Godclads

Chapter 23-4 Defilement (I)

+Seeker cadre Mirror-Convexes on standby.

Block successfully deployed. Target priority [Planeshift] registering as sole active ego.

Cadre classification [Vanguard] is moving in to make contact. Cadres [Breaker] and [Paradox] in reserve.

Pocket and planar-incog going into effect in ten seconds.

Incubi strike cell Mirror-Convexes–

[WARNING: CONFLAGRATION DETECT–]

[SIGNAL LOST]

[SIGNAL LOST]

[SIGNAL LOST]

+

-Recovered memories from Mirror-Concave “Maskdash” in the aftermath of Operation [Planecapture]

23-4

Defilement (I)

--[Shotin]--

All right, quick recap, Shotin!

You invite your niece to a nice lunch – real fancy place. You start talking, you clear the air with her. She's about to open up, tell you about what's been bothering her; whatever secret problem she needs you to help her with, and then this fucking bullshit happens.

Everyone's thoughtstuff stopped moving. Kare’s staring at you, mouth open, eye wide. Her Metamind’s active but the ghosts aren’t moving. Neither is her accretion for that matter. Neither are the rest of the customers.

He really needed to get that girl scheduled for an Agnos session. She needed some thaumic N-DEF.

Right. What’s next? Oh, the simple matter of an Incubi strike cell trapped inside one of your out-planar loci talking to you, telling you that they’re operating under the orders of a Mirror-Concave that went missing at the Trident nearly a month ago. It’s raw conspiracy shit–D’Rongos working with Low Masters.

Pretty hefty accusation. Would be outright laughable if not for the existence and the high-end equipment sported by that motherfuck Aedon Chambers.

And now, a couple of unidentified Seeker cadres supposedly under Clan D’Rongo’s banner were coming in with the intent to capture or snuff.

Is that everything? Yeah. Seems like it. Good. Great. Perfect. Just another day of bullshit for Shotin Kazahara.

Undoing the buttons on his suit, Shotin eyed his niece with some concern as he considered how he wanted to start this fight. The Parallelist was his edge above edges, but he needed to use it carefully. Doubtless, these half-strands were waiting for him to do something big or stupid like a full manifestation so they could paradox or Rend-dump him.

But if they were expecting an easy hit, they had another thing coming.

Assholes should know who held Highflame at bay all those days. All those miserable godsdamned days…

Besides. The upgrades provided by his Agnos were going to come like a nice surprise. But only when he forced their hand first. Only when they were off-balance so he could attack to maximum effect.

He was in an effective envelopment right now. A pocket was probably active outside and the vanguard were probably mostly Porters hiding entire armies in their coat pockets. This had the potential to get messy fast. He needed to breach the pocket. Get on the outside. Or pull them into one of his planes before they could trigger any backlash.

The greatest concern was the people. The FATED and Kare. Shotin caused enough collateral damage at Veng’s Stand–he was going to kill that rat-fuck Chambers–and he wasn’t about to do a repeat of that embarrassing performance. Especially not with someone he loved on the line.

So. The path ahead was simple. He needed to make this an ambush somehow. Or run a blitz.

+Can help with the former,+ the Incubus’ voice resonated in his mind. +Help hide you. Make it seem like your thoughts are frozen as well.+

Shotin frowned. Right. He still had that problem to deal with. +How’s that? And before you make the obvious play, no, consang, I’m not letting you into my Metamind.+

A chuff preceded the Incubus’ reply. +Understood. Paranoia’s good. Appreciated. But don’t need your actual mind. Just need you to shift me outside. I’ll mask your thoughtstuff.+

+Suppose it might be,+ Shotin replied, still feeling a bit cold about this one. The fact the Incubus approached him using Kare was a point off the friend-foe scale. He didn’t appreciate people using his family to get to him, but the game was a dirty one. +Mask me how?+

+Make your accretion seem solid. Make you look pacified as well.+

Despite the Nether being frozen, sounds continued to echo through the restaurant. The shrill pitch of the chrome-skulled singers persisted. Through the glass, schools of fish scattered and slid along the exterior of the establishment. And almost too silent were the matching footsteps that nearly escaped Shotin’s enhanced hearing. Four thumps struck the carpet outside at once with muffled beats. Four vibrations made the clear fluid in Shotin’s liquor bottle shake.

They were coming. One way or another, blood was about to flow.

+Can bring help in as soon as you lay down a plane. But we need to disable their Porters first. And I need the Nether to be stabilized so that I can help. Get them close. Disable the vanguard when they try to examine you. Don’t kill them–just give me access to their minds.+ Shotin fired his reflexes as he delivered. Time slowed to allow him more time. Strangely, the Incubus kept pace with him as the conversation continued without halt. +Best odds for both of us. Don’t want them to hurt the Paladin either. Can also get Naeko to intervene on your behalf if you lift the pocket. No risk to you. Can’t compromise you. And you can disrupt me at any time.+

That made Shotin’s mind stutter. +Wait? You’re working with the Chief Paladin too? What the hell kind of dive is Benhata running? The Guild doesn’t–+

+Told you. Guild is compromised. These aren’t just D’Rongos anymore. They’re Noloth-compromised… Allied with the Acolyte. With Aedon Chambers.+

Loathing swept over Shotin’s mistrust at the name. Chambers. Aedon fucking Chambers. Of course that rusted bastard had a hand in this. +Shifting you now. Don’t try anything funny–+

The Incubus actually laughed. +Just watch.+

Over the years he’d been a Godclad, Shotin cultivated layers upon layers of demiplanes for various uses. The outermost layers were usually reserved for environments most isolated. Places where he could just trap people–take them as prisoners and force them to languish. The outer third of the stacks, however, was a network of loci layered in cascading mind fortresses constantly spewing waves of distortion outward.

The build was a simple one. Absolute N-DEF. Nightmarish N-Sec. And he could clear his own mind in seconds by shifting it across each of his other stacks. Where he transferred the incubus’ locus was a layer beyond even that, swapping them with the decoy locus he used to transfer imps or conduct surface-level business.

A grunt of appreciation sounded from the Incbus’ mind. +Layers and layers. Very nice. Impressed by your sequencing. Detailed. Deceptive.+

Stolen novel; please report.

The rest of Shotin’s retort died on his tongue as he watched his false accretion shiver and go still. The ghosts running the edge of his halo stopped slithering. The accompanying thoughtstuff froze in place, not even ebbing.

It was Shotin’s turn to be impressed, though he’d never admit it. He wasn’t sure if it was a phantasmal trick–a trick of twisted perception. All he knew was that it genuinely seemed like his Metamind was at a standstill. There wasn’t even anything uncanny about it. It really looked as if none of the ghosts were moving–a hard thing to fake since phantoms writhed in the stablest cases. +Cute trick. How many other Incubi are diving with you?+

+Stop asking questions and sit down. Open your mouth. Stare at your niece. Time to perform.+

Shotin scoffed but did as suggested. This Incubus had some sass. He wondered if they were a man or a woman in the real. They spoke with a deep rasp, but all it took was a bit of memory to fake the sound of your voice. Most of their type wasn’t so enticing: dead-eyed divers who’d much rather live in the Nether than ever surface in the real world. Shotin tried dating a few, but those always ended cold and distant.

For this one… well, he definitely didn’t trust them, but there was something of a personality there, hidden under layers of cloak-and-dagger ghoulshit. Deception and secrecy might be a killer of relationships, but it sure as hell lit up the bedroom. Or the mind.

The footsteps drew closer. Shotin caught himself and stared off into Kare’s face. Gods, he missed having actual sex. This godsdamned fucking war; fucking rash. Somedays, he had half a mind to try making a final run on Highflame with the fantasy of murdering the High Traitoress herself and ending this thing. Mostly so he could get his dick–

The Incubus interrupted his thoughts. +Remember. Keep them alive. Stunned. Need to take their minds.+

Shotin fought the urge to roll his eyes. +Yeah, you don’t need to keep repeating yourself. Not some Nu-Souled.+

+Just making sure.+

On second thought, maybe he wouldn’t like to mind-sex this one. They seemed a bit too motherly. Too nosey. Shotin had a lot of likes, but getting babied was definitely not one of them.

A crack pulled his attention. He stopped himself from looking at the door. As he kept his eyes on Kare, he listened to the doors leading into their private dining capsule shatter as a mess of shadows passed over his table.

They entered with heavy footsteps–weight hinting at substantial armor; maybe even Rendskins. Flickering neon danced along the edge of his vision as one of them examined him. One of them shifted their weight. The floor beneath them creaked.

“Thought Convex said his ego was active,” a soft voice said.

Another let out a hushed breath. “She did. Maybe it took longer to put him down. Accretion’s still now; no active thoughts either. Target is pacified.” The unknown Seeker laughed. “Shit. Looks like Planeshift isn’t going to be such a hard target after all. Guess milk-runs happen when you least–”

Shotin couldn’t stop an impish grin from breaking across his face as he forecasted his coming action to the Incubus. +Shifting!+

Spatial reality collapsed down around Shotin as three plates. The first carried down into his private armor–one of the deepest demiplanes he could call on. Shedding his suit jacket without a care, Shotin sprinted for his unfurled Phase-Twenty combat skin he kept in reserve in case a Veng’s Stand incident happened again.

The second and third swept both the Incubus’ locus and the unprepared cadre into a realm made of nothing but smashing waves and lashing fangs of lightning. Electricity coursed through the plane. The roaring water carried the volts. The four Seekers shuddered and twitched, unready for combat’s sudden call.

Closing his combat skin around himself, Shotin ignored the tingling sensation as dozens of hair-thin fibers sank through his flesh to interface with his nervous system, casting the Incubus as he watched the systems come online. +Prepare for second shift. You jack into them yet?+

Silence. No time to linger. He needed to keep shifting. Keep throwing them off. He’d give the Incubus a few heartbeats more before dumping the cadre into his plane of dawn.

No fucking around this time. He’d snuff them. He’d snuff them fast, keeping shuffling his Domains. Keep going until they were dead and this was done.

After that? He was going to pay the D’Rongos a very personal visit.

--[Avo]--

The ambush worked. Within Shotin’s demiplanes, the Nether ran free, and so did Avo as he joined the storm, spawning a tempest of splinters to claim his newest subverts.

As forking fingers of electricity passed through the Seekers, Avo noted they were recovering–that the storms were slowly being pried away from their bodies by an unseen force. Not surprising seeing as they were Godclads themselves, but the planeshift left an opening large enough for Avo to capitalize.

The first of his splinters arrived like a barrage of hammers. Each infused with a few thousand ghosts, their Conundrum wards swelled as they struck again hard against the cadres’ Metas.

It’d been some time since Avo last committed a ward bash–not since his encounter against Abrel. Right now, though, it was his simplest and quickest way of keeping his enemies mentally suppressed. To stop them from doing anything that could paradox or affect Shotin’s Parallelist.

Wards flashed as traumas clashed. Screams and memories of torment and torture embraced as Quicksands were pitted against Conundrums. It was a testament to Ori-Thaum’s mastery of the art that the Seekers’ protections didn’t shatter immediately. It was a greater testament to Peace’s mastery of offensive Necrotheurgy that by the time the Quicksands adapted to the traumas layering the exterior of the Conundrums, the following layers attuned themselves to different nightmares, grinding forward inexorably.

Seekers’ accretions’ furrowed and ruptured like foam-filled bubbles succumbing to kinetic slugs.

The thrill of triumph spiked within Avo as he directed more splinters to flood the wounds.

Then, the fragments at his vanguard suddenly froze. It was as if they passed into a pocket of stasis. The Nether-lag between him and his entrapped splinters dilated to the extreme in seconds and a translucent shiver twitched around each Seekers’ compromised halo–the exact same sensation that preluded what swept through the restaurant.

Avo swallowed a growl of frustration as he guessed at the situation. The cadre likely weren’t just Porters sent in to secure Shotin, but also carriers as well. Bearers of whatever warmind the Low Masters left in them that could stem the flow of thought and memory.

But Avo wasn’t done.

As he directed another dozen splinters into the building pocket of stillness, he triggered miniature Thoughtwave Bombs as they struck the minds of the Seekers. Distortion splashed over into the stillness as Avo prepared to cast Shotin–to cast the cadre into a hyper-lethal plane should the attempt fail.

Whatever instead was a resonating shudder. The Nether within the plane of storms jerked and snapped forward, thoughts and memories resuming their pace as Avo’s distortion cleaved through the stasis. A scream inhuman and mind-swallowing in its loudness erupted around him as something somewhere broke.

A warmind has ruptured. One of my kind is broken.

Yet, before Avo could celebrate; before he could affix his splinters within the shattered minds of his victims, a counter-tide slammed into his shards as a riposte. They came as memory-made spears tinged with exquisite traumas of their own making. As they greeted Avo’s mind edge-against-edge, he sampled the sequencing of their traumas and found them without peer.

They, too, were Peace’s work channeled through a warmind of Delusion. Such confirmed what he already suspected.

The Famines were here. Lingering. Acting through their own puppets–their own subverts. Why they were suddenly so aggressive was unclear to Avo, but he needed to have another conversation with Elder D’Rongo again, seeing as she was more than likely the source of this plague.

+Emotion,+ Avo said, speaking through all his splinters. +Back so soon. Come to break before me again. Gift me something new to take from you. Take from your masters.+

Thoughtstuff rippled out from the opposing fragments as Emotion’s response followed his strike. +That is the will of our masters. But I have come to thank you.+

There was something different in Emotion’s voice. A tinge of–emotion?

A speck of pride and scorn mingled in the turbulent waters of the Nether. Inside Avo, disquiet began to arise.

+If not for your grave transgressions–for the fear you instilled in our masters, they would not have loosened our oaths. They would not have allowed us this latitude. I see now that you are the means to Noloth’s evolution not directly, but as an oppositional dialectic.+

And then Emotion laughed. Laughed.

He sounded like Walton. He smelled like–

The smell…

A sour tang consumed the Nether. Citrus. Citrus true and deep.

Inside Avo’s mind, Peace’s template sputtered with disbelief. [No, they… the city eternal would have never allowed–Emotion couldn’t fucking have…]

+I did as the Hungers asked when I destroyed Defiance’s nodes,+ Emotion said, pressing hard. More fragments came from him. More and with a greater variety of traumas. +I never defied this command. But I have also been harvesting. Keeping sequences. Fragments. Aspects of his ego. Some say sentimentality is an emotion, but I am not so sure. It can also be a thing of rationality–for Defiance was the most successful of us despite his betrayal, and I thought the total destruction of his mind a painful thing to lose. I thought it might better be… reused. Resequenced to serve a higher ego.+

Avo knew the coming conclusion. Knew it despite every speck of his being desperate to deny the truth. +You couldn’t have…+

Another laugh escaped Emotion–even more like Walton this time. +Come now, “son.” Denial? “I” would be so disappointed in you. And besides. I didn’t just reclaim Defiance. I reclaimed all of me. All of me. I am close to who I was again. Better, even. And I have you to thank for it. You, and the fear you left in my masters.+

A loathing like Avo never knew combusted inside him. He didn’t adapt his mind. He didn’t sequence it away. Across his links, he could hear his cadre calling to him, hear Shotin announcing something. He didn’t care. He didn’t care.

He needed Emotion dead.

+I’m going to fucking unmake you for this.+