Godclads

Chapter 8-17 Memories of the Future

“The Sanctus ‘Fisher that Wasn’t’ is an Ontologic best suited for Sixth Sphere Liminal Frames or above. A modern Heaven inspired by ‘The Kingfisher Upon the Recursive Pond’ from Sanctian myths, the Fisher that Wasn’t is suited for Godclads intending to serve primarily as Seers for their Cadre.

Considering the flexibility of its options, however, it can also be used as a Porter/Breaker supplement.

Described as ‘a being shaped between a pellucid tadpole and a fishing hook fused from streams of time, it contains the budding essence of constantly changing tides representing the future,’ grafting the Fisher that Wasn’t requires a mind that rejects structure in most forms and views linearity as more suggestion than law.

As such, Godclads are recommended to apply phantasmics or nueromods that exaggerate focus-pattern attention-deviating conditions with extensive Necrojack support to alleviate any lingering sanity damage.”

-The Fisher that Wasn’t, Elder Mythos VOLUME I

8-17

Memories of the Future

As it turned out, Zein wasn’t lying: She did not give Avo another beating, but several other beatings.

New concepts and techniques became known to him. Known in the way one would come to learn a straight or a hook from getting repeatedly punched in the face. Yet, through it all he could not claim that Zein meant him any malice.

From all the legends and whispered rumors of the Thousandhand, he expected someone akin to Draus; a killer in presence and demeanor. Zein, though, was a child in a playground, her playfulness ageless.

Though not the same could be said for her brutality.

“...And that was called a kimura, though most practitioners tend to do it on a temporally progressive basis.” Zein snorted. “Neophytes. Why waste time performing an action that you have already completed in a theoretical future, I say. Best to just enjoy the fruits of my labor, so that I might move on to the next thing. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Avo didn’t answer immediately, too preoccupied with his arm and the incorrect angle it pointed toward. His elbow jutted toward Zein, the joint radiating with aching pain. The hurt he felt was more akin to a tear than a break, with his new mycelia bio-architecture sustaining the most harm beyond a few cracks in his Bone Demon carapace.

So far, each of his limbs had suffered a dislocation or break, followed by instruction on her part as to how to reset the limb, or the angle at which to best rip it off for use as a blunt weapon.

“Zein,” Avo said, using the mouths of two Echoheads to stabilize the limb while a third snapped it back in place, “the… ‘training’ why?”

Her eyes went wide, confused. “To improve your capabilities of course. And because it amuses me.” Probably more the latter than the former. “Ah, and procrastination. Here I am, playing with my new ghoul consang, delaying my return to the scheming, the hiding, the plotting… You will learn that age does not fix such a habit. But don't blame me. I enjoy violence. You enjoy violence–”

“When it's happening to other people,” Avo muttered.

“--Masochism is an acquired taste. You already have the sadism by nature, I’m certain you can develop another virtue.”

Avo cocked his head at her in disbelief. “Virtue?”

She nodded vigorously. “I strongly recommend you develop a deep enjoyment from getting hurt. As Godclads, pain is… like water to a duck. So is death, but that’s more like a wave–as long you dive a bit and keep your Rend low, you’ll be fine.”

He just stared.

His Woundshaper shivered. “Master… her Heaven has stripped her of sense and decency. Time flows softly around her… we must flee.”

“Stop,” Zein said, holding out a hand, “I foresee your questions: Why did I not kill you? Why did I not interrogate you further about your nature? About Walton. About the Low Masters and that ridiculous existential tumor they serve...”

“Wondered about some of those,” Avo said. “Got distracted by you twisting my limbs.”

She beamed. “Ah. You see, that’s the interesting thing: we had these conversations already, and each was rather boring so I don’t want to repeat them. Or have them, if we’re looking at this from a stable continuum perspective.” Her expression flattened into reconsideration. “Well. Not us, perhaps, but the ontological conceptions of us within my Heaven using all parameters known to me or my Frame… oh, better that I just show you.”

The contours of Zein’s Heaven did not reveal itself immediately. Not a terror rising from the depths as with Mirrorhead. Not a primordial steed striding within the flow of wind, nor tower of blood burrowing roots deep to suckle the inheritance of matter. No. Hers was an almost imperceptible line at first, seeing it like catching a reflection within a lake. A lake that was always shaking, drifting, changing.

Its tail ran down in edges, forming the limpid margin of her blade. Outward rose something between a dollop and a fishhook, the shifting rivers of time widening from the tip of her sword into a vastness of light, each ray playing a potential moment–reels of futures churning within her Heaven, a grand pond the size of a small city block parted into a hundred and eight different scenes.

THE FISHER THAT WASN’T, DIVER OF FUTURES PAST

By her will, it collapsed in a falling cascade, each moment shuffling together like a deck of cards to crash down on both of them. New un-memories combusted in Avo’s mind, these murky dreams of variant futures slotting alternates of him back into himself.

In more than one, she killed him, her blade lashing out a full minute into the future while the strike was delivered five minutes from the past. In this sense, death came to him sudden and absolute, like the hand of fate itself had struck his name from the list of life and marked him for the Big Nothing.

The world dissolved in these memories, his cog-feed fracturing into component parts as his mind sank into a fragmented abyss, the stygian nature of a Godclad’s Soul-frayed demise a thing no one could comprehend while still being alive.

Shaken by the touch of death, he was unprepared for the sudden injection of knowledge to come. Conversations came back to him then, of each inquiry. There was a reason why she didn’t ask him any questions, choosing combat instead, and that was because versions of them had already spoken.

She did not kill him because she did not wish to risk damaging the Helix, nor did she wish to expend a Necro of his caliber if he could be turned to her cause instead; more perplexingly, she stated in such a timeline she had no interest possessing his Frame, but only the functions of it.

In the chaos of the premonition, he saw Zein smiling. “Be you a blade I wield or a blade wielded by another, so long as we strike the same shadow the cut is just.”

Other questions collapsed into answers within his mind, one after another. She discovered his nature as a ghoul by using different timelines to probe him conversationally. In more than a few she provoked him toward silence and learned nothing. In fewer moments still, she managed to establish something of a rapport with him–paths that she currently followed.

For Walton and the Low Masters, she had little to give. She knew of Walton as a character of untrustworthy utility, but saw him more ally than the other variants of his ego. The Hungers, on the other hand, she yearned to excise from existence, using her blade unseen to conduct surgery, understanding them to be a tumor in the face of time and reality.

As her sword faded from sight again, Avo felt all his future variants spill out from his body. He let out a ragged gasp, not remembering when he began holding his breath. “Which of those… was the future?”

“The Heaven dips into variant streams of simulated possibilities,” Zein explained. “There is no ‘the,’ my child.” She tutted. “You worry me with these capitulations before baseline reality. You’re a Godclad. Think of things as… suggestions. The only absolutes here are us. And even then, that’s only between us and ourselves.”

“So,” Avo said, “you know everything I’m going to do. Say.”

“A close enough approximation, but the totality of reality is always hard to gather with a small cup such as mine,” she said. “It is the missing knowledge and far unseen variables that are most dangerous for one such as me. I have seen my own death more times than I can count. See wounds I will take along the expanse of time cast out by my Heaven. But beyond that–and there is always a beyond…”

She brushed her thumb across her sword. “The unfortunate fact seems to be that… I know more about what you have and what you seek than you do. Walton… I do not believe he truly prepared you for this, did he?”

A beat passed. The more she spoke, the warier he was of engaging her in conversation. “My father. Wasn’t who I thought he was.”

To that, he felt her thoughtstuff turn to sympathy. “Few of our parents are. Or our children for that matter. But he cared for you. This I know. Spoke of you as a thing of promise, he did.”

A snap shuddered through Avo’s right arm. His blood began to nibble at the damage, rethreading his sinews and funneling shape into his outer plating. “You worked with him?”

Zein’s face twisted as she cocked her head, considering his words. “No. We were definitely conspiring against each other. I attempted to have him killed at several points, in fact.” She barked a laugh, as she was recounting a moment of amusement. “He was wily. Like you, but much calmer. His mind was like… a still pond. His nature was one of radical acceptance. You… you’re a monster holding your own leash; piloting your own cage. There is a method of control you inherited from him, but only after your intrusion of my mind did I conceptualize you as his son.”

“He was a Low Master.”

“He was a spy sent to our world, meant to sow discord amongst the Guilders, yes.” She shook her head. “As if we needed his aid. But I can’t say his methods were not effective. Weakening Highflame defenses so Ori-Thaum could see the success they did in the last war. Ensuring the encirclement and massacre of so many Regulars only of Fists commanded by the Chivalrics… I’d commend your father for doing more institutional damage to Highflame than most other Guilds could in over a century.”

A sudden void expanded inside Avo. His father was, at least in part, responsible for Draus's self-exile. Another revelation, this one spreading in his mind like a fissure, a growing amount of damage connected to his masters, his “family.”

Moreover, he knew her revelations came with purpose now. Was she trying to leverage him further away from his father? Spur guilt or responsibility in him toward Draus?

“Do you know what your Helix does?” Zein asked. She was suddenly facing away from him now, perusing an inventory of weapons growing from a nearby column. She picked out a pistol. A tension built inside Avo.

“No,” Avo said. “Think it… did something to my blood?”

“It unchained you from your fixed nature,” Zein scoffed, the scorn in her voice loud. “I believe it is a mark given to rare few Nolothics. The cowards. They cling to the present as if eternity is a single point to be guarded. A fortress sinking beneath the rushing stream of the tides. Fools. All fortresses fall. All break. But breaking is not dying. Breaking is expression. Breaking is truth. From ruins rise resurrected revelations.”

She found him looking on at her, not understanding her.

“The Helix is like a key. It allows access to certain constructs of time and space leftover in the city. Walton intended to leave you a sanctuary to reside in during these trying times. Oh! And you should be able to direct and pilot your kindred now. The Helix marks you as one of their masters. Congratulations on your promotion. Now, let’s look at your newly fixed Soul.”

“Wha–”

REND CAPACITY: 0%

ONTOLOGY STABILIZED

SOUL REPAIRED

CANONS RESTORED

And suddenly, the wind was rushing through a clean wound coring from his jaw and tunneling out the back of his skull.

A thin rod of tissue ejected out the back of the gun, clumps of his ceramics, fibers, and brain matter splattering down amidst the glinting buds of alloy pushing out from the ground.

Zein appeared, standing just beside him, the cold barrel of her pistol a memory sliding into place as an event happening ahead of time. It did not fire as a mag-flung weapon would, nor did it bark with a chemical pop like a slugthrower. Instead, he felt a thin strip of space twist in reality.

Avo tumbled over soon after, the world spinning as he collapsed upon his spatially scalped viscera.

INITIALIZING RESURRECTION - 1%

Falling from Zein’s garden armory into the sanctuary of his Frame, Avo sank before a new subreality. His Soul shone bright, its shine encompassing, rippling field exerting an even greater pressure inward, drawing all things beyond its boundary for an embrace like an ontological singularity.

Contrarily, the other Soul once fueling Burner’s Way resembled something between a dim spark and a fissuring scar. It crackled much like an ember did; without thaums nothing burned, and in the absence of the flame Avo found himself gazing into the eldritch chasm of a mutilated Soul.

Something was still there, inside its fathomless depths, something and what felt like everything. Primordial patterns bled out from its crevices like a nebula leaking over into the void. Were the Heavens just channels? A specific instrument shaped to help a Soul unleash its power? Or perhaps they were different keys, make to allow access to partial aspects of reality, giving its user total command.

Confining the Soul in a concentric cage, a dragon ate itself, its scales dim and its vigil perpetual, the only thing of motion in a dead galaxy. Further still, a dark shroud resembling a curving weave of brambles rising to form something between an insect and a deer bearing a v-shaped skull greeted him, the heaven not attached to his current Soul yet.

“Ah. It has been a while since I have seen a Soul so drained.”

Avo felt himself shiver. Zein’s voice pierced through the quiet of his inner sanctuary. She came as Kae did, but instead of mounting herself on a pedestal of tears, she skimmed along, propelled by crystalline light sparkling from the hilt of her blade.

“No… no!” The Woundshaper cried. The pure terror in its voice was near-human, its desire to avoid Zein all-encompassing.

“Your hilt? It’s a False Heaven?” Avo asked.

Her expression turned melancholic. “A gift from someone. I liked breaking gods. He liked rebuilding them toward purpose. In time, I came to enjoy watching him.”

“Jaus?”

She brushed past his question and turned her attention on Woundshaper.

The Heaven of Blood gushed over behind the Galeslither in a splashing tide.

“Keep her away from me, master,” the Woundshaper said, huddling behind his currently grafted Heaven. “Get thee away from me, partling crone! This is not your Soul.”

Zein, for her part, cared little for the Woundshaper, shaking her head. “Why if it isn’t a fragment of Mother Sathwu. Severing your fragments was quite the chore after the Fall if such means any compliment to you, old one.”

“It does not! Be-gone! Send her away, master! She cannot be here!”

Zein smiled and turned her attention to his new dormant Soul instead. “You got this from Burner’s Way, correct?”

Avo grunted. “You already know.”

“No,” Zein replied. “Not here. Here, I am a guest. My Heaven does not reach in. This is solely your reality. The Sangeist; the Galeslither, you took both of them from golems?”

“Yes.”

She pouted with all the strength of an old woman that got to enjoy herself too late. “You get all the good things. It’s hardly fair.”

Avo glared at her using his partially decapitated Galeslither. “Woke up in the Maw. On a corpse barge. Got sold to a Crucible. Got an unwilling Syndicate job for a few days.”

“Bah. Practically a vacation. You will look back on this time and… well, if you think very hard and manifest your delusions into truth, you’ll find something about it that amuses you.”

He considered her words for a moment. “Did get to eat some eyes.”

“See. Remember: You are a Godclad. Conceptualization means more than truth. Now, let us see–my word, your Soul is pulling on me like a wormhole. Quite literally, in fact, the feeling is uncanny. It's just like fighting next to an event horizon in the void.”

Avo was taken aback. “You fought in the void?”

She nodded, blade glinting. “Godhunt. A stray entity wandered too close and I had to make a victim of it. Worry not, if you do well, get lucky, and survive long enough, you too will break your share of wandering gods in the dark.”

“She is plague…” the Woundshaper hissed.

“You know…” Zein said, gesturing to his other Soul. “… This should be impossible. The Agnosi claim a Soul is meant to be bound to a single ego. And yet, here you have one sharing room with another without them being conjoined or bridged somehow. How… trailblazing. I like it. Have you tried to pour some of your ego into it? Try to run both at once.”

“No,” Avo replied, not sure if he liked where she was going with this.

“Do it,” she said, grinning. “What’s the worst thing that can happen.”

“My nous tears in half and I permanently die?” Avo said, remembering Kae’s words.

She hummed, as if recalling that detail herself as well. “Oh. Well, that would leave your Frames to me so… a pitiable loss, but not unrecoverable. Why don’t we see if you can activate it somehow? Just… don’t connect to it is all. Feed it some thaums?”

“A plague,”the Woundshaper cried.