I wake with an awful ache in my head, and upon further testing, an ache in the rest of me too. I rub my eyes, trying to see through the blur and remember what happened that could leave me in so much pain upon waking up.
The room comes into focus, and the horrors reveal themselves. I’m in a huge cave with a ceiling at least three times my height, and the other side of the room is hidden from view by pulsating, human-sized flower buds.
I stand up, stumbling slightly as my right leg gives out, taking a moment to right myself and lean against one of the walls. They feel rough and artificial, like the room was scraped out rather than eroded naturally.
I remember the puppet-tail Fathom eating that man, and the long-necked one dragging me off the street, so I assume I’m under the city somewhere. I’m also, thankfully, not dead, and I’ve never heard of an Eldritch one saving a snack for later. So, I’m sure that whatever is in store for me is somehow worse than either of those.
For some reason, everything feels distant, as if my senses are separate from my body. I’m not sure if it's the concussion or if I’ve subconsciously accepted my death, but I’m having trouble mustering much more than apathy. I limp my way to one of the bulbs; its beating reminiscent of a heart as I peer into it.
Its liquid insides wobble around as something within settles. I turn on my phone’s flashlight to get a better look, only to immediately retch and feel my phone slip out of my hands, clattering to the ground.
Floating inside is the mutated face of a man from my mom's work; his features still vaguely present, but his forehead stretched upwards and hosts what looks like a massive, closed eye. My disgust overpowers my recently acquired apathy, and I felt the acid in the back of my throat building.
I have to get out. I can’t let this happen to me. I’d rather die than become one of the Fathom. My eyes dart frantically around the room, searching for a way out and, barring that…at least something to fight back with.
I see several dripping holes around the top of the cave I might be able to fit in, but no way to get up to them. I’m guessing that’s where the Fathom pulled us in from, so even if I got up there, there’s a good chance I’ll just run into another one.
I swallow my spit to try and relieve the burning in the back of my throat as I limp back towards the buds, sliding into a narrow spot between them to see what's on the other side of the room. It seems like it’s mostly just more buds and a pillar or two to keep the place from collapsing.
The room seems to have one source of light: a large, fleshy gemstone, the teal light illuminating the room even through its layer of grotesque growth. I can’t help but reach toward it. Its shine is more alluring than I can describe, and even now, I can’t explain why I was drawn to it.
As I’m about to touch it, a sudden blast of shrapnel shrieks across the room, laying into my legs but leaving me, luckily, with only some small scratches. My eyes shoot to where it originated, and I see a rod of metal as thick as my fingers embedded into the cavern floor near my feet.
Glancing up, I see the outline of a human striding out of the dark corner of the room. Though upon revealing itself, I see that said outline is the only human thing about it. A few locks of long gray hair pour from an otherwise bald head, and a set of two slitted eyes are oriented above and below his still-human left eye.
What's left of his mouth is fused shut. Not like they were glued, but as if the two halves of his mouth were like play-doh given to a child and smashed together. The rest of him looks almost normal, though the Vanguard-esque uniform might be the most unsettling part of this ensemble of human semblance. Worse still, resting in his hands is a flesh-covered bow, its length pulsating like a heart.
If this Eldritch has the capability to kill, or worse yet, capture Vanguards and use them as minions, then I have no chance whatsoever to escape. I back away from the gem, and he lowers the bow, his actions less like those of a living thing and more like those of a machine.
“We see you’ve already met our favorite toy. Isn’t he wonderful? We wish we could have customized him a bit more, but if we wanted him to deactivate the shield pylon… well, we needed him as whole as we could manage.” A familiar voice hisses from behind me, and my heart sinks.
The hose-neck eldritch lowers from one of the holes by the ceiling and slides along some of the buds before lowering itself in front of my head, grinning at me.
I meet its gaze evenly, not giving it the satisfaction of a reaction, all the while I’m sure it notices, as I have, that my legs are trembling beneath me and I can barely keep myself upright. Backing up slowly, I shift toward the original arrow still embedded in the ground.
“If you’re going to kill me, just do it already.” I seethe, but I have trouble keeping my voice from wavering.
“We’re sure you’re intelligent enough to know we won’t be killing you. You have a much more important role, our little clay. When we’ve completed you, you shall bring fear and glory to our great master's name.”
I nudge the rod with my foot, unseating it more from where its shallow penetration left it submerged in the floor. I can’t risk messing up my only chance at this.
“Do you have any requests for your new form? We won't let you ruin our vision, but we're not completely heartless.”
I snatch the arrow from the ground, its heft surprising me as I swing it at the head in front of me with all of my remaining strength.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“How about this for a requ-” PING
The Vanguard looses an arrow, slamming into the one I’m holding, the force knocking it from my fingers and making me cry out. I fall, clutching my hands, their skin torn, and the vibrations rattling my arms painfully.
“Hm… You’re less entertaining than expected. We had plans for you, but we suppose it might be more convenient to find a more malleable clay.”
I look up spitefully, the words of defiance not finding their way to my lips. It eyes me dispassionately, and I feel fleshy roots wrap around my numbed limbs; my struggles prove useless, and I’m forced to watch as large petals surround me, growing and weaving into a disgusting bud of meat.
I stick my tongue out of my mouth, knowing full well that whatever happens here would be a fate far worse than death. My teeth close, and the iron tang I taste proves I drew blood... but it’s not nearly enough.
I couldn’t bite through, my fear of death overpowering my fear of living as a monster. Incapable of anything else, I weep, my tears falling into the swiftly rising liquid that has already enveloped my legs and waist.
It burns, not like an acid, but like a faucet set all the way to hot and left there. Through the sizzling pain, I hear the Fathom mutter:
“Already? They should have taken longer to get here; we don’t have enough on the surface to distract them. No, you’re right, we’ll have to handle it personally. Even if it’s resistant, it'll just take more time. We can leave it here.”
The liquid had gotten to my chest, and I see the changes on my legs starting to appear. The muscles have started to bulge and tense, the skin melting away to reveal my monstrous new black muscles. Despite my panic, my ears latch onto the sound of someone new talking.
“...You’re sure about this? You know as well as I do that our contract is the only thing left capable of keeping your ego intact,” The voice says, before pausing. “ …As you wish. ”
Rising past my shoulders, I feel the burning sensation all the more painfully on the untouched skin of my throat as I stretch my neck as far above it as I can.
My tears stream down my cheeks and hiss as they hit the liquid below. I wasn’t going to see my family ever again.
Or worse still, if I did see them again, I’d be something entirely different—a monster intent on tearing them apart. The fluid laps at my chin, chitin poking through my skin as a new voice echoes through my mind:
“Hello Brooke, I am R'oceveilt, sub-spawn of Cthulhu. It might already be too late, but it looks like you have a choice to make.”
The voice is deep, a haunting baritone that echoes over itself like many voices speaking at once.
“I’LL DO IT! I ACCEPT!” I scream at it, willing to give anything to preserve my humanity just a moment longer.
“W-wait, hold on there's a bit more nuance to th-”
“I DON’T CARE. I CONSENT. DO SOMETHING!”
I hear a disgruntled huff in my head, as if there could possibly be something more important than preventing my transformation.
“In that case, I, R'oceveilt, offer you a contract in which you will do your utmost to preserve the remnants of humanity in exchange for unfathomable power. Do you accept?”
“YES, STOP TALKING AND DO IT!” I scream, my head finally submerging beneath the burning liquid.
“A pleasure doing business with you, Brooke.”
I feel a new burning in my body, but this time strength and control flow with the pain. My leg muscles clench, and I feel the roots holding my body down rip apart and fall away as I stand up.
The pain of my previous wounds fades, and my mind gains a sharp clarity. All of my distractions are gone. The half-transformed talons my hands have become tear into the wall of petals surrounding me, and I cleave it open like an axe to drywall.
The liquid hisses as it floods the floor and I step out onto the stone, finally free. I let out a screech, using it as an outlet for the immense power coursing through my veins.
“As pleased as I am that you’re enjoying your first moments as a Vanguard, I must recommend dodging.” The voice in my head says
“Huh?” I manage, as my eyes lock onto the archer, his arrow halfway out of his bow already.
“Shit! More warning, please!” I shout as I dive behind one of the other pods.
A solid metal arrow pierces the bud I’m hiding behind, its disgusting inhabitant flopping onto me as it pops.
“Gross! Shit! Roce—whatever your name is—what do I do?” I curse, praying the new voice in my head has better advice than just dodging.
“My name is R'oceveilt, though if it suits you, my previous contractor referred to me as Roosevelt. I believe it was the name of a beloved leadership figure for your people many ages ago.
Advice-wise, I’m quite confident I could provide something more helpful than ‘dodge’, but thus far your listening skills have left much to be desired, and I must work within my means.” He retorts in my head.
“Alright then, Roosevelt, what the hell can I do about our resident rebar slinger over there? Also! Did you just read my mind? Absolutely not cool! Thoughts remain in the thinker!” I fire back, feeling another arrow impact the pillar I’m standing behind.
“If I recall, your exact words were: ‘I DON'T CARE, I CONSENT, DO SOMETHING.’” He replies, his voice morphing into mine as he quotes me.
“Our contract dictates that I have access to your thoughts during times of duress and whenever directly consented to by you. And in regards to... what remains of Vanguard Silo, I recommend returning fire.
In his current state, he is little more than a bundle of instincts, his cognitive facilities heavily suppressed. He will likely shoot down whatever you send his way; the interval before he can fire again will be your best chance of assaulting him.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about being sassed by a disembodied voice, but I could hear the dejection in his tone when he mentioned the Vanguard. I had enough clues at this point to piece together what happened, and just barely enough tact not to ask about it.
Wait, shit, he can read my mind, can’t he? I try blanking my mind, but all I can think of are dry-erase boards, my useless brain betraying me once again. My decision to let myself get distracted almost proves fatal as another arrow shoots past me into the stone behind me, earning a yelp as I scramble for cover.
A chuckle echoes inside my head, and I hear Roosevelt speak again: “Your concern is endearing, though I’d much prefer you focus, lest I lose both of my wards at the same time.
At the moment, your physical abilities have a significant boost from our forming a contract. The time limit for this boon is approaching rapidly. You must act soon or find yourself far weaker and risk your wounds reopening.”