Godclads

On a fundamental level, the creation of a node is not a complicated process. What you need is memory. Memory informs a mind of what it can be, of what it should be. It is information preloaded and preset to create a personality. A personality that collides with material conditions results in decisions.

For instance, if I would like to create a node of myself, I would pull my important memories, install them in a sheath—any kind of sheath, preferably one that is male and morphologically consistent with what I understand—and thereafter allow it to develop. Through these two connections, matter and mind both, a pseudo-node can be created, something that’s alike to me, close enough to serve my needs.

However, if we’re going to become more advanced and seek the creation of more sophisticated nodes, things that will not deviate from excess external stimuli, that requires additional phantasmics and neurological conditioning. This requires some adaptive and self-correcting measures.

But what of a true node? What of a node that exists beyond the body, that is self-aware, though entirely metamatter—a Soulbound ghost, in simpler terms? This, this takes great skill, and it requires a war mind. For ultimately, our templates are based on humanity, and humans were never meant to exist in a vacuum. Madness comes all too often without proper stimuli…

But what about something more than human?

What about something altogether… more.

-Wahakten, High Priest and Low Master of Noloth

34-9

Chosen of the Burning Dream (I)

A lurching strain pulled at Draus’s consciousness—then her ontology. It was as if she were being pried between two places. Flames erupted from the necks of her companions as well–each person who possessed an exo-cortex. They too were being drawn between two fires, and the world around them flickered between the faint golden hues of the temporal realm born of the Sang, and a literal boundless inferno.

Soon, the flickers of divine fire consumed her, licking over the world and infecting every inch of space she could perceive. Her cog-feed flashed, and when her perception returned, the others were gone as well. But only for a moment. The temporal realm returned only to stutter, as both liminalities dimensions warred against one another.

It was like they were trying to superimpose but also merge. Frankly, she didn’t have the words to describe this. She was a regular, not a poet or a scholar. Yet, ultimately, things stabilized as they always did, and she began to gain an inkling of what she was facing.

The world expanded around her. The space that was a ziggurat of old Noloth only reached so far, and thus, as the flames rolled beyond, the walls tore, exposing her to a new expanse—an expanse constructed by a waking flame and governed by a single entity: Avo, the Burning Dreamer, the Hidden Flame.

A creature she knew all too well.

However, as the Draus tried to move, she felt a sudden detachment. Her ego unrigged from her flesh, and the sensation was as disconcerting as every single time she had experienced it from the trauma. Slowly, she began to hover, drifting away from her actual body and venturing toward this vast reality molded from intelligent flame.

The landscape embraced her. Tendrils of fire welcomed her, beckoning her to move closer, and as she approached—leaving the precipice of the ziggurat behind—a burning bridge materialized beneath her feet. T

his bridge quickly solidified, stitched together by strings and sequences of adaptive memory. It became the bridge of plastcrete, littered with spent casings from slug throwers, used batteries from beam weapons, and all manner of other detritus seen from countless battlefields. Draus narrowed her eyes and guessed that this structure was generated using resources rooted in her memories.

“Welcome to the Soulscape, Draus,” Avo said. The regular observed her surroundings, taking things in as she would if she were moving through urban environments—scanning for snipers and noting that everything looked a little bit sparser than she had imagined. Her fingers twitched, and the cyclers in her Frame began to turn. Soulfire cycled within her as both her Simulacra and her Arsenalist drew close, prepared to be called upon.

“No need to worry,” Avo continued. “Nothing can hurt you here. Not permanently.Everything can hurt you here temporarily though. Every kind of consequence might be possible. Except for death. We will not be spared of our lessons. Not until the learning is complete.”

She soon saw movement in the corner of her vision. She produced three guns from a shard of glass she kept on her person. The first was a standard infantry Zero-Zero Piercer spatiokinetic rifle, the next was a tank-mounted matter-splicer cannon, and finally there was Final Dawn spinal fusion lens most often found on Highflame warships. Three weapons for three categories of threats.

But instead of an attack, she saw undulating figures: drifting phantoms of birds, of aerovecs, of missiles, and flying projectiles. After a few moments, their trails bled into reality, painting new horizons and environments behind them. It was like an unzipping—a knife dragged across a canvas, allowing new colors to seep through like blood, painting new horizons, landscapes, and sights…

From the blossoming colors emerged cityscapes—districts that Draus remembered encountering—mixes and splices of districts and places put together. She saw bone-ridged heights rise into the sky, large structures that served as a building and organs for the No-Dragons. It lashed with long, shape-shifting limbs, and resembled a leviathan whale on the hunt for easy prey.

In its shadow were studded blocks layered in reinforced plascrete and further augmented by heavy alloys. Along their sides, exposed ports and launcher platforms hid within protected alcoves, further protected by phase shields. A constant exchange of nuclear fire raged between the No-Dragon tower and the Highflame megablocks, while burning bioforms and melting drones rained down from the sky.

Now there was a sight often seen. A sight from all the wars she fought. Hells, she was getting all nostalgic and shit.

“No target vectors,” the Arsenalist said, sounding a bit depressed. “Put me away.”

“Aw, get your shit together, half-strand. We’ll be killin’ people soon enough.”

“Targets now?”

“What? No.”

“Then not soon enough.”

Gods were kind of like stubborn fucking juvs, if you really thought about it.

More shapes danced through the sky, and from on high the flames twitched and dissolved, flattening into the visage of a dying twilight. She now beheld pre-dawn: a void star hung above her, floating holo-ads drifting overhead, and countless bodies fallen and burning from on high. She’d seen a few of those ads in Xin Yunsha.

“What the hell is happening here?” Draus said.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Oh, just some skirmishing,” Avo replied. “Got most of my templates back. Now they are preparing—Squires, Enforcers, Regulars, Soldiers. When they learned they might get nodes soon… started practicing. For the next time they are allowed to depart, for when their nodes are rooted in new sheathes…”

Draus snorted slightly and said, “So? What this shit, then? They auditioning for me? Try to see if I want to pick them for runs in the future.”

“Yes,” Avo replied without hesitation. “I will generate templates for you. This will be a space for you to simulate battlegrounds. Create new soldiers. New units. Generated some troops earlier. Can take a look. Just think. An interface should open with a command from your mind.”

Draus did that, and true to Avo’s words, a menu manifested.

ACCESS GRANTED TO [FIELD MARSHALL JELENE DRAUS]

“Field Marshall,” Draus muttered.

“I decided to promote you. Doesn’t come with any imps, though. Should give you some experience how it feels to be a mid-level bureaucrat.”

“Fuck you.”

The rotlick had the audacity to laugh.

“Hey, does the disruption still work here.”

Avo stopped laughing. “Don’t. Will destabilize multiple workings. The Soulscape is very complex. Any interruption—” Avo groaned. “Forgot who I was talking to. Spiteful enough to break things. Even if it means nulling yourself.”

Now it was Draus’s turn to laugh. For all he changed, parts of him really weren’t all that different from the creature she found in the Crucible.

SYMMETRY MILITARY COMBAT TEMPLATES

The flames twisted before her, summoning new forms into sight. A long row of infantry units extended horizontally, hovering across her field of view. As she focused on each one, design specs for their kit, sheaths, and capabilities loaded into her mind, but all of them shared a single point of commonality.

“Avo… why the hells do they all look like Naeko?”

“Because he’s good at fighting. Spliced him in with some Regular. Added him to most templates. Especially Godclads.”

“Do they all gotta be as wide as he is?”

“Naeko isn’t used to such balance. Height will take him time to adjust.”

“Can you just fix that in his mind?”

“Yes. But don’t want to. Find his dimensions amusing.”

Draus looked each of her potential soldiers up and down and sighed. She didn’t have a definite “feeling” about Naeko, but something about the way they were shape annoyed her.

“Target?” the Arsenalist asked.

The Regular considered it momentarily, then shrugged. “Yeah. Fuck it. Why not.”

She aimed her spatial-kinetic rifle at one of the infantry templates and opened fire. Instead of getting a flicking disruption as one would when shooting at phantoms, an entire chunk of her target’s skull vanished—then rematerialized a good meter away before falling into the flames. That Naeko promptly dissolved into ashes, only for another to replace it.

“Well, shit,” Draus said. “We’re runnin’ full sims now?”

“Getting easier. Have the ghosts. Have an EGI processing unit slowly being subsumed. Also integrating parts from Stormjumpers. For training.”

Draus shook her head. Why people would play a sim instead of just doing the real thing, she would never get.

“Hey, Draus. What the fuck!” A voice called down from high above. She looked up, and saw Naeko leaning over a burning bridge of his own. He threw up his hands and glared at her. “Why’d you do that?”

She blinked. “You saw that?”

“Yeah, motherfucker. I saw you shoot a grunt-me in the face. What the fuck?”

“It was just an impulse. Testing my gun.”

“On me?”

“You were there.”

Naeko opened and closed his mouth several times. “That’s… that’s it? I was there? That’s why you shot me?”

The Regular considered his question for a beat and nodded. “It also made my Heaven bitch less.”

The Chief Paladin’s mouth dropped fully. “Draus.”

“Yeah,” she grinned.

“You sound like Zein.”

She stopped grinning. “Never say that shit to me again. I’m not some fucked up Joyfiend that just kills for fun.”

“No, you’re a frowning psychopath that shoots me just because. Dead fucking gods.” He receded away from the edge and continued complaining to himself as he returned to his path.

“Not the best impression to leave on a consang,” Avo taunted.

“Fuck you, rotlick. I know you did that shit on purpose.”

“Consequences. No death. Beware the pal—” Avo grunted as a misted hand sprouted out of Naeko and swatted his surrounding flames.

“I know you did that shit on purpose,” Naeko said, repeating the same thing Draus did. “You’re a real godsdamned agitator, you know that, Avo.”

“Was just exploring possibilities.” the ghoul sounded like he was pouting.

“You should not be allowed anything that displeases us,” the Sage growled. The Heaven of Peace’s voice made every shiver of fire undulate like dancing strings.

“Should have never woken you,” Avo grunted.

“Hey, Avo,” Draus called out. The surrounding flames stilled. “There a reason why I’m getting picked for the general position and not Naeko?”

“Because Nicoma. Because how you think. Because untapped potential. He is a better icon. But you can lead. You care about leading. You are efficient. More than just as a soldier. Or do you just want to be a gun.”

A twinge of annoyance passed through her. “Being a gun’s simple. It’s clean. I get the point—I get to shoot. I get to take out the targets, I get to take out the returns. A pure way of living.”

“Or maybe it’s just less miserable. Losing those under your command. Those you’ve led astray, is less aggravating than failing me or yourself. Guns haven’t won the war yet. Real fight that would have let you save the Orphans was becoming a Godclad. Was commanding. You choosing to be a gun let Lorea Greatling choose for you. She chose poorly. You paid. All of you.”

Draus wanted to say something crass in rebuttal, but the words never came. He was right. But she just…

She just didn’t like it. Having other people fight. She wanted to be doing the war herself.

Slowly, she began walking again. “Can I see how these ones will perform under live fire?”

“Think and behold.”

She did, and with each new step in the Soulscape, battlefields and horizons materialized. There were various situations on display. One scene showed an artillery war between Stormtree’s heavy lightning platforms, and Highflame’s mixed BVR units—a mixed assortment of missiles, demiplanar beams, and aerial scud units.

Another showed an engagement of Regulars trying to raid an Ori--Thaum hardpoint, with Seekers supported by Glaives and Incubi. It was a battle of attrition, with the Silvers sacrificing flesh to break down the minds of Golds.

She then demanded a moment of cooperation rather than conflict—of Agnosi and scientists from each of the Guilds standing before a vat, growing a new sheathe. The Woundmother was there as well, and Draus noted the Heaven of Blood twitching and swimming through the fire. It seemed that he, too, was bound and Avo.

As it noticed her in turn, it gave a terrifying, blood-shivering laugh. “Huntress,” the Woundmother breathed, “It gladdens me to see you again. Have you killed anyone recently?”

“Not nearly enough for my Arsenalist,” Draus said. A tendril of blood began to circle around her, and she narrowed her eyes. She kept a short glance on a nearby figure, but instead of responding with violence, her Heavens shivered inside of her. Her Simulacrum emerged from her shard of glass, and at Draus’s behest, as it sprouted wide, its many pieces formed portals to block off the approaching arteries.

“This one greets the red one,” the Simulacrum said. “This one is happy to capture thy visage.”

The blood limbs danced with glee. The Heaven of Blood was preening. “Yes. My heights are magnificent, aren’t they? Mine is quite the visage to capture.”

As her Heaven listened to Avo’s number one ass-kisser boast on, Draus found another bridge approaching her. This time, she noted a familiar figure—Shotin—looking just as bewildered, just as overwhelmed as she was. He looked at her. “Hey. Did he… did he show you all that too?”

“Yes,” Draus snorted “I think he’s showing off again,” she replied.

Shotin considered her words. “He does that a lot, doesn’t he?”

“I barely managed to get the motherfucker to stop gloating before we actually won. Might be my biggest achievement to date.”

“Yeah, he does have the ego of ten clan elders.”

“I don’t.”

Both Seeker and Regular scoffed in tandem.

“But now that we’re here together: Want to talk about another thing. Joyful cooperation. Draus. Meet your second.”

Draus stared at Shotin. The Seeker just looked around. “Okay? Where the fuck is this ‘second’? It’s just us here.”

It was then that Draus learned Shotin, too, had the ego of at least five clan elders.