Godclads

Chapter 8-7 Idealization (II)

“Activate the backdoors to our Ascender Xeres Series II Optics. Save the visual mem-data into some loci. There’s been a request from up top about needing some… non-standard surveillance.

Send out a cast warning users about, oh glitches with the software. Some fluff like that. Yes. Yes, I know the Necros among them have pulled out the spyware, but let’s not bullshit ourselves here, most people don’t have that ability.

No, I don’t want to do this, but it’s not about what I want, it’s about orders. What are the Choirs looking for? Who the hells knows! You think they told me? Do I look Inner-Tier? I am just an admin from the kennel like you.

Wait. Let me stop you there. We’re not going to theorize on this, we’re just going to do as the Authorities ask. Well, by we I mean someone down the barrel. I wouldn’t be caught dead taking a shit on behalf of our ‘masters’ considering how much stuff goes sidesways down in the Purg.

Yeah. Yeah, sure. We’re still on for pseudo-ball on Uldsday.”

-Thoughtcast between Administrative Leads [Redacted] and [Redacted] of Dawnforge Industries, a Highflame Subsidiary

8-7

Idealization (II)

For a few seconds, Avo found contentment in simply staring at the dangling augmentations present. Though they were mere phantasmal representations of actual matter, the subconscious was a base and fickle thing, inspiring notions of hunger despite the awareness of reason.

Avo wished he could form eyes within his Soul for the sole purpose of glaring at his Woundshaper. Yes, the bioware did resemble meat and bone hanging from strings; it did indeed spur in him that base desire to tear at the flesh swaying above and dig in. That did not mean he would. Anymore.

His time as a metaphorical nu-dog was due for an end.

“Is it strength you want? Speed? Something more esoteric? Or even potentially an addition; that which you lack.” Ruveca lifted her index finger and began to sort the mods into different lines. Dolloping ghosts bled into the simulation as they formed titles for each aisle, separating things by part, function, and replacement extensiveness.

His focus scattered, darting from option to option, picking between new physical sheathes. Strength appealed to the beast most of all, for that was it understood, what it yearned for. Its dreams were painted in simple colors, put to motion by crude wants: to break and overpower. To butcher and bleed. For long, his physicality had consigned his nature to neglect; what fulfillment could a beast derive from strength when already molded from the clay of weakness?

He spent some time wandering between his foundation choices for body-based modifications, perusing his options like a shopper looking for new apparel. He eliminated over five options immediately–all the potential neuromods were off the table unless they kept his mind at baseline. In theory, his phantasmics should still work no matter what he did to his meat. However, he saw his fair share of Necros suffering abnormalities after cognitive enhancement surgeries.

The mind was his personal domain. It would be a fool’s choice to lose it.

Down to twenty choices or so, he found himself gravitating between a few options. Of them, there numbered six, but at least half of them clashed on basis of function or organ.

The Durahide exoskeleton was the first thing he was drawn to, his gaze earning an approving nod from Ruveca. It effectively left him armored in what looked to be an encased shell of crystals, its structure capable of withstanding kinetics from standard infantry gauss-arms along with laser diffusion capabilities.

The problem came in the form of overhead: too much durability. No enhancement to his reflexes or baseline structure. As much as it appealed to him, he left it behind, digging further into body modifications.

The option that followed was wanting as well. The Surgespine allowed him to discharge lightning through bio-electric pylons that communicated with his nervous system via a neuroconductive fluid. It wouldn’t just make him fast–it would make him unable to be disabled via physical incapacitation.

Appealing, but the caloric demands would have driven him insane with hunger, and his body still wasn’t up to dealing with the strain.

He passed by three more standard strength augmenting bio-weaves–stripped-down versions of bio-rigs meant to be transplanted directly onto a body. Each one seemed to be from a different combination of animals, and though they magnified his current strength potential, most didn’t stabilize his reflexes and remained wanting against the potential of their chrome counterparts.

Then, he saw it, the flash of its whiteness reeling in his attention.

Walking past all the other options, he found himself in a trance as he beheld the last sheathe left in the row.

The Bone Demon. Made by a now redacted No-Dragon subsidiary. Must’ve been something that went rogue during the Second Guild war.

Ruveca’s eyes wrinkled as her expressions took on a transient quality. The way her expression flowed from one to another made him wonder if she was guiding him toward her desired option, influencing him from a seat of deeper knowledge. “Oh, the Bone Demon exoweave. Yes. A less selected option due to its… deviations from the popular desires. Public–enforcers want chrome exos, you see? Squires–rigs or combat skins. The No-Dragons themselves are bound to violence by proxy, so you gaze upon a niche weave. But I think it suits you. In fact, I think it was made for something like you. A full spectrum enhancement, so to speak.”

Her mind rippled, the weave descended from its string, its shape unzipping into a myriad of features revealed to Avo.

The Bone Demon grew a superstructure around his current body, weaving his flesh into a nest of super-tensile, hyper-synaptic nanofibrous mycelia on the interior. Beyond the threads, thick plates of cordyceramite came together like jagged skeletal continents emerging from a sea of webs. Bound to his biology, he would be able to harden and shift his structural integrity, as well as shape the growth of the fungal-ceramic matter that would encase his outer skin.

When seen in its totality, it made him look like someone clad as a monster of yesteryear in knightly regalia. Bladed were its digits and joints and paleness ruled its visage. His head, meanwhile, was to be caged between the armored petals of what seemed to be some kind of insect-devouring plant.

“The fungal-ceramite growths will make you more durable than you are now, but you won’t be able to survive under sustained fire, or even a heavy-kinetic weapon.” Her honesty came with no shame. The design was the design, and she would speak of her mods as they were. “Where it excels is the blending of strength, speed, and agility. The mycelia can carry your current synaptic load without issue, while their tensile strength also allows you to punch through steel. Don’t expect to be lifting anything too heavy though. This is fast twitch fiber in its purest condition.”

He considered the implant and found himself entranced. “Grows out of me?”

“It becomes you,” she said. “A perfect integration. The cordyceps will integrate with your haemophagic cells and be turned from hijacker to willing assistant. But I would be most dishonest if I didn’t mention the drawbacks.”

She waved a hand. Numerous mods grew transparent. Only three or so remained.

“Cross-mod integration is… already a challenge with your biology. Trying to attach bioware of deviant designs will be… closer to building a collapsing tower than a functional body.”

“So,” Avo said. “Narrows the scope.”

“Indeed,” she said. “Most bioware to do with the senses won’t work well with the Bone Demon, I fear. Admittedly that’s more a design problem and you might feel your senses drifting during your first days of accepting the implant.”

It was at that moment she licked her lips. “However, I wished you would pick the Bone Demon for a reason. Come. Let me show you something of my own making. A rejected bioform that might just be given a second lease.”

“Not a good pitch,” Avo said. “Don’t want broken goods.”

“Not broken,” she said, sounding slightly offended. “Just… altered in its scope. Their ecological load is too much for most environments. I had wanted to sell them as potential land-sea hunter-killers, but now I think they will suit a better purpose with you.”

With a snap of her fingers, one of the remaining mods flickered into existence next to him. Avo took a step back as eight interconnected serpents cycled in the air before him. At first glance, they were pitch black, the lengths of their bodies like twin curving scythes attached to columns of spine. Their heads ran further, spear-tipped at the top while open jaws clicked below.

Gesturing for Avo to pay attention, Ruveca sent a mental command to the hydras, and two things happend at once: their bladed skulls exploded forward as if on pistons; their thin carapaced maws clicked and rattled.

A spread of static painted the world around them in a field echoing shape, a faint map of how the world looked for up to eight hundred feet or so.

Echolocation.

“I call them Echoheads,” Ruveca said, caressing the thought-forms of her work. “It took considerable effort to blend them. Considerable indeed. The structure and muscle of a hydra were needed for a base–the creature itself was already of chimeric design. Integrating the piercing extension required I rework the design of their heads–removing eyes and redistributing brain matter to make room for the added components. Tell me, do you know of a creature called a mantis shrimp? No matter. All you need to know is that upon extension, you will pierce even the titanium hulls of most golems without effort.”

“What about the echoes?”

“A way to help them keep their senses. Admittedly, this is still a work in progress, but I find it far more stable than most other options. Also gives my hunters more clarity–yes… yes.”

A part of Avo felt bitter that she was not the person to design his subspecies. If the ghouls were made by one such as she, perhaps they wouldn’t be so…

Feeble.

“In most cases, I think your blood would subsume my Echoheads before accepting them. However, using the Bone Demon as a bridge, I believe that an external platform can be created to root my bioforms in place–assimilating them to your person.”

Her words had implications beyond a single implantation. “What about other implants? Could it be done with more?”

She considered his words. “It would take substantial reworking of the Bone Demon itself. The Echoheads are already unique in their stability. Most biologies would… collapse in one form or another.” Her lips thinned. Her eyes paled. “Give me time. Two months, if you’re still alive then. I will have something for you. But that will be more favor than even Eldest River can afford. I will need… resources.”

“Will get you imps.”

“More than imps. I need gene-codes. License keys to mod-packs. New equipment.”

“Put together needs. Cast them to River. Take a look down the line.”

She beamed. “We’re going to be very happy together, you and I. I can already see it.”

She whistled.

The two selected augmentations came together as a package. The exoskeletal layer of blooming white provided a base for the other two implants to function, serving as foundational strength and structure enhancement for his body. The Echoheads came soon after, the writhing extensions threaded along the back of the Bone Demon. Four were festooned on each side, and in total, they numbered eight, each wicked serpent acting more like a tail or a tendril, lashing the air.

With the Echoheads woven into the sheathe, she nodded. And then her eyes widened. Waving away two mods remaining, she pulled out a single, small implant he had to lean close to behold. Compared to the other implants, this one was but a small nub, its shape a gnarled flower bud, shivering before his gaze. “This is something experimental. This was derived from another obsoleted bioform; a hunjue pattern spore launcher. It was designed for the purposes of… obfuscation.”

At her command, the buds expanded, spewing thick particulates as mist into the air. The air blurred with blending colors around the nub, until it was swallowed in a pocket of pseudo-transparency, blending with the background.

“See through?” Avo asked.

“The Mimefog refracts light to create the illusion of invisibility. It also expels heat waste from your body, so it will leave a patch of thermal radiation to deceive any heatseekers, should your foe still use something so primitive.”

Useful. Enticing. Another layer of stealth. “Add that too.”

The Mimefog nodules were placed as four along the column of his spine, running as a stretch between his Echoheads.

As all three sections came together, Avo beheld the frame of his new form for the first time and found a soft pleasure in beholding what he was to become.

Standing before him, he found himself dwarfed by a full foot by a being encased in bone and stalking closer to him upon spear-tipped tendrils derived from the Echoheads. With a burst of mist, it melded into the air, only slight distortions offering him a guess as to its position.

“Oh, joy master. Tendrils. Something beyond my means to construct.” Some part of the Woundshaper was jealous of the grafter, envious of her competence in the Domain of Flesh. “Be not surprised by avarice. All gods yearn to be more, do we not?”

She spoke no lies there, for in this very moment, he embodied that want deep and true.

“Is this your new shape?” Ruveca asked. Her curiosity was genuine, and she asked the question as a chef would after delivering a dish. “Are there any other additions you would like to reconsider?”

“No,” Avo said. Truth be told, he wanted to be everything, to possess all the virtues and improvements presented to him in their samples. But he found a stable foundation for what he needed right now, and if there was the need, he could return. Seek out Ruveca. Discover the cache left to him by his father’s node. Have himself altered anew.

Or perhaps there was even a Heaven for manipulating flesh. To be able to serve as his own grafter was a tantalizing convenience. Already, his Soul and Mind were scarce in logistical demand. If he could be the sole governor of his body’s condition, his mastery over himself would be absolute.

“Prepare this,” Avo said. “Start graft immediately.”

Ruveca breathed, a light shining from the edges of her eyes as her body language bloomed with joy. “Your haste is appreciated.”

“Your recommendations are good,” Avo replied. “How fast?”

She contemplated her answer. “Eight hours, perhaps. Each body has different demands… A baseliner’s would be far more malleable than yours, but more susceptible to collapse.” She tilted her head. “You understand that there is nothing in the way of anesthetics for a ghoul?”

He grunted. “Pain’s nothing.”

She frowned, his response too sour for her tastes. “Pain is language, consang. You shouldn’t run from it. Deny it. Accept it. Just listen. Your body is giving you the details. Let the softness in you drown, and listen through the feedback. You might hear something interesting.”

Something told him she was speaking from experience.

“I will begin the process immediately. You should return to yourself. Step into the pod.”

“Pod?”

Suddenly, the umbilical tether retracted, slipping out from his skull. Light and shapes returned to him as the link between him and the exomath broke. Shaking his head, he found two tiger-spiders placing a long cylindrical coffin, and with a touch, it expanded, unclasping like parting ribs to reveal a pool of blackened liquid filling its interior.

“Meld pod,” Ruveca said, her tone almost distracted. “It's for your rebirth. Just lay in its waters. The rest will follow on its own.”

“Master… another mind lingers in the substance,” the Woundshaper said, tone low, “it is faint. There is a touch of blood in its ontology but... but still, it thinks and reacts. And builds. Particulates of… silicon? And electricity. Such a thing is not touched by the Heavens. No. This a low art, intricate and complex though its design maybe. Little builders, microscopic but diligent.”

Nanoconstructors. An expensive resource to house in the Warrens. But Avo guessed that Green River had her methods, and the No-Dragon had their ways.

Staring down into the swaying black ichor that pooled in the enamel coffin, he hesitated for a moment, the beast in him inching back, primitive nature wary of his potential fate.

To his side, Draus snorted. +Worse thing that’ll happen is death, ain’t it. Shouldn’t stop you now.+

+Just thinking about who I’ll be when I come out.+

A lull of consideration crackled across their session. +A bigger monster that still eats people?+

Yeah. That sounded about right.

Shaking the grip of apprehension, he shed his holocoat and helmet before casting aside his thermal undersuit. As he stepped into the waters, a coldness ran up his leg, the chill sinking all the way to his bone. He waited for something to tear at him; divest him of his flesh.

Instead, only a clinging numbness stewed his flesh.

Patience giving out, he deposited himself in the rest of the way and laid down. Staring up at the pulsing mass of gray matter that occupied the ceiling, he watched as flickers of thoughtstuff were injected between its countless cords, their shine remaining like meteorites darting through tubes even as the outside of his meld-cage closed.

A moment of peace followed. He called upon the wind and the water swirled. All he would need to escape was a simple thought, followed by the manifestation of his Galeslither.

He was not trapped here. He was not trapped like he was at the start of the Crucible. This was just surgery. A very Sang way of performing surgery.

Checking the state of his Souls he found himself gladdened to behold a major spike in progress.

REPAIRING ONTOLOGY - 21%

A sudden lurch pulled at him. The weight of his meld pod shifted. He was moving. Casting out his Whisper, he saw that he was being carried by two bioforms, slowly being shuttled over to an empty slot along the wall.

He supposed that supported some kind of incubation. He wasn’t sure.

+Draus,+ he said. +Going to end the session. Things will probably hurt.+

Her indifference was felt before she spoke. +Leave it on if you wanna. It ain’t no bother to me.+

She wasn’t boasting. But still, something in him thought it best that she possess full awareness in case a rapid response was needed.

As his cage was slotted into the wall and locked tight with a click of fusing bones, Avo waited for something to happen. If there was one thing better about Mirrorhead’s grafters, it was that pain with them was a direct affair.

Now, Avo felt–

He felt something pass through the blackness and worm into his skin. It was a tickle, followed by a piercing sting, but something was undoubtedly moving in his blood, in his body. Several more stings followed, their spread multiplying by the second. In moments, no part of his flesh felt unblemished, and deep along the weight of his bones, he was beginning to feel something build.

Then, nothingness. Just a sense of static.

Avo frowned.

Then the stings returned blooming as he suddenly felt something building inside him, spreading like gulfs between his flesh.

There it was. Pain. Pain in the part of shedding flesh.

Whatever had slid inside him was being grown outward from within. His bones and Celerostylus would be laced first, but the rest of his meat, his muscle would have to give.

In the darkness of the cage, Avo heeded Ruveca’s words and studied the symphony of his own hurt, feeling new shapes begin to take form.