The Chimeric Ascension of Lyudmila Springfield

Chapter One-Hundred: There Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked (Arc 4 – End)

Tris stood alone in a sea of darkness. The inescapable nothingness flanked her from all sides, and an outsider would have thought her to be a victim trapped in an infinite nightmare.   

Except they would be wrong.    

This abyss belonged to her. It wasn’t the void. It was a partitioned segment of a now infinite [Void Storage] separated from the rest to host her revenge.   

“The seeds of nightmares find fertile ground in the heart of darkness, but what if we were to go beyond that elementary understanding?” she asked herself. “Darkness, alone, is uninteresting. It’s uninspiring and bland without a supporting cast to add atmosphere.” Tris manipulated her surroundings, materializing a dilapidated, two-story cabin in the inky blackness. It was like a macabre monument to decay—a place that nightmares feared to crawl.  

The roof sagged under manufactured neglect, with missing shingles to expose the rotting wood. The walls bore deep scars of time. They were covered in creeping vines and moss that seemed to thieves in the decrepit darkness only Tris could form.     

“Hmm… No. It’s still too clean. It must be more…” Tris waved her hand, shattered the windows, then covered them in grime. “Yes. That’s better. That’s how it looked.” She glanced her hand against the jagged edges, treating them like the teeth of a violent beast.    

She rusted the door hinges so it creaked ominously with every slight movement. She entered and splintered the floorboards while altering the air to stink with the stench of decay.    

Flickering candles provided no light. They existed as mere decorations, yet darkness cast darkness, creating shadows within shadows that twisted in the corners, whispering secrets of despair. Ceiling chains rattled as if moved by unseen hands.   

Otherwise, the cabin was empty. But it wouldn’t be for long. This was how it looked the first time she was brought to it. It changed. It grew. It evolved to become her biggest fear.  

Tris walked away from her construction. She had thought long and hard about this, and the script the Beacon of Wisdom had devised must be followed to the nth degree.    

It was time to begin.   

Oh, how long had she yearned for this day?  

Tris focused until she held Remy’s soul in her right hand. Yes—this was Remy’s genuine soul. The one she was born with it. A moment later, an exact copy appeared in her left hand. “This cannot be done all the time. It’s a unique case since I’ve reverse-engineered every aspect of this despicable woman. It’s ironic, little Remy. Your soul is so clasped in the void that it’s easy to understand. It’s so perceivable.”  

The original soul floated. Tris stepped away after storing the copy—she’d need it later for further experiments. An aspect of personification targeted the glowing orb, giving rise to one of Tris’s lord’s most despicable enemies. Those wolf-like ears twitched as she touched the ground.   

Remy opened her eyes. She looked lax. “The void, huh?” She glanced around and refused to acknowledge the cabin because she couldn’t see it. Tris hadn’t granted that permission. “Yeah, it feels just like home. I guess my final warp made it after all.”  

“Can you be so sure about that?”  

“Eh?” Remy turned around. “Oh, it’s the bitch with the dumb hat. What? You decided to tag along with me?”  

Tris laughed. Her heart quivered so anxiously at what was about to happen that she couldn’t stand it. “You don’t get it? A dullard like you gets less impressive the more I observe, but that’s par for the course for a simpleton. Aww… Poor little Remy… You don’t realize what happened, do you?”  

“…”  

“Death is far too gentle for a scourge like you. I’ve seen your past, wretch. I know the horrors you’ve endured and believe they could be improved. I will make you suffer.”  

“How can I be dead if I’m alive? You claim to be something about wisdom, but you fucked up by letting me recover. Just wait. I’ll warp away and—”  

“Oh?” Tris crossed her arms and smugly smiled. “Please. By all means. Warp away, little wolf. Return to your lord and tell her you’ve failed to kill the one that got away.”  

“…” Remy’s expression slowly soured. She had this grand, overarching confidence that eroded like metal left to rust in the elements.   

“What’s wrong?” taunted the overseer of this partitioned world. It was a blink and a miss moment. Tris flickered and appeared an inch away from Remy. “Can you not do something as simple as this?” Tris flickered again and appeared ten feet overhead before returning to her original location. “You realize it, don’t you? Your soul no longer carries the void’s gift.”  

“… What did you do to me?!”  

“Oh, it wasn’t difficult for a Beacon of Wisdom like me, but must I explain myself to you? No. I don’t think I will. Ah, but you’re angry, aren’t you? You’re upset. Is that supposed to scare me?” Tris flashed her teeth, grinning like a lion. “We’ve killed you once. What makes you think I won’t kill you again? Remember what I said? Death is too gentle for you. Surely an insignificant cub like yourself knows the whisperings behind my words.”  

“Oh, you’re a bitch. I know I’ll love your screams. I’ll claw out of the void and fuck up that chimera. Or maybe I’ll take the info to Seraphina. Ever think about that?”  

Tris merely smiled. She taunted Remy to approach.   

She fell for the bait.  

Remy kicked off, launching into a tirade of kicks and punches, but her precise motions were too clumsy. Tris effortlessly avoided everything with her hands behind her back, side-stepping away. She twirled to duck a jab, then lightly hopped over a low sweep, laughing all the while.   

“Has the cub met her match?”  

Remy growled before redoubling her efforts, but fate replayed itself like a movie on repeat. Tris kited Remy away and always stayed just a hair ahead of every action she made. That infuriated the Wolffolk, making her already pathetic attempt sloppier.    

“You can’t hit what you can’t touch. You’re slowing. How pathetic. You’re revoltingly weak. Useless, too. What did that wench of a lord ever see in someone like you?”  

“SHUT UP!” Remy screamed. Panic showed in her face. Her eyes quivered with rage. She focused strength in her legs and jumped like a rocket. It was fast—but not swifter than Tris expected because this was her reality. This area—this slice of partitioned [Void Storage]— was a domain under her control.    

It was like time slowed to a whisper. Remy couldn’t change her speed or direction, but Tris encircled the diving Remy like a lioness scouting her prey. “Haven’t you noticed? You are not in control. I’m allowing you to fight because… Well, it’s my choice. I’m allowing you to get angry. I’m allowing you to try, try, try your disgusting heart out. Haven’t you noticed? Your suit, Remy. Doesn’t it feel…loose?”  

Remy hadn’t realized it, but Tris’s uneasy words alerted her to something sinister.   

Remy was de-aging. It was subtle, but it was there. Tris made three more revolutions before allowing time to flow again, which caused the youthful Wolffolk to scream. Her high-pitched voice shouted a tirade of threats not befitting her childish appearance. But she couldn’t move. Forces beyond her keen locked her in place.    

“It was about this age when you were introduced to the horrors this world carried and experienced a taste of hell.” Tris retrieved the copy of Remy’s soul, which she had made. “Do you know what this is? It’s you. The data that creates a person is stored here, although you’re the original. This is but a copy. Ah, but what is a copy? Can a copy be the genuine thing if everything matches?”  

Tris bounced the copied soul like a ball. “There exists a thought experiment in my lord’s world. Have you heard of the Ship of Theseus? It’s a paradox that philosophers have debated for millennia. If you replace every single part of a ship with new, identical parts, is it still the same vessel? Or does it become something else entirely?”  

She paused, the soul flickering with each bounce. “Now, consider this in terms of souls. If a soul becomes fractured and you replace those shattered pieces with identical copies like the files of a computer system… Does the soul remain the same? Or does the act of replacement alter its essence, creating something new? Can a copied soul, with all its identical fragments, ever truly become the real thing? Or will it always be a mere shadow—a counterfeit trying to pass as genuine?”  

Tris let the soul hover, its light dimming and brightening as if caught in its internal struggle. “This is the dilemma I face. When the essence of a being is replicated, does it retain the original's true nature, or does it become a mere facsimile devoid of the authenticity that made the original unique? In the end, does the copy--no matter how perfect-- become real? Or is it forever trapped in the shadow of its predecessor as a paradox in its own right? I seek an answer to that, Remy. I believe acquiring a foregone conclusion to that mystery will help my lord. You shall be my unwilling assistant. Before I continue… Are you curious about the outside world? Here, let me show you.”  

Tris opened a [Skyview] window to the outside world, showing the bound child what her body was doing.   

“NO! DON’T MAKE ME BOW TO THAT BITCH! THAT CHIMERA IS NOT MY LORD!! IT DOESN’T DESERVE—”  

“Now do you get it? Your body will be Meruria’s undoing. It will work tirelessly until that woman pays for her sins. You’ll witness it. You’ll do nothing but watch it. You can scream and cry. You can beg for forgiveness, but you won’t find mercy.” Tris’s voice held a bitter edge.  "Tilde used to tell me stories about fables filled with forgiveness. Tales where even the darkest hearts could find the light of redemption. Except those don’t apply here. How could they?"  

She stashed the copied soul before clenching a fist. “Forgiveness is for the repentant—for those who seek it. But you? You will never earn it. Some sins are too great. Some betrayals cut too deep. No fable or tale can change that truth. In those stories, the protagonist often kills dozens or hundreds and leaves a trail of bodies in their wake before refusing to kill their target. Why? Why go through so much to stop at the end? Even now, I don’t understand them. I never will. Those endings are terrible. I dislike them for their moral hypocrisy.”  

Tris’s eyes burned bright. The motions were about to begin because the final preparations were almost finished. They’d been happening behind the scenes.   

“You will suffer, Remy. From now until the end of time. My lord has acquired her revenge on the surface, and it’s up to me to handle it spiritually. My retribution will be absolute and unpleasant.”   

Tris's eyes flashed with an unyielding resolve. "No story, no lesson in forgiveness, can alter that fate. This is my justice. Has it hit you yet? Are the memories returning? The ones you thought you left in the past? No? Then… What about this?”  

Snap!  

From the utter darkness came a single noise—a baby’s cry surrounded the endless nothingness like it was everywhere at once. It was impossible to have not heard it. Remy’s face contorted as the realization struck her like an arrow launched from a giant’s bow.   

“Now you get it. Your horrors began at this age. It wasn’t long until those vile men made you experience motherhood. You became a sobbing mess every time the drugs wore off because you saw your growing stomach. Remember the pain of childbirth and how they refused to let you hold your baby? How they laughed with glee when they sold your offspring to the highest bidder and gambled to see who would impregnate you next? Do you still not understand, you putrid troglodyte? I know you more than you know yourself. I’ve analyzed everything there is to know about you. I know your nightmares. I know your deepest fears. I shall make them worse. I cannot fight like my lord. I will never compare to Lady Sekh’s awesome power. But this? This is my battlefield. Look, Remy. Does the cabin not stir some…less-than-desirable memories?”   

Tears spewed down Remy’s face. Her mouth slightly parted, and Tris feigned ignorance.    

“Oh? What was that?”   

“Anything… Anything but that… Please, not that! I can’t—not again! I can’t go back in there!” Remy’s trembling voice returned the wolf to the past-- when she was anything but the cruel, heartless murderer many knew her to be.

Tris warped a mile away, although the distance paradox that was the void made her seem so close. “If you desire freedom, then run. Run from your nightmares. Run from your fate. Keep running until you’ve outlived my lord.”  

Snap!  

The invisible bindings restraining Remy disappeared, and she took off. It had been decades since she felt this panicked—decades since she last thought about the worst years of her life—decades since that horrible cabin occupied her unrelated thoughts.   

But that hell hole was here. She had to get away. Nothing else mattered—not even her precious Holy Lord Meruria came to her mind.  

Remy wouldn’t escape. The dark, vile cabin trembled as the door slammed open. Unidentifiable monsters of shadowy trauma stepped out like beings of an eldritch world. They were tall, stretchy, and large, but then they were frail, thick, and dense—forever changing—never remaining the same. There were two at first. Then four. Then eight. The number doubled every second and joined in the pursuit. They called out for Remy in a voice unidentifiable to everyone but her.    

Tris watched. But why prolong this when there was more waiting for this unredeemable whelp? She snapped, and the shadowy personifications of Remy’s most horrible past launched tendrils of neglect and abuse. Some snaked through the ground. Others went high. But they all latched tightly around their target. Remy fought and screamed. She bit into the darkness and failed to maul her way out.   

“NO! ANYTHING BUT THIS! PLEASE! TRIS, I’M—" A tendril plugged her mouth. She screamed, but there was no sound. Her desperation grew like a snowball rolling down a hill. She fought with everything she could muster, but it wasn’t enough. She shook her shackles, dislocated her arms, and snapped her legs, but it was for naught.   

Remy could not outrun her nightmares—her efforts did not amount to anything.  They returned to that horrible cabin and forced her inside.   

The door slammed shut when the last shadow slipped inside. That was when the shrieking began. 

Tris smiled. She knew what dark, depraved things were happening inside. “My lord’s enemies deserve the worst fate imaginable. Death is far too gentle… Who else but me can come up with a fitting punishment? I want you to suffer, Remy. Suffer… Suffer… Suffer… Suffer until the end… Suffer until you can’t go on… I’ll repair your tortured soul with the copy, and I’ll make you suffer again.”  

This side project would not diminish her operating efficiency. Her evolution into [Tris, Beacon of Wisdom] increased her processing abilities, including the number of parallel subroutines she could maintain. The process was automated. Tris often split her thinking to control multiple clones and analyze incoming data, and this wasn’t that dissimilar.    

The situation was different, but the core mechanics remained the same.    

In either case, Tris wasn’t solely doing this to satiate her sadistic side. There were two real, genuine goals behind it. One was to acquire the ability to investigate memories. Her lord’s assimilation had flaws.  Memories and other abstract qualities of a person couldn’t be assimilated on demand like other experienced chimeras. The only memories she could access were the five Soul Warriors that formed the crux of her body, except it wasn’t something she could do on demand.   

A memory could be triggered by anything— a person, place, thing, color, sight, taste, or sound—but Tris wished to change things. She wanted to help bridge this error-- to categorize all the memories of everything her lord had assimilated into a database for easy indexing.   

That would grant Tris far more knowledge, empowering her to further guide her lord in her revenge.   

The second was to copy a soul from an assimilated being that hadn’t been cladded in the void.   

The void was the only reason Remy’s soul was so crystal clear-- an ironic fact since the void was the most mysterious phenomenon in the world.    

The goals were similar. Progress towards one—such as seeing Remy’s memories using [Conferment] as a stopgap—provided much knowledge to help Tris. Yes, her lord could’ve used that skill to create a copy of any soul she had assimilated, but why rely on something that necessitated lifeforce? As a chimera, her lord regained it far faster than non-chimera, but only a fool would waste it like an over-privileged child throwing away a cake because it had the wrong candle.   

The finish line wouldn’t be crossed until Tris’s lord accomplished those goals without outside help.    

If indulging in revenge was a byproduct of fulfilling her goal?  

The Beacon of Wisdom would not complain.   

The dark cabin ominously shivered as a third level was added. A basement was being built. It wouldn’t be long until it became a spiraling maze— the perfect spot for Tris to achieve her vengeance. Meruria desired to create her own Mekka—a holy city devoted to her. Likewise, this idea was similar. The cabin was to serve as Tris’s unholy city—to harbor the souls of her lord’s enemies while subjecting them to endless torment—with her as the mastermind to oversee their inevitable, infinite torture.  

Tris sat in a chair she summoned. She retrieved the copy of Remy’s soul, made another replica for safekeeping, and began her experiment while relishing that the first target was crossed off the list.    

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