SquidgeWorld Archive

Yzma glared down the mountain. Strangers had come into the land, pale men with metal armor and strange sticks that could wound or kill from a great distance. Pale men with hair on their faces and greed in their eyes. She'd almost managed to have the empire in her grasp when they came, bringing panic, disease, and death. Her plans had been ruined again.

"This empire should be mine," she hissed. "Tulon, I want you to go down to their camp and spy on them. Tell me anything of interest or possible use."

Her assistant nodded, and was soon moving through the bushes. She'd had larger assistants, but this one was good at sneaking, and considerably smarter than a few of her past employees. He wasn't a very good cook, but not everyone could do everything.

She returned to her lab, determined that she would find a way to get rid of these men, or else turn them to her use. She bottled the poison that she'd brewed, now that it was cool, and started the ingredients for something else, a turtle-potion. See how fast they would take her empire in the shape of turtles... She'd worked for a very, very long time to get this land under her control, she wasn't about to give up this easily.

"Yzma?" Tulon staggered, his footsteps unusually clumsy. "They have a monster in a box."

"What?" She spun around, prepared to demand answers immediately.

Tulon was bleeding, his hand clutching at his shoulder, his clothing stained and dripping with blood. "Sit down at once and take that off. I'll get you something for that..."

The wound was horrible. Something with sharp teeth had apparently tried to take a bit out of him, succeeding in biting, but barely missing the main blood vessel. Most troublesome, she didn't recognize the shape of the bite. Certainly not a jaguar, though the teeth looked to have been sharp enough. Not a snake. The bit wasn't the right size to have been a monkey, though it looked similar. If one of the river caiman had been that close, he would have had his head bitten right off, not his shoulder opened. She packed healing herbs in the wound, and wrapped bandages over the whole area.

"Here, drink this," she held out one of her blue potions, one that aided healing.

Tulon took it, his hand shaking as he lifted it to his lips and drank. "It was... I don't know what it was. The box was as large as your carry-chair, and at first, I thought they had a man locked inside. An old man, with no hair."

"What can you tell me of this box?" Yzma had a feeling that this monster-man in the box was of importance. She just didn't know yet if she would be able to make use of him.

"It's made from solid wood, with heavy bands of metal around it. Like a treasure chest. Only... they seemed to be terrified of what was inside. It was wrapped in chains, with small talismans tied to the links." He touched the bandages, wincing. His wrist was wrapped in deep purple bruises, shaped like a hand. "Of course, I had to see what they had inside."

Yzma turned o her shelves, plucking down a jar with a bruise balm. "How did he look different from them?"

"His clothing was similar, though it was the garments of their nobles, not their soldiers. His skin was very pale, and he had no hair, so I assumed that he was old. When he turned..." Tulon shivered, closing his eyes for a moment. "His eyes were yellow, like a snake, and his face had been... it was... wrong. And he had such sharp teeth... The next thing I knew, he was biting me. I barely got away from him, and only them by bashing him with the chains that they'd used on the box. The talismans burned his flesh
like hot coals, but they were just metal. Silver and bronze."

"You stay here and rest. When that potion comes to a boil, move it away from the fire, I'll bottle it when it cools," Yzma ordered, selecting a large jar of a sleeping potion form the shelf. "I think this might be a situation that I can use."

She went into her chambers, putting on the rough garb of an old peasant woman. These foreigners would look no farther, dismissing her as a harmless old woman. While she was an old woman, she was far from harmless, and they would rue the day that they'd thwarted her plans. Looking back at the shelf, she smiled as an idea bloomed. They were soldiers - what did soldiers want? Wine, good food, and pretty women. If she brought them wine to drink, and laced it with the sleeping potion, then they would render themselves helpless. It could be blamed on them not being used to the local drinks.

That part was quite easy, and went of exactly as she'd planned. Several of them were making what she was certain were rude comments about her, but she ignored them. They were drunken men, little different from the men of her own empire. As soon as she dealt with them, then the emperor would have no choice but to give her more power, and she'd be running the whole land in all but name.

They were soon all fallen to the ground, drunk or asleep, it mattered very little which. The box was easy to find, covered over with a heavy cloth, and wrapped around with iron chains. A small charm, no larger than the palm of her hand, had been tied to every third link, a pair of bars crossing each other, though not quite at the center, and with one longer than the other. Some had been decorated with little swirls, others were plain. It did look rather like a cross between a treasure chest and a carry-chair.

"What are you that they would go to such trouble to confine you?" Yzma whispered, looking at the thick chains and solid wooden sides.

In reply, a man's voice answered. There was a growl to his words, and he spoke in a language that she did not understand. It sounded as if he was demanding some answer of his own.

"Well, whatever you are, you have good ears," Yzma decided. Carefully, she picked the locks, a skill that she'd learned after ending up trapped in small room once, during the whole fiasco with Kuzcu. "I think you might be of use to me after all."

He emerged from the box, his clothing torn in several places but still obviously of fine quality and made with great care. Threads of gold had been used to embroider strange flowing patterns over the edges of some thick blue fabric. His eyes were yellow like a serpent's, and his teeth would have been quite at home in the mouth of a jaguar, but he was still some sort of man. His eyes met hers, and there was the oddest sensation, as if he was pushing at her spirit.

Yzma smiled, recognizing that he had power. She pushed back, trying to convey that she was someone of importance, that's he would not be pushed around any further. He was filled with hunger, a dark and terrible hunger for the lives of his captors. Having no objection to him killing the foreign intruders, Yzma simply gestured at them, stepping back so that he could move towards them. "Why should I object to their deaths? They have come into these lands, and spoiled my plans."

Yzma watched as he moved towards the closest sleeping soldier, and lifted the man as if he was little more than a rag-doll. Those sharp teeth sank into the soldier's throat, and she was certain that he was drinking, swallowing down the man's blood as if it were wine. "No wonder they were afraid and locked you away, trusting in their magician's charms to keep you imprisoned."

He dropped the body, and turned to face her, those odd yellow eyes looking at her, as if he was trying to see her soul. He spoke, the tone calmer, his words spoken in the arrogant tones of one used to command. She had no idea what they meant.

"Kill him, kill another if you want, they mean nothing to me." She waved her hand at the sleeping men, and then looked at him. "I wonder, how is it that you do what you can do? To lift him like that, to drink his life away?"

He stepped closer, his eyes still locked onto hers. Yzma had the oddest feeling, similar to floating in water. She could feel promises and questions whispered at the edge of her mind, offers of power and time. All she had to do was help him....

"You want revenge on them for capturing you. I want to rule this land," Yzma murmured, somehow certain of this from the touch of his mind against hers. "You can help me?"

Slowly, he nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. His smile would have terrified a lesser person, sent them cowering or fleeing. Yzma just smiled. "Good."

He moved towards her, each step slow, confident, and threatening. He was destruction and change incarnate. If she let him do this, nothing would ever be the same again, and she didn't even know what he intended to do.

One hand brushed against her cheek, his sharp claws sending shivers down her spine. He whispered something, the words an incomprehensible promise. Then, his teeth were in her throat, and it stung, like shards of glass. That floating feeling changed into a powerful undertow, dragging her towards darkness.

Cool fluid touched her lips, and Yzma's tongue flicked out, tasting what she couldn't see. Blood. His blood. She drank, uncertain what was happening, but she could recognize ritual and ceremony when it happened, and this action held power. He had taken blood from the soldier, but not given any in return. He gave her blood, and there was importance, power in this giving.

Yzma had been trying to seize power for generations. She drank.

This would change everything. She could hardly wait.