Vigor Mortis

Chapter 110: Invasive Examinations

Full plate armor is really, really uncomfortable. I do have to admit that it’s a much better disguise than a robe and a mask, though.

Apparently, there’s a uniform for Templar trainees, which High Templar Galdra described as ‘just like a normal Templar uniform, but significantly worse.’ Except that, um, instead of ‘significantly worse’ she actually said a bad word. Still, I can see how the description is accurate. It’s exactly the same style as normal Templar armor, except made out of substantially lower-quality chitin and devoid of any dyes or ornamentation, so the whole thing is a dull brown color.

Still, she helped me struggle through the ordeal of figuring out how to get the armor to actually fit, and we had to swap out a lot of parts in order to accomplish that. The two biggest offenders are the chest plate and the boots, both of which have to be substantially larger than normal to accommodate hiding my extra arms and oversized feet, respectively. Hiding, after all, is still the name of the game, and Galdra made it clear in no uncertain terms that my species is not to be made a matter of public knowledge under any circumstances.

“I thought the Church welcomes everyone?” I asked her hesitantly.

“We do,” Galdra grunted. “But while the Church welcomes everyone, the public does not. It’s optics, you understand? Thousands of people know someone that has been lost because of vrothizo. So… you’re not a vrothizo anymore. When you’re with us, you’re a Templar. Nothing less.”

Those words have been echoing in my mind for the entire trip. I’m not a vrothizo anymore. I’m a Templar. It’s more than I deserve, but I will do everything I can to be worthy of it.

Speaking of the trip, overall it has been a weird mixture of boring and stressful. Only two people know what I am: High Templar Galdra Karthala, and Templar Captain Dasil. Everyone else thinks I’m just some human trainee, treating me with a comfortable camaraderie that I have no real idea how to react to. Captain Dasil encourages me to talk to the others as long as I don’t reveal myself, but doesn’t speak with me much personally. Most of the time, I’m just sitting alone, which is both familiar and terrifying. I never quite got used to being surrounded by people I’m afraid to hurt. Every night, when the others camp and rest, I have to sneak out to find food, making sure I’m always heading off the temptation of hunger as much as I can. I have to admit, it’s also nice to take some time in the forest with my helmet and these dumb boots off.

It’s a few tendays later when an end to the oppressive lines of forest on either side of the road comes into view. Unlike the lifeless stretches of land New Talsi and my old village were built on, before me stretches tall, grassy fields of wheat and other edible plants. Edible to other people, I mean. As we exit the forest entirely, I witness beyond them an incredible sight in the distance, like someone dropped a stone in a calm lake and froze the ripple solid. Massive stone walls proudly tower atop the edges of the wave, defying any mortal force to breach them. It’s a breathtaking sight.

“Welcome to Skyhope, Trainee Lark,” High Templar Galdra tells me, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

“Th-thank you, High Templar,” I stammer back.

Our caravan ascends up the hill towards the walls, stopping at a gate where armored humans chat with and check up on the contents of all the goods. Other humans cast spells on everyone before letting them inside, and Galdra has to show them a significant chunk of paperwork before I’m allowed in without being tested.

“What was all that?” I ask once we are through the checkpoint.

“Normally, everyone needs to be checked for parasites before they’re allowed inside, but since we are keeping you as a secret for now, all of your biomancy work is going to be done somewhere a little more private,” the High Templar explains.

Sure enough, she leads me away from the rest of the Templars, walking us down a different street. Templar Captain Dasil follows behind us silently. I nod slowly, lowering my voice to answer her.

“I don’t like the idea of getting in and out of the city being a hassle,” I tell her. “I have to make sure I eat every night.”

“Well, the city has plenty of vermin,” Galdra whispers back.

“I’m not comfortable with hunting in the city,” I answer hesitantly. “Is it acceptable if I enter and exit without using the gates?”

It wouldn’t be very hard to scale the walls, as long as I have my hands free. Webbing was one of my first evolutions, and it is still my favorite. It’s consistently the most useful for things that don’t involve murder.

“No,” Galdra answers bluntly. “We’ll supply you food, then. The biomancer we’re taking you to now breeds a frankly excessive quantity of rats.”

The inside of Skyhope is almost as incredible a sight as the outside. The circular city curves downwards, the buildings lining the streets telling quite the story. The outside of the city is mostly old stone, mossy and cracked, whereas the closer to the center I look the more the buildings are made out of wood, many of them constructed shoddily on top of gravel-like foundations. Construction is everywhere, but the city seems all the more alive for it. In the very center, a massive hole gapes in the ground, brown waters draining down it while surprisingly green growths emerge from within.

“I’ve never seen a city anywhere near this big,” I comment.

Galdra snorts.

“Well, it is the capital. It used to look a lot better before some idiot pissed off god, but it is what it is. At least people finally got their heads out of their asses about wood construction.”

“Um, wood construction?” I ask.

“Wood is a shoddy material,” the High Templar answers me. “We have a fuckton of it, and it works pretty well for a while, but the problem with wood is that it rots, and on Verdantop it tends to rot fast. Rotting damages the structural integrity of the wood and sometimes makes the air around it poisonous. Obviously not the best situation, but then this crazy young upstart comes home after winning a war and tells us she’ll ‘fix it.’”

“Oh,” I say. “Well, did she?”

“Yep,” Galdra confirms.

“Well, that’s good?” I hedge. “She sounds like a very resourceful person.”

Galdra barks out a laugh.

“Well, you can tell her so yourself. Here we are.”

We stop in front of a massive wooden structure, surrounded on all sides by tall fences. The building is two stories tall, longer and wider than any other I’ve ever seen before. Other than size, however, it doesn’t really look very impressive; the whole thing is just a huge rectangle, devoid of embellishments or decorations. Two heavily armed guards flank the gate, and after a brief conversation with Galdra one of them briefly heads inside before returning and waving us in to follow. The interior of the building is even more austere, only narrow hallways with the occasional locked door visible between entering and our ultimate destination. I can smell all kinds of creatures within, however, many of which I’m pretty sure are monsters from the forest. Finally, we are ushered into a room with actual furniture, namely a couple of chairs and a long table, as well as a small cart loaded with tools that I have never seen before. The guard leaves Galdra, Dasil, and I inside, and it is only a couple short minutes later that we are joined by a woman who smells worryingly familiar. Despite everything that’s so very different about her—the yellow eyes, the sharper fangs, the far heavier, far more tempting scent of power pervading her body—she is unmistakably Penelope, one of the hunters I tried to kill two years ago.

“Welcome back, Galdra,” the woman greets, flashing a smile at all of us as she enters the room and locks the door behind her. “Did everything go well?”

“Not too many casualties, but we ran out of herbicide before we could complete all of the secondary roads,” the High Templar grunts.

“Unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected,” Penelope answers, nodding in acknowledgment. “So, what can I do for you today? It’s rare to be called upon by a High Templar personally.”

“Oh, I promise you are going to love this,” Galdra says with the most drippingly malicious twinge of sarcasm I have ever heard. “But first, of course, I have to inform you that this is restricted information. The King will be receiving a report, of course, but we’re keeping this out of the public eye. I think you will agree as to why.”

“Well, color me intrigued,” Penelope answers pleasantly. “Of course, you have my discretion. I assume the situation has to do with this trainee here?”

“It does!” Galdra says happily. “Trainee Lark! Remove your helmet, if you please.”

A lump of terror forms in my throat, but I do as I’m told. I shift uncomfortably, ears pressed flat against the top of my head as Penelope’s expression moves from surprise to realization to well-worn irritation.

“Watcher damnit, Vita,” the First Lady groans.

I flick my left ear, that monster’s name reminding me of the pain where she cut it off before ripping out my teeth. Galdra busts out laughing as Penelope paces around me, scowling.

“All right, all right, you win, Galdra. I know.”

“I claim this commoner for my house!” Galdra mocks in a faux-fancy tone. “I’m Miss Baby Vesuvius and I know more about perception events than the Templars! Nothing could possibly go wrong!”

“Thank you, Galdra, I get it,” Penelope groans. “You were right, I was young and foolish, I should have listened to you.”

“Oh, yes,” Galdra fake-moans. “Say that again!”

Templar Dasil loudly clears his throat, and levity vanishes from the room again. I wish I knew what they were talking about, but I just feel overwhelmed. Vita. I have… a lot of mixed feelings about Vita. Penelope finishes circling me and scowls, freezing me under her gaze.

“So what do you want me to do with it, exactly?” she asks.

“Do what you normally do,” Galdra says dismissively. “I need someone to attend to the medical needs of a prospective new Templar, and I need someone to do research on overcoming the threats and enemies endangering Valka. It just so happens that you can do both at once.”

“I, um…” I stammer quietly. “I’m s-sorry I bit your hand off, Lady Vesuvius. And tried to kill you.”

“See?” Galdra laughs. “Lark here is a changed woman. I’ve committed way worse atrocities than her, so I’m sure she can be a fine Templar!”

“Strip and get on the table,” Penelope orders me, rolling her eyes.

“Well now, you’d better get out of here, Dasil,” Galdra prods. “It wouldn’t do to violate a girl’s modesty.”

“That’s true,” Dasil agrees without missing a beat. “The both of us should wait outside. Please excuse us, Lady Vesuvius.”

He unlocks the door and escorts the grumbling High Templar out before shutting it behind them. I smell them both waiting on the other side, however. I glance up at Penelope nervously as I rush to follow her orders, getting my armor undone. With the other two gone, she glowers openly at me, waiting in silence as I remove my clothes. Once all four of my arms are freed, things go significantly faster, and after I’m undressed I sit up on the table as instructed, stretching my shoulders and toes. Humans seem to be kind of weird about nudity, but I’ve been naked most of my life.

“Do you know how to voluntarily lower your magic resistance?” Penelope asks me.

I wince slightly, memories of Claretta crawling up the recesses of my mind.

“I… never learned, no,” I admit. “I don’t really know anything about magic in general.”

“Okay, well, I will brute force through your resistance for now, but if these are going to be regular visits I will need you to learn how to accept spells on your body.”

I nod.

“Yes ma’am.”

A slight smile quirks on Penelope’s lips at my response, and her fingers start quickly moving through what I assume are spell formations before she places a cold hand on my collarbone and I feel some kind of foreign energy flowing into my body. Instinctively, I fight against it, although I guess that’s probably magic resistance so I resolve to try and stop.

“Well, you’re certainly rather different than you were two years ago,” Penelope comments.

“I have observed vrothizo grow significantly faster than humans,” I answer her.

“Well yes, obviously,” Penelope dismisses. “Many creatures do, that’s not terribly abnormal. But your mental and physical development is significant, beyond merely the realm of size.”

I thrum my quills slightly as she moves her hand from my collarbone to my belly. Agh, why does she have such frigid fingers!?

“I’m not really sure what to say to that, ma’am,” I say, using that address again since she seemed to like it the first time. “I agree, I suppose. So far as I’m aware, my memory is infallible, and I think that’s why I seem to learn much faster than humans my age.”

“Infallible, you say? Color me jealous.”

The biomancer suddenly frowns.

“…You lay eggs,” she says, as if this is a betrayal of all that is good and dear.

I blink in surprise.

“Um, no ma’am? Or, at least I haven’t yet. I did hatch from an egg, however.”

“I don’t mean you have personally laid eggs during your lifetime, I mean that your reproductive system creates and lays eggs after being fertilized internally. So why do you have breasts?”

I open my mouth, then close it again.

“Presumably for the same reason I have fingers, ma’am?” I answer delicately, intensely aware that the less delicate answer is ‘because I systematically ate and tortured two human women over the course of months and acquired most of their physical traits.’

“Fingers are a useful evolution for a creature with an intellect,” Penelope dismisses. “The capacity to develop milk is… well, honestly, can you imagine a freshly hatched vrothizo suckling like a newborn babe? You can’t even ingest milk, for fuck’s sake. Ugh. This is biomantically offensive. Lie down on your stomach.”

Well I, um, don’t really know what to say to that, but I do as I’m told, shifting my body onto the table. With a scowl on her face, Penelope puts on a thin pair of gloves and starts rummaging around the area between my legs, prodding and pulling and generally making me more than a little uncomfortable.

“Functional reproductive tract, but… no urethra,” Penelope mutters to herself as she inspects. “No anus either. Just like the corpses. Which would normally imply a cloacal setup, but I didn’t…”

She stops messing around my crotch, thankfully, and places her hand firmly on the small of my back. I have to say, while I don’t really mind being naked I have decided that I definitely mind being poked and prodded all over my body by cold hands. Still, I endure it without complaint. Penelope casts another spell, power flowing into me and giving me another opportunity to learn to allow it.

“…The intestinal system doesn’t connect. And yet you’re still alive. From where do you defecate, trainee?”

I’m snapped out of my concentration as my mind catches up to the question.

“Um, I don’t?”

She gives me a flat look.

“Elaborate.”

“I have never defecated,” I repeat, not sure what else to say.

“You have never expelled solid or liquid waste in any form from your body?”

“That’s correct, ma’am,” I confirm. “Not unless you count bleeding.”

She sucks on the inside of her cheek.

“How often are you capable of ingesting food when uninjured?” she asks after a short delay.

“I have never personally experienced a limit to my capacity to eat,” I tell her honestly.

“What is the largest amount of food you have ingested in a single sitting proportional to your body weight?”

I think back for a moment, recalling my largest catches and comparing them to my size at the time.

“Twenty-six times my body weight,” I answer. “Over the span of about half an hour.”

She stands there silently, foot tapping on the ground as she works through the problem in her head.

“The fuck?” she ultimately concludes. “Your digestion is downright hyperbolic.”

“Um, sorry, but I promise I am not exaggerating my—”

“Not that,” Penelope dismisses. “I’m not saying you’re lying. It’s geometrically hyperbolic. Or waste-translocational. Or… shit, I don’t know, but I don’t see how it’s possible without spatial magic, which is exceptionally rare. So that makes you even more valuable as a living specimen, assuming my hypothesis is correct. But why bother…?”

She taps her chin for a bit, then shrugs the question off with a sigh.

“Mysteries for later,” she declares. “On with the general examination. Talk to me about how your body gains new traits.”

I do so, explaining how I have no real control over what parts my body does and does not form but that I can reliably halt my evolution by ingesting creatures with no apparent value. She nods along, asking probing questions that take advantage of my perfect memory, such as the exact numbers of every kind of creature I’ve eaten and subsequently formed parts of. All throughout she continues poking at me, casting spells on me, pinching and pulling at things all over my body. She casts multiple of what she claims are analytical spells on my legs, nearly yanks my arms out of my shoulders testing my range of motion, and spends an excessively uncomfortable amount of time messing around inside my mouth. At some point during our conversation she gets up and calmly locks the door moments before Galdra tries to let herself in. To my shame, I can’t help but chuckle a bit at the High Templar’s annoyed grumblings that follow.

“You never mentioned the creature from which you gained extra arms,” Penelope mentions idly.

“No ma’am,” I confirm. “I was born with six limbs, ma’am.”

“Are all vrothizo born with six limbs?” she asks.

“No ma’am, it’s variable.”

“Hmm.”

She starts examining my quills, and when I warn her that they are incredibly sharp she decides to test that by tapping her pinky on the blade. It cleanly slices the tip of her finger right off, and her piercing golden eyes watch me closely as I tense at the smell of blood. It doesn’t last for long, however, because in moments Penelope’s wound is closed. She picks up the severed tip of her finger and pops it in her mouth, swallowing it like a pill.

“Your quills possess the same properties as your teeth,” she declares. “Which are coated by an extremely potent enchantment that your body maintains at all times. Do you recall anything that you have failed to pierce?”

“Only one thing,” I tell her. “Your teammate Norah. Whatever her armor was, my teeth couldn’t pierce it.”

“So, only a material protected by an equally powerful spell,” Penelope rephrases. “Very interesting. I’m glad to be able to see the process in a controlled setting.”

I squirm a bit, not quite sure how to phrase what I’m about to say delicately. But August always encouraged me to speak my mind.

“You don’t seem that upset that I’m alive,” I force myself to say.

“That would be because I’m not,” Penelope says simply. “You’re a strategic asset.”

“But I tried to kill you,” I remind her.

“And you got closer than anyone else has so far,” the woman admits, grinning fiercely. “It was an excellent learning experience, and the weakness has since been corrected.”

Something about her cold gaze makes me shiver.

“Vita told us you were dead,” Penelope volunteers when she realizes I have nothing else to say. “We took her at face value, but I can’t say I’m terribly surprised to find that she was lying. Our smallest teammate lied about a lot of things, many of them quite important, and she assisted monsters instead of following through with her duties on multiple occasions.”

…Monsters like me. I notice that Penelope speaks of her teammate in the past tense.

“What happened to her?” I ask, not sure if I will want to seek her out or stay as far away as possible once I get the answer.

“Vita? Well, she was arrested and convicted for the unforgivable crime of animancy. Thank the Watcher the Inquisition caught her, it was truly a dreadful situation. Anyway, in your particular case, I find little about the results with which to complain. You are, as I’ve mentioned, a strategic asset. I have been attempting to convince the Templars to secure me a live vrothizo for quite some time. The fact that you happen to be in armor rather than a cage is unexpected, but hardly unwelcome assuming you are willing to consent to the tasks that will be needed of you.”

“I—of course I will!” I stammer immediately.

“Then why would I not be pleased by your presence? You were, perhaps, a criminal. But I trust in the Church and their ability to judge the worth of a person. Tell me, Lark, what do you think of vrothizo? What is your opinion on your own kind?”

“We are monsters,” I answer easily, the words ones I had decided long ago. “Our existence is suffering and it causes only suffering. The world would be better off without us.”

The noble’s eyebrows raise slightly as a feral smile blooms on her face, revealing the incisors of the predator.

“You advise for total extermination, then? Well, Lark, I have wonderful news for you.”

She steps forward, leaning in so her face is frighteningly close to my own.

“There is nothing you can do to achieve greater progress towards that goal than to be here within my halls,” she promises. “Your entire race will shiver in terror of the doom I will craft for them with you as my hammer. As long as you cooperate, that is.”

Despite the audaciousness of the claim, something about the certainty radiating through her every feature steals my doubt and locks it away.

“Yes ma’am,” I whisper.

“Good,” First Lady Penelope Vesuvius declares, stepping away from me once more. “Get dressed, then. I will expect you here regularly, but naturally the Templars have their own plans for you and I have no need to interrupt them. There is much progress to be made both with and without you, after all. We are done here for today.”

I do as she says and she unlocks the door again once I am decent. Galdra and Dasil step in immediately, the former grinning broadly and moving to muss the hair on my head before I manage to get my helmet on.

“How’d it go, kiddo?” she laughs, pinching and playing with my ears. “Shit, I can’t get over the fact that you have little kitty ears. I love cats! I own like, eighteen cats.”

“Y-yes, High Templar,” I say placatingly, wincing hard as she yanks at the delicate instruments on my head.

“Is she healthy, doc?” Galdra asks Penelope, who immediately rolls her eyes.

“She’s a disease-immune rapidly-regenerating bioweapon. You could stab her through the spine and she would literally walk it off. So yes, I would classify that as ‘pretty healthy.'”

“You believe that the vrothizo are bioweapons?” Templar Dasil asks suddenly, one of the few times I’ve seen him speak up.

“Well, they are denotatively bioweapons in the sense that they are biological creatures being physically used as a weapon by what we assume to be an intelligent actor, but if you’re asking if I believe they are engineered bioweapons, I would say it is too early to tell. A few signs see me leaning towards yes, whereas other aspects just leave me befuddled as to why a sapient creator would include them. If a hypothetical intelligence can instill them with natural spatial magic as a waste disposal system, why not just give them the ability to fucking teleport directly into major population centers? It doesn’t make sense.”

“The why is unimportant compared to the what,” Galdra dismisses. “Just do your thing, Vesuvius. Figure out how to make them die. Present company excluded, of course.”

Penelope smiles, bowing deeply.

“It would be my pleasure, High Templar.”

We’re escorted out after that, my disguise fully in place and my ears free from High Templar tyranny only to be squashed under the tyranny of my helmet.

“Where to next, High Templar?” I ask.

“The barracks!” she declares. “Mostly because I’m bored of escorting you. You can stay cooped up in your new room until training starts in a few days, meet your roommates and whatnot.”

“R-roommates?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah, did I not tell you?” Galdra coos, clearly aware that she hasn’t. “Yeah, you’ll be staying at the dorm. It’ll be fun! You’ll make new friends! Just, you know, act natural.”

She pauses.

“…Wait, no. Do not act natural,” the woman corrects. “No eating other trainees.”

“H-High Templar!” I protest. “I.. I mean, I’m not supposed to reveal I’m a… you know, but you want me to live in the same room with humans?”

“What, you think we have the budget for giving individual rooms to trainees? This is a free room, Lark, don’t be so greedy. Anyway, here we are!”

I’m ushered into a stone barracks near the outside of the city, escorted down some halls and tossed into a room by the sadistically gleeful High Templar. I barely catch myself as I careen into the room, staggering as I clonk around my heavy armor. Another woman is there, with short-cropped messy blonde hair and a shattered archipelago of freckles dancing across her nose and cheeks. She’s chewing on something, some sort of cold fried meat ball of which she has a handful of multiple. She stares at me, and I stare right back, and after a few moments she swallows and opens her mouth to speak.

“Sup,” she greets me.

“Hi,” I respond.

And with that propitious beginning, my Templar training officially starts.