399: Souls Out (Patreon)

Then there was only a rushing dark, a sense of utter disconnect, and a clawing fear and confusion as he was sucked from his body down a pipe. And he realised, as he shoved and snarled, that the panic was coming from a figure up tight against him. Junko’s Soul, scrabbling madly like someone drowning, grabbing at the first thing they’d found to cling to.

Then, with a deeply unpleasant slurping sensation, they burst out of the pipe, Souls tumbling over one another into somewhere new.

Nicolai rose to his… feet, Junko rising beside him. He ignored her, peering around. They were in a vast, dark space, full up with suspended Souls, floating still and silent like dead bodies underwater. From below rose hundreds of snake-like tentacles, all coming from some dark, glistening orb. Each tentacle stabbed into a trapped Soul and he saw them flexing, sucking something out. Closer by, a pair of the things floated unmoored. One ended in a shredded lump not far below him, the other hung limp near Junko.

Nicolai raised his arm and turned it to and fro, frowning. He was here in Soul form, his body made up of blue energy. He’d seen the look many times before, when tearing a Soul from a body. Typically, Souls didn’t last very long, but it seemed the Aura that was always so swift to crush them to nothing back in the material was not present here.

Still, he was very vulnerable. He had no Symbiotes, no weapons, just his Soul and a store of Oma. It was Oma he wasn’t sure he’d ever noticed before, and after a moment’s examination, he realised why—it was held constantly by his Soul, kind of like blood, and wasn’t something he typically drew on.

‘Where are we?’ hissed Junko. ‘What is this? What’s going on?’

‘Somewhere within the spiritual realm, I believe,’ he replied absently. ‘Our Souls have been ripped from our bodies.’

‘Who are those floating people?’

‘Presumably those who’ve been trapped before us.’

‘How awful,’ she muttered.

Then she let out a sudden yelp and moved back. ‘Who are…’ she began, only to trail off, staring at him.

Irritated, he looked at her properly for the first time.

Junko looked by and large as normal, except made of blue energy, though there were some notable changes beyond that. On the back of one hand was her Mark, glowing bright gold, and there were golden threads spreading out from it all through her Soul. A gentle, calming light emanated from her too.

‘The light likely relates to her personality,’ said Psychology. ‘A sign she is a good and moral person. But her Soul is rather vague and diffuse—most likely a representation of her lack of discipline and certainty,’ the Module added smugly, which caused Nicolai to glance back down at himself. He was pleased to note the blue energy of his Soul was substantially more solid-looking. For some reason Junko was gaping at him.

Something was shifting on his face. Ah, the Mask, which apparently was a little uncomfortable about Psychology saying Junko was a good person.

‘What is that thing? What the heck is all this?’ said Junko.

He reached up and felt it. Gripping it, he pulled, but it clung tight. Perhaps only because it resisted so strongly, he wrenched it off. His face felt oddly naked without it. He turned it around, and a reflection of himself looked back, scowling.

‘Put me back,’ said the Mask, so he did.

He realised the Mask wasn’t the only thing to have gained a much more physical representation when Junko suddenly said, ‘I lack discipline and certainty? What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

And looking up, he saw that he had a kind of crown of little floating beings, all slowly circling his head. He recognised them immediately, the abstract shapes seeming to communicate who and what they were. Cyberwarfare, represented as a rather jagged, aggressive key-like construction, teeth and notches constantly shifting into new shapes. Threat Analysis, a tiny glass ball full of dozens of compass needles, all twitching to point one way, then another, like a school of fish. Observation, an eye made of hundreds of tiny squares, which, rather than turning to look around, rebuilt itself, squares retracting and extending, until the same eye faced another direction. And half a dozen others, forms equally abstract.

‘How would you know?’ Psychology was saying to Junko. It had the shape of a mirrored prism, like a chunk of shiny crystal, and it was circling her head like a hummingbird. As Junko turned to follow it, Nicolai saw the Module had twisted to present a flat pane to her, so that her own eyes were reflected in its surface, looking back at her.

‘Humans are terrible at understanding themselves,’ the Module continued. ‘It is simply how you are. Your minds are a constant process. Arguably, there is no real human, no personality. There is just a moment-to-moment, endless chain of thought and reaction, constantly generated by the mess of primitive instincts and bodily chemistry, random electrical patterns and learned experiences, which, much like the weights of an AI, determine what the human “thinks” and “feels.”’

Nicolai listened to Psychology’s excited jabbering with some dismay. He hadn’t intended Junko, nor any of her companions, to know about the Modules. Not only that, but if she interacted with them there was a real risk of her coming to think he was completely insane, which was worryingly close to the truth.

He was also realising that insanity might not even be the worst thing she could recognise. At the edges of his Soul, so faint he’d missed them at first, extended thin, hard lines. If he followed them, let his eyes lose themselves in the pattern they shaped, he saw it. Zero-Twelve. The killbot’s spiritual template was there around him, though maddeningly difficult to keep in focus. As his gaze reached the furthest edges of the shape, the whole thing dissolved.

‘Thought-generation?’ Junko was saying. ‘You’re an AI?’

‘Very astute!’ said Psychology, and it darted past her, pulling her into a spin as she sought to keep it in view. As the Module went humming past, Nicolai reached out and snatched it from the air.

‘Hey!’ squeaked Psychology.

‘You’re vulnerable here, stay close to me,’ he chided it, releasing it into the cluster over his head, where it sputtered irritably to itself but stayed put.

‘What is all this?’ said Junko. ‘Who are these AIs? Why’s there a mask on your face? And what’—she pointed to his stomach—‘is that?’

Nicolai glanced down. A cluster of sleepy little red eyes peered out from his Soul. The Dark.

‘We are the Modules,’ said Research and Development. ‘AIs, granted rather interesting representations in this place,’ it added, and twisted and turned in a way that suggested it was admiring itself. It was a strange, chaotic thing, endlessly forming new shapes and losing them just as fast. Wicked little hooks, saws, clamps and more murderous items, mixed with lenses and scanners, all of it clicking and rustling all the while. ‘Your Soul is quite interesting too. These golden threads seem rather unusual.’

‘Why isn’t his the same?’ she asked, frowning at Nicolai’s Mark.

‘Most likely because you are a hero,’ said Research and Development. ‘It appears that a hero’s Mark doesn’t merely grant the known functions, but leads to a literal change in the Soul. Or perhaps this is actually from your role as a Champion. That would make some sense. Ideally, we should try and pull the others into this place, so we can compare.’

‘I think not,’ murmured Nicolai.

‘The threads are spreading,’ Research and Development continued, pressing closer still to Junko, who eyed it warily, leaning back. ‘I wonder what will happen when they fill you? Probably something unpleasant.’

‘It’s changing me?’ Junko yelped, staring in horror at her Mark.

‘Don’t worry, girl,’ said Psychology. ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine. Change is almost always a good thing. Or at least an interesting thing.’

‘Can you stay further away, please?’ Junko was sliding away from Research and Development, who let out a vaguely offended noise. She looked to her Mark again, determined. ‘Might as well see if it’s of any use.’ And with a dramatic flourish, she thrust her Marked hand out.

Nicolai and the Modules waited in expectant silence, for several seconds.

‘It’s not working,’ she muttered, deflating.

‘Of course not,’ said Research and Development, sprouting several small and unnecessary lenses as it scooted closer, peering at her hand. ‘Because what you see here is the underlying architecture: the software, if you like. But the physical Mark must be the access point. In pure Soul form you cannot utilise your power.’

Junko sighed. ‘So I can’t summon. Didn’t think so, in a place like this where only spirits exist.’

‘It’s not necessarily impossible,’ said Cyberwarfare, drifting over to her and floating above her palm. ‘We may be able to find a way in. And from what we have learned, physical beings can be present in the spiritual realm. Let me have a little look.’ It began rapidly shifting as it extended parts of itself towards her hand.

‘Me too!’ cried Research and Development.

Predictably, Junko flinched away. ‘No!’ she yelled, snatching back her hand and cradling it protectively, while the two Modules circled like hunting dragonflies.

‘What?’ said Cyberwarfare, orienting itself to stay pointed at her hand. ‘Don’t you want to try and summon something?’

‘Yes, I do, but…’ Junko swallowed. ‘I’m just not sure about you, is all.’

‘Me?’ said Cyberwarfare. ‘I’m entirely trustworthy! In this situation, you can consider me your agent. I’m on your side.’

The Module actually seemed offended, which made Nicolai raise his spiritual eyebrows. So far as he was concerned, though less than ideal in practical terms, Junko’s hesitation was entirely understandable.

‘If we can’t find anything else we can do, then maybe you can touch it,’ replied Junko, eyeing the Module warily.

Scoffing irritably to itself, Cyberwarfare returned to Nicolai.

As the Module reached him, there came a faint beep. The needles in Threat Analysis’s glass ball were twitching. Then, as one, they swung to point straight down and froze.

He and Junko and the Modules all looked down. The dark orb’s skin was shifting, pulsing rhythmically, and it was bulging in places. One of those bulges lengthened, lengthened, then it burst open and a fresh tentacle quested free.

‘The ripples are identical to the spiritual attacks from earlier, the same that pulled us into this place,’ said Threat Analysis.

‘Mmmm,’ said Research and Development, floating downwards. ‘Yes. These tentacles are a representation of the same spiritual Art. No—the real form. How interesting. Therefore these’—it grew two odd little arms and flicked them at the nearby unattached tentacles—‘are the two attacks that came for us and Junko.’

‘Most likely,’ added Threat Analysis, ‘when you attempted to stop it sinking into Junko, you didn’t entirely fail. It still managed to pull you both here, but it didn’t impale her. I believe that normally, once hooked, a victim here would simply become one of those floating Souls, immediately trapped and under control, without a chance to float around and enact mischief.’

More importantly, thought Nicolai, if these tentacles were the same Art he’d already dispelled once, then the same method should be effective. And for that, his Soul was the only weapon he needed.

‘Here it comes,’ continued Threat Analysis, retreating toward Nicolai.

He raised his fists, and as he did so Close Combat dropped down from the crown above his head. Its form was a dense little knot of blades, which sprung apart into halves then sank into his hands. Movement, in the form of spinning gyroscopic rings, passed by and disappeared into his legs. The rest of the Modules followed them down, coming to roost across his upper back and around his neck. He felt them sink into him a little ways, a rather odd sensation, though not necessarily unpleasant. They were extensions of his Soul, after all. He could feel small edges of them still poking out.

Two spirals of jagged energy gathered around his fists as he descended to meet the tentacle. It was rushing now in short, straight bursts, shifting direction after each one, but every burst brought it closer to him and Junko.

When it reached him it came on dumbly, in a brainless rush. It was child’s play to slip aside as it lunged for him, a spike bursting from its tip. His fist hooked around and the cyclone of sharp spiritual energy gathered around it slammed home with a rather satisfying little explosion that tore the end of the tentacle entirely off.

It kept moving, so he struck out a few more times until he’d entirely torn it apart, and there was only a drifting, ruined stump.

He looked down at his fists. The spirals around them were tighter, sharper, and bore faintly the shape of Close Combat’s blades.

‘Very nice,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know you could do this.’ The blades shifted in a kind of shrug, and he sensed that the Module hadn’t realised either, until they came here.

He also felt a very small part of his Oma disappear. His Soul had sustained a minuscule amount of damage with each punch, and the Oma automatically went to heal it. Threat Analysis let out a beep, pulling his attention.

Below, the black orb was wriggling. Then tentacle after tentacle punched out of it and thrashed around like fresh-born lambs, before orienting themselves and beginning to slither up toward him and Junko.

Nicolai moved to meet them, mouth curling into a grin. His Soul responded to simple will; effectively, he was flying. He needn’t think about footwork, nor even individual punches. A faint heat radiated from his chest, where he saw an ember burning. His entire Soul was a weapon, and with Movement doing whatever it was doing, he was notably faster than before.

Three tentacles tried to wind around him, but Nicolai tore through them, his punches spraying the stuff of their Souls away. He blasted one that went for Junko down with a heavy kick, spun out of the way of a flurry of stabbing strikes, retaliated with flowing punches and kicks. With effort, he was able to form the spiralling saw shape around his feet too, and smaller ones over his elbows and his knees, until he’d turned practically his whole body into sharp blades for tearing tentacles.

The number of attackers was rising as they poured forth in an endless mass from the black orb below, but that was all the better. The more that came, the more there were for him to kill.

‘You can’t fight them all!’ Junko yelled. She’d run off to hide amongst the Souls, and was peering out at him. None of the tentacles were going after her; they were all focused on him.

Then he lost her, as yet more tentacles flowed in. By this point, there was nothing for him to see but tentacles constantly lashing at him, rising around him, forming a dancing circle of vicious stabbing limbs. Nicolai twitched and spun around them, scythed them in droves.

But there were so many now that here and there he took a few hits, only small ones, little nibbles, and he noticed his store of Oma draining more rapidly. Small though the injuries were, they needed Oma to heal. And though each strike of fist and foot, knee and elbow cost his Soul only a minuscule, barely noticeable amount of damage, he was throwing out so many that it was adding up.

Nicolai let out a growl of frustration at the realisation this wasn’t a winnable fight. There was no sign of the tentacles stopping; they just kept on coming. Eventually, he’d run out of Oma, and then his Soul would no longer be able to heal. He could do this for quite a while, but not forever. And this, he realised, was the tragedy of being a Soul with no body.

Nicolai abruptly changed his movement, launching himself straight in one direction, tearing through every tentacle in his way. Behind him, the tentacles all collapsed, forming a messy knot where he’d been. It seemed they hadn’t expected him to run after fighting for so long, but they were beginning to curl apart already, questing around, searching.

‘Over here! Over here!’ Junko’s desperate little face beckoned him on. It was almost endearing. She actually seemed concerned about him.

As he came closer to her, he saw she was staring back, an odd look on her face.

‘Striker?’ she asked, in a strange tone.

‘Your killbot isn't here,’ he replied, brushing past her. ‘Let’s move.’

And they flew on, through the field of Souls, pursued by hunting tentacles.