Sacri//Vice: Mind//LESS, #1

By Sage Blake

"What if one could Reify their very Memories as aspects of the world?"

 

Humanity posed this question to itself, and quickly brought about the end of society, fueled by avarice and unrest over the differences in their Creations and Expectations. The very Amalga meant to cure cancer and malaise, used instead as a weapon capable of rending living tissue. From it came the Memoria: Figmenti, raw Desire without limits, and the Iota, Facsimiles and simulations of human thought, separated from Humanity itself. But while Iota often fight Figmenti, they just as often fight one another, much like their progenitors.

 

You are one such Iota, Nhyille. You've arrived at Synapse with a goal in mind, a life to save... or at least, on paper. It seems the other Iota you're working with have their own agendas, too. Are they trustworthy? What is your goal, while you're here? And what is this crystal you possess, this supposed Reliquary?

 

This may not be a pleasant journey, you've chosen to embark on....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sage Blake
• Release date: Apr 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224877737

Book preview

—Forewarning—

(The following may contain sensitive topics and allude to real-world people, places and items; this is normal, but cannot, and should not, be used for legitimate comparison or argument involving real-world counterparts or sentiments including politics, religion, ethics and more besides. If you start to feel too mentally fatigued, invested, confused or disinterested, give yourself a healthy break and some dark chocolate before returning. FICTION IS NOT REAL LIFE, so you, yourself, are responsible for your own takeaways and perceptions of this ‘reality’ you’re about to peer into. That means no going to Social Media to blow nonexistent smoke at a wall which was never there.)

Sacri//VICE

—Memory 1—

Two years. You have been waiting for an opportunity like this for two years, to line up with these five or so others in front of Synapse’s Head of Militia and Axon Regional Manager Joseun Taulow and do your part. In the past, he had been heralded as a powerful fighter and Arms Developer. He created the first prototype Orb-AP, a floating turret guided by tethers of Amalga from the host. His team improved the processes for harvesting corrosive Amalgalous fluids to use as spare ammunition or batteries for Amalguns, Orb-APs and simple tools. And, ironically, he had recently been forced to take an extended leave of absence when his latest project had exploded one of their labs. A sludgy gray mass rippled across the left side of his face and engulfed his left arm completely, a thin strand creeping up from the shoulder to where his cheek would be. If he were human, that explosion would have proven fatal; as an Iota, he had only a few days left before being consumed.

That was why the six of you were here, commissioned by Axon's Defense and Security Foundation. You six had been chosen to find something that could erase the Amalgalous corruption from Mr. Taulow, or failing that, Shatter him before said corruption metastasized to something worse. Most everyone else was either busy defending the city from Figmenti or dealing with the recent influx of Humans. That made the matter all the more pressing; should Mr. Taulow fall and become a Figment, it would mean certain peril for the new denizens, which in turn would only mean more Figmenti.

None of you knew one another, but were encouraged to introduce yourselves, for the sake of Axon’s records, if not for your future cooperation. A tall dragonesque figure took a step forward and unfurled dusky wings tipped in glowing aquamarine. Before you stands the Drakkan Maer Teslauvica Accrizei Sairen, she said, in a loud voice that shook the air. This humble knight specializes in Aqua amalgamations and chooses polearms for combat. Use me well.

She took a step back, her gaze nervously rolling over the rest of the group. Outwardly, she held herself as a stalwart, if not stoic, soul, but inwardly, you could tell she was buried under a landslide of nervousness. First impressions were important, and she wanted no one else to know how timid she really was, when push came to shove. Honorable, if a ways vain. But all of you, as specialists in your fields, had some reason to hold yourselves to that level.

Several sidelong glances pressure the next Wanderer, an ashen-faced individual with hair akin to leaves, to take a step forward. Ivory Edelbane, he said, lowering to a bow. It is a pleasure to meet you all. I am well-versed in Pyre amalgamations, though occasionally, they may char my hair or hands. He showed the group his blackened palms, the bark-like substance peeling back in places to expose the sallow sap in his veins. He then withdrew a pair of pale gloves and carefully socketed them onto his hands. I wear these thermal mittens to prevent any damage to my body. I hope that my powers and my Amaldeck may prove useful in combat.

The being to his right laughed for a moment, and the group turned to him. Chiropterine, a studded robe swirled about his light frame, granting ample space for the wings on his back to move. A Phaedra that uses fire, the thing that normally kills weeds like you? he said. Well aren’t you a grade B idiot?

As said by the one who flies, Ivory noted, and uses Joule and a bow. What a marvelous view you have from this glass penthouse suite. Shame it’s been destroyed already.

Sensing an issue, you move quickly to prevent it from sparking into wildfire. A quick raise of your palms and the roots below your feet lift up from the asphalt and ensnare the two bickering souls. They struggle, flail, and eventually grow silent, noting the futility of it. You sigh, satisfied with your work, before introducing yourself, 'a Nature amalgamation specialist who studied martial arts'. You 'are confident in your skills', but tone down that perception while conveying it. Your name, however, 'was something you forfeit long ago, its implications and weight unfitting for who you saw yourself to be'. As you say that, the others shake their heads.

This shall not stand, Maer says bluntly. If thou art not willing to name thineself, this humble Drakka shall create one for you.

And why are you so special? the bat-like Wanderer asks. Plop it in the hat, lady, let the nameless decide for themselves.

The dragon-lady huffs, but humors him; she withdraws a sheet of paper and a pen, seemingly from the air itself, and scrawls a name onto it, passing it to the next one in line, the last being yourself. Five names, each as absurd as the rest: ‘Percieval’ is far too regal for someone down-to-earth, ‘Mel’ would be far too sweet and kindred, ‘Joulian’ screamed out to you as especially abysmal, ‘Rouke’ is far too literal to your status as a rookie, leaving ‘Bowser’, which implied many negative items that also didn’t apply. No, you decide, turning the paper over and writing something simple on the other side. You don’t identify with the name ‘Nhyille’ by any stretch, but it should do. You show the others and they shrug, accepting it.

Aww, and I really thought Bowser would be kinda cool, a Lagunne, the shortest of you all, bemoans. I mean, ya got this, like... no-nonsense tough-as-nails aura ‘round ya. Ah, well, there’s more pressing yahs to hoo. Caisey Telgren, at your service~ I rock the Terra stuff, myself, and I may have a thing for mace balls. There’s something just so fun about flingin’ a morningstar head to parts unknown, y’know?

The group stared at her for a few moments; someone had the gall to say ‘no’. She shrugged and pointed to the next Iota, a taciturn Eqis with a large heater shield slung across his back. Lonari Temple, he said quietly. Gale Amalgamations. Paladin.

That ain’t much to go on, the bat-like soul says. C’mon, put a l’il energy inta it. Like this! He clears his throat, gags on his spit for a few moments, and readies himself to speak. The name’s Temrei Cimmre. I specialize in sniping Figmenti, maybe a few hearts, if the timing’s good. I can be quite the shocking fellow with my devastating Joule Amalgamations, and I can fly, making me the best marksman here.

You’re the only marksman here, Ivory mentions, barring Caisey, and I do not believe hammers count as projectiles per se.

Mace balls, the Lagunne corrects. And anything can be a projectile if ya throw it hard enough~

You take a hesitant step back; not for nothing, you can tell they’re capable, but you weren’t expecting much of this group. On your travels elsewhere, you’d seen many Iota become gravely injured, despite their confidence and abilities, and though you know they’d survived their near-death encounters(by the sole fact you still remember their faces), some had retired from their roles as fighters or defenders or snipers. It takes bravery to take up a weapon, it takes sense to put it back down, and you respect that. You, on the other hand, have yet to reach that point, and that was why you’d arrived here, at Synapse.

Enough, the corrupted Iota Mr. Taulow said. You six have all previously been involved with Amalytic projects before, at some point in your lives. That was why you were chosen for this task. I understand I’m just one person, but any loss of scientists or researchers can spell doom in our fight against the Amalga. Due to the nature of your task, I’ll have my workers upgrade your Transmitters to allow you access to our regional labs and Auk’zae. They should help you get what you need together. I and Synapse are depending on you. Please... don’t let us down.

You notice the researcher’s voice quaver more and more as he spoke, as if fear had combined with the gravity of the situation to press down on his frame, in the wheelchair he rolls away from your group. You stand there, silently, not many words to say, yourself. If anything, you believe he’s beyond recovery, but a vague hope in your mind tells you to try to save him. Around you, Temrei and Maer take to the skies, in opposite directions. You can guess that they already know where they want to go, as opposed to Ivory or Caisey, the both of which took to asking a few more questions to Mr. Taulow.

That left only you, with no real starting point to speak of, and the stoic Lonari, who had taken out a notepad to write down some details. You look to him briefly, curiosity brimming, but as you venture closer, he takes a step away, noting your presence. You politely ask him about 'what he’s writing', but he shakes his head; whatever is on those pages isn’t for your eyes, evidently. As such, you join Caisey and Ivory and listen in.

So all this happened six days ago? the Lagunne notes, pointing to the grayish sludge on Mr. Taulow’s body. He nods.

What kinds of amalgalous signatures were around? Ivory asks. If we know what Runes or circuits were nearby, then maybe we could reverse-engineer the process that caused this to make a cure.

Sadly, we tried that already, the sullen researcher responds. It only made it spread faster. The ptoblem isn’t the Runes so much as the contact with the Amalga itself. If it weren’t for the sigils on my wheelchair choke-holding my natural absorption, I would have been consumed yesterday.

You ask about 'how much time your group has, given the circumstances'. Internally, you can guess, by how it’s consumed a ways less than half the victim(you avoid those words, specifically. He's the client you're meant to save, after all) that it might be around a week.

We can guess five days, he says. Even then, we know better than to hold out hope. I have already said my goodbyes and cut ties to close friends. Worse comes to worse, I’ll Shatter and be forgotten, with my legacy passed to my right hand.

You supply the answer, a supposed Human by the name 'Sera Kyunaih'. Some point after being banished from Synapse, she had met Mr. Taulow and delighted him with some of her findings on Amalga. Many were opposed to her return, some place known as ‘The Dragon’s Hoard’ spurring the group on, but she had more than made up for her scarring, Axon would attest. The company isn’t wrong, what with the new mem-rail system leading east to Aidreclorre and, further west, Sylphenne, but you refuse to make a judgment. It’s not worth the time.

I remember her, Ivory informs, the ex-head of Altraid, I always wondered where she’d went after it dissolved. Rumors were she died. But anyway... if reverse-engineering failed, what else have you tried? Amaldecks? Reliquaries?

Taulow shakes his head. Axon has powerful Amaldecks available, but they might be too strong for this. I’m surprised you, of all people, know what a Reliquary is.  The last of them have all but disappeared. Supposedly, there was one in Synapse, but... I don’t know where it might have been.

You shrug; You’ve seen Reliquary labs, but they’d been mostly vacant and dilapidated. The notes you’d salvaged were worthless to you, so you’d pawned them off elsewhere for a couple days’ worth of food. Even then, you can't help but notice Taulow look to you during that exchange. It was only for a brief moment, but perceptible.

Well, I’m outta ideas, Caisey sighs. Maybe check a lab or three?

I might be able to try something, Ivory suggests slowly, reaching into his bag for what appears to be an ordinary inkbrush, but I’ll need access to a quantity of Synesthesia.

The researcher utturs a low sound, one caught between contempt and reluctance. Synesthesia would be far beyond inaccessible to the average person... but you’re lucky we have some in our old lab, still. You’d need to fight your way to it, though.

Awhh, no prob, chief~ Caisey grins. Fightin’s in my blood. Just point us the right way, and I’ll raze a path no sweat!

Then I’ll send you three along with one of my other scientists. Good luck, and prioritize your safety while there.

——‐—————-

The scientist in question, a nervy Creiy with a snakelike frame, did just that, drove them out several miles to a conglomeration of buildings on a hill. According to that scientist, the others they worked with lived on-site, due to the hazard their experiments could pose to the general population. Should a test subject escape or an experiment go haywire, akin to Mr. Taulow’s case, less people would be affected. Ivory continues to ask questions, even as the four of you exit your rental van, and the scientist only gets increasingly clammy and unwilling to answer. They silence completely at a question about the quality of life for the test subjects, and instead point to a six story building, some of the windows dripping in Amalga.

That was our lab, the naga Creiy says, their hands shaking. Please... stay safe... and avoid the sixth floor. I’ll be back in a couple hours.

The Creiy scientist seals themselves within the van before any of you can ask why, and drives off before any of you can finish the question. It’s a telling sign that all but confirms your suspicions about the lab, but you push that to the side and grip your bagh nakh carefully. You commissioned them from a smith in Synapse, recently, after hearing a good word or three about this region’s Gladi division. Three carefully weighted blades embedded in a knuckle duster, of sorts, adding a good six inches to your reach, one in each hand. The blades aren’t retractable, and you wish you had enough Fracturia to afford it, but....

The three of you, Arms readied, ascend the short staircase and approach the doors. They slide open when you get close, shunting bits of broken glass aside. A yip echoes from your right, and something leaps out at you. Honed reflexes drive your right fist into its stomach and you crouch to toss the creature elsewhere. Your Arm comes back stained red, and you look, in shock, at what you’ve just attacked. Canid form, fluffy white fur marred by crimson and grisly yellow-white fats. The dog whimpers, tries to get up from where it had been flung, but ultimately collapses, dying.

It’s a new experience, harming something that bleeds as opposed to shattering to pieces and crystals. The smells of blood and death creep into your skull, familiar yet foreign. Anxious and pessimistic thoughts creep in one after another and a vague echo or two of a past you wish you could forget resurfaces, plays before you. The lobby swills and restructures, in places, and you swear you can see Iota and humans in lab coats, each as faceless and nameless as the last, shuttling paperwork and tablets from table to table. You see, at one table, a limbless Iota desperately struggling to leave, but pinned by a spike through their chest, alive and suffering as catalysts and reagents are applied to the nearby detached bits of their being, halting their deformation. You unconsciously duck past a researcher as they pass on notes pertaining to the Amalga, approach the crippled and crying test subject. You almost read the pleas for death in their eyes, can almost hear that pained and whimpering voice, can almost feel a spike akin to this one driven between where your fourth and fifth ribs might be—

A firm blow to your head rattles your vision, distorts the world into blurred colors and vague shapes. Two researchers slowly reform to be your co-workers, the Lagunne closer to you than the Phaedra. They both wear bits of concern on their usual masks of courage.

Now ain’t a great time to be on a snooze cruise, Caisey said. A dead pupper’s scary, yeah, but we gotta focus on Josey’s cure.

You shake your head(‘Josey’? She means Joseun, right?) and tell her that 'you’re fine' with the hollowest shell of willpower you can muster. You repeat yourself, not sure whether it’d be any easier to convince yourself than her at this rate. You’re sure that Ivory can read that, as he speaks next.

If this is scaring you at all or is too much, mentally, for you, we won’t think any less of you for taking a moment to breathe outside. We’ll go with you, even.

You shake your head, affirm that you’ll 'make this work, no matter what'. You want to believe your words, but those echoes still wick at your vision, even now. This isn’t like then, you remind yourself. You are only here to find this ‘Synesthesia’ stuff and leave, nothing else. With luck, you can leave this lab alone. You take a few shaky breaths; slow your exhales, level out the pulsing of your head and