The mud dome pulsed with heat, thick and slow. A ripple traveled along its walls as something heavy shifted below the surface. Warm fog clung low to the ground, filling the cavern with the smell of wet stone and rot.
A shape moved at the entrance, its heat signature flickering bright against the cold backdrop of stone. The troglodyte messenger stepped inside, nostrils wide as it tasted the stale air. Its clawed feet sank into the muck, sending faint ripples outward.
"Shakti," it gurgled, the name rolling slow and guttural from deep in its throat.
The heat ahead surged.
Shakti rose from the mire like an ancient beast, steam peeling away from its shoulders and spine as it broke free of the cooling mud. Shakti's hulking frame slick with layers of dried clay cracking and sloughing off in plates as it stretched tall. Steam hissed from its cracked skin as cool air kissed muscle.
"What," Shakti's voice rumbled, deep and impatient.
The other trog stepped closer, sloshing through ankle-deep muck, posture low and cautious. It held a scrap of damp paper in both claws as if it were a relic—thin, pliable, pulsing faintly cooler than its body heat.
A strip of parchment.
Shakti's nostrils twitched. Its teeth bared instinctively.
"Damacon ko'," the messenger croaked, thrusting the parchment forward like an offering.
Shakti stilled, considering. The heat map of the messenger told it all it needed—nervous tremors, pulsing veins, damp sweat along its arms.
"What's ko'?" Shakti asked, head tilting in mock curiosity.
The messenger didn't answer. It didn't know how.
"Damacon ko'," it repeated, now raw with more urgency. It pushed the parchment closer to it's master. The movement disrupted the air, causing faint ripples in Shakti's thermal perception.
Shakti's lip curled in mild irritation. "You not know." Shakti growled.
The messenger tensed. "Damacon ko'!" It grunted again, forcing the message closer still.
Shakti took a slow step forward.
The messenger froze, its body coiling instinctively, but it was too late. Shakti drove its jagged spear forward, the shaft a blur in the humid air. The iron tip plunged through the messenger's chest with a wet crunch, the heat of its core erupting outward in a sudden flare.
"Damacon," Shakti muttered, low and dangerous. One day it would bring its spear to Damacon as well.
The creature gurgled as its body shuddered violently on the end of the weapon, trying to escape from the spear. To no avail.
Shakti bit down on the outstretched claw still holding the paper, crunching through bone with a wet snap. It chewed lazily and swallowed before tossing the body to the side where it crumpled into the mud with a heavy splash.
Shakti exhaled sharply through its teeth.
"Useless." Shakti muttered, voice thick with contempt. The sound rumbled through its chest, vibrating the mud beneath its feet.
Shakti's messenger may not have been able to answer it but it knew someone who could.
It spat out a splinter of bone, then turned from the corpse and stalked toward the mouth of the cave. Its heavy footfalls left steaming pits in the mud behind it, already filling with cold water as it passed.
Behind Shakti, the troglodyte's body sagged deeper into the mire until only faint bubbles marked where it had fallen.