“I do not care about the Paladins.
I do not care about the Exorcists.
They are secondary concerns to and should be of no concern to you. What I am ordering you to do, however, should be at the forefront of your mind before anything else–before! All! Else!
Listen to my words for I will not repeat them. Not for clarity. Not because you ‘forgot.’
You will arrange my forces, and you will scour the Sovereignty to find just who is using our na as an instrunt to start this war. You will find them, and you will let know.
Spare no expense. Spend whatever lives you need to. My ti is precious; enforcers are cheap. You know what is to co. See this task done before our coming assault. Nu-Scarrowbur must be mine. The tree must be secured.
There is no failure—there is only my will.”
-Jhred “Mirrorhead” Greatling to his “Conflux” Lieutenant
8-8
The New Skin
Every inch of Avo’s body itched.
The process was more ditative than limbo, the pain carving new grooves of focus as the shape of his new body expanded, peeling his old. With each passing hour, the fluid he was subrged in lessened, feeding his body the necessary ingredients to ensure the proper formation of his new sheathe.
His skin and muscles were first to be shed. The Echoheads followed long after, near the end, bridged to his body through the Bone Demon. As the searing agony of shedding flesh faded to beco a tingling sensation dotting his digits, he realized his Celerostylus was also spreading, its synaptic roots expanding, lacing with the new fibers unlatched ropes of obsolete muscle from remolded bones.
With the culmination of the process ca his extraction. The bioforms carried his ld pod back out and opened its casing. He erged to a world of new shapes and sensations, everything feeling shaper; the sensations greeted him with a previous unknown celerity.
His Echoheads slithered down his torso, their movent twitching, sliding in bursts. Avo felt as if ghoulling again, learning to crawl, to use his hands. It was when the Echoheads chittered that he realized the full scope of his sensory enhancents, the sound casting a reverberating cloud into his mind, outlining all that stood around him.
There were about three hundred and forty-six bioforms in the chamber. Thirty of their number were moving around in the veins of the exomath. Five more were walking up the passage, their bodies both human and dog-like, misshapen in form and gait. Eunuchs.
Aside from them, Kae was on the far side of the room, looking at a collection of half-finished bioforms incubating in their chitinous chambers. Ruveca, anwhile, had not moved an inch. Deep in a flowing state of focus, she directed insectoid apparatuses down, segnted limbs ant to examine his person and review his body architecture.
Draus and Green River, anwhile, were missing.
Suspicious.
A large chitinous limb prodded at his chest and reached to his sides to tug at his new Echoheads, yanking hard to test their structural integrity. “That’s not abnormal,” Ruveca said, distracted words mixed with enthusiastic limbs. “Hatching from oneself is extrely damaging to your cells. You developed tumors at several points if you are curious to know. Your capacity to heal is remarkable, much like the rest of your species, but the cost weighs on your cellular stability.”
A hum followed her words, the sound of one who was considering a potential theory, but not speaking it.
“What?” Avo asked.
“Do you know there’s an additional layer of… sothing lded to your genetic sequence.”
A pang of coldness spread in Avo’s gut. He couldn’t tell if it was from his new implants or the thought of Walton withholding another secret. “No. Didn’t know. What is it?”
“I’m not quite sure,” Ruveca said, sucking in a sour sip of air. “And I don’t think I have the capability to examine it. Looking at it for more than a mont makes lose focus. And it doesn’t seem to bend to biomancy. I suspect you might need to seek out its original designer to learn its true function. It seems to be… missing a component. Or made to have sothing built over it. It makes no biological sense but… it… inflicts a feeling. Whoever placed it inside you had sothing special in mind.”
“Dangerous?” Avo asked.
“No,” Ruveca said. “As I said: it feels like a slot. Now. Let’s see you stand. Yes! Yes! Stand! Show my work! Hurry!”
Hastened by her words, he reached up to pull himself to a seated position but froze as he saw his new arm for the first ti.
Before, his limb was a gnarled stretch of translucent skin, eel-like muscle, and half-chipped claws. In its place now clouds of ceramite-white plating, expanding without symtry or order, the fissures between laced taut with nanofibrous mycelia. Though a considerable amount of bulk had been added to his body, he left an uncanny lightness in his motion, as if his kinesiology was fine-tuned to the extre.
With a pull, he made to sit up, to stand. The world blurred, and the bursting nature of his newly imbued speed surprised all. Bioforms shifted back, the faint echoes of instinct carved into their vacant egos responding. Across the room, he heard Kae yelp.
“A-Avo,” she said. “You’re… uh, you’re even taller now.”
He turned, and the world whipped around him. She shrank at the sheer burst of force possessed by his movents. She was right. He was taller. She seed a full foot shorter than when last they stood together.
“More responsive than I rember,” Avo said, stretching “Much–”
As he lifted his arms, he felt the newest expansion of his body lash out reflexively. Softness greeted the edges of his Echoheads. Bone parted. Gore spilled. His body shifted in place, old instincts granted speed he hadn’t adapted to, and he caught sight of streaking wipes of blood as three of his Echoheads chittered, clicking their mouths together, the nourishnt of blood greeting his mind from taste buds beyond his mouth.
Across from him, a tiger-spider toppled in six parts, limbs coming free in slices, organs pooling free from a clean-hewn torso.
No Thaums greeted his fla, and empty as the bioform’s mind was, it died bereft of ghosts.
Avo chuckled, amused at the spontaneous act of brutality following his clumsiness.
Ruveca, however, didn't find it fit to laugh. “My Echoheads… you know, the arachno-tigris is an industrial aid bioform that is nonetheless capable of hefting weights up to five tons and resisting so limited kinetics. Now look at it: most rigs won’t be able to sustain functionality against that edge for long. Against the piston? Not at all.”
He looked down at his handiwork and considered her words.
“I must admit, this does feel rather akin to more than a few shapes woven from my Domains. It is only good taste you are exhibiting in your mimicry of my Heaven’s potential.”
Letting the arrogance of his Woundshaper wash past him, Avo’s attention drifted to a few new additional muscles previously missing from his body. Curiously, he twitched them, and almost imdiately, a spray of light-curving mist expanded out in a continuous spray. Around him, a fog ford, curving his perception of the outside world into concave and convex distortions.
“Mifog works,” Avo said.
“So, it does,” Ruveca said, breathing excitedly. “And wonderfully so. Full spectrum cover. Though, you will need to let your spores rest before the next spurt. It should dissipate in about a minute, but if you move fast, it won’t be able to follow you either. Sothing to keep in mind if misdirection is your desire.”
Stepping over the edge of the ld pod, Avo moved with restraint and care, trying to get used to his new body. After a few steps, he suddenly found himself lifted. He blinked and looked down. One of his Echoheads was planted through the ground. He used it to supplent his legs without thinking. It just felt natural.
“I’m very proud of those Echoheads,” Ruveca said. “You’ll be able to keep relative pace with just about any squire on land. Maybe go even faster in the water. If the material allows for it, you can climb up walls, and stride along the ground. Leap further using your pistons than your legs could ever allow. You’re better than you were. Just better. No other complint is necessary. This is purer than evolution. This… this is self-design made manifest. Do you feel that? That’s the feeling of your flesh not being a cage anymore.”
The pride the Scaarthian held for her own work was born out of pure love of the art, and nothing of ego. The closest he heard to another speaking as she did was Walton, who described himself once as a conduit for Necrothuergy; a courier of mories.
Casting his whisper out, Avo turned his perception upon himself for the first ti and years. What he beheld was a creature worth running from–a No-Dragon warform made to stalk and hunt him and his brothers during the Uprising.
The structure of his body flowed, each plate of fungal-ceramite surmounting threaded rivers. Petals of armor lay unfurled around his head, the skin of his face now less leather and more silk. With a twitch, the petals closed in a clasp, doming his skull and leaving a visor made from interlacing fibers to gaze through. His claws ran longer and more pointed, each made to punch fatal wounds where arteries et.
Swiveling his Whisper behind, eight writhing tails of edged, skeletal obsidian ran down to lance-tipped skulls and the clicking jaws, his chittering serpents feeding him pictures of his surrounding environnt anew. Along his body, his Mifog nodes looked deflated and were refilling slowly.
He once thought many in the city dysmorphic for shedding their forms so often, the frequency of their modifications an addiction. Now, he was beginning to understand. This was more than addiction. This was apparel. Expression. In a ti when all boundaries were broken, why not remold the vessel into much desired shape?
Such an action was an act fitting of a god, was it not?
“Is your aesthetic to your liking?” Ruveca asked. “It is to mine.”
Avo growled, nodding with unspoken pleasure. Past the fog, he looked upon Kae and lifted his arms. Her opinion would not decide anything, but it was useful to gain an understanding of how the Agnos judged visual forms.
Kae furrowed her brows, a brief mont of concentration. “I… I think it makes you look… uh… more heroic. A heroic… predatory monster but… knightly.”
Considering the look of satisfaction on Ruveca’s face, the chivalric implications were likely, not accidental.
Scanning his surroundings, Avo frowned. The second opinion he valued most beyond his own was missing. Draus remained absent. “Kae. Draus? Where?”
“Oh, yes, the Regular,” Ruveca said. She conspiratorially smacked her lips together. “She’s testing sothing of mine. Another experintal piece. A bio-rig. You’ll see in a while. She said sothing about breaking your arm.”
The spark of a violent thrill relit inside Avo. “Good.”
The grafter continued. “Eldest River said you might have the desire to… test your current capabilities in practical circumstances. The circuit is open right now. Available for your personal use, if you want it.”
He did want it. “Test subjects.”
“Other ghouls,” Ruveca said, without a hint of awkwardness. “They’ve already been deposited. Five are the best I could do on short notice. The rest I need for my work. I trust this isn’t an issue. Your kind does have the habit of cannibalizing each other when lesser prey are nowhere to be found, I believe.”
He grunted. In a way, he liked this more than fighting another bioform. This was… symbolic. Representative of growth; his new skin butchering the old.
Avo chuckled.
Kae stared at him. “Avo?”
“Just thinking. River. Helpful when she’s not talking.”
“Oh,” Kae said. “Do… do you think you two can get… get along?”
“Sure. I could make her a mute.”
***
The dueling circuit, as with most things touched by Sang culture, was structured with dichotomy.
From frigid waters, so eighty feet deep rose five pillars carrying dueling rings, and upon these rings were painted three circles, the exterior the circle of the dragon–the design a match to the cycler circling his Soul. The other two rings were within the dragon, one a paint of won chained in flesh, bodies pointed outward, knotted over the darkstar; across from them, the near-extinct nfolk faced inward toward the daystar, their bodies constrained by lattices of blood.
It was upon the circle of man that Avo bisected another of his brothers with a nonchalant swipe from one of his Echoheads.
He couldn’t tell what it was trying to do. The probable truth was that it was just too slow, sensing an attack but unable to perceive it.
THAUMIC OUTPUT - 970 THAUM/c
Ghosts: [411]
As he watched the top half of his penultimate surviving brother bounce and splattered on another ring below his. Upon the uppermost pedestal in the circuit, Avo swept his gaze across the butcher he inflicted, and found himself savoring the taste of disappointnt.
The slaughter of his kin bored and pleased him in equal asure. Sared and mangled remains decorated the bone-hewn ground beneath his claws, each sprawl of tissue claid from another of his kindred. The entire affair took seconds, clumsy as he was–it took longer for him to ascend the rings than it did to kill his kindred.
He didn’t even use his Celerostylus.
A ragged gasp sounded from behind him. Avo, still unused to Echoheads, chittered, soundwave flooding Avo’s mind with resonating shapes.
Forty feet away on the other side of the ring, his last surviving brother was getting back up. Avo scoffed. The fact of the other ghoul’s survival wasn’t a matter of sloppiness but empirical rcy.
They were already as if flat dogs forced to fight a warg.
He wanted to see if this one could hurt him at all.
Studying the motions of his brother, he winced as he beheld slowness; a near-crippled display of un-coordination that boiled the blood inside him.
Once upon a ti, about eighteen years and a functional eternity ago, he would have had to fight this brother down to the blood sinew to avoid being eaten. Strength was a relative thing. As was speed. Perhaps intellect and ntal capacity as well, but Avo knew there were more angles to consider than rely computation power.
Now, however, the gulf between him and what he had been expanded. Expanded too much.
He thought the topsiders called his kind subhuman from a place of hatefulness before. No. People feared monsters. Gave them nas that inspired avoidance. To be called “sub” wasn’t to be feared, but denigrated. Less than. He saw it now in more ways than one.
Too weak to be a monster.
Too slow to avoid harm.
Too stupid to surrender or flee.
Ghouls were instrunts hobbled in their totality. Whatever desires the Low Masters–that Walton held for them–it was dust when faced with the mantle possessed by those above. Maybe the hope was to substitute mass where quality could not be achieved. But even then, a mob of ghouls was just food for artillery.
It was like they were fated to be slaughtered.
It didn’t make sense.
It just didn’t make any sense.
A light thud rattled him back into focus as Avo felt himself shift back by an inch. Claws dragged and broke upon the ridges of his ceramite. A fang slid between his plates, but could only thrust feebly against his fibers, piercing nothing. Sighing, Avo let his brother exhaust itself on him. And when it stopped to draw air, he called upon his Heaven and plucked the fresh oxygen away before it could reach its lungs.
The ghoul gasped, choking, wheezing. Still clinging to Avo, it slumped, holding its chest.
He wrapped his claws around its face and frowned, unfurling his skullplates. “Hated you. Hated you so much. But not your fault. None of us wanted to be this weak. Not even proper monsters.” His brother struggled, but its strength was fading fast. Soon, the matter would be concluded.
Casting a ghost into its undefended mind, he contemplated the taste of encroaching oblivion, of its blind bestial rage, of its savage nature collapsing against overwhelming odds. Their natures no longer aligned; it was now a step below him by all accounts. There was subli power in being able to comprehend another without being understood in return. His brother’s beast–gluttonous as all beasts were–ruled so thoroughly that all rational thought was atrophied.
It knew what he was by scent, but could not recognize the nature of his implants, his raw, absolute superiority.
He tore his ghost out of its mind. The ghoul shuddered and choked. Its grip flopped loose from his body. Avo sneered. “You’ll try biting again if I let you go. You can think. Just never tried.”
It didn’t reply, content to succumb instead.
“Don’t know why Walton picked . Don’t know if it was… chance.” He paused. “Or if the mory was a lie too. Know this: Know he’s gone. Know I have power now. And…” Avo closed his fingers around his brother's skull. “Don’t worry. I’ll change this. Make us useful. Better. Make existing worth it.”
He made fists while still grasping the other ghoul’s head. Its skull chasd in a welter of gore, at splurting free, red on white. Avo pulled. Along the length of his kindred’s body, he tore, the wound spreading from neck to groin.
THAUMIC OUTPUT - 971 THAUM/c
Ghosts: [412]
Only lines of sinew kept the two halves of this one together. The fragrance of its death called to him, flavor tantalizing. His beast slavered. His Woundshaper thrumd in his blood, brimming with delight, happy he was killing.
Avo spat on the body of his brother. The insult was not aid at the failings of his kin but at the broken puppet belonging to his forr creators.
Only he among the countless masses of his kind held true purpose. Only he and no other. By fate or fortune, he was different. And through him, perhaps more than just he can be–
“You done playin’ with baby food?”
His previous thoughts slipped away from him. In its place, a fire roared, wrath and jubilation rging into a rising inferno.
His Echoheads chittered, and at the center of the ring stood Draus, clad in a new shell of her own. He felt the shape of jagged wings and curving blades extending from her person. The armor of her bio-rig bled over her body in sleeting segnts, each capable of so limited motion.
With a twitch of his jaw, the ceramite plating around his head fused shut as he turned, preparing to indulge in a bout of proper violence. “Yeah. Should start the main course.”
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