Day 34, Continued
Three minds floated in the deep waters. Each had been in this place, this realm before, but never together. For a moment, they were, each of them, little more than their minds, ethereal, half-seen and shapeless. Slowly, they took on form, as the waters around them changed as well.
In what could have been moments or ages, Purilla, Vidriov, and Catherine found themselves sitting around a small table in a similarly small and plain room. No, not a room each of them realized as they looked closer. They were on the inside of what appeared to be a vast tree or an inverted one at least. The walls were a smooth, ash-white bark, reaching up and over them into a domed ceiling. Branches with red leaves sprouted from the walls and hung over their heads. They each seemed to have lights grown into them, but the lights buzzed and moved and flapped on tiny wings. Insects with bodies bright enough to illuminate the room as well as any candle, their movements casting strange shadows. The floor was earthy and soft soil and the tables and chairs they sat upon all seemed grown and shaped from a strangely soft bark specifically for them.
Purilla and Catherine both appeared as they did in their waking lives, while Vidriov had taken on a more humanoid form, albeit one just as lacking in flesh as own body, being nearly entirely mechanical. They looked at one another, perhaps surprised by their shared presence. Purilla and Vidriov shared a nod of greeting, while Ellen began searching for a way out. Unfortunately for the Inquisitor, there was no door leading in or out of the room.
"Did he tell either of you why he asked us?" Purilla said after it was clear Tide was not going to speak. Obviously, he was present, but he had chosen to remain silent.
"He did not," Vidriov stated, turning to look at Ellen, who seemed entirely unwilling to engage with either of them. The Inquisitor stood from her seat and went to the wall where she kneeled, rapping her knuckles against the bark and then proceeding to peel away sheet after sheet of the wooden covering.
"Is there a point to that?" Purilla called after her, which she ignored. With each layer of bark she removed, another one seemed to be revealed and she soon had a small pile growing next to her of discarded bark chips.
"She is aware this is not a real place that does not operate on laws of the Materium, yes?" Vidriov asked and Purilla shrugged.
"She's been here before," Purilla said. "But Tide hasn't been able to convince her."
"How odd," Vidriov said, before tilting his head as he studied the hard at work Inquisitor. "Do you think that I would be able to take a few of these bark chips back somehow? Would they retain their form? What properties might they have?"
"I don't think that's how it works," Purilla said. After a moment, she admitted, "Not that I understand how any of this really works."
"I have a similar dilemma, I'll have you know," A voice like the creaking of wood planks said and all three turned to the other wall, where someone, or rather, something had appeared as if from nowhere. It was tall, easily two meters, humanoid in form but made of the same smooth, ash-white bark as the room they stood in. It had four, winding branches jutting from its head, framing smaller branches covered in red leaves where a human's hair would have been. Its face had no mouth and four, grayish-black eyes that looked more like stones shaped like dewdrops embedded in the wood than the eyes of a human. Many of the light-bugs were nestled in this being's branches.
Purilla had seen Tide take form in his Domain before, but this one seemed… almost fitting, more than the other had. When this form moved, she could hear the creaking of old wood.
Vidriov bowed low and Purilla was about to do the same when she saw Tide shake his head, sending the branches swaying. Tide took a step forward and four thin trunks grew from the ground like reeds, winding upwards until they met and formed a small platform. He took a seat on the stool and gestured towards the table.
"Please," Tide offered. Vidriov rose and took his seat at once, Purilla following a moment later. Catherine simply turned away and resumed her work. Tide simply nodded and glanced at Vidriov and Purilla. "I trust you've said your greetings to one another?"
"Yes, but what's this about, Tide?" Purilla asked, Vidriov nodding as well.
"Put simply… I need advice," Tide said. For a long moment, the three humans were silent, even Ellen's efforts pausing momentarily as she looked back at the tree-like entity. "What is it?"
"Its just…" Purilla wasn't sure how to phrase it.
"Why would the Machine God's chosen look to us for advice?" Vidriov asked, sounding just as confused as the psyker. "You know everything about us, do you not? Any insight we could offer you would already possess."
Tide tilted his head and Purilla got the feeling of a small, humorous smile even if the bark-covered face of the being before her didn't even have a mouth. "I am not all-knowing. I have a vast sum of information, of memory, to call upon. But that does not mean I know everything you will say. Nor does it mean that I do not need advice, from time to time."
"I would be honored, chosen!" Vidriov assured him, bowing again, nearly hitting his head on the table between them. Purilla got the sensation of discomfort coming from Tide and she wondered if Vidriov had felt it as well.
"Thank you, Vidriov," Tide said, nodding, before glancing at Purilla. She nodded back and he turned to Ellen, still hard at work. Her pile of bark-chips had grown to the size of several fistfuls. "Would you care to join us, Catherine?"
"Do not speak my name, xenos," Ellen stated in reply, not bothering to turn her head. Tide merely nodded and looked to the others.
"Something has come up in Malum. Something that I suspect will be a regular occurrence throughout the Imperium," Tide began. "The Adeptus Administratum's leadership there have discovered the results of many of my efforts. They are unaware of my existence, only suspecting that the fruits I have created."
"Fruits?" Purilla asked. Reaching under the table, Tide produced a ruby-red fruit remarkably similar in appearance to an apple from nowhere, setting it gently before him.
"I've spread vines throughout the hab blocks and am having them produce these to feed the population."
Vidriov looked closely and Purilla was surprised that she could feel the tech-priest's interest. This wasn't a result of her psychic abilities, or so she believed, but the Domain they all resided within. Was it meant to allow for greater and deeper communication?
Tide rolled the fruit over to the tech-priest and he plucked it up, studying it closely.
"Additional biomass to ensure infection?" Vidriov asked, almost off-handedly.
"Not really. Everyone in Malum is already an Altered. Most of the northern hives are nearly there as well," Tide replied, shrugging. Ellen seemed to freeze and Purilla felt a deep sense of fury mixed with fear, before the Inquisitor resumed her efforts to escape or harm Tide or whatever she was trying to do. "It's mainly to avert starvation. The ration bars given out are insufficient."
There was another spike of anger from Ellen and Purilla glanced at her, noticing she was now all but clawing the bark away. Had this place been real, her hands would have been bloody ribbons by this point and likely missing a few fingernails.
"So, the Administratum noted the decrease in deaths?" Vidriov said. He seemed to be rolling the fruit around in his hands without any real aim, seeming antsy without his tools to actually conduct an analysis of the thing. "And you desire them to do… what, exactly?"
"They've decided they'll have possession of those fruits be punishable by death," Tide said and she was surprised to notice a tinge of real anger from him. "I do not intend to allow that directive to be fulfilled. I am simply… unsure of how I should go about it."
"Whatever decision you make will be the correct one," Vidriov said. Purilla felt Tide's discomfort seemed to grow immensely and that was even reflected by the shifting of his chosen body.
"I'm afraid I can't accept that thinking."
"What do you want to do?" Purilla asked.
"What I want to do…" Tide's head swiveled up, staring at the ceiling. "I have a number of things I want to do to them, if only out of my own sense of moral outrage, but many of those are not acceptable. The leaders I speak of are only the face of the problem, however."
"How do you mean?"
"This system, the Administratum, it's awful on virtually every level," Tide said. "It is incompetent, bloated, corrupt, and works against the people's best interests. I am considering whether or not I should actively work towards fixing it or replacing it. Or simply ignore it as I act and directly intervene when needed."
"You think you can do better, xenos?" Ellen snorted as she muttered, though the words were easily heard by the rest of them.
"The Administratum does have significant flaws, but it is the lifeline of the Imperium as much as the Mechanicus is," Vidriov added. He seemed considerate, holding the fruit up before him. "A major overhaul would do it good. Replacing the lower levels of staff with servitors or your puppets would improve efficiency immensely."
Tide looked at Vidriov with the blank, neutral expression afforded by a wooden body. Even still, Purilla could tell he was… displeased.
"I understand that servitors are a longstanding practice and, in some ways, a necessity for the Imperium to function without the reliance on artificial intelligences, or abominable intelligences as you call them. However, in every case I can see, it would be better to simply replace servitors with my own biomass. Not to mention my own qualms with forcibly converting living humans into the components of machines, strange though that may seem given my own nature."
"You… object to their creation?" Vidriov asked, sounding almost astonished. "Surely you understand, they are a way for humanity to become closer with the Machine God? They are a gift for many who would otherwise be punished for their crimes."
"Your beliefs are your own," Tide replied simply. "I will not say you are wrong in religious matters because I do not know for certain whether you are or not, and it is not for me to dictate such things. However, I intend to prevent the creation of servitors from living people wherever possible. Especially the ones taken from the prisons."
Vidriov was quiet for a long moment, deep in thought. Eventually, he bowed. "As you command, chosen."
Purilla was surprised by how easily he acquiesced. Was it because Tide had offered a superior alternative or was he simply that deep of a fanatic in his loyalty? Purilla wondered how she would have reacted, before she had become an Altered, before Tide had helped her, if she had met an agent of the God-Emperor, or at least someone she believed to be such an envoy. It was strange, those days felt like almost a lifetime ago, when in reality it hadn't been more than a handful of weeks. In a way, it really was a different life.
She realized Tide was looking at her and she got the impression of a smile from him. "I don't want to command anything, Vidriov," He said, turning back to the tech-priest. "You do not have to help me if you do not want to. None of you do," He added, looking towards Purilla and then Ellen. The Inquisitor had paused in her work and seemed to be at least listening.
"I am with you," Vidriov stated, straightening in his seat. "And, if we could speak later, I believe you will come to see the truth of not only my beliefs, but of the Machine God as well."
"We may speak whenever you wish," Tide assured him. He cocked his head and added, sounding somewhat amused, "Though I cannot promise anything will come of those conversations."
Vidriov nodded eagerly.
"Back to the matter at hand.," Tide said, looking around. "Purilla, what would you advise?"
Purilla leaned back in her chair, feeling it shift with her weight. "I… don't know what I can offer. I don't know much about the Administratum or its work. Do you… Do you want to just get rid of it? Could you?"
Tide nodded. "I could handle most of its tasks. Dictate laws, determine procedures, distribute resources, provide services. I already do in some ways. However, that would cause this world to be reliant upon me."
"And… you don't want that?"
"I would rather Monstrum become… self-sufficient," Tide said after a moment's consideration. "I would not leave it, by any means, but I don't want to rule."
"Why not?" It was Vidriov who spoke this time, even the mechanical tinge of his voice failing to hide the confusion in his voice. "You possess the greatest military force of this world. You control most, if not all, of its food. And you have the power to enforce laws with zero or close to zero percent chance of failure. You would make the perfect ruler."
"Perhaps," Tide admitted, tilting his head. "But I have seen what happens to those who believe themselves to be the perfect rulers, and the mistakes that leads someone to make. I will fight for each and every one of you along with all others I can reach. I will protect you, feed you, and, if asked, teach you what I have learned just as I learn from all of you. But I do not want to be your ruler. I do not wish to be an emperor."
"Heresy!" Ellen thundered, a look of utter fury and malice on her face. She marched over to the table and slammed her palms down with enough force to make it shudder. Once, Purilla would have flinched back, but now she just leveled a blank glare at the woman. "Filthy xeno! You dare compare yourself to-!"
"Oh, shut up, Ellen."
Purilla's eyes widened as much as the Inquisitor's did at the words that came out of her own mouth. Vidriov looked from one to another, his blank expression telling nothing, yet his body language tense and surprised. Even Tide seemed entirely taken aback.
"You-," Catherine said, then stopped. Her face contorted, changing rapidly from shock, confusion, anger, and then back again. "You-!"
"Well, I think this meeting was very helpful," Tide said, clapping his hands together with the sound of a tree falling, catching all of their attention. "Thank you, all. We'll speak again soon."
And like that, Purilla opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling of her personal chambers. That had been… she'd felt like… that was…
'Cathartic' is the word you're looking for.
Blood. So much blood. Endless blood, rivers of it, forests of trees drenched with it. Kalak had never seen a forest before. Nor a real river. Yet, he knew what these things he had never seen were, though how he could not say.
He had no concept of time like this. There was simply himself, his axes, the screaming whispers… and the trees.
Tree after tree he felled, only for each one to be replaced by another, then another, then another, then another, on and on and on and on. How many trees had he used his axes upon? Beyond counting, certainly. The whispers shrieked a number.
Four, Four, Four, Four.
No, it had been more than four. He would not be denied his due and jealousy burned in him, only to be subsumed into the all-consuming wildfire that was his forest-killing rage.
He heard animalistic shrieks, felt the spray of blood that did not come from one of his axes. A comrade slain, one of the last he thought. Would have thought, if he could think. There was no thinking, only blood. Only the forest. Only the trees, the rivers, his axes, and himself.
How long had he been cutting down trees? Hours? Days? Weeks? Years? Centuries?
Longer than ever before. Fights did not last this long. There was a flash of pain in his side. A branch, sharp as metal, skewered his side. He slashed through the branch, then the trunk of the tree it belonged to, and the feeling subsided. His wound burned, like a firebrand was stuck to it, and closed.
Another. Another, another, another.
The trees rushed at him, numberless. That was fine. That was good. He had killed numberless trees already.
More! More! The shrieks grew louder in his skull. He felt something split apart then reknit itself. Skin? Muscle? Bone? He wasn't sure. The gifts were coming, faster and faster, as he slew more and more. And the thundering, like drums in his head.
Faster. Larger. Stronger. Better, the voices assured him. He was getting closer to… what, exactly?
Perfection, they told him. Ascension.
He didn't know what that meant. He couldn't know, couldn't be allowed to, or he might stop. Even now, even so crazed with blood, if he knew the truth, it might give him pause, might make him throw down his axes and never pick them up again. So, the voices did not explain, even as they tempted and drove him onwards.
A stinging pain in his eye, then the other one. Then the third and fourth, the fifth and sixth, the seventh and eighth. Since when had he had eight eyes? He didn't know, he didn't know anything except that he could no longer see the forest or the trees.
He roared and swung wildly and felt the feeling of bark splitting under the axe head, the feeling of warm sap spilling across his hands and arms and face. And he felt his eyes sizzle, pop, then grow back and he could see again.
But he did not see the forest. He did not see the river or the trees or his herd. He saw halls of metal and rockcrete, saw blood flowing from countless bodies, and he saw men and women rushing at him, wielding autoguns with bayonets affixed, some firing upon him. They were so… tiny. So much smaller than he'd remembered, perhaps half his size now. Less, even.
KILL THEM! The voices screamed, infuriated by even the momentary pause in the bloodletting and Kalak complied.
One axe, which he saw was wrapped in bone-like claws he did not recognize, swung and chopped through a trio of necks as easily as through air. The other, held by a curled tentacle, lashed out like the stinging tail of some underhive beast, parting a mortal from neck to sternum. And there he saw were four more to replace those who had fallen and the voices howled in glee and fury and he continued on.
Then… there were no more.
Kalak stomped and howled and the voices howled with him, demanding more, more foes, more blood. If not this enemy, then those who he had fought alongside with! Kalak whirled, preparing his axes to strike upon the nearest beastman… Only to see none. Only a corridor filled with corpses, butchered by axes, bayonets, and autogun fire.
No… No! He wanted blood! He needed it! He could feel something inside him, scratching away, clawing at the walls inside his skull, trying to break free and he needed to feed it!
Something hit the back of his head and he whirled, fast enough to see a piece of debris clatter to the floor. A piece of debris thrown by a mortal, standing upright, waving its hands at Kalak as if in greeting and saying something, something Kalak couldn't understand, couldn't hear over the voices demanding he kill.
Kalak leapt at the mortal and ripped it apart with limbs fused to the axes they held. Then, something hit him and he looked from his fresh kill to see his next, another mortal, identical to his battle-crazed mind. He roared, leapt forward, and ripped that one apart two.
Then something hit him. He looked up.
There was another mortal. He killed it.
Again. And again. And again. And again. Each time he slew the offending mortal, another appeared and he slaughtered it too.
If his senses were not so addled, if he was not so driven towards bloodshed by the whispers in his skull, was not so close to insanity by the Chaotic power infusing his body, making it grow, mutate, and reshape itself with every kill, Kalak might have realized that he was being led like an animal was with treats, drawn lower and lower into the hive city's underground.
But he did not realize. And the whispers did not care to tell him, as they did not care to tell him what monster he was turning himself into.
He struck down another. And another. And another. And-.
He was alone.
He looked around, growling and snorting and stomping like a raging bull. He roared and beat the corpse of his final victim, because where were the rest?! There had to be more! He still needed MORE!
And then, in the corner of one of his many eyes, he saw it. Massive, blob-like, green and half-alive, half-dead. It stuck to the ceiling, in defiance of gravity and its own mass. It was larger than any of the mortals, larger than even him. He roared and leapt and his cloven hooves carried him farther than the legs of any mortal being could. He slammed into the mass of flesh like an asteroid colliding with a planet, dislodging it from the ceiling. It felt to the ground, taking him with it even as he hacked and slashed and bit and stomped at it.
Bits of flesh went every where and he felt the spray of something viscous and yellow, not blood, NOT BLOOD. WHERE WAS THE BLOOD!?
He roared and thrashed, but found the flesh was snaking around his limbs with a dexterity belied by its strange appearance and the wounds he had inflicted upon it. He fought against it and broke free from its grip, only for his limbs to be bound again with even greater strength. His tentacle arm lashed out like a whip, slipping free of the bindings time and again until eventually it was pinned with spikes of something like bone, piercing it and holding it still.
Bone! Skulls! The voices demanded skulls, slamming against the inside of his fragile head. But he could not move and even his struggles were producing less and less of an effect as his limbs were further restrained until he could barely move at all.
And then, there was light.
Shining light, light that sung, light that quieted the voices. He saw with eight eyes strands of light born from stars he had never seen. They danced above him, flickering this way and that, gentle yet strong. The thudding of his skull softened for a moment… Then roared back all the greater, with the strength and fury of a predator protecting its kill from a rival.
The light reached down and wrapped itself around him with a gentle embrace, one that, even through the screams for carnage, evoked a long-lost memory of a woman with an animal's head holding her child and weeping, not out of sadness or hate, but out of love and joy. Limbs that were not his own struggled in the grip, thrashed, but this embrace was unbreakable.
The light shined and surrounded him. And then…
Kalak was floating in waters that were dark but could feel were far from lonesome. He heard a voice that was not his own, but neither was it the one he was accustomed to, something that overshadowed even the howling fury that gripped him, if only for a moment.
Huh. I honestly wasn't sure if that would work or not... Neat.