Some of the primordial gods are… peculiar in their design. Oh! Let’s take Yoswanacht the Gum-Snatcher for instance. A very strange god made by the Scaarthians in worship of dentistry of all things. When we managed to stem its rupture and secure its Fallen Heaven, we found it only capable of manipulating enamel, regrowing teeth in specific types of flesh, and tearing said teeth back out using worm-like strings of floss.
Note: As with all things related to the Skuldvast, its approach to dentistry is quite violent. Another Neophyte made an unfortunate lapse in her precautions and was affected by a stray miracle. Alas, the strength Yoswanacht uses to extract teeth is more befitting of an organism bearing the strength and stature of a Scaarthian, so instead of just breaking the enamel free from her gums and out her cheeks, poor Aggna’s head was folded up the middle. We could have saved her if not for the bone lacing she received.
(Sigh) Poor careless Aggna.
More focused note! This stands as a firm reminder to all Agnosi. We must never underestimate power of the old gods. What is absolute will always be a threat no matter how innocuous things seem at first glance. Why, all it takes is a bit of acceleration and even teeth can serve as projectiles, right?
A perfectly viable means of assassination that I can see the Sang bidding for.
…Okay, they’re definitely going to be bidding on this one! Nice work, Kae! Foresight is the sign of a good Agnos!
-Mem-log of Kae Kusanade, Neophyte Agnos
14-19
Overestimation
[LIMINAL FRAME] OBTAINED - MOTE PATTERN
->STARVATION’S ENVY HEAVEN TEMPLATE DOWNLOADED
->THAUMIC CYCLER x1
->SOUL x1
->ONTOLOGICS x2
THAUMIC OUTPUT: 3865 THAUM/c
GHOSTS: [40,843]
[What the hells is this,] Abrel scoffed. [Starvation’s Envy–A Heaven of Cooking?] A guffaw escaped from her. Then a full-blown laugh. Her bemusement belonged to her alone as more than a few templates boiled with envy, willing to accept any Heaven that came with a Frame.
For most, the truest prize was immortality. But the mind had a tendency to reestablish its baselines, and once an equilibrium of pleasure was achieved, what followed was the search for a new spike of power.
Of course, getting a piece of silver after expecting a chest of gold ingrained one with another feeling altogether.
DOMAIN OF (COOKING)
CANON OF THE WANDERING NOSE - THE MASTER OF THIS CANON CAN SMELL ALL SCENTS FOR A 10-MILE RADIUS; FOUL SMELLS WILL STRAIN THE HEAVEN FURTHER
HUBRIS: SMELLS THAT MAKE THE USER GAG WILL TRIGGER THAUMIC BACKLASH
CANON OF HUNGER’S PASSING - THE MASTER OF THIS CANON CAN SHIFT A HUMAN OR HUMANOID ENTITY INTO AN EQUIVALENT MASS OF THREE-COURSE MEALS
HUBRIS: USING THIS ON THINGS THAT ARE ALREADY CLASSIFIED AS FOOD BY THE MASTER WILL TRIGGER THAUMIC BACKLASH
DOMAIN OF (WATER)CANON OF PRE-BOILED LOBSTERS - THE MASTER OF THIS CANON WILL BE ABLE TO DRAW LOBSTERS FROM BOILING WATER; EACH DRAW WILL REDUCE THE WATER’S TEMPERATURE BY ONE DEGREE
HUBRIS: IF THE WATER IS COOLED MID-MIRACLE, THIS WILL TRIGGER THAUMIC BACKLASH.
[The Hell literally just spoils all food in a ten-mile radius,] Abrel muttered. [Jaus, this is a hubris-generator. And you can’t use Hunger’s Passing on anyone cause they’re already food to you.] The mirth in her faded as a growing disappointment filled her corner of cognitive space as well. [How the hells did this guy get through–oh, fake memories from the Deep Bazaar. Of course. Score one for Ashthrone security. Oh, and speaking of, here comes the suiciders. Could they be any louder literally wearing a Rendsink as armor.]
True to the Greatling’s words, the Witherguard came trailing behind the slithering form of a searching ghost. Its perception spilled around the corner, and Avo remolded the wiring he melted just seconds prior.
The union of his Heaven and Benhata’s experience as a saboteur during the war proved invaluable. Highflame’s electrical systems had multiple redundancies and auxiliary circuits at any given moment, so it called for a practiced hand to achieve the desired effects of sabotage.
By the time the three hulking figures hammered down the hall with each step of their anvil-like feet, the current flowed as it once did and the lights shone as normal.
+They’re looking for the one you just snatched,+ Reva said. +Effective, but the brightest thing you could have done. When a Meta suddenly winks out, there aren’t so many–+
Avo cut off the Bloodthane’s sermon by manifesting Osjack’s template along the periphery of his consciousness. A phantasmal mirage of the recently murdered Godclad whimpered as self-awareness was forced into him once more, existential dread prying it apart with trauma as Avo let him feel the full implications of his death.
+I know,+ Avo said. +I was counting on it.+
Disappointing though Osjack was thaumaturgically, he served as quite the fine lure. Drifting between the walls of a nearby room, Avo fully manifested the sequences of his newest template and watched as the Witherguard drew in closer.
A peek with his Whisper painted a portrait of his newest victims. They approached something approximating a hybridization between a turtle, a radiator, and a light assault vehicle. At ten feet tall and nearly just as wide, the halls seemed cramped as they walked in a single file. Aside from certain Scaarthians and the cybernetic travesty that was Slaughterman, Avo couldn’t recall any other infantry-based adversaries that were quite so bulky.
[It’s the Tombstone-II Hellskins they’re wearing,] Abrel said. [Hate those things. They have to be that big because they’re pretty much wearing a full-on godsdamned Rendsink as armor, and aside from that shitty makeshift reactor they got burning inside, the rest of their kit is all vent-based. They can’t really dodge or fire or even fight worth much of a shit, but for the time they got Rend to spend, they can mimic a fraction of a ‘Clad’s effectiveness.]
A synthesis of experiences congealed at the core of Avo’s consciousness. As one of the Witherguard cast their thoughts out to open the door where they thought Osjack was hiding, schematics and experiences were conjoined.
The Witherguard mimicked golem knots, Godclad cadres, and Regular combat teams in mutual measure. The first one through was the boiler–often outfitted with direct-damage entropy in the Hell they have attached. Behind came a barricade–most often loaded with geometry-disrupting functions–and after them were a mixture of shatterers, engineers, field necros, and a leader.
Presently, there were only three, and their systems were running quiet.
[That’s cause we’re not expecting a fight or anything,] Osjack whined. Avo decided he hated this one immediately. [This was supposed to be a secured floor–those… those idiots got me killed. They should have checked–]
Avo silenced the whining before he gained the urge to pour Osjack into a new vessel and indulge in some semi-sadomasochistic torture.
Did it count as self-harm when you traumatized part of your own consciousness while it was simulating a once external mind?
So many philosophical questions about his new state of being.
Shaking cruelty’s siren call off his shoulders, Avo spilled out from the air vents of the darkened room and prepared to embrace his newest “recruits.”
As they stepped through the doors, he heeded the whining servos between their armor and marked the numerous Rend-vents that dotted their torso.
For all the protection entropy was meant to offer them, all it took was a single blockage, a single inconsistency between positioning, hubris, or equipment for a paradox to follow.
There was a reason why Ashthroners usually fought alone. It was related to the reason why it was so easy to track them.
When every engagement you fought resulted in reality getting pockmarked by countless minor ruptures, every fight was a danger-close engagement.
It also made their murders a more dexterous challenge for Avo. His kills needed to be sudden and instant, and he had to avoid deforming the vents to maximize his safety.
As three grid-shaped visors lit up the once-dark room, Avo snaked over to position himself behind them, with a flick of his will, threaded needle-thin constructs through the free-moving joints under their armpits.
GHOSTS: [40,846]
THAUMIC OUTPUT: 3868 THAUM/c
The Witherguards shuddered in unison, but death spasms were halted as a new force seized them from within. Matter, mind, and Soulstuff flowed into Avo, and expanding his presence, he installed their templates back within their Metaminds to delay the detection of his murders.
+How was that?+ Avo asked, letting a sneer escape him and wash over Reva’s cognition.
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The stillness of her thoughtstuff told of her indifference. +We’ll be doing this all day if this is how you work.+
He chuckled. +No. Just shaping. Needed their knowledge to be sure about what I want to do after the Godclads.+
+And what’s that?+ she asked.
+Will show you. Rabbit. How is your intrusion?+
The Wight they carried with them hung from Reva’s shoulders like a cape but enwreathed in a sea of shadows, the only sign of its presence was a second accretion hovering behind the first. Ghosts coiled and flowed through its thoughtstuff endlessly, and a note of annoyance came through. +Not perfect. Their Necros are… pretty bad, but it’s working in their favor. Most of their field guys weren’t prepared for the home office to get incinerated by a ghoul. Most of them are still trying to rebuild sessions for proper communication, but being spread out like this doesn’t help.+
He could turn that to his advantage too. +Can you “remind” one of them of an emergency session all units can tune their minds into?+
Realization within White-Rab, and the weight of his approval was a warm and immediate thing. +You’re forcing them to central. That’ll make all of them easier to null from the inside with heavy ego-killing trauma. Or just… get burned up, I guess. We’re lucky they aren’t Incubi. Those half-strands have safeguards in safeguards.+
+Yes. But they can be surprised. Like anyone can. How much time will this take?+
White-Rab hummed, but the ghosts were already burrowing into the core of his Meta where his Ghostjack pulsed like a spire channeling a storm. +I have a few candidates to examine. I’ll get back to you on that.+
They could make this more enticing. +I’ll bet you a Frame that I can snuff the Fallwalkers before you get this done.+
An intrigued silence followed, and for the first time, Avo felt a plethora of contrasting emotions bloom free from Reva.
Good. He hooked both of them.
+...You’re not lying about that, are you?+ White-Rab said.
+Haven''t lied to you about anything. Be fast. Be rewarded.+
+And… what you do want of this little competition?+
+Free favor.+
His cog-donor barked a laugh. +My rates are going up these days, huh, Reva?+
The Bloodthane remained very, very quiet. Avo tasted a leak of thoughtstuff and felt the shining hope in her heart smash against the war-scarred hull of her anxious mind vicariously. She wanted this too.
She just didn’t know if she wanted Avo to be the bearer of such a blessing.
Again, he couldn’t find it in himself to blame her.
+You’re on,+ White-Rab said, his focus condensing much the same way Avo felt his own before a challenging dive. Walton chose him for a reason.
As the other Necro’s focus turned inward once more, Avo directed his own attention toward three cognitive signatures in particular. The other Fallwalkers beside Osjack were formidable, but still of affordable quality.
The fact they hosted a price for their services spoke magnitudes of their caliber.
Abrel’s template crept upon Osjack’s and she regarded him as one would a smear of shit coating their boot. [That Soul was wasted on you. The Heaven? It was too good for you. You, and all your miserable joke of a cadre. I’d spit on you, but my actual body is still in the void somewhere, enjoying nice voider-made prison food while I’m down here playing in the muck with the ghoulie.]
Osjack, for his part, mounted no rebuke. As part of the gestalt, he knew they were vestiges of life simulated by the self-dreaming fires that made up Avo’s consciousness, but the sensations of despair came all the same. From him came knowledge and whimpering in equal measure – a pitiful sight before death, and beyond.
Three signatures were filtered from the masses on this floor. The first was of the clear-skinned Scaarthian known only by the DeepName “Lip.” She remained a mere eighty feet away and had just left the room where Osjack committed his atrocity in. Drawing on the mem-data he absorbed from the organizers of this assault and combining them with first-hand memories taken from Osjack and the Witherguard, he knew her Heaven held its Domains in Ice and Survival, bearing the name “Cold Moon.”
Aside from Lip, there was also Corner–said Second Sphere who was up-jumped street squire with eight implanted legs and an absurdly potent reflex booster. His Heaven was one tied to war, and he could weaponize all straight angles to cut outward for point-six miles or reposition himself at any eight right angles he touched the day prior.
With eight spider-like limbs all tipped with frequency blades, Corner was more of a forward scout and room clearer than he was a heavy damage ‘Clad. Considering he managed to earn his Soul through means of assassination, something told Avo that this one needed to die first.
The last of the Fallwalkers stood the greatest impediment to making all the kills quiet and clean. Glitch–or Samma Catts–was a former Omnitech FATED turned self-employed Godclad after a redacted incident during the Fourth Guild War. Of all the Fallwalkers present, she was the only one who employed a truly modern Heaven, and a strange one at that.
[Catridge: Heaven of Downloads?] a submind asked.
[The memories suggest she can infuse herself and other objects into a coldtech informational “cloud” of some kind. Runs a stack of exocortexes in the back of her skull. Only one canon listed; Liminal Frame’s pattern is only capable of supporting one Heaven, one Hell, and two canons. Heavy thaumic mass though. Four hundred up. Four hundred down. Eight hundred total. Ghosts can touch her but… they get downloaded as well. Data comes out wrong though. Like a nulling.]
A vicarity loaded in the back of his consciousness, and he was one of the Witherguard watching Glitch decimating all obstacles by shattering them into raw integers and draining the data streams into the massive deck of machine-minds extending out the back.
Wired and festooned with sensors, implants, and heavy cybernetics to maximize her machine integration, Glitch looked closer to a lithe hammer-headed mech with countless jutting protrusions than your typical over-auged street bruiser. The small wand-type drones she directed as a swarm expanded from her back like spreading wings.
Anything and everything that enters her perception is immediately subject to touch of her miracles, and it took less than a thought from her to strip matter away into a loose collection of variables caged in the hardware decked into her skull.
[Get her first,] Abrel said. [Cold Moon’s got good odds of freezing your blood if she sees you, but you got the darkness and her mind’s an easy kill for you. This Glitch though… agh. Fucking Omnitech. They keep letting this shit happen. They tell us they’re building something, we ask what, they don’t say anything for two months, and suddenly six million people are dead and we get a frantic message telling us one of their “fogs have gone rogue.” Anyway. You sure your mind can boil this one?]
Avo surged through the darkness. Swimming eight hundred feet in a heartbeat, he settled above a light and scryed his highest threat with a Whisper.
Presently, Glitch was spasming in the corner of the communal deck, the small patch of flesh left on her wrist plugged tight with joy needles. In the vast space beyond her, the Witherguard worked in cycles, with ten outside their Rendskins working maintenance on their armors, and–
+I’m done,+ White-Rab chimed in.
Avo suddenly found himself understanding how Denton felt just hours prior. +Already?+
+One of the Wights had an unsecured locus. I followed the compromise in its mind and one sequence led to another. You know how it goes. Sloppy work left a backdoor to exploit, and so I tweaked a few recollections. A couple of the Necros will be remembering an emergency thoughtcast frequency soon.+
+A couple,+ Avo said, lamely.
+So. Do I get my pick of the Frames?+
Avo turned his attention back to the drugged-out Fallwalker that should’ve offered a challenge.
Should’ve had her Heaven active, at least.
Instead, tremors ran through her legs, and she giggled shrilly while thirty Wights armed with fusion burners stood guard over her form alongside her hovering wand-shaped drones.
Disappointment.
He felt disappointed.
As a passing stream of perception threatened to detect him, he pulled his Whisper back into the dark and stewed in contemplative silence.
It didn’t feel as good without a challenge. It felt… like he was being a ghoul again. Just a ghoul. Hunting and preying on things that couldn’t resist.
[Could reach into her blood. Clean her mind. Force her to fight.]
[Yes. Can still escalate things.]
Part of him really wanted to. But again, a shadow of Draus snarled in the back of his mind, and want succumbed before the compulsion of efficiency.
He wanted to practice quiet warring after all. This was it. Silent. Sudden. Without warning.
+Yes,+ Avo said, directing a trickle of shadow to leak out from the lights nearest to Glitch and run down the walls. +I’ll give your options.+ The drip of his Galeslither puddled on the floor and melded into the shroud cast by the Wights.
The Fallwalker hiccuped. Avo willed her to notice–to broaden her Heaven or something.
She didn’t. She continued to just lay there.
Gazing upon the partial sheen of static sheathing her thoughstuff, Avo formed a small tendril of blood and slid it out into the real again. It remained of matter, but he felt a presence washing over it–an unnatural lurch that seemed to pry at him from an angle unseen.
Grunting with a sobering snort, Glitch whipped her can-shaped head around, with each exocortex running hot, their coils whining as she turned and–
A spiral of haemokinetic motes snatched her from the light and pulled her deep, deep down into a pond of shadows.
TRANSFERRING REND…
In the end, Avo found that he judged Osjack too harshly.
There were so many unworthy gods in this city.
So many.
A budding madness bloomed inside him, and he decided not the fight it. He decided to face a fact that he had never cared for before–never had the capacity to feel as a ghoul.
Absurdity.
Travesty.
The Ashthroner templates cringed and wailed in his mind. Among them arose a chorus of dismay, and in the backdrop, others joined in.
People were dying for this.
People were dying to feed these Frames and Heavens and Hells and Godclads for… this?
An irrelevant assassination in the Tiers disguised as a block war. An irrelevant assassination that was halted because the Fallwalkers refused to continue on without assurances of payment after Avo devoured their backline.
This was debased. This was not the dream.
This couldn’t have been any dream.
This couldn’t be the way things were.
It had to change.
It all had to change.
And it all could change.
+--Avo! Avo… She’s fucking dead, you can stop now…+
White-Rab’s voice jolted Avo’s base mind back to focus. No longer drowning his gestalt, he found himself stripping his newest prey in flesh, spirit, and mind. Her accretion was fully cracked open, and he had directly poured his entropic gale down her throat to hollow her slowly of organs.
The unmoving stares of his new allies burned at his ego.
What happened? When did he decide to mutilate her? How?
He was merely ruminating. Thinking with his gestalts. Joining himself to their minds…
New information flashed into his cog-feed, and he found himself distracted again.
ATTENTION: NEW COGNITIVE CONSTRUCT ENCOUNTERED
INTEGRATE COG-PATTERN {SPRITE} TO METAMIND?
+I… sorry. I think I got carried away.+