Chapter 30-15 Master of My Own Scars (II)

Chapter 30-15 Master of My Own Scars (II)

You know the worst thing I realized about my father?

He was right about me.

I was a piece of shit. I wasn’t worth it. I was pathetic. Every good thing that happened to me became true because of someone else — even when I did become a Godclad. Just learned it all too late. The Stillborn needed a better host. But it got me.

It got me.

Not even I want to be me.

There’s no way I’m gonna win this war. There’s no world in which I win against her. There’s no world where I get better.

He was right.

He was right.

-Aedon Chambers the Fuckbringer (Path-Simulation Iteratant: 245th Attempt)

30-15

Master of My Own Scars (II)

—[Fuckbringer]—

A duet of despair and depravity echoed across the disfigured expanse of Morobi-Ynneath in the form of alternating shrieks. Bodies hung from Aedon Chambers. Bodies partially restored to their original functions, with eyes returned, lust reduced, made to serve as unwilling audience to debached scenes of theatrical defilement.

The “stars” were the final two Godclads to fall in defense of this city. Ori Seekers. It was a real noble holding action—though pretty fucking pointless considering they had nothing they could wield against his miracles. Still. They held out longer than most. Went down swinging all Dannis-like. So. Unlike the other Godclads who he real-deathed, he kept these two alive to see how much suffering he could inflict before one or both of them cracked.

What made things spicier was the fact they were freshly in love. Oh, yeah. Made what he did to them extra raw.

See, the rash took away quite a bit more than just sex and the capacity for people to enjoy their lust without a Metamind’s filter. No. Comforting touches between people, genuine hugs that triggered some surprising feelings, passions that veered too close to the Remembrance’s Domains...

Lots of things got lost. And to celebrate the changing of the rash and the “liberation” that came to New Vultun while he waited for his dipshit of an original self to finally arrive, Chambers started a two-person stage play using the two Seekers as puppets.

That’s right! Seekers Yaobi Mazuki and Mas Nudracht were going to be stars in a piece Chambers liked to call “Lust Returned.” And how better to reveal to everyone that the rash was in remission all across the city—and in local areas where he willed it—by forcing the two lovebirds to relearn the nuances of sexual intimacy.

Sure, they struggled at first. Tried to keep their expression blank, will themselves out of their body—away from what they were being forced to enjoy. But Mas cracked first; started crying. Begging for it to stop, begging her for forgiveness, to look away from him, that he couldn’t meet her eyes. That was where she went over the edge, too, and it was a full-blown sadfest from there.

Oh, the millions Chambers kept alive within his folds and umbilicals tried to turn away. Some of them started weeping too. The fucking glassjaws. Didn’t know an emotional piece if it was staring them right in the face. And so he removed their eyelids and made them watch anyway.

But—credit where credit was due—although he forced his puppets to experience every kind of sexual pleasure possible with each other, though their cognitions tore and bled, they somehow managed to endure. They even fucking held hands—using that as an anchor for comfort as Chambers pumped them against each other.

It was pretty adorable. But by then, he was moving on to the next phase: pregnancy and childcare! ‘Course, with the vats people didn’t need to get personally involved anymore, so they could use the refresher. And though Chambers could have just connected Mas’s mind to Yaobi, he wanted both of them to have a hands-on experience.

And so, in the spirit of Ori-Thaum, he did the democratically prudent thing: he fused their genital together into a shared set of wombs after he accelerated a successful insemination. And thus began act two of “Lust Returned: The Cycling Births.”

It was pretty much how it sounded. Well, Chambers was also making them birth versions of his homunculi over into each other, so even if it did get out from the womb somehow, it wouldn’t live long.

It wasn’t proper to have someone suffer an unwanted child as an economic burden for the sake of entertainment, after all. Aedon Chambers was thoughtful like that.

This went on for a few hours. Night was drawing close. The air was getting closer; a fresh scent of petrichor hinted at the coming of the midnight rains. Yaobi birthed her “child” into Mas, and he birthed it right back into her. It was a hell of a bonding experience. And through it all, he let them keep holding hands. It was all they had. And by this point, he suspected it was all that kept them sane.

And fixating on that tickled his cruelty. So, Chambers decided to tear them apart.

He controlled then using a net of cords fused into their backs, and so prying them apart was equally easy as well. A heart-stopping shriek came from Yaobi first as the large, swollen organ connecting her to Mas peeled open, tissue parting as strands of spraying blood. A disfigured lump toppled out from the wound, carried by a waterfall of amniotic fluids and blood. Chambers’ homunculi were long-drowned, long-dead, but still effective at causing trauma.

Mas caught a glance at his “baby” and his accretion nearly shattered outright. Only the dead-grip he had on Yaobi kept him present; unbroken. And so Chambers pulled harder.

“No! Stop! Let them go! Let them die!”

“You sick fuck—motherfucker! Hurt me, you half-strand pussy. Hurt me instead! Come on!”

The trajectory was too perfect. It was like they were always meant to be, or another power had ensured her arrival.

A burst of radiation briefly materialized over the Fuckbringer again, composing itself as a static crown. Just then, three shapes plunged down into the valley of tissue that constituted the Fuckbringer’s base. They were cloaked on so many levels that Chambers never even saw them coming, and an instant before the Rendbombs detonated, he saw their designs—rod-like missiles that were... singing?

{Hooary!}

{Death!}

{Finally!}

And then their payloads went off. The Rendbombs were what the Infacer anticipated—and so the Crown of Decay briefly separated Chambers from local reality, scattering his being far and vast like the spreading bits of atom-shit or however it worked. A route formed within his mind, like a Phys-Sim creating three trajectories. In a few seconds, he would know where they fired from, and then he could—

A second explosion followed the first. These, however, weren’t Rendbombs. Traumas exploded out into the world. Traumas fine-tuned to carve agony into Chambers. Phantasmal shrapenel showered a radius of twelve kilometers across the Sovereignty, but with how large the Fuckbringer was, every piece cut deep into his being, into his mind.

His wards rattled as the first few hits were blocked, but the contents were double effective. It was first-person perspective of him crawling, screaming at the ceiling as his father showed him that fucking gun barrel. It was hot from being fired over and over. And a second later, it slipped under his flailing arms to brand his armpit.

The toddler Chambers had been then howled for his mommy.

And unable to overcome the scars-yet-raw, the Fuckbringer recited the same plea as well. His bellow shook the world, and more bad memories followed. He recalled the first tooth he lost—booted out from his bottom lip when he knocked over his dad’s beer. He remembered the taste of his mom’s blood as his dad bludgeoned her using the business end of their vacuum—a gift he bought for her on her namesday. He remembered the artanid he tried to keep as a pet. Four-Legged Osjack. Didn’t make it a week before dad’s boot splattered it flat.

Every bit of pain from Chambers past tore into him. The hurt built and built, and his wards began to rattle, wail, and crack.

SEVERE TRAUMA SUSTAINED

COG-CAP - 95%

“Get out... get out of my head! Get out of my... of my...”

As his focus slowly returned, he felt another presence across from him. A thin woven from magenta threads and pulsing with brilliant power lit the horrific remains of Morobi-Ynneath, and for the second time that day, the Fuckbringer faced the Lovebringer, as pathborn seethed at the original.

“Well... well,” Chambers snarled. Looks like his original self was an even bigger idiot than he thought, sticking around in person. “Thought I was going to have to go looking for you...”

The Lovebringer. What a stupid fucking name for a stupid fucking Heaven. Its form rose out from the two Seekers holding onto each other, and the link it had to them seemed unnaturally strong. What’s more, it was pointing its cunt-shaped head down at them, not bothering to face the Fuckbringer—ignoring Chambers.

A flare of anger rushed through him. “Hey! Look at me, you cocksucking half-strand.”

Slowly, the Lovebringer complied. And instead of something Chambers expected his original self to say, the Heaven of Love just sighed. “You never had a chance. You never had a chance at all. This is what she thought of me? This?” The Lovebringer gestured at the cityscape around them.

“This is what we are!” The Fuckbringer spat. He surged forward, his body elongating out from the folds that held him. Glistening sinews lined with festering wombs reached out to seize the Lovebringer. The half-strand didn’t have the Spheres for this fight—he was going to learn what it meant—

A cone of trauma stopped the Fuckbringer dead in its tracks. This time, he remembered being held face-down in the toilet while his father took a piss. The taste was foul; his eyes stang—those memories never left him. And here his original self was, using them like they were nothing.

Nothing at all.

The Fuckbringer reeled back, clutching at his skull, gagging.

“I was supposed to just leave, you know. If the trauma-patterns didn’t kill you. I was just going to break my bonds and leave. But I saw what you were doing. Felt it from across the Sovereignty. Just gotta ask, consang? Who the fuck are you? Because you’re definitely not me.”

“F-fuck you,” the Fuckbringer managed.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck me. Too late for that. The city already finished. And so did dad. But apparently he’s not done with you. And here you are, doing what he might do if he was given a Heaven.”

And that, more than any trauma-pattern, caused the Fuckbringer’s wards to finally overload. “The FUCK DID YOU JUST—”

Another blast. This one left the Fuckbringer squealing, hammering his skull against the ground to silence the flashing images, the noise—mom screaming; begging; pleading.

At night, they used to hold hands. It was all they had sometimes. He would just hold her hand as she cried. And dad would snore while facing the wall.

“Didn’t come here to have a clash of ‘Clads. Came here to stomp your sorry Soft-Master pretending, dumb-shit thinking, poor-path-simulation ass. I had a feeling about this. I had a feeling you weren’t hard. And I was right. You aren’t hard. You aren’t hard at all. You’re just a godsdamned mistake.”

Something inside the Fuckbringer snapped, and with a feral cry, an eruption of lust exploded out across the Sovereignty, consuming all.