Terminus: Pathology II

[21:18] Laurentius paced back into the shrine once more, as he often did- the Insignis was always here, to see his lord with some mundanity or another- or in other cases with news.

Today, it seems, only three things are on his agenda, lest the patron see fit to work upon his heart and pathogen...

The core was near ready to consume more essence.
The soldier himself had returned with a decent sum of such
And... reaching into his pocket, as he kneels- he draws out and holds forth a shimmering, glittering gem. A fragment of a magical beast's core.
(Laurentius of Terminus)

[21:48] A small gem of crystalized mana could be sensed -- brimming with essence of the pyromantic domain. It was pure...
Chipped from the core of a beast that roamed the mainland, presented before the pool. A silent beckon of the unseen forces present sought to command the tribute into the pool, to be further studied and inevitably consumed.

It was something to contemplate upon though... In all of his efforts, not once had he managed to actually -digest- any of these fragments. Perhaps, he would learn of this new vessel of his, damaged as it were, and manage to unveil the secrets that had come clear to them.

Though, there were other matters to take into consideration...
Their last conversation took to the focus of a pathogen, and providing the collected and matured materials for Laurentius. Since the providing of some samples, the Patron had the opportunity to analyze them.... To contemplate upon the matters of magus-born diseases -- or rather, magically-based maladies.

It had been established that standard casting methods simply lacked the capacity to be contagious, as it would require a spell to be capable of recasting itself. The results or impact of a spell simply lacked the capacity -- for the supernatural properties of magic circumvented causes for their natural counterparts with few exceptions.

Fire borne of mana, had a tendency to continue to burn -- but only if natural fuel sources remained.

Water borne of mana, tended to immediately dry up, unless mana was used to manipulate a previously established source of it.

Earth and Air worked much the same way, for something simply could not be made from nothing, without the borrowed matter returned to a true state.

It simply was what separated the mundane from the divine.

Biomancy was no exception.

A thorough understanding on how the flesh functions...
How anatomical organs operate, and sustain their fellow systems -- How theycollaborate to bring about the bumbling of a single complex lifeform -- It was all within Terminus' understanding. However, few caveats eluded ones mastery...
Then, there was the matter of smaller instances.

Surely, he could make spawn... Transmogrify them to deliver his agent, but what difference would this be from Tal'guth's worms?
A mild consideration would reveal... Nothing.
However, rather than implant one's self into a host... They would need to mature through their own evolutionary path.

It had to be no different than how many other gremlins or demons of olde would grow... Evolve...
Terminus had to not only create life... He had to dictate its growth pattern. This, proved to be quite difficult.

But not impossible.

"The examination upon your samples has provided me with ample information. I'm confident you've managed to spread this far and wide across those you've faced in your true form.

However, the spread from those infected must've proven rather limited, if at all -- Yes? There lacks a mana-borne catalyst to sustain it beyond the host.
I believe I have managed to arrive at your solution at last, my Champion."

(Etheric Presence)

[21:48] {Item} You picked up Magic Core Fragment (Karik). Dropped by Etheric Presence..
[22:10] Time passes, and with it come fruits of efforts made - strength, as well. While he had faced many, the steady march of months ensured he remained a low-level threat, in the background. Distinct, but blending partially into the base and ambient violence that plagued the mainland at every turn.

Yet that plague, with it's inability to affect permanent change- save once, when Garret Lightgloom was torn savagely- and even such was curable, even such did not metastasize, did now evolve, it only existed to ache and damage.

It was no long-term boon. Merely a frightening wound to a magi, soon mended.

A slow march, a slow process. It had mutated, evolved, changed, but never enough to overrule and alter permanently and well to their advantage what was there. And yet- it could be done. It could evolve. A step towards a more perfect world.

"I do not know of any instances of infected spreading the illness. Many are able to recover. One went berserk, but was defeated. Another went mad in a way his body could not fend off- yet by now, certainly has been healed.

In time, it clears out, or is managed by their doctors. And it ends in nothing more than damage. There is no boon to us, for it's persistence, outside of the spreading of chaos- for now."

He remains kneeled, and listens, carefully, to what his Lord has discovered.
(Laurentius of Terminus)

[22:54] Chaos certainly served to be a distraction, but it would not push them further to achieving the Vision in the grand scheme of things. Nay, they needed to nail down both the factors that enabled contagiousness and the factor that generated entropy. Though, therein lied another problem.

Even with infectivity enabled, how would the entropic essence been harvested? How exactly, would it find its way back to Terminus? The short answer was... It simply couldn't be remotely harvested. Such a capability was beyond him -- for he was bound by Space as was any other.

This, did not apply to Laurentius however! Though, there lied another issue... For as capable as they were at naturally generated and harvesting entropic essence, it was not ever detailed that one such as himself was capable of siphoning it from another source. This would have to be taught, would it not?

Though, how exactly could it? The manipulation of souls was something only someone with a solid control on their own soul could accomplish. So, they were back at square one.

They could create a plague that could spread...
They could create a plague that could slowly generate entropic essence...
However,
They could not siphon that same energy from the spreading plague, as they were.

... Or could they?
Terminus was capable of it, because he had control over his own soul... Laurentius was not. However, if Terminus' flesh could preform the incantations, and his soul warranted control over that flesh -- would that not suffice? The thought loomed across the mind of the ancient, willing to test the waters. After all, his champion was slowly being reforged with his flesh, in the image of Man. Surely, their spell castings were proving closer and closer the the likeness of his own.

"I shall birth my spawn, transform their image, and dictate their evolutionary cycle so that they may exemplify the task of carrying your plague. However, even in their evolutionary endeavor, even with them merging with your heart and spreading my grandsires to the world at-large... Even, with the manifestation of further entropic essence abroad, you will never be capable of capitalizing on such.

It will prove to be... An utter waste.

At least... Until you are Perfected."
This was it... The reveal.

"The plague shall evolve, because the spawn I send through you, shall evolve. It will become Perfect in time, and transmogrify the subjects accordingly.

Though, to ensure you can capitalize upon it, you too must be perfected.
Your skin, must match as the others...
Your anatomy, functional -- if only for the fundamentals.
Your flesh, strictly of mine own -- so that I may cast through it.

The very entropic energies that summoned you from the lifestream, to walk eternally once more -- shall be cast through your vessel. No longer will you simply spread this plague... You shall command it, so that it may be harvested from... Siphoned from."

The Patron had decided its path ahead -- No longer obscured by the fog of war, nor the limitations of the environment. All of Meranthe would be forced into chokehold, all from the silent perch of Antefinem. It was simply one of the many tribulations that would come before The End.

"Let your thoughts prove clear, as your venture forth into the depths of my pool. Allow me to behold your heart."
(Etheric Presence)

[23:12] Certainly, made in His image... the being born of His flesh, who was bound in soul to Him, could function as a relay..? If pushed, if taught, if pressed- he bore the Mark, atop all else.

He listens.

A waste... For now.

It was not a process that would bring much on it's own, save to cause more trouble and perhaps draw a greater tithe. The harvest itself was pointless, without goal, or direction. Yet such was his Lord's to decide, and he saw that there was a purpose to it.

It would grow, evolve, become perfect- and yet, to achieve thus? Laurentius had to be perfect, too. He had to be strong enough to wield the energies of entropy himself, not merely to be a pawn- A useful pawn, but a pawn all the same.

He must be made greater. Become more.

An Avatar of Terminus.

A Herald of The End.

No longer did the Lord have doubts, nor misdirection. He would linger, silently, from afar- he would watch, and dictate, and command... and he, as His red right hand, would see it made reality. He rises, mind clear, vision fixed upon that promised future, and steps into the depths without hesitation, as he had before.

To sink.

To drift, downwards, the fluid saturating his armor and finding flesh covered in patchy, slowly developing skin. Pallid, incomplete, ghastly by mortal standards- but present, slowly sheathing what bled freely before. It too, was decaying already- a constant battle against the rot that even now struck him, in this incomplete state... Yet as he sinks into the embrace once more of those tenebrous depths, the lifestream's ire fades into the backdrop ever so little, and the knitting flesh hastens in it's efforts.

The sores fade, the flesh still pasty and pale- but intact, where it lay.

Alight upon the bottom, to kneel once more before his Lord, where the vision of his master could pierce all and see the heart that lay within.

A sculpted thing, made from His memory of a human form- dead, like the rest, but not quite- not truly. For Laurentius's flesh was never fully 'dead,' a constant state of unrest as it decayed and regrew over and over, like cancer. The durability of his inhuman master's tissues vying with an environment... perhaps reminiscent of the plight He himself once faced.

The heart lay still, the blood in his veins thick and congealed, and only in the throes of the harvested energy of undeath did it kick and spasm against equally rotten ribs, a momentary surge of stolen life that elevated him- if only for a moment...

Soon to be changed, once more.

To be improved.

To step ever closer to Perfection, the Promised End, the patron's vision for the world... that bliss, second only to the surety of his cause, of fulfilling His will.
(Laurentius of Terminus)
[01:00] Down into the depths...
Vantablack in all of its vacant glory...
Beads of flesh floated upon the surface, and upon sinking into the substance, the beads of flesh around bounce off one's vessel, rolling past them as they disturbed their suspension within aquatic space. The cobblestone floor would be inevitably discovered once more, nigh the gargantuan husk that laid just over yonder.

In utter darkness, a True Seer could still see -- Even being forever changed from their original demonic heritage, Terminus, could see Laurentius all the same. Here his presence was at its strongest, offering some dizziness at such proximity with the craning of bass rattling murmurs in the undertow. It was not unlike an oblivious wanderer within the depths of the perilous sea, haphazardly exploring the abyss.

The voice of Terminus proved much clearer down here as well, without the subtle cackle of static in the background. As though speaking with lips through the open air --
"This vessel of mine festers where wounds lie. In this Dark, I still feel the wounds dealt by Varrach, by my former oppressors, by even the heretical Za'agan Sun...

Surely, they are damages that could be unwound -- but they are, as they've always proven... Distractions from the Vision at-hand. I shall not let them manage a hold of anything beyond empty victories.

After all, when all has come and gone -- I shall remain... For the constraints of mortal ilk, have never, nor will they ever, apply to me.

It is for this reason, that I have had so much time to perfect my craft. To fine tune my study long beyond those that have practiced similar artistry.

To go, where they would never care to -- For their artistry is only to perpetuate matters within the limited domain of their own mortal sin. You shall be different.
It was Fate that declared so..."

Spatial Manipulation sought to slowly unwound one's armor as they were suspended within the aquatic element. Their body would be better examined, despite being well within one's capacity to telekinetically sense through their layers of armor. It seemed one was intent on examining the raw flesh. After all, gorgon scales that had been soaking within the pool for ages were being fashioned -- better attuned and examined by the ancient, to be used upon Laurentius today.

Alas, an exposed carapace of scabbed-up bandages, wounds, and flesh riddled with rot. It was what they truly were beneath the armor -- Mordeaux. It was far from Perfect... However, it did bear one unique feat beyond its other undead counterparts.

It bore the flesh of an ancient within it... Flesh that was once deemed demonic, now borne of an enigmatic magical beast, with abnormal regenerative properties. An estranged occultic magic enabled remote healing capabilities, and when applied to Mordeaux gave them the unique capability to regenerate -- especially when capable of feeding itself.

It was a unique accomplishment, all on its own. Though, as small beads of flesh kneaded to the exposed carapace, nibbling away at the rot and melding with the plagued pus -- it was likely to prove clear that their disease was being expunged from their general framework. After all, up until now? Their magic worked through them to complement their misshapen form. Soon? It would be directly channeled through them, no different than the magics they casted up until now.

A dedicated organ was required to spread the plague -- which proved yet another milestone in necromantic endeavors. For not once in magus history has one been recorded developing new anatomical structures to better augment their creations.
The Heart of Mordeaux was marked by Terminus, amplified to surge the very bind betwixt soul and organic vessel with magus potency at the cost of their own mana pumped throughout the magus circuitry.

Surely, if the heart was removed, their soul could be restricted, so that it simply didn't flutter off -- though the act of binding it down was troublesome to begin with. Who was to say the act of doing it again wouldn't pry down a completely different soul? Who was to say that soul would prove remotely as competent?
All the more reason for the process to be as careful as possible -- speed was not to be a factor here. It would simply require time.

Time... That was already taken into account.
(Etheric Presence)

[01:00] ||Flashback - Several Months Prior||

The previous hypothesis dictated that such a disease could not be enabled without some form of living catalyst. At first, it was Laurentius himself -- Though this could only go so far, for so long. If it was to spread without his direct input? It needed to become autonomous. Thus, it'd prove a natural deduction:

A magusborne plague would require a magusborne entity -- though, it was not dictated as to the -size- of that entity. Having the capacity to warp the image of a living thing, and bear spawn -- meant Terminus was capable of creating life of all shapes and sizes. It was then, that some of the bulbous growths upon his husk started to transmogrify...
Egg cells, slowly dividing in on themselves, swelling before taking towards a more fungal-like structure across the fringe of his opened chestal cavity. As the weeks rolled onward, the monstrosities that spilled from the breaching of the fungal structure would be swiftly entangled within a telekinetic embrace, drawn in, and twisted upon themselves. The terrain of their vessels were to be terraformed, and those that perished would become more biomaterial to work with.

Fungal structures would begin to build along the inside of the pool, shrouded away from foreign eyes above, but easily detectable to Terminus' spawn. Small aquatic-based tadpoles that would swim their way to the walls along the perimeter to feed. They'd nibble upon the small buds of flesh, cleaning out the pool over time. Though, their small numbers prevented it from ever becoming too clean. Inevitably, they'd be pulled back via telekinetic forces to be thoroughly examined, to be physically altered...
Time and time again...

They were lobotomized, shrunken, but tested to ensure their primary directives remained intact. They were swiftly eliminated, had they ever turned their feeding habits upon one another, or upon Terminus himself. Then, from their biomass, they would add to the fungal growths along the wall. The fleshy material was terraformed all the same, constantly adjusted so that it would better match the cardiac tissue of the human heart.

They were to seek out the heart, to feed.
As the weeks turned to months, the first iterations proved capable of learning to feed on the heart's flesh... But as they grew, they did not exercise the healing tactics necessary to keep the host alive, opting to drill their way through the heart and kill the host. Such spawn were spontaneously crushed, but some of their biomaterial was used to create more.

The next generation of spawn proved even smaller, capable of being rolled within the palm of a mortal's hand with a thumb -- no greater than a marble. They proved better -- capable of feeding on the cardiac tissue, willing to using some of the biomass to encase themselves with connected cardiac tissue to the host's heart, but then failing to alter its own image to replicate the pulsating features of the heart, turning some parts of the fungal-like growth along the walls of the pool to still.

It would be the third iteration that had better replicated ones' own expectations. No longer did his spawn have a visual that could be beheld by eyes, nor even his psionic sonar. The sheer masses of their numbers reflected to him akin to a fog within his pool, slowly wading off towards the cardiac tissue before settling there. It would be months before they'd see progress... --and progress, they did. Bulbous growths, soon revealing to be the very parasitic spawn that their spawner had hoped for. They were slowly kneading into the growth, even thumping from their rapidly growing bodies in an attempt to mirror the pulsation of a heart even before they had taken their positions within the emulated heart valves.

Soon enough, multiple parasitic spawn would make it to the valves, which would dictate a fate greater than mere consumption: Assimilation.

Together, they could join, mirror each other's efforts, and replace the heart outright -- alongside parts of several nearby organs. There, they could roost, reproduce, become their own entities, and spread from a fully claimed host.

If only Terminus could smile before the world, he could let all of those near know that he had accomplished yet another step in a staircase of many.
(Etheric Presence)

[01:00] ||Flashforward - Present Day||

"Many spawn had perished to ensure such an effort like this was possible.

Not only shall I cleanse what festers upon your flesh... I shall repurpose your heart to carry your plague. To act as your reservoir, with my spawn taking upon it -- as a roost. You shall spread them near and far, and they shall burrow themselves within your prey.

They shall develop the symptoms of your plague, and succumb to my spawnlings with time."

A Heart, marked -- was now tickled by the sensation of incredibly small spawnlings. Even exposed beyond the surface, the eye would struggle to behold them... At least, in their infancy. As they grew, however, feeding on cardiac tissue -- such would prove otherwise. The mark on one's heart intensified one's potency in such a fashion however, that it would prevent thewhole of Laurentius' heart from ever being completely replaced, though enough to ensure the parasite's purpose could be served when the time came.

The gorgon scales floated up to one's chest, carried by a combination of telekinetic prowess and... a bioluminescent smog that gave color to an otherwise bleak aquatic domain. It encompassed one's heart, compounding against its beating efforts, acting akin to a glue that'd fuse the scales to the cardiac tissue. Patches of unfinished skin slowly began to grow over, akin to aggressively fed mycelium, stretching over a thin membrane that was wrapped around the exposed organs after both rot and mana-forged carapace was nibbled away. It was far less than enough -- but progress was being made. What seemed to have proven a step for progress would be one's heart.

The plague had already existed...
Then, the parasite was manufactured, refined, and finally deployed...
Now, they only needed it to mature within Mordeaux while they managed to harbor control over the parasite repurposing their heart over time.

"If I simply transmogrify your heart by force, there is a solid chance that your soul were be rended away. I would rather not risk replacing your soul with that of another, less capable Champion, within your vessel.

This process will prove more stable, though will take time. Ensure that as it develops, you refine your casting, rather than enable it to take you whole. This vessel of yours must be perfected, thus your magics must not be allowed to sully it. Protect it from sight, whether by armor or rags -- Once my work is complete, rot shall never impair your flesh again.

The suspicion of the masses shall be dealt with, and yet another complication is toiled aside."
(Etheric Presence)

[01:42] The beads of flesh, bouncing past Lauretnius's form, like against like... to alight upon the cobbled bottom, to kneel once again before the True vessel, the vast husk of his creator's form... though he were blind, only able to feel, not see... the connection, the line that bound his soul in eternal service, a path he knew how to follow.

The voice speaks, as he listens, lungs not needing to burn for air- for a form that needn't breathe.

To be Different.

To be Perfect.

That is what he would become... the armor of antefinem slowly falls free of his form, it's perfect assembly unmade to reveal the linens beneath. When he were in the field, he allowed the bandages to grow filthy and crusted- and when at home, or wearing the mask of humanity, he rigorously cleansed and kept clean what was beneath.

Yet all of such, an uphill battle. Peeled free, slowly coming undone even as they stick to the cancerous, ever-oozing flesh beneath. Rot. Pus. Scabs. Old wounds.

Mordeaux.

The reaver, the rotter, the biting one that haunted fields and harvested the flesh of the living. A faceless being, pale eyes gazing into nothing, bloody phlegm filling his throat, a constant weeping from exposed tissues as peeling skin in patchwork skeins wraps about turbulent muscle and putrescent flesh...

Flawed. Agonized. Incomplete. Barely even alive, just enough to suffer horridly... and yet never die, constantly regenerating as quickly as it was damaged, healing from all but the most vicious of wounds. It had stood the test of six-dozen-and-one battles, and though not all were victorious, it endured... for near a decade now, it had festered upon the world.

Flesh alike, though living, of his own in different form- of His in different form- sets to chewing away all what had rotted. It was set deep, all throughout- yet as he recognized, a constant effort made to inhale from the fluids, to draw in the beads and allow all to reach. Steadily, slowly, the disease that had proven his trademark was being eradicated, expunged.

The rot was being excised, to allow his flesh to grow stronger in it's place, clean, free... the plague had to be refined, enhanced, it could not be so directionless as to turn itself upon it's own host amidst the lifestream's own strikes...

Yet there, the heart... that dead, cold organ, marked by His will, the flux of power marred by inefficiency as the excess spills free of circuitry... and unlike most, the seat of the soul of Mordeaux was intimately tied to that part of him...

A soul best kept, a soul that was, above all, fanatically loyal, without an ounce of doubt or trepidation, nor desire for it's own self preservation or advancement outside of the pursuit of that promised End, the Vision.

He would be cleansed of his festering.
His heart would carry the plague.
He would be a roost for the Spawn of his creator.
He would spread them far and wide.
Others would succumb, in time.

And so, opened to the pool, the spawnlings slowly fed upon that accursed, half-living tissue- chewing away, bit by bit, replacing, threading within, the mark of Terminus intensifying that connection to his lord and patron...

Bound in flesh.
Bound in magic.
Bound in soul.

The scales rise, enwrapping about the heart, a glue to fuse- a layer of additional protection, and an aspect of spreading one's curse to empower themselves... skin slowly stretching, wrapping, what was once a mere web of half-finished strands and patches of blistered hide steadily encompassing more and more of him... still ghastly, still wrong... but more than it was before.

A refined parasite, a plague made reality, housed within his form... slowly, steadily growing, nesting, forming.

He would need to refine his work.
He must not sully his own form with uncontrolled plague.
Protect it all, until it was done.
The Rot will be vanquished from him- made perfect.

He would blend in, then, flawless, and seamless... and none would know of what he was, until it was far too late...

He twitches, faintly, throughout- yet for the abdication of the plague over his form- it had grown so familiar to him, and now was finally cleansed... he was left- different. Changed. The agony ebbed... for though it was power, it was a blade with no hilt... cutting deeply into himself as much as the rest...

Now came yet more time to incubate.
To prepare...
(Laurentius of Terminus)

[01:50] More entropy would be needed, there was no doubt of that- yet he could scale back, be more selective, be more cautious. Mordeaux had remained relatively cloaked in the ambitions of other necromancers, and though he had certainly been noticed upon the world, he was not at the forefront of most people's minds.

A mere backdrop.

He could continue thus, or perhaps fight against observed foes while in uniform- but such had it's own risks... best not to engage too often in such until his humanity could be 'proven' if one was fortunate enough to strip free his helm.

Random, low level violence, that still needed to occur in small part, before they were ready to move into a more indirect means of growth- distributed, dispersed, and most importantly, even less connected to himself.

A pondering is made of how best to spread this plague... to offer unto others with a promise of power? The darker forces would leap upon it, and Mordeaux would remain ever-disconnected from Terminus, here.

For while some may have the desire to claim credit and aggrandize, Pride was a sin... and to remain cloaked in mystery and shadow, to the extent that some perhaps doubted if Mordeaux even had a necromancer- or was merely some freak phenomenon...

It ensured the Vision would live on, even if he were slain.
It kept Terminus out of the sight of the many, out of their mind.
It made people ponder if he even still existed at all.

Until it would be too late to stop them.

Secrecy was their ally, while He was broken, and Mordeaux still growing... and it was a veil they would maintain for as long as possible.

For now, as he rests there, within the reef of flesh, his body shaping and changing subtly as the refinement takes root and slowly works it's way through... he listens.

Laurentius was often a very talkative man.
Mordeaux, dead silent.
The true being beneath both- was different, in a way... it spoke only when necessary, when asked, when it served purpose. Everything it did, served purpose.

His purpose.

It waits. It listens. And- to an extent, here, surrounded thus- it rests... brief moments of the blissful nature of being without the agony of existence, within the clutches of his master.

It did not feel love.
Devotion, however? That, was absolute.
(Laurentius of Terminus)

[02:37] Now, was the more difficult part...
Mordeaux's Heart was augmented -- with both gorgon scales to sheath it, and spawnlings so small they effectively imitated a deep orange colored algae. Their presence sought to bind cardiac tissue to gorgonite scales, all while they settled upon the surface -- slowly nibbling away to such a insignificant degree that they could be entirely unnoticed.

This was the part where incubation would take place. The rot was certainly removed, but the plague not-so, rather it was studied for a while. Better understood, capable of being cleansed and more importantly concentrated. It was not gone entirely, rather infused with these specialized spawnlings that settled upon the unnaturally beating heart. There they would slowly devour it, and grow new cardiac tissue in its place: Living matter, where dead mass once lied.

A new organ -- to take the place of a heart, was slowly being gestated within Mordeaux's vessel, and with the slow growth of skin to wrap it entirely? Slowly growing as it fed upon the very entropic energies within the unfinished core, the abnormalities of this undead vessel would eventually be sheathed from the world. It only needed more time.

The Plague would soon be finished... A specialized heart-like organ, still beating with the Patron's brand would carry it.

The Entropic Core charged all the while, slowly working towards its purpose -- though, the residual radiance of it supported the preservation of the layer of skin applied upon the soon-to-be-shrouded Mordeaux.

Then, there was the identity of Mordeaux and Laurentius alike -- One that would find itself flipping in time. No longer would one hide oneself as Laurentius, but become Laurentius -- with Mordeaux existing as a constant state of mind. The mask would represent what truly was, rather than what one claimed to be.

"Rise to the surface...Embrace the light of the world once more. In time, it shall no longer burn your exposed flesh, for it shall be forever sheathed, and bestowed with a sense of blissful touch, as it did in life."

Perhaps, the latter bit of that may've been exaagerated a tad. After all, no one had ever gone that far with necromantic practices. It was unpractical. The likelihood that even an ancient dabbled in such an artistry could've been considered questionable at-best.

Then again, one had demonstrated the capacity to do it before.
A breach of the ebonic surface, and Laurentius would be launched beyond the surface of the abyssal pool, with the expectation to catch oneself on the descend towards the stairs.
(Etheric Presence)

[02:47] Gestation. Regeneration. Creation.

That disease, no longer warring into his own flesh, but in synergy with it. A blade given a hilt, the second addition to his corpus... had any other necromancer in Meranthe altered his creation to such a degree? Certainly there were those in distant lands, Esshar perhaps- but here? That is questionable indeed... at least in recent history.

A core within the stomach, to enhance the undeath harvested. A beating heart of parasitic plague and scales, built to enshrine a new form of entropic harvest... the most efficient source of harvest in the present day, that is what he would be- and a representation of that promised ending.

Efficiency, unending strength, endurance...

Shrouding, at some point, with the new flesh- and then, off would come his helm, and into the lives of mortals he would step more actively. Mordeaux would be the disguise, and Laurentius the face beneath. He could infiltrate into mortal circles without fear of his true nature being easily discovered, and with the narrative he had crafted- he would be able to paint glory to his Patron for having 'cured' his ailment.

Launched free, he catches himself upon the stairs as his moment of bliss is ended, rising from the depths as fluid drips from his form- a mastery over metal finding his armor swiftly reattached on the way up, that the clergy do not see him for what he is.

He had professed shame for his appearance, yet it was not true- only a need to hide what was beneath... and in time, that need would perish. Would he ever be truly 'alive?' That, was questionable... but he would endure, all the same. Everything possible to blend in. All the things that mortals would do, to ensure that his lord was seen a miracle worker, not something dark...

To work in secrets, that was their strength... as he climbs free, and turns to face the pool, he speaks again in parting.

"Thy will be done, My Lord...

[I will keep well my nature from damaging my flesh, as best as I am able, while it settles and grows properly.]

[I will scale back my hunts, for now, to avoid unnecessary risk and suspicion- and damage, to what has been made, until it finishes.]"

A time to grow, for many materials had been harvested to work- a time to fade slightly from people's memories...
(Laurentius of Terminus)

[02:59] The sensation of the Patron's presence died down, faltering for dormancy. Laurentius was given opportunity to rise, cloaked in cloth and armor now at their leisure to shroud the work actively being done on their vessel.

Now, it was a matter of time to see what Fate would reveal to Laurentius... To Terminus... To Antefinem at large, and Meranthe thereafter.
Only parting words would be granted to ship Laurentius off on their endeavors.
"Until The End..."
(Etheric Presence)

[02:59] Laurentius of Terminus thinks, "Until the end."