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Modern science still is not entirely certain about how life on Earth originated. The evolution and development of life can be traced back to the earliest proto-cells, but how these first organisms came to be is somewhat shrouded in mystery. The common assumption, backed by certain experiments, is that the tumultuous environment of the Earth at that time provided enough energy for random chemical processes to occur- specifically, a storm striking the surface of the ocean, energizing the gases and water to combine into clumps of biomolecules, which were capable of self-replicating.
In essence, it could be said that life was created by lightning.
It was a lesson Victor knew well, not through any formal study, but through the experiences of the meager few years that he had been alive. Physical injury, cold, starvation, even complete dismemberment- all could be overcome with a harsh jolt of electricity. Really, ‘could’ wasn’t exactly the right word. Victor would come back, no matter what happened. The total lack of information about his creation meant that Victor wasn’t sure how much of his immortality was intentional. Maybe his creator had wanted an unkillable golem, and had simply lost control of it. Maybe Victor’s perpetual life was an artifact of his strange construction, one that his creator either hadn’t realized or had decided not to take advantage of. He ran his hands over one of the seams on his torso, idly pondering while knowing he wouldn’t get anywhere on his own.
With no clear purpose for his creation, he had spent his years poking around for any signs of who had created him- or, at least, who he was made out of. It had been an entirely unfruitful search, but he was determined. And now a real opportunity had presented itself. The Archmother had whispered into his mind a few days prior, and now he was at the first planning meeting for the ritual that was to take place during the upcoming eclipse. The task was simple enough- help summon the patron into the world, and she would grant one wish. The description had made it seem like the ‘summoning’ would really involve quite a bit of combat, which gave Victor some relief. He was hardly a skilled occultist, but he could handle combat with no problems. And he didn’t have much to lose from trying- it’s not like it could kill him.
Probably.
With a deep breath, he stepped into the abandoned high-rise being used as a hideout, and prepared for the inevitable reactions of his fellow ritualists. He was a pretty unpleasant sight to behold, between the half-rotted body parts and occult symbol tattoos, but in the Cursed Apple people rarely went farther than impolite stares. Victor had made the long walk to the city precisely because he was told it was a hotspot of strange phenomena, and reasoned that he could live here mostly unharrased. It had been true so far- he even managed to hold down a simple construction job. So when he looked around the room to find an equally odd collection of people, he felt strangely caught off-guard.
Sitting in a rough circle there was a burly blue Ixian who smoothly introduced himself as Detective Abrams, a plucky stone gargoyle named Ivy, some sort of humanoid unicorn who called herself ‘The Dazzling Celeste’, and a woman with a strange mask-helmet thing who did not identify herself, saying they could just call her Paradox. Victor keenly watched the reactions of the strange crowd, waiting for the disgust to pass over their faces once they took him in fully. It never came. Celeste made a few comments about his tattoos, and Paradox inquired after some of the metal pieces in him, but otherwise the group seemed unbothered by the corpse-thing that had joined their ranks. Even when a small jolt of electricity passed through the wire coiled around his left hand, Ivy’s flinch was more from being startled than afraid. In fact, she cheerily informed Victor that his electricity might help him relate to ‘the other guy’, and helpfully pointed towards the corner of the room.
Looking over to see the sixth member of their team, Victor felt his blood run cold. There, watching him from beneath the wide brim of his metal headpiece, was some sort of creature Ivy called ‘Seven’. Cold-looking machine pieces were woven over and through a torn prison jumpsuit, and in the dim lighting seemed to meld with the scorched flesh underneath. By far the most terrifying part was his face, with glowing orange holes replacing his features in an electric jack-o-lantern. He offered no comment or acknowledgement of the room’s attention on him, keenly watching Victor’s reaction as a small arc of lightning passed through the bolts in the stranger’s head.
Victor knew, immediately, that this is who he had been looking for.
He didn’t want to admit it, but there was no denying what he was seeing. A decaying man fused with arcane machines. A thing that should be dead, but was not. A creature propelled by lightning and malice, where flesh had failed him. Victor was looking at a mirror of himself.
He looked away.
The rest of the meeting continued normally. A hooded emissary of the Archmother came to explain the time and place where the eclipse would be taking place, as well as informing the group that this hideout would be accessible to all of them until that time, and would be used for future meetings. Most of them shrugged at that, as they easily had other places in the city to stay, but Seven let out a staticky hum of acknowledgement. Then the cultist vanished in a flash of blue light, and the others were left to discuss their plans for the near future. They agreed on a meeting a few weeks from now, to get a better idea of each person’s combat ability and devise some simple strategies. Seven, once again, did not participate in this conversation at all, but gave a confirmation of attendance when Abrams looked over at him.
The meeting wrapped up with amicable farewells; the group hadn’t exactly become fast friends, but they \were not let down by the skill level or general respectability of any of their allies. Victor half-expected Seven to call out to him, but the man only watched Victor's exit with the same mute attentiveness he had been showing all night. Victor got the distinct feeling that he was being analyzed, but whatever conclusions Seven had come to it was clear he did not care to share them.
And so each of the other ritualists separated on the street outside, citing various responsibilities and families they had to get back to, leaving Victor and the detective alone. Casual small talk revealed that at least part of the route back would be in the same direction for them, so they continued their conversation as they went on their way.
Abrams began “I hope you’re ready for the two of us to be taking most of the hits out there,” letting his irritation at the prospect come through in his voice. “Don’t get me wrong, the others all seem capable, but they’re not exactly sturdy. Except the gargoyle, maybe.”
“It’s not a problem for me, detective. I don’t go down easily. Or at all, really.”
“If you don’t mind me asking…” Abrams paused, seemingly trying to find the right way to phrase the question. Victor knew what was coming, of course- it was inevitable that people would ask once they spoke to him for a while- but he politely waited for the detective to find his words. “What are you, exactly?”
It wasn’t the rudest version of the question he had heard, but it was clear Abrams wasn’t very good with his words. Sighing, Victor replied “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure. I was hoping the patron could answer that, once this ritual is over.”
The detective nodded sagely at that, patting the thick leather bag at his waist. “Got a mystery of my own I’m trying to figure out. But I think you’re going to get your answer sooner than me.” There was a beat of silence, where Abrams slowed to look at his ally. “You don’t seem like a stupid guy, Victor.” The heavy tone of voice made it clear what he was talking about, even without directly saying it.
“Yeah, I know. Seven’s pretty similar to me, isn’t he? But I can’t imagine he’ll give me a clear answer if I just ask him. I don’t even know what he is- maybe he doesn’t know any more than I do.”
“I can tell you some more about Seven- he’s really goddamn dangerous. An escaped convict from Lost Whisper, who somehow managed to survive his execution. Feds have been looking for him for a while now, but there’s been no official trace. Pretty sure the OSIC has a lead on him, though.”
“‘Somehow’ survived, huh? Wonder if it had anything to do with all that stuff that’s attached to him.”
“...Rumor has it, he was set to be killed via electric chair. That’s where ‘Seven’ comes from, apparently. He overpowered seven of the world’s strongest occultists, who were supposed to be making sure his soul was completely obliterated.”
“So it’s pretty much a guarantee that he’s some kind of electric zombie. Doesn’t explain where I come in, though.”
“I think the only way you’re going to get answers is from him directly. But watch yourself, Victor. If he thinks you’re a threat to his plans, he’ll find some way to put you down for good. He’s killed stronger people for less.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, detective.”
“Just call me Abrams. We’re about to summon an eldritch god together- doesn’t feel right to keep up the formalities.”
“Sure thing, Abrams. See you in a few weeks.”
Victor shut the door to his squalid apartment and collapsed onto his frameless mattress, staring up at the ceiling while he considered everything that had happened today. For the first time in all of his (admittedly short) life, he had a real lead on who his creator was. It just so happened that ‘lead’ was some sort of maniac who was apparently even worse than a normal death row criminal. Victor put out his hand and traced the lines across them, and let himself wonder who they might have belonged to. He resolved to find out more in the weeks before his next meeting with Seven, before slipping off into sleep.
…
At least, he tried to.
But Victor had never been quick to sleep, and tonight was far worse than most. He hadn’t really learned anything of substance, and the wave of new questions was more than enough to keep him awake. What was Seven, really? He didn’t seem to be quite the same thing as Victor, but it was undeniable that the two were linked. Was Seven Victor’s creator? If so, what was the purpose behind his creation? Or was Seven another work from the same source, having received the same power that Victor had? Did they even have the same powers? After all, Seven seemed to remember his life before his new ghoulish state. Maybe this was all one big coincidence.
But no, Victor recalled the way Seven had analyzed him earlier. The convict knew something, and Victor got the feeling that there wasn’t going to be any other way to learn it. He would try, though; he remembered passing by a well-stocked library on the way to the hideout. He would visit there tomorrow and get some answers.
Even that resolution did not hasten his sleep. Victor continued to roll around in his confusion for hours, until morning came and he was forced to prepare for the day with only a few fitful bursts of shut-eye. Not that being sleep-deprived was any worse than his normal state, but it still would’ve been nice to get some proper rest.
His routine of stale breakfast and a cold shower was the product of a similar philosophy. While Victor did not actually need any of this to survive, he had learned the hard way that it was better to go through the motions. He seemed to exist in a sort of limbo between a living thing and an arcane golem- he could survive without human necessities, but it was pretty damn painful to go without. So he kept a roof over his head, kept his fridge stocked with basic foods, and made sure his water was always running. Victor felt a strange satisfaction with the life he had built, even if it was pathetic by any normal metrics. Victor idly wondered if that was a remnant of some part of him. Maybe his spine was used to sleeping on hard mattresses, or his stomach was used to eating cold gruel.
Stepping out into the cold New York morning, he lamented his inability to wear shirts. One thing he was certain of was that his body wasn’t built for the cold. The wide bolts in his shoulders and arm were probably important, so Victor hadn’t risked messing with them, but they were pretty damn annoying to try and live with. All Victor could manage to wear around them were loose jackets or tank tops, neither of which succeeded in staving off New England weather. Of course, it wouldn’t kill him, but it still sucked to deal with. Sighing, he resolved to simply walk faster, hoping that the library, at least, would have a cozy warmth.
Stepping into the simple brick building confirmed that ‘cozy’ really was the right word for it. Victor’s quick glance over the cramped shelves and dim orange lighting made him feel vaguely claustrophobic, but seeing the chipper librarian navigate the space made him a little more comfortable. She made the standard shocked pause upon seeing his visibly abnormal form, but returned to her bright customer-service smile and politely asked what he was looking for. Victor watched her eyes trace down his muscular abdomen a little less politely, and immediately realized what was happening.
She was one of those.
Victor knew he was, objectively, attractive. In his early days he had been vaguely repulsed by the idea that the pieces of himself might have been intentionally selected for looks. Even when he decided that was unlikely, he still didn’t like accepting compliments- it felt like taking credit for something he hadn’t earned. But gradually, he had to accept that he was pretty damn good-looking. A tall, muscular build, framed by long hair, an intense gaze, and a low voice that mixed into the perfect smoldering presence. More than few people in the Cursed Apple had been able to look past his abnormalities and approach him for more ‘personal’ reasons, and VIctor had gotten used to politely turning down advances…most of the time. He still had human urges, after all.
But his present task was far too consuming to entertain any after-dark thoughts; the librarian, for her part, seemed happy enough just ogling him. His request snapped her out of her stupor, and she began leading him towards the historical records in a dusty corner of the store. Seeing Victor’s wary expression at the sheer volume of books to sift through, she helpfully asked if there was something specific he was looking for.
Victor let his eyes meet the optimistic look in hers. Could he tell her? He hadn’t considered how significant of a secret he was holding onto until just now. He remembered Abrams’ warning from last night- talking about Seven was almost certain to cause problems for everyone involved. But there was no way he could find anything in here without help. He scanned the face that was still looking up at him, and decided to test the waters.
“Can you keep a secret?”
The bright response came almost too quickly, as she cheerily announced “Of course I can keep a secret! I mean, books are almost like collections of secrets, aren’t they? All the things in here that no one has ever heard of…” She trailed off wistfully, before snapping back to attention and continuing her case. “So whatever you want to tell me, go ahead! I promise, my mind is as secure as this library itself.”
Victor decided to revoke his prior conviction. Better to be vague with her. “I need anything you have on Lost Whisper. Prisoner records, especially.”
She deflated a little at his lack of forthrightness. “Any particular reason you want those?” she asked, but seemed to be prepared for a nonanswer.
Victor tilted his gaze down towards his own body, then gave the librarian a meaningful look. She realized the implication swiftly, and jumped to grab works off the shelves to match his query. Books were pulled down only to be thumbed through and pushed back in, while others landed on the table nearby or directly into Victor’s arms. The movements were seemingly being carried out with both precision and carefulness, but he could make no sense of it. After a few minutes, the whirlwind settled down, leaving Victor with a pitifully small stack of works on the subject.
The woman seemed embarrassed by the meager collection, hastily beginning to explain “A lot of stuff about Lost Whisper isn’t really publicly available. You could try asking around the OSIC, but I doubt they’ll be very forthcoming…” She meekly lowered her gaze as her cheeks burned red- clearly, she was taking this as a personal failure.
“I’d rather not take my chances with the feds. And don’t worry about it- this is plenty. Do I need to check out anywhere?”
“Just leave your name and address, so we know where to contact you if you don’t return your books. Technically, you can only check out for three weeks at a time, but if no one is waiting for them we don’t mind letting you keep them a little longer.” Her face remained dejected through the explanation, giving VIctor a feeling of pity. She obviously took pride in the quality of her workplace, a concept that was completely foreign to him. He had never done anything worth being proud of, which meant he didn’t have much to be ashamed of, either. He wasn’t sure how to cheer her up.
Eventually, he decided that it was better to just let her be. He walked over to the counter and began filling out the form, pausing to ask “Is it fine if I don’t have a last name?”
The librarian seemed momentarily confused by the question, but collected herself and replied “Sure, don’t worry about it. It’s not like you’ll get confused for anyone else.” She swiftly clamped a hand over her mouth and started an apology, but Victor only smirked.
“Fair enough, I guess. Well, thanks for your help, Miss…?”
“Paige. You can just call me Paige.”
“Thanks for the help, Paige. I’ll be back with these in a couple weeks.” He hoisted the books in one arm and turned out of the store, heading for somewhere he could read undisturbed. The weather was still too chilly to go into one of the parks, so he walked a short while until he found a bright, flower-covered cafe.
Stepping inside, he was surprised to find the gargoyle from last night running drinks between tables. She spotted Victor as the door chimed, and brightly waved over to him.
“Hey, Victor,” she called, dropping off the last of the drinks and wiping condensation onto her apron. “What brings you here?”
He held up the bundle of reading materials he was carrying, and replied “Was looking for somewhere to do some reading. I didn’t realize you worked here.”
“It’s a family business, actually. I’m just helping out for the day.”
Victor paused on hearing the word ‘family’, but Ivy seemed to detect the confusion in his face before he could respond. She continued “The Arroyos took me in after I came to life. I think of myself as their daughter.”
Victor felt a pang of guilt at the sound of her rehearsed explanation. How many times had he taken that same tone, whenever someone gave him a ‘look’? But mostly, he felt envy at hearing how warmly she spoke of her parents. “Must be nice,” he muttered.
If Ivy detected any bitterness from him, she didn’t show it, giving a wide smile as she said “It is nice. So, can I get you anything to drink?”
“You have any herbal tea? Caffeine messes with my body.”
“I get that. I’ll get a cup for you- feel free to grab a table for your books.”
“Thanks. How much will it be?”
“Oh, it’s on the house. We’re allies, I can cover one drink for you.”
It was the second time one of his fellow ritualists had been friendly with him, and it was starting to feel odd. Victor was used to strangers being neutral at best- informal speech and free drinks were alien to him.
Shrugging it off, he slid into one of the empty booth seats, choosing to sit away from the window out of habit. He began sifting through the records he had access to, but already they seemed lacking. There was a collection of mostly speculative news articles, a list of reports about the OSIC that was all past three decades old, and even a completely fictional crime novel that was supposedly ‘based on a true story’. VIctor’s hope was quickly waning. Sighing, he reached for another of the volumes from the stack, only to find Ivy watching him from across the table.
“Anything interesting?” she asked casually, ignoring Victor’s surprise as she slid his tea towards him.
“Not really, unfortunately.”
“Well, if you tell me what you’re looking for, I could always help. You are looking for something, right? This doesn’t really seem like pleasure reading…”
Victor made the same calculation he had made before as he looked around the room. Ivy had already met Seven- surely, it would be fine to tell her.
“I’m trying to figure out what the deal is with Seven.”
“What for? You should probably just leave a guy like him alone.”
“He might know something about my creator. If I can figure it out, I can skip the ritual entirely.”
“Is that what you’re doing this for? I can’t imagine summoning an eldritch god just to find out who made me.”
Victor paused, feeling both startled and strangely hurt at the flippant way she described his goal. “You’ve never thought about who made you? Or why you came to life?”
“I never had to. It’s my life, no matter where I came from. And besides, the Arroyos have become my family. Who cares who carved me?”
Victor’s bitterness was out in full force now. He knew it wasn’t fair to the gargoyle, but he couldn’t help feeling jealous that she had a loving family who could see past her inhuman construction, while he was sifting through near-useless records to find out how many crimes had been committed in his creation. Sourly, he replied “Well, I guess we’ve got our differences.”
Ivy seemed to realize her mistake, as she hastened to apologize. “Victor, I didn’t mean-”
“If you don’t mind, I’ve got some reading to do.”
There was a tense silence, before the gargoyle nodded and slid off the bench with a creak. Victor felt guilty almost immediately, but it was too late to take it back. He returned to his reading and took a sip of the tea sitting by him.
It was delicious. Warm, floral notes, with a hint of honey that made it just sweet enough. Drinking it only made Victor feel worse.
…
Another cold evening, but this time Victor was motivated by a stronger purpose. It was the planning meeting for the upcoming ritual. They had been informed that, while the specifics were still unclear, they should expect to be working in three separate teams. Victor assumed that would mean their group would be pairing up, but with Seven it was possible they might end up with a trio.
He flexed his left arm, feeling the static in the wires digging into the muscles. Whatever happened, he would be ready for it.
Victor and Abrams met up on the same street corner they had separated on a few weeks prior, with Victor noting that the detective was carrying a heavy-looking shotgun and a strange inscribed book.
“Victor, good to see you,” Abrams called out, before scanning VIctor’s sparse equipment. “You sure you’re ready for this?”
“As ready as I can be. It’s not like I need any fancy tools to do what I do. Better to travel light, in my experience.
“Fair enough. Personally, I try not to go too far without a weapon. I could get you one, if you want- got a licence for it, so it’ll be above board…mostly.” The detective began mumbling to himself as he worked out the logistics of getting Victor a gun.
Victor shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt. But I don’t want you sticking your neck out for my sake. Don’t push it if it's too much of a headache for you.”
Abrams nodded, replying “I’ll see what I can do. And what you can do. Who knows, maybe you really will be fine without one.”
They continued in companionable silence, until they found the other ritualists waiting outside the door to the hideout. The only person missing was Celeste, so Victor took the opportunity to scan the group’s armaments. The other three people were all carrying guns of their own- Ivy and Seven touting menacing submachine guns, while Paradox had a strangely symmetrical one-handed rifle. Victor also noticed a few extra items at the belts of his allies, leading him to feel strangely underprepared. It seemed to Victor they were all used to taking fights.
While doing his analysis, he briefly locked eyes with Ivy, but he quickly wrenched his gaze away. He still hadn’t quite figured out how to apologise to her for his rudeness before, leading to an awkwardness settling in between them. Ivy felt similarly, as she idly inspected her gun, avoiding eye contact. Abrams seemed to take note of this- he was a detective, after all- but Celeste’s arrival spared them from any interrogation.
Victor was relieved to find their final ally equally unarmed, save for a simple baton. At least one other person was in the same boat as him. The others met Celeste’s bright outfit and sparkly hair with wariness- she had been dressed down for their first meeting, but was obviously coming back from a job today. She pointedly ignored the looks and warmly greeted the only person not judging her, pulling Victor in for a quick hug as she called out “Sorry I was late, guys. There was a slip-up at the sideshow.”
The group heard something like a sigh from Seven, as he sternly said “I didn’t realize we were working with a circus performer.” He gave Celeste an unscrutable look as he tilted his chin back, but the unicorn met it defiantly.
“Its a sideshow, not a circus. And I’ll have you know I’m pretty damn talented.”
“I suppose you’ll just have to prove it, then.”
With that, the convict began walking off, leaving the others to scramble after him as he wandered around the city. Any questions about their destination were ignored, until they passed through another building and down into a collection of underground tunnels, which were part of an abandoned subway line. Eventually, they arrived at a wide room with scattered piles of metal and wood, covered in electric scorch marks- presumably the former base of Seven, and a suitably open and secluded place to show off one’s skills.
Celeste stepped up wordlessly, turning to face the group with a wide smile. She began with a simple acrobatic routine, intending to aggravate Seven with backflips and cartwheels, but just when he seemed poised to object she let out a burst of iridescent pink flame from her wand. She followed this with a variety of bright energy blasts, and Victor noticed the way her horn glowed whenever she activated whatever power she was using. Clearly, this was more than just stage magic. The group grappled with the revelation that, apparently, unicorns were real, as she closed out her act with a crystalline barrier appearing around her, and swept into a low bow.
“So, do I pass your test, Seven?” she called out cockily.
“...That was satisfactory. It’s good to know the gifts of the unicorns are not wasted on you.”
Celeste’s face shifted into an accusatory look. “What do you know about the unicorns?”
“No more than you, I’m sure. And don’t worry, you won’t have to avenge any of your kinsmen. Their magic was never quite my style.”
She ground her teeth at his evasive answer, but did not reply any more. After stomping back to the rest of the group, the stage was set for someone else to show off their powers. Abrams took a step forwards, turning back before beginning his routine.
“Well, I’m not quite the performer she is,” he began, “but I’m not so bad either.” He went on to show off a few things he could conjure from the odd book he was carrying, but just his physique and combat experience were enough to convince the group of his effectiveness.
His comparatively lackluster showing relaxed the rest of the group, as Ivy stepped up to the plate. The others were particularly impressed with her transformation ability, and they watched her scaly skin morph into cold stone as she flattened a pile of metal scrap. Victor appreciated the viney bond she snaked into his chest, feeling invigorated by the nutrients pouring through it; it seemed like they could work well together, which only made the tension between them stronger.
Paradox volunteered to go next, having been inspired by the performances thus far. She carried a wide variety of complex gadgets, with mixes of technology and magic that allowed her to weakly manipulate time. Seven seemed especially impressed with her carbine, as the group watched her blast a chunk of wood and slow the falling splinters mid-air. Another pair was forming, though Paradox’s mask meant that her reaction to Seven’s interest was unknown.
When the convict made no move to step up, Victor took to the stage. Awkwardly, he informed them that he would rather not display his abilities as, frankly, they hurt like hell to use. He assured them that, above all, his greatest strength was simply not dying when a person was supposed to. The one thing he did show off was the trick where he ripped off his arm to use it as a bludgeoning weapon- not especially useful for combat, but enough to keep the group entertained.
Seven watched Victor’s explanation mutely, before stepping in front of the ritualists himself. He, in particular, seemed peeved by Victor’s plainness, as without warning he fired a salvo of bullets through the undead’s chest.
Victor didn’t realize what had happened for a moment, as his extremities began to grow cold and blood spilled down his front. Only when Ivy rushed to his side did he comprehend that he had just been shot. He collapsed forwards onto the ground, trying desperately to push the others away as the coils on his body all began to thrum and charge. Without warning a surge of electricity spat out of him, launching everyone in the room as his flesh soldered itself back together. Only Seven had the wherewithal to get behind cover, smoothly returning to stand in front of Victor while the others all groggily picked themselves back up.
Abrams, by far the toughest, was the first to pull himself together, chuckling as he said “Well I’ll be damned, Victor. You sure weren’t lying about being hard to kill.” He seemed mostly unfazed by both the explosion and the unprompted attack from Seven.
Celeste was noticeably more roughed up, as she stormed over to the convict to jab a finger into his chest. “What the hell is your problem, jerk?!” she called out angrily “What if that actually killed him?”
“It wouldn’t have,” came the calm reply from Seven.
Something about the intense assuredness of his tone gave everyone in the room pause. Celeste continued, “How could you know that for sure?” but there was less accusation and more genuine curiosity in her tone. Everyone watched for what he would say with bated breath- the burst of electricity had hinted at the link between the two, and now they were waiting for Seven’s confirmation.
Never one to be shown up, Seven calmly held out his hand to fire a blast of lightning past Celeste’s head. “I know, because I made him. And my work never fails.”
Well, there it was. Here was Victor’s proof. The mysterious death-row criminal was his creator. He pushed away Ivy’s arm and shakily got to his feet, and asked the one question that had been plaguing his mind for years.
“Why? Why did you make me?”
Seven paused, watching Victor’s heaving breaths and pained expression, before giving his answer. “Because I needed the practice. I had to make sure I could survive my execution. To tell the truth, I had expected you to cease functioning without a steady supply of power, but it seems that ambient arcane energy is enough to sustain you.”
Ivy replied before Victor could, asking “What does that mean, he was supposed to ‘cease functioning’?”
Seven sighed before going into a more detailed explanation. “I needed a way to convert electricity into life force, because I knew I was headed for the electric chair. I tested it on a body made from various parts to roughly emulate my own physique and energy levels. It worked, clearly. Worked too well, in fact.” Seven gestured at some of Victor’s tattoos. “It seems that my hasty attempts at allowing a corpse to interact with the occult have left you with a body that can absorb and process arcane energy- specifically, converting it into electricity, which is subsequently cycled through to the life force process. A curious mechanism, which has allowed you to survive without any outside power sources. In case you were wondering, I do not share this ability.”
Victor couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But then, it made sense, didn’t it? He was not made for any special purpose or grand plan. Him being alive was an accident- an unintentional byproduct from Seven’s attempts at sustaining his own life. It was exactly what Victor should’ve expected. He felt a manic grin spreading across his face, and tipped his head back to let out a short bark of mirthless laughter.
Seven still just watched cooly, asking “Got your answers, Victor? I hope this doesn’t mean you’ll be backing out of the ritual. We could use someone with your abilities.”
“Just one more question. Who am I?”
“Are you asking who you’re made out of? Dozens of corpses went into my work, and plenty of them were too disfigured to recognize by the time they got to me. I’m not sure who composes your form.”
“No I mean- who am I?” The zombie tapped the side of his head. “Who is Victor?”
Seven paused at that, before replying in a strangely solemn tone. “If memory serves, there wasn’t anyone in Lost Whisper named Victor, and certainly no one with your personality. It seems that the arcane energies that made you birthed an entirely new life. Don’t let it go to waste, child.”
With a nod, Seven exited the room, leaving everyone else stunned as they waited for Victor’s reaction.
Victor roughly collapsed onto the ground, leaning his head back on the rough stone wall. The others circled around him, but maintained a respectful distance as he worked through the revelations.
“Damn. I’m no one,” he said mutely. “I’m…just Victor.”
Ivy was the first to step forwards, laying a hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter who made you, Victor. You’re you. You get to decide what to do with your life, not him.”
Victor nodded, some of his resolve returning. “You’re right.” And while it didn’t seem like the best time for it, Victor couldn’t stop himself from adding “And Ivy, I’m sorry for-”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry too.” The sunny smile returned to the gargoyle’s face, and Victor found himself grinning to match it. Abrams looked between them with vague confusion, but decided not to butt in, while Celeste seemed to be tearing up at the display.
Ivy continued “If you’re up for it, why don’t you visit the Arroyos later this week. It might help you get used to your life from now on. And we could do some preparing for the ritual- that is, if you’re still participating.”
“Sure, I’d be happy to visit sometime, And yeah, I’ll be in the ritual,” Victor decided. “I still want to figure out who these body parts belonged to. It feels like the right thing to do.”
Victor let himself be pulled up to his feet by Abrams, who went on to give him a rough pat on the back. “Don’t let him get you down, brother. Ivy’s right- it’s your life. Do whatever you want with it.”
Tears were streaming down Celeste’s face as she pulled him into a tight hug, before sharply jerking back when a zap passed across his torso. She settled for resting her hands on his shoulders, as she added to the encouragement. “Trust me, I know what it’s like to be a freak. But you can still be happy, with the right people.” She gave an obvious look to Ivy, who started blushing at the implication.
Paradox initially made no move towards him, but when the group turned to face her she settled for an awkward thumbs up as she said “Give ‘em hell, VIctor.”
He smiled at the encouragement from the group around him. They were all right, of course. It was his life. It always had been.
It was time to start living it.