Over the coming days, Krahe underwent yet another battery of tests, and went over nearly a dozen possible lung replacements all with their own advantages and downsides. One purely mechanical model in particular stood out, having an outer shell of articulated metal. These so-called “C-Infuser Mod. 5018s” had incredible performance characteristics, given the listed price — it was clear they were meant for someone with a significant proportion of high-demand musculature, and thus, Krahe would never have to worry about running out of breath were she to choose them. There were, however, two catches that made her dismiss them as an option. First came the requirement for Thaumine to actually power the eponymous “C-Infuser” — a literal fuel tank that would have to be refilled through a port between the ribs. This was, apparently, much less of a problem than it seemed, and was thus readily tolerated by the users — in part because the lungs could still operate independently, but would do so at around 80% capacity compared to normal, healthy lungs. The second catch was revealed by Firminus: They had a serious problem with certain parts wearing out quickly, and replacement parts were not exactly easily available in Audunpoint — that is to say, they would take time to arrive and would cost a premium. The problem was not with the manufacturer price-gouging, but with supply lines. And even despite these issues, this model apparently had a staunchly loyal userbase among Audunpoint’s mid-rankers.
Two other models were similar in that they each had enormous advantages but came with a catch of some kind. The prices all varied quite a bit, as did their characteristics — the models Firminus had picked out ran the full gamut all the way up to the higher end and even into more obscure models, such as the aforementioned C-Infuser lungs.
“How many variants of purpose-made lung grafts are there on the open market?” Krahe asked off-handedly.
“How many stars are in the sky?” Firminus retorted. “Explosions, daggers, bullets, simple direct impacts… After livers and kidneys, lungs are the most commonly-grafted major organ.”
After some further thought, Krahe made a request: “I’d like to see some other models, if you don’t mind. Keep these three.”
After going through the second batch, she had gathered a roster of seven promising candidates. This roster, however, was doomed when she made yet another off-handed remark: “Don’t you have something that specifically requires a grafted or otherwise reinforced ribcage? Something that can keep working if my diaphragm gets fucked, but doesn’t need an external power source.”
Furrowing his brow, Firminus thought for some time. He left, returned with a memory-slab, and spent the next several minutes going through it with a sense of tunnel-visioned purpose. Krahe knew better than to disturb him. She’d seen network-dredgers kill for lesser disturbances when they were in the zone.
“Let’s see… Ah, here it is! Continuous-flow model WSU-5101-63-854, the “Dead Man’s Root!” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of them at first. But then, lungs are not my specialty. Looking at the documentation, the Dead Man’s Root is one of the few grafts with documentation going back all the way to Zavesh’s own prototypes. Says there’s a whole vault just for specimens of this specific lung graft going back to a handful of originals.”
“I would hope that the design has improved since six thousand years ago,” Krahe said.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Tradition is the preservation of fire, not the worship of ashes. It would be heresy to slavishly stick to an old design. I will bring them over right away,” Firminus replied.
He brought in the same type of wet-storage capsule as all the other organic lung grafts. Within the capsule floated two tangles of greyish, almost wooden-seeming flesh, with many delicate muscle bundles wispily trailing off of them in all directions. More than self-contained sacs in the manner of typical lungs, they resembled intestines or perhaps tree roots, their tubular structures spiraling and winding back on themselves. A faint, purplish glow radiated throughout their many creases. Though Krahe took care to compare their characteristics to those of her other options, she had already settled on her choice. Besides their continuous-flow feature, they also had toxin-filters and a self-cleaning feature specifically tailored to heavy smokers. Lastly, they had a degree of redundancy nearly unparalleled on the free market. All these factors combined to justify the name “Dead Man’s Root” — they could help one survive grievous wounds while appearing dead, at least without close inspection.
When the time came to go under the knife, it was, if anything, easier than the last. By this point, anesthetics worked on her once again. Within the span of just two short hours, her lungs had been replaced and flesh mended, the scar-riddled sacs that had kept her alive thus far now interred into a capsule like any other relic. Fidelia had insisted upon examining them before she would dispose of them.
The following two months were a blur of surgery, recovery, and exercise — both of the physical and spiritual kind. The amount of work she was having done necessitated such a lengthy recovery period to observe for any rejection signs — thus, indirectly creating plenty of time for her to become more properly acquainted with the Atomica. The facility turned out to be a subterranean complex owned wholly by High Grafter Fidelia, and understandably, she wasn’t told where exactly it was located.
The Dead Man’s Root and Heart Scarab alone sufficed to intoxicate her with the new endurance they afforded her, even if it paled in comparison to what she had been able to do in her old body. When it came to the scarab, its implantation was as quick as it was unsettling, in no small part due to the graft’s design. It was, true to its name, an insectile thing. Segments of dark, matte-grey metal protected the back of its central mass and its legs, which resembled abnormally long, clawed fingers. Its central mass was that of lively, red tissue, with its two chambers openly visible and a head of grabbing tendrils. Several rib sections had been simply removed for the implantation, flesh and veins pushed aside with no cuts made beyond those that split her skin. The Heart Scarab squeezed through a miniscule opening, and, with uncomfortable sensations of flesh shifting about, wrapped itself around her heart. Within twenty minutes, it was over, her ribs back in place and skin sealed up. Beyond the Scarab's main purpose, she now also had a layer of physical armor around her heart.
The key series of operations came after — all at once, everything that needed to be done to allow her full use of the Atomica.
This… This took time. Over five days of constant tuning and re-tuning, with Krahe intermittently burning thauma in various ways and attempting to skim or dive. At least a third of this time was taken up by her recovery from the backlash. Over and over again — tune, skim, backlash, recover. Tune, skim, backlash, recover. During this period, Firminus and Fidelia wasted no time, administering the flesh-transformation elixirs bit by bit, as this process wouldn’t interfere with the tuning. They, themselves, had their own struggle, as working with the Liminal Coil proved to be a hellish challenge for the two grafters — well, mainly for Firminus, who swore in multiple languages and would have doubtlessly piled up a mountain of cigarette butts if his cigarettes didn’t just disintegrate into the ether. The time-consuming nature of working with alarite was one thing, but the Liminal Coil had not been designed for this type of adjustment, meaning any changes had knock-on effects down the line. Gradually, painstakingly, they dialed it in.