Vigor Mortis

Chapter 134: She Deserves It

“He said yes!” Xavier squeals delightedly, half-tackling me with a sudden hug from nowhere. My whole body goes stiff at the impact, my mind completely focused on halting all my natural responses to the unexpected contact. Don’t bite, don’t claw, don’t fight, don’t move.

I’m absolutely terrified that one of these days, Xavier is going to surprise me and I’ll kill him on accident. Or… or maybe on purpose, insofar as it’s possible to separate things I know I shouldn’t do from things I feel that burning need for. The instinct, Lady Vesuvius says, is still me. The fact that parts of me want something that the rest of me hates doesn’t make those parts separate. People, she says, are inherently contradictory. Everyone struggles with urges and temptations and desires that they know are wrong. We’re only noteworthy because of the sheer difference in scope our temptations cover, compared to that of others. We’re only different because our failures hurt far more people than anyone else’s.

“Who said yes to what?” I ask carefully, peeling myself out of Xavier’s grasp.

“Bently!” he cheers. “We’re dating! Officially! Well… not officially as in publicly, because officially I think it’s against Templar policy to be in a relationship with someone in your own squad…?”

He gives me a hesitant glance that roughly translates to ‘please confirm this for me/help me with coursework.’

“It is, yes,” I confirm. “Although there’s no official punishment listed in said policy, and there are multiple notable examples of the rule being violated without consequence.”

He gives me a mischievous look and I take a turn towards the women’s side of the dorms. He follows me anyway. The two of us are inside the barracks, though I’m still fully armored up because we’ll be leaving shortly to attend Church. I just need to go grab Captain Jelisaveta.

“Huh, it sounds like you did extra research on that one,” Xavier hums. “Somehow I bet the examples of exceptions aren’t part of the rules. You wouldn’t have any sort of special interest in that particular bit of policy, would you?”

“I do, actually,” I admit.

I’ve been trying to learn more about ‘rules that aren’t rules,’ the difference between the parts of policy that are and are not actually enforced. I still can’t figure out why, though. I don’t even know why half the rules exist in the first place. The ‘no relationships in the squad’ one was particularly confusing, since first I had to figure out what that meant (it meant the kind of relationship where people have sex) and then I had to figure out why that was a problem. I’m pretty sure humans really like and celebrate relationships? I’m still figuring this one out.

“You do?” Xavier gasps, absolutely lighting up. “Really? Ohmygod, don’t tell me, I want to guess. It’s… Melik! The hateful glares are simply evidence of his smouldering passion! The perfect cover story for a pair of forbidden lovers, whose nighttime trysts are legen… hmm. Wait, aren’t you like, two years old? I should definitely not continue this line of thinking.”

“I would really prefer you didn’t,” I agree, grimacing under my helmet. “I promise you, Melik actually hates me. What does my age have to do with it, though?”

“It’s just… y’know,” he gestures vaguely. “It’s weird.”

“I don’t know,” I say flatly. “I literally don’t have the slightest idea why you all think it’s weird. I’m only aware that you do because I get all these shocked looks whenever anyone draws attention to it. You should all know this, you were alive when my egg was dropped into the forest!”

“That’s not… I mean, okay, we should know that, but it’s still shocking anyway because… well, you look like an adult woman! A pretty darn attractive adult woman, frankly. Like wow, I wouldn’t be surprised if jealousy is half of why Gina hates you. But attractiveness is a very adult-only thing. And you’re… not that age. At all. So it hits us like whiplash, and anybody who, uh, thought of you that way, even a little, is now stuck rapidly trying to reverse those feelings.”

I scrunch my eyebrows together, trying to mentally wade through the muck of cultural implication I don’t fully understand. Especially all the human attractiveness crap; I have enough trouble with body language and facial expressions, I haven’t even started trying to figure out whether or not a person counts as attractive by human standards. As far as I can tell they’re all just… human. But wait, we can back up here. The attractiveness bit doesn’t really matter. What matters is that it’s ‘adult-only,’ and that means…

“You think I’m a sub-person like human children?” I ask, equal parts dumbfounded and offended.

Xavier jerks with surprise. I’ve noticed he’s always extra expressive, often putting his whole body into demonstrating emotions other humans would accomplish with just an eyebrow or two.

“Yo, Lark,” he says with uncharacteristic seriousness. “You can’t call kids ‘sub-people.’ That’s fucked up.”

“Uh, sorry? How about… pre-person, then?”

“No!” Xavier insists. “Children are people!”

“Are they?” I press. “Humans are born literally incapable of complex thought. Babies are useless, gross, and terrifyingly fragile. And a human my age isn’t really much better. Like, sure, most of them can walk and talk, but the difference between a two-year-old human and a twenty-year-old human isn’t just a lack of experience. The two-year-old is literally incapable of thinking on the same level, or in the same way. You treat children as lesser beings because of this. You have a whole word for ‘talking to someone like they’re a child,’ and it’s an insulting thing to do to someone. Unless that person actually is a child, because children cannot understand why they should care.”

Xavier opens his mouth, then closes it and shakes his head.

“Okay, I mean, you’re not wrong,” he admits. “But children are still included in the definition of person. They’re just… mentally undeveloped people.”

“So is that what you think I am?” I ask. “Mentally undeveloped? An idiot? A child? I might not know everything you know, but I’m not a kid. I’m not human, Xavier! I didn’t hatch as a mindless blob that needed constant care to avoid death, I don’t take an unimaginably long time just to gain a couple inches of height, and I definitely don’t have to hear or see something twenty times before I remember it! I was outgrowing childhood before I was a year old. Humans are just slow.”

I’m getting angry, I realize. I can feel my instincts clawing at the back of my mind, tempting me to demonstrate my rage with tooth and claw. I take a slow breath, deliberately forcing those feelings down. Thankfully, Xavier helps by raising his hands in a placating gesture.

“Okay, you’re right,” he answers. “Sorry. I definitely don’t think you act like a kid, other than not knowing a bunch of stuff. But that’s just like… quirky ignorance, not immaturity. Um… though now that you bring it up, I wanna just confirm real fast that you remember your whole life? Like, from hatching? Because that blows my fucking mind.”

“Language,” I sigh. “And I remember my life from before hatching, actually. My earliest memory is… falling. The instinctive terror my body felt when I was dropped from Hiverock woke me up, I guess. Which is good, because it means I hatched quickly enough to eat a little before the frenzy got going.”

“What’s the first thing you ate?” Xavier asks, his eyes wide with that strange fascination that makes me wonder if he’d like me less if I was human rather than vrothizo. Which is… an uncomfortable feeling.

“My sister,” I answer simply. “When we landed, we were all just… in a big pile of eggs, I guess. We all started eating each other the moment we hatched. I’m alive because I thought to run away rather than stay to eat, and because eating my siblings healed the wounds I got from the fall.”

“Wow,” Xavier breathes as I finally reach and knock on Captain Jelisaveta’s door. “Man, vrothizo are so badass.”

I narrow my eyes at him, not that he can see behind my helmet.

“Why do you always seem so happy about that?” I press. “We’re a serious problem, Xavier.”

“Well sure, yeah, of course,” Xavier agrees. “But you can be a threat to humanity and still be really fucking cool in like, the abstract, y’know? Think about it! You eat things and manifest their traits on your body, slowly mutating into an ever-more-powerful, ever-more-complex creature of vastly superior strength, speed, and in your case, intelligence. How is that not the coolest fucking thing in the world?”

I scowl, feeling myself start to get irritated. I hope Jelisaveta comes out of her room soon and gives me an excuse to leave. I hear her moving around inside, but she’s not coming to the door.

“You don’t have to live like this, Xavier,” I remind him. “I hate being a vrothizo. It’s f… fricking awful!”

He raises his hands placatingly again.

“Sorry, sorry,” he answers. “I’m not trying to trivialize your hardships or whatever. I didn’t say it was fun and good for you, I said it was cool. I’m just… biased that way, y’know? I’ve wanted a shapeshifting talent since I was like eleven. Not that the talent I ended up with isn’t great, it’s just… well, not my first choice.”

At those words, the door to Captain Jelisaveta’s room suddenly bursts open, the woman herself emerging with a blank expression. She doesn’t look like she’s in very good shape. She’s been sleeping a lot since I met her, but if anything the bags under her eyes just seem to get deeper.

“Lark,” she greets me with a gruff nod. “Sorry to make you wait. To church?”

“To church,” I confirm, nodding back at her. “Are you doing okay, Captain?”

“Not really, but I’ll live,” she answers, rolling her shoulder. “Thanks for asking.”

“Y’know, I gotta say, you’re way more casual than I was expecting our future captain to be,” Xavier comments, the three of us departing beside each other.

“I’m a lot better at making friends than I am at giving orders,” Captain Jelisaveta explains, yawning. “I don’t think that’s going to change just because they gave me a fancier helmet. Besides, as long as you take it seriously when I do give an order, that’s what matters.”

“Cool!” Xavier grins, saluting lazily. “Well I look forward to serving under you, ma’am!”

“Mm-hm,” Jelisaveta mumbles. “Just make sure you and your new boyfriend don’t cause any problems, because then they become my problems. No teenage lover shit, no favoritism, no having sex in the dorm. I’ll know. And if you break up, do it like adults.”

I’m weirdly offended by the fact that Xavier is, in that moment, far more terrified of the Captain than he’s ever been of me.

“Uh, o-oh,” Xavier stammers, blushing. “Um, yes ma’am.”

“Where is Bently, anyway?” I ask idly.

“Oh, he’s going to his mom’s church today,” Xavier answers, shrugging awkwardly. “It’s like, halfway across the city.”

“Ah,” I nod. “I also think I’m supposed to say congratulations, but I forgot. So… congratulations.”

He brightens right back up at that.

“Thanks!”

The church we go to isn’t in the barracks, it’s a public structure. It is very close to the barracks, however, so it’s just a few minutes of walking before we enter the huge building where people in this part of the city gather for sermons. There must be hundreds of humans in here, which I found much too intimidating to be a part of until pretty recently. But Bently encouraged me to attend alongside him and Xavier a couple weeks ago, and I’ve been joining them here ever since. I stand out a bit, being the only person who shows up in full armor, but it’s a lot less attention than I’d be getting from the alternative.

I’ve heard this stone building is designed to hold over a thousand worshippers at once, but even in that context it seems ridiculously big. The ceiling is a full two hundred feet above our heads, with very little between here and there other than the giant glass windows that dominate the walls. Ever since seeing it, I can’t help but wonder why. Humans definitely can’t grow that tall. Is it supposed to accommodate flying guests? It can’t have anything to do with the function of the church itself; Preacher Gregory’s church was smaller than a barn and we had sermons in that without any problems.

It’s not actually required for Templars to attend church sermons, though since you have to get sponsored by a Preacher to be one in the first place nearly all Templars attend regularly. A large number of people from my barracks attend here, including all of my fellow trainees bar Melik. So after sitting down in one of the backmost pews and getting as comfortable as my armor allowed, I’m not terribly surprised to see Gina walking towards us.

But I am very, very surprised to see Fulvia.

My whole body freezes, shivering with wretched intensity. My loud one is back. My favorite meal. My body cannot vomit, but some part of the humanity I’ve acquired attempts a dry heave, the raw flood of emotion digging hooks into my mind, my throat, my stomach, and yanking it all at once. They brought her to me, my instincts sing, caring nothing for my pain. Look at her rejuvenated limbs. Soak in her stronger smell. I bet her flavor has healed just as well as the rest of her.

And there’s no flavor I know better than Fulvia’s. Worse, my memories of her are entirely from… well, from when I was a child. From before I understood right and wrong, before I was capable of guilt or empathy. Looking back at the situation, I certainly regret it. But the memories themselves are completely untainted by negativity. They are, in many ways, happier times. Times when I could torture and murder and feel only joy in the act. And the reminder that I used to be a creature that horrible and that I can never experience that purity of happiness again both crush me from different directions, leaving me a screaming mess inside the silence of my own mind.

Xavier sits on my left, Captain Jelisaveta on his other side. So it’s Gina that takes the open seat to my right, Fulvia resting right next to her. There she is. My joy and regret, so tantalizingly, agonizingly close. My eyes start to water, and I do everything I can to focus on holding back the sobs.

“Hey, Lark,” Gina greets me coldly.

“Hey, Gina,” I whisper breathlessly, unable to look at either of them.

Fulvia doesn’t say anything, but her body is so tense, so afraid, so furious that there’s no doubt in my mind she knows exactly who I am. I let my gaze wander in every direction but theirs, and end up locking eyes with Captain Jelisaveta. She stares intensely at me for just a moment, then gives me a small smile, nodding ever so slightly. I don’t know what that means, but somehow it makes me feel just a little less hopeless.

Just a little, though. The Preacher starts speaking about the virtue of community, and while I’ll likely think back and re-listen to the contents later, I simply can’t focus on it at the moment. A full hour drags agonizingly by, full of prayer, songs, and speeches about the glorious Mistwatcher. When it finally ends and people start dragging their way out of the building, I stand up and eagerly follow Captain Jelisaveta off the pew. Gina catches the captain in a conversation, but I keep heading towards the door, hoping to at least not be in the same room as Fulvia anymore.

Yet she does not, unfortunately, stop and wait with Gina. She heads right towards me, glowering with an unquenchable hatred. When she stops in front of me, out of all the horrible thoughts rushing through my head there’s one that stands out at me, a feeling I haven’t had in months. She’s shorter than me, now. Nearly half a foot shorter.

I’ve changed a lot, since we last saw each other. I shouldn’t forget that.

“I thought she was just telling the world’s worst joke, at first,” Fulvia hisses softly. “As much of a good friend she is, Gina’s the type of stupid that might actually be that tactless, you know?”

She pauses for half a beat, as if she initially planned to wait for a response but thought better of it halfway through.

“Actually, do you know?” she asks. “What are you now, you freak? I want to see your face. She says we almost look like sisters.“

My former victim sneers.

“Tactless. Truly tactless.”

I swallow, half out of nervousness and half to try and chase away the memories of her flesh in my mouth.

“I’m not allowed to remove my helmet,” I whisper. “Sorry.”

“Then we’ll go somewhere private,” she says simply. “Gina is distracting your handler. Follow me.”

I don’t even think about telling her no. Both my guilt and my hunger want me to obey. Not that I intend to give into the latter, but… it certainly makes things easier when both parts of me agree. We slip out of the church, just two more faces in the crowd.

“So,” I say, following her down a twisting, jagged set of alleyways, “Gina told you everything?”

“I don’t know if I’ll believe it until I see your face,” Fulvia answers. “They’d already sent the team out to kill you when I woke up. The hunters reported a success, but here you are. You even feel different. My danger sense doesn’t pick you up right.”

I blink, tilting my head with surprise.

“It doesn’t?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

“You feel weaker than you should,” Fulvia says simply. “I couldn’t pick you out from any group of hunters, yet you’re fast and strong enough to treat Gina like a baby.”

She pushes open a door, and the two of us enter a dark, partially-dilapidated home. It’s completely empty, and there’s a large hole in the floor as if it had all caved in.

“I’m surprised you want to be anywhere near me,” I admit. “I… what I did to you was beyond unforgivable. I’m sorry. It means nothing, but I’m sorry.”

“Helmet,” Fulvia orders, closing the door behind us. “Off.”

I don’t know what she wants from me, and it doesn’t really matter. I do as she says. I undo the helmet clasps and pull it off, giving my frizzy hair a shake and flicking my ears.

“Holy fucking shit,” Fulvia breathes. “You really did take my face. Or… most of it. Your nose still looks like Ivan’s. I remember that.”

She approaches, and I stay carefully still as she starts to slowly circle around me.

“You’re real,” she continues. “You’re actually alive, standing around in Templar armor like a damn fucking hero.”

I’m not really sure how to respond to that.

“…Is there something you’d like from me?” I ask hesitantly. “Anything is fine.”

“God, listen to you fucking talk,” she growls. “Air hissing between your teeth. I remember that dumb bitch teaching you words. I remember the way you’d try to sing, like a stupid little monster baby. I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe this! You’re really here. I’m talking to you.”

I glance down, seeing her hands vibrating with fury, balled into fists.

“Would you like to hit me?” I offer.

“I would like to kill you,” Fulvia says plainly. “And that’s what makes this so fucked up. I’m a hunter. Killing monsters is my job. But I can’t do it because the Templars will protect you. Their little fucking pet project.”

I twitch my ears, a bit confused by that. That’s not why she can’t kill me, though? The Templars aren’t even here. She can’t kill me because she’s too weak. I’ve learned enough from my interactions with Gina that I shouldn’t tell a human that, though.

Fulvia is quiet for a while, her anger festering in silence. I’m not sure what to do. My memories and impulses still scream at me to taste her again, but they’ve returned to the usual dull background roar I contend with constantly. I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t confident that I could avoid hurting Fulvia.

But… is there some way I can help?

“I am a monster,” I say simply, agreeing with her words. “I deserve worse than death for what I’ve done to you. But death… hasn’t come for me. So as long as I’m alive, I… I want to do good things. Not to make up for it, but just because that’s… what I’ve been taught. I can spend my time doing nothing. Or I can spend it doing good. And so many people in my life have promised I can, so… I will. Somehow.”

I swallow.

“I’m starting to believe it,” I admit to her. “I won’t hurt you again.”

“I don’t care,” Fulvia answers bluntly, and punches me in the face.

I see the attack coming. I could dodge it, but I don’t. I let her fist connect right on my cheekbone, forcing me to stagger back and nearly fall to the ground. Shit, that actually really hurt! I guess now that I think about it, she fought with a gigantic mace when I first met her. She probably has a strength-enhancing tale—

A second punch knocks my thoughts short, my head ringing from the blow as I collapse to the ground. She jumps on my chest, straddling me as I’m hit again, three times, four times. I clamp my jaw as tightly as I can, not wanting to risk her fists grazing my teeth and giving me a taste of her blood again. Yet my own blood starts to flow, thick and black down my face. And with every blow, every injury, my hunger roars louder.

But I won’t hurt her. I refuse. She wants to beat me? Fine. Watcher knows she deserves it. I feel her shaking from more than just the impacts, screaming with incoherent fury as tears stream down her face and salt my wounds. I hope this makes her feel better. I hope this helps. Please, Watcher. Ease her suffering.

Time seems to slow. Or… perhaps speed up? Blow after blow hammers down on my face, cracking bone and drawing blood. Maybe… too much blood. I feel myself getting woozy. Hungry. It’s… bad. This is bad.

“Stop,” I say, moving up an arm to block her strike. She bats it aside, continuing her attack.

“Stop!” I repeat more firmly, trying to grab her arms. But blood is stinging my eyes, I’m dizzy, and I need to bite her.

No! No. I won’t. I can’t. I flail at her, trying to restrain her or knock her off, but my head is ringing and my senses are all messed up. There’s such an easy way to fix that, too, if I just open my mouth and take it. I stretch my jaw out wide.

“Fulvia, I don’t want to fight back!” I yell at her. “If I’m hurt too much, I’ll lose control!”

“Then do it!” she screams. “Bite me, you fucking freak! Give them a reason to put you down!”

“Fulvia!”

“You think I’m afraid of you!?” she raves. “You really think, after every pound of flesh you’ve taken from me, I won’t lose another arm to make sure you die for good? Do it, you monster! Do it!”

I have to grab her, hold her, stop her, but it’s too hard. I can’t web her up with my gauntlets on. She breaks free if I grab her. I can’t block her attacks without being able to see.

But I can kill her. That would be easy. She’s straddling me. One punch and I could probably cave her skull in. Or, even better, I simply lean into the next fist and bite it off. Ahh, what an exquisite experience that would be! I’ve eaten her upper arm dozens of times, but her hand? I only ever tasted that once. I should—

“Stop!” A commanding voice shouts, the half-broken door to the house slamming inward. “What the fuck are you doing? Stop!”

Oh? I recognize that voice. Captain Jelisaveta, an easy meal. It was so stupid of them to have her watch me. I’ll just have her after I… I… no. I’m better than this. I will not give into my hunger here! Not after so long! I’ve been doing so well! Over a year of living with humans and not hurting them. Over half my life! That means something. I’m better than this!

Yet August was better than her, my hunger reminds me. And I still ate him. I was so angry at the time, so furious at someone so innocent. And the situation is reversed here: I’m not being rescued, I’m being attacked. I’m not better than this, not really. And even if I was?

The loud one should know better.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Captain Jelisaveta rush forward, but I’ve already lost my battle. Regret welling up before the action even completes, I open my jaws.

Biting down on flesh, the red blood mixes with black.