Godclads

Chapter 9-11 Poisoned Bait

+Jhred. Jhred! Sync-up, you half-strand. It’s Abrel. You’re out of time. I’ve stalled dad as much as I can, but it’s over.

Whatever you’re doing, you might wanna consider getting it done now, because my new orders just came in and you’re not going to like them.

Listen… I know you’re still stuck on mom but… this is done. Alright? You gotta face it: I mean–can you even remember her? After we had our memories censored? It just…

Fine. Alright. The sister act probably doesn’t do much for you anyway. Well then. Time for the other thing.

Jhred Greatling, for negligence to your duties and utter disregard of your better’s commands, I, Instrument Abrel Greatling have been charged with your retrieval.

Submit and comply, or stand and deliver.

Blessed be the Worthy.+

-Instrument Abrel Greatling to her brother, former Instrument Jhred Greatling

9-11

Mirrorhead was a fool.

Eccentric as Chambers’ mind was, he was still but a human. An ephemeral in the words of the Woundshaper. Without adequate protection, for a creature of material reality to gaze upon the eldritch would be akin to lungs inhaling smoke rising from a conflagration.

As Avo worked furiously to mend the fraying mind, he noticed how he didn’t feel so affected himself. There was still distortions and lulls in thought when he found himself faced with the immensity of the Twice-Walker, but with the growth of his Soul and the broadening of his mind, no longer did Mirrorhead’s Heaven seem quite so unnatural, quite so overwhelming.

How easily was one conditioned to madness when they imbibed power from similar sources?

Still, that was something to consider later. A building tolerance to revel in; a thing to investigate.

For now, he needed to keep Chambers intact in ego and sanity. The enforcer was still needed to serve as an infection vector. Avo didn’t know if Mirrorhead was merely determined to feed his ego or if there was a genuine point to this vulgar exposure of a Heaven to a mortal.

“Such is hubris,” the Woundshaper said, breaking it's silence within Avo. It had been countless hours since the former god talked. Occupied by the allure of its reflection in its balancing Hell, it had manifested an inhuman narcissism, glorying in burgeoning growth. “The call is too strong for the boy. You need not imagine this to understand: you broke from the calculated path yourself to free those slaves. Did you not indulge in the tastes of their minds as they butchered the captives you offered them? That is the nature of entombing the absolute in the relative: The encompassing nature of our power must be expressed.”

Or so the Woundshaper claimed.

Born a High Guilder, there wasn’t much hope for humility in the Syndicate boss anyhow.

Camouflaged by debris of memory, Avo resequenced fracturing strands using his Ghostjack, overwriting the paths where trauma flowed, choking the damage before it could sink too deep.

Playing a circumspect game, he could only mend what was broken in the depths of Chambers’ mind. Some of his carefully laid phantasmics were certainly broken now. Just as well. He never expected to be able to snare someone like Mirrorhead with meager traps.

It wouldn’t have satisfied Avo either. As he had had confessed to himself more than once, it would be a sublime pleasure to feel the other Godclad come apart. Between his claws he would savage Mirrorhead, to rend his vessel, severe the stitchings of his mind, and drink the shine from Mirrorhead’s very Soul.

Patience. That would ensure his moment. His chance to strike.

+How’s it lookin’?+ Draus asked, her mind nested inside his instead of Chambers. The rattling of his wards probably caught her notice.

+Hm,+ Avo said. Peeking out at the design of the Twice-Walker again via Chambers’ fragmented thoughts. His Soul quavered. The beast hissed with near-salacious delight imagining the bloodlust it would soon get to unleash after devouring such a harvest. +Delicious.+

+Jaus,+ Draus sighed. +Don’t know why I asked. I’m surrounded by godsdamned freaks.+

***

“Huh, ha, hmm?” Chambers half-drooled, half-spoke. Coherence returned to him like severed wires jiggling back into contact, the surge of clarity there and lost again. During moments of lucidity, he could see the thing touched with the boss’ voice slide around this weird dimension, its position skipping between fractals and reflections as if everything that captured its visage was a portal.

The damage it inflicted lessened when it circled behind him. Not seeing it felt immediately like someone taking their boot off a mental-wound, but still, even as the pain diminished to somethign more manageable, the hurt was still there, still throbbing.

Chambers chuckled to himself. Throbbing. He liked that word. He knew a lot of things that were throbbing. Wait… when did he activate that Dannis Hardsteel vicarity?

+Chambers,+ Mirrorhead’s distant voice cleaved the straying though from Chambers’ mind. Attention was forced onto the conversation. Chambers hated paying attention. +Did you hear me? Turn. It. Off.+

Opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, it took time for the words spoken to him to process. Each syllable cast into his mind was closer to a dagger plunging into the depression left by an open wound, the meat there only barely beginning to heal.

By the time Chambers’ realized what was being ordered of him, however, he found that the vicarity had already been closed, and that the caustic fog eating away at his thoughts had suddenly parted. Like someone drained it out of his mind.

Chambers chuckled. Gleam. His mind must’ve been mem-matter hard. Unbreakable. Maybe he should have been a Reg–

The colossal aberration sliced its way back into sight, scouring Chambers’ mind anew as he noticed it creeping toward him from the corner of his eyes.

“Nope,” he croaked, the words tumbling out from his liquefying thoughts. Internal and external dialogue grew confusing. Hidden desires found themselves imbued with words. “Nope. Can’t be a Reg. Reality sucks. The ghouls out here don’t do bo-bon-bondage!”

The eldritch titan halted in place. Between flashes when his mind could still process images, he thought it had tilted slightly, all three of its enormous eyes narrowing into judgmental slits.

Another force tore into him from the side. He realized then that the flat end of a fractal was pushing him toward the monster. Chambers opened his mouth to scream, his trauma worsening as he inched closer, the monstrosity stretching to become an unnatural reflection, an animated portrait aping his worsening trauma.

As he struck his reflection, both versions of Chambers collided. And one fell down through the ceiling on the other side, tumbling into the light, bouncing off a pellucid desk as he rolled against the cool touch of glass smacking his senses.

For moments after, Chambers could but groan. Pawing at the ground, his body ached, right ribs thrumming now as he felt a bruise forming. Surprisingly, his mind came back together, and melded toward a semblance of its pre-ordeal haleness.

He nodded to himself. Maybe all the messed up rash-smut he was watching had made him immune to near-nulling. Maybe he was different in body and will. Or maybe he was just too stupid to stay hurt.

Being mind-damaged took memory too, right? Could be that he just… forgot about being traumatized. Yeah. Sounded about right.

“I… I am the ultimate idiot,” Chambers said, the words spilling out from his mouth before he could catch them. He snorted. He laughed. A cold wind wafted like a river of tiny daggers, carving numbness into his skin.

He shivered.

“Get up,” Mirrorhead said. “I grow tired of your debasement. Beyond your… many indignities, I dare say you handled the presence of my power quite well. Much better than expected. Never pegged you for a man of fortitude, but I suppose we all surprise ourselves sometimes.”

Crawling with muscles taut and buttcheeks clenched, Chambers turned, following the source of Mirrorhead’s voice. The edge of a gleaming desk blocked the face of his boss from sight, but Chambers could still see the hyper-detailed, hyper-expensive, hyper-whatever-the-fuck-else formal slacks the man wore.

That, and those goofy-ass black and white shoes. Like, everything up until the shoes was fun, but then the man decided to go full half-strand and complete the dipshit aesthetic. People got it: he was the face of Conflux. But he didn’t need to literally start wearing its themes–that was like getting a hap-tat.

Only poor people and half-strands got hap-tats, and if you were poor and a half-strand, that made you a refugee.

Ain’t no way Chambers was going to take an order from a refugee. You know what? For making him think that, he was going to wait another half second before getting up. There. A true act of spite.

He covered a grin with a grimace as he deliberately exaggerated his condition, making groaning noises. Yeah. There was nothing quite like making someone else wait on you. This wasn’t him being petty, this was him exercising what little power he had. Even if that was pure annoyance. Besides, he got thrown through the ceiling, right? He hurt.

Rising with gritted teeth, Chambers contorted award-winning performances out from his facial muscles. Was it all pointless histrionics? No. There was technique here. Artistry even. You moan and groan too much, it’s not believable. There needed to be a rhythm, face weaving through different stages of hurt as the associated “damages” were affected. Case in point: he ended on an expression that Danni Steelhard once called “oh, no I’ve fuckin’ prolapsed!” This is a face for a climatic moment when the expresser finally realizes just how hurt they actually are.

Chambers was no smut star. Though he could’ve been. Another and another life, maybe. But, he did have a feeling for this sort of thing. A killer instinct. A performance few could see through, he’d say. Mirrorhead was sure to let off him after this.

“Chambers. Sit down, stop making those faces, or I will fully break the slightly bruised ribs you’re holding.” The threat rumbled like a bass-toned omen. Chambers could feel the vibration shaking in his very bones.

Dammit. Mirrorhead was a real rust; a half-strand of the highest order, but the fucker had a nice voice.

LUSTAWAY ACTIVATED

TRANSFERRING PHYSICAL AROUSAL INTO METAMIND…

If the boss noticed that, he didn’t respond.

The seat was a small glass barrel, in front of glass table, atop which there were two glass cups and an ambrosia decanter. They were surrounded on all sides by glass walls and Mirrorhead had a glass face.

Glassglassglassglassglass.

Fucking… Chambers took it back.

The boss didn’t have a theme; this was a fetish.

***

+There. Jumped position,+ Avo said. Well. That least that was something confirmed. The current DeepNav position for Chambers had him still at Mazzo’s Junction–but far, far below even the gutters itself.

Chambers jumped ten miles in an instant. The moment he went through the glass, the DeepNav stopped functioning, the ghost unable to reference their positions, or interface with any other networks. However, as soon as they emerged on the other side, the links were re-established.

Sloppy of Mirrorhead to allow this to happen. Too sloppy. Arrogance was an unbecoming trait.

Avo frowned. He was guilty of the same thing: Zein had assisted in the acquisition of his new sanctuary, but using him, she also managed to infiltrate its confines and connect to the hive.

He needed to do a deep sweep of the EGI Core later. And himself.

Weaving another few memories back into the fabric of Chambers’ subconsciousness, Avo bided his time and waited.

+Gonna try jackin’ into him now?+ Draus asked. He could feel her anticipation as well, their prey in sight, but beyond physical grasp.

+Soon,+ Avo said. +Need him to directly reach into Chambers’ mind first.+

+And you sure he’s gonna do that?+

No.But even if Mirrorhead didn’t do it of his own volition, Avo had ways of forcing it. Chambers was expendable, after all. +Probably. Have something special just waiting for him.+

***

“I always despised the Scalpers,” Mirrorhead said. “For that, you have my sympathy. Surviving them must’ve been quite the ordeal.”

Chambers tried not to shuffle so much while the Godclad spoke, but damn was the chill hell on his ass and personal nether regions. What the fuck was wrong with a leather chair? What the fuck made their guests sit on a squat barrel naked while getting a nice glass throne all to themselves.

“Well,” Chamber said, opening his mouth to speak.

The glass beneath his arm cracked. A low whine of something approached. Something drifted through the depths of the desk’s reflection. He went very, very still.

“I was not done.” Mirrorhead reached over and poured himself a drink. The other glass stayed empty; no offer to share was made toward Chambers. The Syndicate boss poured the glowing honey that was ambrosia into his gleaming face as the enforcer just swallowed and stared. “I said you had my sympathy. But now, I also suffer from another matter. One that I think you might be able to help me with. Can you guess what I want, Mr. Chambers?”

Mister? Uh-oh. Enforcer meant he was still working for Mirrorhead. And he didn’t think the man did severance packages… severance…

Was this about the cortex bomb?

“Listen, boss,” Chambers said, face tight with turmoil, “they hit us without warning. Like they knew exactly where we were. I didn’t even get a chance to fight but–but you know what? Even as all ten of them broke into our capsule, Chambers went down swinging. Not like that fuckin’ coward Janand. He bent over and just gave up. Hid behind uh… whatever her name was. I think you should check him, actually. Afterward, of course. At your own pace, boss. I mean. Only if you want.”

“That wasn’t an answer, Chambers,” Mirrorhead replied.

Oh did it get hard to breathe then. Fading away tempted, but some vague flicker of sense was screaming inside him, howling at him with violence and annoyance, telling him to keep his vicarities off. If only for now. Hm. His mind might be more damaged than he thought: His inner voice sure sounded a lot like Avo.

Rest in oblivion rotlick. Can’t be hurt no more in the nothing.

“Is it about the bomb?” Chambers asked. “‘Cause, they took that out of us pretty early. Made sure we were clean and all that other jazz. So we could be sold, you know.”

“Do I know that?” Mirrorhead considered. “You know… It takes a particular delicateness to disable a cortex bomb. The manufacturer promised me its more… circumspect specs. Like being able to detonate when the host was in danger. Tell me, did they disable your rig beforehand? The machinery?”

“I, uh.” Chamber swallowed. “I can’t recall?”

“Can’t recall,” Mirrorhead said, shaking his head. “A shame, Chambers. A real shame. You know, my father… he would call this an excuse. He’s a very outcome-oriented man. And a fool. I appreciate process. The journey, if you will. I find that tells us much about future success–but more importantly, the truth. So, I will give you the courtesy of another answer: Are you lying to me, Chambers?”

Blood tore through Chambers’ veins like corkscrews, each heartbeat twisting voice-choking torture. He couldn’t breathe. The room was spinning. His muscles shriveled, dry of strength. A pit of discomfort yawned and closed in his gut.

Inside the depths of his mind, only one voice rose through the clamor of his rising panic.

Dear dead Avo was telling him to deny it. To fight on and stick with the story.

Well, he didn’t have a better idea of his own.

“No, bossman,” Chambers said, throwing in a chuckle and praying his cold sweat would be left unnoticed. “I mean… would I really have the nerve.”

Terrified, an unwilling squeal of laughter came out from Chambers. Ohshit! Ah, hells. Too late. The only way back was to keep going forward. He spat another laugh, its note equally shrill, but infinitely more forced.

A few moments passed. Silence slid across Chambers’ throat like a dagger. The temperature in the room grew colder, harsher. All that was flesh shivered. All that was glass served a judging reflection, threatening a lurking beast.

Then, Mirrorhead grunted. No. He laughed. He laughed! The note was brief and low but Chambers was sure it was a laugh.

Yes! He should have never doubted himself! Never doubted the Avo in his mind! He had the charm and the idiocy to protect himself. He just had to believe and focus. That’s how dreams got manifested.

“It’s strange, you know?” Mirrorhead said. “I really don’t think your lying. I really think you think you’re telling the truth.”

Chambers nodded vigorously, a trickle of snot spilling free from his nostrils. “That’s cause I am, boss, I am.”

“Sure. I believe you,” Mirrorhead said.

The euphoria Chambers felt at that moment was overwhelming. He saved himself… he wasn’t going to die… he was gonna live forever! Aedon Chambers was invincible! He exhaled a shudder of a breath, pure relief wheezing out of him.

But Mirrorhead spoke again. And this time, the relief lodged itself halfway out from his body. “Of course, you’ve been missing a while, Chambers. You know how jacks are. Very unpleasant business.” The Syndicate boss took another drink. “I said I trust you. I can taste the fear from you. No one I have is that much of a fool to lie to me. But the game isn’t played that way. And we both know that lies run deeper than intent, don’t we?”

No. Chambers, in fact, did not understand what Mirrorhead was insinuating.

He figured it out quickly when a screaming torrent of ghosts burst out through the glass of Mirrorhead’s face and tore through his surface thoughts.

The assault was like a drill dug in and implanted prying fingers, the ghosts poking open wounds left in Chambers’ mind, tearing open clefts of thought. A violating will streame dinto the enforcer, the boiling perception of the Godclad spreading deeper and deeper, like cancer eating away at flesh.

As Chambers’ sense of self narrowed to a pinprick, he thought he felt something else resonate inside him as well.

It was a feeling. Of pleasure. Of triumph. Of satisfaction.

It was how someone might feel watching a hated foe wander into a well-laid trap.