Chapter 9: Home

I fall into a routine of waking at dawn to practice my father's own form of pugilism: trelling. The style uses sweeping hooks and swinging punches for offense with footwork and movement for defense. The form's exhaustive approach causes fatigue rather quickly, but trelling boasts power and pragmatism for those who learn it. It provides excellent exercise while enabling some form of self defense.

After finishing the session, I plan my actions for the day. By doing so, I organize myself with efficient methods while assigning strict travel times. My mother always told me, “Make sure you spend more time doing something then getting there to it.” These words offer wisdom without the absurd longevity of my father's sayings, though he meant well. 

When I finish organizing my thoughts, I follow through with the plan of the day. These plans usually include luring citizens away from Montave Fountain and towards the inn. Over the course of several weeks, I manage attracting several well to do nobles, but none of them found my play sponsor worthy. 

The primary cause, at least I believe, for this lack of support is the music I play. The coarse inn company beckons for tunes that suit their tastes, so I oblige. These include the simple, powerful chants of before, but those same chants diminish the impact of my precise play. It's hard to hear the subtle tuning or flair I put in each performance when a crowd roars with each word.

That same enthusiasm only bolsters my own motivations however. The support of the townsfolk furnishes wells of willpower to drink from as encountering so much support for even the simplest of tunes satisfies an itch I never knew I had. Each day's fulfilling nature shocks my expectations as the memories of my slavery fade while these experiences take their place. 

Despite my alarm over all this, my efforts for fame succeed for the most part. Morne hired me as the premier attraction and entertainer. The nickname, “The Merry Musician,” stuck, and I enjoy the banner as the title builds my prestige. With all the events occurring one after the other, I forgot my thirteenth birthday a month ago. That neglect accentuates my current priorities.

Events occur with such alacrity that each activity bogs my movements. Small details just pass right through my attention as I focus on the larger tasks at hand. I enjoy this dynamic activity as it leaves me with few lulls for thinking of my enigmas, namely Deluge.

As these thoughts flow through my mind, I help Klessilia with breakfast before I trek towards my usual spot at the fountain. When I reach the landmark, a crowd of people gaze at two men standing on a makeshift platform. One of the men exudes manliness with a thick, dominant frame and square face. He looks like he could take a hit from a sledgehammer and smile.

The other man embodies confidence. He carries himself with straight shoulders and open gestures that invite conversation. He smiles wider than necessary while dressing in a series of fitted, simple clothing that somehow maintains a noble aura.

With all the excitement leaking from the crowd infecting me, I saunter up peaking through bodies as the large man shouts with the tone of an announcer, “None can beat gutsy Gus. He is bested by no man, but any may try for a small fee. Do you believe yourself able?”

Several people shout as a young man of around twenty years old walks out front. The man throws a silver piece at the large man before removing his shirt in the freezing weather rolling his shoulders. His swagger oozes from his muscular frame as shouts at Gus, 

"Yuh ain't got no meat on yur bones boy. Yuh'd best back down."

The other man shrugs saying, "Let your fists speak."

The man spits before the announcer shouts, "BEGIN."

Gus charges forward swinging with vicious fervor mauling his opponent. The sheer explosiveness of his assault pierces the challenger's defense. Gus may not own the largest of bodies, but he’s like an animal prodded with hot iron when he fights. He overwhelms his foes with a shocking intensity and a surprising amount of technique as well.

The fight ends within seven strikes, so I turn leaving the fountain for today as my performance will go unnoticed in the aftermath of all this commotion. Before I do so, Deluge interjects my thoughts saying, “Now is the time for building your fame Jack...Simply crush this Gus...Then obliterate any who would stand against you after...”

I remember Jase's dominance in battle. His superiority instilled a firm fear in my mind of conflict, so I say “You can't be serious. Gus fights with practice and fervor I cannot match.” 

Deluge rasps, “Then allow me to do so. Give over control...I will trample him with this body.”

I frown as I say with the tone of a defeated warrior who lived to tell his tale, “Do you really think so? I've seen the power of experienced warriors, and I'd rather not take the thrashing of one.”

Deluge snaps, “So you may try to convince nobles of your talent by singing in a derelict bar...but I may not by beating a mere human in combat?”

I say, "What if I break my fingers or hands? I won't be able to play any longer."

Deluge says, "I healed far worse at the bottom of that chasm."

Desperation builds in my chest as I spout, "How do I know you won't try taking over my body when I concede to you?"

Deluge hisses, "I believed you fair Jack...May I never influence the physical? Must I be trapped...in this prison till your death?"

My desperation fizzles as he spews his words. Deluge endures despite never having controlled my body, and over the course of the last weeks, he only spoke several times with most of his words containing useful information albeit intertwined with insults. He deserves this opportunity, and I want us to work together rather than us oppress one another.

With all this in mind, I say, "Alright, I understand. There needs to be some trust between us...How do I lend control?"

Deluge states, “Simply submit to my will. I will pressure you into the subconscious.”

I sigh with an intense sense of foreboding before saying, “Well...whenever you're ready.”

I brace myself before his presence takes over my body. I fight off instinct before realizing Deluge's effort pales in comparison to before. The gentle force relaxes my initial panic, so I let my mind flatten until blackness surrounds me.

A moment later my eyes open. Or Deluge's eyes. I can no longer distinguish. His thoughts and new senses ebb into me as I see the world through Deluge’s eyes. He views the world through a darker lens however. The pain of other presses against my mind with the same necessity of hunger or sleep. I can no longer see myself as an entity either. I'm part of a larger collective.

Peace and content ebb through me in waves of serenity. I sense Deluge’s elation at my comfort. I reach out for him and find him ready and waiting for my thoughts. He listens with near religious devotion to each of my words as I think, 

“So this is consolidation?”

Deluge closes his eyes. He spreads his arms while saying with rapture, “Yes Jack. This is consolidation. This...is unity.”

I admit the undeniable beauty in this sense of understanding. Deluge berated me with a cold unchanging demeanor before, yet he now accepts my thoughts with a religious devotion. The contrast surprises me, but the change omens his greater purpose of melding all life. As I orient myself in this perception, Deluge changes my body for his purposes. My cells evolve.

My skin converts colors as he grows armor plates on my back. My teeth elongate, and my blood thins all over the span of seconds. Before he can deform me further, I scream in my mind, “STOP.”

Deluge reverts most of the changes and asks with a ghoulish and menacing indifference unique to people who act oblivious to the ethics of their actions, “What is the problem Jack?”

“You corrupt my body and mangle my form. What in the fiery inferno are you trying to do?”

Deluge states with sincere naivete, “I am simply altering your composition for combat.”

I snap at him with outrage pouring from my words, “What do you expect others will assume when a random child transforms into a monster in broad daylight? Have you no judgment Deluge?”

He responds with mild revelation lacing his voice, “Ahhhhhh, you are correct. I must veil my changes else I make enemies. Excellent input.”

He must be toying with me now. I say, “No, you need not change my figure at all. I am no monster.”

Deluge says in his flat, blunt voice and tone, “You believe you're normal still? Hah, Hah...I have already configured your physique for superiority...You simply failed to realize it.”

My mind races through any alterations I detected the past weeks. Deluge interrupts my flurry saying, “You need not panic Jack...The changes are subtle enough that you failed to notice them, correct? The differences may...intensify over time, but their influence will have little effect on your mind or appearance.”

He continues as he stretches my arms , “I drag you from death’s clutches, and you expect to remain the same? Hah hah...You should be grateful you're alive.”

I recognize the wisdom in his words. He understands the extent of my wounds, and he modified my physique out of necessity rather than his whims. If he was aiming to deform me, then I'd already shamble as an abomination based on the rapid metamorphosis he performed earlier.

As I accept this fact, Deluge roars at Gus in a different voice than mine, “Fight me. Imbecile.” 

Before Gus responds, Deluge throws a silver at the burly announcer as he scrambles atop the platform.

Deluge’s voice impacts his listeners. He speaks with the raspy, deep voice of a demon that entered my body before toning down its guttural shrieks to a human level. This curious voice captivates the audience's attention along with his awkward motions. 

When he walks forward, he shambles with jerky, mistimed movements. He uses my body like a puppet with strings facing every direction as he tests different movements and muscles smiling at the chaotic process.

To viewers, he appears either mentally unstable or crippled. This misconception offers an advantage due to its falsehood. Deluge unlocks the latent potential within my body as he uses my strength with a reckless abandon that normal humans can simply not replicate. He will massacre the poor fighter in front of me without doubt or hesitation either.

The prospect is both haunting and comforting like being guarded by a man eating troll. Its powerful, but my trust stands on a shaky platform. As my mind speeds through these thoughts, I relax as I watch the show. At least this display will entertain if anything...I hope.

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Controlling this body's mechanical interfaces will require practice.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Helping Jack in his quest for fame speeds his failure during this instance. Existing in silence for two years would also test any being's patience, and I refuse such a small role in my future regardless of Jack’s wishes.

He neglects the gravity of my physical changes as well. By allowing my tampering, all will fall before this form. This process will assimilate our minds to some degree, but he need not know that.

In fact, the only reason I speak with such fluidity and grace is his influence. He understands this language well, so I take advantage of his resources as he has mine.

These thoughts recede after I reach the top of the platform. I need to focus. This may prove difficult if I underestimate my foe. 

I push myself upwards with one leg launching me sideways. This damn body. As I balance myself with my other leg, I slump upwards. I observe my enemy Guss. He seems frightened. I wonder why?

I growl at Gus asserting my intent before the announcer shouts, "Begin."

Gus jumps backwards expecting a combination of attacks, but I flail my arms whipping them towards his body. He reacts with a defensive posture as he relents before my pressure. My movement's unrestricted and fluid nature contrasts with normal fighting styles leaving most of his training useless. Countering the movements provides him an interesting dilemma.

I lash at the man, but he evades my grasp. He controls my movements by pressing with his own as he lands a series of blows on my jaw. The blows fissure the bones in Jack's jaw, but I quickly heal the mild snaps before anyone notices. He executes the same combination several more times leaving jack’s face a bloody pulp. 

As I gain a familiarity over controlling this form, I dodge under his next blow leaving my arm trailing behind me. My forearm smashes into Gus’s face throwing him off balance before I press my advantage using a series of fierce blows. He blocks with his elbow forcefully breaking bones in my hand, but I mend these injuries and proceeding with my assault.

Minutes later my foe bears welts and bruises. His face and shaky arms demonstrate his fatigue. I leave my hands and face battered as the audience sees them them, though I will regenerate them later. We fight for another five minutes as Gus's composure degenerates.

As he loses his will to dodge due to exhaustion, I break the side of my fist across his cheek knocking him unconscious. I shake out my hand reorganizing the bones before I rebuild them. Clenching my fist, I turn towards the man with my bloody hands and face taking the pool of prize money. The currency represents resources, so I grin as I crick my neck back into place while walking back towards the inn.

No one said a single word after about three minutes into the battle with Gus. They stay silent even after I won and as I walk away. Strange.

Jack’s presence pushes against my mind as I smirk. He wishes for control? Hmmm. I was hoping experiencing consolidation would convince him of my goals, but he remains unfazed. Oh well. I dwindle my presence until Jack regains control. Physical actions are...fun.

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Deluge grants back control of my body as I shove against his mind. He bludgeoned Gus with the brutality of a bear covered in bees. He broke my wrist six times as well as fracturing my forearm twice, yet he kept fighting like the process was entirely normal. While such injuries slip past most people's perceptions during the heat of combat, a few may have noticed, though he didn't heal the skin on my face yet at least.

Despite Deluge's attempts for subtlety, Deluge enjoyed fighting Gus with a disturbing exhilaration. I attempted wrestling control midway through the battle, but I was met with an iron will stopping my half hearted attempts. Due to my failure, I watched in horror as he obliterated a man's spirit.

Though if I analyze the situation from a fair perspective, both Gus and Deluge agreed to a combat that would only stop if one gave in. Gus refused capitulating, so he gained far more injuries than he needed to. Deluge even avoided using sharpened fingernails or his teeth during the conflict, so Gus walks away from this conflict with more injuries to his pride than his body.

Despite Deluge's restraint, I still worry about the reaction I'll receive from the towns folk when news spreads. As I walk in the inn oozing blood, Klessilia drops the bread she carries gasping in surprise.

I raise my hands saying, “'I'm fine. Please stay calm down Kless. I fought a man at the fountain for some money. It should help with the inn.”

 As I lift several gold coins from my pocket, Klessilia's eyes tear up as she covers her mouth with her hand. She dashes towards me saying, “Oh dear, please get yehself cleaned up. Oh you aren’t even cryin. What kinda misfortune aff yah been through if this is nuthin? Oh dear.”

Her sincerity touches me as her worried movements remind me of my mothers. After inspecting my wounds, she grabs my wrist dragging me outside. I stand in the cold as she dashes back inside before she walks out with a bucket and rag in hand. She hands me the rag before saying, "Take off your clothes."

I look around at the edges of the alleyway saying, "People can see me here. could we do this elsewhere?"

she smirks saying, "Yuh got tuh steel yurself here. We ain't gonna walk outta the city jus tuh give yuh a bath now."

I frown saying, "Ah...Alright,"

As I remove my clothes baring my skinny self for all to see, Kless walks up with the bucket of water propped on her shoulder saying, Are yuh ready dear? This might sting some."

I grin flashing my teeth as I say, "I've seen worse."

"If you say so." 

She dumps a portion of the warm water over me before lowering the bucket. I flinch as the stinging torrent pours over my scrapes, but I shake out the sensation after she finishes. As she rubs a rag on my wounds, she says in a high pitch voice, 

"You're mighty tough Jack. I've seen grown men howl at similar experiences. I'm proud of yuh."

I beam with delight as my chest puffs, and my posture straightens. I say, "I know how to handle a little pain."

She reaches under my arms tickling my sides saying, "But do yuh got yurself a temperament for ticklin then? Hah ha! I see not!"

I giggle squirming as she chases me in me in circles. After several minutes of playing, Kless says, "Alright merry musician, we gotta get you clean. Come on now."

I nod before she pours the rest of the water over me. The rewarming of the water on my skin leaves me more relaxed than before, so I brace through the pain without wincing. We clean our wounds as I notice Morne step out with a smaller bucket of water with a hand over his lips gesturing for silence.

I comply as Kless talks about her morning with the sassy delivery of a gossip. The twang of her dialect accentuates the display, and as Mourne closes, my act cracks as I snicker. Kless raises an eyebrow saying, "Now what's got yuh so tickled pink?"

A grin spread across my face as I say, "I don't mean to dampen your mood, but-"

As I finish my words, Morne pours the water over Kless. Her eyes open wide as she gasps in surprise as Morne and I howl in laughter. Her shock transforms into righteous anger as Morne and I escape up the back steps to the inn. As I do so, I notice two girls in strange outfits staring at me giggling. 

Awareness of my nakedness returns as I redouble my efforts for entering the inn. Once we enter, Morne runs up to the counter serving a customer as Kless chases me throughout the inn's pantry in the back. After a several minutes  of chasing, I slip ending my laughter as I grunt in pain as a wound on my hand reopens.

Kless's anger disintegrates as she trots upwards saying with the worry of a mother, "Are yuh alright? I didn't mean tuh make yuh fall. Ohhh, your wounds opened up. I'm so sorry."

I swallow my discomfort saying, "I'm fine. We're the ones that poured water over you."

Her worry fades as she smiles with fire in her eyes saying, "Oh don't worry about that. Morne'll pay for his rowdiness. I assure yah of that. Come on, let's get yur wounds cleaned up and get yuh somethin tuh wear."

After Kless disinfects my wounds with whiskey, she wraps the larger wounds in linen while wiping my smaller wounds with the clear sap of the malto tree. The core of the trees contain a potent stimulant that addicts chew on for the euphoric rush, but due to the preserving properties of the malto's sap, the kingdom never burns the trees. 

It's common to see the addicts roaming through alleyways waiting for their next fix. A friend of mine told me the story of a man beating his grandmother to death with a brick for a mere two silver just for another bite of the wood. The story still leaves me terrified of the drug and the desperation of someone dependent on anything.

As these dark thoughts subside, Kless helps me into new, clean clothes. The washed fabric brushes against my skin as I radiate the particular delight of a freshly cleaned person who lived in filth for far to long. Morne walks from the bar laughing as Klessilia fusses over my appearance adjusting my collar and sleeves. 

He says, “So what happened tuh, ‘we can’t give free food and shelter to any ol stranger,’ aye?”

Klessilia shouts, “He wus covered in his own blood Morne. I can’t just stand by and watch em stink up the place.”

He smirks saying, “Aye, I suppose yuh might be correct, but didya haff tuh give em fresh bandages? Or let em dress in them nice clothes?”

Klessilia reddens while saying, “Oh don’t yuh mind him dear. These be just a spare pair of clothes we ave is all.” She turns towards Morne changing tones as she snaps, "Yuh just wait till I get me hands on yuh. There'll be hell tuh pay."

He points a finger at her saying, "Now that was payback fur when you'n'Jack put that table over me bead when I was asleep then screamed tuh wake me up. I still got me a headache from thuh ordeal."

Kless giggles as I suppress my own laughter at his words. They often play pranks on one another, so I join in on their fun though they neglect pulling the same high jinks on me. 

Morne walks over saying, “Anyways, think nuthin of the clothes Jack. Yuh been a great member ah, ‘The Choice Brew,’ and I know yuh been through hard times. Just know yer alway welcome here Jack.”

I look down averting their gaze. My eyes burn and my throat catches. Tears drop from my face. I cry with repressed sobs before Klessilia hugs me saying, "It's alright dear. It's alright."

 I feel her warmth. Morne wipes a tear from his eye as he walks up hugging Kless and I. Their heat thaws my frozen soul. 

I’m home.