Bazzalth looked up from his work the next day as Blake woke with a weak and weary groan. “I feel like utter trash... what the hell?” the crawler muttered.
“What can Blake-crawler remember?” Bazzalth asked, trying to hide his nervousness. He’d run numerous tests through the night and unfortunately come up with little, as usual. It had gotten to the point where Bazzalth had set into motion a second plan in the hopes of finding an alternate route to a solution.
“Finally calling me by my name?” Blake asked, surprised and pleased.
“Bazzalth spent time reconsidering and decided that Blake-crawler’s ability is worthy of slight recognition,” Bazzalth told him.
“Great, glad you finally joined the winning team,” the crawler replied. “But anyway, I remember... I was playing Tetris, and you said you needed another scan or whatever, and then you needed to give me something so this scan would get better data than the last one, and then...” He shot Bazzalth an angry look. “I don’t remember anything after the injection. Did you drug me?”
“While Blake-crawler’s body appears like other crawlers, body is actually entirely different on cellular level. Chemical Bazzalth injected presented unanticipated side effects in Blake-crawler’s unique physiology,” Bazzalth explained. Technically, he’d told no falsehoods.
Alarm played across the crawler’s face, and Bazzalth internally felt relief wash over him that Blake had been fooled. “What did it do to me?”
“Blake-crawler showed signs of mental impairment, then lost consciousness. Once Bazzalth decided that Blake-crawler was not permanently harmed, Bazzalth decided to leave Blake-crawler to recover.”
“Wait, so... are you flying blind here, medically? You have no idea what any of your test drugs will actually do to me?”
“Correct. Bazzalth does use cell samples to help judge safety, but unforeseen side effects still quite possible. Bazzalth neglected to test inspection drug, though unwanted effects would not have revealed themselves on cellular level.”
Blake sighed. “Great. Wonderful. Well, do you need me for anything now?”
“Bazzalth does not.”
“Aight, I’m going to play some more Tetris. I had a serious streak going last time before you interrupted me. Let me know if you need something.”
The cavern descended into an awkward silence for several moments as Blake returned to his Tetris and Bazzalth took a moment to tend to the growth of his new device.
“Three thousand twelve,” Bazzalth finally said.
“Huh?” Blake replied.
“Bazzalth is three thousand and twelve years old.”
Blake blinked. “That’s... that’s really old, dude.”
“Incorrect. Bazzalth is youngest person.”
“Be that as it may, three thousand years is still a crazy long time to be alive, dude. You must have seen quite a lot of things in your life.”
Bazzalth didn’t know what to say to that, so he just huffed a non-committal reply.
“Hey, have you ever heard of a dude named Othar?” Blake inquired.
Bazzalth snorted. “Bazzalth knows of no person known by such.”
“No, I mean, what about ‘crawlers’ named Othar? From a long, long time ago? Supposedly a really powerful guy.”
“Bazzalth has never heard of crawler known by ‘Othar’ either,” he told Blake.
“Damn...” Blake swore. “Thought I finally had a lead... what are you doing over there, anyway?”
“Bazzalth is checking growth of new machine to inspect Blake-crawler’s body.”
“Oh neat, I want to see!” The crawler’s chair sprouted insectile legs once more and carried him down to the floor, across the lair, and over to Bazzalth’s side. “I’ve been super curious about how you make your stuff.”
The frame of Bazzalth’s new device stood a little more than twice Blake’s full height and four times his height and length, a tall rectangular structure made of bone and held together by sinew, all growing within a solid gelatinous base.
“What’s this jello for?” Blake asked.
“Everything,” Bazzalth replied. “Base is created from Bazzalth’s blood using other device-” He pointed to a large chunky device on the other end of the his lair. “-and imprinted with desired hormones in desired pattern. Once seed is planted, machine grows through base, using base as nourishment. Hormones adjust type of flesh in what places. When finished, last of base is burned away, leaving completed design.”
“Hold up... you make a block of jelly and you kind of draw inside it what you want?”
“Correct.”
“And then what do you put in it?”
“Small piece of Bazzalth’s flesh.”
“Any part?”
“Correct.”
“So your whole body is like stem cells? They just grow into whatever you tell them to become with the hormones in the jelly?”
“Correct.”
“Jesus Christ, you built a biological three-dimensional printer. I know some enthusiasts who would die to see something like this. This is wild. Nothing like this would be possible on my world. Our biotech is way behind what you’re capable of, and we have thousands of people working on this stuff.”
Bazzalth just grunted acknowledgment again, but inside he felt rather pleased to hear this.
“One thing that I’m still confused about, though...” Blake continued. “Why go through all this trouble, when you could just make machines out of tucrenyx and cantacrenyx instead?”
Bazzalth scoffed at the ludicrous question. “Why Bazzalth waste time on non-functional machines?”
“What do you mean, non-functional?” The chair twirled in a slow rotation, then back. “Does this look non-functional to you?”
“Blake-crawler’s creations only work now because corruption almost gone,” Bazzalth explained, as if he were explaining something simple to Pari.
“Corruption? What corruption?”
Bazzalth blinked. Could crawlers not feel it like he could? The subtle tingle that ran through his whole body, so omnipresent throughout his whole life that he would not even notice it for centuries at a time?
“Corruption weak now,” Bazzalth continued. “No longer strong enough to impede energy flow.”
Blake stared ahead with a slight frown on his face, an expression that Bazzalth had learned meant Blake was thinking about something.
“Bazzalth,” he said after a long moment. “How long has it been since the machines started working?”
“Less than two years,” Bazzalth replied.
“When was the last time they worked?”
“Bazzalth cannot say. Ancient crawler machines have not worked for as long as Bazzalth has been alive.”
Blake grew quiet. “Huh,” he finally said. “I’m... I’m gonna go play some more Tetris.”
----------------------------------------
“Why are we doing this, again?” Blake griped. “I don’t see how this will help me live.”
“Increase in scope of study required to search for possible cures,” Bazzalth reminded him. “Also, Blake-crawler agreed to study of body. Bazzalth would lose much opportunity if Blake-crawler dies before Bazzalth can research properly.”
“Fine, whatever. Are you sure this is going to be safe?” the invalid crawler asked as his metal chain carefully lowered him into the reclining flesh seat within the middle of the new sensor device, now fully grown and cleaned off.
“Safety remains in question with anything concerning Blake-crawler’s body,” Bazzalth replied, “but Bazzalth believes sensor will pose little danger.”
“I hope you’re right,” came the reply. The muscles beneath the chair contracted, pulling the seat down flat until Blake was fully horizontal.
“Blake-crawler understands sign? Knows procedure?”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it,” he stated.
Bazzalth’s hoard thrummed with anticipation as he awakened the machine from its slumber by sending a blast of searing hot flame into the input tube. The fire warmed the flesh and blood within, allowing the flesh of the machine to better access the energy flowing through its channels. The conduits especially were going to need as much energy as they could get.
Within the center of the device was a small platform large enough to hold both Blake’s current seat and a melted down square of metal that had been Blake’s chair just moments ago. Several oval circles made of bone surrounded that platform, and they began to spin within the machine, rotating around Blake horizontally, vertically, and every way in between, moving faster and faster and faster until they formed a blur that glowed with the power of Bazzalth’s transcendent life force. From above, Bazzalth looked down upon the machine and the crawler within, peering through two thin but vital membranes at the being inside and hoping his suspicions were correct.
Since the beginning of this arrangement, one of Bazzalth’s biggest questions had been how Blake could do the things he did with metal. The mystery stoked the old embers of perhaps his greatest research failure, further enticing him to investigate.
The problem was, Blake had no real idea how he could do what he did. He knew how to harness his power but not the mechanism by which it functioned. That was not good enough for Bazzalth.
This machine was his single solution to both that problem and the problem of solving Blake’s health. If it worked—unfortunately, not even close to a sure thing—then he would get a glimpse into a world he’d never before seen and hopefully get another lead towards restoring Blake’s body at the same time.
After mining Blake’s understanding of his abilities as best he could, Bazzalth had made some small but crucial modifications to his design, adding a second membrane over the top of the machine while modifying the one already there. The two membranes sat atop each other, and each could be pulled into the machine like an eyelid with the simple squeeze of a polyp. One membrane now contained as much molecularized tucrenyx, as Blake called the metal, integrated into the structure as possible while still remaining transparent. The second membrane had a similar treatment, except with cantacrenyx, the cloudy crystals that powered all his devices. These two materials were the two that seemed to interact with Blake’s powers the most, and in them Bazzalth placed his hopes.
As the machine approached maximum power, fed by the life force within and spurred on by his primordial fire, Bazzalth flipped between the two membranes with great eagerness. At first, nothing, but then... a shimmer on the crystal membrane. Bazzalth focused the full force of his prodigious eyesight upon it and gasped.
He could see it! Barely, but he could see it! An exotic energy, something never before witnessed on this world, saturated Blake’s body from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. Perhaps it was simply a byproduct of the lens through which he viewed this hidden world, but the energy seemed to swirl about in countless little eddies like the tiny currents of a deep and placid lake.
Bazzalth could have looked at it forever, but his new machine could only run at this capacity for so long before needing time to recover. He checked his instruments, seeing what, in anything could be properly quantified. Disappointingly but not surprisingly, few of his best instruments showed any reaction at all. He did not yet know how to measure this new energy.
One instrument, however seemed to get a reading of some sort: his durbidian harmonic gauge. The gauge hovered ninety-three, around the readings of a normal crawler. Well... that told him little, or it told him a lot. He wasn’t quite sure yet. He would have to keep an eye on it.
Bazzalth held up two claws over the machine, the signal to Blake to begin to use his ability. The crawler’s gaze went to the metal block beside him and Bazzalth watched with rapt attention as the formless shimmer seemed to extend from Blake’s body and envelop the metal as well. The metal began to change form, the shimmer matching it.
Bazzalth chuffed with glee. The image he could see was murky, with poor definition, but such was to be expected from a prototype. What mattered was that he had uncovered the basic mechanism behind the crawler’s strange ability. A wonderful first step, one which he knew would not be the last.
The instrument suite once again showed little reaction at all, except the durbidian harmonic gauge, which was... not average anymore. Very unaverage, in fact. How intriguing...
On a whim, Bazzalth concentrated on his soulsight. The green glow of Blake’s soul shone brightly, its gleam nearly blinding. Bazzalth had seen this before; whenever Blake or the Revenant had used their abilities, the luminosity of their souls would spike. Though Bazzalth couldn’t see too well, it did vaguely appear to him as if the energy was flowing in and out of the soul, cycling through it for reasons unknown. He couldn’t make out anything more.
With the scanner soon to run out of energy, Bazzalth initiated the resting procedure and watched as the machine slowly wound down. Once it had entered a sleep state, he opened the top and removed Blake and the metal.
“You looked way too happy for this to have been a bust,” the crawler remarked. “What did you find?”
Bazzalth told him of his general observations and conclusions.
“So a nearly invisible energy is inside me, and I control it to use my power. Interesting...” he hummed. “Did the energy decrease or anything when I used it?”
“Scan machine lacks instrumentation to answer such question definitively and Bazzalth’s view lacked detail, but Bazzalth observed no reduction in energy.”
“So how does this compare to normal Observation or Feeling?” Blake inquired.
Bazzalth went quiet, his mood souring slightly.
“What is it?” Blake asked.
“Bazzalth cannot answer because Bazzalth does not know how crawler abilities work,” he begrudgingly admitted. “Bazzalth studied question for many years when young, but could find little. Bazzalth chose to wait and return to topic after accumulating more Knowledge and experience.”
“Eh, no shame in knowing when to put something down. There comes a time when beating your head against a wall is no longer worth it, and smart people recognize that,” Blake reassured him. Bazzalth felt a sizzle of relief that the fellow researcher agreed. “But so, you didn’t learn anything at all? Nothing whatsoever?”
“When fire Observation begins, noted spike in soulforce from soul. Soulforce buildup disappears... then, nothing. Fire appears. No energies detected, no trace of reactions. Bazzalth never found how fire manifests. Same with stone, water, and others. No mechanism found.”
“But mine is different?”
“Correct. Durbidian harmonic readings imply different mechanism than standard crawlers.”
“Hold up, durbidian what now?”
“Durbidian harmonic frequency is frequency of soulforce. Frequency of soul is within range of frequency of world. All crawler souls maintain frequency close to frequency of eighty-five. Person souls similar. Frequency outside range implies different origin of soul.”
“And mine was?”
“At start, ninety-three.”
“That’s pretty close to eighty-five, isn’t it?” Blake replied, seemingly dubious.
“Correct, is within range. However, once Blake-crawler used ability, frequency changed.”
“To what?”
“Unknown.”
“Huh?”
“Frequency too high for gauge to measure. Could not get reading.”
“How high does the gauge go?”
“Eight thousand three hundred fifty two,” Bazzalth stated.
“Wow... okay then...” Blake grunted.
“Bazzalth believes reading proof of Blake-crawler’s extra-dimensional origins.”
“Some higher-frequency plane?”
“Correct. When accessing ability, soul’s durbidian harmonic frequency returned to original frequency, possibly to access energy and ability.”
“Why doesn’t it always just stay like that, then?” Blake wondered.
“Unknown. Possible adaptation to local environment.”
“This whole soul thing is still so weird to me,” his counterpart sighed. “Actually, wait a minute! How do you know this whole thing about different frequencies meaning different dimensions? Wouldn’t you only have Scyrian souls to look at? Or have you seen something like this before?”
Bazzalth hesitated. “Bazzalth will not speak of kaersha,” he finally said. “Is forbidden.”
“Kaersha? What’s that?”
“Forbidden!” Bazzalth repeated for the stone-headed crawler.
“All right, all right, message received...” Blake reluctantly gave in. “So I guess the real question is, does any of this help make me right again?”
The crawler’s words dragged Bazzalth down from his high with a stinging blow of reality. How did this new knowledge help? At least directly, it didn’t, and Bazzalth had gotten so caught up in the joys of discovery that he’d lost track of this fact.
“Use of new Knowledge may become apparent in future,” Bazzalth surmised. Or, so he hoped.
“So, it didn’t do jack for me right now, then.”
“...correct.”
“Then what is left?”
Bazzalth pondered the conundrum with a dour mood. The latest experiments had provided nothing of immediate value towards Blake’s recovery. Bazzalth’s myriad tests continued to come to the same set of conclusions: either the drug proved ineffective, was not effective long enough to matter, or showed itself to be too powerful, destroying the infection but also the host. The middle ground was the most frustrating. Watching the microbes adapt and overcome each of the drugs every time, and within such a short time too, just made him feel powerless sometimes. To be beaten by a single-celled organism! Truly the most humiliating defeat one could possibly endure. But what else was he supposed to do, except keep trying? Nothing seemed to be able to consistently defeat this lifeform. Nothing except Blake’s own body, at least.
Bazzalth froze as a flash of realization coursed through him. Of course! What a fool he’d been! Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner?
“There is another way,” he declared.
“Really? What is it?”
“If Blake-crawler’s body is only force capable of defeating infection, then Bazzalth must bolster Blake-crawler’s body so that body can overcome infection entirely.”
“You can do that?” Blake asked, somewhat dubious. “How?”
“Would require large infusion of life energy,” he explained. “Dangerous. Would require proper transfer method to ensure success. But only option remaining.”
“What do you mean, ‘dangerous’?” Blake warily inquired.
“Bazzalth developed method to temporarily boost lifeforce of others eight decades past,” he told the crawler. Those experiments had been some of the first steps on the winding path that had eventually led to the creation of Pari. “Tested on variety of animals and found improper processing led to incompatibility of lifeforce. Incompatibility could lead to death, or worse.”
“Or worse?!”
“Those that did not die immediately manifested heavy mutations,” Bazzalth said, his mind going back to those days. The malformed extra limbs, the bizarre growths and tumors, the agony. Bazzalth was not one to empathize with his test subjects, but even he found himself regretting some of the outcomes. “Those that died were the more fortunate.”
Blake did not appear enthused by the information. “I think it’s best if we avoid that route, perhaps? Try something else?”
“Incorrect. Bazzalth sees no other options with acceptable chances for success within remaining time frame. Worry not, Bazzalth has perfected proper processing procedure. Bazzalth believes Bazzalth can have working solution within several days.”
“But my biology is different than normal,” Blake pointed out, still not convinced for some reason, even after Bazzalth’s fully confident assurances. If Bazzalth said he could make something that worked, shouldn’t that be enough? Bazzalth was the foremost authority on these matters, after all.
“Correct. Bazzalth must run extra tests during development.”
“Meaning...”
“Meaning Bazzalth needs more samples. Many more samples.”
Blake groaned.
----------------------------------------
Bazzalth watched the centrifuge spin with great satisfaction. The machine was one of his favorites, endlessly useful and, thanks to centuries of design improvements, elegant as well. Right now, it was busy separating the various elements of Bazzalth’s blood for further processing. For Blake’s body to be boosted by lifeforce, large quantities of external lifeforce would be needed. Only Bazzalth’s superlative lifeforce would serve as an acceptable source for something this important. Few sources could even provide enough lifeforce for what was needed, anyhow. It was basically just people and Pari.
His mind still boggled at the sheer unfathomable amount of lifeforce held within that tiny child. Blake had told him that just drops of her enriched blood were enough to burrow a large hole down into the very depths of the world, and he believed it. It was a shame that lifeforce was largely useless when it came to power, or she would have been perhaps the most powerful being alive. Instead, she’d remained a largely defenseless little half-crawler child until her death.
Now that she would be returning to life, would he be able to see her again, or would he have to wait for her second death? No, he needed proof of Blake’s claims, even though he did not doubt them. He would make sure that the crawlers presented Pari to him for inspection.
Soon enough, the centrifuge finished its task and Bazzalth moved on to the next step: processing certain elements of the blood to alter the lifeforce to a form that Blake’s body could absorb and use. This part was tricky. It took a good deal of time and all of his concentration. So, of course, Blake was asking stupid questions again.
“Who would win in a fight, a dragon or a leviathan?” the crawler wondered.
Bazzalth paused, wrapping his great intellect around the inanity of the question. “A person, obviously. Leviathans cannot breathe out of water.”
“Yeah, but what if the dragon fought in the ocean or on top of it?”
Bazzalth blinked. “Why would person ever do that? Stupid tactics.”
“It’s a hypothetical, Bazzalth. A scenario conceived to facilitate argument and debate.”
“Why would any person want to debate such ridiculous topics?”
“Because it’s fun?”
“Bazzalth doubts this.”
“Never mind. I’ll get you to understand the joys of dumb arguments someday, but not today, I guess. But speaking of which, I am curious... are leviathans related to dragons?”
Bazzalth set down his tools for a moment and turned to look Blake in the eyes. “Advice for crawler: do not ask question again. Others would crush crawler just for asking.”
“Oh, is that another one of those touchy subjects? What about leviathans as a whole? Can I ask about them, at least?”
“Bazzalth will allow it.”
“Are they intelligent?”
“Bazzalth has only ever observed animalistic behavior. Data suggests no, but sample size not large enough for definitive evaluation.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Blake conceded. “How big are they really? I’ve only ever seen one, and from a distance, and I think I only saw part of the head. I looked absolutely huge, though.”
“Leviathans vary in size but are indeed massive. Small leviathans often larger than Bazzalth.”
“Jesus. Glad they’re stuck in the ocean and I’m not. I just wonder how many of them there are. It seems like the oceans wouldn’t be able to support a lot of them, given how much they must eat.”
“Data hard to gather, given environment,” Bazzalth replied. “However, people only require one meal every twenty or more days. Possible that leviathans also-”
Bazzalth’s speech came to an abrupt halt as he caught the glow of a powerful soul entering the range of his soulsight. A jolt of fear ran along his spine as he recognized the familiar aura.
“Hide,” he hissed. “Blake-crawler must hide, immediately.”
“Huh? What’s going on?” Blake sputtered.
“Now! No time! Hide under bed furs!” he roared as he rushed to a small container near the lair entrance and pulled out a handful of large waxy tubes. Without hesitation, Bazzalth took a deep breath and blew flame across the whole bunch, lighting their tops. As they burned, a thick, pungent scent emerged from each, masking the smell of crawler to his nostrils.
Bazzalth hesitated to call these wax cylinders “candles”, but he had to admit they were at least in part patterned after Pari’s creations and informed by his experience with the child. After having to send her away, he’d decided to create these should a similar situation ever present itself. He had not expected to need them for several centuries, at least, so he felt glad he’d bothered to make them already instead of putting it off.
Still, these maskers would only help hide the smell of crawlers. They would not save him if she got suspicious anyway.
Blake, fortunately, had the good sense to listen to Bazzalth without his normal backtalk. His chair was already on its way towards the back of the lair, his cadre of smaller robots following close behind. The crawler was doing what he could, now it was up to Bazzalth to do the rest.
Bazzalth emerged into the late afternoon light just as his sister touched down, the ground shaking from the impact.
“Clear skies, Tavreth-sister,” he greeted her as calmly as he could.
“Calm skies, Bazzalth-brother,” the towering figure returned.
“What brings Tavreth-sister?”
His sister chuffed, annoyed. “Cannot Tavreth simply wish to see Tavreth’s only blood relation?”
“No,” Bazzalth replied, a sliver of desperate courage working its way into him. “Would go against thousands of years of experience with Tavreth-sister.”
The larger person did not take the truth well. “Tavreth has called for Congregation in ten days,” she snarled. “Bazzalth-brother will attend.”
“As Tavreth-sister wishes,” Bazzalth replied. If this was all she had come for, then perhaps everything would be alright after all.
“Bazzalth will present results of kaersha research at Congregation,” his massive relative added.
Bazzalth felt his blood run cold. He hadn’t touched that terrible stuff in over a year, despite her instructions to focus on it. He just found it so loathsome that he did everything he could to avoid it. To be honest, he had no idea how Tavreth didn’t feel the same. Did she not feel the sheer repulsion he felt? No, she did, she simply was strong enough to overcome it.
“As Tavreth-sister wishes,” he repeated, his mind whirling. How was he supposed to be ready in just ten days? And he had a more important commitment hiding inside right that very moment! He’d have to fit as much as he could in the few remaining days after Blake left. There was no way he could work on kaersha with a crawler around.
“Very well,” his massive kin stated. She turned away, her sky-shrouding wings unfurling, only to stop halfway.
“Dearest brother...” she growled, her deep voice sending tremors through him and the ground alike.
Bazzalth’s already-cold-running blood froze over as she held up a massive handful of rubble. Several small pieces of metal could be seen sticking out from the rocks. He’d gotten so distracted with Blake that cleaning up the wreckage of his robot had completely slipped his mind!
Tavreth picked out one of the pieces with a gargantuan claw and held it up to her equally gargantuan eye. “Dearest brother, Tavreth does not appreciate being lied to.” The sheer menace in her voice was enough to make Bazzalth’s legs shake.
Tavreth did not bother to ask what it was, and Bazzalth did not bother to tell her. He knew that she knew full well the nature of the pieces in her grasp.
“What Tavreth say about crawler machines?!” she roared, her thunderous voice almost a blow unto itself, shaking Bazzalth to his core. “Bazzalth-brother disregarded instructions to study pathetic machines instead!”
“Incorrect! Bazzalth would not dare!”
“Then why crawler machine outside lair?!”
“Bazzalth encountered broken machine during patrol near crawler mine. Did not dare leave device near crawlers, so took back and destroyed.” A lie, and not the best one, but the only decent one he could come up with in the moment. He just hoped that she would not catch it. What other options did he have at this moment? To admit the truth was to invite disaster!
A mammoth hand shot out and grabbed Bazzalth by the throat and pulled him closer. “Must Tavreth remind Bazzalth-brother?” she hissed furiously. “Tavreth knows when Bazzalth-brother lies!”
Of course she knew. Bazzalth should have known that would never fly with her. But...
An idea flash through his mind as her claws cut through his scales and into his skin. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage a bit?
“Then listen to Bazzalth,” he croaked out. “Bazzalth has not been studying crawler machines. Bazzalth understands Tavreth-sister forbids doing so.”
Both entirely true statements.
Tavreth glared at him for a moment. “Then, perhaps Tavreth should verify Bazzalth-brother’s claims,” she growled, releasing him and stepping forward.
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Bazzalth stood no chance of stopping her as she brushed him aside like one would a blade of grass. Before he could say a word, she was already half-inside the tunnel. Apparently, one did not have to invite disaster for it to arrive anyway.
“Lair stinks,” she remarked with a snort upon entering.
“Lair requires fumigation at intervals,” he replied. Once again, a true statement, just not one pertinent to the current situation.
Tavreth looked around his cavern with a critical eye, looking for anything amiss. Bazzalth knew that she had no idea of the functions of any of his equipment, so his only fear was some piece of Blake’s machines still lying around somewhere. To his immense relief, neither of them spotted anything of the sort.
Stepping deeper into the cave, Tavreth continued her search, working her way towards the back of the cave. Bazzalth fought with himself, trying to keep his rising nervousness from showing up on the outside as she grew closer and closer to the bed of furs in which Blake hid.
Almost as if she knew, Tavreth stopped over the large pile and sniffed deeply. Bazzalth’s breath caught in his throat.
“Bed reeks. Bazzalth-brother should have replaced bed furs years ago.”
“Bazzalth will replace furs soon.”
His sister took a quick breath, and before Bazzalth could even react, she spewed out a blast of flame so hot that it caused even Bazzalth to flinch from the heat.
“No!” Bazzalth could only watch in horror the pile of furs and everything within them turned to ash within a moment.
“Bazzalth-brother will replace furs now,” she stated with satisfaction.
An incredible source of unique Knowledge. An enrapturing object of study, full of priceless mysteries. Somebody who understood. The only one who understood. Gone. All gone.
Bazzalth had no words. No thoughts. The magnitude of his sudden immeasurable loss pushed anything else from his mind, leaving him numb as his sister by blood but not by mind walked up to him all self-satisfied, continuing past and out of the lair.
Bazzalth followed.
“Tavreth only desires best for Tavreth’s dearest brother,” she smugly said once outside.
“Tavreth-sister desires Bazzalth be Tavreth-sister’s minion, nothing more,” he bitterly spat from behind her, the sort of thing he’d always thought but never had the courage to say. Perhaps he was just too filled with mourning to care anymore. “Tavreth-sister has only ever cared for Bazzalth as means to more Power.”
Surprisingly, for once she did not strike him or worse. Instead, she only looked back at him with contempt. “Tavreth does much for Bazzalth-brother. Is not Tavreth’s fault if Bazzalth-brother cannot see. Perhaps if Bazzalth-brother were not embarrassment to lineage, Bazzalth-brother would be able to challenge Tavreth, but Tavreth and Bazzalth-brother both know day will never come. Ten days, dearest brother. Ten days,” she said again as her wings unfurled. With a mighty leap, she catapulted into the sky and within a moment she was gone.
Bazzalth did not move until Tavreth’s soul left his soulsight. Only then did he dare reenter his abode, his heart heavy and a boulder within his gullet. Immediately, he went to the charred remains of his bed.
Nothing remained but black char atop melted rock.
Gone. Lost forever.
Unable to contain his sorrow, Bazzalth let out a roar that seemed to shake the heavens themselves. His fists slammed into the nearby wall—once, twice, three times—leaving behind a series of cracks and shattered stone. A second cry erupted from his maw, threatening to shake the stalactites from the ceiling.
Damn his sister! She’d known what she was doing! She had known he’d been hiding something in the bed from the moment she’d walked in. This was all about teaching him a lesson, he knew. Keeping him under her claw. But what could he do about it? He was too weak, and he would always be too weak!
A sound crossed Bazzalth’s ears, giving him pause: a soft knocking coming from somewhere nearby. He went quiet for a moment, and a breath later, it came again.
Taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap.
Bazzalth’s hearing led him away from his former bed and over to a nearby storage container. He bent over to listen.
Taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap.
Something was in his storage container. Something alive.
Bazzalth unlocked the container and practically ripped it open, only barely managing to preserve the integrity of the chest in his haste. He looked in, and, squeezed between two rows of vials and looking back up at him, sat one slightly-frazzled looking crawler.
“Phew! Thanks, Bazz, it was getting mighty sweaty in there,” the crawler said as his chair lifted him out.
“What Blake-crawler doing in supply container?!” he asked, flabbergasted.
“Well, I figured hiding in the bed was a terrible idea,” Blake told him. “That never ends well in the movies, you know. So I asked myself, since you lighting those smelly-ass candles meant that my scent would be a problem, where would there be the least airflow so I would be the hardest to find by smell? I figured one of these was the best bet. You store shit in here for a long time, right? Years and years? So that meant it had to be airtight.”
“But container has lock,” Bazzalth pointed out.
“You’d be surprised how little locks matter when you can just pour liquid metal into them and work them from inside,” Blake chuckled. “Just didn’t expect the seal to be so strong from the inside. So, is everything alright?”
“Yes,” Bazzalth half-lied. He still had the kaersha problem, but that was a problem for another day.
“You sure? You seemed to be roaring really loud just now.”
“All is within acceptable parameters.”
“...you thought I’d died, didn’t you?” Blake accused him with a mischievous smirk on his face.
Bazzalth tensed involuntarily. “Of course not,” he lied.
“Ah ha, you did, didn’t you? You thought I was dead and it made you upset!”
“Bazzalth suffered momentary loss of composure, nothing more,” he huffed, turning away from the insolent creature.
“Awwwww... buuuuuddddyyyyyyy, that’s so sweet! Gimme a hug! Come on!”
“Silence.”
Bazzalth weathered the indignity as the insufferable crawler mocked his weakness by creating a pair of metal arms from his chair and wrapping them around Bazzalth’s nearest claw. Perhaps it would have been better if the impertinent creature had perished after all.
----------------------------------------
The serum manufacturing process continued through the next day. Bazzalth concentrated on each important step, while Blake sat nearby and told him how he could make everything so much better if Bazzalth just did it Blake’s way. Because the crawler knew how to do the work so much better than Bazzalth did, apparently.
“I’m telling you, dude, computers are the way to go. Computer science revolutionized my world, and it can take you just as far. You could probably even make organic computers. Your different devices around here all have some sort of minor proto-brain, right? Take that a step or two further. Make living computers and automate all these menial steps so you can be free to focus.”
“Bazzalth has limit to what can be grown,” he told the over-enthusiastic crawler. “Risk of device sentience increases with complexity of device nervous system. Sentient devices break.”
“Uh... what? That’s a thing that can happen?”
“Correct,” Bazzalth. “Bazzalth created many... mistakes when first researching. Machines experienced pain and other suboptimal sensations.”
“Then go with inorganic,” Blake pivoted, not missing a beat. "Transistors. Microchips. You would be able to offload a bunch of work, though you’d need to create a generator first and a whole power system and... yeah, there’d be a lot of setup. Still worth it, though.”
“Worth how?” Bazzalth asked, unconvinced. He had a working system already, why spend precious time creating a whole other system that was not guaranteed to be superior? And it would resemble crawler machines enough to risk angering his sister. “Bazzalth does not require external computation like crawlers. Bazzalth can compute everything Bazzalth needs with mind.”
“Well, it’s not like we just use computers for number crunching, you know! There’s the internet, for example. Connect a bunch of computers together around the world and you can do all sorts of things. Like, talk to other people from across the world with ease.”
“Crawlers can already talk across world without computers,” Bazzalth pointed out.
“That’s not the same at all!” Blake objected. “Can they order three pounds of sour apple licorice and a pair of size fourteen sandals and have them show up at their house two days later? No!”
“Bazzalth always comprehends meaning in Blake-crawlers words, yet so often understands nothing.”
“It’s called ‘online shopping’. You can connect your computer to another one somewhere across the country and tell it ‘I want a sixteen-ounce jug of cat treats, a water bottle, and two USB cables’ and then they get sent to you. It’s great! You don’t even have to leave the house!”
Bazzalth’s attention latched onto the last sentence and he reevaluated the utility of inorganic computational machines. The vision of a future time, where he could just have all his experimental materials brought to him and he never left his lair, floated through his mind like the wild delusions of a fever dream. Could such a wondrous world even be possible? It seemed too good to ever be true.
A more immediate reality called to his attention as a nearby machine—organic and versatile and very much fine without inorganic computational processors, thank you very much—let out a hiss of steam. The first test serum was finally complete.
“Bazzalth requires samples,” he told the crawler. “True tissue samples.”
Blake swallowed. “Not blood?”
“Not blood.”
“Can you make them small, at least?”
“Worry not, Blake-crawler. Bazzalth will take samples from legs, so Blake-crawler will not feel it.”
“That doesn’t reassure me, dude,” Blake replied, but the crawler’s skittishness mattered little. There was not much he could do to stop Bazzalth, anyhow.
Soon enough, Bazzalth had his samples, six slices of skin and muscle, each about the size of the crawler’s smallest toe. Blake had stopped complaining once the coagulant had set in and stopped the bleeding in the leg. Bazzalth didn’t even know what the little creature was whining about. A superficial wound that small was nothing. Bazzalth doubted he would have even noticed it was there.
Taking the first sample, he set it on a small platter and set it on the examination table where both he and Blake could see it. After loading the smallest syringe arm with some of the test serum, setting up the proper sensors and gauges, and calibrating the instruments, he turned to Blake. “Observe,” he commanded as he manipulated a syringe arm to release a drop of the serum upon the sample. The drop, about a tenth the size of the sample, landed and flowed around flesh, coating it from every side.
The effect was immediate.
The tiny sample swelled, growing at a tremendous pace. Long, dark, curly hair seemed to burst from the skin, growing in thick, tangled chunks so thick that it could be mistaken for fur. The skin beneath it grew a sickly yellow, its texture rough and covered in bumps and lumpy growths. The entire mass had more than tripled in size, the muscle beneath it all the biggest source of the expansion. Bazzalth could see the muscle fibers struggling against each other as they grew every which way instead of all in one coordinated direction. The most striking feature, however, was the new blood vessel sticking out of the lump of flesh. Almost twice as large as the biggest blood vessels in Blake’s body, its open end gaped at them, begging for blood. There had been no blood vessel large enough to note before the serum had been administered.
“What the flying fuck did I just watch?” the crawler groaned. “Thank god I’m too weak to vomit right now.”
“Serum is not properly synced with Blake-crawler’s lifeforce. Failure to synchronize resulted in catastrophic growth.”
“That’s a tumor. You’re going to give me cancer.”
“Incorrect. Proper serum will bring different result.” Picking up the mutated sample, Bazzalth moved it to the area with the magnifier and, with the care and precision of somebody who’d done it a million times before, sliced off several thin pieces for inspection.
“Hmmmm,” he rumbled after a moment. “Serum is success.”
“You call that success?!” an appalled Blake wheezed.
“Correct,” Bazzalth replied, checking more slices and finding the same result in each one. “Sample fully eradicated infection. Next step is adjustment to mitigate side-effects.”
Blake let out a weary, uneasy moan, his gaze never leaving the mutated sample. “I don’t know about this anymore, dude.”
“Nonsense,” Bazzalth snorted. “Quest for knowledge continues.”
----------------------------------------
“Well, it looks better than the last one, at least,” Blake hummed the next day as they inspected the new test with the second, updated serum.
The results of the new batch looked much like the last, only with the severity of the mutation cut by half.
“Indeed,” Bazzalth agreed. “Progress is acceptable. Final version will likely be ready by end of tomorrow.”
“So that’s... how long from now is that? I don’t even know what time it is right now since I disassembled my suit. How do you even tell time in here with no natural light or anything? I don’t see a single thing that looks like a clock.”
“Bazzalth counts,” Bazzalth told him, earning him what he thought to be a disbelieving stare. His ability to read crawler expressions was improving swiftly with all the recent experience, but he still wasn’t always sure.
“You count,” Blake replied, his tone confirming Bazzalth’s initial expression evaluation. “Like, just constantly count in the back of your head for hours without stopping.”
“Not hours, millennia,” Bazzalth replied, somewhat confused about what part of this simple statement was so hard to understand. “Do crawlers not count time? Is simple.”
“We have something that does it for us, like any rational being! Who would want to manually keep track of time that way?”
“Relying on outside source for internal knowledge is folly.”
“What, do you not have any books or anything? Do you not write stuff down?”
“No.”
“That’s crazy. What if you forget?”
Bazzalth let out a loud snort. “Impossible. Bazzalth does not forget contents of hoard.”
“Didn’t you forget to patrol just a few days ago?”
“Different,” Bazzalth huffed. “Did not forget, merely slipped from mind in excitement.”
“Okay, whatever you say, bud.”
----------------------------------------
“Did it work? That looks... normal. The good kind of normal.”
Bazzalth inspected the latest test sample with a critical eye. Indeed, the result appeared as hoped. Healthy skin and muscle, as if he’d cut it from a physically well crawler and not his diseased companion here.
“Will this work on all parts of my body? Like, my nerves and whatnot?”
“Serum should affect all cell types equally,” Bazzalth replied, slicing the sample thin for inspection.
“So, like, I could walk again? Maybe get my arm back too?”
“Both likely,” he told the crawler as he put the sample beneath the magnifier and observed the magnified image with great satisfaction. “No trace of infection. No side-effects.”
“Well, hot damn! So we’re ready to go?”
“Incorrect. More testing needed to confirm.”
“Really? You still have doubts?”
“Incorrect,” Bazzalth replied again. “Bazzalth simply must make sure all aspects are optimal before administration. Only single dose will be possible, so must make sure that all variables within acceptable ranges.”
“What do you mean, only a single dose is possible?” Blake inquired.
Bazzalth grunted and brought the arm containing the test serum back over the sample. “Observe.”
A single drop fell upon the tissue, and the effect was immediate.
“Holy shit!” Blake hissed as the sample turned black and began to smoke. Within a moment, nothing remained upon the dish but a tiny pile of what looked like ash.
“Second dose always causes cellular destruction and molecular decomposition.”
“Alright, in that case, maybe test things a few more times,” Blake allowed.
The following tests went as hoped, continuing to display full cellular regeneration and complete eradication of the infection. Finally, Bazzalth felt fully ready to begin the end of this entire ordeal. “Serum complete,” he pronounced. “Time for treatment.”
“Hold on,” Blake said. “Before we get started, I have to take care of something.”
The crawler retreated to the far corner of the lair, a single one of his small helper robots following behind the chair. Once far from Bazzalth, the robot scampered atop Blake’s lap. Blake stared at it silently for a good long while. Then, apparently done, the robot scarpered from the lair, rushing into the tunnel and disappearing.
“Don’t worry, just leaving a will and instructions,” Blake told him. “You know, in case something happens.”
“Nothing will happen,” Bazzalth growled, rather offended that Blake would even think that his treatment might go wrong. Bazzalth was the greatest master of organic science, after all; even Blake himself had said so.
“I know. Still, can’t hurt, right? It will just go hide a few mountains away. If something does happen somehow, it will let the others know.”
Bazzalth moved Blake to another side of the table, where he’d prepared a large array of injection arms, while Blake abandoned his chair and any other metal, lying naked on his back.
“Ready,” the crawler stated.
Slowly, Bazzalth lowered the various arms, inserting each needle into a different part of Blake’s body until the crawler looked like a pincushion. He’d expected some sort of griping, but to Blake’s credit, he stayed silent, though Bazzalth did note that Blake’s eyes were firmly shut.
Once all the needles were in place, Bazzalth began the injection of the serum. All the points of the body needed to be injected at the same time, which was why he’d needed to use so many and all at once. Quickly, the syringes emptied and the serum was fully within Blake’s body, merging with his blood and spreading to every corner. Bazzalth hurriedly removed all the needles.
The effect was... not immediate.
“Is something happening?” Blake wondered several moments later. “I don’t feel any different.”
“Patience,” Bazzalth replied, though that was mostly to hide his own rising panic.
Nothing was happening. No regeneration, no growth, nothing. Now twenty heartbeats after injection, there should have been massive signs of improvement, at least.
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Bazzalth did not understand. All the tests had proceeded as desired. They’d seen the results just that day many times! Had he somehow overlooked some critical factor? He needed to look again.
Manipulating his blade arms, he took a thin layer of white skin webbed with black from the crawler’s diseased foot and moved it to the magnifier for study. Looking at the cells through his equipment, he found... healthy cells without a single invasive microbe to be seen. Bazzalth blinked and checked again. Finding the same thing, he looked down at the sample itself. Healthy, pink skin sat on the observation plate, without a single blemish anywhere to be seen.
Baffled, Bazzalth hurriedly took a second sample from right beside the last one, except this time, he did not move it from Blake’s proximity immediately. Instead, he stared at the sample and waited for it to manifest the same changes as the last one. Nothing happened.
Confused, he began to carry the sample to the magnifier when he noticed the change begin. White became pink, while the black web receded until it soon disappeared entirely. Before he even made it to his magnifier, the sample had taken on a similar appearance to the first. Bazzalth remained baffled. It was like the flesh had been waiting for him to take it away from Blake before-
He froze as realization crashed into him. Of course! How could he have been so stupid? All of his tests had been on Blake’s tissue, but the samples had been outside of the influence of Blake’s body’s exotic energy! That was the only difference! The energy had to be somehow interfering with the transmission of lifeforce, keeping it locked within the serum! Only when removed from the whole and free of the energy field could the lifeforce spread to the flesh! That had to be it! How foolish he had been to not realize such a critical complication beforehand?!
But how to get around it? He highly doubted the energy could be removed. It was likely as much a part of Blake as the crawler’s love for random tangents and inane questions. Nor did Bazzalth know how it could be circumvented. But... perhaps it could be overcome. What he needed was an external energy to counterbalance the interference. If the combined energy became strong enough to overwhelm Blake’s exotic energy, it would theoretically allow the lifeforce to break through. But Blake’s exotic energy was mighty. A vast amount of energy would be needed to be strong enough to counterbalance it. Where would he be able to find enough energy for the task?
A chemical energy might do the trick, but he only had a handful of options on hand, and all of them were likely to do far more harm than good. Nor did he have a simple way to convert his own prodigious power into a compatible form. He did have a small electrical generator stored away that he’d created for use with chemistry research, but that nothing that could create the level of power he needed right this moment. If only he hadn’t recycled his old, more powerful generator nine centuries ago!
But that had always been the way he’d worked, hadn’t it? He prepared for his experiments ahead of time, designing and growing whatever equipment he needed beforehand while recycling the old, unneeded items. There was a limit, after all, to what he could fit into his lair, and what was the day or two needed to grow a desired object to the likes of him? His system had always served him well. Until now.
For the first time in a long time, it seemed that his methods had come back to bite him in the tail. Exposed to Blake’s body, the compound would not be stable for too long—half a day, at the very most. He could not afford the wait required to grow a generator strong enough for his needs. But what else could he do?
Fortunately, Bazzalth had an idea: if he didn’t have the time to create the energy in his lair, then he would have to go outside and “harvest” it. Unfortunately, the only two options he could think of to accomplish this were highly unpleasant, to say the least. The things he did for Knowledge...
Retreating to a storage shelf on the far side of the cave, he pulled down a device he’d created long ago, back when he’d been but a whelp first studying the basic nature of matter. The object had a fairly simple construction, with a smooth, rectangular body made from bone and a metal rod sticking out on each end. Taking it in hand, he left the lair—ignoring Blake’s confused protests—and took to the sky heading north.
The air was still that night as he flew between the peaks, a rare occurrence that let him increase his speed even more than normal as he swerved between the moonlit heights. Forty seven peaks later, Bazzalth descended towards what had once been a normal mountain but now was missing the upper two-thirds of its mass. This artificial plateau was covered by various geometric patterns surrounded by precisely manicured hedges, from checkerboard to hexagonal to other more abstract designs. Some of the spaces were empty, save the patterns, while others contained all manner of sculpted stone formations. Given that he didn’t see the owner of these gardens within them, he landed to the east side of the former mountain and approached a tunnel that led down into what remained of the once-mighty peak.
“Daravith,” he called into the entrance.
“Enter,” came an enticing rumble a moment later.
Bazzalth took a moment to settle his nerves before he did as instructed. He had no trouble fitting inside; this tunnel had been created by somebody larger than he, though that could be said about every other person. The tunnel declined as he went, going ever deeper into the base beneath the mountain. A newcomer would likely wonder if such a design would prove a mistake, as all the nearby rain would flow down into the tunnel, flooding the lair below. Anybody who had been inside before, however, would know that this was not a flaw but a feature. In fact, the ground around the tunnel entrance had been purposely sloped towards the entrance to collect as much water as possible.
Bazzalth’s ears picked up the sound of splashing echoing along the tunnel, telling him he was nearly there. Sure enough, just twenty breaths later, he emerged into a large cavern similar to his own but much larger. Unlike his lair, a full half of the cavern was filled with water, creating a large pool that surrounded a central island. Just a single path led from Bazzalth’s location to the land in the center.
Within that pool, not too far from the entrance, lounged Daravith. Lying on her back, she kicked her front feet out playfully, sending a small surge of water flying towards Bazzalth before rolling over and standing up. With an amused rumble, she climbed from the pool to saunter over to him.
Bazzalth didn’t even manage to react to the water flying his way; he barely even registered as it cascaded over him. His gaze and his mind were too preoccupied watching the water wash down Daravith’s pristine, alluring horns, her large, powerful chest, her deadly sharp claws. Tiny droplets clung to the scales on her firm, strong muscles and lithe but powerful tail, glimmering like gemstones in the ambient glow of the moss on the walls and ceiling.
She was so, so beautiful... and she knew it, which only made her use it mercilessly against him for her own amusement. Bazzalth hated interacting with every person living in these mountains, but Daravith was easily one of his least favorites. He hated the way his body would grow hotter, his heartbeat increasing and his thoughts growing cloudier. He didn’t know what to do with this rush of feelings and he resented the loss of control. His thoughts were the only thing he still had full control over when around another person, but she had to somehow twist even them. Yes, he loathed being around Daravith, but he had little choice this day, as Daravith was also the only person who could breathe lightning.
Daravith came to a halt less than a tail’s length from Bazzalth, towering over him with her much larger stature. Easily more than one and a half times his height, she represented the more usual size of a person, compared to Bazzalth’s diminutive presence.
“To think Little Bazzalth would seek out Daravith all on Bazzalth’s own,” she purred, looking down upon him like a red-throated tree drake eyeing unsuspecting prey on the ground below. “Daravith has been thinking Daravith needs to have Bazzalth make Daravith more toys. Daravith has been ever so bored.”
Bazzalth had wondered why she had not appeared at his lair in the last several hundred years. Before then, she had “visited” him frequently, sometimes even more than three times a decade, to force him to make toys, games, and other items of amusement whenever she got too bored. The problem was, as a person who hoarded Recreation, Daravith was always bored—extremely so. She dedicated her life to all manner of games, competitions, novelties, relaxation activities, and anything else that might help while away the days, but every person knew that one’s hoard could never be satiated, only quieted for a time.
“Little Bazzalth has brought a gift for Daravith?” she purred, glancing at the device Bazzalth held in his claws.
Bazzalth gulped, trying to ignore the smell of her scent as it wafted into his nostrils. “Bazzalth comes with request.” He held up the device. “Daravith fills lightning containment unit with Daravith’s lightning breath.”
She chuckled. “Amuse Daravith for three seasons and then Daravith will consider request.”
Bazzalth grunted his refusal. “Lightning must happen now. Bazzalth will return later if necessary.”
Daravith’s tail whipped out towards his head faster than he could react and struck him hard enough to send him stumbling and nearly knocking him into the pool.
“Look at Little Bazzalth, unable to withstand even gentle touch. So weak and pathetic!” she laughed. “Far too weak to demand conditions.”
She was upon him before he could ready himself, her larger, stronger body easily overpowering his and pinning him onto his back. Bazzalth’s heart beat even harder and faster as she leaned in close, her humid, musky breath almost caressing his face. His body blazed ever hotter, especially in certain parts where he wasn’t accustomed to feeling such heat.
“Someday, Daravith will take Little Bazzalth and Little Bazzalth will become only Daravith’s toy. Little Bazzalth will create endless amusements for Daravith and fill Daravith’s hoard until Nartrill catches Treuvax.” She slowly ran a razor-sharp claw along his neck as she effortlessly held him in place. The touch sent a chill shiver running down to the tip of his tail. “Were Little Bazzalth not part of Tavreth’s faction, Daravith would have done so already. Tavreth will not protect Little Bazzalth forever. Daravith is looking forward to that time. Daravith will be ready.”
“Lightning required to complete task for Tavreth,” Bazzalth gasped, hoping to use his sister’s name and the fear that came with it in a last-ditch effort to get what he needed. Tavreth would not appreciate it, but he would deal with that later. “Daravith desires Tavreth’s rage.”
The other person snorted contemptuously. “Daravith will not bow so readily. Even without Gretiem, Daravith’s faction strong. Tell Tavreth to come instead if Tavreth desires lightning so greatly.”
Before Bazzalth knew what was happening, Daravith had picked him up and he found himself hurtling up the tunnel and into the tunnel wall. Stunned, he pushed himself to his feet as Daravith turned her back on him and lazily glided into the nearby water.
“Go now,” he heard her say, “and next time, Little Bazzalth must remember Little Bazzalth’s station.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
Moments later, Bazzalth emerged onto the surface and took flight once more, heading west towards the nearby ocean. His course quickly took him over the Sea of Lamentation as he fervently tried to clear his head and pull together his scattered, discombobulated thoughts.
There’d been some sort of need inside him, one vastly different than that of his hoard which he was used to. Though he’d felt it several times before, he still didn’t understand this need or why it sometimes appeared from nowhere when confronting certain other people. He hadn’t been ready for the power it had held today, however. It had been so strong that a part of him had wanted to say yes right then and there.
His resolve had held, of course. After all, if he were to do nothing but create new amusements for Daravith for the rest of his life, what would happen to his research? Who else would plumb the secrets of reality? But he knew, deep down inside, that his days of joyous research were running out. He lacked the power to oppose Daravith, whenever she eventually decided to come for him. She would force him into the role she desired, whether he wanted it or not.
Perhaps the worst part was that, as far as strength went, she was around average. He found himself grateful that only Daravith seemed to be considering this. If others also desired to bind him to a life of servitude, he didn’t know what he would do.
The thought made him appreciate Tavreth’s presence in his life—a rare feat. But he knew deep down that she protected him not because of their shared lineage but for her own, more selfish reasons. She needed him, and that was that.
As moons grew closer to the horizon, Bazzalth finally spied the outer cloud layer of his second option: Chalacc’s Fury. Nobody could remember when the massive monsoon had first appeared; it had always been there, like the sun or the moons. Lazily meandering near the center of the Sea of Lamentation with the occasional detours to glance off the surrounding landmasses, it reminded Bazzalth of the great eternal gas planet storms he’d spotted through his telescope when he first decided to study the celestial bodies as a young whelp. Though its strength could not be compared to said storms—if his calculations were correct, those behemoths could swallow all three moons with ease—Chalacc’s Fury was no laughing matter. Its harsh winds and roiling lightning, especially near the center, were more than powerful enough to dissuade even the mightiest person from approaching without a good reason.
Tonight, Bazzalth had a very good reason. He’d hoped, foolishly, that Daravith would be accommodating enough to assist him in his moment of need, and had decided to try her first because she was closer. Now that... that had happened instead, Chalacc’s Fury was the only readily available source of the powerful lightning he required.
Strong crosswinds buffeted Bazzalth as he pushed through the outer edges of the storm. He clutched at his lightning containment unit, worried that it would slip out from a sudden unexpected gust. The solid device’s weight pulled his front down, making the journey even more taxing, but he persevered for the sake of Knowledge.
The howling gale battered him now, nearly picking him up and sending him spiraling towards the brine below. Sheets of rain as thick as his wings were wide pelted him endlessly, impeding his vision. Even his potent muscles were beginning to protest under the constant strain, but he pressed on. Only a little further and he would be close enough to the heart of the storm.
Then, through the rain and the wind and the mist, he sighted his destination: a wall of cloud so dense that it could be mistaken for solid stone were it not roiling so violently. Thick cords of lightning arced across its surface, with bright pulses beneath telling of many more within.
Holding the lighting containment unit out before him, Bazzalth hurtled into the vortex and waited for the inevitable. He didn’t need to wait long. Just moments later, he felt the tremendous buildup of power all around him as the air itself seemed to crackle and thrum. The storm answered his request with great enthusiasm. Blinding bolts bombarded him and his device, knocking him momentarily senseless. Debilitating pain followed as the lightning coursed through his body, but he fought through it, banking and flaring his wings to their maximum span. The storm obliged, hurling him out with a violent force.
Bazzalth tumbled through the air for several heartbeats as he regained full control over his body. Soon enough, his tumble turned into a glide and he turned towards home, the storm’s winds working in his favor now.
Once, long ago when Bazzalth had been but a half his current size, he’d first decided to uncover the secrets of Chalacc’s Fury. It had only taken several moments for him to realize just how over-matched he’d been then, and so he’d declared that he would return when he could overcome the storm’s might. He’d returned several times since, each attempt ending the same as the last.
Now, though more than twice the size and many times the strength of the younger Bazzalth, he still was no match for the monsoon’s boundless rage. He’d lasted only moments within the inner storm and, had he stayed too much longer, would have suffered injury and possibly even death. His people liked to think themselves to be peerless beings, unrivaled in power; Bazzalth himself was no exception. But he found it wise to remember that they were not invincible. Chalacc’s Fury stood forever as the ultimate reminder.
The remaining trip back went quickly and uneventfully. Two of the three moons still hung in the sky when he alighted in front of his lair. Proceeding through the tunnel, he entered the cavern to find Blake lying just where Bazzalth had left him, except surrounded by several small machines less than a third Blake’s size. They each resembled the same basic structure as the larger robots Bazzalth was used to seeing from Blake, except instead of an arsenal of weapons, they each only had one thin, dexterous arm with a small claw at the end. With each claw Bazzalth noticed small bits of what looked like crawler food.
With great care, one of the robots lowered the claw and deposited the food in Blake’s mouth. His mouth worked slowly and weakly, the simple act enough to strain him. He swallowed, another seemingly exhausting process.
“Glad I decided to bring my own food, just in case,” the crawler said as the robots scattered upon Bazzalth’s entrance. “If I’m going to die, I’d prefer something quicker than starvation, thank you very much. What the hell did you rush off for, anyway? You didn’t even seem to hear me when I was calling for you.”
“Bazzalth needed to harvest for procedure.”
“Procedure? I thought the procedure failed.”
“Correct. Healing compound did not activate. Too much energy resisting reactions. Bazzalth has developed theory to counteract energy.” He set the lightning containment unit onto the examination table not far from the crawler.
“Well, shit. And to think I’d given up. This is why I came to you. I knew you could do this,” Blake told him with a warm smile. He glanced at the unit. “So is that part of this... theory or whatever?”
“Indeed,” Bazzalth answered as he turned away to look for the rest of the necessary equipment.
“What is it?”
Bazzalth reached into a storage container, moved several other old devices aside, and pulled out two long metal cables, each with one end terminating in a solid sphere. “Lightning containment unit.”
“Lightning containment? You mean a battery?”
Battery? Bazzalth examined the unfamiliar word, as well as the intent that came with it, and found it most agreeable. It summarized the lightning containment unit well while being more efficient. He would use it. “Correct.”
“Are you sure that this procedure or whatever is going to be safe?”
“Blake-crawler’s condition too severe now. Safe procedures will produce unsatisfactory results,” Bazzalth informed the crawler as he pulled out a lightning-proof mat from the bottom of the same storage compartment, as well as manacles made from the same material. Both of them were leftover from certain experiments he’d done on crawlers several centuries ago. “If unsafe procedure fails, Blake-crawler will die regardless.” The sound of a soft sigh behind him suggested that perhaps this logic was not enough for Blake, so he decided to reassure the crawler. “Bazzalth sure either result will provide fascinating data.”
“But it should work, right?” Bazzalth noted how Blake’s wheeze increased in pitch and seemed to sound a bit... tighter, perhaps? His still limited experience suggested that the crawler was becoming worried. Strange that his assurances had not worked.
“Bazzalth estimates success odds at approximately sixty four percent,” he informed his guest as he picked him up and placed the mat beneath him before setting it down.
“That’s all?!” His subject was clearly growing more agitated as time went on. It would be best to begin the final procedure as soon as possible. Bazzalth connected the first cable to the battery and placed the spherical end to Blake’s right. “What are you even going to do? That battery is to power a machine or something, right? Right?”
“Energy within must be counterbalanced by energy without,” Bazzalth explained as he fastened the manacles first to the table and then to Blake’s arms and legs.
“Let’s hold off for a bit and talk this over.”
“Cannot wait, serum will break down soon.”
“No, no, wait, let’s step back and think this-”
“Prepare for pain,” Bazzalth advised. Placing the second cable’s end to the crawler’s left, he completed the connection.
Blake spasmed against the restraints as the lightning arced through him, his face contorted into a mockery of it normal self. As Bazzalth watched, he couldn’t help but note how unprepared for pain the crawler appeared despite his clear warning on the matter. At least the lightning coursing through Blake’s chest kept him from screaming. The screams of crawlers annoyed Bazzalth, one of the many reasons he preferred his test subjects to be already dead.
The putrid scent of burning fecal matter informed Bazzalth that Blake had voided his bowels. With a loud gag, he spat up the contents of his stomach as well. Bazzalth noted the low volume of vomit with encouragement. Nourishment was important when it came to healing.
All around the lair, the sound crashing metal echoed. Bazzalth glanced away from his subject for a moment to assess the noises. What he found were Blake’s robotic creations scattered around the cavern, each spasming as violently as their creator. Slowly their forms degraded, the metal melting away until all that remained were cantacrenyx crystals lying in puddles of liquid tucrenyx. How utterly fascinating! He would have to find a way to study that later. For now, however, his focus needed to be on Blake himself.
Getting his microscope to focus on the writhing crawler was a near impossible task, so Bazzalth would not know if the process was working as intended until completion, which would not come for another twenty-two breaths. Until then, he could only wait.
The lightning continued to rampage through Blake’s body, but as the process neared the thirteenth breath, Bazzalth noticed something was wrong. Blake’s writhing magnitude was dropping, as if the level of pain was decreasing rapidly. Yet, according to Bazzalth’s calculations, it was far too early for his body to have healed. Was the current weakening?
As if to answer the question, thick plumes of smoke began to spew from the battery at an alarming rate. Rushing over to the newly befouled device, he blew a steady stream of air towards the source of the smoke to get a better view. A small, hairline crack ran along the bottom and side of the container! Where had this come from?! It hadn’t been there when he’d left the lair!
The scene of Daravith hurling him roughly down the tunnel to her lair crept back into his mind. That must have been when the damage had been done. Or maybe the battery had been unable to hold up to the strain of the lightning inside it? Perhaps both?
No, the reason mattered little at this point. What mattered was that the battery was losing charge quickly, and there was nothing he could do about it. The damage had already been done. Blake’s treatment would not continue for much longer, meaning he would not receive the full benefits of the serum, not even close.
Slowly the lightning faltered, going from dozens of separate prongs to ten to five to two to one. Finally, with a pathetic sputter, the last line petered out and the lair returned to mostly silence.
Bazzalth leaned in, studying the still-twitching form of his subject. Listening closely, he heard the weak but present sound of a heartbeat, each beat getting slowly but steadily stronger. Blake would live, it seemed. Exactly as planned.
Well, perhaps not exactly as planned. Cut off prematurely, the serum had not been able to fully restore Blake’s body: Blake’s left arm remained missing. On the other hand, his legs had filled out greatly, no longer the shriveled sticks from before. They looked like actual legs now, with visible muscle and everything, and Bazzalth could see no sign of infection.
After removing the battery and the connected cables, Bazzalth fetched a container of water and splashed it on and around the crawler to wash off the area. When that proved to be not enough, he fetched a second. It ended up taking five containers before Blake’s body appeared fully clean. Picking the unconscious crawler up, he moved him to another area of the table, away from the water, and covered his naked body with several furs.
Blake showed signs of stirring not long after, quicker than Bazzalth had expected.
“What the fuck, dude,” he muttered weakly. “You couldn’t even get my consent before you put me in the chair?”
“Bazzalth did not put you in any sort of seat,” Bazzalth corrected him.
“It’s a figure of speech,” Blake answered, as if that somehow explained it. “Still, I-” His eyes shot open. “I’m talking. I’m talking! It worked!” Overeager, he tried to push himself up from beneath the furs, only to thrash about ineffectually.
“Wait,” he muttered, pulling the furs off him. “My arm’s still missing! My legs! I still can’t feel my legs!”
“Process aborted prematurely due to battery failure,” Bazzalth explained. “Body was not able to fully heal.”
“...and that’s it, isn’t it? That’s all I get? Can’t do it again.”
“Second dose will cause rampant cellular degeneration and destruction,” Bazzalth reminded him.
For some reason, the crawler began to chuckle. “Oh, right, of course! Of course it does! Since when has this world ever given me anything I wanted? Ahaha!” His complete right hand curled into a fist, and he began to slam it into the table over and over with enough strength to send noticeable tremors along the top. “What a fucking idiot I am! What a loser! Ahahahahaha!”
Bazzalth didn’t know what to think as he watched Blake laugh uproariously while shouting insults at himself. Was he happy or upset? Or...
“Is Blake-crawler mentally well? Such laughter may indicate brain damage.”
“Oh, if only,” came the guffawed response. “Hope is one hell of a drug, man. The comedown is rough.”
“Give Bazzalth hope sample and Bazzalth can try to produce antidote,” Bazzalth told him.
For some reason, Blake found Bazzalth’s simple statement of fact to be the funniest thing he’d ever heard. He doubled over in hilarity as Bazzalth looked on, nonplussed. Bazzalth couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever fully understand such illogical creatures, or if he even wanted to.
“Hoooooo, booooy,” Blake wheezed when his cackling fit had finally died down. “Was that a joke? You’re telling jokes now? There’s a chance for you yet.” He sighed. “I’m just bummed. I was really looking forward to being able to walk again. You don’t know what you got until it’s gone, as they say.”
“While regrettable, outcome was always many standard deviations from likeliest subset when Blake-crawler first arrived. Only fools clutch at such outliers. Blake-crawler should consider that even current outcome was unlikely,” Bazzalth enlightened the misguided crawler. “Bazzalth agreed to attempt to halt death. Bazzalth did not agree to bring Blake-crawler to perfect condition. Blake-crawler should rejoice in eradication of infection, regeneration of leg musculature, and increased vigor. Blake-crawler will likely live long life with current condition.”
“You know what? You’re right. I shouldn’t be upset about this,” Blake said, seemingly to himself more than Bazzalth. “Even without my... legs and whatnot, I haven’t felt this good in years. My body feels strong, and the pain is completely gone!” He held up his right fist in front of his face, relaxing his hand and then reforming a fist over and over. “I was able to work with less, I can work with this. I can. I can.”
Tucrenyx began to flow up the table and form around Blake, beginning to form a suit of armor like the one he’d worn before. Quickly, Bazzalth reached out and grabbed the crawler, pulling him from the metal before it could solidify around him.
“Hey, what gives?” Blake whined.
“Did Blake-crawler forget? Several days remain before end of agreement. Now that Blake-crawler is healthy, Bazzalth can cease holding back. Blake-crawler’s body has so much more Knowledge to offer, and Bazzalth will harvest every last drop.” He eyed Blake with gusto.
Blake gulped.