Godclads

Chapter 32-1 Flame Beneath Flames

The Stormtree forces I have been embedded with in Tafalis have... turned on each other. Everything is collapsing. All cohesion has been lost. The Bloodthanes are trying to respond, but I think they’re getting affected as well. I suspect that there might be a lingering memetic contagion—maybe something deployed by Noloth.

Or the Burning Dr—

[Sound of metal tearing]

Oh, oh, gods. No! Get away! Stop! Please, don’t—I—

Oh... oh,see now...

Hm. Interesting miracle. Disguised as a phantasmic. Purely informational. Fascinating. Hello. Inner Council. Must be listening. Can feel you. Know you’re there. You are... very interesting. Surprised me. Was wondering why you made so many of those proxies. Try to create new bodies. New citizens? To broaden your democracy’s population? Make yourself more powerful.

Will find out. Will find out when I claim a few more of your Sleepers. Understand why you didn’t to talk with me now. So much risk for you while I was whole. Could have infected your democracy. But now—

[Cognisoft of Sleeper “Wolfkin” terminated—Action undergone after unanimous vote from the Majority]

-Last Cognisoft broadcast received from Sleeper “Wolfkin”

32-1

Flame Beneath Flames

—[Ancar Two-Claw]—

Ancar Two-Claw, First Fang of Stormtree and the de facto head of all Massist forces in Tallstrings, was called back from slumber by a rising scream of mind-rending torment.

Exhausted from twelve consecutive combat engagements, clearing most of the remaining Golds from their defensive planes, she relieved herself of command and allotted her cadre a scarce moment of respite before they had to resume their miserable campaign. She hadn’t even cleaned herself when she returned to her quarters. The world dimmed around the corners of her cog-feed as she approached her stasis pod.

Darkness claimed her before she even finished falling forward, the upper lid of her pod left open, the rejuvenation process denied before it could even begin.

She sank like a stone into heavy rest. The weight of her exhaustion felt like soil cast upon her chest, burying her deep. She was lost to the world, lost to even herself, and her mind dissolved in the stygian nothingness, spent from strain and stress.

But not even a cozy den of nothingness could shield her from the howls that came. The howls that drifted through matter, riding on tides of thought.

Ancar stumbled toward her door, cog-feed flickering, her body sluggish from interrupted sleep. Her very being ached at the deprivation of her rest, but an attack couldn’t be ignored. Much as part of her wanted to just lay there and accept death if it could be a silver bullet for her exhaustion, she had a duty to Guild and her fellow sons, sisters, and cousins. Ṟ

Good thing she collapsed in her combat-skin. A mental command was sent and Ancar’s blood came aflame as a penultimate dose of battle-stims flooded her biochemistry. Suddenly, the weariness burst like a bubble, and she was a whirlwind nested in the flesh of a Scaarthian. She stormed out from her quarters, made to assemble her cadre—

And another chorus of wails hit her. The sheer terror contained within the thoughtcast made Ancar’s wards ring. “Blind... fates,” the First Fang growled.

+Please! No! Mercy, please!+

+Veril! Where are you! Where are you, Veril!+

+Longeyes guard our fates! Storms deliver us from... from... destruction be our cloak—-+

Whispers licked at the back of Ancar’s mind, and she could taste the lingering emotions that came with them. Her gut tightened evermore. This wasn’t just some Nether-based attack—Nether was down anyhow—this was something else. Something more. There was a weight pressing against her mind that she couldn’t describe.

A series of hisses sounded from down the hall. Three new pressures greeted her Frame, and Ancar took in her cadre. They all looked like how she felt—seemed like the lot of her war sisters collapsed in their armor as well.

“Fuck’s happening,” Dagad False-Tongue muttered. A layer of frost was building around her armor, clasping her in slabs of ice already. “Keep hearing these screams.”

“Raid,” Leaf-of-Barren-Trees said simply. A whistle of wind twirled around the taciturn Bloodthane. She was the newest of their group—a replacement for Jackal Boy. Poor, poor fucking Jackal Boy: Who knows what the No-Dragons did after they snatched him.

“Ancar. Orders.” A heavy cloak taken from a warg adorned Ancar’s second. Dog-Daughter and Ancar had served in two Guild Wars, 3,241 battles, and across 63 years. She was the only reason Ancar wasn’t dead by now, and Ancar was hers. But though she seemed resolute, Ancar detected something in her voice. You didn’t spend that long with someone and attune yourself to them on some level.

Fear. Worry. She knew something was very wrong, too.

“Standard hunt,” Ancar spat. “Scout. Spot. Strike. Identify the target. Gather our forces. Cut the danger at its root. We rally our forces. We do our duty. Though the Storms Fall.”

“Though the Storms Fall!” her cadre replied in a unified bellow.

Destruction was the world’s final fate. Everyone knew that. Everyone lived it. Even if ruin was coming, however, it wasn’t the end. Winter turned to summer, and sprouts would rise from ash. It was their duty to face the calamity, to survive it, to wrestle into submission, and by the balancing of the Great Seasons would all be preserved by destruction beyond oblivion.

They moved as a unit, with Leaf on point. The winds shivered around her, and her combat-skin, lightest of their group, lent to her ephemeral fleetness. As they prepared to leave their barracks, however, Leaf froze and held up a hand. “There is... a fire?”

“What?” Dagad said. “What are you talking about, pup?”

“It’s like the world is burning...” Leaf muttered. “All of it. I...” She extended a Ghost-Link from her Meta and a second cog-feed flashed into Dagad’s mind. True to the rookie’s words, there was a great flame that licked at the sky. Might’ve been the biggest flame Ancar had ever seen. It spread fast through the Stormtree special encampment, washing over from prisoner processing and liquidations. But it didn’t burn like most flames. No, there was a dance to the way it flickered, a phantasmal shine to the fiery crackle, ghosts circulating between the shivering bright.

Worse, there were faces sliding across the outside of the fire. Thousands upon thousands of screaming faces, crying out in a symphony of madness.

“Ruin be our fate,” Ancar muttered.

“The fuck is that?” Dagad grunted.

“I don’t know,” Ancar replied. “Never seen anything like it. Some kind of Necro-attack. Memetic contagion.”

But Ancar fell. Her cadre fell.

And the flames tore through her locusts, extending clawed hands to claim her.

In the end, there was fire. Fire, and falling. Ancar descended into a new place. A new realm not entirely unlike the one in which she existed. A replica of her forward operating base came into view below her, but the streets were infused with phantasmal fire, and battles were taking place—unceasing battles raging across every street, within every building, between two factions.

“Are you proud of what you have done?” a sibilant voice asked.

Ancar shuddered and tried to reach out for her reserve Heaven. But nothing answered her. She could still feel her Frame—her sheath but—

“I have use for that right now. Need it. Need everything from all of you to free a friend. But I asked you a question.”

The First Fang clenched her teeth. “Why? Why did you do this? Why are you attacking us? How are you still alive?”

The Strix chuffed as if amused. “Why did you butcher the people of this district. Few were true soldiers. Most were families. Citizens. Non-military personnel. “

“I did my duty,” Ancar cried. “They were the enemy—I was—”

“Your people left children in cages. In cages with your war beasts. They fed on the young. Your comrades made some parents watch. Recorded the memories. But some of them grew nauseous afterward. When they were alone. Some cried. Others pleasured themselves to the vicarities. All pointless. Entertaining for the ghoul in me... but pointless. You were the master of the forces here. The one everyone answered to. Why? Why did you allow this?”

She didn’t know what to say. “I... they were the enemy. They would have done the same.”

The Strix grunted. There was no recrimination in their voice. Just casual acceptance. “And that was good enough for you?”

Ancar didn’t know what to say.

“It’s fine. I don’t condemn you. Nothing to condemn. I accept you. I accept everyone. Everything. You should live more. Live. Die. Do wrong. Suffer consequence. Return. But live. Might give you some perspective.”

“Wait!” Ancar cried out. The ground was rapidly approaching. “Wait! What about my cadre! What about—”

She splattered against the marble-paved pavement—felt excruciating pain as she came apart. But death never came. Rather. The world went dark for a few seconds. And she felt her jolt back into being where she died—just like a resurrection.

“Now you live,” the Strix declared, speaking through existence itself. All around her, people were fighting. A Scaathian tore a Kosgan in half along the waist—only for the bifurcated woman to shoot her through the eye using a hidden wrist-installed fusion-beamer. A dozen men, women, children—all of them Highflame locals—held another Stormtree soldier down as a Sang wearing a scorpion bio-rig stung their body repeatedly. “Now you live. And die. And live. And learn. Just like everyone else.”

And then, Ancar heard the barring of an aervec and glimpsed the rageful face of a well-dress man speeding toward her through the cracked windshield. Her battle reflexes flared. She planted her feet back—her combat-skin’s exo-muscle fibers triggered, amplifying her Scaarthian strength a hundredfold while also locking her boots to the ground.

The civilian craft hit her and folded down the middle. The angry man turned white with surprise as he shot out from where he sat and splattered into a lump of ruined meat against Ancar’s broad torso. The aerovec then bounced and splashed against his puddle of gore. The First Fang blinked as she tried to process what just happened.

A beat later, the man suddenly returned, blinking back into place right next to her.

Silence followed. They just stared at each other, wordless.

“Is this... what hell is like?”

The Kosgan studied her for a moment longer before a sneer returned across his face. He spat on her and threw a punch. A punch that never landed, as his head vanished in a smear of red before Ancar’s backhand—just as her own skull vanished in a beam of light as a distant particle cannon sounded.

And more killing followed. And more dying followed. And this place wasn’t paradise or hell.

But it was a perfectly unhealthy forum for a group of people who hated each other to settle their grievances without the intervention of a final death.

***

—[Avo, The Hidden Flame]—

“Taking stock of what we’ve obtained: Have 100,000 ground forces; 75% bioforms; 25% human clades. 400,000 support personnel. 4 Sleepers. 2 million heavy ground combat platforms. 8 million light ground combat platforms. 10 million heavy air assault craft. 20 light air assault craft. 55,524 golems. 121 Godclads worth 100,000 thaums in total; three Godclads Highflame Authorities.”

Ignorance continued taking stock of their logistical situation as Avo watched the world inside himself grow while organize his host of new bodies. There was a great deal of work to be done. Stormtree made a mess of this place, but Highflame made them bleed—even if this was a relatively undefended Elysium. Seemed like the forces took about 20% attrition, seizing the city.

Annoying. Thankfully, he had enough golems and Godclads left to do what he wanted.

Tallstrings used to have a lightrail going toward Scale. With the Substance in the way, it would be hard to get through, but if he could create a large enough rupture...

Yes. The thing is creating a scenario in which that would be believable. A mutiny, perhaps. Veylis and his original self was watching from within the Substance. The hurricane Stormtree put up to secure their positions helped blunt some attention, but even so, Avo couldn’t risk giving himself any weight—or creating a familiar Heaven.

Rather, he needed to fight like a puppet master. Unseen. Wielding other Godclads and armies to his ends. With that in mind, he hid his phantasmal fires with Ignorance and returned to his stealthier posture. It was fun watching some of the Scaarthians feel. It would be enlightening to see what becomes of them and the Highflamers after they grow weary of killing each other.... But in the meantime...

He had an army to compel. This was why he infected the Tiers: Influence. Symmetry wasn’t meant to just be the gutters against the Tiers. It was everyone he could reach against the Guilds. Avo’s touch would be the only dividing line of battle. He still had haemokinetic loci fused in places. And with the recent “donations” made by Stormtree, he didn’t need to start over completely, but still, this was annoying without a template of Draus. He would have to fashion something useful out of all the Greens. Create an optimized ego-template from all their collective virtues.

GENERATING TEMPLATE: [THE ADVISOR]

And while he was working on that... Avo reached into the golem pilots operating along the periphery of the hurricane. There were still Stormtree forces in combat. Highflame defenders too. More for him to claim. His first focus, though, was expanding the storm toward the Substance—toward where the lightrail was supposed to pass through.

Veylis had done what she could to keep Naeko contained. But Avo thought the Chief Paladin had enough recovery. That was the point of dispatching Jaus to his side in the first place, after all.

Finally. The true war was upon him. Time to get to work.