Almost immediately I am face-to-face with three larvae who have sucked out so much life force that they lost any resemblance of their normal form and instead look like bloated transparent aphids, barely hanging by their thread-like appendage. Gluttonous little shits. First they prod and provoke the bombshell for maximal emotional output and then they stuff themselves until they're almost bursting.
I bite off the threads with disgust and the larvae slowly sink upwards into the sparse astral layers.
I still don't sense the dead soul. Probably hiding. Although I'm sure he had more than enough, too. Maybe still finishing leftovers. Normally the inhabitants try not to completely drain their victims, save some life force for later. In this case, the deadman left them no choice.
The creatures despise dead souls because they destroy precious hosts and the creatures can't do anything about it. How do you fight against a brainless complex of functions whose only goal is to fight chaos, simplify and systemise energy functions and reduce entropy?
How do you fight something whose entire existence is cause for your destruction?
Right now the wormhole shows itself as a double-spiral staircase made of ice crystals. The edges of the wide steps are razor sharp and it takes everything not to slip on the smooth ice. One small misstep and I will plummet down, getting dismembered in the process. And this outcome becomes more realistic with every step: to my right is a sheer drop and to my left are deadly ice crystals that will slice me open in a fraction of a second. Some crystals have grown across the stairs and over the void and I have to duck and weave between them, every movement sending shivers down my spine. Unfortunately, I don't have enough power to change from my human form yet, so I have to work with what I have.
Alas, the wormhole does not allow me to transform and I won't reach the core any time soon.
Dead silence and sheer cold. This is bad, the sleeping beauty is on death's door. With every step, the stairs sink slightly deeper into the icy surface that responds with a painful ringing. The holes slowly fill with a fluid that looks like blood and flows from seemingly nowhere. They mark my journey with a hardening chain of scarlet footprints.
Later they become joined with weaving furrows. This time the blood is mine; black liquid pouring from my left hand which is now missing two fingers. And a half.
White ice, scarlet tracks, black swivels; a hellish classic, beautiful but painful.
It gets worse as I proceed further in. A careless step costs me my heel and an unsuccessful duck leaves me with a shard of crystal sticking through my forearm. The way down seems endless and more impossible with every step. Cavolo! This quest is too high-level...
And a boss battle awaits me at the end. I'd love to save right now but life is not a game... pity.
Almost an eternity passes before the steps begin to become less and less steep until they stop completely, giving way to mounds and pits of dark, damp soil. Here incubates life. The edges of the wormhole morph into intertwining tree trunks covered in moss. I wander through the forest, only stopping to regenerate. Finally, I am close enough for metamorphosis and it doesn't take long for me to lick my wounds away. Through the thick branches, I see a pink glow; it shudders, caresses and tickles with a velvety peach skin.
Begging, hoping.
Waiting.
Fading.
Before me stretches a vast swamp covered in a wooden dome. I scan the area for any enemies. The results show a faint presence of intellect spread all over the swamp.
Seriously? What kind of messed-up joke is this? How? How do fight a bloody swamp? Throw stones at it? Spit in it? Insult its mother?
Well, I throw every stone, spit as much as I can, what next?
I spend the next hour circling the swamp and throwing every insult I know but it's completely and utterly useless! I even tried hitting it with a stick and comparing it to king Xerxes and other dumb monkeys.
I'm losing. The fight hasn't even begun but I'm already tired.
And the swamp slumbers, only occasionally popping a gas bubble.
I sit down and assess the futility of me running around throwing insults like an idiot. The bastard turned this into a battle he can't lose. I'm a hero, of course, but still same enough to not stick my head in the deadly quagmire. And he's not leaving without a reason to.
If only I knew what that reason was.
Where is the epic battle with a deadly beast, worthy to please the gods at the top of Olympus? Where are the nymphs and dryads cheering and applauding the victor? And I'm not even saying how my heroism should be sung in ballads by passionate aoidoi*.
I am lonesome and despairing,
Yearning for prolong'd battling;
Furiously cries, mine own palmy heart,
In mine own chest; being torn apart:
A grievous warrior; drops of sorrow spill'd;
His purpose unfulfill'd.
Years of being chained up taught me patience and the ability to wail in the style of Homer's Iliad for hours. Sometimes it has a theme and sometimes not. If anyone hasn't tried doing so yet, I highly recommend it; during the first hour, you are guaranteed to fall into a deep abyssal trance. Really helps pass the time.
If't be true only I wast a clever aoidos;
Commanding the powers of Tartarus;
Splitting the bosom of the earth
To uncover the hidden turf
Of the rancid calamity;
Bane of humanity.
Am I seeing things or did the swamp just stir during that last verse? Don't tell me it understood what I said.
"Vile creature, filthy coward, show yourself!" I cry out but the swamp remains motionless. Looks like we've got ourselves an aesthete. Let's have it your way, you rancid bog, anything to make you show your repulsive mug!
Thy cowardice is only uniform,
With thy detestable opprobrium,
Of which thou art the embodiment of;
A flawed existence thereof.
Plop! An exceptionally large bubble forms in the muddy liquid. It then loudly bursts, releasing a foul stench of rot and decay. Yes!
Continue!
Masterless and ineffectual,
Broken by all;
Once a parteth of something great,
Anon but a mockery of fate.
Plip, plop. Two bubbles. Enough plopping already! The lust for battle makes me tremble with impatience but I can't afford to recklessly speed through this; the fish might realise it's hooked.
Arm'd with truth or falsehood, right or wrong;
So voluble a weapon is the tongue;
Wounded, we wound; and neither side can fail,
For every man has equal strength to rail:
Women alone, when in the streets they hear,
Perhaps excel us in this wordy war;
Like us they stand, encompass'd with the crowd,
And vent their anger impotent and loud.
Cease then - Our business in the field of fight
Is not to question, but to prove our might.
To all those insults thou hast offer'd here,
Receive this answer: 'tis my flying spear!**
The putrid slurry begins to swirl sinisterly. I continue to shout elegantly linked verses of blasphemy until an opening appears in the centre. There it is, the moment of revelation!
A swampy whirlpool flowing into itself, hardening at the edges with green iridescent chitin and sprouting sharp bristles. The slurping slough swells and grows into something that reminds me of a gigantic dung fly with an oversized abdomen.
The swamp-born fly scurries around the huge hole, leaving almost-perfect concentric circles with its only pair of legs. The abdomen digs into the ground with a pale growth with a thickness of a millennia-old sequoia tree. This is bad.
If I can't have the dead... fly take it out willingly, my mission is a failure. Even the smallest part of the fly can regrow the root. Besides, I need it in one piece.
"Over here, little fly! Here I am, a pitiful, tired and lonely soldier calling from the edge of the pit!"
"Kill me! Have the fucking balls to fight! Come on!"
Its crawling closer! Oh... oh my! It's lashing itself with a tail! A grotesque tail with multiple growths that hold more of its kind!
Its legs suddenly plunge into the ground-flesh and rip into the roots-vessels, slipping on the clear ichor. Once it's free, It immediately climbs up and looms over me, observing with pearl-green eyes. Now I evaluate, analyse and surmise.
Objective: destroy my opponent by suppressing its powers.
Analysis: the source of my opponent's power comes from it infinitely dividing itself.
Decision: replace parts of my opponent with my own.
Goal: fully imitate my opponent's structure and merge together.
Division. Division. Division.
My name is Century!
I will greet my nefarious foe
With an aptly spreading floe;
Host to a swarm of ardent aspects,
Waiting to hunt with steel locusts.
Prima acies!***
Engaging swarm mode.
The first rows take to the air with a shriek. They stick to the dead soul's eyes; stinging, scratching, biting, puncturing! Deeper inside... the acid burns, destroys impulses... it hurts! There are less of us now, so little...
Differentiation. Division. Differentiation.
My name is Legion!
At my side strike the inseverable,
True death is your fate; inevitable!
I am almost happy here. There is no meatbag or chain restricting me here, after all.
My will! My power! My dominion!
Segunda acies!
I strike from above with a new swarm. Meanwhile, an ant army runs up the fly's legs, crawling into the abdomen through tiny gaps between the chitin plates. I... we search for soft spots... frisking, checking... gobbling, munching... changing, refilling... he-he.
O! It's not tasty... O! How nasty... O! It's hurting, poisoning us; killing, dissolving us! O!
Divide! Multiply! Transform!
Google mini nomen est, quiz multi sumus!****
Tertia acies!
My name is Go-o-o-ogle!
Skitter, scatter... yum, yum... quickly, fast... need, want... all, every... we, us, me...
What is shining? What is glowing? Searching, prodding, testing. O! A thing! Precious! Require, need... open, release... yum, yum... munch, crunch... codes, cyphers... is it dead? Dead, deceased... open, unlock... proceeding, opening, analysing, understanding! O! What a thing! O! Lucky!
O! What?
No! Don't! I'm so...
Who? From where?
Stabilisation! Merging! Binding!
Why now?
Stop!
Synthesis! Structuring! No, no time! A-a-ah! Why are you ripping into the stomach, bastards! Where are you taking me? Let me go! You can't... you can't do this!
My name is...
*(Aoidoi - classical Greek singers.)
**(Elm quotes verses from Homer's Iliad, song 20: The battle of the Gods.)
***(Prima, segunda & tertia acies - first, second and third rank. These phrases were used in the ancient Roman army.)
****(Elm rephrases a bible verse - "My name is Legion, for we are many.", replacing Legion with Google.)