Vigor Mortis

Chapter 174: Unspeakable Horrors

I really, really, really want to rush over to where some dumbfuck splice thinks they can mess with my town and relish in the resulting slaughter, but unfortunately I am fighting an opponent with teleportation abilities in a defensive battle. I can’t risk fighting like a soldier. It is my duty to fight as a Queen.

Pulling a huge shard of my soul free for use, I stuff it with as much of my mana as I can pack in and put it into a nearby toy, grabbing it and handing it to Rowan.

“Mana sight on,” I order him. “If you see any suspicious fluctuations, smash this to destroy them. You have to be quick. Teleporting enemies. I’ll come aid you the moment you do.”

“Okay,” my father answers, knowing better than to argue. “Good luck, Vita.”

“The range for disruption is short, so gather everyone together,” I tell him. “Stay safe. Love you all.”

And with that, I walk out the door and go… next door. Because, unfortunately, I have to stay here at the midpoint between the soul repository, my family’s house, and Theodora’s house, since they are the three most important strategic assets we currently possess and the enemy can teleport, or at least has access to someone who can teleport them.

It would therefore be foolish to assume this is the only enemy we’re about to face.

I focus on my soul sense, my eyes twitching with fury as I feel a seventh person die before Lark finally bursts onto the scene and rips the splice’s throat out. Which I, uh, was not expecting her to do. The splice was definitely human-shaped, but… well. So are the corpses around it, I suppose. It was no one I know, but perhaps the same can’t be said for her.

The splice, likewise, isn’t anyone I know either. It seems to be made of two different souls, but not half of each soul: two near-full spheres are fused together instead, overlapping in the middle where they melt together and pulse with obvious mental domination. A sad victim sent on a suicide attack against us. But why now?

I don’t have time to think too deeply about it, because as I feared two more splices suddenly appear in a different part of town, splitting up and starting to wreak havoc immediately. Time to manage a crisis.

“We are under attack!” I use a spell to announce, blaring the words across the entire town. “Everyone please get yourselves to safety. Group up with someone combat-capable, if you are able, and do not panic.”

At the exact same time, I also use a separate spell to send a message directly into Lark’s ear.

“Starboard, two second run. Use your max speed, ignore building collateral.”

She fires off faster than an arrow, intercepting the attackers. Good. My next message is sent to Jelisaveta.

“I’m not familiar with the town’s current layout. I need you to list areas of importance and describe the soul of the person standing nearest to them. Now.”

She’s stunned and terrified, but only for a moment before pushing it aside and beginning to talk.

“Larder. Red soul, smells of flowers and honey. Chitin farm. Grey and black soul, tastes like fruit…”

What? Flowers and… oh, I found it. Jelisa’s descriptions are a bit off from my own, but I manage to find what she’s indicating well enough. I know she can’t see anybody’s soul from inside her house, but I correctly guessed she still more or less knows where everyone is thanks to her absurd sensory suite and would know their soul descriptions as a matter of simple memorization. I’m not disappointed with the results.

Now to start allocating assets. Remaining in the center of town, I send magical messages to To-Kill, Altrix, Bently, Xena, Keero, Ketevan, and so many more, spreading them out around the town to be able to intercept our enemies and protect anything of value. The next enemy to get teleported in isn’t a splice, merely a person with one of the red, pulsing Ars-loyalty soul tumors. They still have a powerful talent of some sort, though, destroying a pair of buildings before Xena rips their blood out of their body and leaves them dead in the street.

This isn’t sustainable. Even if we kill these people seconds after they arrive, that’s enough time for them to do significant damage. Teleportation makes defensive wars too untenable. Thankfully, Penelope is already flying up into the sky to try and find our enemy’s base of operations.

“Please tell me you see something,” I send her.

“This situation does not permit me to lie,” she answers, my remote listening spell easily picking up on it. “We know they’re at least multiple miles away, given you can’t feel them with your senses. I am scanning the area as best I can.”

Damn it, I want to go out there and do something, but I have to stay here to defend! This is so frustrating! How are we fighting a teleporter that can send people this far, this accurately, and even more startlingly, knows where we are in the first place? We’re in a random-ass spot in the middle of the forest, how could… wait. No. Progenitor damn it!

“He has Capita,” I hiss at Penelope. “He has to.”

“I concur,” she grunts back. “I am at fault for this. I’d considered binding them to a contingency that would automatically kill them without maintenance from myself, but I’d thought them under my control. Their survival is a consequence of that. I’d thought they were hiding from Ars specifically, however. I am… frustrated that they managed to fall victim to him regardless. Worse, Capita is both a victim and pregnant. I cannot kill her outside of extreme circumstances.”

“I’ll do it for you,” I offer.

“No,” Penelope says firmly. “You will not.”

Well, there goes the easy option then. I let out an annoyed huff from my breathing vents, casting a few quick spells to send more updates and orders to my soldiers. There are enchantments I can set up to make teleportation untenable, ripping apart anyone who tries to transpose themselves into the area, but I certainly can’t do that while we’re under attack. We need to deal with the immediate problem first, find where our enemies are and disable them.

A warping of mana nearby indicates something is teleporting into my range. Finally. I step closer and immediately yank out the soul of the man that teleports in before he can so much as twitch a finger. Stuffing it with a soul shard, I stick his soul back into his body before grabbing him by the collar.

“Truthfully answer any questions asked of you,” I order, and then I toss him a hundred feet into the air.

Penelope doesn’t need my instruction to catch the man and start interrogating him, narrowing down the general direction of the enemy camp enough for her to spot it. She gives me a direction and rockets off towards it, while I remain where I am, my arms impatiently crossed. Less than a minute later, the teleportation assault ends.

Twelve of my people are dead. No one I care about personally, but they’re still mine. As soon as I feel Penelope flying back to us, I rush off to collect their souls. Dying for me will not be a permanent state of affairs. These people have earned better.

…Though I suppose, from their perspective, they haven’t died for me. They just died. Most of them weren’t warriors, they were just people that decided living here was smarter than trying to go back to Skyhope, people that threw their lot in me not out of loyalty, but desperation. Still, though. I can respect desperation. Their actions make them mine, even if they may personally want nothing to do with me.

What can I say? I’m possessive. It’s something Vita and Malrosa both shared, to some extent. Neither of us are good at caring about people outside our circle, either, but I understand that I have to at least act like I care if I expect to be even a halfway decent ruler. And since being a ruler is what I have to be, I need to get good at it. Empathy is difficult for me, but taking care of what’s mine? Ensuring that my things don’t get messed with by anyone? That everything is taken care of, protected, safe, fed, happy? That meshes with me. It’s not perfect, but I can work with that. My people will get the best because they are mine.

And those who dare attack what’s mine will be slaughtered to the last.

Penelope flies back soon enough, my Revenant in one hand and two living people wrapped up in her tail. Now that I’m paying attention, all three of them have dark skin and white hair, like Orville does.

“Siguldan?” I prompt as Penelope floats down next to me.

“Baldonese, actually,” Penelope corrects. “At least, judging by their accent.”

Huh. Verdantop is home to three countries: Valka, Sigulda, and Baldone. Sigulda and Baldone were both native to Verdantop before Valka crashed in and took over, but other than that I don’t really know much of anything about them. I think Baldone was super isolationist, or something? So normally it’d be weird to see them mounting an offensive, but the red, pulsing pustules in their souls make it pretty obvious who the true culprit is.

“So is that where we think Ars is?” I ask. “Baldone?”

“So far as I’m able to determine, that seems likely,” Penelope confirms. “But I’d like to ask them again, with you acting as a lie detector.”

“Easy enough,” I agree, shooting tentacles forwards… only to have them be smacked away by Penelope’s wings.

“I do not mean kill them, you incorrigible woman,” she snaps, and I feel an instinct to frown since that’s not at all how she used to call me incorrigible. “They are victims. Just look into their souls and determine if they are lying for me.”

Oh. I nod, and she starts jabbering at them in a language I don’t recognize. They babble something back, and occasionally I mention when I’m seeing less-than-honest intentions. I’m surprised that they’re willing to dish information to us at all, but I guess the animancy-infused loyalty to Ars doesn’t quite overcome the terror of a seven-and-a-half-foot-tall dragon woman descending on your war camp and dismantling it single-handedly. That and the fact that Penelope is unraveling the soul tumors in all three of them as the conversation continues. ‘All three of them’ meaning she’s also messing with my Revenant’s soul, but since it’s Penelope I let her.

“Okay,” Penelope sighs. “So here’s what we know. Capita, along with a force of people from Baldone, set up camp at the edge of Capita’s teleportation range and assaulted us, intending to disrupt our operations and, ideally, free and re-infect Cassia the Maelstrom. The moment I spotted their camp and started moving towards them, Capita fled with a handful of their officers, leaving the rest of their assault group behind. I killed a few of them in battle before kidnapping these two, who have confirmed that, to the best of their knowledge, Ars Rainier is in the nation of Baldone, where he is now their beloved supreme ruler.”

“As one tends to be, after developing a contagious magical loyalty plague,” I comment.

“As one tends to be,” Penelope agrees dryly. “Anyway, this is our first actionable intel on Ars’ location, and since our ideal win condition involves getting you in range to destroy his soul, I think we have to act on it. Unfortunately, we also can’t act on it, because we have a local Capita problem.”

“Nah, I can fix that,” I assure her. “Give me a day or so and enough metal and I can set up an anti-teleportation ward around the city. Anyone who tries to ‘port here will find it extra difficult, and if they push through anyway they’ll find themselves successfully teleporting their own body into chunky pieces throughout the entire city. That should get them to stop.”

The scaled ridges which now act as Penelope’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“That’s… an interesting spell. I can disrupt teleportation in a confined area, but to sustainably protect the entire town?”

I shrug.

“It’s high-level spatial magic, but it’s pretty essential spatial magic once you get to be as advanced a civilization as Liriope. Once everybody learns to teleport, defending against teleportation is extremely important for all the reasons we saw today. I’ll also need to make a shunt that redirects teleported inorganic matter out of the city entirely, so they don’t just swap to sending payloads of deadly airborne material.”

Liriope, ironically, doesn’t use anti-teleportation fields, because the general opinion of the nation is that if anyone wants to teleport unannounced into a city full of immortal, superpowered, xenophobic spellcasters, they’re damn well encouraged to take their best shot and rid the world of their stupidity… and because teleporting around the city is convenient, so nobody really wants to take away that option. But the ‘just try it’ thing also factors in.

“How much metal do you need?” Penelope asks, and she doesn’t like the answer I give her one bit. Which is fair, there’s a lot less metal on Verdantop than there is in Liriope, especially after Sky went and let the Mistwatcher eat most of it, the bastard. Still, Penelope agrees to supply me what I need—because we both know we don’t really have a choice—and I get to work the moment I have my first set of materials.

It’s not a difficult job. A lot of this stuff I was born knowing. I came out of my mother’s womb (third favorite mom, specifically Malrosa’s) knowing lots of things, like what I am, what my name is, who my family is, how to weave the art, how old I should be before attempting to weave the art, and so much more. My memory core didn’t just hold the memories I formed from my experiences, but also a massive well of general knowledge and culture which the Progenitor helped me re-learn. With animancy, it’s possible to transfer memories, altering a soul directly in order to implant information. Athanatos souls are designed to make that easier, while my soul is, unfortunately, extremely resistant to such additions. The biggest problem is how alien my soul apparently is, even to the Progenitor. We worked a fair bit on mapping it out, learning how I work and what parts of me are dedicated to meshing with and controlling my mana ocean, since those are parts that are pretty essential to making me… well, me. It doesn’t escape me that the Progenitor probably wants to know about how my soul works for reasons beyond helping me out, but I honestly don’t have a problem with that. The Progenitor isn’t trying to hide the fact that she has plans for me, which adds some solid points in her favor, and even if she was hiding it, like… she’s my some-amount-of-greats grandma! I love her, she loves me, and I’m at least confident that she’s confident that I won’t have an issue with whatever she has in mind. I trust her.

On the subject of trust and family, I… regret not going to see my mom while in Liriope. It’s just… I was very busy trying to ensure no one thought I was a traitor to Liriope, and going to visit a woman imprisoned for treason is a poor way to engender trust. Next Hiverock night, though. I’ll go visit her. We have a very complicated relationship that doubtlessly became way more complicated when I started being Vita, but I still love her, I think.

Maybe part of why I want to go see her is because I’m not sure. Thinking about it is uncomfortable, like I’m taking my current mood and shoving it face-first into a spinning grindstone. For some reason, I can joke to Altrix about her being my second-favorite mom, but the thought of doing the same for Queen Galrotta horrifies me. It’s like… I can laugh along with Altrix because she’s Vita’s family, and that’s how Vita treats her family. But when Queen Galrotta is involved, I’m not the goddess of blue, I’m just young little Malrosa. I feel myself get more and more stressed as I work, turning that thought around in my head. I don’t like it. I’m always Vita, and always Malrosa. Anything else would just be… confusing. Am I overthinking things?

Thankfully, I’m saved from having to figure out an answer to that question by the approach of a familiar fucked-up soul. Penelope shows up a few minutes into my efforts to secure our town against further teleportation assaults, her scales a beautiful mix of white and green. Just… look at her. Holy shit. She towers over me, radiant and beautiful and rippling with power. She does not slouch, not even attempting to hide a single inch of her massive form. Her tail twists behind her, all muscle and tentacle and instrument of death. I want to watch her crush a man’s skull with the enormous talons on her feet. I want her to stretch out her wings and break open the sky. I want her to pick me up and hold me close until the world falls away. If only the horror of her crafted soul reflected the beauty of her crafted form.

“Vita?” she addresses me. “Do you have a moment?”

“As many moments as you need,” I promise her, turning away from my work.

“Mmm,” she grunts wordlessly, eyes flicking to the metal I’m shaping and back to me. “Can you work and talk?”

Ah, she doesn’t want to delay the creation of the defenses. I guess I can’t blame her. I don’t want to work and talk, but I certainly can.

“Yeah, no problem,” I say, turning back to what I was doing. “So what did you want to talk about?”

“The immortality papers you gave me,” she answers. “Specifically the sections on the brain being the limiting factor.”

“Right, yeah,” I nod. “Most sapient brains are incredible at information storage, but even if you prevent degradation there’s still an upper limit. Souls, conversely, don’t have that problem: you can keep adding more and more anima to a soul and store more and more information inside it, and while there are technical limits to that there aren’t practical limits, considering how little anima you need to store hundreds of years of memory.”

“And the trick is just determining a method that allows the brain to access memories from the soul without copying those memories from the soul the way it normally would, yes, which the Athanatos figured out. I did read the papers, Vita.”

I shrug awkwardly.

“Right, of course,” I allow. “So, what’s the issue?”

“It circumvents the problem with an easier solution, rather than actually tackling the brain storage problem,” Penelope says. “And since I dislike the idea of frequently growing new brains for myself, it’s what I’d like to solve next. I would like for you to peer review my research, once I start it.”

“I’d love to,” I answer honestly. “What angle were you thinking of trying to tackle things from?”

“Your comment on having technical limits but not practical limits is of the most interest to me,” Penelope says. “If the information storage density is thick enough, one could hypothetically create a brain that, while technically limited in capacity, could never be filled even after, say, ten thousand years of experience. By which point a superior method will almost certainly be discovered, etcetera.”

“I’m not an organic crafter,” I admit, “but I’d be happy to help you with that in any way I can.”

“Thank you,” she says simply, and I wish she still had the same excitement for it that she would have had before. She’s still excited, still interested, but it’s muted. Locked away with all of her other emotions. She’s only expressing interest now because her principles still drive her to seek sustainable, wide-scale immortality.

“I love you so fucking much,” I tell her.

“I wish I could say the same,” she answers honestly, and it makes me wish Galdra was still around so I could kill her again.

“So,” I say, awkwardly changing the subject, “what’s our plan for Ars?”

“He has a nation of fanatics, we have a village of misfits,” Penelope summarizes. “Conventional war is impossible and it would be counterproductive besides. Instead we want a small, quick strike force, aiming to hit him before he can relocate. We find him, we get you next to him, and then you rip his soul open and eat him alive.”

“No principles making it difficult to assassinate the ruler of a nation, then?” I prod.

“Corrupt leadership is to be replaced, at high priority,” Penelope says as if quoting something. “And Ars is a criminal and villain of the highest possible measures. My principles do not merely allow ruthlessness when facing him, they demand it. I am incapable of tolerating his continued existence.”

“But we can’t kill his victims,” I say.

“We cannot kill his victims under most circumstances,” she corrects. “And a stealth mission is to our benefit regardless.”

“A small team, then,” I conclude. “Just you and me?”

“I think—” Penelope begins, but as I expected she’s quickly cut off.

“Me too,” Lark says, staggering towards us. “Please.”

I turn to look at her as if I wasn’t already aware she had arrived. She is actually staggering as she walks, but not due to injury. Her pupils are dilated. Her body shakes. Red blood drips down her chin… and black blood drips down her palms, where she’s balled her hands into fists. She ate a human today, the first one she’s had in quite a long time. Shit, but she hates how much she loved it.

“Lark,” Penelope prompts, looking down on her with artificially constructed kindness, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Lark answers automatically. “Let me fight him.”

“As the current cornerstone of the town’s defenses—” Penelope starts, but is quickly cut off.

“I already failed here!” Lark snaps. “I just… I’m not…”

She brings a hand up to her mouth and shudders.

“I need to get away from the town either way. I’m not… I’m not safe. Let me come with you.”

“Lark…” Penelope sighs, shooting the vrothizo a pitying look. “That was a necessary kill, given the circumstances.”

Somewhat predictably, that doesn’t make her feel better. Nothing will right now, and she has an ulterior motive for coming with us anyway. To keep an eye on us, like we’re the monsters she has to protect people from. Funny sentiment, from one of Nawra’s most murderous children.

“I don’t have a problem with my niece coming,” I say anyway. “She’s competent enough muscle that she’ll actually matter in a fight where you and I can’t cut it alone.”

“…What did you just call me?” Lark squeaks.

“We’ll want one more person,” Penelope tacitly agrees. “A human, one with enough semblance of subtlety and self-control to act as our liaison and information gatherer. Someone who can blend in and get along with people.”

“So… Jelisa?” I prompt.

“Jelisa would be ideal,” Penelope agrees.

“I’d like Jelisa to come, yeah,” Lark says quietly.

“Fuck!” Jelisa shouts from halfway across the camp.

“So we have our basic strategy down, then,” Penelope sighs. “Vita, finish the defenses around camp and start gathering more Risen to defend the borders if you have extra time. I’ll start making Jelisa’s body ethnically Baldonese—”

“You’ll what!?” Jelisa shrieks, exiting her house and starting to run towards us. “Hey, I didn’t agree to this!”

“—And Lark can modify her traps to account for her extended absence, and also take the time she needs to mentally recover.”

“I know you can hear me!” Jelisa continues. “Don’t ignore me!”

“I’m not ignoring you, I’m simply not bothering to entertain the idea that your revulsion will overcome your sense of duty,” Penelope answers, not bothering to raise her voice above a normal volume.

“…Fuck!” Jelisa shouts again.

“Well, sounds like we have a plan,” I conclude. “There’s another avenue of attack I want to look into, but that should only take me an hour or two to myself.”

“Then do it,” Penelope nods. “Every tool in our toolbox is important. Ars will likely prioritize running away over direct conflict, and we cannot allow that to happen.”

“Agreed,” I nod. “I don’t have all fucking year to kick the bastard off my island.”

“…Can we wind back a second to the part where I’m your niece?” Lark asks quietly. And hey, I don’t see a good reason not to explain. It’ll probably help take her mind off of eating a guy.

“My sister created your species,” I answer easily. “Uh, my sister on my eldritch side, I mean.”

“Oh,” Lark says. “You mean that black mana stuff you were talking about a few months ago?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” I nod. “She made your kind, you’re connected to her, and she’s my sister, so… niece. Well, some amount of grand-niece, technically, since she didn’t make you personally, but that’s just details.”

Lark stares at me for a moment.

“…Do you know why?” she asks.

“So she can digest the souls you eat,” I answer simply. “You make her stronger.”

There’s an intensity to her now, her focus resting entirely on me. Yet it’s a fragile thing, the weight of a thin sheet of glass.

“Is she nice?” Lark asks quietly.

Oh.

“She’s not… mean,” I hedge. “At least not to me. But… she made the vrothizo, Lark. On purpose.”

She wants you to be everything you hate, little monster. Lark just nods at that, the answer painful but unsurprising. I pretty obviously fucked up with her again, and I don’t know how to stop doing that. I keep thinking I can treat her like a fellow monster, but I should really be treating her like a child, huh? I don’t know how to do that.

We all part ways after that, Penelope flying off just in time to avoid getting yelled at by Jelisa, who quickly realizes she probably just has to accept her fate. I spend most of the rest of the day finishing up our anti-teleportation defenses, and when I’m satisfied with my handiwork I go home, hug my family, and settle into a bed before letting my focus wander into another realm.

Hey, Nawra? I ask, poking my horrifyingly big sister.

Ah, Vita, hello! She shapes back. It’s been too long. What can I do for you?

I was wondering if you had any thoughts on this.

I shape my mana into a complex structure, a beating, pulsating sump of anima that’s blue instead of red. The structure is copied exactly, inflated in size to make the details easier to see. I barely understand any of it, but it feels like an exploitable weakness, as well as a useful way to learn about Nawra herself. I’d be worried about showing her Ars’ soul tumor if I wasn’t confident she could easily make it on her own if she felt like it.

Well now,she writes, radiating amusement. Looking to become a petty little overlord, are you?

…Woah, that was a fast response. Did she figure out what this does at a glance?

Nah, I answer easily. Looking to humiliate some fool who thinks he can do this on my turf.

Oh, that is a much better answer, she says, laughter chiming like church bells. I’ll see what I can whip up for you, dearest sister. Though I expect a good story in return! I do love immersing myself in the folly of those who stand in our way.

I’ll try to properly replicate his emotional resonance for you, I promise. Do you prefer the moment he loses hope and resolves to run, or the moment he realizes he is going to die?

Why Vita, I do believe I love you, Nawra coos. The death, please. I adore the emotions of those who feel their death scrape across their throats. It reminds me of what I’m fighting for.

Of course, Nawra, I tell her. Feel free to poke me whenever, but I’m afraid I can’t guarantee my attention.

Yes, yes, corporeal concerns. Nawra agrees easily. I do understand, dearest. Have a lovely time making an example of him!

Thank you, I answer. Goodbye for now!

I return to my body, taking a deep breath and letting a smile creep up my eyes. Ars teleported a bunch of assassins into the middle of a bunch of noncombatants. He is impossibly fucked up, a literal bogeyman Valka scares their children with at night. His name is synonymous with ‘unspeakable horrors,’ and he’s clearly playing for keeps. Unfortunately for him, that tendency runs in the family.

And my unspeakable horrors are bigger than his.