Chapter 13 Cooking Up Something New
“We respond by getting better. Until our best is good enough.” - some snarky ghost.
The trip back to school was uneventful.
They flew in silence because Aiden was sure they were all at least slightly traumatised by the experience. If not, like the fidgeting blur that was Alexis, they were too afraid to ask about what they encountered.
He pondered about this, his glasses in his hand, covered in so much dirt and grime as to be useless even when he spent the last half hour scrubbing it. He thought about the fact that even if he couldn’t see more than burry shapes past his- now singular hand, he was not blind. He could still very obviously see the fact Alexis was fidgeting, and the fact Jun was stealing glances at his stump even when he couldn’t make out the details of either of their faces.
Aiden didn’t get the fuss. It was just a hand. Or perhaps he was the weird one? Being so strangely calm about losing a limb, an entire hand, not to mention his dominant one too. But no matter how much he tried to feel something about it… he couldn’t muster anything more than, ‘I guess it’s gone now.’
Right now, he was more affected by the reactions of the others than his own.
Perhaps he should alleviate tension somehow?
“Need a hand?” he asked, an eyebrow raised towards Jun.
“Hah!” Isaac yelled from the cockpit, “Good one!”
Both girls were staring at him in complete silence, and since he couldn’t see their faces, he had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t because he suddenly grew more handsome.
The incorrect approach it seemed.
They landed without much fanfare, brief goodbyes for it was already late into the evening.
“Go to Oliver, that idiot should still be at the infirmary,” Isaac yelled as he stepped out of the still horrendously dirty garage.
Aiden gave a brief nod, but wasn’t sure if Isaac saw it, he was already kicking the aircraft over some perceived flaw. Aiden still had no idea how that thing actually flew, a mystery for another day.
He had memorised the school’s layout the first day he came here, so he found it easily. The lights of the infirmary were still on even as the moon was rising. Unfortunately, the library was closed, so he had to save his printing for tomorrow.
He knocked on the door, and a posh, British sounding voice answered him, “Come in!”
Turning around on an office chair, was an Indian looking- no, the term was Bretonnian and Yindian now, Aiden Lu was still getting the two memories mixed. Perhaps for the better, if he still remembered where he really came from.
The middle-aged man stood up, speaking in a heavy Yindian accent, “Jesus you look like hell, and trust me you look like hell because you’ve gotten me swearing to a different god.”
“Mr Oliver?” he asked, “I was told to come to the infirmary.”
“I can see why,” the Bretonnian voice sounded as he came closer.
Strange, both voices came from the same direction… the Yindian he presumed was called Mr Oliver.
The man stopped right in front of him, and opened his mouth, as a large, white shelled, multilegged isopod crawled out and began prodding him with its segmented front legs. It almost reminded him of a pillbug, if easily the size of a football and secreting some kind of clear slime on its softshell. How did that thing fit in the man’s mouth?
“You’re rather bruised but it seems to be healing, tell me, how long ago did you receive these injuries?” the creature asked. At which point Aiden identified the Bretonnian voice as originating from it.
“A few hours ago, I was knocked unconscious due to blood loss from losing my hand. The army medics patched me up and replenished it with a nutrient bar,” he calmly answered as he squinted at the strange creature. The tail of the end of the thing was still in the man’s mouth, he couldn’t see far, but this close he could vaguely make out its hind legs clutching something.
“Increased metabolism with regeneration, simple, but useful,” the bug said as the man gently raised his stump for the bug to inspect.
“Yes,” he answered, before he hesitantly started, “If… I may ask.”
““Yes?”” two voices asked, both with distinct accents.
“Are you a tongue-eating louse? Cymothoa exigua? Or perhaps Ceratothoa oestroides?”
“Hmm… it has been a while since someone recognised what I was, though I’m not clear on my exact species as well,” the louse pondered in its British- Bretonnian accent. “Is this the first time you were here?”
“Yep,” the man answered, “first time I’m seeing him, first-year?”
Aiden nodded.
“Ah,” the louse uttered in realisation, “forgive me, human faces still look the same to me. I normally distinguish whether we met before by whether or not they seem disturbed by my existence.”
“Sometimes they do that even if they’ve met us before,” the Yindian man added, somehow still speaking even though his mouth was full of louse, “I’m surprised you have no reaction to this.”
“Indeed, though it is a pleasant alternative to screaming,” the louse said.
“Or attempted murder, those are annoying to deal with,” the man added.
“That seems annoying,” Aiden said.
“You get used to it,” the man said, before stretching out his left hand, “I’m Raj Reddy.”
Aiden took it, shaking it.
“Oh where were my manners,” the louse flailed as if flustered, quickly wiping off some of the slime on its body, “I’m Oliver Oliver, or Dr Oliver. I’m the school's current doctor. Raj here is my assistant nurse.”
Oliver extended one of its own legs, and Aiden too briefly shook it.
“You’re the doctor, Mr Oliver?” he cautiously began.
The louse scoffed, “Indeed, I don’t blame you for doubting my ability due to my appearance, though I did get my PhD for a reason, so do call me that. However superfluous it is.”
“Still think it was a waste of time,” Raj said.
“Oh just because you fell asleep during most of the lectures does not mean the time I spent studying went to waste,” Oliver retorted.
Raj rolled his eyes, “Anyways, let’s give the boy a full checkup before he dies on us.”
“That did happen once,” Oliver quietly said as Raj guided Aiden to a seat.
The two went over a full checkup, with the strange exception that Oliver- Dr Oliver, Aiden mentally corrected himself, Dr Oliver was taking the place of many medical instruments. Wrapping himself around his arm to read his blood pressure, tapping his chest in place of a stethoscope, etc.
He was found completely healthy, if a bit grimy, and was sent on his way.
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Jemina Abdullah hummed as she prepared dinner.
It had been a long time since she prepared for her family, her kids were all so busy now, taking important positions all over the country, having their own families. It was a rare day everyone could gather.
Jemina only wished she had more time to prepare something better.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
She was famous for her handmade spaghetti, none of that store-bought crap. It didn’t take long to make and she had all the ingredients on hand, yet as she rolled and prepared the dough, it seemed no matter what it wouldn’t stay even. Her hands shook, barely able to grip onto the rolling pin, she was old now, her wrinkled hands barely able to exert force, but this was a special day damn it. So she grit her teeth, humming more intensely as she forced the dough to be even.
Spaghetti done, she moved to the vegetables, now any purebred Idalian would probably drop dead from her homemade additions, but those idiots wouldn’t recognise good food if she threw it at their faces! Little Jeremy told her he loved vegetables in his pasta, and she would trust her grandson on the matter over any culinary prick. She grimaced slightly as she cut her finger, dropping the knife. Probably needed to bandage that, “Ayle!” she yelled, calling for her son. No response, that kid must still be on his phone. Children these days. Jemina swiftly found the medicine cabinet. It took a moment, her hands shaking far too much for her to really get the bandage on the cut. So she opted to just cover the entire finger. Worked well enough, she needed to hurry, her kids were hungry.
The water was boiling when she got back, throwing the spaghetti in, she added just a pinch of salt before moving onto the sauce. Unfortunately, she couldn’t get her hands on fresh tomatoes, but canned tomato paste worked well enough, throwing in the vegetables and some sliced cheese kransky sausages for protein, she stirred. Humming as she finished her grand design.
“It’s time to eat!” she yelled again. No response. No matter, she began setting out the plates. Theirs was a big family, her sister Taylor once joked that Jemina and Gerald reproduced like rabbits. She made sure to sneak some hard chilli powder onto her dish. That should teach her something. What was missing? Oh, she didn’t buy any breadsticks, damn her poor memory.
The table was smaller for some reason, she could’ve sworn it was large enough to suit all seventeen people, but it was barely large enough for three or four. Strange, when did Tai swap it out? Her daughter in law was a dear when it came to cleaning up, but she really wished the girl wouldn’t rearrange where everything was. She left the plates on the counter instead, “I said it’s dinner time!” she yelled again to no response.
Huffing, she left the living room, were they all deaf? Gerald pretended to be deaf for seven odd years because he thought ‘she yapped too much’, whatever the hell that meant-
Jemina left the living room, and instead of the large family home she once occupied, she was in a cramped hallway, a small apartment just large enough for herself.
She blinked, looking around in confusion. ‘Oh wait,’ she thought, she had sold the family home and moved here by herself after-
After…
She turned around, walking back into the living room, hanging on one of the walls was a silver medal, “To Ayle Abdullah, for his bravery and sacrifice, Dawn rises another day.”
Her son had died almost a decade ago, he was an artillery spotter for the Guard, and when his position was overrun he called a shell on his own location.
The rest didn’t come back in a rush, but as scattered fragments as Jemina pieced back the misty remnants of her memory. Her husband Gerald had a stroke years ago, little Jeremy had long grown to an adult fighting devils in Yuro. Her sister Taylor was in a nursing home babbling and senile. And Tai…
The only thing Jemina remembered of her was a phone number written on a notepad in her nightstand. The faded ink was angrily scribbled out. Would it still work if she called it? What happened to her daughter in law? Jemina no longer remembered, was Tai long dead or was she living proudly off Jeremy’s accomplishments?
The food had gone cold when she came back to it.
There was no family gathering, there might have once been, but there was none today.
She was alone, despite having enough food to feed a family.
There was a sad chuckle, “Ah I did it again…”
She had wasted so much time and food, and for what? A family that either wasn’t here, was dead, or didn’t remember her?
Quietly, she ate her own plate. Finishing before she packed the rest away. She couldn’t finish them all, not by herself. There was a nice boy upstairs was there not? Or was she misremembering him as well? Regardless, she should check, he was in poor circumstances, not to mention he helped her carry all the ingredients that made this mess. The local shelter and orphanage would also appreciate this donation. Along with the landlord, oh! And the young lady downstairs.
A purpose in mind, Jemina put the boxes of pasta into a shopping bag. First, she went upstairs, it was late into the evening now, she hoped the young man was still awake.
Three knocks and the door opened, the young Aiden opening the door halfway. His hair was still steamy, he had just gotten out of the shower it seems. There was a white serpent tattoo on his neck, though a quarter of it was black and had colourful plants growing on it.
Half his body still obscured, Aiden squinted, “Mrs Jemina? What brings you this late?”
She smiled, “Oh I accidentally made more food than I needed, I was wondering if you wanted some.”
She saw it, that mental arithmetic that occurred in a flash within his eyes. It reminded her a lot of Bollian, that man wrote the book on penny-pinching, Aiden was no different.
He quickly accepted, putting on a small smile as he took her gift. With a promise to return the tubs once finished. Her bag lightened by a few boxes, she set out to all the others in the apartment complex.
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Aiden closed the door with a scaly stump, the box full of pasta in his one remaining hand. He didn’t want the old lady to be worried for him, and it would be annoying to explain why half his body was covered in scales.
His right arm was covered with a large reptilian tattoo right now, putting the pasta on his counter, he resumed testing.
Using a knife, he gently stabbed it into the skin where the tattoo lay, pushing it, feeling an abnormal resistance.
When the skin broke and it finally drew blood, he reabsorbed the tattoo. ‘Crocodile,’ he remembered before he gently stabbed the bare skin one more time, using the same amount of force.
He drew blood even faster.
He noticed this when playing with Oros, how the skin which the white snake occupied also had a scaly feeling to it. This confirmed it, his body took on qualities of the animal he had a tattoo of, but it didn’t deform to match the creature’s shape.
It first occurred with the unknown snake he used earlier this day. Changing his arm to become the length of the snake and two fingers to be the fangs. Looking back, he didn’t even realise he did it or how strange it was. Using the snake that way just came completely naturally. Perhaps something to do with the look Freddy gave him, how Manifested were supposed to be able to learn their power through self-discovery.
Regardless, the result was him being able to increase the toughness of his skin.
There were several downsides though, he thought as he resummoned the same scaled skin on his arm. He forgot what the creature was at the moment, but it didn’t matter, he was no longer disoriented by the memory loss. He still knew what he wanted to do with it.
There was a hole in the rough reptile skin where he first drew blood, but not where he drew blood the second time. Damage to the tattoo still remained and he likely needed to fix it in his mind before it would be healed, not to mention, the skin the tattoo occupied could not be occupied by other tattoos, as demonstrated by Oros trying and failing to swim past the rough reptilian tattoo.
One more test, he knelt down next to a chair, raising a chair leg and put the arm directly under it.
There it was, his flesh getting pushed down by the weight of the chair.
It seemed that even if his skin was as tough as the creature tattooed on it, the flesh underneath remained as squishy.
That posed a problem, sufficient blunt force could likely overcome this makeshift armour entirely. He suspected a bat striking with enough force would still be able to break his bones even if his skin remained unbroken. Combined with the fact damage to the tattoo accumulated and required mental fixing, and he couldn’t create new tattoos on claimed skin, but still,
It was painted vividly in his mind, how all his attacks on the Invader didn't even leave a scratch, while his own wolf biting down hard severed his wrist. Granted that was the purpose, but he was still too… fragile.
This was a layer of additional protection he could summon on his skin at will, that didn’t impede his movements in any way and could be activated and dismissed with a thought. It was too valuable to pass up, especially since normal materials he imbued with his tattoos deformed to fit their shape, making it more difficult to use as amour.
He spent a while trying to figure out the ideal combination that covered his entire body. He was almost spoiled for choice given the large number of creatures with good body armour but lacked good combat qualities.
All the variety of turtles, tortoises and terrapins, Galapagos tortoises with their massive size meant they covered more skin. Molluscs like conches, chitons, abalones and mussels were small but tough bastards. Armadilloes, elephants, hippos and rhinos. Not to mention the arthropods… He almost took fish scales before remembering their main strength was the fact they were highly flexible, a problem his tattoos didn’t need to worry about.
It took him a good degree of testing, but he eventually figured out the combination that covered his entire body. Writing down those creatures onto a notepad, before he finally looked in a mirror, seeing the patchwork and darkened skin.
With this, he could probably tank a bullet.
It would still bruise, but he was still massively more durable than he was this morning. He reabsorbed all the creatures, picking Oros up from the counter. That was the main weakness of this, he couldn’t create or host more creatures while his skin was protected, but that was a worthwhile tradeoff.
And given the nature of his power, most of the creatures he makes should be from preparation, not in the midst of actual combat. His biggest problem right now was the material to use for his creations, but once he got that figured out he could start pumping out animals to assist him, until then he should focus on personal power.
It was a step, a small step, but it was a step nonetheless.
Feeling slightly peckish, he heated up the pasta Mrs Jemina left him. He wasn’t really hungry, likely because of that nutrient bar he had earlier, but he felt he should celebrate in some small way. Taking out the heated pasta, he grabbed a fork, his hand shaking slightly because he was still unused to his left, before he took a bite.
And almost immediately choked because of the ungodly amount of chilli flakes added to it! His throat immediately went into gag reflex, but he held his mouth closed through sheer fucking will. Even as he choked and his breathing became harder. This was food! He would not waste it even if he died trying!
Falling to the ground, still struggling on the burning lump of mashed pasta in his throat, he struggled his way back up before grabbing a glass of water and downed it all in a single gulp.
Breathing hard and deep, his heart beating fast, he contemplated on how that had gotten him closer to death than the otherworldly eldritch monster.