Happy new year!
*chirp...chitter*
The Electric Heartbeat.
That's what they called it, and it was a marvel to see. When the most powerful mind in this era plugged himself into the data sets and sat down to think - all the power in the facility was re-routed to assist in his calculations. And so, when the lights in the great underground laboratory dimmed, and the news went out that The Chief Scientist had returned, every member of the team - great or small - gathered in and around Draedon's office to see the fruits of their labor. To see the results of all their measuring, careful experimentation and data gathering, and to watch the frontiers of science surge onwards before their very eyes.
*tzzzzt*
And The Chief Scientist was very aware of his own prodigious intellect. He claimed to hate the trappings of religion, and oftentimes scorned the cultish customs of the various gods in the land - yet thoroughly relished the (well earned) praise his own research group lambasted upon him in a nearly reverent manner. He did not need to install screens and make his thought process a spectacle - but he did, and The Zoologist thought no less of him for it. Standing here, her palm pressed over her heart, and hazy eyed at the walls of binary values flooding the enormous screens, she too could not help but gaze upon the brilliant mind with worshipful wonder.
*Click...buzz*
Draedon himself was in the midst of it. Surrounded on all sides by his amazed followers and plugged into The Laboratory's main supercomputer, The Chief Scientist's burnished alien-like physique reflected the screens' gentle teal glow. The characters rushing from one end to the next cast strange patterns upon his form, wrapping The Scientist in his own brilliant thoughts. He considered, and he calculated - parsing, comparing and making new discoveries at a blinding speed. Models appeared, then the hazy form of DNA, a few musings concerning magic- then... It was finished. In no more than a few short minutes, Chief Scientist - Draedon had solved the mysteries which had plagued the entire 150-man team of chemists, geneticists, behaviorists (sans one) and biologists for the duration of his absence.
The text on the screen faded.
The recessed lights grew bright once more.
A mechanical sigh and Draedon sat up in his chair to a smattering of tentative applause, an applause which - after being thoroughly appreciated - quickly died to silence with a wave of his metallic hand. It was a wonder that the men and women working in Draedon's Laboratory could so easily follow someone so wholly unlike themselves. For whilst most every member of the staff was human - with a few members being half-human, or modified beings, Chief Scientist Draedon was alien in almost every respect. Twelve feet tall and biomechanical in nature, his naturally hunched form and long and spindly limbs were initially offputting. Yet over time, by the strength of he genius alone, Draedon had earned for himself the highest honors The Empire had to offer. Perhaps some thought his methods were cruel, citing the staggering human cost to many of his projects (Project Nephelim being the most costly she had yet participated in), but, The Zoologist didn't. Draedon had given his life to the forward march of science. If it was good enough for him, that lofty and brilliant mind that he was, than it was certainly good enough for the peasant and the street urchin.
*Colleagues*
There was the noise of diodes whirring and seals detaching as The Chief Scientist stood to his full height. His vocal modules crackled briefly, then he addressed the audience via the room's speakers.
*The two blood samples provided to me are of great interest... I will explain their significance now, and the next route of experimentation.*
"So you're saying he's a dead Terrarian."
"No! Did you hear what I said? He's an amalgamation!"
She hissed at him and stabbed a finger at her sheaf of reports as if it'd help him understand more quickly. He had to turn down his audio receptors for how shrill her voice was.
"Plant, fungus, human, dog and lots of strings that match The Resistance Terrarian's sample we obtained from The Twins. Nothing can survive this level of biological hanky-panky. He's a patchwork doll of fourteen different things that don't blend. Sure, he looks human - but I assure you, he absolutely is not. He shouldn't be alive. Got it?"
"...sure."
This particularly prickly member of The Zoologists' team must have been sent here to brief him about Draedon's analysis of 'N-83' (he hated how the damn scientists didn't even give their subjects the dignity of names) and she was making it very clear she thought the assignment was beneath her. Not twenty minutes ago, whilst he was in the middle of scrawling out reports, she had barged her way into his musty little office and plopped herself down in the chair opposite his desk. And she sat there and glared at him until he addressed her, and cursing The Zoologist in his heart as he did so. That Damn Fox Woman must have penned him down as a permanent fixture of N-83's project since he'd managed to hold a non-violent conversation with the man despite knowing he'd want nothing to do with it.
Stupid the lot of them...
And that decision resulted in him, sitting in his own office half an hour before day's end, enduring the mental equivalent of having his skull bashed in with a crowbar. He already knew the scientific mumbo-jumbo had been dumbed down for him, but really - he wasn't interested in N-83's Experiment. In fact, he was vehemently opposed to the very idea of an 'experiment' taking place, much less being part of it! There was no single CC Agent that ever approached Draedon's Laboratory unless they were coerced, because no CC Agent - even the most degenerate of sadists, would willingly watch the procedures that they themselves endured enacted on others. Sure, now the CC program was in its fourth generation, and the death rate was only about twenty percent - a vast improvement from Gen 2, where nearly 90% of its subjects died - but that didn't make the modifications any less uncomfortable or the experience any less harrowing.
I wonder if Interrogation is done with The Party Girl... I wanted to ask her a few questions...
Besides, as a previous experiment himself, how could he feel anything but pity for the poor man? He was already cripplingly depressed, yet these damn scientists were getting all excited about chopping him to bits and sticking things through him. The Cyborg hadn't spent many long years suffering as a specimen in Draedon's Laboratories only to turn around and help to do the same to others! Yes, perhaps he loved his similarly modified colleagues, and perhaps he did want the CC Troops to be bolstered, if only to lessen his own workload- but by no means would he wish his ordeal upon anyone else. The Cyborg sighed and set his mouth in a thin line. He shut off his olfactory sensors (the smell of Draedon's Laboratory was iconic, and brought to head a number of painful memories) and listened to the prickly scientist lecture him.
"So if N-83 cannot survive biologically, there must be magic at play. Draedon analyzed his blood and found thousands of tiny mana crystals flowing in it. Do you understand the significance? Mana crystals, Mana sources, and structured in a way that readily impart life! This is the reason his limbs, even when severed, move about with a life of their own so long as blood remains within! This is-"
"So you're saying he's a mage?"
The Cyborg cut her off. Perhaps N-83 had incredible biology, and perhaps having life-giving blood was a great boon to Draedon's research, but he simply couldn't get excited about it. Actually, all of this biological talk made him feel queasy. He wanted to know as little as possible - but The Scientist seemed insistent on making him understand. She shrilled at him.
"A mage? Absolutely not. No mage - be they Wizard or Sorcerer is capable of making a Mana Crystal. They have mana sources, but they cannot create them - and certainly not a mana source as pure as a Crystal. Mana crystals are only formed by celestial bodies. The stars, The Earth itself, and they form where there is a great overabundance of life. I-" She huffed. "Well, I don't expect you to understand. Essentially, it is quite similar to Dryad magic if you had to make a comparison. A unique mana source that readily imparts life."
"Right." He glanced at the wall mounted clock. "So you're saying he's a Dryad."
"..."
The Scientist stuttered angrily before falling silent. She must have just now realized he was being intentionally obtuse and tossed the sheaf of papers on his desk. With a frustrated look on her face, she crossed her arms over her chest before standing from the musty office chair and turning to leave. For a moment, The Cyborg was going to let her, but a flash of concern caused him to intervene. He sat up and called out to The Scientist's retreating back.
"Hey, so since you've got your hands on a dog-plant-fungus-terrarian with magic life-juice for blood, what are you going to do with him? Train him to fight?"
The Scientist huffed. Her eyeglasses caught the light in a most distasteful way as she answered.
"Fight? That's not necessary. Project Nephelim has an abundance of subjects with incredible offensive capability. Unfortunately most have unstable bodies due to the strain of their modifications. Our most extreme case has power rivaling The Witch herself, but cannot survive even twenty seconds off life support. We intend to drain this 'life-giving blood' out of N-83 to stabilize the project's more powerful specimens. The Zoologist figured it prudent to inform you in advance, since you seem to get attached to pathetic things."
"..."
The Cyborg gritted his teeth and at the woman's snide, merciless look. It was at times like these that he was reminded why he hated these scientific snobs so damn much. Nothing was sacred to them. Not life, not humanity - everything existed for their dissection and study, and they heedlessly caused suffering and destroyed lives in the name of Science. It was a dreadful god, this 'Science'. And it was a god that demanded blood. Just this year, more men and women have been butchered and slain by project Nephelim than in the history of every death cult combined.
She continued. Relishing his discomfort.
"You are a high ranking captain, after all. We wouldn't want you to discover N-83's fate after the fact and - in the heat of passion - do something you might regret. We are preparing to run a test now to see if the theory works. Currently one of our less valuable specimens: a Man-deer infused with Ice Magic, is being thawed out of cryostasis. Given we will be draining a significant amount of blood from N-83, your presence is requested. Please show for the beginning of second shift."
A pause. He curled his lip.
"My presence is requested by who?"
"Draedon. You will be paid double for your time; refusal is not an option."
"..."
The Cyborg glared. The Zoologist outranked him, but he could likely get an exception from his own superior if he begged for it... but a direct request from Draedon? He'd have no choice but to heed those summons. He sighed. The implant embedded in the base of his skull - where his cybernetics attached to his spinal cord - began to itch. He tried not to show his discomfort on his face; it came out as a grinding in his voice. The Scientist grinned sunnily at him.
"Very well. 09:00 it is."
"See you soon, Cyborg. Good day."
*drip...drip*
"..."
*drip...drip...drip.*
She breathed out. Her ribs ached.
She breathed in. Her head ached.
What was that slow dripping? It wasn't water. Water was loud against concrete. This was thick and warm, dribbling from the tips of her immobilized fingers and leaving the wounds numb and aching. Oh. She knew it before she even opened her eyes. Her interrogator must have pulled out all of her fingernails. The slow dribble of blood must be from her most recent bout of injuries.
"..."
Breath. Vile breath against her cheek. Disgusting teeth. Too-wet lips. She opened her eyes to see who it was, but her interrogator was standing on her blind side. She knew his lecherous voice already. She knew what today would bring. Pain, humiliation, mocking... but knowing didn't make the ordeal any easier. How many days has it been? Five? Was it already a week? How many of her ribs remained unbroken? Perhaps one, or none. It didn't matter at this point. CC Central was insistent she must be working for The Remnants of The Resistance, and had spent the last week attempting to torture from her information she didn't know. What a pathetic way to go... perhaps it'd be better if she'd gotten her head chopped off by The Monster Knight. At the very least, he'd make it painless.
"Ohh... Rise and Shine Darling."
But... but what she didn't understand was this. With the amount of damage she'd sustained, she should have already fallen into torpor to heal... so why was she awake? Nothing had shaken her out of torpor before. It was a deeper sleep than hibernation. Once, she'd slept through a raging battle, not even stirring when a stray bullet tore through her tent and embedded itself in her shoulder.
"Surprised, aren'tcha? Hibernation for healing? I wonder what else you've got in your toolbox... You Gen 2 monsters sure are a tricky bunch. I'm not surprised you managed to survive so long, eh, Party Girl?"
She breathed. She didn't respond. Amongst the many wounds across her body, she became aware of one very specific sensation. A needle in the crook of her elbow, and a cold fluid flowing through her veins. She blinked as her heart quickened. Her muscles seized. Her focus tightened. Her pain faded... and the straps that bound her to her bloody chair suddenly seemed much less unbreakable. She had, of course, begun in iron shackles - but as the days progressed and her strength waned, her personal torturer found that straps and nylon to be far more conducit to his purposes. Truth be told, The Party Girl was glad she wasn't completely aware of everything being done to her. She had some foggy idea, but did her best not to let her imagination put the clues together.
His disgusting voice murmered against her skin.
"A bit of adrenaline can wake anyone up, and I prefer my... patients to be a bit more lively. It makes things exciting for all of us."
"..."
She breathed. She felt his stinking breath grazing from her collarbone, up her throat - then chapped lips and teeth nibbling at her earlobe. Roaming hands. The noises of a beast. In the dark, she saw a light. The glint of a blood on scalpel. Her blood. His scalpel. The selfsame scalpel that was used to slowly scrape the skin from her back - was within arms reach.
And the nylon straps seemed thin.
Adrenaline ran thick in her veins.
A rough hand grasped her throat. Lips pressed against hers.
And she bared her teeth in a deranged grin.
The darkness flexed.
Strength ran in her veins.
Her bonds snapped. The blade was familiar to her, and so too the way blood gushed around it when it pierced through flesh. He choked on the blade. His blood spilled into her lap. She leapt from beneath his slackening form and, knife clutched tightly in her bloodied fist, she ran.
Through darkened halls, she ran. Barefoot. Naked. Bloodied and exhausted, she fled through the facility - fueled by nothing but the remnants of fading adrenaline. She ploughed through the darkness, knowing not where she was - nor where to go. Her vision was blurred - by tears? by blood loss? It didn't matter. She had to run. She had to get out of that room. She-
*hoot...hoot*
"..."
*fwooosh*
"..."
Birds. Owls. The gentle sounds of crickets calling to one another.
A cool evening breeze gusted over the field. It stung her wounds. It chilled her to the bone.
Grass beneath her feet. Stars overhead. She knew what this was...
She was back.
Back in The Monster Knight's Compound.
A place where she had a silken sheets to sleep in, and food to eat, a hot bath, a roaring fire. A place that had become her prison - yes, but a luxurious prison she could indulge in. Although she had, at times, hated The Monster Knight, how much more did she hate those damn bastards that tortured her for nothing! She was no traitor. She had been loyal... and her loyalty was repaid with scorn.
...go.
An urging. The urging to follow that spooled golden thread of fate.
And she walked through the darkness.
Through the forest of high oaks.
And into the moonlit clearing upon which a spire touched the sky.
PG:
The Experiment being as strong as Calamitas is an exaggeration borne of The Scientist's god complex btw. The bragging of snooty scientists are not to be taken literally.
Some Basic Biology: Mana can be defined as life energy. It is the energy given off by all living beings. The nature of this energy is chaotic. Think of it like heat being emitted from a source (a radiator). This is the difference between Mana & Mana sources. It is the difference between heat, and the heat source. Although life itself is structured, the emissions of life - are of chaotic nature and can be used for destructive purposes. A Radiator creates heat, but heat cannot create a radiator. Even the most powerful and learned of sorcerers cannot reverse engineer mana into a mana source. ie, life energy back into life. The best anyone can do is necromancy.
MK's case is special. In his case, his mana source - his 'life source' is diffused in his blood. Which is why his severed limbs scramble around like living beings. Most creatures have a single mana source, a single life 'core'. MK is some jacked up dryad magic mutant, so his was formed incorrectly and shattered in his bloodstream. Because he was made with dryad magic (The Dryad Blessing) his mana cores readily impart life in a way the planet does. This happened once before when MK got infected by The Crimson. Cut off all the growths that had been feeding off his blood. The Growths possessed the Travelling Merchants corpse - then the infected corpse swelled and came to life etc...
Pretty much he's an anomoly.
Okay byeee