Chapter 8-15 The Inverted Dreamer (II)

Chapter 8-15 The Inverted Dreamer (II)

Avo, listen. Being a Necrojack is simple, but that doesn't mean it's easy. This art is like building a house with bits of truth and much more falsehood. Memories are fickle. Malleable. Even history might be reshaped.

Logic wont be enough. Intuitions like letting your nose lead you when the room could fill up with smoke at any time.

You want to find out whats true? Look for the mistakes. Mistakes are my favorite thing in the world. Mistakes tell you what someone else wanted to do, and how they failed, and what else might not make sense.

Want makes fools of even gods. Like a favored drug well do anything to get. You hold that desire, and you hold the keys to any mind.

-Conversation between Walton and [Redacted]

8-15

The Inverted Dreamer (II)

Waste.

Waste, not even a monster.

The withering winds of truth winnowed away a piece of Avo. It didnt hurt when the dust of it left him, but the hollowness lingered. Even before he belonged to Walton, he thought himself a creature of purpose, a failure of design though he might be.

Now, however, the waters of the Nether seemed to wash through him, his ego whistling from the crevices made from his fissuring concept of self.

Not even a dog, he muttered. The second blow hit him with the delay of a second. The child. They said that he had the memories of a child implanted inside him. The emptiness spread and lathered itself over the unhealed wound left by Waltons final node.

Pain greeted pain, but one served as a foundation for the other, preventing a true internalization.

Was this why the last of Waltons branch stole his choice? Forced his hand? To innoculate him from these greater torments, deliberately castrating him of his filial piety to deaden the hurt following the coming blows.

From one note of pain to another Avos mind swirled. The Hungers said something of his memories being copied. Installed into him. What did they mean? Child. There was I copied the memories of a child. What child?

A dog-like bark of laughter came from the scabbed one. The cunt forgot why he did it in the first place. This would be pretty fucking comedic if it wasnt so godsdamned sad. And if you werent literally a replica to me. You fucking shamed us, Strayer. Shamed us all. Shamed the man we used to

Silence. The dragon twitched.

Stupid shit, the scabbed one finished. With a spill of anger, he returned to silence as a bitter wryness stained the atmosphere around the dragon.

We shall be the sole judge to your failings, the Hungers said. A bout of conjoined laughter lingered at the tail of its words, notes building upon the rising foundation of Avos loathing like descending bricks.

It reminded him of Mirrorhead. And that in of itself made Avo quite inclined to engineer its eventual death.

You truly do not remember the child, my priest? The Hungers hummed, its mind a cleave between curiosity and growing suspicion.

Do not be shaken, master, the Woundshaper interrupted. Hold to your silence for now. Betray nothing.

"You have a recommendation. Avo inner words came not as a question but as permission. He allowed the Heaven to speak freely.

Vagueness should not merit clarity. They play using your blindness. Inflict the same upon them. The dance of deceit need not be done alone. They clearly wish for you to make comment on this mystery child. Yet, that is not our game. We seek to understand what occurred with you. Lure them to speech. Ask them why they think Walton bound the memories to the child. Make them wander through the topic.

The loathing inside Avo shifted, the turn spurred by the Woundshapers advisement. His hatred rang inside of him, and this time he let the beast bray its hate, using it to focus his ire. There was something poetic about deriving strength from the hate poured inside him by the Hungers, and as he used the passing of time like a whetstone, sharpening the tension of the palace, he broke the silence of minds with a hurled question.

Why do you think I bound the Frame to the ghoul?

The Hungers tone dropped. Slave? Us?

The scabbed one hissed, unable to bear the heresy. Shut your cunt-mouth! Strayer! Or

Silence, the Hungers hissed. The Walton bound to the idea of Peace obeyed. Avo cast out an emotion, and its flavor was mockery. Mockery for the other branches of Walton.

Slaves one. Slaves all. Avo turned his gaze back to the Hungers. Tell me of the dead boy. Why do you think I bound him to the ghouls? Why do you think I have him in the Frame. To spare him death? Frames dont spare death. It just makes it a cycle. No father would inflict this on a son. But you are all severed. You should understand. No. The ghoul is more. More than the boy. More than the beast or the fragments. Made to be Godclad. Made for choice.

You deny the worth of your own child? The dragons spun, a new shape flowing out from their blood. The face of a young man greeted Avo, shorn of hair and with ears rimmed with rings of gold. Clasped in priestly robes, he bore a faint resemblance to Walton, but it was the flash of a golden tangerine that caught Avos eye.

Citrus. The smell flowed sharp and true.

That was the taste of Walton.

The heartless clenched his jaws. The scabbed one began snarling curses. The weeper moaned in pain. No no, I dont want to remember! I dont! Avohaketen! Forgiven me!

The image faded. The Hungers froze. A cold realization dawned, its ichor freezing as its minds turned. You did not react

Avo worked to keep the ploy. He cursed himself internally. He is long dead

The temperature in the Nether shifted. The waters grew chilled. Ghosts shivered.

Ripples came from each of the Low Masters, their conjoining ghosts screaming out into the Nether in plumes of trauma, seeking a target they just couldnt find.

For the first time, the heartless looked confused.

But the weeper said, he has the helix! The mem-data shows

I cant fucking find his mind, the scabbed one said. He doesn't have any of the memories I have

The Hungers spoke then, its anger suddenly cold, impersonal. The hurt my priest felt for his son was eternal. Immortal! It does not just fade. He started wars for him! He cleaved his mind into four for him! He spent the past centuries You are not my priest. That is hate that vibrates from your design. Not true pain. Just loathing. Who what are you?

The fool has finally noticed us, the Woundshaper said. A pity. We were learning so much from this charade. Let us be away. Let the question form a tumor inside them. Afflict them. Let nothing be answered.

Avo did not do that. Instead, he committed the only act a Necro would. He lied. He misdirected. Ninth Column sends their regards.

His deception struck the Low Masters and the Hungers like a thunderbolt. A surge of ghosts recoiled in outrage.

The scabbed one snarled. Zein! You insolent bit

He cut his Metamind off then, ejecting himself from Yosannas palace.

His return to the real came with as every last mind in the block detonated, the totality of their beings turned to shrapnel. Slipping his Whisper through the currents, he sealed the pathway to his Yondergales, and began his crawl outward.

With the wind as his being, his touch drifted across countless spasming bodies, their minds fracturing into nothingness, the devastation like a block-nullifying blastwave certain to see collateral damage.

A low feeling of pleasure began to build inside Avo despite the wounds lingering on his ego, despite the unwanted truths. With his Heaven, he evaded certain nullification. With the Galeslither, there was likely little he couldnt escape.

Such were his thoughts when the veil leading into his plane was sliced open by the sweep of a blade.

And as the metal licked wind, Avo felt a flare of agony open across his back.