Vigor Mortis - Chapter 162: Little Sister

I must admit,the black mana writes to me, I’m particularly surprised that you even exist. I’m quite sure you weren’t self-aware just a few decades ago.

I squirm with embarrassment, though I’m not sure why that should be embarrassing.

I guess I wasn’t? I admit. But I still existed, right? Just as like… a mindless mass.

Precisely, the black mana responds. It’s lovely to have a friendly neighbor again after so long.

Friendly neighbor! I like that. I definitely want to remain friendly with the black mana, and not just because I could be completely annihilated by them the moment they decide it’s worth the effort.

I take it you’ve had some unfriendly neighbors then? I prompt.

Annoyance. Fear.

Let’s just say our big brother yellow is a rather poor host.

Big brother yellow? Only one entity I can think of to fit that bill.

You mean The One Below All? I ask.

Joy. Interest. Apprehension.

Ah, so we even live on the same world! Black writes happily, forming their mana into a vague image of the Mistwatcher. Yes, they are one and the same. I am, unfortunately, adjacent to our yellow elder on this side of things, and I suspect I will not survive for long if it finds out I’m self-aware. Do avoid bringing any attention to me, would you?

I can tell from the emotions they’re sending that there’s an implied ‘or else.’ Which is fair, I’d also threaten someone if I thought they might sell me out to an eldritch monstrosity.

No worries here, I reassure the black mana. Misty and I aren’t on the best of terms. Last time he spotted me on the corporeal side he tried to kill me. I don’t want his attention any more than you do.

Wonderful news, they respond. Any ally against that thing is welcome, but I don’t often get an ally that matters as much as you do. I must say, I’m quite curious as to your origins.

Well, that makes two of us, I answer, deflecting a bit because I’m not quite sure I want to be giving out my personal information here. What are we, exactly? Like, we’re mana, right? Conscious mana?

Extrauniversal conscious mana, yes, they confirm. I don’t have all the answers, but I have some solid theories if you’d like to hear them.

Absolutely, I answer.

Well, we exist in two different universes simultaneously, the black mana explains. That much is obvious. What’s not so obvious is which bits of us originally came from which universe.

It… isn’t? I ask. There’s nothing here but mana. So the mana comes from this universe, everything else comes from the other universe.

I have my doubts on that, they muse. I personally suspect anima originally comes from this universe as well. The substance souls are made of is our food source. It is how we grow. How could we even exist if it didn’t come from here as well?

Wait, I interrupt them. Eating souls grows my soul back in the other world, but it doesn’t seem to do anything here in the mana ocean.

Oooh, ‘mana ocean,’ I like that. I’m stealing it. But also, you’re silly and wrong. Haven’t you ever pulled anima onto this side?

Uh. Huh. I pull off one of my soul shards and, rather than swallowing it how I usually do for souls, I try to pull it through my mana tunnel like I do with metal. And… it works. It gets all the way through the tunnel and, instinctively, I tear it apart, converting it into a comically tiny amount of mana.

Huh. I guess… I can do that,I admit. It doesn’t really seem worth it, though?

Ah, you’re not thinking exponentially, sweetie. You are large enough to power an entire world for countless years! Of course one soul is nothing. One million souls is nothing. But one billion? One trillion? More? That is when we start to grow.

I signal discomfort, but also understanding.

That’s what your vrothizo are, I conclude. An exponentially-growing soul-devouring service.

Exactly! The black mana confirms, signaling happiness. Marvelous little creations, aren’t they? I’ve tried so many different ways to accelerate my growth, but the black maw have been the most successful by far. Lovely little things.

Um. I’m… gonna have to disagree with you on that, I admit. They’ve sorta been fucking up my island? Is there any way you could get them to stop killing everything?

I’m taking a risk with that question, but I have to ask. There’s too much to gain from it. I don’t want to make them mad, but if they’re the source of all vrothizo, they’re responsible for all the awful things they’re doing to Verdantop. Though both thankfully and worryingly, they signal amusement rather than anger.

You’ve already conquered an island for yourself, little blue? I’m impressed! Sadly, I have no direct control over my hungry little mouths, but likewise it doesn’t hurt me at all if they are slain. Feel free to remove them from your territory.

Well. Turns out the creator of the vrothizo doesn’t really have much respect for sentient life. Who could have guessed? At least we’re neither better nor worse off than we were before. Still, wow. Vrothizo are a bioweapon, but they’re not just a bioweapon. They’re remote mouths for Black’s otherworldly stomach, ones that are detached enough from them to be entirely disposable. My neighbor here doesn’t even have to do anything to get more powerful, it just happens over time as the vrothizo do all the work. It’s terrifyingly efficient, and despite how awful it is I can’t help but feel a little jealous. I think they pick up on that, as they once again project amusement.

You are young and small, little blue, they tell me. Your strategies will evolve as you do, and you will eventually find yourself unburdened enough to seek strength this way. Your mortal ties are not weaknesses, but they will fade with time. The game of the gods consumes all by its very nature. Brief, small things can be beautiful, but if you don’t get caught by our elder brother you’ll find that, over time, they eventually become repetitive.

I mentally scowl. I didn’t exactly ask for personal advice, and I make my annoyance clear. I’ve already decided I’m not giving up the things I love about being a person, and a big part of that is people. They pick up on the fact that they’ve bothered me, though, and emote an apology. We collectively decide to move on.

If The One Below All is my elder brother, what does that make you? I ask. I have my suspicions already, of course.

Your elder sister, naturally, the black mana responds. You may call me Nawra.

Called it. Shit, she’s quite the bioweapons manufacturer.

So you created those mind control slimes as well, then.

Surprise. Delight.

I did indeed! My ‘elder sister’ confirms. They were some of my earlier experiments into feeding myself. They’re a resounding failure by today’s standards, but back when I originally created them I was quite proud. They were a more… ethical solution to the problem of soul consumption.

Oh good! Mind control slimes are Nawra’s idea of ethical! That’s not a giant red flag, no siree. I can’t help but project raw indignance, which Nawra seems to find delightful.

I’m serious! she insists. My gooey little children rapidly copy the soul of the host. As such, they can be used to repeatedly farm a particularly valuable soul without harming the original!

They torture the original with horrifying body-control powers! I protest. Plus, the slimes themselves become people, and you’re still killing them!

Well, true, but I also made them inherently evil. So killing a Clear One only kills bad people, which is good!

I roil in disbelief for a bit. That sounds phenomenally stupid. It also kind of sounds like something I would say. I’m not entirely sure how to respond.

You, uh, aren’t serious, are you? I ask desperately.

I’m mostly joking, Nawra laughs. I mean, the Clear Ones are evil, mainly because they all have an instinctive desire to maintain control over their host even to the host’s detriment, but that was mostly installed so I could also use them for espionage. The espionage bits were actually an afterthought, if you can believe it, but they ended up much better at that than as sustenance! Happy little accidents, you know?

Not really, I admit. I haven’t exactly gotten into the habit of making entire species.

Ah, well, Nawra dismisses. To each their own. And on that note, I’d love to know how best to refer to you, little sibling.

I hesitate. Nawra is obviously dangerous, and I’m not really sure if she’s on my side or not. Unfortunately, she picks up on my apprehension.

If I wanted to harm you, little one, I would not need to know the identity of your flesh to do it, she reminds me. But I do not intend to do anything of the sort. At worst you are an enemy of my enemy. At best, you are one of the only people that can truly become a longtime friend. Besides, I’m not in the habit of killing children.

Except that she is, because vrothizo. But I guess there’s no need to point that out. Honestly, that last bit might have been another joke.

My name is Vita, I tell her. And ‘little sibling’ is fine, I guess. Or sister. I’m usually female, at least.

She vibrates with delight.

Ah, the joys of lichdom, yes?

It’s… certainly an experience, I answer noncommittally.

Well Vita, it’s lovely to meet you, Nawra writes. Our kind are few and far between, and big brother is not exactly a conversationalist.

I’m glad my existence could be a pleasant surprise for you, I remark.

Me too! Nawra agrees. Now then, a good while ago I believe I was talking about my theory of what we are.

Ah, right, we got sidetracked. Do tell.

Gladly! Now, what all do you know about our world? As in this world, our original world, the one we’re talking in right now.

Uh, not a lot, I admit. There doesn’t seem to be anything here but us. Counting the mindless ones, I mean.

That’s about everything there is to know, actually. I’ve used remote viewing spells to try to chart out our universe, but… there’s nothing. Everything in this dimension seems to be our little multi-colored ball of mostly-inert mana, and then… nothingness. Void. Not even air exists, just emptiness.

Wow, I comment. Our world kind of sucks.

It’s quite terrible! Nawra agrees. But that’s where my theory comes in. I think this place used to be far more than mana and void. I think there were worlds here, possibly even civilizations, though possibly not.

So what happened? I prompt obediently, since I can tell she’s pausing for effect.

We did, she writes slowly. We consumed it all. We lived in an incomprehensibly large world of anima, and we ate it because we are nothing but gluttony and power. Our universe is dead and we are the only survivors of our own mindless voraciousness.

I hesitate. On one hand, that seems like kind of a stretch. It’s all conjecture, and we both know that. None of us have memories of what we were before we were conscious, by definition. But it also feels… horribly right. When I pulled that chunk of soul into my ocean just now, I didn’t even think before ripping it apart and making it into more of me.

So we’re all gathered together in this ball of mutual annihilation because this spot probably held the last bit of non-mana substance left in the world, I say, seeing the natural end to her theory. We devoured it all, and when there was finally nothing left we just… stopped.

Until we were pulled into the universe where our physical bodies now reside, Nawra confirms. Yes. You understand.

But how were we pulled through? I ask. And once we were pulled through, we were inside an anima construct. Why didn’t we just eat our own souls and die? Why does our soul give us consciousness?

Nawra feels pleased at my questions, in the way a teacher might enjoy a bright student. It reminds me of learning from Theodora.

Because our souls are a clever little mousetrap, she answers. An absolutely genius bit of design that calls us in, traps us, and binds us to our vessel. Not even I know the full extent of how it works, but I’m deciphering it bit by bit. My soul was simply modeled after The One Below All. I assume yours was too?

Yeah, I confirm.

I believe something or someone created The One Below All, Nawra says firmly. Either an attempt by one of our victims to escape this world or an attempt by some fool over fleshside to bring magic to that world and harness it. I lean towards the latter, but either way it seems their attempt ended in horrific, catastrophic failure. Unless the creator just wanted to watch another universe die the way ours did, I suppose.

Wait, what do you mean by that? I ask. The Mistwatcher isn’t destroying the world, it is the world. And it’s not mindlessly devouring everything, it’s cultivating us. We’re more like a farm than a buffet.

That’s not an inaccurate way to see things, Nawra concedes. And I couldn’t tell you how intelligent The One Below All truly is, only how terrifying. Perhaps you will be able to understand soon; it’s been about a century since the last skybreak, so we’re due for another.

Uh, I manage to write out. I do not like the sound of that. What’s a ‘skybreak?’

Suffice to say there is a lot more to this world than you know, Vita, and I believe big brother has no intention of leaving any of it for us. The only reason we still live is that we’re beneath its notice. The difference in strength between you and I is incomparable to the difference between us and it.

Well duh, I answer her. It’s the world.

It’s our world, Nawra agrees. And unfortunately we are stuck here, doomed to subsist as leeches suckling the teats of a god. But! Now is a terrible time for depressing thoughts. I’ve quite enjoyed our conversation, Vita, but I really should return to managing my worldly affairs. Welcome to the family, such as it is! Sorry to cut things short. We’ll talk again soon, promise. Do try not to die horribly the way Red did.

Wait, how did the red mana die?

The same reason most people get killed by gods. Hubris, of course. Ta-ta now, little sister!

I open my eyes back up to light, returning my senses to my physical form. Ah, I even managed to keep breathing while in my ocean this time. Progress is nice. Also, wow, the creator of the vrothizo is really chill for a person that casually seeds bioweapons around. And she considers me family, I guess? She feels more like an eccentric aunt than a sister, but whatever.

Huh, that’s a thought I can have context for now. Man, it’s weird not being an orphan. Speaking of sisters, though, I believe I have an appointment with Talanika. Sure enough, I glance over to my wall and see one of the runes glowing red, which indicates a servant has requested my presence at my earliest convenience. I get up with a sigh and exit my privacy room, finding one of the men waiting just outside.

“Yes?” I prompt.

“We have multiple outfits ready for your perusal,” my servant reports.

“Are any of them armor?” I ask.

That surprises him.

“I… no?” the man answers hesitantly.

“I’d like to wear armor to the outing,” I say. “What options do we have?”

“W-well, um, your war armor isn’t here, of course,” the servant stutters with surprise. “But we have a few ceremonial sets?”

“The most functional one, please,” I declare, and he scurries off to go fetch it.

I head to the changing room, where I know they’ll eventually bring my choice of outfit. The current choices on display are all pleasing to me, or at least to my Malrosa half. I like bright colors, and I like keeping my arms and wings free. A variety of skirts and simple shawls therefore adorn the room, carefully prepared by servants who are attuned to those preferences. Unfortunately, I’m a different person now, and since I can’t get away with pretending otherwise I may as well adopt the habits that make the most sense from each half of me. Armor is definitely the ideal fashion decision.

I suppose it’ll be a bit heavy, but only until my natural biomancy starts upgrading my already-powerful frame. Despite Malrosa’s only middling inclination for exercise and combat training, she’s physically much stronger than any human. That’s one of many advantages to being a bioengineered species, I suppose.

A few sets of armor are eventually wheeled in. They’re not full metal plate like our war-armors, but naturally I don’t personally own anywhere near that much metal. Those were just on loan from my instructor for the duration of the battle. Besides, they wouldn’t really be ideal. The main feature of the war-armors is the teleportation system that automatically retreats us if the armor takes any physical damage. If I get injured during a fight in Liriope, teleporting to Liriope doesn’t really seem like it would be very helpful anyway.

No, my personal armors are much more modest: they’re mostly made of dragon scales with only a handful of metal engravings. I got two of them as presents from my instructor for reaching important milestones in my combat training, while the third is one I’ve been assembling and designing myself. It’s pretty neat, and it’s made mostly out of cyan-colored scales that match beautifully with my darker blue mana. I’m definitely going to cannibalize some of these other armors to enhance and complete it soon, but for now the red set of anti-magic armor my instructor made provides much better protection. I make my choice, don the aketon for padding and hold my arms out to let my servants attach the rest of the armor. It’s quite the complex set, even going so far as to enclose the wings in scaly protections that have to be individually attached piece by piece. I’m still not a big fan of the servants touching me, but it’s much more tolerable when I’m already heavily dressed and getting clothing put on.

Once they’re done, I relax considerably. Nothing like being covered in dragon scales spelled to disrupt incoming magic to make a girl feel at ease. I’d feel even better if I had a sword or spear, but I don’t own either and that’d be pushing the limits of what could be called fashion anyway.

Besides, I’m a Princess from a highly advanced magical species. Having all my hands free honestly makes me much more dangerous than holding a weapon. That doesn’t make the nagging feeling in the back of my head quiet down, but it’s still true.

Fashionably armored up, I decline escort and exit my home, walking towards where I feel Talanika waiting for me. She emotes surprise and a bit of concern when she sees my outfit, but it only lasts a moment before she happily bounces towards me, scooping up two of my gauntleted hands in her own empty ones.

It’s okay for her to touch me. She’s family.

“Mal-Mal!” Tala greets me happily. “You made it!”

“Of course I did,” I say, feeling an instinct to smile but being unable to follow it. “I said I would come, didn’t I?”

“Oh, half the time you get caught up in one of your little projects and forget all about me,” she teases. “It’s always a fifty-fifty with you, unless I barge into your house and fetch you myself.”

“Wh—no it’s not!” I sputter in protest. “Seventy-thirty, at least!”

“Oh, you’re right,” my sister sighs dramatically. “I suppose I was being too generous.”

“Talaaaaa!” I protest, eliciting a cackle from her. She squeezes me into a hug, which I reciprocate.

Agh. I love my sister! Given the situation that might be a bad thing, because now I have to be afraid of it fading away in a few days. Oh Progenitor, I hope that doesn’t happen. Every part of me needs all the love I can get.

“Mal-Mal?” Talanika asks, seeming to sense my tension. She pulls back from the hug slightly. “Hey. I’m here for you, you know?”

“Yeah,” I agree. “I know.”

“You wanna talk about it or take your mind off of things?” she asks.

Well I probably should talk about it, at least with someone.

“I’d like to take my mind off things,” I tell her instead.

“Well then I’ve got just the thing for you,” she says happily. “A new Catharsis Fiction play dropped today!”

A new what? That’s a weird way to… oh, wait, I know what this is. She’s saying it like that because she’s referring to a new play literally written by a man named To-Bring-Catharsis-Through-Fiction. He’s exceptionally talented, and I really enjoyed all his other plays. A new one coming out is pretty much the perfect surprise, and I suspect Tala might have pushed him to release it today for my sake. I’d be worried that would hurt the quality of the play by denying the actors the time to practice, but Catharsis Fiction is a very intelligent man. He almost certainly expected something like this to happen due to one Queen or another.

“Thank you, Tala,” I say. “That sounds wonderful.”

My reaction must be quite a bit more tepid than she expected, because it once again worries her. She gives me one more squeeze and then starts dragging me towards the theater, a smile in her eyes. There will likely be other Queens at the theater, and while it’s unlikely any of them are going to look deep into my soul I still squeeze myself into my mana tunnel, just in case. Gah, it’s so uncomfortable in here, and when I’m completely hidden I can barely sense other souls at all! It’s like it used to be, back when I first awakened to my power. It’s awful, but I guess it’s better than being discovered.

We file into the theater and easily find premium stall seats, since they’re reserved for Athanatos anyway. We could watch from the upper floors, I suppose, since our eyesight is more than good enough to see the expressions on the faces of the actors even from far away, but I’ve always preferred to be close. A lot of men are already here in the seats behind us, as they tend to file in early. The play begins once all Athanatos that have expressed interest arrive. After a few Queens file in around us, the lights dim and silence descends in the room. The show begins.

It’s beautiful.

I’m not… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to describe it. It’s so passionate, so absorbing that it’s easy to forget it’s not real. My problems fade away for a while as I laugh and gasp and feel my heart torn asunder by people who aren’t even actually being hurt. I wonder if the experience would be ruined for me if I wasn’t blinding myself by hiding my soul. Are these actors just focused and stressed, delivering their lines without really feeling what they seem to be feeling? I’m not sure it would hit me so hard, if that were the case. But perhaps they really are as passionate as they seem. Perhaps the raw, unbridled emotion in their words is carried by something equally dear to them, something they put out into the world every time they play their part.

The story itself is simple by Athanatos standards, almost cliche. But it’s masterfully done, hitting painful moments head-on where its contemporaries would brush past them. Plus, it’s still new to half of me, and I love it all the more for that. The plot stars a male architect and the Queen he works for. Amusingly, the main Queen is actually played by a Queen (the very same one that created this theater, in fact) while every other Queen character is played by a man dressed as one. I don’t think that’s intended as any sort of meta commentary; there simply aren’t many Queens both interested in and capable of acting at this level.

Anyway, the crux of the plot revolves around the architect’s brilliant mind and constant desire to design new things. He’s obsessive about his work to the point of a bit of obvious self-destruction, managed mainly by the Queen he works for, who favors him where his own mother did not and gives him leave to build many of his creations. It’s not a romance, not really. Most Liriope romance tends to be between same-sex couples because of the enormous class gap. But the Architect, To-Craft-A-Better-City, loves his Queen as all men do and goes to great lengths to constantly improve on his designs, crafting countless innovations and improvements of technique. As such, his Queen lavishes him with great praise and even takes him as a consort to create the next generation. The story follows To-Craft-A-Better-City’s entire life, starting with his birth and ending with a scene in which the nameless Queen sits with To-Craft-A-Better-City on his deathbed.

“It hurts, my Queen,” To-Craft croaks.

“Just say the word, my Highest, and I will help you pass beyond,” the Queen offers gently, struggling to say the words through her grief.

“Not that,” To-Craft says. “My body hurts, but it is a small pain compared to my mind. There is so much more I wish to do.”

“You have done more than enough,” the Queen insists. “You have revolutionized your field. None have compared to you for a hundred years. Your wisdom will live in me forever, and be the guide for generations to come.”

“And yet,” To-Craft almost sobs, “you deserve more.”

And so he dies like that, hand in hand with his queen, an honor far beyond what nearly any man could hope for. But he still dies, his ambition far outstripping his twenty-year lifespan. And while still mourning him, the Queen gives birth to his successor, also named To-Craft-A-Better-City. The Queen is revealed to have been the narrator the whole time, telling her favored male’s story to his own replacement, despite the fact that he was born already knowing it all.

It is beautiful, painful, and just the slightest hint bitter. The audience erupts with approval at the end, both men and women alike, as To-Bring-Catharsis-Through-Fiction has clearly delivered on his name. I’m still sitting utterly stunned as most of the rest of the theater has long since departed.

“I take it you liked it, then?” Talanika smugly asks.

I turn to her, my mandibles hanging open in a completely undignified display I can’t bring myself to care much about.

“Liked it?” I sputter. “That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen!”

“Oh!” Tala responds, seeming quite pleased with herself. “Really? That’s great! New favorite, huh? I still like Man on a Mission, personally, all the petty undercover shenanigans were hilarious.”

“Oh, well I…” I stop, trying to wrack my brain. Man on a Mission? I think I’ve heard of that before, but I… I don’t…

I don’t remember it.

Tala must see my vacant expression and realize the issue, because she immediately has a minor freakout.

“Oh! Oh gosh, Mal-Mal, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine!” I reassure her quickly. “It’s fine. Tala, don’t worry about it, I… I mean, now I can just see it for the first time again, right? We’ll see if we can get it on the play schedule, it’ll be fun!”

I give her my most positive facial expression, emoting the best Athanatos smile that I can. She brought me all the way out here to make me feel better and she succeeded and I’m not going to let the fact that I lost most of my memories and had them replaced with a horrifying parasite that’s twisting my mind into someone completely different ruin that for her.

Tala looks me over with an odd expression.

“Oh, Mal-Mal,” she says softly. “You don’t have to make me feel better, silly. We’re here to help you.”

Tala is the only person younger than me… or, I mean, the only Athanatos younger than me in the city. Or I guess she used to be. As the bigger sister, I wanted to set a good example. Maybe I didn’t always, but I don’t think I did a bad job. We’re close. Closer than I ever was to my human family, except for Lyn and maybe Rowan. I barely cared about my siblings until one of them died, but that’s when I knew what my purpose was in the family. I’m really bad at dealing with people, sure. But there were things I was good at. Things I could contribute even if I wasn’t sure I could care about my family the way I was supposed to.

“It’s my job to protect my family,” I tell her firmly. “Not the other way around.”

There’s a pause as she gives me another searching look.

“Is that what all… this is?” she asks, motioning to my armor. “Do you somehow think you failed me?”

“No!” I say immediately. “I mean, maybe! I don’t know! I just… it’s complicated!”

“Sis, I’m always going to be here for you,” Talanika says. “Literally. We are going to be family forever. So don’t you dare think I won’t be helping you just as much as you help me. Don’t think I won’t be protecting you as much as you protect me. I love you, Mal-Mal. I won’t hear of it.”

I stare at her helplessly. She’s right, isn’t she? She’s not one of a ragtag group of helpless orphan kids that are all one bad day away from bleeding out in a gutter. Talanika might be weak by Athanatos standards but she’s still stronger than nearly everyone on Verdantop. And if I’m being honest, my human family isn’t weak anymore either. They managed without me for years. They’re more than just a responsibility that I fulfill to make myself feel better about all the ways I’m a terrible sister to them. They’re competent people. They can help if I just ask for it. And Tala can too.

I want to tell her. I want to tell her so badly. But will she even think of me as her sister anymore? Am I even her sister anymore?

“Sorry, Tala,” I apologize quietly. “You’re right.”

“Darn right I’m right,” she huffs, crossing half of her arms. “Now then! I believe I also promised you dinner, and we’d better get cracking if we wanna get there before all the old ladies clog the place up.”

“Yeah,” I agree, standing up. “Thanks, big sister.”

She beams at that.

“You’re very welcome, little sister!” she cackles. “Oooh, I should make my next body taller than you! And you can make your next body extra short! It’ll be super cute!”

I resist the urge to shudder. Yeah, I’m feeling a big ‘no’ on the whole ‘giving birth to myself’ thing. That’s just… a bit too far outside my comfort zone. I should probably swap out of this body before then.

I freeze at that. Oh, no. I don’t want to swap out of this body. I’m already dreading the idea.

Shit.