Chapter Text
The last thing she remembered was a great, harrowing pain. A feeling she had never felt before, a feeling as strange as it was excruciating. Her nerves were set ablaze, her mind throbbing against her skull, every cell in her body screaming in agony as she sat on that throne of her sins, unable to escape. She tried to break free, but her arms and legs were pinned against the chair as the burning sensation flowed throughout her body like a raging river.
A feeling like wildfire had filled her in seconds, stretching across every inch of her body. Lightning in her nerves and synapses, dreadful pain rushing throughout her head, her limbs, her body becoming enveloped in a burning sensation, a pain so great that she felt exhausted as she screamed for help, for Lady Olivia and General Yunan to grab her, to rescue her, to save her. She only wanted the pain to stop. Her fingers became numb, and then her hands and legs, and then her torso. Numbness flooded her body. And then… everything fell into nothingness.
She couldn’t remember much before that. She remembered Olivia and Yunan. She remembered Joe Sparrow. She remembered her friends. She remembered Andrias. But everything else was hazy, and now she sat alone, in the dark.
Marcy ran her hand along her torso, from her neck down to where the dark marking along her chest would have stopped. She could feel her body tense at the resurging feeling. The memory came back full force. The memory of the shimmering music box, of three glimmering stones. The memory of loud roars, blue scales and yellow eyes. A memory of guilt. That sword.
She remembered that. She remembered how it burned and stung, how painful it was. She remembered how she could barely feel it pierce into her chest and through her spine, but once she saw it it was the most agonizing feeling ever felt. Indescribable, she couldn’t voice it out. But the pain had lasted only for a moment. Whether it was the flaming blade that had cooked her nerves to the point of numbness, or the sheer shock of it all the concurrent events overwhelming her mind, she remembered seeing the blade, skewering her, poking out of her rib cage. The feeling of being cooked alive, nerves going numb and muscle losing feeling. The feeling of a blade being shoved into her body. The feeling of going limp, unable to do anything but beg for forgiveness and crumple helplessly as numbness surrounded her, her vision blurring into the dark.
Marcy looked around the dark area around her. There was no discernable floor or roof, no walls in sight. Just bleak nothing.
She looked at her palms. What was this? Was this a dream? Was she asleep?
Was she…?
Marcy blinked the thought out of her head. When she had rid herself of that awful idea, she looked back out at the void.
Marcy remembered the look of pain, betrayal, and perhaps even spite that her friends had given her in that moment, when they learned the truth. When Anne and Sasha had stared her down, ashamed of her actions. Disgusted with her. Marcy felt guilty. She felt sorry, truly. Remorseful beyond words. She didn’t want this. She just wanted her friends. She didn’t want… She didn’t want to be…
Marcy felt a warm tear welling in her eye. She clutched her skirt tightly, holding onto it to meaninglessly ground herself in the void. She curled up in the darkness, desperately trying to muffle her sobs behind her hand. She felt alone. She was alone. Her friends hated her. Her family was probably long gone now, gone from LA. Her friends in Newtopia were a lie. This wasn’t what she wanted. This wasn’t like a game like she hoped it would be.
But she lost. She chanced her luck and got a bad roll. And now she had no choice but to sit alone and think. She was gone.
As much as she tried to steer her mind away from the thought of it, she couldn’t keep it from drifting to Anne and Sasha. As much as she knew she would only feel worse, she couldn’t help it. She missed them.
They were her closest friends- her only friends- and she messed up. Sasha would probably chase her off now, tell her off for getting them stuck in Amphibia, scold her for being so idiotic and self-absorbed, and remind her why she was not and was never good enough to be her friend. And Anne…
Anne. Marcy sobbed, the sound breaking through her facade. Marcy gripped her face harder. She saw the look in Anne’s eyes when she’d discovered what Marcy had done. It was agony to see how pained Anne was. How hurt. How was Marcy supposed to be their friend again? Surely they’d just be better off without her. After all, she was never an important part of their friendship anyways. She was unnecessary, unneeded. They had far more important things to focus on than clumsy Marcy and her silly hyperfixations. Anne and Sasha would probably be happier without her.
Marcy shook her head. No. No. Don’t think that.
Marcy sat alone, in the dark, laying her head on her knees and coiling her arms around herself. Tears flooded her face, running down her cheeks and onto the floorless void. She couldn’t look up. She didn’t want to. Nothing was waiting for her anyway.
-
Each eye blinked, one at a time. Each iris flicked around the room, gazing at each intricate and yet insignificant detail of the room. Each cell in this body acted on its own accord, as if each was its own creature, acting in unison to form a hive of its own. Each muscle twitched and flexed. It was vaguely familiar, and yet very, very different than before.
Organic life was a strange concept, far gone to the Core. It had been a millennium since any subunit of the Core had been in such a state, and it did not entirely relish in its return. Flesh was temporary, an imperfection. But the Core had ascended beyond such a need, into the eternality of the machine. Flesh was but a burden.
And yet, here it was, in flesh once more. Flesh had access to control over other flesh, control over more than machine. Machinery was eternal, but unable to reach as far as flesh.
But the Core had calculated this. To be both was to surpass either.
They took a step forward, and again. Motor control was such a finicky thing. It was a mindless task, and yet it took all focus. Machines did not require such effort- it was all precalculated and determined, perfect. This… was strange. But after mere moments, the Core had adapted.
“Andri- ah!” …Or so they thought, as the Hive found itself faceplanting into the cold and metallic floor of the castle. How did they fall? They had perfectly calculated the correct trajectory of the step- how had they slipped and fallen?
The King popped his head into the room, and the Core scrambled their host body upright. Brushing the dust off their suit, they scowled at the King. They could tell he was hiding his amusement behind a blank gaze, and they did not find it amusing themself whatsoever.
“Yes, my lord?” the King rumbled. Such a weak and useless lizard, and yet the only one who was their aid. A pitiful salamander to be given the role of king. They hid their emotion behind a smile and Marcy’s natural charm.
“Come, nymph.” The Core beckoned him with their finger as they walked forward, latching onto the wire that hung behind their head and wrapping it around their finger. They didn’t see Andrias’s frustrated expression- no, they had no need. They knew he was frustrated. And they smiled in knowing they could push his buttons.
Andrias stomped behind the Core, escorting them to the main panel room, where the download had occurred only hours prior. It was glorious to watch their vessel struggle in the restraints. It was glorious to attain such a vessel, chosen by the Calamity stones as Wit-
“My lord, you should be resting- you only just inhabited Marcy’s today, certainly you are exhausted? Or even just at least just Mar- your body?” Andrias spoke.
“An organic body and its foolish needs are no matter for us,” The Core hissed in response, twirling the cord absentmindedly, shrugging. “Flesh is a fickle substance we do not care for.”
The Core and Andrias entered the chamber, and the Core was quick to inspect the rejuvenation tank that had stored their host for so many weeks. They couldn’t help but reach up to their host’s chest and feel where the wound had been- was. A hole lay in the chest, a gap that would never close. It wasn’t big- maybe as wide the size of the creature’s opposable thumb, and as tall as her hand- but it was enough to make even the Core feel hesitant. Mortal. It was no pleasant feeling. Mortality was a topic the Core had long forgotten, and they had no desire to revisit such a state.
Andrias stood next to the Core, quiet but ready. Foolish.
“What are you standing for?” The Core growled. It was strange- such anger and venom-drenched words, yet from a soothing and meek voice.
“Awaiting your orders, my lord.”
“Nymph, you sound like an idiot.” The Core feigned laughter, covering its mouth. Andrias looked peeved but remained quiet.
“If you wish to be useful, you should go prepare the armies. Newtopia did not build the Great Newtromian Empire in a day- but it fell in one. Go,” The Core hissed. “Or you’ll be the one whose head lay on a platter.”
Andrias hurriedly stomped away, his footsteps like massive weights against the stone and steel-enforced stairs.
The Core hissed softly. The host’s body was weakening. But why?
It was wobbly and weak. Their arms were shaky and unstable. An unfamiliar and yet all too memorable feeling resided in its head and chest, a feeling of overload. It toppled the Emperor Hive over, onto their throne. It felt better to sit.
“Wretched flesh creature… it is… exhausted…” The Core panted, gripping the armrest of their coral throne tightly.
The Core had no need for rest, it desired to fulfill its duty and to act. They were ready to prepare for invasion- but this host was ill-prepared for the Core’s standards. Its head was throbbing and its innards were curling. Every extension seemed to be weak.
The Core succumbed. It could not function with a host that was unresponsive. And so it allowed the host its rest- the mind was already asleep, the body simply needed inactivity.
That did not mean, however, that the Core would be inactive as well.
-
After what felt like a long time, Marcy had cried all she could. She sat there, gasping for air, eyes dry but cheeks drenched. She felt tired, her eyes heavy-lidded. She didn’t want to go to sleep, even if her exhaustion lulled her. She didn’t want to be lulled into a place of memory, she knew it would lead to more pain. The constant rush of feelings and clash of emotions in her mind kept her brain awake as well, so even if she wanted to sleep, she couldn’t. Slipping down onto her side and laying on the ground, resting her head against her arms as she gasped for air between sobs, her eyes finally began to water again. Her head started to hurt from the excessive crying. Emotions that had dulled just moments ago were rushing back. She never wanted this. Never.
She just wanted to have her friends again.
She shut her eyes and started to sob loudly. She couldn’t help it.
“Child…” a voice called out to Marcy, but she was too tired to open her eyes again. Too tired to care. “Child, no need for tears. You will heal in time.”
Someone sat next to her, she could feel it. They rested their hand- firm and cold- on her shoulder. Marcy tensed up. Normally Anne would sit next to her and rest her hand on her shoulder when she felt panicked or overloaded. No one else ever did that to help Marcy but her. Not even her parents, when she was little.
“The pain will subside. Allow us to help you, child, and we will aid you. We will make you better.”
Marcy breathed a bit slower, calmer. And as her swirling thoughts slowed into a calm wind. She wasn’t quite focusing on the words of whoever was speaking to her- she just felt calmer, knowing someone was here with her. Less… alone.
“There, now, why don’t you rest?” They ran their hand across her arm like a parent soothing their child. Marcy mumbled in response, as her own way of saying ‘yes’. She felt calmer, at ease. She was breathing slower. Mind adrift. The feeling of someone with her made her feel good. Happy.
She felt better knowing that someone, even if it was someone she didn’t know, someone in this void, cared for her. She felt as though she was leaning into a blanket as she delved further into the unconscious. Her troubles seemed to drift away from her mind like ashes in the wind.
“There child, rest now. You need to sleep, to clear your mind.”
Marcy yawned and let herself drift. Her mind felt lighter, free of burden. She even forgot about Anne and Sasha, for just a moment, letting her guilt go free for the slightest moment. Forgetting about their anger at her, forgetting about their resentment, about how they would leave her here, and go on their own. To have their own adventures.
Happy, in a world where Marcy didn’t exist.
-
She didn’t quite know where she was now. Her eyes wouldn’t open. Her fingers wouldn’t twitch. She couldn’t move her limbs, or her body, or her head. There was no floor nor walls, no feeling anywhere or everywhere.
Everything was very numb, and very cold. And yet, very aware, and very hot. Burning like acid, and freezing like snow.
She’d never felt anything quite like this before. A feeling of hyperawareness, and yet, nothing at all.
Everything and nothing.
She couldn’t think, and yet her mind was racing with every thought she’d ever had. She couldn’t remember her name, and yet she could remember everyone she once was and would be. It was a strange feeling.
Who was she? She was everyone. What was this heavy feeling in her chest? It was the guilt of every sin she’d made. Why was she crying? Who said she was crying?
Flashing in her mind, faces flew past her. Who were they? They were everything to her. Where were they? Somewhere they didn’t want her to be. Who was he?
The face of an older salamander flicked through her head. She felt a twinge of fear. A spark of adrenaline. An ember of anger.
She could feel it. The ghost of an agony that once plagued her now returned, like a dog to their owner’s grave. The ghost of a feeling so pleasant and beautiful turned sour and spoiled, all in an instant. And despite her unsure mind and hazy consciousness, she remembered him. She remembered this pain, this ghost, this betrayal.
She remembered this king, this jester, this fool.
Her arms swung out into the void, as if wanting to choke the memory of him away. And yet her body did not move, did not exist. The memory lingered, and her feelings grew. Panic and blood rush. Regret and mourning. Hatred and bloodlust.
The longer she thought of him, the more angry she became.
She stared out into the endless, bountiful void. Memories so vast and yet so dull and empty, popping in and out of her sight and mind. And yet of all the memories that flew through her mind, so languid and brisk, this one lingered.
The image of the king lingered.
As much as she wanted to see any other memory- feel any other feeling- nothing changed. It was him. He wouldn’t leave.
A scar that ran deeper than the flesh, piercing the mind and leaving a trail of sour memories in a place that shouldn’t exist. A scar of pain and peace, of regret and retribution.
“Now look what you made me do.”
That voice. Those words. That memory. It made her blood boil. He had done this. He had left her here, in the deep and shallow, in the blinding and the blind, in the spacious and the confined. He left her here, in the unknown, the invalid, the void, to rot and fade away. Locked away, confined to this prison for eternity.
Here, in the painful and the peace, in the deafening and the mute, the blistering and the freeze. No. She would not fade away here. She would not fade away in turmoil, pulled apart by antonym and synonym. Not while he remained in the knowledgeable, in the understood, in the decisive. She wouldn’t allow herself to fade away while he stood in peace and power.
She reached out her hand. She could feel it grab something cold, hard and sleek. She gripped it with all her might, all her power. She used all the mental fortitude she had to clutch the item, to bring clarity to the unknown. To ground oneself here was heresy, and yet the greatest sign of power.
She held onto the blade tight, stepping forward. There was no floor, no carpet nor road, but a path as alit in her mind. The blade burned the darkness like flesh and bone, enlightening. Paving. Carving.
She could find herself here, in the void, down this path. Where the flames felt chill and the ice turned skin to blister. It was hurtful, as memory of memories of faces passed into her mind again. But why would his face not leave? Why could she not see the others? She felt angry. She wanted her memory, she wanted her pain and her guilt. She wanted closure, a beginning.
“Andrias,” she spoke, aloud and with no voice at all, “You will pay.”
And with that, she took a step into the light, into life once more.
-
From beyond the void, the entity of light watched the Child. This Child, one who held a fraction of the power of Calamity. They had saved her from a fate given too soon, an undeserved punishment for the girl’s selfish but good-willed intentions. They had watched the child fade away, fading from life and from grasp, and had saved her, clinging to her to share their life force. Allowing their power to keep her alive until she could sustain herself again.
They had visited her many times to insure her recovery. Never to face, but from afar, watching.
So, this was Wit.
A Calamity, a child with great smarts, but with great flaw. True, all of the Calamity had flaw. But Wit’s fate was undeserved. No, she did not deserve to perish so soon. The entity of light did not believe Wit deserved such a fate.
Their jewels flickered as they thought. How to ensure that Wit will live? That fate will not take the child again before the entity could rescue her?
The entity shined its light upon the child. Let it see the beauty and the nature of their power. Allowed her to absorb the power of Calamity again, from within. They gave the power back to her, just a droplet. A small jolt of Calamity Wit.
The green jewel flickered, and Wit was blessed.
-
They rested their hand over her head. The child was limp in their arms, laying still but alive. Unmoving. They closed their eyes. Peering through the veil, past the void, and into the mindbase.
The Core stared at the child, unfeeling and distant. It was only a matter of time, now that the plan was set in motion. Thousands of calculations had been made to assure its success. An intricate plan to reshape the future, all with the use of this child. A web of minds in unison, ensnaring and webbing whatever was in their grasp into a cocoon. To be made anew was a blessing, a gift given from the greatest being.
They rested their hand on her head, as the Core connected to the child’s brain, mentally fumbling through the mindbase. It was akin to an expansive library, and the table of contents alone was a book in and of itself. This child’s brain was all-embracing, like many of the brains of their own. It was a strain on their systems to sort through such an expansive knowledge and memory, but a gift to know what was to come of it.
After all, each new entity was an addition to the vast databases the Core held onto.
The Core flipped through each page, reading and searching at inhuman speeds. Fourteen minds and many eyes were an aid when searching through the database of a young and flourishing mindbase.
Finally, they found it. Hidden away between the storages of ‘Vagabondia Chronicles’ and ‘An Herbological Encyclopedia of Amphibious Habitats’, the memory lay, far from where other memories were kept. Dormant and dusty, as if intended to be forgotten. A decrepit, rejected article, a journal of agony and unfeeling.
They felt their motherbrain whir to life at the sight. It was a diary, a recollection that shouldn’t exist. It should not have been recalled from the internal systems, and yet, here it was. Entangling their tendrils into the mental shelving and absorbing the memory, The Core latched onto the forebrain and shoved the memory into focus. As soon as the Core did so, the child scowled, as if in pain.
Good. It was working.
They focused into the brainspace of their host once again. They reached in once more, towards the darkest recesses of the library of memories, an area that made even the Core grimace. Where he resides in her mind.
What he had done was nothing more than a delay in plans, but could be useful to the Core. The host was meek, emotional, human. It was prone to alterations, prone to being changed. It was far different from the Core, vastly inferior, but patience was required.
The host would be easy to alter.
They let the memory of the vast void linger on, letting the child soak in the feeling of nothing. Of fear, of empty, of chill and death.
Then, they grabbed the memory of him and squeezed it as hard as they could., absorbing the foul memory into their database. It was jarring, such an awful file, but they held onto it nonetheless and shoved it into the host’s mind. Once again, in almost an instant, the child in their arms became unnerved, starting to squirm. The memories of void and pain were agonizing, making the host act in defiance.
The Core released the child’s head. The memories were active, and the host was dreaming of death and revenge. The host was remembering its pain, its agony. The Core had done what it needed. Soon, the host would learn of the Core’s great power, its great influence and perfection. A single unit of many, so holy and so absolute. Soon the child would come to accept the feeling of nothing, to accept the knowledge and power that came with the web and the silk they dawned.
They lifted up the child, hoisting their host’s mental simulation into their arms. The child was an empath, they could tell. Far different from the Core’s perfect state of unity and distance. The reach of the Core would not get to the child’s brain- no, she would certainly reject their true self, their true nature, if presented as such. They needed to feign, to mimic. They would inspect the child closely, study every movement and every motion, every thought and subconscious. To build trust, to feign, to urge, to assimilate. The host would not be a host for long, no. Once the host came to understand the awesome and perfected state of the Core, they would become one.
-
Marcy awoke in someone’s arms. Someone was carrying her- she knew it before she even opened her eyes. She gasped and squirmed, suddenly overcome with fear. She didn’t know who had grabbed her or where she was being taken, but all she knew was that she had to get out.
It was too dark to see her captor, but whoever it was had a tight grip on her. But Marcy was small and slippery and squeezed out of their grasp. She fell flat on her face (wasn’t this an endless and solidless void?) and scrambled to her knees, scuttling away. She could hear footsteps- she was being chased.
“Child, desist!” Their voice called out.
But she ignored them, focusing on pathfinding through the infinite. She pushed herself onto her feet and bolted as fast as she could.
But it wasn’t fast enough. The entity slammed into Marcy, knocking her over and flat on her face again. She groaned, aching from her face colliding with the nothing-floor.
“Get away from me!” Marcy yelped, kicking as the mysterious figure grabbed her leg. But as if a flashlight was shone upon them, Marcy could suddenly see who was before her more clearly than before.
Their body was newt-like, slender and long, with plantigrade feet, a prehensile tail, and an elongated neck. But this was no ordinary newt- it had two sets of arms, one bulky like a toad’s, the other more thin.
“My, you’re one for inspection. Distracted?” the newt-thing teased. Unfortunately for them, Marcy was so deep in thought she didn’t hear them.
She was looking at their face now- most of it was obscured by a cloak, and what was left to be seen was nothing more than a pale mouth. The cloak, however, was far from uninteresting, as it had eight glowing eyes connected to it, all functioning and staring at her. They were red and glowing, hypnotic. And four horns poked out of the cloak, like axolotl gills.
“Child.” They snapped in her face, bringing her back into focus. “You must improve upon your attention span. We may be of aid to that.”
Marcy whined and tried to break free, but their grip was firm- they dragged her by her leg and grabbed her- setting her upright.
“Come on now, you were calm before.” They hissed. Their voice was thick and oily. “You were struggling to sleep, and so I sat down with you and-”
Marcy shoved herself away. “Get away from me!” She turned away from them and leaned into her palms.
The Core growled. Marcy was unresponsive, unwilling to cooperate, much less communicate. Flesh was fickle, unruly. She was unable to understand the power of unity, the power of the Hive.
They frowned.
No matter.
Based on their calculations, it would only be a matter of time. Flesh could be molded like clay, manipulated from their desires. Flesh changed and melded to what it was surrounded by, exposed to, and believed.
Marcy would cooperate. She just needed to be convinced.