Chapter 2-7 The Right Kind of Broken

Chapter 2-7 The Right Kind of Broken

Implants dont make a Regular. Weapons dont make a Regular. Not even training makes a Regular.

Regulars are made through trauma. Through experience. Through fortitude. The kind of fortitude that no amount of cog-conditioning can replicate. The willingness to adapt to any kind of physical alteration made upon their vessels and the stability to bear extensive neuro-modifications.

Through these trials and tribulations, what is already raw steel can be shaped into a proper weapon.

To call them hammers would be too limited. To call them scalpels belies their capacity for damage. To call them soldiers betrays the purity of their service.

So, if you think you have what it takes to be war incarnate, focus here to stream your details to your nearest Highflame recruitment center

-Highflame Nether Ad, So You Wanna Be A Reg

2-7

The Right Kind of Broken

His savior approached with the caution one might take treading toward a minefield. Fusing his spine back together using his cells, he waited for the prickling to spread through him and return the use of his limbs. He couldnt even remember when Slaughterman broke him. He remembered drinking the hunters echo even less.

IGNITING THAUMIC CYCLER: 8 thaum/c

A scant foot across from him, the gargantuan hunter lay still, the contents of their half-mechanized brain spilling across the war-mottled ground. Avo didnt receive a ghost this time. Wasnt much of a ghost to claim seeing how ruptured his cognition was from the makeshift ghost bomb.

Transferring a slapdash explosive made from raw trauma was a desperation trick. Wouldnt have worked against even remotely competent memory-wards. Thing about wards though: without a Metamind, theyre more a cage. Directly rigged to your base-mind, theyll tear up your psychology and bleed protective memories into your own. Schizophrenia is a common byproduct. As is anxiety.

Cheap products always incurred hidden costs.

+Fuck,+ Little Vicious snarled, her voice cutting through the room. +I knew it! I knew you were with the fucking Reg! Youre a lucky half-strand, ghoulie. Lucky, lucky little shit. Put good imps on Slaughterman snuffing you. Good imps now lost. Oh, but this isnt over. Not even close. See you soon ghoulie. You and her both.+

The public broadcast snapped into silence as he felt Little Vicious presence depart. Avo felt a growing tension replace her. This was the second time the host of this little playground of horrors mentioned a Regular. Eyes fixed on the frequency blade approaching him, he suddenly wondered if he was about to take another trip down resurrection street.

If he was dealing with a Reg right now, then his life was pretty close to forfeit. Saying a Reg didnt like ghouls was like saying an exterminator took issue with aratnid infestations.

Shadows shifted across the floor. Avo looked up, momentarily distracted from his potential murderer. The father and his son emerged from their hiding place, bodies stale with sweat, heartbeats decelerating.

The Regular moved, cutting the two off in a sudden blink. It was like they were in one place, then another. A gust of wind splashed over Avo. They had moved faster than he could perceive. Had an Accelero Frame-flex implant the least.

Not even Visekeles seemed that fast earlier.

The boy chittered something at the Regular. They didnt respond immediately. Instead, there was a shuffling noise as they walked over to stand over Avo. The Regular had mag-boosted running blade transplants instead of standard legs. Explained how they moved so fast. The edges of their feet were rimmed with gore and glinted with a simmering heat.

With a simple nudge, they flipped him over with a kick, uncaring how their bladed legs burned him. Avo didnt mind much either. Not while he was already hissing from the agony ebbing through his back.

Staring up at the ceiling, the Regs face remained shrouded in brightness, so shrouded by the light that they stood a towering shadow, their holocoat projecting waterfalls of grey around their torso, masking their physical frame.

Slowly, with blade at the ready, they leaned down.

A rough-faced woman came into view. Her hair was knotted in a thick coiled braid that disappeared past her right shoulder. The shape of her face was hard; sharp cheeks matched with a square jaw. The jagged claw scars running down her eyes were probably more statement than injury. It didnt take much to strip scars from tissue. Avo knew those scars too. They were the type one would get from a ghouls claws. Likely earned in close quarters down in the Underways. Down in a place like this. Somewhere far from artillery and air support, with things collapsing into a desperate melee.

Something about her told him she didnt much care about the lack of support. It was in her eyes, the absence of softness or worry; no fear, only focus.

The holotags dangling from her neck swayed through the veil of her coat. The tags design drew him into the embrace of memory, prying him ever so slightly out of pain's grasp. They were marked with a many-eyed creature bearing eighteen burning wings and a serial number. The Highflame insignia. Definitely a Regular, then.

Still, what was an official Guild operator doing in the Crucible? The strength of her heartbeat interrupted that line of questioning. It pulsed once and then stayed silent. Across the length of seconds, it stayed quiet. Every sinew within his body was flooded with worry.

It was uncanny not being able to hear the heartbeat of a human. Something that made them feel like something more than prey.

Of course she had an enhanced circulatory system. Maybe even respirocytes in her blood instead of just an augmented pump. Maybe a full Nanosuite. Whatever she had boosting her systems, it was far superior to the cheap chrome so commonly used by the chaff in the Warrens. Strangely, her Metamind was a simple single-ringed halo compared to his. It had a spiraling set of intersecting wards that cycled through memories, switching them between layers of lanes.

Avo frowned. He knew that design. Ori-Thaum. Oruboro-class. Required twenty ghosts to run at baseline. Probably ate up ninety percent of her cog-cap.

That told him two things. First: she was definitely not a Necrojack. Second: her relationship with Highflame had to be something special. Ori-Thaum was the rival guild to their ambitions. Somehow, he couldnt imagine the two sides mixing products, even if it was pragmatic.

As he studied her, so too did he notice her studying him. Her expression was cold and blank. Her molten-gold eyes glared down at him with an inscrutable intensity. The cold war of silence persisted between them. Neither wanted to give ground.

From her perspective, what was there to say to a monster, who ate the innocent in the name of the Low Masters. From his, what words did he have for an old killer, whose extermination squads massacred a billion of Avos kind as a lesser backdrop to a greater war? Between them, what was there to say to an old enemy, who doubtlessly lost allies and kin to each other during the Uprising?

Not much was the answer.

Avo still remembered the dreams he smuggled from former Regulars in the Nether, the canvas of their midnight delirium painting screeching hordes of ghouls feeding themselves into kill boxes held by drones, artillery, golems, and soldiers; flashes of claw breaking against hyper-auged soldiers shrouded in nano-armored combat-skins.

The ghouls were made to be expendable monsters.

The Regulars were made to be far more than mere soldiers.

They werent equals. Not even remotely.

Why havent you shot me yet? was what Avo wanted to ask the Reg. That required more sentiment than he possessed.

It sat next to Avo. Halted at the entrance to the maintenance hall, the father and the boy just stared, wonderment and horror blended across their faces, trying to comprehend how the dog came to be.

Living beyond the walls of New Vultun probably meant anomalies from Ruptures and Fallen Heavens was probably commonplace items for those two. But still, true thaumaturgy was still a deviant sight to behold for the eyes of merest mortals.

The Regular offered Avo her hand. The fingers were still flesh. Callous and natural, at least on the surface. The woundhound growled at her, inching up next to Avo. He sent it a thought and ordered it to heel. It whimpered. Her lip twitched. Dogs not going to be fast enough. Take your head off before you can sic it.

She wasnt lying. She killed Slaughterman faster than he could perceive. An alpha-grade reflex implant will do that: make you ten times as fast as a flat. Still meant she was four times faster than him. He doubted the dog would even touch her if he let it loose. His best advantage against her was still his skill in Necrotheurgy, but he needed more specialized phantasmics to deal with her wards. It wouldnt be just smuggling a makeshift bomb into her mind via a communicative link.

Wordlessly, Avo took her hand. The beast inside him imagined whipping a claw across her throat, slitting her arteries, and slipping his tongue through the cleft of welling blood. His rational mind imagined the last sight he would actually behold would be his ascending body as his head toppled from his neck.

Stained with his warring desires, his woundhound growled. Avo bite back his urges and glared at the dog. It whimpered and went silent.

With a casual tug, she dragged him to his feet as if he weighed nothing. He rose, finding himself a foot taller than she, but her bulk considerably thicker. Just her forearms alone were thick with enhanced muscle. Unlike the slithering eel-like organs he had inside him, hers were like taut bowstrings. Through her skin, he could faintly smell the carbon of the nanofibers.

She clutched his hand tight. Draus.

What?

My name. Youre taking point. Stay ahead of me. Dont lag. Dont do funny shit. You stay straight and narrow and maybe I wont snuff you. She slid his former frequency blade down past the veil of her coat. Then, she extended a hand again, offering him a curve-barreled pistol. It had a layer of lenses running down the center of the barrel, fused in place by a lattice of cheap plasteel. An auto-laser of some kind was his best guess. Dont bother turning that on me none either. Dont got the stopping power. And you dont got the pace.

Avo frowned. Strange that she was giving the gun to him. It was built for her hands, so he could barely get his fingers around it. Still, it felt awkward in his grip. Like there was too much weight missing. Never shot a gun before, Avo said. Nearsighted. Ghoul.

She shrugged. It shoots itself. Got a smart-aim system. Link your ghosts to it and point to where they tell you. Then squeeze. Dont jerk.

Better with sword, he said. Why not just return my sword? You use gun.

She snorted. Functionally, youre slow. Likely, youll just drop it again. Presently, you cant take it from me.

All good arguments.

Avo accepted the gun. The weapons detail began interfacing with his Possessor Phantasmic.

Mirrashard-0227 Auto-Laser Pistol

An ammo counter manifested in his minds eye. Twenty charges left. Currently tuned to burst fire. Chlorofusion cells were still operational. Generating one charge every five seconds. Useful.

Another frown graced her face. Still havent told me how you got to be a Necro. How you got that Meta.

Dont know, Avo said, half lying. She didnt need to know about Walton, and he didnt know enough himself about the Metamind.

Real box of mysteries, aint you?

For her and him both. He didnt even have any ideas about how he ended up in the Maw.

Her eyes went dark; no more scanning. She motioned him to head down the walkway from whence she came, past where the father and the boy were huddled. Avo shrugged and accepted. Better odds than facing all the hunters alone.

He crossed by the father and son and noted their uneasy expressions. They had no idea what to make of the Regular either. Probably didnt know much about the Uprising. As they trailed behind, he felt his woundhound nudge them out of the way, snarling. Father and son obeyed. Faintly, he could feel the dog in his missing injuries, like it was anchored to his wounds. It felt strange, but anything was better than being crippled.

Direction? Avo asked.

Getting out of here. Heading for an old corpse delivery station connecting up to one of the blocks. Need to get a mile and a half up before we beat the game, and enter the Warrens proper. That or we can kill the rest of the hunters. The Regular shot the father and son a look. Well, maybe we could do it. Puts them at risk though.

Avo tried to hide his salivation. Part of him knew this to be unwise. He got lucky with one and nearly got snuffed by the other. Wouldve been his death if he didnt get tricky with his Meta. Mightve even still gotten killed if Draus didnt come in when she did if Slaughterman managed to keep his mind together for another second.

Still. He couldnt deny that he wanted this. He hadnt fed from live prey in years. He missed the thrill. He missed the taste.

He noticed that his cog-feed was screaming again. Close to overcapacity again. He sighed. Ejecting those ghosts was a necessity but had left him with less to work with. He disabled the Ghost-Link and cast his consciousness forward as a Specter. It would prevent him from being ambushed within a fifty-foot radius.

Peeking back at her, he watched as her thoughtstuff was contained like a pallid nodule at the center of her oscillating wards. No other phantasmics to speak of. No active scouting on her end. Definitely not a Necro, that one. Relied more on getting things done in the material. He guessed her wards were good enough, but he expected something more robust for her mind. If he had his original phantasmics, he definitely could breach her mind.

Specter? she asked.

He grunted in acknowledgment.

How many.

One. Only got fifteen ghosts for my cap.

Twenty-two. But what she didnt know was in his favor.

Ones good. Just keep it ahead and around and not on me. You catch a scent or hear a sound Im gonna ask you to make that ambush-screech your kind used during the war. Remember which one?

He shot a look at her. Another uncomfortable silence. He hated how much better she was at weathering them than he. He knew which sound she wanted him to make. The noise had never left him. It came to him when he was sequencing his own nightmares, sometimes. Watching your brothers get massacred by fire and metal tended to engrave the memories pretty deep.

Yeah.

Good. Keep going down maintenance. Were gonna take a left somewhere up ahead, cut through this madhouse.

Avo acquiesced. After all, what was there to say to an old enemy, made a companion of convenience through this game of death?