Godclads

Chapter 9-19 Embodiment

Dagger-3: Holy shit! We got them! I think we nulled them! I felt that half-strand burst apart. Pieces broke apart everywhere! Fuck were they fast… What was that shit? I never seen anyone sequence so fucking fast before–

Dagger-1: Dagger-2: Status.

Dagger-2: Wha-? Where–Is it–are they–

Dagger-1: Dagger-2, you are relieved. Rotate out.

Dagger-2: I can–I can

Dagger-1: Dagger-2, rotate out. I’ve already informed Convex. You did good. You did enough.

Dagger-3: Yeah, consang. Didn’t get nulled on your first real dive. Guess that makes you a real Necro now, huh? [recording marked for deletion]

Dagger-1: Dagger-3, return to the playground. Keep your eyes on the Nether. There might be more than one.

Dagger-3: Jaus, I sure as fuck hope not. Hey, what about that Chambers half-strand. We know he’s the attack vector. Can I null him now?

Dagger-1: Negative. He stays alive. We need to see what mem-data we can pull from his mind. The memories might tell us something.

Dagger-3: Great. Guess I’m on rash duty now.

[UNIDENTIFIED] MIND DETECTED

-Incubi Strike Cell “Swordfisher”

9-19

Embodiment

Getting nulled stung worse when you were a Necro. The cut that shame inflicted was not deep, but it gnawed, a mark that you were less than what you assumed you were.

Or that you were a fool, drunk on the nectar of your own power, seeking to replicate the thrill of the hunt against gloried adversaries.

In retrospect, the trap was obvious. No Necro flees by reeling back to their session–they just jack out.

Avo had imagined himself the apex predator of the Nether then, jaws unhinging to swallow big game. True enough to the metaphor, being a predator did not make one a hunter, and like a warg charging after a nu-dog, he found himself led toward a pit pre-dug to suit his demise.

In the depths of his Soul, he sulked, contemplating his mistake. How ghoul-like of him. How base. Such a display shamed all his mastery shamed all that Walton had taught him.

Or given him.

The nature of his origins taunted him. No longer did the affirmation that he claimed his own skill remain. If he were to be honest, it would not be improper to see himself as more construct than person, patchwork traits woven by a pseudo-immortal unmade by the regret of eons.

What then remained that was truly his merit? Was there any touch of the original to him–any touch of his individuality?

Did it matter?

At such thoughts the Woundshaper roused. Fused around his Soul, he watched it construct a dozen limbs from a fluid sprawl of arteries, flooding into shape at the end to spread open palms in supplication to the Frame’s fathomless expanse stretching around them. Atop the spire, where the gleaming touch of luminance reigned, light sprinkled down, enshrining the Heaven in a portrayal most divine.

“All are imitations.” The Woundshaper closed its palms and made fists that stretched forward to become blades then hammers. “From the totality of the tapestry, everything is derived. One can only claim to be an orphan of mixed birth. A synthesis of previously unspliced sequences and nothing more.”

“Saying I’m just derivative?” Avo asked. The Heaven didn’t harbor any urge toward comforting him, nor did he want to be assuaged. Neither of them were creatures so human, but in him, the former bloodmother seemed to sense a concept it wished to illuminate.

Perhaps, though chained to his will, it still sought to exert a measure of the divine influence it once held. As he could command it to reshape the world, so too could it whittle away stray studs in his minds construct using the whetstone of concept and thought.

In the end, were they not all sculptures of self-perception?

“Look beyond your apprehension of what you were, and behold all that you could be. As much as we desire to shape ourselves, the truth is the tapestry has long usurped our will; we come pre-shaped to task and tribulation.”

“You’re saying everything is fated?”

“An ephermal’s perspective. Heed me well and consider abandoning such thoughts, if I might propose. The root of nature is thus: the future is born enslaved.”“Hm. Could choose not to obey nature. Defy. Choose different.”

A note of genuine pity rang out from the former god. That, of all things, drove Avo to hate it a little bit more. “Master… master… is the choice of deliberate defiance any less predictable than submission? It is just an inclination of thought paired with the availability of circumstance. Nothing more.”

“And what of us?” Avo asked. “We’re slaves too?”

“No. We are the firmament that holds the sky. We are those that escaped. Until reality learns to cage its own organs, we are the concrete of the roads; the marble of the pillars. Absolute to the relative. The breaking of your mind should be considered a fortuitous thing: the iron from this folly will linger, and shield you in your path.”“Path…” Avo paused. His path to eating Mirrorhead. To slaughtering Conflux. To uncover what the Incubi–and whoever the benefactor truly is. And even understanding Zein, in all her madness. Through these journeys, he had come to know power, and vast did it broaden his appetites.

“Chase pleasure and reap purgatory,” the Woundshaper cautioned. “Deny it and be blind to how your chisel falls upon the self. Believe my words on this master: I was shaped by worship, but no hand holds the crafting of your true design. More unchained than I, you can seek whatever embodiment you eventually wish to become, and I, with you, will taste glories yet fathomed by those born of miracle or mundanity.”

The light of his Soul spilled inward again. The pull of resurrection was upon him.

Yet, as Avo made his ascent back into existence, a concept rose with him.

Embodiment.

RESURRECTION - 100%

His awareness manifested first in the flowing blood taken from the helios, and through its coursing path, threaded himself back into his unmoving body, consciousness mantling the vessel through the tunnel of a Heaven.

As sight, perception, and sound returned, his body shivered on a tangle of Echoheads as he once again nested in life’s embrace.

He had been placed–and then–nulled in a nexus-shaped Necrojack chair, and from there, he found Draus standing over him, her arms folded, face flat with a knowing look.

“Incubi?” Draus said.

“Incubi,” Avo growled.

His Frame reuploaded his being back into reality absent any leftover traumas. Considering the unique sequences derived from each individual ghost and the way Essence detached from a person, it seemed doubtful he was an archive of minds being uploaded each time. It seemed the Frame intrinsically knew what was considered “damage” and what was something regarded as baseline. The fact it continued to keep his new implants was a testament to that.

“As I told you, master,” the Woundshaper reminded, “we are the shapers of ourselves. You choose the embodiment.”

“Get any of ‘em before they nulled you this time?” Draus asked.

Avo tested a leg out and stood. He rose past her, but her eyes didn’t follow him up. She simply took a step back and gave him room as he grumbled, “Still just one.”

She punched his lower arm with a loose hammer of a hand. A note of commiseration chimed in her voice. “One’s more than most of us’ll ever get. What the hells happened?”

That drove a grunt of annoyance out from Avo. “Good question.”

He told her what he encountered, with Mirrorhead and the yet-confirmed benefactor, with the Incubi occupying the Nether, with the mem-cons subverting Conflux’s loci.

Chambers was still alive. For now. Thinking like a Necrojack, they were likely using him as a chokepoint. Flicking a glance at the man’s mem-data, Avo saw he was still sporting a skull-splitting headache from the brief skirmish that occurred within his mind but was otherwise fine.

Again, Chambers’ resilience against even partial nullings continued to pry at Avo’s interest. He would never say he was impressed with the enforcer, because impressed wasn’t the best word to use. Say, someone managed to create a replica of New Vultun via shitting and clenching the pre-molded shapes with their sphincter. What would you call that?

Eccentric.

That was better.

As he cast her some of the sequences and memories of his last two dives, the darkness of a frown built over Draus’ face. “And you said you said they was usin’ Incubui wards?”

“Yes. Tried to fake it as something made by Sanctus. In a Stormtree establishment.”

“Any chance it could be a freelance Necrojack running the ghost-makes?”

“Could. Risky. Would be like wearing the scalp of a dead Reg on your hip. A statement of prowess to most. But a challenge to those used as sacrifice to feed your status.”

Her lips thinned at his comparison. The sacrilege pushed the edge well past the skin of her nonchalance. Made it easier to conceptualize. “Yeah. I got that.” She let out a sharp breath from her nostrils, gaze dipping momentarily. “Well. I’ll put good odds on the ‘benefactor’ being a Silver. It ain’t like the Incubi to turn tail and leave the pie uneaten. Not after just one loss. From what they said, seems more like they want to put a wall between Greatlings here. Tryin’ to force a play.”

The possibility she portrayed was possible, but it was a strange act, revealing the presence of one’s supposed allies to feed the purpose of greater subterfuge. “Mirrorhead knows about the Incubi now. Will be hunting them.”

The Regular snorted, her eyes rolling as if she didn’t believe him. “Yeah. Or he’ll be paranoid, and he’ll be pushed into a mistake. Jhred Greatling’s a half-strand fool of a child despite all the imps mommy and daddy threw at his genes. He ain’t gonna be diggin’ no Incubi out of the Nether. Shit. He didn’t even see you comin’.”

And now the blade of comparison cleaved back. Avo glowered at Draus, now suddenly sporting a considerate grin. “I dove into his mind. Incubi do that?”

“Maybe they didn’t wanna,” Draus said. “Hells. Maybe they couldn’t, but as the score goes, you're one-one for nulls, and we just lost most our Nether control with them holding most the loci.”

“And the enforcers,” Avo said. “Each one is likely rigged now. Minds are traps. They’ll blow them if they suspect a dive.”

“That’s how they got you, ain’t it?”

He growled. Draus needed to be more focused. She spent too much time fixated on trivialities. “Need to consider approach. Currently only have Mirrorhead. Chambers is compromised. Essus is likely mined. Conflux Necros tagged with mem-cons but…”

“But you won’t be able to use them?” Draus asked.

“No," Avo said. “Mem-cons designed to corrupt. Null if needed. Lacks guiding will. Needs direction to know what to build. What sequences to use and hide in.”

“Then, maybe we might wanna consider a more direct approach to our subversion.” He knew what Draus’ suggestion entailed: The vulnerabilities revealed by Chambers weeks ago. The Blockcrawler. The areas quarantined off by leftover mem-cons from the war. “Say we hit ‘em. The hells with what Zein wants. The hells with whatever game is bein’ played over our heads. Say we go in hard and fast, and we set ourselves on snuffing ever last fuckin’ half-strand in the block. You think on that.”

He could not deny the allure of her words. More than merely playing to the arousal of the creature that he was, it would be a succulent transcendent experience. The massacre played out in his mind, scenes of reverie. Outliving most his brethren yet the promised feast remained beyond his grasp since the day of the Uprising, the time a blur in his infancy.

Now, with means and will, a new dish awaited his sampling.

No need to fret over the Guilds and their games. No need to consider the wants of another like Zein–an act he felt she might encourage by philosophy, even at odds with her desires. To slaughter thousands upon thousands at his own hand, peeling from them their flesh, ghosts, Essence and all would be bloodshed supreme.

And to end all that on the dessert of breaking Mirrorhead? Of stripping his Frame and Soul both?

A low hiss snaked free from Avo. Yes. This was pleasure absolute. He could not deny. Turning, he looked upon the thrones of the Low Masters, and he considered what his father wanted for him.

To taste the colors of life. To be what he wanted to be.

But want was not to be fulfilled so simply. Much still stood in the way of such an action. Zein claimed she would devise a means of stealing the Paladin’s attention, but reliance on her word alone struck Avo as unwise. More than the Paladins, however, was the matter of Ori-Thaum. It would not do to reveal his presence to them, to betray his presence to an entire Guild. An entire Guild that built the pillars of their power on mastering the Nether.

A thought needled Avo, and he recoiled internally.

He had a solution for the Incubi. He was simply avoiding it.

Ever since his experience in Deep Bazaar, he had avoided diving into himself. Modifying his Metamind further.

Excuses rose. He stripped himself of them before they could settle. It was dread. Dread halting him from delving into his own mind. Dread at beholding the missing block at the center of his person. Dread reminding himself how he had been so forcibly bent by another.

Ghouls were not humans. Not fully. But Avo could yearn. He could hope and fear. And more than anything, he feared degeneration. He feared the scaffolding of his sophancy collapsing, sending him toppling into the subhumanity exhibited by his brothers.

He feared that when the fullness of what his father did to him was revealed, the last structures holding his self-perception would be snuffed, like a wind blowing out the candle of his awareness, leaving only embers to remember what once was.

The nulling changed that. The fact he returned to existence after the breaking of his mind, the fact that his thoughts remained, continued, changed, evolved. All these were signs of continual personhood. And personhood could be changed. Bent.

Augmented.

Even if something in him broke, he had the cure within himself, and its name was death.

“I have a solution,” Avo said, finally breaking the silence between them. “To deal with the Incubi. I’m going back in. No half measures. No surprises. This ends with death. No survivors. No intact minds. No Ori-Thaum. Not Conflux. Not anyone involved.”

“Gonna do it through Chambers again?” Draus asked.

“No,” Avo grinned. “Mirrorhead could use some help cleaning his home. Going to give him something to chase. Enforcers corrupted. Home compromised. Benefactor planted a seed. Time to make it grow.”

The thrill offered by his words was contagious, glinting fire kindling in her eyes as well. “You’re gonna use him to draw their fire, aren’t you? Send him out and at ‘em from another angle.”

“Yes,” Avo said. “No more confusion. No more deception. Won’t stay nulled. They’re not prepared. Run them down. Take the Nether. My ocean. My domain. Not theirs. But first…”

Draus looked at him, anticipating his next words.

“Draus. If I null myself. Kill me.”

At that, she gave him a light shrug. “That’s been my job these days. What’re you plannin’?”

He steeled himself for the next dive. “Some improvements.”