Fomoria touched the body, and a thought overcame him.
Take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take, take.
He couldn’t hesitate, not with Time looking for an excuse to kill him.
It didn’t matter that this voice in his head wasn’t his.
It didn’t matter that it might be Mana.
It didn’t matter that up until Time showed up, this was part of a plan by Jenny that he didn’t like or know the full scope of.
He plunged his hand into the body; the fusion of flesh and forge was his.
His influence spread out from the heart that beat slowly, and the white gold metal was overtaken by his darkness.
The nanites infused into the alloy tried to fight against him, but he was the devourer, and they bent to his will.
The bodysuit and skin darkened, then changed to his pale tone, what he was.
He seemed naked, the only signs that he technically wore something were a few lines around his neck, hands, feet, and shoulders, like he had been welded together.
Time resumed, and Time left.
Jenny looked forward, but Fomoria was gone.
That was strange, he was-
“I want my jacket.”
She didn’t blush or fluster as she saw his naked form.
“You changed your mind?”
A few seconds passed.
“Yes.”
“Why the hesitation.”
Once more, a delay, though slightly shorter.
“I’m trying. This body is slow.”
He made a fist, then let go, over and over, each time slightly faster than the last.
But she was more interested in what her scanners were showing.
She hadn’t done this exact thing before, but when making her cyborg soldiers, there was a sync rate.
Right after the surgery, it wasn’t uncommon to have a sync rate of 50%, meaning their actions were delayed by half of when the signals were actually sent by the brain into the body.
In theory, since there wasn’t a difference between flesh and metal in this body, there shouldn’t have been a significant difference, but his sync rate was sitting at 7% minutes after waking up.
“We need to take you upstairs for deeper scans. What did your jacket look like?”
A system forcibly connected with her’s and sent images directly from Fomoria’s mind into hers.
Somehow he had broken through all of her encryption.
But more than that, he had overwritten whatever system she already had inside of Fomoria’s new body.
What should’ve been a name and an address, was now garbled runes and a number that rapidly fluctuated.
“Don’t send your thoughts to me like that again. I need time to find out what exactly you’ve done.
Come to the elevator.”
He lifted himself from the mold where the body had been formed and stepped onto the floor.
Fomoria felt that it was cool, and wiggled his toes in an attempt to get a better feeling for his body.
When he thought it was right, he took his first step and fell right on his face.
He was unharmed, but the floor had a small indent where he tried to block his fall with his hands.
The delay in reaction however meant he had more open palm struck the floor.
“Do you need help?”
“No.”
For an instant, his annoyance and sync rate jumped; he replied without much delay.
Fomoria got up from the floor and slowly moved with a wide stance for more stability.
It was awkward to move, and looked just as awkward, but he made his way to the elevator.
As they rode up, she continued trying to figure out how Fomoria corrupted her work.
This metal wasn’t what it was before, it wasn’t a living thing that breathed mana out, but rather in.
“Your metal isn’t Godtouched anymore. I’m sure they would be distraught if they saw what you were.”
“Who would be?”
“The Godtouched.”
“Is that a person, a group? I assumed that Godtouched metal was naturally made like the other elemental metals.”
“No, it isn’t. Maybe deviltouched steel?”
“Devouring iron.”
“Absorbium.”
“Devourium.”
“Vorium.”
“That’s good, vorium. I like it. Now, who is or are the Godtouched?”
“The forgemasters who work under Brigid. They constantly test and create, though since it is a form of worship, most of their inventions are made to be made, not to be used. I find it ironic, despite there being a champion of Aarde, it seems all of the best things aren’t involving her. The plants and animals by Anu and her followers. Brigid and her forgemasters. Cecht and his peacekeepers. The Darkness and her assassins.”
“What of Calli and Lir?”
“The Veil was their work. Each of the gods shares a difference in perspective, I suspect that is why they can seemingly do more than Aarde can as a single entity. In a sense, you are my sub god.”
“Yggdra.”
“The king?”
“If you want this empire to really stretch across the stars, then we must work together in policy.
Filter your ideas through me, reach a compromise between our brutalities. My grandfather shaped Ragne just as much as Yggdra did.”
“I will not sacrifice any of my authority. Not until I can confirm you are worth what I hope you are.”
“Of course. My grandfather had no real title, he simply sent letters and spoke with the king as a friend.
We are supposed to be friends, aren’t we?”
“That would be ideal.”
When the elevator dinged and the door opened, Thaul was standing ready with Fomoria’s clothes.
As he saw his naked body, he jumped back and covered his eyes.
Fomoria, trying his best, stepped forward and grabbed his jacket off the top of the pile.
It was a careful, slow process, so Jenny decided to dress him herself.
“There, now, combat training.”
“I have a delay ranging from one to three seconds, I don’t think I can fight anyone like this.”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“After cybernetic enhancement, I always send them to spar first and foremost.
Your mind and body are at odds because they both see the other as a foreign, an other.
During combat, the heightened emotional state will blur that line as they realize they must work together.”
Through moving during the elevator ride, he had gained a little more control, and so he was able to more easily walk behind her to the combat room.
It was a tall room, and Jenny asked him to remain where she was.
At the far end, he could see an observation deck protected by some kind of reinforced glass.
She melded into the floor, then reformed inside of the room above.
From a door on the other side of the room, a familiar face came out.
“Drachma.”
“I hope there are no hard feelings.”
Fomoria attempted to rush at him, but the older man sidestepped him.
“Hard feelings then. That’s not a shock. I remember when I was first recruited some 40 years ago. I’d been a mercenary fighting against the Cast, but then I got a better deal. I declined at first, but eventually I was captured and my patrons were killed, so I was out of the contract.”
While he spoke, Fomoria was continually trying and failing to land a single punch, often overextending and falling down.
“Come on. It’s been over a year since we last fought, and you put on a hell of a show that time.”
Drachma was squatting over Fomoria, who tried to sweep his legs, but Drachma simply stepped over the slow attack.
“I also remember when I was first given cybernetics. It was… wild. I had never seen a city like this, buildings so tall that you had to crane your neck all the way back to see the tops.”
Fomoria tried to use an aura technique, but it failed, since he hadn’t actually figured out how to use aura or mana again.
His stomp, rather than shaking the ground, seemed like a tantrum.
Drachma rushed forward and punched him in the chest, tearing his shirt.
The body was unharmed, it was made of sturdier stuff.
“It took me a few hours to make my body work how I wanted.”
He swirled his finger, a small fire atop it, then flicked, shooting the bullet at Fomoria’s chest, which opened with a swirling inwards, snuffing it out without damaging him.
That was interesting to Jenny, since her designs for the body shouldn’t do that.
Fomoria took a wide stance one and raised behind his head, the other out in an attempt to steady himself.
He made a chopping motion, and a small wave of fire came from his hand.
Drachma didn’t even dodge, it dissipated before it even reached him.
“Alright, now can I actually start this?”
Jenny looked down and saw the fire in Fomoria’s eyes which still held the infinitely deep white void.
“Yes.”
For 12 hours, Fomoria fought tirelessly, being beaten down over and over again.
It hurt, and that was both unpleasant, but also welcome after feeling nothing at all.
What really bothered him wasn’t any level of pain, it was that he seemed to hit a wall.
According to Jenny, his sync rate had gone from 7% when he first woke up to a mere 30%.
It was enough that he could control himself now, he could react at a human level, but he was very very far from reacting as fast as he could think.
It was a terrible thing to see every single move your enemy makes, but being unable to block because your body.
“I’M DONE.”
“I don’t want you fighting until you hit 50% at least; the number is exponential. 50% doesn’t mean you have half of your power, it means you’ve hit half of my estimation of that body. But you will begin to grow unlike the stagnancy of the cyborg soldiers, making the number more of a general idea than any real metric of strength.”
“I’m not going to fight. I need to meet somebody. I don’t think my problem is that I can’t fight.”
Drachma scoffed.
“That’s not your only problem.”
“Refrain from taunting him outside of a training environment. Fomoria, I will send Thaul to pick you up.
I know where you are going.”
“Maybe I should go visit that pretty sister of-”
Before the words could leave his mouth, Dracma’s lower jaw was nearly destroyed.
The overextension made Fomoria flip end over end onto the floor, but Drachma leaned back so quickly to dodge the air slicing attack that he fell into the floor himself.
“That’s enough.”
Both men felt all strength sap from their bodies.
She wasn’t using any technology, this was a fraction of Aarde’s power.
“Drachma, I already told you not to do that. Prolonged heightened senses are how the training works, a sudden surge from 30% to 60% damaged his body. Six torn muscle fibers and his hip must be set back in place. It’s going to take minutes to heal him. Fomoria, he will not touch your sister, if he were to do so, I would activate the killswitch and his cybernetics would all deactivate. We would see how long he survives being a normal 110 year old man weighed down by foreign metal.”
She took control over his nanites, fusing his mouth together.
The soldier panicked and tried to speak, but only muffled yelling could be heard.
“Rise.”
Suddenly, their strength was back.
“Fomoria, as I said, Thaul will accompany you to your destination. Cool your head.”
He sat there in the park as usual, his muscles having sewn themselves back together on the short car ride over.
When Matsumoto arrived, he moved to the table.
Thaul was about to speak when Fomoria put his hand up.
The old man opened the lid on the table that hid the chess pieces and began setting the board; Fomoria did the same.
Matsumoto nodded.
The old man saw Fomoria’s first move and saw through his strategy in that instant.
Fomoria was an overly aggressive player, but often backtracked and put an overemphasis on protecting his pieces after he lost the first.
His first move was setting up to get rid of the rooks.
The Cast who were supposed to be behind the new Cast tried to call him back, since they were done running tests to confirm that his mark had inoculated Scint against the rust virus and he had no ill effects from it.
But, Fomoria was determined to stay even after hours of losses.
Fomoria took another one of Matsumoto’s pieces, and lost one in return.
This was the part where Fomoria should’ve shifted his playstyle and turned defensive.
Slowly, one by one, Matsumoto was going to take positions so that Fomoria would need to sacrifice his pieces to win, but Fomoria would never go far enough.
He gives up a piece here or there, but he wouldn’t turn it into a slaughter on both sides.
Yet this time, as Matsumoto was setting his trap, Fomoria broke it, sending a piece forward so that the old man needed to either take it, or it would take one of his next turn.
Fomoria didn’t flinch.
In the end, Fomoria had lost the game, and the one after, and the one after, but each was becoming faster than the last.
Matsumoto’s old body could hardly keep up, Fomoria’s pieces seemed to jump from one spot to the next without any delay, as though they were teleporting.
As the sun was beginning to set, more than a few people had gathered for the intense games.
Cups of noodles and bottles of tea were being brought to them by Thaul so they didn’t need to get up for anything but the bathroom.
Matsumoto was holding on, but by just a thread.
In front of the chess board, Fomoria was no longer a man, he was an entity of pure chaos.
Without formal training or even cracking open a single book, he had devised many of the same strategies that were known, but more importantly, he was making up new ones on the fly.
Matsumoto had known, forgotten, and then remembered nearly every form of the sport, but he was being pushed into a corner by Fomoria’s mind.
Aggressive, defensive, going for long games, then short.
There was no rhyme or reason to why he played a game one way than the other, and many of his starts seemed to be the same, dynamically changing based on Matsumoto.
Just as the old man had been playing to Fomoria’s weakness, knowing that he had the poor habit of preferring defense, Fomoria now prayed on the fact that the old man lacked his spontaneity, that he was someone of order, rules, set knowledge.
The old man looked at the board, he went through every single move.
When had he fallen into Fomoria’s trap?
How had Fomoria given nearly all of his pieces up, yet won.
He stood up and shook Fomoria’s hand.
Fomoria wasn’t sure why Matsumoto spoke in a strange and stilted manner, but assumed he was missing some meaning or cultural context.
The old man couldn’t help but laugh at such a dramatic statement.
Fomoria bowed with a soft smile.
The old man laughed jovially.
“Thaul. Bring us to the nicest restaurant in the city. I assume Jenny can pay.”
“Let me just… nevermind. I’ll ask afterwards.”
“Sometimes, forgiveness is better than permission.”
----------------------------------------
Back at the titular Blackship, Jenny was shocked to see Fomoria had broken past the 50% mark by playing chess.
It made her start to rethink what she knew about the connection between the body and mind.
Her method was based on an understanding of humans and their tendencies.
When humans were forced against a wall, it meant that they only had one way to go.
Either they faltered, and they weren’t good enough for her enhancements, or they pushed through and their mind and body became one thing, forcing the cybernetics to listen as if they were original.
Muffled sounds came from behind her, and she decided to return Drachma’s ability to speak.
“The kid’s not like us.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“You’re rigid. You fall into thinking patterns.”
“Don’t think that you can comprehend what I do and don’t do.”
“You process data and make choices like anyone else, and I know people.
Until you get more information from outside, you’ll keep running in circles, it’s what you’ve been doing ever since the Cast got wiped out. I’ve seen plenty of sieges end because my enemies got get bad information and made bad choices, and I’ve gotten my shit kicked in because someone had a pretty damn good idea.”
“You are dismissed.”
Jenny looked over everything she knew about Fomoria again and again.
But the wall she couldn’t get over was that she knew nothing about the inside of The Veil.
She had no reason to believe that Fomoria had lied, but she couldn’t confirm that this Yggdra person existed or that Fomoria’s grandfather had been an unofficial advisor whose advice greatly helped the nation.
Taking leaps of faith weren’t her style, even her desperate bid to gain his favor and use him to defeat Aarde was based on what she knew.
Fomoria was faithless, champion to a god that he was often at odds with, who didn’t want to be worshiped by his people.
His every action was in service of protecting what he loved and lessening the suffering of those he believed were innocent.
All she really needed to do was have something to offer him that would help with those two things, and he’d do whatever she asked.