Godclads

And thus it comes,

The leviathan of time.

A beast crafted to mend time through sin.

For the work is undone.

For the cursed blood is ripe.

To be plucked.

To be formed.

To reach into that which is no longer—

And reforge what wasn’t from what now is.

32-22

Mantle

—[Zein Thousandhand]—

Zein woke, and found herself falling.

Flames tickled at her skin, but they did not sting. Noise screamed at her ears, yet they did not deafen. Sensation filled her mind and a thundering force filled her chest, yet she was not disturbed. Zein was as if comet descending, blessed with purpose as soon as her consciousness ignited.

She had been taken from unworthy sculptors. Unworthy hands. Now, she was free. No… set free in a walled purgatory shaped from flame and memory and Soulstuff.

Ah. So, here she was. Within the Burning Dreamer himself, this version of her consumed at last.

Oh, the ignobility of defeat, and the bitter tang of betrayal. Zein sighed as she turned mid-fall, her eyes greeting the approaching horizon for the first time. A cityscape embroiled in nigh-constant violence greeted her. It resembled the district of Tallstrings before the Infacer decided to render it into a vacant lot. Bodies were thrown from skyscrapers while aeros crashed into drones.

People died and returned, and died again. Oddly, some seemed to be sitting inside the buildings. Zein caught sight of a few just sitting on the edge of megablocks with drinks in hand with a fire at their feet. There were spectators here too. So people were forced to violence.

How curious.

The ground came at her faster. A sound screamed to her right—aero approaching at violent speed.

Zein didn’t think. She simply reacted. The cut she painted as honed into her very being, and as she brought her hand down, a glaive simply came to being in her hand—for she wasn’t quite herself without one.

Nearly five tons of fast-moving metal, plastic, and glass came split into two. The driver let out a choked cry that ended in a gurgle as Zein twirled her blade through their neck before the vehicle could fully pass. Part of the aero scrapped off the side of a nearby building, sending sparks flying through the air. Zein responded by jamming her glaive into the structure itself, using it to stall her descent.

A lurch of pressure pulled at her augmented limbs, but her joints held and her muscles barely strained. After a few more moments, Zein found herself mere meters above the ground. Meters from a mob of Scaarthians and Kosgans laying in a pile, so many of them sobbing, others staring blankly at the sky, a few chuckling, their laughter the tone of mind-broken madness.

Zein crashed down and followed their gazes up to the sky. There, far above, she saw the firmament and breathed.

The sky was ablaze, rippling with Soulfire and ethereal lightning. Ghosts wove the shape of existence together, creating more sections of the city—new places to see and explore. They circulated through everything, through Zein herself. No, it was more like they simulated her very existence.

Consumed. There was no doubt to her final fate now.

Another meteor passed through the clouds, this one bearing a girlish shriek. A shriek she vaguely recognized. Osjane Thousand. The poor, lost child shot over the point where Zein landed, and slammed back first against the edge of a distant building. Zein snorted, amused at the lack of skill.

“What an interesting way to land,” she muttered to herself. Truly, Highflame produces the finest recruits. Looking up again, Zein held out her hand. “I must admit, I did not expect you to keep me. I never thought you cared for me, Plague. You have my precious disciple, after all. What need you from an old woman.”

The fires above roiled and twisted, moving more like a stirred film of oil laying upon steaming soup. “Don’t take things personally. Not that much anymore. Can’t afford to give up any advantage either. And Naeko would be lonely. Already terrorized most the other citizens here. No one can fight him properly.”

Naeko. Yes. He was burned too. There was another thing to look forward to here: a long reunion. A proper reunion.

A loud crack sounded behind her. Zein went still, and turned slowly, cocking her head at the one she most expected. There, standing in his mortal sheathe and with a gore-splattered spinal column wrapped around his fist was Samir Naeko. Her disciple. Her dear boy. He stared at her, face a storm cloud of suppressed emotions. His lip quivered something between a sneer, a frown, and a smile.

“Master,” he greeted.

“Naeko,” Zein breathed. “Come to see me again so soon.”

“No one else here makes for good killing,” Naeko replied dryly.

One of the Kosgans in the misery pile lifted their head slightly before they groaned. “Please don’t pull my intestines out again.”

“Wasn’t talking to you,” Naeko growled.

The distinct smell of several people relieving themselves followed.

“Hm. I see. What paltry company the ghoul has left for you. This will not do.” Zein planted her glaive in the ground. “This will not do at all.” She judged Naeko, studying the stillness of his body, the harshness of his gaze. “Come, then. The pretend fight we had earlier is over. The silliness with godhood has ended. Let us greet each other properly. I want to see how much of my teachings you still retain.”

Naeko wrapped his fingers around his Scaarthian spine. “I haven’t forgotten what you taught me. Or what you did. I have forgotten anything.”

Then, Naeko advanced, and a grin found its way back on Zein’s features.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

—[Avo, The Hidden Flame]—

TEMPLATE OBTAINED — ZEIN THOUSANDHAND: THE GLAIVE THAT WILL ALWAYS BE [EST. 900,000,000] (DUELS/CHRONOLOGY/WAR/GLAIVE…)

While one template of master and student got reacquainted within, another Zein passed before Avo’s eyes—her Frame and thaums claimed for future use—and the Sage rushed toward a distant tear lining a wide chasm in the Substance. Within the Heaven of Peace were a few thousand forces, the core of which consisted of fifty surviving golems, twelve lesser Godclads, and almost no infantry at all.

Fractals of gold now swam in Avo’s flame. Akusande was not bound to him, merged to his ontology as a passenger in this great migration out from the inside of the Substance.

Beyond this place, Avo could sense movement. Lots of movement. Heavy ontological signatures moved to secure ruptures, to seal the many opening gaps spreading through the Substance. It would take a considerable effort on the part of the Guilds to control this—another point in Avo’s favor since he wanted to delay the war.

Furthermore, he now had openings he could use. No one else could traverse the ruptures like him.

Other than himself of course.

Hm. Best make some traps to ward off his original self and Veylis when the time came. This would be useful against most forces, but another Zein or a specialized pathborn might still be a problem.

Avo directed The Great Silence as best as he could without the Sage’s overwhelming might directing its ruptures, trying to keep the path clear for his final asset to escape. With the EGI cores infected with his Conflagration, there was no longer a need for Naeko to linger here.

Avo already had an anchor. But that didn’t mean sustaining himself was easy.

WHEREAREWEWHEREAREWEWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOU

Voices assailed him from within the Deep Ones. Voices belonging to the beings that the EGIs were piloting. When he started his consumption, he thought the EGIs were his prize. Now, as his flames spread further through each of the Deep Ones, he found his fascination shifting.

Most egos couldn’t even survive one resurrection at high Rend. It would shred them utterly, ruin them fundamentally beyond repair. Well, for most. If enough of the ego remained afterward, a skilled enough mender might be able to put enough of the broken pieces back together. A skilled mender, or just Avo.

Yet, the minds that occupied the Heavens composing Kill-Team Innsmouth were something else. Anomalous even to Avo. They were mutilated beyond belief, well past the point of madness, and holding together on tattered sequences. Yet, these paltry strings held for beyond eons, and the minds within still retained a sense of self through all these years. They were, in effect, post-consciousnesses to Avo, transcending functionality and existing despite their damage.

As he merged with them, their pain and torment flooded him, redefining what he understood to be suffering, but at the same time, he felt himself slowly sinking alongside them, the consumption of their mangled memories inoculating him against the sea of ruptures that now composed his sanctuary.

One could exist in destruction. Stormtree’s ideal could be realized, yet the cost was high. One needed to be more than human in consciousness. More than what even Avo understood right now.

SEQUENCING DEEP ONE COGNITIONS…

PENDING…

ESTIMATED TIME TO COMPLETION: [13,114 YEARS, 31414 MONTHS, 31 DAYS, 4 MINUTES, 15 SECONDS]

Avo winced. Too long. All of this took too long. He needed to find a way to get even more cognitive capacity. Far more.

GHOSTS - [713,114]

AVO winced a second time, then. Zein’s blow had hurt him far more than he even realized. He thought he only lost a third of himself, was too consumed by battle to check, but this… so much of himself broken and destroyed by her blade of trauma.

{S-strix.} A crackling thoughtcast drew Avo’s attention beyond the Great Silence. There, in depths of roiling chaos spreading around him, he saw the Weaver tumbling by, bound to him by tendrils of mind-flame. The Trinary Melody was also ablaze, a burning note imprinted on the tapestry of chaos that consumed this world.

The one of them yet to burn was the only one that still had a functional EGI core.

YET THE SEA-STRUCK MOUNTAIN LAUGHS (RUPTURE OF POETRY/PHILOSOPHY/WAR/VENGEANCE…)

“Hm. Wasn’t ignoring you. Was just distracted. Lot to process. Not enough processing power. Should have all the time in the world now. Just you and me. Can talk.”

{I fear things are not as op-optimistic as you imagine.} The smiling mountain twitched before Avo. The rivers that circulated around it stuttered in place. {I will not be able to maintain my functionality for long. My architecture was not designed to survive such deleterious conditions.}

That gave Avo pause. “Interesting. Voidwatch deployed you as an expendable asset? Can sense pieces of Calvino in you. Only as well.”

{They provided the base data. B-but when you consume my structure, you will see I was not designed for longevity. Nor do I house any useful m-memories for you to exploit.}

The Hidden Flame hissed in annoyance. “Of course not. Why would they provide me with useful knowledge. Just the only one fighting the actual war here.”

{You already p-possess all the means to conduct a new front. We gave them to you. One of the many c-c-contingencies.}

Avo regarded Kill-Team Innsmouth again. “Gave them?”

{We were meant to support you in battle.}

“Trinary Melody nearly killed me. Several times.”n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

{Your survival was gauged at over 69.133% based on prior data.}

“Flattered. Glad it’s so high. Still don’t appreciate being nearly unmade.” His Conflagration branched out, reaching for the EGI. Before he burrowed into the Heaven they piloted, he felt an impact crash against the Sage. Someone was trying to strike Naeko down. Using physical blows. Hard matter. Lightning.

Poor fools.

At least the Sage was out. In some other part of the Substance. Through him, Avo would be able to spread again. Contaminate. Rebuild. Just like he did so many times before.

{You should s-s-subsume me now. My processing will provide you with v-valuable insights and heightened processing. You are already a metaphysical i-intelligence. This should just accelerate your developmental t-trajectory. Make you more capable of u-u-understanding the Infacer. Should shorten the timespan you’ll need to consume the other m-minds as well. Other minds f-f-for the Kill Team.}

Avo’s flames slipped closer. “Appreciate this. Won’t be going away. Will see you in another place. More experiences for you to sample.”

{I’m not human, Avo. There isn’t the need for comfort. We do not die as they do. They cannot choose to accept; chose who they want to be.}

That gave Avo a moment’s pause. “Correct. And it… saddens me. But…” His attention went to the Deep Ones, of the consciousness that were screaming inside them. “You came to me wearing screaming victims. Slaves. Didn’t appreciate that. Not at all.”

The EGI paused and shifted the topic slightly. {That is also part of the reason we brought them to you: Would you be interested in fixing them?}

Avo’s mind started turning. “Yes. Quite the plan. Outsourcing your atrocity to me.”

{That is what we minds do to each other, I fear.}

“We minds.”

{You are practically more like us than you are them.} Them being humanity. {But you are also different. A non-adversarial assimilator. One of near-reason. A dream. Perhaps together we can make right an ancient wrong.}

“Perhaps. But—” Once more, Avo felt his attention parted by another impact crashing against Naeko. A tide of lancing lightning and channeled trauma crashed into his palm. It folded around him like a cone as he descended, and Avo sensed a familiar pattern there—one he used so much before. “Hold on for a moment.”

{Not really anywhere for me to go.}

—[Naeko, The Sage of the Sundered Mind]—

Seconds after Naeko slipped out for a crack in the Substance, the first bolt of crimson lightning lashed him. The projectile shattered, but rather than break into pieces of solid matter, it smeared his mist with blood.

Naeko thought nothing of it as he brought his hand down. Pacifying a lesser district should be easy. But as he passed through the clouds, he saw an expansive citadel absolutely consumed by a growing city of sprawling crimson. A city that was now fused as part of the fallen Hungers with a Sang district.

There, at the heart of it all, weaving lightning and matter using a massive aura of crimson, was a towering spire that loomed over all others. A towering spire that screamed at Naeko impetously as he approached.

“FOUL INTRUDER! WHO DARES STEP IN THE REALM OF THE FORGE OF ALL LIFEBLOOD, THE MISTRESS OF HUNTRESSES, SHE WHO WAS NAMED SATHWU, SATHWULD, AND NOW CHRISTENED WOUNDMOTHER BY THE BURNING DREAMER, GOD OF GODS? BE THEE AWAY BEFORE YOU ARE UNMADE! THIS REALM IS MINE NOW! MINE! MINNNNNNNEEEE!”

Naeko’s descent slowed to turn a thought inward. “Hey, Avo—”

“I know. I felt them. This pleases me.” The ghoul let out a laugh. Not a creepy one for once, but something with actual affection. As much affection as a fucked up mind-eating monster could muster. “Go. Pat them on the spire for me. I wish to greet my first Heaven anew. Hm. Loss and gains. Everything moves in cycles.”

“So it does,” Akusande said, ringing within the blood. “And so it shall be.”

And against the Woundmother’s incessant stream of insults, Naeko slowly descended, making landfall.