Here it is: all 1,602 words...
Once a Nosvonamatar enters military bondage, as all do at their last molt, they win or they die. If they die, they rot. If they win, they wallow in it- literally- and they never wash again, lest they lose the spoils of their victories. And they do spoil- putridly so. It’s a boast of their prowess: yes, you can smell them approaching, they know it, and they advance on you anyway, assured of their victory. It’s not often an idle boast.
The Nosvonamatar fight as fiercely with fang, claw and tails as they do with raw, unrestrained science. They have infested the galaxy for ages. They are creatures of many means, numerous victories, and absolute stench. Nowhere is this malodorous atmosphere more nauseatingly inescapable than in the War Hall of the Cogular- ruler by right of the most victories won- which means his spoils have been spoiling the longest. To slog in the bile of his war trench is considered a great honor.
As he approaches the War Hall breathing as shallowly as possible, the Chamberlain tries to remind himself of this fact. Entering the hall with a steady face, the thick gargle of what passes for laughter is replaced by the hiss of females interrupted. Then quick splashes as they slither and dive below the murky surface, leaving barely a ripple in their wakes- a talent that makes them most deadly. “Slipshod! What is it now?” barked the Cogular. He reclined in a shallow portion of the trench, elbows propped on the side, knees protruding above the surface of the hard won muck. His tails twitched in opposite directions, but were mostly submerged.
The Chamberlain inclined his head to one side in deferment to the greeting, and answered, “My lord. Am I disturbing you?”
The ruler grunted, “Hardly.” A serpentine form broke the surface just before him, knotting and writhing in its own coils. The Cogular snarled to reveal a broken fang as his tails curled to slowly push the body back into the briny slop. As it submerged once again, the female’s tail gave a final flick, which threw a little slime onto the Chamberlain’s long toes. His foot betrayed him, twitching backwards involuntarily. The Cogular’s eyes turned to slits and back again. “Do my conquests offend you, Chamberlain?”
The Chamberlain put one claw out placatingly, bowing slightly as he began to back away. “No! Please, my lord…”
“‘Please’ WHAT, Slipshod?!” His great tails erupted from the water, drenching the Chamberlain’s multicolored robes, splashing him in the face, and throwing the female above the surface once again, straight towards him. She wrapped her arms around Slipshod’s neck, coiled her body around his, and then tipped back into the trench, dragging him with her, below the surface. There was no struggle as her coils slowly tightened. The Cogular, now on his feet, plunged his claws below the surface and yanked the female and the Chamberlain together from below. “Do you not recognize the great honor that is afforded to you daily, to merely stand in my presence? Much less to wade in my victories?”
Weakly, the Chamberlain answered, “Of…course…brother...Forgive…my…lord.”
The Cogular’s eyes narrowed at the familial falter, but he nodded at the female. “Enough, Kakaluta.” She frowned as she slackened her coils, but leaned towards the Chamberlain and hissed lightly, tongue flicking in his ear before she slunk back into the trench. The ruler leaned into his brother’s face and showed a broad grin of fearsome teeth. He observed, “I think she likes you, Slipshod,” before dropping him into the mire.
“Impossible. I’m not worthy, my Cogular.”
“See that you remember that, Chamberlain. To show offense to my victories is to challenge my right to them, and my right to rule.”
“I would never…” the Chamberlain started.
“You could never,” corrected the Cogular, turning his back. “Now get up, and tell me of our progress with the humans. How fare the Manowarriors?”
Slipshod stood uncertainly, and began cautiously, “Against the humans? They exceed our expectations. It’s…uh…everything else…”
The Cogular turned back to face him, and with a hint of menace, said, “Explain.”
“If you’ll permit me, my lord, I thought it would be easier to show you.” With that, a holographic display hummed to life between them, and the magnificent Manowarriors sharpened into focus.
Their gargantuan gelatinous hoods billowed on the air currents as they descended from the sky, drawing looks of wonder, confusion, and terror from the primitive humans below. Their rosy tentacles flowed with the passing air, splaying in every direction and causing them to spin slowly as they fell earthward. It might have been beautiful, if not for the massive, fleshy, pink trunk of the creature, that ended in a giant claw, which ringed rows and rows of teeth. Slender blue filaments whipped about from the hood itself, glowing with energy, and causing the awesome creatures to hum.
Despite their seeming gentle descent, they landed with thunderous weight, their claws sinking into the ground, giving them firm purchase. No longer filled with air from their falls, the hoods slapped downwards with a wet, blubbery sound, undulating throughout while the tentacles slammed the ground like felled trees. The filaments dangled but briefly, and then the hoods snapped open with a loud crack, suddenly releasing dozens each of Manowarrior young.
They fell like small bubbles from a larger one, complete with tentacles, filaments and tooth filled trunks. Drifting towards the fleeing humans, the tentacles would ensnare them, the filaments would deliver stings to immobilize them, the claws of the trunks would dig into the base of their spines, and the hoods would drape over the humans’ heads, making the attachment complete. Then there was no more resistance. Every bonded “Humanowarrior” turned towards the towering parent beasts, and stood stock still.
“Excellent,” approved the Cogular. “Efficient use of the Colony Consciousness.”
The Chamberlain’s mouth twitched into something not quite a grin, and glumly said, “Keep watching, my lord.”
The larger Manowarriors then came alive again. The hoods undulated firmly, and the tentacles lanced outwards, rooting into caves, reaching behind boulders and trees, dragging humans from their hiding places. Others were lashed by the filaments- weak connections simply immobilizing with a shock, but firm strikes rendering screaming targets to piles of ash and bone fragments.
Suddenly, there was a large shadow from above, a piercing screech, and a wet SPLORTCH as the top half of the large hood was ripped away by the claws of a diving pteranodon. What remained undulated unsteadily, causing the trunk to wobble, then topple limply into a heap. The Colony Consciousness was stunned by the sudden death of its main brain, and before anything else could be done, other carnivorous dinosaurs stalked in from all directions, smelling the fresh kill of the Manowarrior. What followed was a feeding frenzy, while more pteranodons circled above, waiting to swoop in on the remains of any carcasses.
“What. Is. This?” seethed the Cogular. Even though he was angry, he could not keep the bewilderment from his voice.
“There were more of those, all over the planet,” commented the Chamberlain. As he said this, the hologram showed several Manowarriors descending over the ocean, only to have a pod of humpback whales leap out of the water and bring them down. What the whales didn’t eat, sharks and sardines did. The Cogular made an exasperated noise. His brother pinched the bridge of his nose between two claws, and continued, “It gets worse.”
In a mountainous region, a Manowarrior rooted itself on a snowcapped peak, and froze to death. In another, a volcano erupted, the blast disintegrating a beast that was directly overhead, and the burning ash cloud causing dozens of others to boil in midair and fall from the sky. In a region of the Northern Hemisphere, enormous hailstones pelted the floating creatures, bruising and rupturing them. In a plains area, they were torn apart by tornadoes. In yet another area, the magnificent monsters descended through stormclouds, only to be struck by cloud-to-cloud arcs of lightning, causing them to explode in balls of wet goo and blue energy.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” roared the Cogular.
An unfamiliar voice answered, “Who are you to question the will of your creator, Nosvonamatar?”
The being was fierce and imposing, with a fiery wingspan and features that glowed like lightning. Slipshod gasped and immediately dropped to his knees before him, but was told, “Don’t do it! Stand and attend your master, Chamberlain! For he will give account of his actions this day!” The Cogular could not answer. “Speak up, o king! Why do you attack a planet that every race has been plainly told to avoid? Answer now and be clear!”
“My lord,” offered the Chamberlain. “My Cogular sought to eradicate the humans, as he does all his enemies. He thought if we could eliminate the race which the Creator made for his pleasure, then perhaps the Creator would then find his pleasure in us instead. Forgive us our folly.”
“So you presume to know the mind of God, Nosvonamatar? Then know it now! The Lord takes pleasure in all of his creation, but disobedience is a stench worse than your victories! You will be removed as Cogular, and replaced with another!” Then the angel was gone.
The Cogular was dumbstruck, his eyes wide with fear. “W-wh…what…does this mean?”
The Chamberlain considered for a moment and then answered, “It means…I had my last molt today.” His tails swung around quickly, the bony ends gutting The Cogular where he stood. He watched his brother sway and fall into the muck. Then he wallowed in it.
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