Vigor Mortis

Chapter 138: Make Cuddles, Also War

“I need a large tail because I’m looking to store more casting organs,” Penelope explains. “Among other things. But I didn’t like the idea of a tail that I had to drag everywhere. It’s unappealingly crude, solution-wise.”

I nestle my face deeper into her chest, because it’s soft and I’m tired and I expect she’s about to talk more than enough for both of us. Penelope certainly values elegance in design, something that I think rubbed off on Margarette. I’m not sure I understand the concept, but I can’t argue with the results. Plus, yeah, dragging a body part everywhere seems awful.

“So the idea I ultimately settled on was to turn things inside-out. Literally. I’ve redesigned the spellcasting organs to be external. They’re basically small flesh tentacles, and they’ll layer the underside of the tail, being able to ‘walk’ with me when I’m not using them for spells. And with proper counterweighting, I should be able to lift the entire tail off the ground while leaning forwards, letting me make full use of the entire set. I’ll look a little silly with my body hunched over like a raptor, but I doubt appearances will be the first of my worries in any situation where I’ll need to bring out the full scope of my casting prowess.”

I wrap some of my fleshy tentacles around my girlfriend’s face, poking and prodding her to remind her how annoying they are.

“I know you don’t like your physical tentacles, Vita, but they’re a useful structure,” Penelope chides. “Mine will be much shorter and more numerous than yours; they’re designed for precision flexibility, not physical manipulation. I’m really looking forward to finishing it! Though while I grow the basic structure I’m still finalizing the exact muscle-to-organ-space ratio that I want. Considering how long it’s going to be, being able to support my entire body weight with the tail would be a plus. Of course, at minimum, I want to make sure the tail has enough compressive strength to crush a human skull. That averages to a bit over five hundred and twenty pounds-force, so supporting my weight wouldn’t be too far off anyway.”

Weird metric but I understand. Skull-crushing is an excellent power move. I briefly consider asking about where she got those numbers, but decide against it. It’s cuddle time, after all. I shift my weight a little, squeeze my tendrils slightly tighter, and make a humming noise of acknowledgement.

“As for other alterations, I’ve played around with the idea of claws multiple times, but as much as I like the aesthetic they’re just more trouble than they’re worth. Non-retractable claws would simply be prone to getting in the way more than they would be helpful, while retractable claws are not an easy thing to design for the human hand structure. There’s just not enough space in the first knuckle for such a thing, which leads to needing a dozen other concessions, and… well, suffice to say it’s not an appealing prospect. I still can’t decide if I want to replace my skin with scales; I like the potential for giving myself an epidermis stronger than most armor, and could likely come up with an effective method of cooling even if I give up on sweat, but I like my skin. I’ve worked hard on making it the way it is.”

“Soft,” I mumble, causing Penelope to chuckle.

“Yes, exactly,” she agrees. “It really would be a shame to get rid of it, don’t you think?”

I make another affirmative humming noise, happily squirming around a little. Penelope is very soft. She might honestly be even softer than Rosco.

…Nah, that’d be crazy. She’s close though.

“Now, feel free to continue hiding between my breasts if you don’t want to answer,” Penelope smirks, “but why do you ask? You don’t normally show this much interest.”

I make a few wordless grumbles but regretfully extract myself from the softness, taking the effort to physically look at her face.

“I think I’m growing physical versions of my soul structure by default, but that’s not the way it has to be,” I explain. “I’m becoming Mistwatcher-like, but I think… I think I could turn into something else, if I wanted to. The problem is that there’s nothing I want to be. I don’t get wanting to be a certain way, I guess.”

“Hmm,” Penelope muses, stroking her fingers through my slowly-regrowing hair. “Do you have things you don’t want to be?”

“Well, yeah,” I confirm. “But it’s like… basically everything? I don’t even want to be made of flesh.”

“And what does that mean to you?” Penelope asks. “Define ‘flesh.'”

“Huh?” I ask.

“Define flesh,” she repeats. “What is flesh? What don’t you like about it? Break your issues down into discrete elements.”

I sigh, trying to wrap my head around the problem of turning my constant daily discomfort into words understandable by someone who has no context for what I’d even be talking about. Even separating it into chunks like she wants is difficult. The experience of hating my body is just my default. How do I define that?

“I… when you’re in prison,” I start, “you have a cell. You’re stuck in the cell. You can move around a bit, but you’re always stuck.”

I lift my arm up, moving the core of my soul out of my belly and down my shoulder, feeling my true self strain against the cramped insides of my hand.

“Maybe you’re not truly stuck. I can leave my cell whenever I want. But it’s not something you can ever take back, and certain death waits on the other end. So you just have to… put up with it. You just have to stay stuck for as long as it takes, trying not to think about how much better life would be if you weren’t trapped.”

“Are you trapped?” Penelope asks softly. “You can’t move a jail cell, but your body is yours to control.”

“Sure, but it controls wrong,” I insist. “I… I don’t know how to describe this part. Flesh moves wrong. It has… I don’t know. Mass. Gravity. Resistance. I feel like I’m a slug, crawling around with barely-coordinated jerks of some slimy tube. And I have to feel this way all the time, yanking my soggy prison around from the inside, screaming at it to move right, to do what I want it to do. But half the time it has a mind of its own! I don’t get to control when I’m tired or when I’m sweaty or when I’m aroused or when I’m itchy. I don’t get to control my heartbeat or my bowels or my tears or my reflexes. It’s like something else is driving half of me, all the time, and I hate it!”

Penelope hums, tapping her cheek.

“…You don’t think it would get annoying or dangerous to have to manually beat your own heart? The heart isn’t like your lungs, Vita. You won’t be alright if you just hold it for a while.”

“No, that’s not the point!” I insist. “I don’t want a heart at all! I don’t want this disgusting blob constantly twitching inside me! I feel it moving all the time and it just… eeugh! It’s so gross!”

“So… you want a body that doesn’t have internal organs, or at least one where you can’t feel them?” Penelope clarifies. “As well as a body that doesn’t have any particularly egregious autonomic responses like arousal or itchiness.”

“Well… yeah, I guess,” I admit. “It sounds a lot simpler when you put it that way.”

“That’s why I’m putting it that way,” Penelope smiles. “Now we can think about ways to accomplish that. You could make yourself a skeleton, could you not? That would solve most of those issues.”

“Skeletons are very cool,” I admit, thinking about it. “But Margarette isn’t exactly the best cuddler. Plus, the problem with being dead in general is that it makes me a lot weaker and more vulnerable. I’m not the biggest fan of muscles, but they make me much stronger than if I only had soul power to work with. Even worse, bodily destruction would kill me permanently if I was undead, Lich or no. My soul would get smashed if my body does.”

“True,” Penelope agrees, nodding. “You could make yourself an ozoid without much trouble. They won’t shatter on death, will they?”

“Probably not,” I conclude, thinking about that. “I do like the idea of… just being a singular mass of the same substance?”

“You want to be homogeneous,” Penelope translates. “A challenging prospect for a complex living being, but one we already know is possible.”

“I don’t know if I like the idea of being an ooze, though,” I admit. “If my body is that malleable, I think I’m going to continue struggling with the idea of what ‘I’ am, what ‘I’ look like. I won’t know what to do with myself. It sounds… depressing. Also, I definitely don’t want anything to be able to like… get inside me? Unless I’m currently eating it. So being a liquid seems kind of terrible in that regard.”

“So you want to be some sort of homogeneous mass, but you want to retain your shape, but you don’t want internal organs, but you do want some sort of muscular system, but you don’t want a heart, but you do want to be alive. That about sum it up?”

“Yep!” I confirm. “Oh, I also still wanna be able to enjoy cuddles.”

“Naturally,” Penelope chuckles. “Well, let it never be said that my girlfriend lacks ambition.”

“Mmm… no, I’d probably let someone say that if they wanted to,” I tell her honestly. “I don’t really care if someone thinks that about me. How about my body, though? Do you have any ideas?”

She laughs harder, squeezing me tightly for a moment.

“I can’t say I have any immediate solution to that, no. I wouldn’t say what you want is impossible, but… I don’t have any workable theories. Just a few ideas. The problem that immediately comes to mind is the fact that there’s not really a substance I know of that can accomplish what you want. What you’re describing… well, in essence, you want to be a solidified soul, don’t you? You don’t want a body, you want your real self to be the body.”

I raise my eyebrows, feeling somewhat stupid all of a sudden.

“I… yeah, I mean, it seems really obvious now that you say it out loud.”

“Again, that’s why I’m saying it out loud,” she answers smugly, booping my nose with a finger. “You’re clever, Vita, but you’ve never been the best at turning feelings into words.”

“I don’t know if my feelings matter in this case,” I say glumly. “Even if I could ‘solidify’ my soul or whatever, the Mistwatcher will just eat me if I don’t have a body.”

“Perhaps,” Penelope admits, nodding. “But perhaps not. It depends on how you accomplish it. The very idea of a ‘solidified soul’ is just that: an idea. It has no concrete properties yet. It might be an entire category of things, or it might be completely impossible. We’ll just have to figure it out together. Or, perhaps, your absurd intuition will craft a solution for you. It’s hard to say.”

I don’t answer, because the more she talks about it the more the idea starts to roll around in my head, picking up the detritus of my various frustrations and giving them direction. Some kind of… solid soul self? A body that’s only just enough of a body to fool the Mistwatcher? I have no clue how such a thing would work, but I certainly like the idea. It just… checks all the boxes.

“I’ll definitely think about it,” I nod absently, my mind still wandering around doing exactly that. “Thanks, Penelope.”

“Would now be a good time to talk about what I came here to talk about, then?” Penelope asks half-jokingly.

I grumble quietly, redistributing myself so I can continue using my girlfriend’s softest bits as a pillow without muffling my voice.

“Fine,” I allow. “I’m picking up that I won’t like it, though.”

“Well, that depends,” Penelope answers smoothly. “How much do you like the idea of slaughtering dozens of people responsible for your torture and incarceration?”

“Not all that much, actually,” I sigh.

“Well then—” she starts, then blinks with surprise. “Wait, really? You’re usually quite adorably revenge-positive.”

“Well yeah, and I was,” I grumble. “Then I killed dozens of people responsible for my torture and incarceration. So… why bother doing it a second time? I made it. I’m home. We’re cuddling. I’m happy. At this point I just want the problem to go away.”

Penelope starts running her fingers through my hair again, frowning to herself. I feel her soul flit through a variety of intentions: first, of course, being the instinct to manipulate me into seeing things her way. She quashes it as she usually does, half with the conviction to not do that to me on principle, and half with the knowledge that she doesn’t really need to manipulate me to get me to agree. Not that I think she’d manipulate me if she wouldn’t get what she wanted otherwise, but I know she’d be a lot more tempted to.

It’s hard to describe what feeling someone’s intentions from their soul is like. Back when I first started honing the ability, I was busy parsing through how every soul only has a miniscule fraction of itself devoted to a person’s current thoughts and feelings, and at the time it was a very difficult part of the soul to detect. Penelope’s feelings felt like a song, Norah’s feelings felt like waves of pressure, Lyn’s feelings felt like pulses of temperature… it all seemed so different, but the more I got used to it the more I figured out there’s somewhat of a shared language between all of them. I just needed to learn to read it.

I don’t hear Penelope’s thoughts as words, but the nuances of her emotions spread throughout her soul, touching on and resonating with ideas, memories, plans, associations, and dozens of other comprehensible and incomprehensible things in a vast web. I don’t just feel the emotion of temptation, I feel a temptation that explicitly relates to her insecurities, her regrets, her habits, the pleasurable feeling she gets when giving into temptations, the many people she associates with this particular temptation, the superiority she feels compared to those people, the way her temptation relates to me, the way that associating the temptation with me disgusts her, the way it also excites her, and so on. It’s entirely in the form of emotion and association, not conscious thought, but it’s so complex and rich I can usually make reasonable assumptions about what thoughts lead to any given reaction. The better I know a person, the better I can interpret what each part of the web is and the more confident I can be in my conclusions. Penelope is definitely one of the people I know best… even considering how much she’s changed in the years I’ve been away.

After contemplating manipulation, she starts calculating the impact my removal from whatever her plan is would have on it… and very quickly decides that I’m still needed. She then purposefully puts that thought aside, changing mental tracks off her usual rail to something that confused the shit out of me before I figured out what was going on. Right now she’s actively trying to feel something, but she isn’t succeeding so I can only guess what it is. I have those guesses, of course. It’s not the first time she’s done this, and she always ends up disappointed when she inevitably fails. Then she switches tracks again, right back to manipulation… though this time, her goal is to manipulate me into feeling better, which is something she has significantly fewer moral qualms with.

Of course, before she opens her mouth she’s already succeeding. Most people are really, really confusing to me. They feel emotions that seem totally disconnected from what I’d expect, reacting to stimuli and forming associations that completely fly over my head. Penelope can be a little confusing at times, but relatively speaking she’s remarkably straightforward, rarely acting without thinking like normal people do. It’s nice, and I don’t have any issue with her plotting out a conversation in advance in an attempt to steer me down whatever track ends up making me happier. I don’t need her to empathize, to feel bad when I feel bad. I don’t think it’s a flaw that she can’t. The way she cares is different, but I like it better.

“You said you were happy,” Penelope mentions softly. “Is that true?”

I boop her on the nose with a tentacle.

“It definitely is right now,” I murmur.

She beams, inside and out, but presses forward with her plan.

“Yes, well… I meant in the general case. You’ve been away for a tenday, and I hear you came back looking rather… worn-down.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I admit. “I really lost track of time out there. I don’t like how easy it is for me to lose track of time. If not for Norah I’d probably still be running around and killing everything I get close to.”

“…And that bothers you,” Penelope prompts.

I don’t answer immediately, taking a moment to gather my thoughts while I feel Penelope start pulling in mana to cast something on me. I give her my own mana, freely and happily, relishing in the feeling of dancing within her soul before the spell completes and that part of me is removed from existence forever. Naturally, I keep my magic resistance off; whatever she’s doing, I trust her completely.

“There was a time in my life,” I eventually start, “where I would have been absolutely horrified by the amount of murder I’ve done now. I don’t think I’ve ever been a good person, really. I’ve seen a lot of death. I’ve waited by and let death take people I knew when I could have tried to stop it. The first time I used my talent… heh, I mean, I guess we know it’s not really a talent now. But the first time I pulled a soul out of someone, I kind of freaked out, you know? But now it’s just what I am. The Vita that thought she was human would be happy I’m no longer starving, but I don’t think she would have wanted anything to do with me.”

Penelope casts another spell on me, and I feel the eyeball in my thigh start to itch, twitching around uncomfortably in its socket. Ah, she’s finally getting around to removing it. I nuzzle her a little with the back of my head in silent thanks.

“Do you care what your past self thinks of you?” Penelope asks.

“Not really,” I admit. “But do you ever feel like…”

I stop, frowning a little as I catch my words. There’s no need to ask her, I know she’s felt this way.

“You know that feeling where we look back at everything we’ve done and wonder why we don’t regret more of it? It’s that.”

“Ah,” Penelope almost whispers. “That.”

“But I can’t bring myself to regret it because I don’t know what I could have done better,” I sigh. “Instead it just makes me feel… I don’t know. Stupid, I guess? Like someone else in my position would be able to look back at my life and figure out all the ways I’ve screwed up, and I’m simply too dumb to see it. But it feels like my mistakes have all been in how I interact with people, and I just don’t get people. Not even when I’m looking into their souls. Whenever I try to get them to do one thing, they end up diving for the other. Whenever I try to get them to understand something, they just dig their heels into the opposite. It’s just… I just can’t. I’m no good at it. I’m only good at killing, so everything keeps coming back to that.”

Penelope sighs.

“You aren’t stupid, Vita,” she assures me. “And you’d better make sure you believe that, because you know that’s something I judge very harshly. You’re just… missing something most humans have. Same as me.”

“I don’t think you need it,” I tell her.

“The feeling is mutual,” she responds.

“But neither of us agree with the other,” I continue.

“No,” she confirms softly. “I suppose not.”

The two of us hold each other in silence, soaking in that bittersweet acknowledgement for a moment.

“Remember our little mantra from two years ago?” Penelope asks eventually. “‘Not psychopaths?'”

“I remember.”

“It’s getting increasingly difficult for me to deny that I am one,” she admits. “Even with Nugas, I’m merely disgusted at myself for violating my principles, not out of any care for the unimaginable amounts of pain I put a living person through. I spent so long experimenting on her I have to manually remind myself that Nugas even is a person. I… honestly never expected her to turn out as one.”

“It’s good you have principles,” I point out.

“Only tautologically,” she answers. “It is good to possess my principles, according to my principles. I’ll admit there’s a certain satisfaction in upholding them properly, but… it’s an intellectual satisfaction. Like successfully solving a puzzle. I thought… I thought the way I felt for you was proof that I wasn’t broken. But it’s still just you. If anything, having you has made my tendencies towards everyone else even worse.”

“Even the way you care about me is a little weird,” I inform her absently. “It’s pretty different from how other people love.”

The horror that grips her startles me, her body going stiff and her soul singing cold. Shit, why is she freaking out? Did I fuck up again?

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay!” I promise her, hurriedly reaching up to grab her cheeks. “It… it’s good! I like the way you like me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you!”

“It’s fine, Vita,” Penelope lies. “I… don’t even know why I was surprised, really. Ugh… and here I was planning to try to cheer you up.”

“I know,” I tell her. “That was when your plan succeeded.”

She smiles softly, calming down at my words. I think I even understand why. Pride, triumph, conquest, victory… these are things that make Penelope happy.

“I wish I could make this world one that you could live in without any problems,” Penelope tells me. “But unfortunately, I need your help for that. And I fear that even if we sit here and do nothing, the Inquisition will be coming for you sooner rather than later.”

I sigh, nodding.

“I’m not going to kill them if they don’t attack me first,” I tell her. “And… I want to give them the opportunity to back off and leave me be. I don’t know how to make it work, but I have to at least try.”

“I don’t even know how to make that work, Vita,” Penelope says sadly. “I’d tell you how if I could.”

“So that’s it, then?” I ask. “We just prepare for war?”

“We prepare for slaughter,” she corrects me. “When they come for you, I want you to fight a battle of attrition. Keep them occupied for as long as you can, especially the High Templars. Of course, dead absolutely counts as occupied. Braum and Cassia are still out of the city and will likely stay that way, which means you should prepare for Galdra and Arden.”

“Arden?” I ask.

“Arden the Ironsoul,” Penelope answers. “They’re quite a powerhouse, and their talent would be overwhelmingly strong in the hands of an even remotely intelligent learned mage. Arden has the capacity to shape and manipulate enormous amounts of mana outside the confines of their own soul. Fortunately for you, Arden isn’t a learned mage, so you’ll only have to worry about giant golden death rays.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound too bad,” I agree.

Although… an attack made of highly concentrated Watcher mana might damage my soul. I’m not sure, since Watcher mana doesn’t normally hurt any part of me other than my own mana, but if it’s concentrated enough to damage physical objects I wouldn’t be surprised if it can damage anima as well. Mana normally damages neither, after all.

“On second thought, maybe it does,” I muse. “I guess I’ll kill Arden first, if possible.”

I pause. I’m already planning the order, huh? I don’t like killing, certainly not in the way Penelope does. I’ll admit I do love eating souls, and that usually necessitates killing, but as tasty as human souls consistently are there’s nothing about them that’s better than monster souls other than average size. I’d be perfectly happy not having to murder anyone ever again, but that’s just not in the cards, is it? Not unless I want to leave Valka entirely, and I’d rather kill a thousand Templars than have to abandon the only people I’ve ever really cared about.

The question still nags at me, though. Could a smarter person find a better way?

And if so, how can I become that person?

“I’d also like to discuss the plan with the many ex-prisoners you’ve brought here, if that’s okay,” Penelope continues. “The more people we can get involved, the better our chances of success.”

“Makes sense to me,” I acknowledge. “Talk to Jeremiah first, he’s probably the best guy to poke holes in your plan. I’m sure To-Kill-From-Above would be happy to kill Templars as well.”

“That’s the Hiverock soldier?” she asks. “Watcher’s eyes, I want to dissect him so badly.”

“Eh, you can after he inevitably betrays us,” I answer, waving her off. “I don’t kill people for things I expect they’re going to do.”

“Vivisect, then? We don’t have to kill him,” Penelope pouts.

“Do you even have time for him right now?” I ask.

She sighs. Yeah, she doesn’t and we both know it.

“Well, speaking of inevitable betrayal,” Penelope muses, “you don’t have any problems with me backstabbing Capita and Sky, do you?”

“Nah,” I grunt. “Altrix might be sad, but she’ll get over it after we tell her about the perception event.”

“Wait… do the people here not know about the Skyhope perception event?”

“I mean, some of them might?” I hedge. “But probably not. They’ve nearly all been captured for well over two years. The staff probably knows, but that’s it.”

“Oh,” Penelope muses. “That could be fun. Do you mind if I borrow Manus?”

“Go for it,” I shrug. “I should probably… get up and start talking to other people, I guess. Ugh.”

There are too many people in my life, all of a sudden. Altrix is worried about me, Penta is around and definitely deserves some of my time, I should see how my Revenants are getting on and of course Melissa deserves a hug or twenty. Not to mention the general peacekeeping rounds I should be making… it’s going to be such a pain. Part of me wants to keep laying here and cuddling forever. Part of me wants to return to the forest and start feasting again. But… no. If I ignore my obligations now, I’ll be even less likely to get to them later.

Besides, it’s probably about time that we start reviving former humans as ozoids. Starting, of course, with Angelien.