Chapter 424 - Unfettered Joy V

The lorputus spawn known as Number Fourteen stared into a mirror as she pressed a hand to her features. The thing that she called her face started as a silvery blob with three large holes, loosely placed to look like eyes and a mouth. But a tiny wisp of mana—a brief activation of a special racial trait—allowed her to appear however she wished.

She started with the progenitor’s usual form. It took exactly a fifth of a second to obtain a face identical to that of the marquis. Every single spawn was capable of the exact same feat, and it was one of which the progenitor often took advantage. They served as his proxies so as to better take action in multiple places at once.

Next, she became Sophia. The identity that she had assumed for the last ten-odd years came just as naturally as her father’s. To say that she was fond of it was certainly a stretch, but it wasn’t like she actively disliked the form. After all, it was something she had chosen to mold, and something that had at least in part ignored many of the rules that its supposed race’s members were sure to follow. And yet, she was unquestioned; Vel’khan’s politicians were so soft that she had never been pressed for an explanation.

With both of her most familiar forms out of the way, she began warping rapidly through the others she knew. She copied the servants, her siblings, and even the people she recalled passing on the street before cycling through the hostiles she had encountered in Vel’khan. She became Claire, Arciel, and an old erdbrecher in turn. Nothing was beyond the realm of possibility; she was able to copy Sylvia and Boris with all the fidelity with which she could emulate their owner. The only difference was the amount of time required to manipulate her flesh and bone. Had she anything that even remotely resembled a brain, it certainly would have been either shrunken or squished, but her species was devoid of such a silly weakness.

Her nervous system was decentralized, spread throughout her body in much the same manner as her circuits and veins. Like the rest of her form, its shape could change, but its total volume was ever-stagnant. She needed at least one and a half litres to fit all her thinking parts and a significantly larger total was required to ensure a body of the correct rigidity and texture. Likewise, it was difficult for her to assume too large of a form without compromising her fine motor skills; she needed her neurons at a fair density in order to operate precisely as she wished.

It varied between the particular details of the target species, but the ideal form typically weighed between eighty and four thousand pounds. And it was precisely to prepare to assess one such body that Sophia stood in front of the mirror in the first place.

The candidate in question was still in the possession of its original owner. The man, who went by the name Lucius Hyacinth, was an up-and-coming champion of which many had taken note. His origin was Cadrian. That much was clear not only from his thoraen descent, but also the records that the military possessed of his service.

Like Number Fourteen, he was one of the agents deployed to Vel’khan, albeit for a completely different purpose. While she served as a coordinated effort between Lord Pollux and the progenitor, Lucius was fodder, sent to probe the northern brigade. His efforts were near pointless given her infiltration, and his teammates had amounted to little more than a blood sacrifice that ultimately empowered the enemy. She was almost tempted to think that his deployment stemmed from an inside job. There was no other explanation, given the extent of his dysfunction.

Despite his utter incompetence, the man was granted a divine opportunity. It was unclear exactly how he managed to survive his encounter with Claire. The princess had never discussed the event in any meaningful capacity, and she hadn’t appeared wounded enough to suggest that she had been outmuscled. Whatever the case, his manner of escape was evidently impressive enough to earn the hunt god’s favour—the timing of the reports suggested that he was chosen to be his champion shortly thereafter.

Nodding to herself, Sophia put on the criocentaurian body that hung by the rack on the door and shifted her face one last time. As far as appearances went, she was nothing outstanding. She borrowed a few traits akin to the progenitor’s so they would appear related and otherwise assigned an appearance just a little bit shy of striking. She had larger than average ears, wide, child-bearing hips, and a pretty but flawed face dotted with a series of freckles. Though her father was supposedly brown-furred, the lower half she borrowed was red, so she paled her skin and altered her hair to match. It was a perfectly calculated set of features; she was pretty enough to be looked upon favourably, but not so much that she could be easily remembered. Such was one of the classic strategies used by agents all over the nation. A charming smile lubricated the wheels of any conversation or negotiation.

With all the preparations ready and her body inspected for seams, Number Fourteen exited the powder room and made for her destination. She pushed open the doors at the end of the hall immediately upon arrival and entered the room precisely at the designated time.

“Do you have a moment, Father?” She walked exactly four steps in before stopping in place, looking around, and raising a hand to her mouth. “Excuse me, I was not aware that there were guests.”

The words were spoken without emotion. A less experienced spy might have labeled it as poor acting, but she was simply selling a more realistic character. By masking little of her usual behaviour—the title she used for the progenitor was the only part she had to fake—she was able to construct a facade that would be easy to maintain long term.

“Ah, Sophia. What a coincidence, I was just about to call for you.” The progenitor put on a smile and gestured towards an empty armchair. “Please, join us.”

Like her demeanour, her name was also chosen because it saved her the need for readjustment.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is my daughter, Sophia,” said the progenitor, as she was seated. “Sophia, this is the party I was telling you about the other day. An impressive group, really, formidable by all accounts.”

“I am Sophia Ephesus, the fourth of my father’s daughters. It is a pleasure to meet you.” She carefully eyed the targets as she performed a perfect curtsy. As reported, there were three of them, four counting the tiger gorging itself on pastries.

One was a large thoraen man dressed in animal pelts. He had a hat made out of some sort of bear and a series of thinner skins making up the kilt atop his waist. His chest was bare, exposing the divine marks plastered all over his body. Where the tattoos were invisible, one could easily see his dark green skin. Its peculiar shade was closer to a goblin’s than a standard thorae’s, and as far as Number Fourteen could tell from the lack of records, it was another trait that had come in tandem with his divine selection.

The other two were just as unpleasant to look at. One was a particularly ugly centaur with the smallest ears she had ever seen on anything besides an infant, while the other looked like an ancient form of lizardman. Her snout had an almost duck-billed shape, and in place of hair, there was an extended piece of darkened, floppy flesh dangling from the back of her skull. Had Number Fourteen not known it to be a bone-laden crest, she would have assumed that it was some sort of phallus. Her appearance was nothing short of revolting, and it didn’t help that everything past her elbows and knees slowly transitioned from scale to wood.

The divine beast was the only member of the party even remotely presentable. It was a shame then that he was also the only member too preoccupied with snacking to offer the young Miss Ephesus a greeting.

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“Nice to meet you,” said Lucius. “I’ve already said this to your dad, but we’ve been looking for you.”

“You’ve been looking for me?” asked Number Fourteen.

“Yeah. We need you to join our party.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Neither do I,” said the progenitor. “Sophia does have some military training, but she is nowhere near a high enough level for Kael’ahruus’ champion to take interest.”

“You don’t need to hide your identities. My god’s already told me everything. I know your race is not as it appears.”

Sophia furrowed her brow and lowered her stance. He was almost within striking range. She was confident she could take his head if he so much as leaned forward.

“I am aware that you are a true champion, Mister Hyacinth, but I will ask that you refrain from making such a ridiculous accusation,” said the progenitor.

“Olethra.”

“If I must.”

Number Fourteen felt her eyes spin as the phallic-headed woman put her hands together. It felt like the strength suddenly left her body. She collapsed onto the ground in front of her, not as a member of a criocentaurian house, but as a blob of silver goop. She tried to pull herself together immediately, but she found that her body refused to obey her commands. She couldn’t even speak. And looking at the progenitor, she found him equally disabled.

His body had melted into its true form. And though he was a little better off—he wasn’t having quite as difficult of a time holding the bits of his flesh together—he was losing the fight against the mysterious effect.

And then, just as suddenly, everything was back to normal. When the phallic lady returned her hands to her lap, the progenitor and the spawn both snapped back to their previous forms. Gone was any hint of the goop that was their splattered bodies. But the sensation still remained.

“That is quite a threat you have made, Lucius Hyacinth,” said the progenitor.

“It isn’t a threat,” said the hunter. “I’ve no intention of exposing your identities for any reason, even if you refuse to work with us.”

“It is clear to me that you have every intention of using it in our negotiations.”

“Not really. My god said that you’d listen if I was honest, and that you’d allow your spawn to join our party because you’d realise that it’s the best choice.”

“Did he now?” The progenitor raised a hand to his chin and stroked his fake beard. “Tell me then. What is your goal, precisely?”

“To kill Claire Augustus.”

There was a brief pause as Ephesus raised his brow. The hand on his chin accelerated as he carefully scanned the visitors, pausing on each of their faces.

“What a treasonous statement,” he said, with a smirk. “You do realise that the whole kingdom would brandish its blade against you, were I to simply report it?”

“We know it would, and we know you won’t,” said Lucius. “I told you, we know everything. You want to kill her just as badly as I do.”

The progenitor laughed. “Even supposing that to be true, which for the record it certainly is not, I fail to see the purpose of your visit. If you already have someone as powerful as her,” he looked briefly at Olethra, “I don’t see how my daughter would be able to provide any meaningful assistance.”

“I’m not too sure either,” said the hunter. “I was told that she’d be key to pulling a win from the hat, but he never said why.”

“From the hat, you say?” The progenitor briefly closed his eyes. Number Fourteen could practically see the thoughts running through his mind. He was forming his strategy, and in all likelihood, considering the possibility of snatching the party’s bodies post mortem. “Fine then. I’ll lend you my daughter. But only if you agree to my conditions.”

“What conditions?” asked Lucius.

“Nothing too complicated or demanding,” he said. “If she happens to perish in the line of duty, then you will come to me and offer your head. In the case of your death, any of your surviving party members will do. Of course, we’ll go ahead and secure the deal by way of the standard ritual.”

It was a true binding contract. Not even Kael’ahruus would be able to supplant Flitzegarde’s authority and bail the mortal out of his fetters. If he agreed to the terms, his life would be bound to Number Fourteen’s—not that she had much on the line. Even if she were to fall again, the progenitor would simply respawn her.

“I’m willing to give you mine, but the others are off the table. And I’ll only do it after we complete our objective.”

The progenitor paused to tap a finger against his desk. “It appears we have a deal, Mister Hyacinth.” He rose from his seat and extended his hand with a smile. “It will be a pleasure to work with you.”

“Likewise,” said the hunter.

With the handshake out of the way, and an almost fox-like smile across his lips, the progenitor made for the door. “I will see to preparing the ritual’s materials. Sophia, you may as well take this opportunity to get to know your new companions.”

“Understood, Father.”

His words told only half the story. The rest was made clear by the leer he shot across the room. Its target, the one known as Olethra, was in need of extensive observation.

According to the reports, she was a false deity worshipped by one of the local cults. The organisation in question was named Eternal Happiness, and for the most part, it had been left to its own devices. Never once had it made it onto Flitzegarde’s list, which otherwise denoted all organisations marked for extermination, though the reason for its nonpresence was never quite explained.

No one thought too much of it at the time. After all, the organisation was fairly harmless, only recruiting those who were drowned in debt. The cult purchased the loans from the prior holders and subsequently reformed the debtors, though the veracity of the lattermost point was to be called to question.

It wasn’t until he mentioned the problem in passing to a scholar of history that the progenitor had learned that there might have been more to Olethra than immediately met the eye. Her name was inscribed in ancient texts, dating so far back that the accompanying papers had long been eaten by moths. The only remaining records were reproductions that historians loosely filled in after making note of the records’ disappearance. Still, according to the reports, Olethra was more than just a false idol, and it would fall to Number Fourteen to precisely determine her nature.

“Once again, I am Sophia Ephesus, mystic deathgoat,” said the spawn. “I function primarily in combat as an arcane pugilist. I function best on the front lines, as a close combatant, but I am capable of functioning in a more supportive or long-ranged capacity if required.”

“I’m Lucius, the one and only starforged voidhunter,” said Lucius. “And this is Roumalou. He’s a frontliner. I’m usually in the back.”

“Awrooo,” said the tiger, whose face was covered in cake.

“Agrippina of Brinsidia. Racially, I’m a northwind prancer. I fight like a sword dancer.”

With everyone else introduced, all eyes fell to the party’s final member.

“Olethra. Goddess of weights and measures,” she said.

Number Fourteen blinked. In the face of the ridiculously bold claim, there was little else that she could do.

Seeing the look, the self-proclaimed goddess put on a bit of a smile. And then, without warning, allowed her bound power to flow free.

There wasn’t much raw magic. Her mana felt like it still rang within the bounds of the mortal realm. But her divinity told a whole other tale.

It started with her eyes. They changed from the same dark brown that covered her body to a blindingly brilliant gold as raw power coursed through the rest of her body. It filled her magic circuits, setting them alight under her skin as her presence filled the room, the castle, and even the city around it.

From that, it was clear.

Even without communing with the progenitor, Number Fourteen knew her next assignment.

She was to find a way to retrieve Olethra’s corpse.

With it, with the immortal’s body, the progenitor would finally be able to stand shoulder to shoulder with the man he called his master.