready or their rot will consume this great city as well. This is why the slann are so wary of the newer generations.”

“The fact that we’re egg-born,” Coatl wheezed.

“Yes. Corruption, by itself. Though innocent enough. After all, many species hatch from eggs. We are far from where the chaotic rain fell. Closer to Itzal-“ he growled, barely able to disguise that look of utter, frosty disdain on his face. “The lizardmen are now born with genitals. Penises, like common animals. That risk is why everyone is on edge.”

“Seems I got lucky in avoiding it,” the saurus observed.

“Yes, though we must remain ever vigilant. Eventually, the spawning pools will return to normal, as long as we resist any further corruption. Well, that’s enough of my rambling…” Ixtli sighed, and then gave Coatl a hearty slap on his back, firm enough that the saurus winced thanks to his sore ribs.

Finally, Ixtli assured Coatl that he’d be guarding the chamber of the lords soon enough. Not yet, of course. Even though he was already a capable fighter, the lords expected a certain standard from their personal guards. It involved equal parts skill and presentation, Ixtli said. A uniformity. Once he’d achieved that, blending in with the other guards until nobody could tell the difference, he’d get that assignment.

They parted ways, and Coatl returned to the barracks, where he was greeted by roaring laughter from his brothers in arms when they noticed how bruised he was.

Yet for all their fraternization, Coatl continued to feel closest to Tiacelel, the kroxigor that he’d hatched with. Their connection was beyond that of merely being the same kind of lizardman, and every time Coatl found himself with some time to spare, he’d use it to visit his friend at the forges, advising the hulking kroxigor about the finer details of the craft while Tiacelel himself provided the brute force needed to work the tough metals and woods.

None of this went unnoticed by the slann mage-priests. Had such a pair been formed in the previous ages, they would’ve been destined to become heroes. Now, the worry about the taint and corruption were fresh in the minds of the rulers. Still, they had the potential to become great warriors in their own right, and as such, the slann continued to allow their meetings, occasionally sending skink spies to ensure that nothing was being plotted. Yet their intents seemed pure enough; for all the slann knew, it was merely a friendship, as strange as the concept was to them.

Of course, there was more to it, as Coatl and Tiacelel would soon discover. While neither of the were corrupted and mutated enough to feel lust, there was a certain spark of attraction buried within the both of them, one that flared into something beautiful as they continued to deepen their mutual relationship.

Sure enough, though, if the two were meant to be battle-brothers, it did mean allowing them to spend more time together. The slann decided to allow it, and so, they were tasked with patrolling the edge of the jungle surrounding the city. That was the decision that awaited both the following day, and although neither wanted to show too much enthusiasm, it was certainly there.

They met by the gates of Tlaxtlan bright and early the following day. By now, Coatl had been given the traditional weapon of a saurus warrior; a hybrid of sword, axe, and hammer, forged of stone and studded with black obsinite, the mysterious stone that humans, for all their advancements, had yet to figure out how to work. A little more unwieldy than a sword of pure metal, but twice as tough, and capable of cutting through both armor and bone with ease.

He wore it strapped to his back with great pride. Tiacelel hadn’t been given arms yet, as the city was focused on using him to forge them, and so he brought his woodworking axe. With his size and strength, the choice of weapon mattered little; one swing from his axe would cut almost anything in half, and if not, it’d crush their organs.

“How far into the jungle are we to go?” Coatl asked, as they made their way to the forest’s edge.

“Deep enough that we can’t see the city,” Tiacelel replied. “That’s where enemies would camp.”

“True, yes. The deeper we go, though, the harder it’ll be to move through it,” the saurus pointed out. That was equally true. The Lustrian jungle had swallowed entire armies, and was hazardous even to the beast who called it home. Nearly impenetrable vines were common; mud and sand that would drown even a lizardman more so. Not to mention the variety of venomous or carnivorous plants, though they tended to be more of an issue to those without thick, protective scales. Still, they couldn’t let their guard down.

It was slow going. Immediately after the clearing in which the great city was located, and the clearcut beyond that from which wood was supplied, the terrain grew unforgiving. While Coatl could slip between the trees with some effort, Tiacelel had to find ways around, and that in turn meant Coatl had to, as well. They were patrolling together, after all, and not merely because of their orders. Wandering through the jungle alone was foolhardy or insane, as if asking a sabrecat to pounce you. Still, slow was it was, it was a chance to bond more tightly with his clutchmate.

“How’s life at the forge? Are you working with obsinite yet?” Coatl asked, jumping over one of the tougher vines.

“It goes. Hellishly hot, hard work,” Tiacelel answered, holding up his hands, which were covered with both soot that’d been ingrained into his scales, and burns where he’d held his arms a little too close to the furnace. “But I manage.”

A brief glance later, he cut the vine in half with a single blow from his mighty axe. A milky white substance splattered onto the jungle floor, the ferns and grass immediately wilting where it touched. Poisonous, of course. That much was to be expected.

Tiacelel gave the dripping vine a wide berth as he followed Coatl through the jungle. Quickly, they settled into a dynamic. The saurus acted as a scout and trailblazer, while the kroxigor took the role of rear guard, making sure nothing snuck up on the two.

“How’s life as a guard, then?” Tiacelel grunted, forcing his way between two smaller trees that bent and then cracked.

“It’s good. I think. They treat me almost like a brother, even though we’re not brothers,” Coatl mused. “Hold on, I’m going to see if I can get a better view of where we’re going.”

He dug his claws into the nearest tree and clambered up along the slick bark, almost as agile as a skink, until he reached a higher branch. The jungle floor was already warm enough; up here it was sweltering. A quick glance revealed nothing interesting; on the second, he noticed the glint of water between the trees, in the direction they were moving.

“There’s a pond. Maybe a river. Maybe a lake. Some kind of water ahead,” he called down to his friend.

“Good. I wouldn’t mind a drink. Unless it’s poisonous too,” Tiacelel chuckled. “Let’s save some time. Jump and I’ll catch.”

Fair enough. Coatl didn’t doubt that the kroxigor could carry him. He looked down, making sure he got his trajectory right, and then jumped. Just as planned, Tiacelel’s strong arms caught him, flexing just enough that he barely felt the landing.

“That’ll be useful in battle. You could throw me like a…” Coatl laughed, his body surging with adrenaline. Perhaps he had doubted his friend about halfway through the fall.

“Like a cannonball. Only angrier,” the kroxigor replied. He grinned again.

They continued making their way towards whatever Coatl had spotted. Indeed, soon they could smell fresh water, a welcome contrast to the sweet scent of rotting vegetation and overly-enthusiastic flowers that permeated the jungle. Vegetation grew, oddly enough, less sparse as they approached, making for easier travel. A few minutes later, they could see why.

The pond was rather more like a spring; clear water, bubbling from deep beneath the ground, and with enough force for it to occasionally spray into the air. Over time, it’d washed away the dirt and mud of the jungle floor, leaving the rock bare. Though animal trails crisscrossed the area, nothing seemed to be there at the moment. But of course, that didn’t mean nothing was there.

This time, Tiacelel went first. His scales were thicker; should there be a beastman or sabrecat lurking, most attempted ambushes wouldn’t penetrate his hide. Coatl slowly traced the perimeter of the pond. Nothing.

“Think it’s safe?” the kroxigor asked, deferring to the saurus as he knelt by the water’s edge. It was crystal clear, but that was still no guarantee. He fought the urge to submerge himself into it right away.

Gingerly, Coatl dipped his hand in the water. It felt cool, cold even. Its touch felt soothing on his scales. When nothing happened, he lowered his head towards the surface, until he could feel the spray of the bubbling water spray over his snout. It smelled clean, too. Then again, with how inaccessible it was, it’d be a wonder if any chaotic creature had ever even seen it. Perhaps it was too cold for the animals to bathe in. Coatl wondered just how deep from the earth the water flowed, but those were the kind of questions he’d never have answers to.

“It’s clean. I’m pretty sure,” he stated.

“Break, then?” Tiacelel asked, hopefully, though the pitch of his voice never changed. “Could use a break.”

“How far have we gotten?” Coatl asked.

“Quarter, maybe. Long ways to go yet,” the kroxigor replied. “Will be night before we’re done. Maybe day again.”

“Then yes, let’s take a break,” Coatl asked.

Tiacelel removed the little armor he had on himself. Armbraces, shoulderpads, a light chestplate to protect the softer parts of his body. Shame, at least not the physical kind, wasn’t a concept the lizardmen knew, as by nature they were genderless and asexual. Finally, his loincloth came off. It wasn’t mean to cover anything unsightly, as other species would wear it, but rather to hide most of his thighs so opponents couldn’t predict which way he’d lunge by minute twitches in his muscles.

Still, featureless as his body was, as far as sexual characteristics were concerned, Coatl found himself enjoying the sight. The kroxigor was beautiful, for what he was. Between the deep blue scales of his back and the fresh, as of yet unscarred belly, he was a perfect specimen of his kind. Calling him masculine would’ve been a misnomer; the lizardmen were neither male nor female, but it was the closest thing that came to Coatl’s mind. He watched as Tiacelel stepped into the pool, which was deep enough to cover all of him standing up, and so he submerged into it, closing his eyes. Occasionally, the force of the water pushed his head to the surface.

Coatl dipped his legs in the water. He wasn’t quite confident enough to swim in it. The kroxigors could, after all, hold their breath for hours. Less so for the saurus. Still, the water was wonderfully soothing for his feet, which he hadn’t realize had gotten rather scuffed as they made their way through the jungle.

A peaceful moment. Even here, in the savage jungles of Lustria, on the brink of massive war and on the threshold of a beastman invasion, those could still be found. Coatl closed his eyes and relaxed.

“Not coming?” Tiacelel asked the next time his head surfaced.

“Too deep, I think,” Coatl replied.

“The flow will make sure you float up. You’re lighter than me. I could hold you, also,” the kroxigor offered. He held out his arms.

Coatl looked at him. The thought of feeling the kroxigor’s strong arms around him like that – like when he’d jumped down from the tree, only more gentle and deliberate – sent a strange thrill through his body. His pulse quickened. He was no fool; it was the taint they’d both been born with. But intimacy wouldn’t be enough to worsen it, not alone. It might not have been pure by the slann’s standards, but for them, it would become a way to center themselves, to find their balance in a world constantly at war.

He quickly stripped off what little armor he was wearing, and carefully stepped into the water, using his claws to stop himself from slipping on the wet rocks. The first few steps were shallow; then, a precipitous drop. Coatl took a deep breath and then stepped into the watery void, trusting Tiacelel to catch him. Sure enough, he did, and that grin on his face widened. He effortlessly held the saurus up, especially with the force of the water supporting them both.

Then, on an impulse, he held the smaller lizard a little closer, cradling him against his chest. Coatl could feel his slow, crocodilian heartbeat. The moment seemed to go on forever, and it was rather wonderful. The quiet but almost melodic sound of the spring-water bubbling up. Tiacelel’s deep, steady breathing. Even a hint of warmth from his body, contrasting with the cool water.

He could’ve fallen asleep right then and there, had he allowed himself to. But there was more to do.

“Beautiful spot, really,” Coatl murmured. “Should we report it to the slann?”

“Doubt they’ll be interested, or they’d know already. It’s not like we’re the only scouts. It’s just a spring. Could keep it as a secret spot to meet,” Tiacelel replied.

Chances are he was right. There was no way the mage-priests hadn’t surveyed the area, with either magic far-sight or by other scouts. What was important was for them to find any trace of enemies, not relaxing, beautiful ponds that the other lizardmen weren’t really capable of appreciating.

They stayed like that for a few more moments, leaving themselves cool and clean, and letting all the stress bleed from their bodies, enjoying the intimacy. Towards the end of their stay, Coatl found the courage to touch Tiacelel more intently, tracing his fingers over his rough scales. They shimmered like sapphires beneath the water, with just enough light filtering through the canopy to glint off them all. The kroxigor didn’t mind, but he remained his usual quiet, stoic self, and said nothing.

Then, it was time to move on. Neither needed to dry themselves; scales didn’t really absorb water, and the heat of the jungle would quickly dry them off.

The rest of their time patrolling was uneventful. The jungle remained as uninviting and hostile as ever, but they got through a good stretch of it by combining their strengths. It only became harder as the sun began to set, and soon enough they agreed they’d set up camp for the night. “Camp”, for a lizardman, was as simple as finding a large, warm rock or branch to sleep on, while others stood guard. Not that there was much choice, even if comfort was desired. They’d light a fire, perhaps, to keep warm. Normally, a fire would be a risk, but the thick jungle foliage would quickly hide the glow, and the smoke would only barely be visible above the canopy.

Tiacelel took the first watch as Coatl sprawled out on a nearby fallen tree. He circled the “camp”, gathering relatively dry logs and withered grass, assembling a small pile of them near Coatl’s resting-spot. His axe produced sparks easily enough, and soon he had a warming flame in hand. He wasn’t doing it for his own sake, but knowing that it’d keep the smaller lizard warm made him feel good. That, and it’d keep insects away, even if he didn’t need the heat himself.

So, he sat there, perfectly still, first watching Coatl sleep and then closing his eyes when the darkness became near absolute, focusing purely on listening. Every now and then, something moved past among the trees, but nothing tarried for long, and certainly no beastman would have the discipline to not immediately attack two resting scouts. Briefly, Tiacelel considered waking Coatl up so he could get some rest too, but then again, a kroxigor needed far less of it than the others. They were bred to be strong and enduring, after all, whereas a saurus was more explosive in comparison, fighting with far more speed and energy, but needing more time to recover in turn. He’d let Coatl rest until morning.

Coatl slept through the night, kept warm by the fire that Tiacelel kept adding more wood to every now and then. In the darkest hour before dawn, the kroxigor heard something. A distant rhythm, like a drumbeat perhaps. It only vaguely reached his ears, and at first, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard anything at all or was merely imagining it. Perhaps his ears were ringing, or the deathly quiet of the nightly jungle was getting to him. But no, as he focused on it, he could tell it was coming from somewhere a few miles ahead of them. More of a slapping than a beat. A grunting voice – maybe. Then, a pause, before it began again.

Not worth waking Coatl up over, but certainly something to investigate at first light. Something was out there, though he didn’t know what.

When the saurus did wake up on his own – a little before the sun’s first rays lightened the sky – Tiacelel told him about the night’s events.

“Beastmen?” Coatl asked, groggy, though in just a few minutes he’d be wide awake. He stretched. The saurus always dreamt of combat, or at least he had so far in his first few weeks of life, and as such, he tended to wake up tense. Sleepily, he looked at his partner.

“Couldn’t say. The same rhythm, repeated, then silence for a while before it began again. I think it’s still going on. But there are too many birds awake, now,” Tiacelel told him. Indeed, the jungle was a cacophony of birds and insects awakening as a new day began to dawn. He had memorized the direction, and slowly, pointed towards where he’d heard the noises from.

“We’ll have to see what it is. Maybe we’ll actually have something to report. But quietly. If it’s a warherd, we’re outmatched,” Coatl observed. Not to mention if the warherd had demons with it. They’d need to alert Tlaxtlan’s lords and leaders as soon as they could, if that were the case. There was no reason to panic and assume the worst yet, though.

The fire had gone out, and the natural dampness of the jungle would quickly soak the embers. As such, they were quickly ready to set off again, towards whatever Tiacelel had heard, and their arduous trek through dense foliage began anew.

Sure enough, after perhaps an hour, Coatl could vaguely hear what the kroxigor had been referring to. Yet he also heard an exhausted grunting, and then a sudden braying roar. He had never heard a beastman, but it was what he imagined them to sound like. There was still a chance of it being a mere wounded predator, though, and if they prompted the armies of Tlaxtlan to march on what turned out to be a half-dead sabrecat, there’d be hell to pay. They had to be sure.

Yet with each step, Coatl became a little more certain of what he was going to find. Not too long after he first heard the noises, he could also catch a faint scent in the air. Not an unpleasant one, but clearly one of wet fur and… something else that he didn’t recognize. Something musky and primitive. It tickled in his nostrils as he sniffed the air, trying to pinpoint the source.

Soon after that, the vegetation began to grow sparser again, and a small valley opened up before them. A clearing, but only half natural; trees had been cut as well, and this deep in the jungle, away from the main travel lanes, it wouldn’t be the work of their kin.

Indeed, it wasn’t. The two of them were almost prone as they approached the jungle’s edge, making sure that nobody in the valley could spot them – at least not easily – when he finally saw it, and froze entirely, not moving as much as a muscle. A warherd. Beastmen, a few dozen of them. Little more than a raiding party, or perhaps even scouts, if they even understood the benefit of scouting. Yet it wasn’t their presence that really caught Coatl’s attention; it was what they were doing.

Every now and then, one of them got on all fours, and another – or a few others – took up positions around the first. Those, then, would insert their grotesquely oversized and rather erect cocks into the submissive one. They were mating. Joyful roars, grunts, and braying filled the air each time. This was plenty to report back to Tlaxtlan with, but Coatl found himself unable to look away, at least not immediately. The sight of their ecstatic, filthy rutting and their orgasmic cries resonated with the saurus’ own taint, stirring and evoking a strange feeling inside him. A dry-mouthed, shallow-breathed yearning, maybe. Unbidden, the question of how they felt crept through his mind. What it’d feel like if he was the one in the middle with a cock in both his muzzle and under his tail. It seemed alien, and yet familiar somehow. Like he was on the verge of understanding their bestial behaviour.

He was startled when he suddenly felt Tiacelel’s hand tap his shoulder, breaking the spell. The kroxigor nodded back towards the city, and Coatl agreed wordlessly. They crept slowly away from the warherd, as unseen as they had first arrived.

Regardless of if this group were mere raiders or the spearhead of a more coordinated assault on Tlaxtlan, the signs were clear. If filthy chaos-spawn were wandering this close to the city, the times were more dire than even Ixtli had thought. Sooner or later, there’d be more of them, and in the end, beastmen only had one interest; spreading their corruption, through any means they could find. That means that the city would be besieged, and that realization was what drove the two lizardmen as they scrambled through the jungle and back towards Tlaxtlan as quickly as they could manage.

War was here, and with it, corruption.