The 108 Chapter 46: Hello Darkness My Old Friend (Patreon)

And I’m dead again. Morag quietly places a cup of hot chocolate on the table with a clink that shouldn’t exist in this space between moments. I guess they’re going for verisimilitude or whatever the word for ‘appearing to be real’ is. Very touching. The smell of cocoa wafts to my nostrils. I want to smash the cup on the table. I know Chronos would let me. It wouldn’t help.

Another sprinkle of ashes on the Steve pile. I have been dusted in so many ways, I’m ten deaths away from turning this place into a Holocaust memorial. Can’t wait to be the first to scale the Steve Mountain of Failures. It will be Mount Everest, but the cadavers shall be unremarkable cello-playing losers instead of rich twats looking to ‘discover themselves’. 

“Have a sip,” Chronos suggests.

“I think I know how qualia points are calculated,” I tell him instead.

“Oh?”

Chronos smiles, sipping on his own cup which he manages to make look fancy and elegant. Morag is dropping a pepper mill’s wort of cinnamon in her barrel-sized container. Heathen.

“The qualia acquired is proportional to how useful the experience or knowledge is to me being a good avatar. That’s why stuff like new sights, meeting people and so on bring a few points, but combat skills or language or progress in the eternal game bring a ton. Same for defeating an avatar. The fight is not particularly harder than what I did on Obis, but the method is different. I learned how to fight as an avatar against another avatar. And I identified Malice’s powerset. This is worth a lot.”

“Almost,” Chronos says with a smile. “Almost, but not quite.”

“Ok, what did I guess wrong?" I say with some impatience.

“I’m confident you will figure it out on your own. Remember. Morag and I fully support you,” Chronos tells me with a smile.

“Except with answers,” I reply with annoyance.

“Ah ah! The best proof of trust I can offer is to allow you to do something on your own, even if you should stumble. You can do it, Steve. I believe in you.”

“... How many times must I die?”

Steve places his cup on the table.

“Quite a few more times, I’d imagine. Would this stop you?”

I sigh, amazed that my annoyance can reach a point where I can feel it here, in this space. 

“No, but it sure will piss me off.”

Our eyes meet. His silver iris shines softly on a background of absolute void. Morag has finished her barrel of cocoa, and looks like she’s having an epiphany.

“Ok, you two. I don’t need more skills. Please send me on my way.”

Still not my bloody flat.

***

Kimera is understandably upset, and so am I but for different reasons. Mostly, my fingers fucking hurt from writing down three notebooks worth of coded bullshit and that was on top of warning Deza and Sethri derelicts. She doesn’t know, or care.

“You are simply too much, Steve. You save me years of research only to inform me you wish to do away with me?”

“That is not —”

“Ravished and dropped! Used and abused! Discarded like a contaminated tissue sample! Oh, the ignominy!”

She throws her hand upon her brow in the most dramatic fashion possible, and then,  because I appear unaffected, she grows two extra arms to triple the effect.

“Kimera…”

“You are abandoning me, Steve. After teasing me with the enticing prospect of an incredibly talented lab assistant, just to make yourself more desirable, didn’t you? And now you go off gallivanting with Shadows?”

“Believe me, I wish I could stay instead,” I grumble.

“And to top it off, you have the audacity to ask for me help to create antitoxin samples for the Shadow’s prize? The gall you have, apprentice.”

“It’s for a noble cause. Look, I do prefer to spend time in your presence,” I argue, “And I will spend more enjoyable time with you if the station doesn’t explode, shortening research time and wasting valuable resources. This is the thorough approach. I’m investing in the future.”

“Hmph!”

“Please, for me,” I ask without quite kneeling.

“Oh, very well,” Kimera replies, rolling her eyes dramatically. She does have a bit of a flair when she’s not focused on her special interest. I love it, obviously. I knew she would say yes. It was just a bit of a game.

“I cannot resist your honeyed words, my disciple. I have but one request,” she says, raising a warning index finger.

“Which is?”

“You must make Arek envious of me and my incredible ability to detect talent.”

I hold back quite a few choice words, mostly because she was the one who gave me a chance which makes her technically correct in the most annoying manner possible. I can’t do talented, but I can do hard-working.

“I’ll make sure he regrets agreeing,” I finally say.

“That is not what I requested!”

***

I stand up from the table with practiced ease. Back to normal! I can’t wait to do this by myself, but I’m going to need one more rank of awakening for that.

Arek sweats from the effort of the Visage of the Meek reversal, though not as profusely as the first time we did it. I’ve gotten quite good at visualization. I’m not sure if the time is right to ask, but I need to get it done. Behind me, Antea brings her quiet support. 

“I have a request, Shadow Master Arek,” I say.

The spy considers me with hooded eyes. Between the tiny scales covering his hairless head, and the yellow ring on black sclera of his eyes, he would look quite intimidating to normal people. There are no such weaklings in the Garden. I could get black sclera if I wanted, I just think it’s too extra. 

By the time the last word leaves my mouth, he has already regained his composure if not his strength. I take his silent attention as a sign of agreement.

“I would like to learn from you,” I say, then bow respectfully.

I think he’s stunned. His wispy ethereal pulses once. When he replies, his voice is so flat, it’s difficult to tell if he ever feels any emotion.

“As a Shadow Master I am allowed up to three personal disciples at any time. Hundreds of young men and women have trained their whole lives and placed their future on the line for a chance at even attending the selection process. Elders deposit gifts before our doors to petition me. I have been offered governorship of two cities, the rights to mines, vineyards, and factories. In all of the years I have served, I have accepted but nine students. Five are now masters, one is undergoing training, and the last three have perished. So, tell me, what makes you think you have the right to ask this of me? What gave you such confidence?”

I remain bowing under the flat delivery of a rather scathing rebuke. That’s fine, I have been rejected plenty of times before.

“I have to offer nothing but my service. Surely, there is something you seek, something incredibly precious that you could order me to obtain as payment for this chance I ask?”

I do not dare raise my head. He might see something in my expression that I would not wish to show, even subsuming my emotions as I am right now. I will not repeat two weeks of chores for a simple no. I mean, I would, I just don’t want to.

“There is a thing…” Arek agrees. “A certain anti-toxin I wish to see developed.”

Got him.

“If you do bring me a sample and a method to grow more, I will be teaching you what I know,” he agrees in the same calm tone. “I will allow you to seek me.”

I try not to smile.

“Then it’s a deal.”

***

The Shadows dwell in the roots of the Garden, in narrow, winding corridors snaking around titanic wood tendrils. Hidden paths and secret passages are the norm. Also, there is no light, because they’re cute like that.

It’s also far too pedestrian to be showing any kind of indication. You’re lost? Unfortunate, friend. You’d better come back with a guide.

I don’t even try to hide my presence from the smoky souls I feel skulking around us. It would be useless against them. Instead, I make my way through the maze, carefully mapping it. Antea told me the roots shift, sometimes, but it shouldn’t happen within the next few hours so I’m free to soul sweep the place for Arek’s presence. To my surprise I find him fairly quickly off the main path in one of the concealed ‘visitor’ rooms. I circle the place another few times but in vain. It’s blocked off. So I stop, and observe. 

The wispy presence of an apprentice eventually appears in a nearby corridor. My modded eyes watch him sort of materialize from the dark, though it’s more like I can finally pay attention to him. He places a hand against the wood, which warps and opens like a heart’s valve. Ok. I consider rushing him, but I immediately chastise my brain for coming up with this fucking idea. Are we harassing teenagers for gene keys now? Attacking them in broad darkness? The fuck? I will open this bloody door. I don’t need to be an ass about it, because I’m a fleshcrafter, dammit. Taking a deep breath, I place a hand against the frame separating me from Arek, then I dive in.

The bark here has been modified to taste skin-cell DNA via receptors present on most of its surface, so someone can place their hand anywhere on the smooth membrane, and it would work. Even a child could enter, provided the DNA sample matches the long list of ‘authorized users’. This one is too deep and I can’t reach it, but I think I can manipulate the mechanoreceptors to spoof a recognition signal towards the part of the root that actually moves, so it would create a door. Opening the door by force would be too complex for me. Also, I'd rather avoid damaging the root. I burrow my consciousness deeper into the uncaring bark, finding the strand of receptors like nerves waiting for activation. Just a nudge is all it takes. Just a nudge…

A wispy presence manifests behind me. I about face with surprise, but a glove hand grabs my fist. There is no follow up punch to my nads so I consider the situation as very positive considering my expectations. The ethereal forms resolves itself into a masked woman with bored red eyes.

“It would have worked, apprentice, however it would also trigger an alarm and I would rather not write an incident report.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

I should have expected that.

“You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. Just so you know, the root sends a signal to a central node every time it recognizes a user. If a door opens without the user ID, we intervene. Same thing if the same ID is present in two spots of the Garden at the same time.”

Her crimson glare grows pointed.

“In case you didn’t know.”

“What if I use someone else’s genetic material as part of my lovemaking?” I ask.

Mostly because Kimera tried it. I would not have dared ask this question if I were not stuck in a loop, but curiosity got the best of me.

“Whatever degeneracy you devolve to in the confines of your room concerns you and your unfortunate partners, apprentice. Just don’t steal shit. Or sabotage shit. Or hurt people. Are you going in or not?”

“Please,” I say, stepping aside.

The Shadow Guard places her hand on the grainy wood, her gloves peeling off under her will. The gate immediately forms and opens on a remarkably cozy interior lit by a dim warm light. Woven fabric covers the ground, giving the room a distinct oriental feeling.

The gate closes behind me.

Arek sits at a low table with his legs crossed in a lotus position. A tiny ceramic pot waits near an equally tiny cup and a rather large kettle. He doesn’t look at me when I get in, but he does sigh. Without waiting for an invitation, I sit across from him. No cup for me. 

The Shadow stares at me with tired eyes. We stay silent for a little while, then he pours himself another cup which he slowly sips from. It takes a few seething minutes before he finally speaks. 

“You are not Shadow material. You do not have the temperament.”

He gives me an opportunity to deny it, which I do not take. 

“The eternal search for perfection can take many forms. Some become experts in niche areas. Others, like us, see self-improvement as… tending a garden. The work is the reward itself, and perfection means both grace and adaptation. Those make great shadows. There is another group that sees it as a blazing race to absolute power: one more form, more fluidity, a higher awakening, superior gene expressions... They blaze an incandescent trail across the station, and then either crash and burn or end up bored out of their mind handling the Gene Library. That’s you. You’re the third category. I can… feel your impatience. Your desire to get this over with. You will not spend a year pretending to be a flower seller just to complete one mission in a safe way. You are your own drive. You do not understand that shadows spend most of the work being perfectly ordinary, like spiders weaving a careful web that will inevitably catch its prey, leaving no way out. You lack the patience and discipline, the ability to let go.”

“That’s correct,” I reply when he waits for an answer. 

“Then why come to me?” he asks after a delay.

“I need to learn how to spot someone teleporting through shadows. Improving hide presence would also be nice, but spotting takes priority. One year,” I say raising a finger. “One year of your time is all I ask. After I have learned what I need, I will leave you alone.”

Arek drinks another two cups before he speaks again, by which time I’m tempted to see if I can smash the pot on his head, or if he’s too fast. He probably is.

“The Garden is one of the best learning institutions in the galaxy. Members have often toiled for a decade just to the right to become the lowliest apprentice, yet you sit here trampling the sanctity of apprenticeship. To my face, no less.”

I lean over the table.

“We made a deal, but rather than fulfilling your end, you decided to make things hard, then tell me I’m not cut for it while showing overt disrespect with the tea. How many of your hard toiling apprentices are left to find your office on their own upon arrival?”

“You’re getting close to being expelled.”

“Oh no, should we seek arbitration?” I ask in a flat tone. “Is going back on your word part of the sanctity of apprenticeship?”

There is another long pause. I’m trying not to smash the pot. It’s a bit hard. 

“How did you get the antidote made in a week? I know it is impossible, even for someone with Kimera’s talents. It’s not her speciality,” he asks.

“Why don’t you spend a year as a flower seller to find out?”

He slams his cup on the table.

“I will teach you what you asked, but you are no disciple of mine. You said yourself you only care about the knowledge, yes?”

“That’s still failing your promise.”

He shakes his head.

“I can teach my disciples as I see fit. I will teach you what you ask for, and no more. Or I will decide that you need etiquette and infiltration training instead. We can sell flowers together then.”

I shrug. A part of me whispers that if I hadn’t antagonized him, perhaps I could have enjoyed a well-rounded education. It’s not because I would be a shit shadow that I can’t learn how they operate, but a part of me also thinks I need to manage my own sanity, and right now it’s fraying at the edge a bit. Besides, I have plans for my free time. So far, I haven’t engaged much in the Gardens point system , the one used to purchase new genes. Arek was right after all. I do feel like getting a new form. 

“No matter what, you will never be a Shadow.”

“Time will tell,” I reply with a smile.

***

Despite his initial cold reception, Arek shows professionalism when it comes to training time. We meet in a sort of dojo, or at least it feels that way from the woven tatami covering the ground. A single table with two low seats waits for me in the middle of the room, lit by a soft orange light coming from a spherical bulb above. The rest of the space is covered in darkness.

Arek is already sitting with a cup of tea. He wears a simple robe for the occasion, with a veil that might cover his face but now rests around his neck like some dainty shawl. I join him in silence. This time, he invites me to sit with a nod. His voice is soft, unerringly polite. 

“So, who are you hunting? A man? A clan? Some mana beast hiding in the recesses of your home world?” he asks.

“A man. He is quite a vile individual, and slippery.”

“A fleshcrafter?”

“No. Fallen… heir from a family aspiring to Patrician status.”

“What did he do?” Arek asks.

“He’s a mass murderer. Also, a dick.”

The Shadow nods.

“I sense partial truth in your words. Is it perhaps related to the large price on your head?”

“No,” I reply without hesitation. That comes later. “At least, I don’t think so.”

Arek stares calmly. He’s pretty good at it, but not Chronos good so I wait without fuss. I know he checked me out. Obviously. He’s a shadow, and besides he mentioned knowing I was from another planet. I speak perfect Kei-Sah to the point that some people assume I must be some low Patrician. Only someone who checked my records would know I’m a, shall we say, recent addition.

“Moving quickly through shadows is a matter of talent and effort, but teleporting is reserved for Shadow affinity awakened. Like me.”

Standing up, he takes a step to the side and disappears. I feel wispy shadows behind me and to the right, turning my head to meet his cold gaze.

“Not battle instinct. You are still far too green for that. Not gifted perception either. You felt my soul. You are a soul awakened.”

I nod. Antea knows of course, but Arek doesn’t…. Because he didn’t ask her. Because information doesn’t flow in Enderlith. 

“Cut it.”

“What?” I ask.

“Cut it. Perhaps you will track your prey with the finesse of your soul, one day. Perhaps you will be good enough to break through one of the most elusive affinities known to man, but I cannot teach you that path. I will teach you the Shadow’s way to track another shadow, and for this, I need you blind to souls. I need to teach your mana sense, your nose, your eyes, your mind, not your soul. This, I cannot do. Can you cut it, or not?”

I close my eyes and pull my soul perception in, filling an inward pit without end. The sensation is deeply unpleasant, not just from the strange impression of being compressed, but also because I feel completely unaware of my surroundings. I am blind. I have come to rely on the soul sense for so long that now that it is gone, I am… scared.

Arek disappears again. I turn around with instinctive fear but don’t see him in my blind spot. A finger taps the top of my head. He’s above me.

“Good,” he says. “Before we begin, how much do you dislike the person you wish to chase?”

“I hate his fucking guts.”

He nods once more.

“It will help. I shall now share the secret to shadow teleport.”

I lean forward as he smoothly jumps down, excitement brimming in my heart.

“It is quite difficult.”

Arek nods at his own words. It’s good that I have subsumed my soul now or I might have been angry. Angry enough to punch him here and there. Arek studies me for another breath.

“Thus, most beginners take the path of least resistance.”

He waits to see if I get it. I don’t.

“Your home world’s entertainment must have been lacking. The easiest path to the shadows is to the nearest prey, but as one approaches, they find it easier to emerge where no attention exists. Where no one is looking, specifically.”

The fastest and… oh. Oh, I can use that.

“Are shadow affinity common among your ranks? If I may ask,” I say.

I honestly expect him to tell me to fuck off, but to my surprise, he answers in the patient tone of the experienced teacher.

“They are. Shadow and flesh combination is fairly frequent, as far as dual affinities are concerned. Both account for deceit and ambushes. We aggressively recruit among those, yet that combination is not required to become a successful shadow. What is your second affinity?” he asks.

“Star.”

Once more, Arek nods to himself.

“As expected, a more… grandiose arrangement, if I may. Finding will come easier than hiding to you. Now, as I mentioned, traveling through the darkness requires a fine touch that can slip easily, yet the more patient and delicate practitioners will draw their own path, and thus, I will teach you how to follow it. Let it not be known that I will send you off with a mere piece of advice. In order to learn, however, we will be using some… incentives.”

He delicately places a needle on the table. I think I know where this is going.

“I assume I’m not to shunt my pain receptors?” I ask him.

“You will do as you desire, apprentice. I shall let you decide which path reaps the most bountiful harvest.”

“I’m familiar with the concept.”

Arek nods. He sure likes to do that.

“I ask no more of you than my master asked of me,” he informs me. “And now, begin.”

I expect to be stabbed immediately but instead, I hear something like the flapping on a sheet in the wind to my right. Turning, I see Arek stinging me in slow motion. He stops when it becomes clear he has been spotted.

“Good. Again, faster.”

This time, pain erupts in my flank. I hiss and face his calm gaze.

“You are far too detached about this, apprentice. Following an enemy through darkness is not an intellectual pursuit, or a meditative affair. You must want it very much. Well, then, do you not hate me? Do you not wish to hunt me? Stop me? Where is the predator I was promised?”

“Oh I see.”

“No, you apparently do not. Again.”

Something like smoke at the edge of my vision. I grab his arm before he can prick my neck. My grip would shatter the bones of an unawakened, but Arek merely nods.

“Better. Again, faster.”

This will take a while.

***

The Fleshcrafter Guild is filthy rich. Besides investing left and right, the council deploys vast resources to keep politicians, mercenaries, and voidship captains on retinue, allowing for unmatched logistics between distant planets. That’s how they were able to extract Kimera from the galaxy’s infested anus that is the world of Liram. With more slots for transport available, the guild offers free medical services to those who cannot afford it in a rather smart PR campaign spanning centuries and worlds. No one cares if we are covered in scales and occasionally grow extra limbs because we can and will save little Timmy from cancer. Well, not that. Advanced life mana practitioners can usually fix it, and they’re much more common than fleshcrafters. But genetic anomalies are much more prevalent. 

I can feel a powerful rush of emotion from the family sitting outside the consultation room: a couple and their twin sons. The parents are first awakening on their slow way to second, while the children have not yet broken through. My room has a bed and a few seats. No instruments, but the cream color and bright light conspire with the soft curves of the liquid-repelling fabric to give a sense of safety. I make sure the room is clean before calling them in.

“Next patient please!”

The door opens a bit too quickly, and I catch a glimpse of the opposite office where Lumie works on a child with a spine deformation. There are twenty such rooms prepared just on this floor, in this wing of the sprawling guild hospital, though only six are occupied at the moment. We are a well-oiled machine swallowing lifelong misery and spitting good-as-new people and I love us for it. I smile at the worried father. He is pale with brown hair thinning at the top while his younger wife follows, soft features focused under thick dark hair. She leads their two children in by their hands. I confirm the absence of proper iris. They’re functionally blind.

“Bazan family, welcome. Are you Anec and Teni?” I say, greeting the wee ones.

One of them nods, the other hides behind his mother.

“They, uh…”

“Aniridia, I read the file,” I confirm. “Ok, who wants to go first and who wants to wait with this delicious Eryon berries candy —”

“Me! Me!” the braver one yells. “Give me the Eryon berries!”

“Alec!” the father gently chides.

“Goodness. Here you go. As for us Teni, if you would please lay down on the bed?”

Gritting his teeth with admirable sang-froid, the shy twin complies. I come to stand and gently touch his temples. He is terrified. 

“Remember what I said. Take a deep breath,” his mum whispers.

I discretely share my confidence and calm with a light touch of the soul. Teni relaxes just as I get to work.

“This won’t hurt one bit, but you might feel a tickle,” I inform him.

I decide to start with the gene therapy part, mostly because it requires much more focus. I only need to touch up a very tiny part of the genome so their eyes can regenerate normally via life mana if they get into an accident, and so the mutation doesn’t get transmitted to potential offspring. We don’t technically have to do that, but I find it to be good practice for fine control. I mean, everyone does it because we’re perfectionist maniacs. With the barest touch, I flood the child’s budding channels. I have absolute control almost instantly.

I could give him ten centimeters of height over his twin. I could sew his mouth shut. I could turn his body tulip red right down to the sclera and the sole of his feet. I could even melt him into a puddle. But I do none of that. This is a child in need of help, one whose parents worked hard so he and his sibling could get the help of a mighty Enderlithian guild. This will be their first and only time on the station, the center of the civilized worlds, and I might be one of the strongest awakened they ever meet. So I tweak the genome, just a pinch on one strand that slowly spreads across the entire body, modifying the barest amount of information at the heart of innumerable cells. Well not innumerable. I’d say… around 18 trillions, maybe. I’m really grateful we don’t have to do them one by one. After I’m done, I withdraw most of my mana. It only took a little bit of it, but a lot of concentration to keep the spell going. One day, I’ll use this offensively. For now, I’m a doctor. With every rebuilt liver, fused spine, genome corrected, face fixed, and limb reformed, I improve.

Now, for the eyes.

“Ok. Three, two, one…”

Teni only briefly squirms as I grow his irises in under a second. He almost jumps out of his skin.

“Wooow! Wow! Mom? Dad?”

He jumps into his waiting parents’ arms. Their souls radiate such joy that I find it hard to focus on poor Alec.

“What about me?” he whines.

“Hop on.”

Same thing, same result. Another explosion of joy blooms from three rooms over, mirroring this one. I’m overwhelmed by positive emotions. 

“Doctor, why do you have big muscles?” Alec asks after many tears, mostly from their parents.

“I’m a fighting doctor. I can heal and I can beat people up,” I inform him. “Sometimes almost at the same time.”

“You’re third awakening? Are you a master?”

“No no, I’m an apprentice.”

This piece of news leaves the children stunned. Their parents discretely push them towards the exit, all anxiety evaporated to leave behind elation and disbelief. I wave off hurried thanks. I get the disbelief part because a gentleman I cured yesterday mentioned his journey. Two years of waiting list, one month of sponsored travel, three days of cramped hostel and then a lifelong condition is gone in under three minutes. Just like that. Most of the time, their brains can’t accept the sudden change. 

“An apprentice. Wow. Do you think I can become a fleshcrafter as well?” Alec asks.

“You need to work hard on awakening first. Enderlith’s ambient energy is strong, so be sure to meditate while you’re here, alright. Take care now! There’s a good lad.”

I smile and wave the grateful family out, shake the dad’s hand. The hospital grants us one Enderlithian minute to meditate before the next patient comes. I wouldn’t mind a bit of small talk as I believe the human touch is an essential part of healthcare, but I have twenty-seven more patients left in the shift. Curse me for having good mana reserves, I guess. Oh, Lumie’s done, her patient’s soul trailing happiness into the corridor on their way out like one more streak of happy pink on a rioting canvas of intense emotions. I can see why she likes working here. It’s really soothing, therapeutic even, to be helping so many. Like playing with a pack of puppies.

I’ll be in a great mood when I get to the arena afterward.