Shades Of Forever

Five sided triangles pull themselves free from the cruiser's wreckage during my brief fall, growing in multiple dimensions as they claw their way upwards. Two of my new weapons are already laying waste to the tumorous turrets below, exploding one after another in splatters of ichor and pus, my blade unable to reach them just yet, but my attention is on the flapping things lurching their way in pursuit of Violet and the Hellhound.

The way they move is wrong, ripping the air apart in spasming clutches that cover more distance than they should. Blue fire flares from the assault shuttle's rear, incinerating one of the loathsome shapes, but more are ascending with each passing second, the ruined ship's skin peeling skyward to reveal a pulsating fleshscape of gristle and bone. The endless turrets wave like follicles on a broken titan's arm, minuscule parts of a mind-shattering whole.

Sky! Kill that anchor quick!

Is that-

...yes... it's Violet... I agree... with her...

I convert my plunging momentum into a dash through the pulsating orifice quivering below me, trusting that Violet dropped me in the right spot, my limbs shedding speed by digging in and splitting the wailing flesh pressing against me. I drop into an intestinal tunnel made slick with oozing liquids from its many ridges and try not to gag.

"I don't remember this from last time!"

reality anchors can change, Sky! Didn't your integrator tell you anything?! Oh shit here they come, Corgia I need you to-

My shotgun blows apart a flowering thing of teeth and toes rearing above me, my sub-machine gun laying down a steady stream of fire to halt the clustering spiderflies swarming overhead. My blade slashes a litany of excision but everything is still too close and I'm going to be overwhelmed just like last time and-

...use... new... expressions...

I scream and tense, reaching for what feels right.

Executing TheBride1.0.exe

Current Energy: 208/210

My two other limbs coalesce into the one holding the nearly meter-long expanse of shimmering metal, and all I can see is a single path to survival.

cut

cut

cut

Fluids rain on and around me in torrential showers, limbs splitting back into three, the passage in front cleared for as far as I can see. It's barely enough time to breath before I have to turn and deal with the crashing wave from behind.

Executing AllOutOfGum1.0.exe

Current Energy: 206/210

Pungent smoke fills the air, a lone instrument of scent crystallizing time. The onrushing horrors are almost to my skin, mind-warping extremities poised to scour me from existence itself, and then a new instrument joins in.

Drums, their skin a membrane of worlds. They beat out thudding percussions of sound, conducted from the mouth of my memetic shotgun, a rattling counterpoint keeping time from the slide.

boom, chkthock

boom, chkthock

boom, chkthock

Unidentifiable pieces create their own heavy rain, bouncing off my face and chest in sodden thumps before fading.

WARNING: 120 seconds remaining until AllOutOfGum1.0.exe can be used

WARNING: 119 seconds remaining until TheBride1.0.exe can be used

The fleshy corridor is clear in both directions, and I suck in a heaving breath.

"Violet! Are you okay?"

Worry about... yourself, you damn idiot! Take out... that... fucking anchor! Corgia, fire the-

Sky, the anchor is nearby. Hurry.

I sprint towards the green arrow now floating in my vision, barreling through clusters of grotesque abominations in chaotic spins of gore. A third of the way there, I notice a figure at my side.

"Who... the fuck?"

"Gunnery Officer Chen reporting for duty," the blank-eyed corpse next to me announces crisply, one arm missing, the other firing precision pistol shots at the seething mass of violations racing at us in from all directions. "Operational status at seventy two point six percent. Permission to engage with non-causal effects?"

A boiling tide of chattering eyes rushes from an intersection, mangy fur sprouting in place of their pupils.

"...yes! Do it!"

Roiling explosions of actinic light and shadow obliterate the leading wave, and then we're in the midst of the remainder. Conceptual theories attempt to invert my bones along my skin but I dash from their crimson vectors, blade carving, guns erupting nonstop, and then I'm out the other side. Another explosion tears the air behind me and a new shape appears, galloping in an ungainly one-legged two-armed shuffle by my hips.

"Communications Officer Edelwhite reporting for duty. Permission to-"

"Yes! Yes! Do the fucking thing!"

We crash into another knot of nightmares, oleaginous skin stretching to engulf us as epileptic strobes attempt to puncture my optic nerves and set fire to my brain. Soothing words quiet the piercing light, and then a bellowing shout disperses the encompassing film of greasy material. I continue on alone once more, limbs harvesting the biomass clinging to my face.

...almost... there...

...hurry up, Sky! These fucking... pentrangles... are almost on top... Corgia, eject the-

I dash through one last cluster of clutching cilia, shrieking faces at the end of each whip-thin tendril, trying to ignore their howls begging me to end their misery. I emerge into an open room half-stuck, one leg and arm caught in the sucking filaments, and I slash behind me unthinkingly. Several squelching steps later, I'm free.

"Captain... Sprick... reporting for... duty..."

I gape at the torso fused to the leathery surface of the floor. One of its eyes is burned out completely, a hollow socket filled with shadows, the other milky and clouded. Both arms end in stumps at the elbow, and the rest of its skull is flayed and bloody, clotted strands of dirty hair drooping over the crimson bone.

I want to puke. How is he... no, how has his integrator remained functional? What kind of torment is an existence like that?

A sawtoothed whine vibrates through the room, so high-pitched I wish I was imagining it infiltrating the roots of my teeth, and a haze of greasy clouds drifts towards me. Flashes of chittering legs dripping dark fluids pop in and out of perception along its boiling edges, and the not-corpse near my feet winces.

"...permission... to engage?"

My eyes are drawn to a nearly imperceptible tendril of mist linking ruined flesh to the mind-wrenching fog, trailing out like a fine wisp of hair from the sliding patches of skull. More become visible as I stare, stretching from the cloud to moaning husks studding the walls and ceiling of the room. A sudden hate, hot and pure, overwhelms my thoughts.

The integrators. This fucking thing has been keeping them alive to play with them. To exult in their suffering.

killtime

"Permission granted."

Say hello to-

Executing MyLittleFriend1.0.exe

-Pete and my now uncontainable rage.

Current Energy-

override: unnecessary

Current Life-

override: unnecessary

Death stalks the corners of this particular part of reality and I laugh as it bends to my will. Vast swathes of the bubbling mist outright vanish, sucked into oblivion with terrified screams as Pete and I crack the legs apart to suck their sweet marrow, my limbs replenishing me even as what remains of the disappating cloud struggles feverishly against its ongoing nonexistence. A corpse gurgles wetly from behind, lank hair dissolving along with its remaining eye while what focus remains is locked on the keening pain of the cloud, forcing it into a form we can ravage.

The corpse's hacking mirth eventually subsides. My cat and I do not, until there's nothing left to rend.

Oh shit you fucking did it you beautiful lunatic! That anchor is fucking dust! How the fuck are you only level eleven?!

I slowly rise from my half crouch, midnight fur trailing beneath my touch, the urge to destroy settling beneath all the things that make me human. That make me, me. Half-seen bodies fused to the walls of the room sigh gratefully as they fall limp, then vanish with the last traces of the loathsome smog. Pete washes his paws while fixing me with an unknowable stare, sapphire and amber eyes drawing me into their depths.

regret?

"...no. It needed to be done."

The Entity yawns, brightly pink tongue a shocking splash of color against the rest of itself.

naptime

I want to join Pete, but there's still so much left to do. A pile of parts in the center of the room beckons me with their yellow outlines even as the miasmic funk infesting the atmosphere continues evaporating.

"...Box? Are we safe now?"

...we are. Much to my eternal surprise.

Hah! Told you we'd... no, Corgia, I'm not bonding with my capt-

I tune out the chaotic messages that aren't pertinent to my continued existence and examine the cluster of components necessary for building a working incognito field.

"...I can't carry all of this. How did I even get all these things here?"

You didn't. The anchor probably realized what you were looking for and collected more in hopes of baiting a trap or preventing you from achieving your goal.

"Anchors can think?"

Some can, some cannot. It depends what aspects of reality infuse them. Those drawn in by Entities tend to be more troubling than ones drawn by random accumulations of reality. In an infinite multiverse, the possibility of sapience is always an option.

I decide not to dwell on the implications of a universe filled with murderclouds. Instead, I load what I can into my non-causal storage and make my way to the surface of the ship. It's going to take a couple trips to get everything out, even using my limbs to carry parts, but at least the interior is reverting to something decidedly less... fleshy.

Bright light greets me as I emerge from the cruiser wreckage, the morning sun halfway along its climb to noon. The Hellhound hovers below it, looking significantly more battered than when we left the clearing. Chunks are gouged out of the fuselage, as if something was taking bites from it, and the blue trail of flame has picked up erratic puffs of black smoke. I wave at the blocky shape, a sudden smile breaking across my face.

"Hey, Violet. I'm glad you came back."

You know, I could blast you to pieces with these assault cannons right now.

My smile stretches even wider.

"I know."

The shuttle hovers a moment longer, then descends to the cruiser's matte-gray surface, landing gear extended.

...gah, you people are infuriating. No, Corgia, I don't care what you say, Stockholm Syndrome has no actual evidence backing-

I trot up the shuttle ramp and start unloading various pieces into the drop room, that same silly grin still straining my cheeks. I don't know why Violet choosing to trust us makes me so happy, but it gives me hope. The village has to hide for now. Maybe one day we won't.