Godclads

Chapter 33-17 Forget (I)

Change is a constant in life, and change is a constant in war. For every advance you take, your enemy must adapt. And as they adapt, they too will advance. In turn, you must learn to change anew.

During this process, you will find yourself growing, flourishing, and branching—if you are not cut down. You will pursue different avenues of success and possibilities to overcome your adversary, and they will do the same.

Picture this: two gardens, two forests growing into one another. The branches clash—some aligned, some divergent—all trying to consume or overwhelm the other.

This is a simplistic understanding of change, but it is a representation that many can imagine. In doing so, they can apply this logic to other aspects of their life.

You must be both proactive and reactive—a combination of traits. Precaution is worth more than temporary cures, but not even the greatest genius can predict everything.

And so, with that knowledge in mind, be a player. Be a participant. Be the one that builds. Always.

-Jaus Avandaer

33-17

Forget (I)

[So I’m dead,] Kae said flatly. She, along with all the other templates, was staring up into the flame-scarred sky. Above, Soulfire and ethereal brightness mingled, churning. There was a thin membrane of ghosts dancing over the firmament, and everything was glossed over in a dream-like sheen.

This place—this constitution of Avo’s being—shivered slightly, as close to an expression of embarrassment as he could manage. “Yes, sorry about that,” Kae said, looking at Kare. The Paladin’s face was downcast, her expression distant. Beside her stood Shotin, who was rubbing his niece’s shoulders and muttering broken apologies under his breath.

[And she’s dead too,] Kae continued.

“Yes,” Avo said, giving a quiet confirmation. “Couldn’t stop it. The Embracement. Expansion of substance was beyond my conscious control. Failed you.”

[No,] Kare said, finally pushing the words out from her lungs. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. Her gaze stalled for a moment before she straightened her shoulders and stepped beyond her uncle’s grasp. [This is not your fault. This is war. I knew—I knew what I was signed up for. I knew what oaths I swore.] She gave a look to Shotin—the expression a mixture of terror and resolute belief. [I know what dream I wanted to fight for. It cost me my life. It might cost me my life again. But this is not your fault. This is simply the price we must pay—the price that should have been paid.]

Naeko flinched at her words. The echo of her truth stung like a lash on his ego. He knew it was coming, yet pain was pain, and sometimes the worst hurt came when someone’s words echoed the curses he cast at himself from within.

[There are a few other things I want to talk about,] Draus’ template said, cocking her head at Zein. [How’d this thing happen? Didn’t expect this old, wily sow to get caught so easily.]

Zein grinned slightly at the remark. [Oh, come on, Captain. Do not insult me. I’ve always thought so highly of you. It is not an easy task for the Plague to catch me. Rather, it was a strategic failure on the part of my daughter and the Plague’s original self. They wasted me. They cast me as a disposable weapon to be used against the Hidden Flame.]

She paused, and her face shifted between a grimace and a grin. [Alas, between the Deep Ones and my greatest disciple—] She offered a genuine smile at Naeko, [proved worthier than my capabilities. That, and…] she glared upwards—the thinnest sliver of gold pierced through the chaotic substance that composed Avo’s Soulscape. A hint that Akusande was there, lurking, waiting, watching. [...and my traitorous glaive. My traitorous dragon.]

Draus chuckled. [Looks like you might need to work more on keeping friends than sharpening your skills.]

Zion considered the statement for a moment and then snorted. [No. My failure was that I wasn’t good enough. Nothing else.] Ironic. Even when exposed to absolute defeat, Thousandhand was a slow learner. Ironic. But perhaps it was also the same reason why she was such a fine killer.

[So what now?] Benhata asked as the Ori-Thaum stared up into the sky. [What are we doing now? Everything’s changed. Everything’s gone to shit. How are we going to make this right? I—the Tiers are completely consumed. Everything is just separated. The Guilds are in disarray. You said the outside was currently being governed over by Naeko. How? What? What’s even our next step? What is—]

“There will not be one next step,” Avo interjected simply. “There are going to be several. First, we need to use time to our advantage.”

[Time?] Benhata echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. At that moment, Corner emerged next to the Mirror, chrome implants on the former Squire’s body gleaming in the dim light.

[Yeah,] Corner grunted with a laugh. [I see where this is going.]

Avo found himself missing the Squire, despite the casual brutality of their meeting. There was a companionship, an understanding they once shared.

Avo elaborated: “The Sang—they can create bridges of time, rigged onto baseline reality. The past cannot be sustained at baseline reality; it’s always eaten, consumed, lost. However, connected to the present, it’s like building another structure upon a set of wheels. The past exists on this parallel structure. There we can move adjacent and forward freely. Without limit.”

[So what, we’re creating another timeline? A parallel one? What’s the point of that?] Benhata asked.

“The point,” Avo said, “is that we do not need to hold ground in the real anymore. Shouldn’t. Can create operations and maneuver like no one else can. We have another layer of operations. We have another section of reality that we can use all for ourselves. This district—we are going to vacate it. We are going to take everything in it and move across. Leave nothing behind.”

[What?] Green River muttered. Her mind was reeling at the implications. [If you do that—]

“Just need to connect the stream to another point in the future. Multiple branches. As long as it is connected to base… should hold.”

[Should,] Draus drawled flatly.

“Find out soon.”

A stunned silence crossed over all the templates before Avo turned his focus to the Woundmother. “Woundmother. Need you to gather all matter and people—begin evacuation immediately. Prepare for transition.” With another casual thought, he connected his mind to the God of Blood’s ontology, and he felt more himself than ever before.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

The Woundmother let out a shudder of delight. “You have made me a greater goddess than I ever was, oh master. However, the RendI’ve sustained—”

“The Rend will not be a problem.” It took nothing for Avo to transfer the Woundmother’s entropy through his flames into the Deep Ones. The Ruptures shuddered and grew; sections of the Substance destabilized, tearing open like paper bags struck by a cracking whip.

At the same time, tendrils of Conflagration slithered through the Scar Charts lining the existential fissures—the fissures left by the Deep Ones. Avo alone, among the countless trillions remaining in existence, could navigate these places, and they would allow him entry and exit from the substance. More importantly, it would allow him out of the Tiers, into the city, beyond the atmosphere where his planetary ring awaited.

Where he could find his cycler farm — to restore the dragons, to expand his operations and proceed to the next steps of this war.

“After that, I’m going to strike a deal,” Avo declared. “Going to talk to the real masters of Ori-Thaum.”

Benhata swallowed and Shotin frowned.

[The Inner Council…] Shotin began.

“They’re not who you think they are,” Avo interrupted. “The people you serve, the people you’ve interfaced with. Spoken to in lobbies and through specialized encryptions. Not who you think they are. Not people, but an Ark. An Overheaven. A Heaven with gestalt-consciousness of its own. Very impressive. I’m not sure how they designed it. Some symmetry to me when I glimpsed them. Feel flattered.”

[What?] Benhata said, his eyes widening.

“They have a template of you inside them. Think they do. Saw what they looked like. Only for a moment. The Majority. Looked like a looming shadow created from countless other shadows. A bit like me, except there is a central aspect, one that rules and defines and tyrannizes.”

[So, exactly like you?] Abrel deadpanned.

The Instrument looked as uncomfortable as the others, but there was a burning question on her mind. “Where was I in all this?”

“No one has found you yet, Abrel,” Avo said gently. “Doesn’t mean you’re dead. Your brother, though—he will be happy to see you again. And you might be able to save your father still. Not done. Not nearly.”

She winced slightly at that. Her feelings about Vator were mixed, but being able to save her father and make a difference was more than enough to obtain her commitment. Pair that with how the High Seraph regarded her, and the strength of her faith in Highflame was shattered. In its place was memory. Memories of fighting alongside Avo and his cadre, of being in his cadre.

[So why are we striking a deal with the Inner Council anyway?] Draus asked.

“Because I need subminds. More Conflagrations. And I want to use them. They want to win as well. To claim the Arks. They can face Highflame on our behalf. Useful. Greedy.”

The Regular barked a laugh. [And you think they’ll go for you?]

“Yes. Because I am the worst enemy they can face; the best ally they can have. With me: They can navigate Ruptures. Will have intelligence. Information. Without me: Everyone will know they exist. Fatal for them. Crippling. They will bend. They must. And so the shape the war changes.”

The Massist aligned templates broke into a unified murmur. The weaker-willed threw out denials to protect their egos. The ones who understood better endured creeping despair.

Well, Draus had something else to say. [You really are a lazy piece of shit, aren’t you, rotlick?]

“Draus,” Avo sneered. “Displeased with the lack of killing.”@@novelbin@@

[Yeah. It’s fucking boring. And also, kind of glassjawed.]

“And how did that go for your Regulars? How many Orphans are left?”

[One more than Highflame tried to kill,] Draus shot back.

Avo went quiet. “Huh. That’s a good line.”

The Regular grinned.

[Hey, could you two do this later?] Shotin sighed. [Can we just stay focused on the whole evil plot right now?]

“Not evil,” Avo corrected. “I’m as close to being good in the city as any other.” An overwhelming amount of doubt percolated through his Soulscape. Avo fought the urge to sigh. Why is it that no one can see his nobility, even after all he did for the city? Their dread about his nature lingered too long. Humans cling to emotions—feelings stronger than logic. Yes, poor foolish humans.

Avo’s consciousness settled on mocking pity rather than genuine introspection. Someone cleared their throat—not within the Soulscape, but from beyond it. Avo turned his attention to the world outside: that place within the ziggurat—within the embrace of the Woundmother. Dowager Glorious Song was staring at him, uncertain how to proceed.

“Yes,” his mind echoed through Osjane Thousand’s body.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Dreamer, but what are we to do?” Dowager Glorious Song’s forehead was dripping with sweat. Her fingers twitched even as bioforms and other creatures infused more bio-matter into the exo-math connected to the locus. An exo-math connected to the Woundmother as well.

Matter, flesh, and architecture were in alignment in this district. It meant that he could control this section of the city like a living organism—a leviathan-sized sheathe. Good. Perfect. That would be useful in a moment. Especially with the Woundmother’s ability to transfer and reconstruct objects.

Avo let out a slight chuff of consideration. The Sang will be essential to his plan. Indeed, if there was any Guild he now needed to subsume as a priority, it was the No-Dragons. Right now, however, he needed material for his temporal construct. “I need you to get your people ready. Tell them to gather to prepare. And ask them for permission.”

“Permission?” she repeated softly.

“Going to burn their mind. I’m going to need to talk to all the Dowagers soon. In fact, you should serve—serve as my representative. It should be talks ongoing in the planetary ring. Before that… Need an easy bridge between places. Between time. And need you and your people for that.”

“ Bridge?” Her voice was almost a squeak.

The Stormsparrow laughed. “Oh yes, oh yes. The final dam is breaking. The water rolls further. But beware—a shadow of yourself lingers, looms. It comes for you, as you come for the world.”

Avo didn’t fully understand what she was saying, but it was easy enough to guess. He had other sub-minds, other Pathborn probably lingering about. He had no delusions about Veylis being done, nor that the Infacer was beaten for good. They had suffered significant losses. But the EGI—ancient as time—had survived wars beyond Avo’s current imagination, even as he processed the power of another mind. He lacked experience, knowledge, and most importantly, complete awareness of what his adversaries were doing.

And Ignorance was a fatal adversary.

“And what about the fucking warminds we just gave you?” Peace snarled. “All our inheritance, back to you.” A bitter laugh escaped the Low Master. “That bastard— that cocksucker Defiance—must be laughing right now, laughing at the pit, the oblivion he’s stuck in.”

Avo regarded the angry little replica of his father, thinking he had done all his laughing before. That reminded Avo that he needed to find his half-brother, Raldi, still missing. There were a lot of people he needed to find, actually—Dice, Lucky the Cat, Essus. But that could all wait. Right now, though, he did have some warminds he needed to use. Including one warmind of the Forgotten that seemed more intact that all the others combined.

A little retrosequencing will go a long way, Ignorance whispered.

“Master,” the Woundmother said, “I’ve begun transference. The population is being secured. I am spreading my Sanguinity outward. However… it seems that our adversaries are preparing another attack. They’re emerging from the far north side—considerably larger contingent than before. I sense Souls as well. Many souls. Many Frames. Many Godclads.”

Avo drew on knowledge and memories from all his combat-competent templates. From Sanctus’ combat methodologies, he deduced that there were already saboteurs within the district moving through the area—Chronoframes about to shift. Sanctus always sent people scouting ahead. The strike and skirmishing to create openings. Inconvenient. Avo had no intention of fighting another pointless war—one they could be used against the Saintists instead.

Thankfully, he had solutions. Two solutions. One born of time, and the other belonging to the realm of thought.

“Peace,” Avo called, “Require your assistance.”

At this, the angry little priest shuddered and frowned. “Yeah, as you command, king.”

“No— not king. Not king. Never king. Just a part of you, as you are part of me.” And then, a tendril of fire tunneled through the Low Master’s body. “But in a few moments… for a few seconds… no one will ever remember any of us ever existing.”