Godclads

Chapter 7-3 Want

"To want is to war."

-Zein O'yaje, Thousandhand, Ch. 1

7-3

Want

Draus narrowed her eyes at the Sang. From her mind, naked suspicion suffused the atmosphere with a discomforting weight. Avo coaxed his Heaven and made ready. The nature of the Regular was more will than emotion; her actions came swifter than thought, compelled to move by sharpened instinct, her celerity unchained from hesitation.

With Draus, a thing could be a conversation in one heartbeat and a massacre in the next. Envy became Avo. How blessed she was to be able to indulge in violence and humanity without obvious strain. Therein was the difference between them he supposed: she was made to be a human weapon.

He, meanwhile, was a beast of baser make.

“River,” Draus began, her voice low and even, “you spittin’ wind at me? Highflame and Stormtree got bled pretty good in the last one. We ain’t even two decades out from that great shared maulin’ of ours. Don’t none of the colors got a want for more hurt, even if some fools inside them want to see things done.”

“You doubt the Column’s wants?” Green River asked, her coquettish play at mock offense doing little more than making the Regular’s nostrils flare.

Green River leaned back and let the quiet drag for a beat. In silence, she studied her own reflection in the tea before as if trying to divine the right words. Then, her head rose, eyes drifting to study her warring schools of fishes, hunting, feeding, dying in an eternal cycle. She gestured upward, fingers pulling at invisible threads, trying to direct them to look upward.

“This was made to serve as something of… theater,” she began.

Overhead, two schools of fish emerged, as if answering her beckoning. Each fish came in colors of eight. With a mauve manta swimming above them, holding in place to see things done.

At the head of one school, a massive, winged gold-scaled brute of a shark bent the currents with its passing. Flanking it trailed two others: one a biomechanical eel with circuitry that flashed bright red, and the other something inexpressible in form, its insides and outsides shifting like flesh in flux.

Across the way, four adversaries dove out to meet them. The formation of the opposition held different. Twelve piranhas grafted into the tentacles of a silvery octopoid lingered behind its three allies, its limbs open wide like a curved cage. To its front were a green spear-headed serpent and a blue sheen of translucent with a dozen open mouths on its bottom. Behind, a large interconnected hive of worms expanded, more lattice than anything else.

Before the eyes of those below, the factions clashed and havoc was joined. Plumes of ink and ichor spilled free as the veins above grew thick and impenetrable to the gaze, polluted by opacity.

Most looking upon the carnage turned away then. Avo’s gaze, however, ran deeper than the limits of the material now. So close to the action, he could practically feel the ongoing dance happening above. All that was blood came alight before his sight.

He studied the battle that followed, watching as each bioform fell upon each other–even those they were supposed to be allied with–in a hurricane of opportunistic bloodshed.

It took him considerable effort to stifle a laugh.

Green River must’ve thought herself so smart, so pretentiously artistic if this was how she thought to make her point.

To add further spice to his amusement, it struck him that she was fighting for the wrong point.

“The fish,” Avo said. “Colors represent the Guilds?”

“Metaphors, yes,” Green River continued. She turned to Avo. “I think you, for what you are, might appreciate the full picture of the unfolding conflict. That creatures that dream of feeding will always seek to accomplish their design, and not see the true borders of their cage, and think only to further feed their own desire than altering the cage itself to keep them sated.

“A good thing, I think. A very, very good thing. The fish, fight, bleed, eat, kill, breed, and continue because they are designed so. They are ignorant of any manner of gnosis or possibility. To them, we may as well be the gods. Unfathomable. Eldritch. The ones that can alter nature to fit their own design.”

“River,” Draus said, “what are you on–”

The fox snarled. But the sound that came from the grafted creature was infinitely deeper than what belonged in the small vulpine’s throat. Green River herself merely held up a hand. Above, movements went unseen in swirls of hues, the gore of the various fishes suffusing the veins with color-heterogeneity. “Let me finish. Please.”

Draus clenched and unclenched her fists. She gave a curt nod.

“Our great powers, in a sense, are quite like these fish,” Green River said. “Even quite like you, I daresay. Grotesque and subhuman as you are. For you know your wants so well. And as you said, you would die before you betrayed your power; gave it away.” Her lip betrayed the ghost of a quiver. “Tell me, Avo. Why are the Guilds at war with one another?”

“For the dream,” Avo replied. His voice was thick with weariness. He knew where she was leading him with this. It was a waste of time. Other, more personal questions burned inside him. Draus had humored the Sang, but his patience was growing thin.

Green River smiled at his disgust. She laughed. “The dream. The dream. The dream. But alas, Jaus is dead. And there was never only truly just one dream, was there?”

“You're wrong,” Avo said, unwilling to waste time debating philosophy. He looked up again and scoffed. All the fish were dead. Even the purple manta representing Voidwatch had come apart in the crossfire. “And you’re wrong. You want to say that all Guilds fight for what they believe. To reshape existence for what they believe. That these are different dreams. No. This is a lie. There remains only one dream.”

For the first time, he watched her lips open, halt, and melt into a frown. The fox lifted its head, curious about his coming words. “Their utopias are vast and parted. You cannot seriously claim that their imagined realities are so similar as to not matter.”

“No,” Avo replied. “Their imagined realities themselves don’t matter. That’s not the dream. That’s like their colors. Aesthetic.” He pointed up. The flow of the aquarium was clearing. Only gore-flensed pieces remained of the two schools. “You grew the bioforms differently. Gave them different designs. Guilder colors. Want to show us the end. When the murk drains away. Show us that all are dead. Tell us that all the creatures betrayed each other. Because there’s only one utopia. One dream. One Heaven to rule one aspect of one domain.”

Avo lifted the helmet from his head and let it clatter so as to better cast his scorn upon the Sang for these constant prevarications. The woman was just terminally unable to get to the godsdamned point.

“Your show is aesthetic. Your metaphor is all aesthetic. The Guilds are wrapped in aesthetic. Done enough dives in the Tiers. Seen enough of internal subversion. External sabotage. War with allies. War with enemies. People and why change each time. Only one thing remains the same. The dream. The true dream. Only tasted it recently. Only knew it in theory before. But it’s only material if you’re a Godclad.”

“What do you think the true dream is?” Green River asked, swallowing.

“Control,” Avo said. “The dream is control. With Jaus. With the Guilds. With Fallwalkers.” He paused. “With me.” He could feel Draus’ eyes on him without looking. “And right now, I’m going to control this conversation so you can finish explaining what the Column wants with Mirrorhead. Jhred. Do not divert again. Or I will find a metaphor. Will carve the shape of a fish from your corpse. Something about how seafood and human flesh are both good for my hunger.”

Kae frowned. “B-but that sounds… sounds more like a co-uh-comparison than… than a metaphor.”

Avo drew in a long breath, the wind whistling between his fangs as he centered himself. He needed the Agnos. She was essential for his needs. If he had to hurt someone, Green River was right there. “Kae. Not now.”

It took a moment for Kae to notice his annoyance. She wilted in far less time. “Oh. So-sorry.”

Reaching over the table, Avo ignored his own teacup and opted to seize the entire pot instead. With a twist, he popped the lid off, plundered the tea leaves from their holder, and began to chew. “Start talking about Mirrorhead. What does the Column want with him? Why? What’s it have to do with Stormtree? No more history lessons. Tired. Too annoyed. Want to wear your face.”

A heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder. Iron fingers dug into his skin. Draus. He didn’t look at her.

“My Injector’s fine,” he said, pre-emptively. His beast wasn’t hungry, but he was aggravated.

It already strained his considerable self-control trying to not think of how his father might’ve been a Low Master. Too much was at odds there. He wouldn’t think about that until he found Walton–whatever Walton existed as right now, and made certain himself.

Beneath his glare, both Sang and fox blinked, more fascinated by his growing ire than terrified. “Apologies. I was distracted… by a need to tease with knowledge. A bad habit from my past. Let us be more… attuned to the task at hand.”

Her thoughts spewed phantoms from the gates of her mind. The faint wisping apparitions blended then into eight symbols, painted with eight referential colors.

The first that caught Avo’s eye was Highflame–a burning flame graced with a dozen open wings. Across from it, the sigil of the panopticon rose, a crown made of burning eyes, each watching each, the visual motif matching the governing words of Ori-Thaum’s ethos.

“All will be revealed.”

“There cannot be Ori-Thaum and Highflame,” Green River said, her finger drawing a line between the symbols of the two Guilds. “Not so long as the former seeks to create an absolute republic for those it can. Not so long as it seeks to strip the reins of godhood from any single individual and spread the power amongst their polis. To conjoin the collective and the people, if you will.”

Draus snorted. “Yeah. That’s what they want. They spit a good line or two, but if you’ve spent any time in their rat-nest districts, you’ll learn a thing or two about these ‘republics’ they wanna build. Been playin’ real loose with the definition, seein’ how they’re running under a Council of Elders and Mirrors. Folks with all the moral authority and no real oversight from below.” She spat into the tea. “You see that crown and you heed it right, Avo: that shit’s just for show. Them eyes are pointed outside, because it’s their party, and folk that don’t bend to their thoughts ain’t never gonna be invited. Better left as Soul-feed.”

An expression of pleasure passed over Green River’s face. Avo had the feeling that she quite liked provoking unwilling admissions from people. A questionable habit in and of itself.

He would need to look into her when he found the moment.

“Be you honest with yourself, Jelene?” Green River said. “You are hardly the most neutral of judges when it comes to the Silvers.”

Draus leaned in, her face sinking into the neon glint of the phantoms. “Highflame burned me. Used me up. Wasted the lives of me and mine and had me slotted for summary execution. You know what happened on that same day while I was stuck in my cage? Ori-Thaum sent me a job offer. Real lucrative. Would see me get placed in their Elysiums, stat, so I could start trainin’ some fresh blood for ‘em. And even with that, it was still easy tellin’ them to fuck themselves. Yeah. I ain’t unbiased. But Ori-Thaum don’t deserve unbiased. Ori-Thaum wants to put a leash on humanity’s neck and make sure we all think, feel, and act as one.” She chuckled. “Dead gods would’ve itched somethin’ bad for that kind of control.”

Across from her, Green River took in the words with her attention rapt. Her mind was spinning, sampling what was spoken as if phantasmic tea. “I know why you judge them in such a manner.” She glanced at Avo again. “A war between absolute stability and individual agency is to be waged here.”

“Still prevaricating,” Avo said. “You said we’re targeting Mirrorhead. Jhred. Trying to start something between Highflame and Stormtree. We’re not fighting Ori-Thaum. Not hurting their interests at all.”

Green River smiled then. She knew something he didn’t. He was growing to hate her for that. She could be as honest as she claimed to be, but so long as she kept withholding knowledge from him, he would always yearn to sink his blood through the floor of her jaws and pry open her throat–

Avo blinked. He checked his Morality Injector.

It was still active. Suppressing the worst of his impulses. In the dungeons of his Metamind, he could hear the beast choking.

But then what was making him want this? What was making him still want to hurt her so?

“Astute you are, ghoul,” Green River said. The fox winked at him. “We are not at war with Ori-Thaum. No, I daresay we are helping them.”

A sharp inhale came from his side. Draus’ heartbeat accelerated.

“As with the fish, presently, the major divide between the Guilds can be parted between those who are Massist and those who are Saintists. Power governed by the collective, with Ori-Thaum, Stormtree, Sanctus, and Ashthrone joined in this shared enterprise. The Saintists, meanwhile, are of the No-Dragons, Omnitech, and Highflame. Such was the case for the Fourth Guild War.”

A new symbol fused between Ori-Thaum and Highflame. The sign of a tree with nine branches cleaved into shape by a bolt of falling lightning. “However, as stated by our dear ghoul, the Guilds will almost certainly fall upon each other in the aftermath of felling their targets of priority. Ninth Column likely has cause to believe that Highflame and Stormtree are improving relations. With a possibility that the latter might just see themselves in a different camp should the next war arise.”

Draus scoffed. “Ain’t no way.”

Green River’s glee brightened. “Why not?”

“Because,” Draus started, “the Chivalrics pushed ‘em into Ori-Thaum’s embrace.” Speaking those words made her lip twitch in disgust. “Ugly as is, that’s the truth of it. We shot 'em in the back for a couple Souls more durin' the last Godhunt. Ain't no sense in it."

“Chivalrics?”

Draus sighed. “You know Highflame ain’t exactly a unified front, yeah? Got our–their own divides?”

Walton might have done a dive or two for an Authority looking for dirt on a rival. Avo was too focused on the craft to pay attention to something as beyond him as politics.

“Well,” Draus continued. “The Chivalrics are the old faction. Leftovers from the surviving knightly orders that turned their banners from gods to Jaus after the ‘Fall.” She shrugged. “In time, they turned tumorous: grew into internal dynasties determined to keep their own power. Spat on the ideals.”

“Blessed be the worthy,” Green River said. Draus turned her baleful glare on the Sang. The latter tilted her head coyly. “Ah. But as you can see, Avo. The former captain has biases within biases.” She grinned at Draus. “It was rank foolishness for a soldier to cast her lot in with the Meritocrats, wasn’t it.”

Draus closed her eyes and sighed. “You believe what you believe, I reckon.”

“That was not an answer–”

“Yes, godsdamn you!”

Green River beamed, overjoyed to provoke such a reaction from Draus. “I apologize again. I have offended you.” Her focus turned to Avo. “She deserved better. But the same can be said for most Regulars and non-Guilder support working under Highflame during those bleak years–”

“Mirrorhead,” Avo said. He was interested in what caused Draus to be exiled from the Tiers. But that was a question more personally acquired than through naked voyeurism. Odder still was how Green River could speak so much without even a threat of violence from the Regular. An imbalance of power remained between them. One that Draus was more reluctant to tread than Green River. It reeked of an owed debt.

“Regardless,” Green River said, “the Chivalrics are looking down the blade tip of their own execution. Through atrocity and naked lust for power, they pushed away a potential ally in the form of Stormtree and crippled the development of everyone not of their lineage. For their defeat in the Fourth Guild War–this failure so naked none could ignore it–Veylis herself has been forced into temporary rulership: A role she is most loathe to assume.”

“Be plain,” Avo said. “What does that mean?”

“It means that she has been purging the Chivalrics slowly over the years,” Green River explained. “Cutting away their bases of power. Forcing some of them into open duels. Choking their finances. And offering the worst offenders to the other Guilds to make examples of as apology gifts.” Green River nodded. “Be it not said that the High Seraph is without honor.

“Nonetheless, the gist is this: with the influence of the Chivalrics fading, Veylis and the Meritocrats seek to make nice with Stormtree with offers of recompense. An act that, if successful, threatens the balance of power in the great Guild equation. But with the eldest son of the Greatling family line–Jhred Greatling, or Mirrorhead of Conflux as he is known to a few–the column seeks to keep the scales evened and the struggle heavy for all to bear.”

Avo grunted. “So. Column wants me to maintain the status quo by… making Scalpers and Conflux fight somehow?”

Green River shook her head. “That would be too simple. No. They want you to ensure his plan is brought to near fruition before he is stopped. Slain.”

“His plan?” Avo asked.

Green River said nothing for a moment. Instead, she pushed forward the locus she laid upon the table earlier. “Here. Take a dive. Have a peek into the mind of your prey-to-be.”

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