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gore

From within the rockface, I have toppled out into green. Crackles of energy burn out of the fissure behind me, nipping at my heels as reminders of my borrowed time, but I’m not bothered. I pick myself up, brush the dirt off my knees, and bask in the cave glow. This is one of my favorite places!

The jungle sings sounds of creatures familiar but uncanny, insect chirrups rendered by an old radio, a bird call with longing in its undertones like a shine of stainless steel. I can never place names to them, because the names and thems are always changing; ever so alive this place, still alive even though it stays contained. A terrarium of such peculiar design! I like to look inside and tap the glass. As long as nobody catches me, I’m fine. I listen to the bird’s melody and distort it back, pulling it apart as I walk.

No things know it when I’m here. They don’t see me like I see them. I can see them from the front and the back, I see them in infinite shades and visual artifacts, in millions of frames of them living. I can pick through them at will. But I leave it untouched, for now, to marvel at what the natural order of Origin Cave is. When I want them to see me, they will. Until then, I step high through the grass and turn my body into the long vertical shadows of trees. I see what I can see: A group of adventurers. Siblings climbing upon rocks and looking into ponds. A father and son in emotional duress. I hover nearby and watch for untold moments. I jot things down, unseen.

And then, curious, I venture back to an old place, to a thing that I had long ago left unknown but disturbed. Forgotten and furious. I only just remembered her! When you see as many things as I do, and leave so many parts of yourself in them, you forget their names and thems where you left them. I wonder if this thing I forgot will let me pick her back up.

I stand at the edge of the water, looking down. My rift is nearby as a contingency plan; I know how dangerous she can be! I had a hand in putting her here, after all. (Jupiter, Nemean, and Tamulus trapped her so she’d cook alive forever, because Nemean thought it would be funny. There, see?) If I am the slightest too careless, I might get ensnared in her. This is where it becomes tricky: I’d like to look at her, but, ah, this one... There’s a lot to unpack. She’s very angry. If I stay too long, she might mess me up.

My toes grip the edge of the water. My toes are bones and mushrooms. I reach to touch the surface, searching for an old body beyond it. Are you there? I call out. I saw you last tucked into a tight and horrible space. Would you like to come out?

A stream of bubbles rises from the subaqueous shade.

It wasn’t my plan actually to take take her out. But you know what? I like this better. I defy natural order too, not like vicious chaos or unyielding sequence, but just because I choose to. This is one of my favorite places, and I like to see what they do with this illusion of being alive.

Bubbles pop in the water. I realize I am bent too close—and straighten up again. Hah! I’ll just take you out and watch you from afar. Okay?

But I don’t think that’s good enough. She wants more than that. She wants another part of me, another sacrifice—was Beatris not enough? I’m being facetious. I think she wants to kill me. I mock her relentlessly because it’s fun. Then, dwelling on her makes me prone, and mental claws grip my skull.

The pressure is crushing. She pulls me underwater.


It goes all black, and I struggle. As traveled as I am, I still fear. She knows this. She holds me underwater not for as long as she can, but as deep as she can, exercising her rage that has only been able to boil the water in her prison. My heart slams in my ears, but I hear nothing! Nothing but the muffled hiss of bubbles and water, black water—green water—purple water throbbing against my temples. An ultraviolet light. Eclipsed by a—a malevolent claw—it comes for me! The pain is like no other, piercing the integument of my being, my material! She begins to rip me apart!

I am inundated with scissor-grip claws that shred gaps to be inhabited by the microscopic organisms festering in this hole for thousands of years. She nauseates me and fills my cavities with bacteria that makes me hallucinate. I detach from my body, my muscles fine strings, my organs bubbling to the surface. I am shorn to ribbons. I’m sure I deserve it, and so do the Masters who did it. All that remains of me is chunks of flesh bleeding and seeping red into the dark water. Pieces I can see floating past glassy, gaping—yet my brain does not cease function.

Huh!

I wake up from a split second delusion. They’re already in my brain! Proliferation sets in, and I can feel her influence immediately. She is an omnipresence lying in the cold, dark abyss that hungers. She ravages, that’s what sets her apart from the ice cold Mother. I can feel her craving to dismantle. That seems to be the theme of tonight, Mother and her ants! Farina and her bacteria! I made the mistake of spoiling myself on Chaos. What would have happened had I stepped into Ursa instead?

I’m still deep in the water. I have to get out. I see the dim purple light, and something gargantuan shifts below it. The claw—! Kicking my feet, I reach for the surface. The currents lap around my legs, as though the water sweetly begs me to stay. Then, insistently. It’s nerve wracking. Even the microbiota that flood my system coax their weight downward. Everything in my body feels so heavy, it’s like swimming through the tar of a dream; except I’m fully awake in a body that doesn’t obey me. I reach and swipe for the surface glow, bubbles like glass fractures slipping from my maw, bubbles rushing my ears as the claw—claws!—so many claws!—clack at my feet!

Then, with a gasp, the water breaks over my head like gelatinous film; over my mouth, thick, thick water. I inhale some of it as I choke for air. I charge through the surface, throwing my limbs skyward, and I thrash until I reach the edge. The water globes off me like slime. I scramble into the grass, my body whole and wet and clinging to my bones; I vomit; and rolling onto my back, I breathe.

I breathe for long moments, until the surface stirs and a ripple combs my way. LET ME OUT, she screams and whispers.

I laugh and peruse the canopy above. I detach so that she can’t snap me up again.

YOU CAN LET ME OUT, she says, her voice like metal shards.

I reach into my pocket. Everything is wet. My notes are mush, but luckily I write in a stenographer’s hand, I write in the strokes that I wrote in, I remember it that way. I laugh again at her. I instead withdraw a handful of spicy corn nuts and sprinkle them on the ground. Okay, how about you tell me a story? You know who we haven’t heard about? The plant Master. She used to like this room, didn’t she?

The Eyes fall silent. I think I have plucked a nerve.

Or I can tell you a story. I don’t think I’d do her justice like you would, I append, sitting up.

The pools emanate a wicked chill. Foreboding surges from the depths of the water, stygian clear. Her voice croaks hollow from within me, the voices of the million prokaryotes enacting her will, IF YOU LET ME OUT SHE WILL TELL YOU HERSELF.

Is that so? I thought she was dead, I remark.

JUST SLEEPING.

I HAVE BEEN AWAKE ALL THIS TIME. WAITING FOR THE TIME TO WAKE HER.

YOU WANT A STORY? LET ME TELL YOU WHAT I’VE DONE.

THERE WAS A CAT WHO CAME TO MY EYES. I FIXED HER. SHE WAS THE FIRST OF TAMULUS’ DISGUSTING MISTAKES THAT I FIXED. NOW SHE SITS ON THE LORD’S SHOULDERS.

I WHISPERED SECRETS TO THE FAILURES OF VALKHOUNDS—NOT VALKHOUNDS AT ALL, BUT WATERED-DOWN RUNAWAY EMBRYOS, I SHOWED THEM THEIR TRUTHS. I HAVE BEEN LOYAL.

EVEN FROM WITHIN MY PRISON I SERVE MY PURPOSE. UNLIKE TAMULUS AND JUPITER. UNLIKE THE BETRAYER! LOOK UPON THE BEASTS I HAVE ARCHITECTED FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THOUSANDS OF YEARS. EVER SINCE THE WOMB WAS REOPENED I FEEL IT—I FEEL ALIVE AGAIN. I BOIL ALIVE IN THIS BUBBLING PIT, WITH VIRILITY! LOOK WHAT I HAVE MADE! THEY WILL HELP ME!

ONE TO KILL TAMULUS

ONE TO KILL JUPITER

ONE TO KILL NEMEAN

THEN THIS CAVE WILL BE SAFE AGAIN

FOR MY LEAF, ARTIO.


By the time the crustacean exhumes the final syllable of the Taurus Master’s name, I am on my feet. The air has been getting colder. My stomach churns uneasy with Farina’s zeal. I do second-guess letting her out, and that’s what drives me to turn my back on her.

LET ME OUT, she screeches through the pools.

When I look over my shoulder, I’m moving too fast to make anything out, but when I look forward again I’m in front of the pools. Ah, shit.

LET ME OUT, she shrieks again.

I run and fall into the water. I run and blink and I’m at the pools. I run and close my eyes and don’t open them, and that does it—I’m free.

LET ME OUT! she screams into the aether, raking my ears.

I can’t risk getting trapped in her psychosis again. I run to where I left my rift, burning and fizzling all unimaginable colours. There, I catch a glimpse of the new chrysali, three of them, oily black and tucked away inside the fracture. Maybe it’s sympathy that guides my hand, or my selfish indulgence of disorder; as Farina’s fury reaches after me, I beckon the stones and cavernous tunnels to contort. The ground shakes as I step through my rift, the rocks ripping apart to cleave a new opening out of the wedge between Farina and the boiling water vent she had been blocking.

I left too hastily; a seam has broken. Energy crackles unmendable, and my influence escapes me, leaving a scar in spacetime in the wall of Eridanus.

As the ground falls still, the water in the Eyes grows warm. There is a distinct absence of presence in the pools now.

The riftstorm can be entered briefly by the feet of one's mind, where within, a Gembound might catch glimpses of untold dimensions before they are ejected back into Eridanus.

The three creatures are ready to emerge from their chrysalis, and will feel a compulsion to travel to Fornax to receive their purpose.

Eight spicy corn nuts are available to be claimed.

@Tsetse @Emrys @Hjalmar

a mind lay wake in the cold walls of eridanus.

shifting limbs, shifting, ever shifting, what could this be? eyes- no eyes, no sight, only heat, and it is oh so cold. the whispers begin, hushed and excited, this, yes this! we are here! finally, finally, finally- they mutter and shout.

clawed limbs. they move, gripping this tight walls of its chrysalis, letting out a tired, oh so tired yawn, groan at the lack of cooperation with it. the creature curls in on itself, it just wants to sleep. be quiet. it thinks, it does not want to move yet. not yet. but the feeling in its bones cannot give it this peace. it twitches and moves, groaning yet again in its lack of seeming self control, but its a required evil. it does not want to stay here forever, no.

it huffs. HE huffs. there is no time for the complex consequences of denied identity, so he takes one now. he is Hjalmar. the meaning of the name is lost, for now. perhaps it will find it later. but he, it, is Hjalmar. and it needs to get out.

there are things that must be done. and the one who tells it WHAT to do surely will not wait forever. it has possibly waited long enough.

the slightest hint of magic prickled at its claws, and though it wanted to give purpose to it, to call it to its whim, unfortunately it did not cooperate. the creature screamed great volumes as he combusted into magnificent purple flames. oh how BEAUTIFUL they were, the pain was delicious, it felt like POWER. misdirected, sure, but where there is power there is pride, there is PURPOSE. who is he to take its blessing for granted?

it yelled, even as the flames died down he yelled. his groaned as the flames dissipated moments later, some though still lingering on his quills, now-searing claws covering his face in utter exhaustion. so much already.

the whispers LAUGHED. they laughed at his failure, but he let out a chuckle with them. thats enough. i am moving. no need to laugh at me, you fools. he thought to them in humor. searing claws pressed harder, sentient and breathing now, harder into the walls, growling at the pressure until it gave way in a beautiful shatter of oilstone and rock. as the creature fell into the dirt below in eridanus he coughed. he looked around, as best he could. warm. the faint colorful outlines of the lessers, plants surrounding them. it was nice.

he turned to the sight of his chrysalis and waited. the faint and warm outlines of 2 others remained beside his crystal husk, and he would wait. fornax could wait.

SNAKE TONGUE, SPLIT AND BITE

She is conscious.

It comes suddenly, without warning—well, kind of, in the sense that Before there was no mind to receive any sort of warning, but there is no surprise at it, either.

She blinks; once, twice. She is silent except for the subtle hiss of vents expelling heated air, examining her surroundings. One front hoof nudges at an oil-black shard of chrysalis.

And—there is another one, with her. She smells the acrid scent of smoke before she registers the black char of past flame on paw and leg; she looks at a face with no eyes and grins, greeting him with a mouth of equal fangs and molars.

A thought comes to mind—a word. Sibling.

Her tail flicks behind her in steady-growing excitement, tail rattling. Sibling, sibling, a murmur in her head repeats, an echo.

He is like her.

They share a purpose, a call for distant, heated waters.

"Sibling," she murmurs, a hiss-click of air punctuating her sentence. She stands on hooves that don't seem to want to still, almost dancing in the grass as she trots circles around this one. the tip of a draconic tail brushes lightly against a burnt limb.

There is mirth in her neon eyes as she takes in every bit of this sibling's shape, noting the many legs and the claws and the tail adjacent to hers but—different.

He's like her, and that's important.

She casts a look towards the third chrysalis; the unhatched one, still embedded in the wall. Waiting; for what?

"Sibling?" she calls out towards the stone, to no response. She settles next to her waking sibling, laying upon the dirt and grass to watch it. Its inanimacy tugs at her, a downdraught against her joyful mood.

Where is her second?
@Hjalmar @Emrys

The shifting of a consciousness is a small thing. Barely anything, at first; the tiniest twitch of a feline limb, the fluttering of eyes. But then, finally, finally, awareness comes more easily. A feeling in its bones, urging it to push out of the chrysalis that seems much too small now. It almost wants to grumble against that insatiable urge to get free, almost wants to lay and allow itself to sleep for a bit longer. But it can’t, so it begins to move.

It’s an awkward, slow movement, as it’s still bleary and confused with the new consciousness. The lift of one paw to place it against the chrysalis, the most movement its sibling’s on the outside will have gotten for now. But that won’t be the case for long; it shifts, presses more weight against the inside of the chrysalis, and feels it begin to give. With that comes the urge to get free, stronger now, because it’s almost out. Just a little more force, and the give will work in its favor. The tiniest bit more force, and the chrysalis crumbles and gives way, hurling the creature unceremoniously to the dirt below. Even as it thinks to catch itself, there’s the slightest spark of annoyance.

It feels that it should get a more dramatic entrance.

It’s not used to the sudden air, pushing their way into its lungs, and it stays there for a moment, desperately trying to adjust to everything with the urge to find Fornax still urging it onwards. But then, slowly, tiredly, it shifts amber eyes towards the two like it. Siblings, maybe? It thought that maybe it liked that term; even if neither of them had the same paws it did, they were still siblings. They had waited for it to burst its way out of the chrysalis, had presumably been urged by the same instinct it had.

Once it could lift itself steadily enough, it does, relishing in the feeling in its paws. While it’s smaller, and much more easily ignored, there’s an urge to find everything like this. To see what this new world had to offer.

But for now, it had to find Fornax.

the creature moved its head, sensing the new heat of its siblings, the outlines in hues of yellow and red, many colors, many. they nodded to their siblings. siblings? yes siblings. the horse-valkhound said they were, and it felt right.

"siblings.... yes, we are siblings" it spoke. words strung together. a sentence. perhaps the whispers had more influence than just intrusive thoughts.

"fornax. we must... find fornax." he rasped, mimicking the voices, find fornax, find the cave, find them!

"who are you..?"

@Tsetse @Emrys

SNAKE TONGUE, SPLIT AND BITE

Finally, finally—her sibling emerges from the oilstone, in a tangle of shining black fur and tendrils, and the nacre-colored gleam of the cowl about its head. Its first breath is a dramatic thing; its chest rises and falls in tandem with it pushing itself to its feet.

Her final sibling is here, and her eyes shine with barely-concealed pride.

She's so proud of it. "Hello, sibling."

But—even though she feels she could stand here in this place for forever, could spend eternity anywhere as long as she had her siblings by her side, something in her core tugs at her. Something buried deep inside of him, something as instinctual as breathing, tugs her forwards.

A name bubbles up in her mind, whispered on a non-existent wind. Fornax, Fornax

What is this Fornax? Where is this Fornax? He does not know—but he knows as surely as he knows the hooves beneath him that this is where he was made to go.

"Yes, yes—Fornax." he agrees, readily, just the name giving him a thrill of excitement down his spine. His vents shudder with it; with a single hoof, he paws at the ground, unable to keep it internal—utterly euphoric with the thought.

A question comes from her older sibling, and she pauses, confused. Isn't it obvious? "Sibling. I'm yours," he hums, as if stating that the walls are made of stone.

There's a name somewhere in the back of his head, but it languishes, forgotten for the moment—ignored in favor of newness and quick attachment.
@Hjalmar @Emrys

EMRYS
and from here you look like ants in a row

Once it recovers enough to take them both in, it’s eyes flash with a similar pride and maybe a bit of fondness. Family, it’s siblings- those words sound right when the horse valkhound says it, and it dips it’s head in response. ”Siblings.” It’s a greeting, even if words are hard at the moment, although its struggle is forgotten for the time being in its excitement. They’re all free to go, now, and there is no time they should waste. It’s antsy, tail twitching in anticipation for the moment they all start moving.

”Fornax.” It hums, in agreement, even if it’s beginning to find that it has much less to say than its siblings. A few words work just as well to get the point across, especially now. Gold eyes flicker to its eldest sibling, and it nods in agreement. ”Siblings. Family.” Something tells it that its answer isn’t what their sibling wanted to know, and something flickers in the back of its mind. A name, maybe- or just a hint of one. It’s quickly overshadowed by its lingering pride in its siblings, and itself, and the desire to get to Fornax as soon as possible. The specifics of everything else can wait.

@Hjalmar @Tsetse