In death, what greeted Xord was not the blackness of the void—it was what was seen by ears and heard by eyes. He existed within his internal monologue, which was limited by his vague recollection of words and concepts. On some level, Xord knew he was dead. He didn't know what had happened to him, though. He could hardly even remember who he had been before. He had no name or identity of which he could speak. He was an ex-person. He would spend all of eternity as something less than a ghost, a consciousness removed from time and space.
Xord felt something: the beating of a heart. The sensation centred him and gave him something resembling form, bringing him out of his purgatorial state. There he was: thoughts and a pulse. Alive.
His blood came in like a tide, inundating his entire being. It coursed into his pounding heart until it was bursting at the seams. As the pressure increased, Xord was overcome by a mounting fear of death, a panic confined within his own headspace. His heart couldn't cycle the blood fast enough. It was going to explode.
Just when Xord thought he couldn't take it anymore, the blood was rerouted. His heart shrivelled up and became engorged once more. Something was off. It seemed as though some other force was driving the blood through his arteries—arteries that formed a huge network around him like a house—and his heart was merely part of the circuit. The little organ couldn't have possibly been pumping such a large volume of blood. There must have been a machine sustaining him and holding him hostage from the release of death.
Suddenly, Xord could see. His field of view was tinted red, as if it had been stained by his own blood. It was dark, and he couldn't quite make out his surroundings. Under the spell of vertigo, he stirred. Everything around him creaked. The noise was terrible, like the sound of a building on the verge of collapse. It caught Xord off guard and he staggered, as did the machine. They were one.
While Xord could see, his ability to feel was limited. He could feel his pulse and determine where his thoughts were coming from, which, strangely, was in the vicinity of his heart. His sense of proprioception was mostly absent, but he retained his sense of scale. The machine he was inhabiting was enormous. Xord's mechanical body seemingly had nerves, though they only functioned insofar as to give him a loose sense of weight and pressure. He could tell he was immensely heavy, yet he had difficulty identifying the weight as part of him. He couldn't feel the cold metal under his feet or the temperature of the stagnant air. The pain in his shoulder and knees was gone, though he didn't necessarily feel "good".
A sensation emerged in his core, and Xord could no longer think of anything else. He was hungry. His hunger dominated what little of his identity he had recovered, causing him to melt into a ravenous pit. There was a void inside of him that needed to be filled, and he was desperate to fill it. He was so hungry that it hurt.
Xord became aware of the whir of a crane. He traced its movement with his eyes, grateful for the distraction. Dangling from the crane was a ventilated container, which it set gently on the floor before veering away. A door swung open on rusted hinges and a timid Ponio foal stepped out. It froze at the sight of Xord, ears pricked and tail between its legs.
Xord stared back vacantly. His eyes scanned the monster, but his sight had dissociated from his brain. Xord didn't question why the Ponio had been put there, nor did he even register what exactly he was looking at. His mind was active, but not in a way he understood. It felt like his head was full of static.
He picked up the scent of ether: something invigorating mixed with the odours of dust and earth. His instincts were roused from dormancy like sharks drawn to blood in the water.
The Ponio scampered the instant Xord moved, nearly knocking itself off its feet. Its speed was easily outmatched by the massiveness of Xord's form. Without fully recognising that the hand belonged to him, he plucked the Ponio off the ground with one decisive snatch and crushed it in his grip. As he brought the squealing creature toward his face, Xord could see only the fear in its big black eyes—but he was beyond showing mercy. The aroma of the its ether crept through the slats in his metal chassis, even stronger than before.
A pair of wide panels on Xord's chest popped open, revealing a serrated grate. He flung the Ponio into the air. The creature tossed violently until it hit his chest, causing the panels to snap shut like a mousetrap. Electricity rippled from Xord's pectoral jaws as he chewed, breaking the foal's body down into a slurry of ether that oozed through the grate. In the cell, nothing remained of the Ponio but a small dribble of blood.
Xord, having come to, sputtered as he put together what had happened. What had he done? Had he eaten it? What the hell was he? He wanted to pretend that the Ponio had never existed, but the air was ripe with the stench of blood. The smell, which should have been nauseating, simply made him crave more. As Xord's hunger grew, so did his disgust with himself. He wanted to run from the horrible thing he had become.
"No," Xord choked in an amplified voice. He surged forward, only for his chest to collide with a glass-like barrier. As he registered what had happened, he caught a glimpse of something on the other side of the barrier—something that rattled him to the core.
It was a Mechon, a hulking metal behemoth that stood eight metres tall. Its bulky, almost spherical build was covered in bronze armour that was accented with strips of gold. Only its skull-like head, which had four gleaming red eyes, was bare. Long spines protruded from the sides of its hinged jaw. Its chest stuck out like the bow of a ship, and it had a big, round abdomen that ended in a turbine-like tail. Its arms were so enormous that its knuckles nearly scraped the ground. Hanging over the Mechon's back was a broad structure resembling a shell, which extended into a horn-like projection over its head. A series of lighted canals ran across the machine's exterior, carrying red fluid with an uncanny resemblance to blood.
Xord stood as still as a statue. His eyes were glued to the ghostly Mechon, which was motionless as well. He was unnerved by it, but he couldn't figure out why. It was like an animal's inborn fear of a predator. Yet, at the same time, Xord couldn't help but be in awe of it. It was a beautifully crafted piece of machinery that was unlike any Mechon he had ever seen before.
The Mechon was lit up, but otherwise, it didn't appear to be operating. Against his better judgment, Xord reached out to touch it. It mirrored his movement perfectly. Xord reeled in horror when it dawned on him that he was looking at his own reflection.
Nothing evoked familiarity quite like seeing one's self in a mirror, yet Xord didn't recognise the thing staring back at him at all. Even though he had lost his memory, he could tell that something was very wrong. He couldn't have been a Mechon. Mechon weren't "alive", at least not in the way Xord was. They were machines; they didn't have thoughts. Perhaps Xord had been programmed with the illusion of autonomy—but if that was the case, why did he remember having been something before? Why did he remember being imbued with the ether of Bionis?
Xord's mechanical form rose and fell as he absently navigated his reflection. He appeared to be breathing, but it was merely a vestigial reflex. Like his heartbeat, his respiration was regulated artificially and the air flowed in and out at a constant rate. Xord watched his motions in the glass as he opened and closed his fist and weaved his fingers through the air. Somehow, his inflexible metal arm was trembling like flesh. The sight made Xord whimper in dread. Machines were not supposed to move like that.
"No," he said again. All other words were useless.
Xord wanted to slam his head against the wall in an attempt to wake himself from what he wished was a nightmare, but his shell's overhang got in the way. He no longer had the energy to deny what he was seeing. All he could do was sob as his thoughts fizzled into static once more.
At first, his hunger was tolerable—a mere suggestion in the back of his mind—but the more Xord exerted himself, the more excruciating it became. It was consuming him again. Xord needed to get out and find a source of ether, or else he would lose his mind completely.
Xord threw the crate at the wall and beat his fists against the glass-like surface. It somehow withstood his mechanical might. He continued to lash out at the wall, swinging wildly before turning to huge, concentrated blows.
"Bronze Face. Confirm that you are responsive."
Xord stopped. Realising the lights had come on, he lifted his head and tilted it back at an impossible angle. He flinched when his gaze landed on a man standing on what appeared to be an observation deck. At the man's side was a woman recording something on a light-based console. Xord's fear was swiftly rerouted into a nervous kind of excitement, a feeling that rose above his terrible hunger. Still, he found that he was only capable of moaning at the figures.
"I see the integration of your Core Unit was a success. Your reactivity is promising." It was the man who spoke again. The woman appeared to be occupied with her work.
Xord was unable to process any of the words, as if the man was speaking a different language. He didn't care. Knowing he wasn't alone in his prison filled him with relief. Xord had plenty of reason to be suspicious of the man, yet he wanted to trust him. There were so many things he wanted to say to him, but he was too exhausted to compose his thoughts into something intelligible.
Xord began to ramble, his speech slurred to the point of incoherence. "W-what did they do to me? I'm a… I'm… I'm so hungry." He placed his metal palms against the wall of his cell. "You… did they… I need food!" Xord pummelled the glass and howled. "Help! Please help me!"
"So the language centre continues to function," the man mused. Unperturbed by Xord's distress, he replied, "Your questions will be answered in due time. First, I will see to it that you are refuelled."
Xord was taken aback. "Does that mean… f-food?" Even though he still didn't know anything about the man, he was overcome with gratitude. He had to be there to help him. Maybe his trust was warranted after all.
"Face Units require a vast quantity of ether. I have prepared your next "meal", if it pleases you to think of it as such. It should keep you fuelled for a considerable length of time," the man said. "Do not expect to become dependent on me for ether. You will be more than capable of acquiring it yourself once you are released."
Xord nodded with zeal. He knew he would be fed sooner if he pretended he was listening, even if he was too overwrought to extract meaning from the man's words.
"Vanea. Summon the Transport Unit."
"Understood." The woman swept her hand across the console. A team of aerial Mechon workers with a freshly slaughtered Armu in their claws appeared. They set the carcass in front of Xord and retreated over the wall.
The intoxicating smell of ether drew Xord forward. The Armu was much larger than the Ponio foal—too large for him to cram into his chest and devour all at once. Xord grabbed onto its hind legs and tore it limb from limb, ripping through its sturdy hide as if it were made of tissue paper. Blood pooled at his feet as he messily wolfed down the carcass.
The ether calmed Xord and restored his lucidity, although his brain still had a small delay. He stopped to inspect his bloodied hands. "Why am I doing this?" he choked, making fists. He didn't want to admit that it made him feel good. The ether in his tank tricked his brain into releasing endorphins, simulating satiation. He still wasn't full, but he had enough food in his belly to placate him.
Xord's gaze returned to the figures watching him from the deck. They were mere silhouettes, but the shape of their bodies was familiar. They were Homs, or at least they appeared to be under the cover of darkness. That was what Xord was supposed to look like.
At last, Xord asked, "Who are you?"
The man spoke. "I am Egil, leader of Mechonis. I showed you mercy and bestowed you with this immense body of steel. In return, you will obey my commands."
Mechonis. Again, Xord felt threatened. The Mechonis wasn't his world. It was enemy territory: a foreign, hostile place. But why would a Homs be affiliated with Mechonis? It was then that Xord realised that Egil wasn't his friend. "So it was you," he said. "You made me into this… this… monster. Why, why, why, why?" He punched the glass with each repetition of the word.
"I did what was necessary. Such is the nature of war."
Xord punched the barrier again. "Tell me why I don't remember anything. What did you do to my head?"
"Your memories are of no use to you. The person you were before no longer exists."
Egil's equivocation enraged Xord. He knew he wouldn't be able to get any straight answers out of him, so he was done asking questions. "I'll make you regret turning me into this pile o' junk, Egil. I'll crush you like I crushed those bloody monsters."
"There are defences in place to prevent anything of the sort. You cannot hope to defy me." The only thing standing between Xord and Egil was the indestructible glass-like barrier. It frustrated Xord to no end that his handler appeared to be within reach, yet he was powerless to harm him.
Egil continued, "Surrender, Bronze Face. You took your chances in Sword Valley, and you lost. Now, you will swear fealty only to Mechonis."
"I won't do a damn thing."
"You do not have a choice," Egil said. "I will only administer rations of ether if you show deference. If not, you will writhe until you cave to your instincts."
"Then I'll starve." Xord was bluffing. He was in thrall to his hunger. As his ether supply decreased, he regressed into an animal with no conscience or self-control. In this state, he was highly vulnerable. Egil could get him to do anything he wanted by dangling food over his head, as if he were a dog.
Xord was also bluffing because, having flirted with death, he was terrified of returning to the vacuum of nonexistence. It was not a peaceful fate; it was lonely and vacant of anything that could give rise to any feeling, or any thought.
"All living beings act at the behest of an innate desire to survive. The self-preservation system installed in your Core Unit will ensure that the machine continues to operate. This model is inefficient by design, thus extending my control."
"You're sick," Xord said.
Egil continued, "But that is not what I desire. My cause demands wilful participation. However, I understand that this will not be feasible without a degree of coercion. Your self-preservation system will lend itself to opening your mind."
Xord felt trapped. Nothing he could say or do would salvage him from his fate. He couldn't even express his disapproval in a meaningful way. His contempt for Egil was stronger than tempered steel, but that could not possibly be gleaned from his stolid face.
"Just what do you want me to do?" Xord demanded. There had to be a reason Egil was going to such lengths to make sure he obeyed.
"You are my weapon," said Egil. "Under my command, you will bring about the extermination of all life on Bionis."