4.01 INTERLUDE – GNAWING

4.01 INTERLUDE – GNAWING

Sol’othuan, Fourth Herald to the Devourer—or as Sol called her, Mother—strolled the vine-encrusted hallways of crumbling stone, intrigued at the novelty of the world her people had invaded.

She had always been curious—her people called it ‘sentimental’—for her kind. Even the lesser worlds they conquered were fascinating. This one? Unique even to that standard. Fractured, with such curious, artificial structure imposed onto it. Workings of a Prime, possibly several in tandem. Fascinating.

It felt, to be honest, a transgression to be consuming such delicate designs. But food was food. And the structure thrummed with energy, so much she could eat until she was full a hundred times over. Enough energy that she was surprised her people kept themselves in check, gnawing at the edges rather than gorging themselves completely. Even Sol was tempted, and she had more restraint than most.

But Mother had commanded them not to, so they didn’t. For now, they gnawed.

Mother preferred a subtle touch. A world this powerful—inhabited by sapient races, and patroned by one or several Primes—required weakening before the Famished could lift their inhibitions. Mother was more powerful than many of her peers—the Prime, those who had ascended to divinity—but her children were not. And her children, Sol among those numbers, though in a more literal sense of ‘child’, were the invaders, not Mother. Mother was simply ... their overseer. She couldn’t join in the feast directly. All Primes were bound. Near infinite in strength, but limited in scope.

Sol hadn’t explored much of this world. Mother had kept her secluded on their arrival, not allowing her to join the initial breach. She had wanted to ensure they had gone unnoticed, or at least, uncontested.

Thus far, Sol had contained herself to the deepest reaches of the fractured dimension realms that composed this strange world. She’d yet to find people down here. Real ones, at least.

She’d found the simulacrums. A few of them. These smaller realms—like she found herself in now—always had one.

For that matter, one of the simulacrums watched her now.

The perplexing half-people that championed each of these ‘shards’ were bizarre. Were they creations of the Prime? They were people ... but not. False in some way. An intuition hard to describe.

They were powerful, though. Not strong enough to pose a threat to Sol—or most of the Famished—but still shockingly dense with energy. Rulers of their respective domains. ‘Bosses’ of their ‘shards’, as the local terminology went.

They shared that power with the shard itself. Which meant as Sol snacked away, she was eating the simulacrum, too, piece by piece. That probably explained the horrified, curious gaze.

‘Gaze’. Not quite right. It could see her—sense her—but not directly. The simulacrum had an awareness of its shard, but Sol could elude it physically. They had yet to meet. She intended to keep it that way.

The lack of company—besides the watching false-eyes of the simulacrum—didn’t bother her. Sol had always found more interest in things than people. And there was so much to marvel over, here.

And so much to eat.

A second later, a creature, human looking, but made of green goo, padded into Sol’s hallway. She stood there for a moment, looking around, brow furrowed in an emotion that took Sol several seconds to place as confusion.

Alien emotions, and recognizing them ... also always a novelty.

“I know you’re there,” the goo-girl called into the empty hallway. She looked straight through Sol, unable to see her, Sol having stepped almost entirely into the Passage. Though she possessed a passive awareness of her domain that meant she felt Sol, she couldn’t see her, not when she’d melded. “What are you? And ... and what are you doing to me?”

Sol briefly considered reassuring the not-really-a-person. Sol didn’t intend to eat her—yet, at least—and a conversation with a local would go a long way to understanding. But, direct interaction with sapients went against Mother’s few mandates. Better to not disobey her. Sol could patch comprehension together herself, eventually. She thought she was starting to glean the purposes of the various constructs.

“Please?” the goo-girl called into the empty hallway. “You’re ... hurting me. I can’t fix what you’re doing.”

The plea—delivered so earnestly—stunned Sol, though it shouldn’t have. Briefly, Sol was frustrated with herself. This was why her people called her sentimental.

This was how her people survived. They ate. Sol needed food. It was the same cycle for all living beings. And this thing wasn’t even a real person. Whatever that meant. Its existence still perplexed her.

And in the end, their society would remain. A Devouring wasn’t a desolation. The Famished never ate to total destruction. They left an ember, which, most of the time, grew back into the blaze it had once been. It was the way of the Cycle.

When Sol still didn’t reply, the simulacrum looked around, then deflated. She continued down the intersecting hallway, disappearing into the stretching darkness. Sol felt her go, then reformed, unmelding from the Passage.

It was an odd game they were playing, both knowing of each other, but Sol refusing to meet. She had no choice. Mother mandated the Famished not to interact. Not until the world was properly weakened. At which point, the feast would begin.

Though, Sol was a favored daughter ... maybe she could get away with things others couldn’t. Maybe she could have one discussion? The bizarre creature wasn’t even a real person, so perhaps Mother’s mandates didn’t apply. Flimsy reasoning, but maybe she could argue it.

Ah, but she shouldn’t.

Besides, discovery was half the fun. She didn’t want the answers handed to her.

She returned to her exploration.

A/N: Because no harem is complete without an eldritch monster.