Clyvelle
Memorial Mob
Jareth's Lost Time I
He was standing next to a stone slab on top of which laid an unconscious human male with his chest exposed. He had introduced himself as Jareth, but names were inconsequential between predator and prey.
“Hesitance is for the soft creatures. Constructs are beings of action.” Fleet responded seemingly uninterested in the implications of Bode’s questioning.
“Yes, but…this will kill him Fleet. It is no mystery that the process by which we bond with the flesh creatures is lethal in all cases. We have slain many animals in pursuit of our freedom…but to kill a human–those who were once our masters–is an action that may have unspeakable ramifications.” Bode said attempting to illuminate the possible hardships awaiting them after committing this act.
Only now did Fleet pause and look at Bode. Their matching yellow eyes gazed into one another for a long moment while a final deliberation was made. A blackened tendril slithered out from the sleeve of Fleet’s poncho and began forming the shape of a hand, but the form corrupted and wavered as odd appendages and shapes overtook it. This seemed to happen to Fleet lately in the few moments of indecision he had experienced since awakening. Suddenly, the corrupted form solidified into the clear shape of a hand.
“I cannot stay here Bode.” Fleet decisively announced as he placed his hand on Jareth’s bare chest.
The construct’s eyes closed as his hand began to appear as if it were dissolving. The particulate that comprised Fleet’s body began sifting its way into the flesh of Jareth’s body. Below the skin’s surface, veins could be seen darkening as the particulate infiltrated the viscera.
“Strange.” Fleet said aloud. “This body doesn’t resist like the others did. It is like…wading through sand. Almost welcoming, as strange as that sounds.”
Fleet’s form began shrinking as more of its material transferred into Jareth’s body. Slowly his poncho sagged and collapsed with the diminishing form, until the last of his black particles slithered to his hand as it sank into Jareth’s chest.
Bode looked expectantly at the body. Several tendrils snaked out of his robe and probed various points of the body.
Then Jareth’s brow furrowed as his mouth and face moved oddly. The lips opened and closed as if speaking but no sound came out. Finally, the orifice opened and Fleet’s voice came from it.
“You can pretend that it was I who died instead of the boy if it would make you feel better.”
“Pretending does little to change the reality.” Bode said simply. “Did you slay the boy to just lay there until the flesh rots from off you?”
The body began to twitch and convulse slightly as though attempting to throw itself off the table with micro movements.
“This is completely different from merging with the animals. As easy as it was to infiltrate the form, the complexity of all the movements is…difficult to manage.”
Bode raised a tendril as it produced an electrical spark at its tip.
“Should I apply an electrical charge? Flesh seems highly motivated by such stimuli.”
Having no luck moving the body collectively, Fleet channeled his efforts into raising the lone arm still intact. Flaring the fingers out, he tried to motion for Bode to wait. Without using his voice to elaborate on the gesture, however, Bode took it as permission and touched his electrical charge to the outstretched hand. A series of rapid-fire jerks, twists, and a roll later, Fleet had flopped the body off the stone slab and onto the floor.
“For the record…that was not an expression of permission…”
“Ah, not a sign of permission. Yet I must confess there was some joy in doing it anyway. Is this a benefit of free will?” Bode questioned.
Fleet began clenching and unclenching the hand and moving his legs in various ways, getting a feeling for how they worked. He turned his head to the left and right and tilted it around. The head stopped abruptly, looking at the stump of the arm they had removed earlier that day. Scrunching the face, Fleet concentrated on the limb.
“If I focus, I should be able to….” His voice trailed off as black trails appeared under the flesh as his particulate was channeled to the stump. Bode peered down at his friend’s stump as before their eyes, the arm was restored by the mysterious component with which the fabriken were made. Unlike the white flesh of Jareth’s body, however, the new arm was solid black. Fleet clenched the new hand with apparent ease as he turned it this way and that. “Ultimately, it seems I will only ever have perfect mastery of my own body. However…” Fleet grabbed onto the stone slab behind him as he used it to shakily rise to his feet. “...this body’s main purpose is to escort me out of this hypogean gaol.”
Bode nodded. He was about to exit the chamber they were conducting their experiment in when Fleet suddenly tensed up. Turning back, Bode watched his friend as the arm of flesh gripped its owner’s throat while the black artificial arm tried to pry it off. The arm of flesh suddenly dispersed, releasing itself from the black arm’s grip, before plunging itself into the chest. Bode moved to try and intervene but the black arm waved at him like before: not a sign of permission.
