Vigor Mortis

Chapter 157: Shells

“So… so you’re sure this is safe?” Lark presses, clutching one of my soul-infused meat rations like it’s a dying child. “It’s not made out of a person and it’s not hurting anyone?”

“Well it’s made out of me,” I say defensively. “But no, I’m not being harmed by this at all. Anima is just a substance, like meat. Some of it is people, but most of it isn’t. This is made out of the same stuff I use to make mindless undead. The shambly kind that don’t have any feelings at all.”

I think for a moment.

“…Though I guess it’s made out of the same stuff that mind controls my intelligent undead,” I admit. “So if it integrates with your soul you might become my slave…?”

Lark pauses with a look of utter horror on her face, her mouth wide-open as she’s about to stuff it full of ration. I smirk.

“Kidding,” I tell her quickly. “I don’t think your soul can integrate that stuff anymore, it isn’t all holey like before. Plus, other vrothizo have eaten plenty of my undead without ever getting mind controlled. I don’t think it’s possible.”

She gives a hesitant, worried glance down at her meal, then back up at me, then back down at her meal. Then she stuffs it in her mouth, swallowing it whole and involuntarily making a happy noise. Apparently, by vrothizo standards, bits of my soul taste heavenly. I’m… not really sure how to feel about that, but I’m glad Lark has been enjoying it on our march home.

Plus, I’m not sure it would be a good idea to control a living vrothizo even if I could. I have no idea how my new cosmic dark-mana pal would react to that, and I definitely want to keep them happy with me. It’s like every wall in my house is made of instant death, but also one of the walls has the capacity to be offended.

“Vita,” Jelisa sighs, “mind control is not an appropriate subject for humor. It’s not funny, it’s fucked up.”

“I know that!” I snap at her, embarrassed. “I just… I was just thinking out loud. I’m used to talking about it with people who aren’t freaked out so much, is all.”

“Like me!” Keero says cheerfully. “Although I hadn’t really thought much about the idea until after it happened, if I’m being honest.”

“Why is he even still here?” Jelisa demands. “We’re almost back to Skyhope, and for obvious reasons they are not coming with us. You should destroy them.”

“You should stop giving Vita orders, little human,” Keero growls.

“Shut the fuck up, Keero,” I snap. “Jelisa can say what she wants. And she’s right that you’re not coming with us. You and your girlfriend need to head for the spot I told you about and meet up with Mateo and Netta. They’ll guide you to where you’ll be for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh good, the Lich is conspiring openly against us,” Harvey says flatly.

“I mean, I like that she’s open,” Xavier says. “He’s open? They’re open? Shit, uh, how should we refer to you, Vita?”

“Why does everyone ask me that?” I groan. “For the last time, I don’t care!”

“While we’re in the city, that’s Melik,” Jelisa corrects. “And since Vita doesn’t care, you should get used to ‘he.'”

“Okay, I… I mean, I guess that makes sense,” Xavier mutters, weirdly disappointed and vaguely miserable at that perfectly logical conclusion. God, she’s like a fucking nega-Sky. All confused and sad instead of assholish and angry, but about more or less exactly the same things.

I scowl at that, feeling myself finally start to see a connection between my recent thoughts in this area. I don’t understand why everyone keeps asking me if I’m male or female, because I could not possibly give less of a shit. I do not care. But other people do. Most people do. The whole reason most people’s souls feel male or female is becausethose people care about that.

“Huh,” I mutter to myself.

I always understood that most people recognize their gender status as part of their identity, but I feel like I didn’t really get it until now. I guess I’m just the weird one again. Though I think there are some humans that, like me, don’t care at all. So maybe not? Shit, now I’m going to have to start paying attention. That’s so annoying.

“While we’re on the subject, can we all just agree to refer to Xavier as a woman so she stops giving me a headache?” I grumble.

“What!?” Xavier shrieks.

“What?” Bently asks, surprised and concerned.

“Vita, please stop prodding at that,” Jelisa sighs. “This is one of those things people need to figure out at their own pace. Being publicly confronted about it is distressing.”

“I’d rather deal with her distress all at once then have to deal with her constant subconscious cringing,” I grumble.

“Then you’re just being a selfish asshole,” Jelisa fires back, “and you need to stop.”

I bristle at that, turning to glower at her from behind my helmet as both of my vrothizo Revenants move to loom murderously. It’s not just about me. I’m helping. Xavier needs to figure herself the fuck out or she’ll keep being miserable. Jelisa doesn’t budge, though, and to my surprise she actually feels pretty angry. She is well and truly fed up with my shit right now, which… probably means I actually did something wrong. I don’t really get what, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t fucked up.

“Alright,” I allow. “Sorry.”

That gets a round of surprise from the squad, which is mildly annoying. What, do they think I can’t apologize?

“Why are you still here, Keero?” I snap. “When I said you and Ketevan need to go, I meant now.“

“I… of course, sorry,” he says, babbling a little to Ketevan before the two of them start stomping off.

Our march resumed in silence after that, and soon enough Skyhope’s walls are in sight. Even knowing that almost everyone who wants to kill me happens to be inside, the city is still a reassuring sight. It’s hard not to think of it as my home. After all, I was born and raised there. Even Melik ended up enjoying his time living in the city, though he would have grumpily refused to admit it. It’s a shame that I will almost certainly be returning to my village after Hiverock night, but even if I wasn’t likely to have my identity revealed I would feel obligated to go make sure everyone there is safe after the attack.

We return to the barracks and take a moment to relax, the whole squad subdued despite our victory. I don’t have long to rest, though, since I feel Orville’s soul in the city and I need to go talk to him about Penelope. Ignoring my body’s exhaustion, I trudge my way to the hunter’s guild shortly after taking a quick bath and getting some civilian clothes on. Orville is in his room, which is upstairs and therefore not a place the general public is supposed to go, but I just walk up there like I belong and no one bothers to stop me. One knock on the door later, and a very unamused Orville invites me into his room.

“They haven’t seen Penelope,” he tells me flatly.

I scowl. That doesn’t sound good.

“Elaborate,” I order.

“Netta and Mateo both report that they haven’t seen Penelope, that the village hasn’t seen Penelope, and that none of the people normally in contact with Penelope know where she is. However, someone named Nugas is missing, and they think Vita’s mother might know where Penelope is.”

“Which mother, exactly?” I ask.

Orville’s only outward sign of surprise is a short pause.

“I assumed they meant Lyn, but I don’t personally know any other mothers,” he says.

That does make the most sense, since Altrix is almost certainly in the village and would have reported. It’s annoying, though, because just like before I don’t have a good reason to visit Lyn without being suspicious.

“Is there any way you can talk to her about it without arousing suspicion?” I ask Orville.

“Maybe during or after Hiverock night?” he hedges. “I haven’t really interacted much with Vita’s family, but I do see them from time to time.”

I scowl at that, but I don’t have a better idea. This is terrible news and not at all what I expected. Penelope is in trouble. I don’t know what trouble, but there’s no way she wouldn’t have checked in with her allies unless she was unable to. Orville is right, though, in that dealing with Hiverock night has to come first. That’s tonight, after all, and my family still lives here. Penelope managed over a month without my help, she’s either already dead or she can handle one more day. She’d want me to focus on the city first anyway.

I nod and depart, trying to decide what to do next. What I’m supposed to be doing is resting, since we just marched across the island for a tenday and in about five hours we’re going to be fighting for our lives against Hiverock. But I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to, as shortly before we made it back to the city I finished scarfing down the remains of the Wight, not to mention the souls of whatever monsters we ended up killing along the way. Since I have to fight as Melik, I’d like to join the preparatory work and start casting a bunch of defensive runes around the city, but the mandatory lockdown won’t start for another couple hours and any runes Melik makes would naturally degrade before Hiverock gets here if I made them now. So I guess… I’ll try to rest after all? I’m a little sore, and my body is yearning to use some of this energy on biomantic improvements anyway. I probably won’t be able to get much done on that front without hatching, but some is better than none.

So I head back to my room in the barracks and hop onto the bed to rest, Harvey openly glowering at me when I enter the room. I ignore him, though, closing my eyes and focusing on my ocean. My mana is placid until I bother to move it, but then it’s just like moving any other part of me. Throwing my senses around, I see that the black mana remains as immobile as it was before our encounter, unmoving and uninterested in anything around it. Well, since I have nothing better to do, maybe I can ask it to chat.

I take a single iota of my own mana, the smallest amount of myself that I can physically move at once, and I press it into the black mana. The two points of power annihilate, though they are both so impossibly small I’ll be surprised if the void even notices it happens. More than notice, however, it immediately jolts to attention, oozing panic and aggressiveness for a terrifying instant before it seems to recognize me. I shape a small part of myself next to our border into something like a hand, and wave hello.

Amusement, the mana conveys. Reciprocation. Query.

It’s greeting me back! Now how to answer it? I can’t exactly just say ‘I got bored and wanted to figure out your deal.’ Actually, wait. Can I? I form myself into the shape of words.

Can you read this?

Recognition. Excitement. Confusion.

To my surprise, the black mana starts to twist back at me, forming what looks like words of its own. Except… I can’t read any of it. It doesn’t look like any language I’ve ever seen before.

Incomprehension, I send back.

It twists into more words. Another language I don’t know.

Incomprehension, I repeat. Futility.

I only know one language. If the black mana doesn’t understand it, I can’t understand anything else it could write. But it is extremely cool that it understands language at all! It has to be manifested physically in some way, right? Can it see through the eyes of the vrothizo? Does it know what they know after all? No, if it could it should be able to read the language I wrote, since Lark can read it.

Disappointment. Hope. Interest.

Yeah, it concurs with me. It’s a shame we can’t communicate with words, but it’s very cool that we’re both capable of it. One of us just has to learn the language of the other. As if thinking the same thing, the black mana shapes part of itself into the image of what appears to be a tree, and below that it writes a word. I copy the image, but put the word for tree in my own language below it. And in this way, we start to share.

“Melik!” something very far away calls out. Distantly, I realize I am being shaken.

I project annoyance and a farewell to the black mana, thanking it for its time as I open my physical eyes to glower at Harvey.

“What?” I snap at him.

“It’s time for you to start preparing defensive countermeasures,” he tells me. “Go get in uniform.”

I suppress my urge to sigh and get up to do just that, reporting to a temporary commander in charge of the preemptive defenses. Hiverock looms ever larger in the distance, which captures most of my attention as I blithely obey orders on which runes to put where. I’d never really thought about it before, but… Hiverock only flies a couple miles above us, doesn’t it? I’ll probably be able to feel the lower parts of it with my soul sense. I wonder what that’s going to be like.

I really wish they would just leave us all alone. I wish I could make them. Maybe if I could get up there somehow, I could. To-Kill-From-Above wasn’t that tough.

“Eyes on your runework, Templar,” the Captain whose name I haven’t bothered to remember snaps at me. “Plenty of time for looking up when they’re all falling from the sky.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “I mean, yes sir, apologies. I moved to Skyhope pretty recently, is all. How bad has it been here for the past couple years?”

It’s weird how talking about Melik’s life as if it’s mine doesn’t feel like lying. But I have been in prison the last couple years, which means I’ve missed all the Hiverock nights during that time. It’d be nice to know what to expect.

“It’s been steadily getting worse,” the Captain admits. “They’ve been dropping more eggs and more troops, their own people dying by the thousands. It feels like they’re getting desperate.”

“Which just makes them more dangerous,” I conclude, twisting my metal dust to finish another couple runes.

“Exactly,” the Captain says approvingly. “The High Templars do their best, but a lot of bugs tend to make landfall regardless while they deal with the boulders. Expect fighting in the streets.”

An annoyingly perfect opportunity to make myself a loyal Hiverock soldier army, wasted by having to pretend to be Melik. Oh well.

“I’ll be ready, sir,” I say. “Where are we putting traps next?”

Up through Hiverock’s penumbra darkening the skies, I’m laying down deadly wards. At that point, however, I’m ordered back to my squad for general combat, so I head to where we’re assigned to protect. The others are already there, and Jelisa gives me a brief nod of acknowledgement before immediately getting into a conversation about our strategy.

For obvious, Xavier-related reasons, our squad is assigned to defend the area around one of the city’s major wells. Our strategy is, ironically, quite similar to the strategy the squad employed against me. My runes plus Xavier’s ability to move and shape massive amounts of water mean we can put up impromptu ice walls, isolating groups of enemies in kill zones as they try to travel through the streets. Jelisa coordinates it all, letting us activate our traps with perfect timing even if we don’t have line of sight to the enemy. Which, of course, I could do without her help, but I’m currently pretending I can’t. Finally, when the enemy is isolated, Lark can hop into the death cage and fucking annihilate them.

Annoyingly, the area we’re protecting is one of the richer ones, which means that there’s designated underground shelters for everyone and civilians won’t be hiding in their homes. That’s good news in terms of Harvey’s ability to collapse structures in a pinch, but terrible news in terms of my mood. I knew the Templars didn’t protect the poorer parts of the city as well as the richer parts, but it’s pissing me off to be part of that. I guess I can’t deny it fits our squad’s tactics a lot better to be around the more bountiful well and the stone buildings, but still.

We prepare our area, and now it’s finally time to start the worst part of Hiverock night: the waiting. The initial wave is handled by the High Templars, and the rest of us just deal with whatever it is they miss. Except me, I suppose. I can gather intelligence.

“Hiverock is about to enter my sensory range,” I whisper to Jelisa. On the far edge of the island, the invasion is already starting. Traditionally, Hiverock used to drop troops in remote places, presumably to establish a foothold, but we usually ignored them as they tended to simply die in the forest without our intervention. But now, eggs are dropped. The vrothizo have proven their ability to withstand the forest, to thrive in it, and so the problem will only keep getting worse the longer we fail to strike back against their source. Tall and looming, a craggy cylinder of stone, the island of our decades-long enemy floats with countless bug-men just like To-Kill crawling along the stony bottom, heedless of the fall. It teaches us only something we already knew about their people: they do not hesitate in the face of death.

“Learn what you can,” Jelisa agrees.

I nod, and as Hiverock approaches I feel upwards through the depths of their stone to look into their souls.

Numerous. That’s my first impression. The lower levels of Hiverock are packed with thousands upon thousands of vrothizo souls, most of them raw and unhatched. I’m a bit annoyed that the mouths of the black mana are being used against us, but I have no way to know if that’s something the black mana wants, since it doesn’t seem to perceive through the vrothizo connected to it. Either way, it doesn’t stop at the eggs.

Hatched vrothizo are also kept together by the dozens, fighting and devouring each other inside of what seems to be deep pits packed so tightly that they all fight while squirming overtop each other. I sense hundreds of them like this, and not all of them are totally mindless. I shudder at the thought of being born into that. At least the poor things don’t seem to survive long. The last kind of chamber houses a singular, massive vrothizo, often full of or resting next to eggs, some of which are being delivered to empty pits by the Hiverock soldiers.

“They’re farming them,” I whisper quietly. “They’re farming vrothizo to use as weapons.”

Jelisa swallows and nods slightly, but doesn’t answer. We’d already guessed that, but it’s still an uncomfortable confirmation. I return my attention above to try and figure out more of the story, since the vrothizo aren’t really the interesting ones in this situation. The farmers are far more important than their crops.

The souls of the people of Hiverock are all familiar, of course: they match To-Kill-From-Above’s rose-like pattern of winding beauty, each unique and complex but following similar patterns. The people of Hiverock all have similar souls in the same way humans all have similar souls, and though there seems to be less obvious variance, there’s clearly still variance. They are individuals, they are people. Their emotions are difficult to read, but from what little practice I have I can make out quite the array of moods. What’s interesting, however, is how nearly all of them feel… I’m not sure how to describe it. Content?

To-Kill-From-Above never felt this way, perhaps due to being so far from home, but the people of Hiverock are all weirdly happy about… well, whatever it is they happen to be doing. It’s sort of like how my Revenants feel when they’re following orders, which is somewhat of an uncomfortable comparison. The people of Hiverock are very much alive, of course, but that means little. If we’re fighting a mind controlled army, or even an entire mind controlled society, what does that mean? I shudder a little. It’s not the only explanation, of course. The feeling I’m picking up on is similar to my Revenants, but even with my limited ability to discern Hiverock-person emotions I’m pretty sure it’s far from exactly the same. These guys are weird bug people, after all. Maybe they’re just more naturally content and loyal than humans are. Bugs are known for being weirdly capable at cooperation, right?

I wrinkle my nose with frustration. If it’s… bug-like cooperation, shouldn’t there be a queen or something? I guess there might be. I only feel the lowest sections of Hiverock, the vast majority of it extending high above my sensory range. If not for the fact that the island is hollow and the denizens have colonized the inside all the way down to the bottom, I wouldn’t be able to feel them at all. As-is, the movement of souls in the lower areas indicates busy hallways and chambers, all packed with warriors. Content or otherwise, the sheer soul density of Hiverock extends to the bugs just as much as the vrothizo. The caverns are stuffed full of people, obscenely crowded to the point of congestion. At the very bottom, what I suspect are chambers full of warriors preparing to drop on us hold so many soldiers I’m surprised they can even breathe. The stones are loaded and ready to drop. There’s a tension up there, one that mirrors the one down here. A ripple goes through their ranks as the order travels by what I assume is word of mouth.

“They’re dropping,” I announce quietly, and Hiverock night begins.

I didn’t expect them to be scared. It’s largely drowned out by the fervor, the anticipation, the various ways people psych themselves up for battle… but it’s there. The fear is lesser than I’d expect from people being sent on what has always, always been a suicide mission for their people, but it’s still there. I don’t know why that bothers me so much. The stupid bugs are putting the people I care about in danger, so they’re all going to die.

The rocks fall first, and the High Templars burst into action. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, of course. The perception event was far more terrifying than this, and they handled it. Even without Arden the Ironsoul helping this time, I don’t think any rocks are making it to the ground.

Nothing I can do about them anyway. My eyes are on the Templars themselves, that ubiquitous maelstrom of annihilation. Braum, Cassia, and Galdra swoop through the skies, reducing boulders larger than houses to ash and dust. It’s so horribly familiar. Here I am, helping save the city from an extant threat, fighting on their side… just like last time. Just like the moments before I was captured. Will it happen again? Will I be able to escape this time?

“Why is it so hard,” I whisper, “to do the right thing and not be punished for it?”

I’m not quite quiet enough. The words weren’t intended for anyone else, but Jelisa and Lark both catch them, each reacting in a uniquely unpleasant way. Pity and regret, the classic Jelisa special. I don’t want to feel either of them from her. And little baby Lark, always so obsessed with her self-flagellations that she’s barely just starting to figure out that the world isn’t fair. Gah, I shouldn’t be focusing on this. I’m just tense, and why wouldn’t I be?

Here come the bugs.

Most of them die to the High Templars, of course. None of them are stupid enough to think that won’t be their fate. But ultimately, when the choice is between letting a contingent of soldiers touch the ground and letting a building-sized stone impact the city after accelerating from a two-mile drop, well… some of them inevitably slip through. That’s when it’s our turn to slaughter them.

They are equipped with parachutes, but they open them as late as possible, aiming to land on us weapon-first and at high speed. They are not, I have to note, very good at it. Their souls are full of a confidence of knowledge, a certainty that this is within their power, but their bodies move with the sluggishness of unpracticed movement. They remind me of my own struggles to handle Melik’s weak body. Which is… strange. I don’t think they’re like me. I don’t think they’re older than their physical forms. I don’t really have time to analyze it, though, before I have to focus on the killing.

I’m used to killing, now. I’m not sure when that started, but it’s clearly my new normal. The unexpected melancholy I felt at the complexity of the Hiverock people does nothing to slow my sword or stay my spells. More and more fall on us, dying to traps and tactics and blades and bombs. They are relentless, but not particularly strong. There’s a reason we have repelled them time and time again, and while we won’t be without casualties I don’t particularly feel like we’re in danger of losing either.

Hiverock eventually runs out of stones, and funnily enough that means more soldiers start making landfall. Not because the High Templars can’t stop them, but because they’re now splitting their attention between the air and ground, mopping up whatever soldiers are starting to make headway. They’re tiring, as well. We all are, as the minutes pass into hours. But I manage to sneak a few soldier snacks in while I’m sure no one is looking, so my body keeps going.

Now, however, I have no such luxury. Galdra is too close, since we’re currently being swarmed by bugs despite our traps. Everyone but Lark and I are injured, and our bodies’ conditions are simply because of our healing abilities, not any superior skill at combat. It is tedious and slow and without Galdra here one or more of us likely would have died.

“Lady Vesuvius picked a terrible time to go missing,” I grouse, mostly to myself. “Couldn’t her talent kill thousands of them at once without spreading to us?”

Once again, I’m louder than I intend. The whole squad reacts to my mention of Penelope in various ways, from Lark’s worried confidence that the woman is no traitor (which is amusing) to Jelisa’s mental chastisement that Melik wouldn’t calmly complain in the middle of a life-or-death fight (which I have to admit is valid criticism). It’s Galdra’s reaction, though, that makes me do a bit of a double-take. It’s… strange. First she mentally acknowledges a good idea, which is pretty normal. But her thoughts afterwards are tinged with plotting, intent, and command. Not to mention that all-too familiar joy of ordering someone around. Of ordering… Penelope around? Of using her as a puppet?

My heart beats a little faster and I feel something foul flare up inside me. No, no I could just be misreading things. I’m wrong, surely. Let me be wrong. I’m not sure what I’ll do if I’m right.

“Animancer,” I say out loud, apropos of nothing, and feel out Galdra’s reaction to the word.

Surprise. A bit of fear. Acknowledgement, recognition. Suspicion, directed at me. I have no room in my mind to care, however, because I feel one emotion particularly strongly from her: self-identification. Galdra is an animancer. Galdra has Penelope.

The shell over my soul cracks, and my rage spills across the battlefield. The Hiverock soldiers around us stagger, each and every one of them tasting the fear of my proximity for the first time. A dozen of them die in that startled moment as my squad presses the sudden advantage, but I have no eyes for it. My tendrils burst from my core, stretching euphorically as they twist around my limbs to support Melik’s inferior flesh. I jump directly at Galdra. I am going to fucking kill her, and I don’t give a damn about a single other thing.

“There you are,” Galdra hisses, grinning behind her helmet as mana erupts around me. “Let’s see if I can get you for good this time.”

I don’t respond. I’m too busy screaming in rage, reaching for her soul. A pulse of myself out into the world destroys her spells but only for a moment, and I see that I’m clearly on a trajectory to be incinerated. Not that it matters. This body doesn’t matter. Only her death. And as long as I can reach her with a tentacle, I…

I find my soul brushing against her skin and failing to penetrate. Right. She’s an animancer now. She can see me. She can touch me. And when my body burns, she’ll be ready. Mana erupts all around Galdra. I won’t be able to stop it this time. I’m headed right towards my death. Whose body do I take?

The spell surrounding Galdra completes, but in the mana’s place is, to my utter surprise, a blazing red, craggy-souled monster, her tail wrapped around Galdra’s head. A single twitch of muscle, and Galdra’s brains splatter across the street. Her corpse falls to the ground, headless and dead, as I land beside it. Viscera coats the monster’s tail, small appendages on the underside holding and wiping gore off the crushed metal that was once part of the High Templar’s skull. What the fuck just happened? The crimson beast caresses Galdra’s soul with one hand before flicking it contemptuously in my direction, her cold eyes and hardened soul full of judgment.

“Reanimate that,” she orders, and I know that voice. “We’ll still need her for the fight.”

I catch the soul numbly, staring up at a face that’s horribly familiar other than the scales. No. It can’t be.

“What did she do to you?” I ask, horror creeping into my tone.

“Petty things,” what’s left of Penelope answers.

I swallow.

“…What did you do to yourself?”

I’ve finally hatched once again, but Penelope has grown herself a shell. The spikes have grown all around her softness, suffocating it. Something impenetrable now stands between her cavernous, broken interior and her actions. She is horribly maimed yet she wears the scab like armor. It aches to look at. I want to cry.

But Penelope… or whoever this is, she just smiles at me.

“Anyone else would be referring to my body,” she muses. “But you see nothing wrong physically. I remember why you were easy to love.”

Her body!? Why would anyone—Penelope wanted to be like this! I remember her talking about it, why would that be the issue here? I could not care any less about the fact that she’s a giant naked dragon lady that just crushed a skull in a very… um. It. It’s, well. Damn it, Melik’s body, keep your gross instincts out of this! None of that matters. She… she’s barely even herself.

She doesn’t even love me anymore.

I’m still stunned and reeling, unable to react at all, when Lark launches herself up at what was once my girlfriend, screaming accusations of murder.