7.8 Fairy Tale
1st of June, 2011
Surprisingly enough, the other shoe had the decency not to drop over the course of the last few days, which means that I had been able to focus on today's outcome – and what comes after – without interruption.
This doesn't mean that Brockton Bay is quiet by any means. Through a combination of Louise's PHO-fueled ramblings, Missy's occasional rants, and Dell's sporadic reports courtesy of the roboroach network, I know that both the BBPD and PRT have been hard at work routing the Empire over the course of the last week.
I'm also aware of the high-speed chase that happened Saturday night between members of the Protectorate and Skidmark and Squealer. The latter had been driving a rusted monstrosity crisscrossed with ugly welds – the entire aesthetic offends me as a fellow Tinker to the nth degree. Dark-chan had gotten lured by the ruckus, and her curiosity had been piqued enough to follow the chase along just to see how it ended. The answer would probably have been 'very badly for the druggies who aren't even officially the Merchants yet' if Squealer hadn't asspulled an optical camo module at the last second, and in doing so avoided the ambush Armsmaster and Miss Militia had been hemming the duo of public nuisances toward.
I'm honestly kind of surprised that the Protectorate leader didn't have a countermeasure against invisibility, since it was one of my trademarks as Nightflyer, but oh well.
In other news, Haven is in town. Figure that the team of hardcore Christian capes would get a teensy bit offended about a villain with a Kill Order on her head and the Blue Devil moniker – unless they're just malding because my Familiar got to the Fallen first.
Their PR guy even went as far as to release a public challenge on PHO for some god-forsaken reason, which ended up putting the entire team on Ms. Piggot's bad side in very short order. Dark-chan of course couldn't care less, finding the whole thing 'droll' in her own words. Probably because she's getting a kick of giving the runaround to less heroically inclined – and a whole lot greedier – 'rogues' as they too try to collect her bounty to very little success.
Coincidentally, those too have earned a very quick spot on the local Director's shitlist; out of towners strutting in while acting like they're hot shit must have her seething. I wager she's suddenly a lot more appreciative of her own cape contingent at the moment.
"Jacky," Theia wrenches me away from my woolgathering as her vessel shuffles closer, "The lunar conjunction is about to peak."
I give a look at my MIU's clock as I register her words, and find myself curtly nodding in agreement.
"I'm just giving the ritual circle one last look," I reply, my human eye darting all over the seven-pointed star motif drawn in ashes on the metallic floor of my workshop, pagan runes, the odd hieroglyph, and Earthland script mixing together in a cohesive whole all over its surface, unlit dark brown candles surrounding it, "I'll be done shortly."
Honestly, it's rather convenient that the new moon's zenith falls today at 17:03; had it been any earlier, I would've had to ditch school, which would've raised some questions I'm not really keen to answer.
Theia remains silent as I very carefully compare every square centimeter of the ritual circle with the blueprint I painstakingly came up with last week. Like the last time I enacted this kind of magic to turn me into a Witch-Preyer hybrid, the seven-pointed star is a little bigger than I am, and two empty, rune-carved bowls lay next to where my head will be once I lie inside of it. As soon as I ascertain that I haven't messed up – which I probably didn't, since I followed the exact lines Dell had projected on my MIU while slowly pouring the ashes by hand – I'll bring out the alchemically treated lungs and liver to place inside them.
I finish my inspection with only a few minutes to spare, and quickly rush through the last of the preparations: very cautiously handling my future metaphysical organs to be, lighting the blood and medicinal herb candles, giving Dell the mental command to strip me down and scrub me clean with its nanites–
And suddenly, there's only two things left for me to do.
Ignoring a rush of goosebumps as I stand bare in my temp-controlled – and coincidentally rather chilly – workshop, I take hold of the ritual's last component. Bringing it up at eye level, I give the pseudo-Lacrima I spent two entire nights magicking into being one last look before it ultimately ends up in my insides.
It is both marvelous and completely unassuming at the same time: a one-inch-long, drop-shaped crystal of dully glowing gold threaded with dark-red veins, embedded with lines upon lines of minuscule runes and bastardized Latin. Sculpting raw Ether into a Lacrima had been too much for me until I got the idea of making just a tiny bit less pure by incorporating some Witchfire as a metaphysical anchor. According to my studies, it should even increase the Ether to Ethernano conversion rate–
–but the last time I played with Ether, Witchfire, and my own body, I ended up looking like a baby dark elf, so I'm very understandably apprehensive of potential side effects.
Almost subconsciously, my eyes get drawn toward my revealed mess of a right arm.
"On the other hand, I have some bigger issues at the moment." I mutter under my breath through pursed lips.
"One minute left." Theia calls, prompting me to look away from the Ether to Ethernano Lacrima.
If my brain roomie is apprehensive, it clearly doesn't show. Her scarlet eyemotes are steady, her servos silent, and she doesn't fret as the two of us lock eyes over the ritual circle. The silent show of quiet confidence does wonders to banish the last of my nerves.
I shake my head to stop second-guessing myself before carefully stepping between the ashen lines of the seven-pointed star. A swear spills out of my lips when the floor's cold metal meets my back as I cautiously lay down.
As the last seconds before the new moon's zenith ticks down, I let out a slow, drawn out exhale.
One of a kind Lacrima in one hand, ritual athame in the other.
"Let's begin." I grunt with a focused frown, close my eyes, and start speaking in tongues.
***
I am breathing, but I cannot breathe.
"–cky?! Answer–"
For the second time since I became what I am today, my lungs are uncloyed, empty. I cannot hear, cannot see, cannot speak, all of my focus is on the void inside my chest.
On the distressingly familiar qualia brought forth by the absence of Ether.
I am breathing, but I cannot breathe.
"–cky], stop [Pani–"
I barely register the distant sting of pain as something stabs at my arm, and hot-cold liquid slithers in my blood, rushes through my veins. Yet it is dulled by the dull roar ringing in my ears; a nightmarish medley of agonized screams, of bones snapping, and of meat getting torn apart.
Though there's one voice that I can make amid this maddening ruckus. Smooth as velvet, full of lust and hunger, seductive and dangerous.
"Tell me, little Warrior-Witch, why do you even fight God's Will?"
I am breathing, but I cannot breathe.
"–do I do? Please, [Ans–"
All of a sudden, my nerves scream in pain, and I let out a gurgled whimper as my thoracic cage snaps back together. Unnaturally widened intercostal spaces tighten, bones and cartilage grinds together, clamped shut veins and arteries roar alive once again, and my flesh knit itself together.
I distantly realize that this is the work of a vial of Panacea, and the world turns even more eldritch to my senses.
I made the thing. I know it works.
So can someone explain to me why I am breathing but I cannot breathe alrea–
~~Enough.~~ A voice cuts through the haze of pain and repressed memories, and my head snaps upward to lock eyes with its owner.
Tall, corpse blue skin, baleful yellow iris set deeply amid black sclera.
Familiar.
Safe.
Alive.
Slowly, the roar in my ears turn distant, and reality comes back into focus one sense, one detail at a time as I keep staring at the Fiend crouching down next to me, a steadying hand on my shoulder.
It takes me a while before I'm vocal once again.
"W-What," I cough, my throat feeling dry, "What happened?"
~~I felt your distress, dearest,~~ Dark-chan cocks her head to the side, and I only now register Theia's presence next to her, looking beside herself with worry, ~~I came as soon as I could.~~
She pauses, before adding.
~~Although it appears that you were struggling with an enemy only you can see.~~
I blink, before letting out a slow, humorless chuckle.
"T-That's," I cough once again while gingerly sitting down, my tongue feeling like sandpaper in my mouth, "One way to put it, I guess."
I take a distracted look at myself, and I realize that I'm coated in blood, ashes, and half-melted wax.
"…It was like feeling you die again," I admit in a whisper, my hand cautiously poking and prodding at my torso to check that everything is as it should be, and I take a moment to acknowledge Dell's own readings on my MIU before dismissing those.
~~Well, I assure you dearest, I'm quite alive,~~ the Fiend quips while leaning away from me, her hand leaving my shoulder after one last short squeeze, ~~But how about using the Eye to truly ascertain it?~~
I look at her dumbly for a moment until I register what she's saying. My gaze drops down to my own body for the second time, and I lift the mental barriers I usually keep firmly down.
Here too, it takes me a hot second to truly comprehend what I'm seeing with the help of my Eye. The last remnant of the near paralyzing tension I had been feeling melts like snow under the sun as I quickly locate the mark of Dark-chan's and my pact in my soul, steadily gushing Ether as usual with my every heartbeat, the odd anathema gold mote slowly swirling through it.
I stare at it for a while, just basking in the irrefutable proof that this is real and that I'm not hallucinating.
Only then do I look away, and it finally dawns on me why I keep feeling so empty in spite of Dark-chan's continued existence.
The Ether to Ethernano Lacrima does a good job, almost too good of a job in truth. The magic I continuously leech from my Patron-slash-Familiar barely has the time to settle in my body that it gets drawn toward the converter, before rushing away to fill my shiny new magical container. And since it appears to be on the upper end of the spectrum, it's going to take a while to fully fill it. In the meantime, only a few drops of Ether make their way to my own lungs.
I am breathing.
I remain staring at the inner workings of my soul and the steady rise and fall of my chest for a while longer, before ruefully shaking my head to lock eyes with a quietly waiting Dark-chan.
"...Thank you," I exhale, "For bringing me back from... whatever that was."
A panic attack, most assuredly, I drily comment to myself.
~~You are welcome, dearest,~~ the Fiend gives me a toothy, mean-looking smile while smoothly standing up, her wretched puppet's glassy eye remaining unerringly locked on my huddled form.
"...And I apologize for scaring the shit out of you, Theia," I carry on after giving my brain roomie's vessel an apologetic half-smile, "I'm afraid this whole thing brought back bad memories."
Silence falls amid the workshop, and for a moment, neither of us say anything.
Then, she steps around Dark-chan's taller form, a determined air carved on silicon features.
"...What are you doing?" I barely have the time to ask before she kneels next to me.
"This, silly." She simply says.
The next thing I know, she swipes me into a hug just south of bone-crushing.
"You taught me that hugs make everything better," the Coraline Shard explains with all the certainty of a child, "So, I'm hugging you."
I let that sink in for a moment, before slowly returning her embrace, and leaning my head against what passes as her shoulder.
"...Thank you, Theia." I say simply.
She doesn't answer, and I find that I'm alright with that as the afternoon slowly dies outside of my workshop.
[AN: Some scars run deep indeed.
Sorry for the wait, but I had to scrap most of what I wrote yesterday. I just wasn't feeling it when taking another look at it today, sooo...