Terminus: To Perfect Humanity II

[21:42] Laurentius of Terminus thinks, "... my lord. I believe us to be alone."
[21:42] Laurentius of Terminus thinks, "Orders have been followed."
[22:37] Harbringer says, "By the Patron, I'm exhausted."
[22:38] Laurentius of Terminus says, "Perhaps you had best get some sleep, Sir. You look like you need it."
[22:38] Harbringer says, "Sleep is for the wea-- *snores*."
[22:39] Looks like he was, in fact, weak.
(Harbringer)
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[22:39] Laurentius of Terminus thinks, "... if we are to keep silent of such, perhaps it is best that we have a more secluded place..."
[22:46] The Patron stirred ever so slightly within the depths of its pool -- while its body proved immobile, its mind was far from it. The thoughts of those above had never left its range of attention.

From ideas, to contemplations, to considerations -- none of it proved beyond it, from either untrained minds, or those whom deliberately revealed their intent to it.

As to what it was mulling on, was anyone's guess...
(Etheric Presence)
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[22:46] Etheric Presence's voice (to Laurentius of Terminus): Your concern is reasonable. Though, cause for concern is limited... This body is not currently capable of moving yet. The damages incurred upon it, too great.. Too numerous for now. As for you? I am closer to shrouding your true nature... Your concerns will be made an afterthought with the coming times.
[22:54] As before, so now, does Laurentius kneel at the top of those stairs. The soldier of democracy lowers his head, the patron's whispers heard and understood.

"I have sustained significant trauma again, my Lord... nothing that will not heal in full.

I have followed your commands." A pause from Laurentius, as he continues, "Za'agan Sun has been reported captured by Gloomlight, set to be executed for terrorism. Jotunheim makes war upon the republic."
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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[23:06] "Even the most prominent of marrings against you, shall prove inconsequential before my reach."
The psionic connection was effortless, growing stronger with every iteration.
On the matter of the news presented -- it was as though Fate herself continued to shine upon him...
To smile upon him...

For every threat...
Every swear...
Had fallen flat -- from the lips of yet another transgressor, lost to their own folly.
Where their might had prevailed, their intellect inevitably failed.

"The Giant of Jotunheim that swore to slay me... Just as countless iterations before him...
Just as the Equisols…
Just as the demons...
Just as the exorcists...
The witch covens...
The necromancers...

And time and time again, they believe themselves to be special.
Yet, regardless of the age...
Regardless of their Will...
They are no different than their predecessors.

They too, have fallen.
Namelessly... To oblivion -- To be lost in the annuls of history."
The likes of entropy was siphoned prior, surging within the Patron to such a level that a newfound confidence breamed within them. The likes of which, that dictated further experimentation.

"Step into my depths... Descend, so that I may re-mend you... Build you anew.
Greater. Stronger."

Those flesh buds that were planted within Laurentius' vessel were likely to have rooted themselves into the skeletal frame of the individual -- but despite a proper attunement dealt over time? They were far from capable of growing on their own. They needed a bit of help...
Fertilizer...
(Etheric Presence)
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[23:12] He listens closely to the tale of how the giant had dug his own grave, and how so many had sought to unmake the Patron and failed. "Mortals yap incessantly, I have found.

I do not understand it. It is as if they enjoy the sound of their own voices."

Then, the beckon-call to rise and descend. "Yes, my Lord." With out a moment's hesitation, save for the slight staggering of his severely damaged form beneath the armor, Laurentius rises to his feet once again. A step into that stygian fluid, of blood and alchemical solution. His ribs, beneath his armor, are shattered and covered in crystalline growths- and smoldering embers, burning away.

Yet pain is something he is so inundated with every second of existence, that to him, the agony is normal- something that he simply doesn't understand, or care about. The body shatters, yet he was one made for purpose- and that purpose was to further the goals of his Lord.

The flesh buds had rooted well, tumorous and pulsating things incapable of full growth upon his ravaged frame.

A step further, a descent, until once again he walks off the edge, and sinks- dragged down by his armor, into the depths. It is fortunate he has no need to breathe, as he drifts down beneath those waves, into the dark below, towards his patron.

Relaxed, and at ease, submitted to the great one in both body and soul. A sword to be sharpened, a tool to be forged as needed.
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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[23:32] Funny enough, Terminus -also- enjoyed the sound of his own voice. Likely a byproduct of being forced in solitude with hundreds of other human thoughts barraging his mind for decades at a time. It was a comment, not to be exercised upon -- there were greater matters to tend to.

In time, Laurentius had descended into the shrine's pool, submerged in Terminus' blood...
Submerged in the alchemical preservatives...
Engulfed by the Patron's essence.

It was seemingly instant! The flesh buds swelled in contact with His essence -- festering as more beads of disembodied meat latched on, building up in twain with yet another presence -- Entropy, converted into casted form.

"I have reconstructed humans before... But You? You are special. You will be the first I have wrought from a state presumed unmade.

You will be greater than my previous Heralds...
My previous cambions...

You will be my first Perfected human."
The padding within the armor audibly churned, strained by intense pressures surmounting within the boundaries of one's armor. Fleshbuds were flexing, growing, and writhing against the inner-shell of one's metallic sheath.

Perhaps, it would make disrobing difficult -- but such was not the subject of concern. Muscles took form to cradle bone, with sinew layered at joints abroad. Where one's speech was primarily magic-borne, an actual voice box was conjured... But most importantly, would be the mind...

It was originally a network of neural pathways forged purely of mana around an artificial core -- a lone, levitating fleshbud where a brain should've been. It was used as the foundational building block to forge graymatter along the blueprint of etheric leylines in suspended form.

Muscular tissue...
Brain matter...
A heart...
However, while one was activelybuilding a human from a blueprint? There was... Something missing....
Terminus was neglecting skin -- the largest organ.
Then, there were other matters, organs that hardly mattered for the functionality of undead, but would prove absolutely imperative for the living.

There was -one- liberty he took upon himself, to commit towards without much benefit to Laurentius in the slightest...
An unmistakable urge: Planted within the brain one constructed, the need to feed upon mana.
It would've been converted into entropy all the same... Though, perhaps it was due to one's desire to have assurance? What if, one decided to simply opt out of hunting?
To consider an avenue of free will that meant abandoning an existence of accruing entropic essence for the Patron to collect for his ulterior motives?

This, was but a single step... For there was much more to done here.
At the very least, such endeavors would likely had left Laurentius with plenty more to work with...

Thoughts that proved much more... Organic...
Of their own accord, as opposed to the limitations their previous form may've had.

That, and organs means limited applications in enigmatic ways that mortals could only dream of...
(Etheric Presence)
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[00:01] A swelling of those buds of flesh, erupting into cancerous growths that entwine over his form. Muscle, sinew, tendons, all threading themselves over bare and broken ivory, to reform and reforge his creation into something far more... resilient. Disembodied meat latching on to his festering form, causing him to twitch and spasm periodically as the new flesh tugs and pulls upon his bones.

The padding in his armor strains, it having been fit to his emaciated form, as he grows stronger in build. A heart, beating in it's profane life, pushing diseased blood through new veins. A brain, eyes, a voicebox, taking some of the load off of his circuitry that used to have to do everything itself.

No skin... constantly weeping fluids as he would be, from now on, his flesh soon to erupt into sores and boils when he exited this regenerative pool he drifted within. The lifestream's hate towards unliving flesh made manifest... and instilled within, a drive to consume.

A liberty taken by the patron without any complaint nor repudiation from his follower, for he was born of this, to be wielded by this, in whatever way that the being saw fit.

A desire to feed, to draw in that delicious mana- not that he needed encouragement to begin with, but... one takes what measures one must, for so many undead over the decades had turned traitor. Laurentius had been offered to go to Arcadia before, though his only answer was immediate violence... that was, after all, what he was after.

One more step, and perhaps with it, a measure of organic intellect seeping in where there was naught but cold machinelike intent before... and still, does he drift, in momentary rapture at the ascension taking place- one that fades to a sort of cold satisfaction.

More.
He had grown, for his pains, by grace of his Lord.
Perhaps soon, he could grow again...

All for the glory of his Lord.
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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[00:38] The constructive effort wrought meager bones cloaked in armor towards something forged of flesh -- Terminus' flesh. A disability caused by the destruction of Abendrot, not squarely applied as an enabler to the world at-large.

Where a core once was, now lied a heart...
It did not beat however, simply forged to be a housing instrument for the magus core within.
"This new flesh you bear is vulnerable to your environment... In the same notion, it is subjected to my blood."
The vantablack substance soaked into the padding and choked at the flesh. It singed beyond it, for the circuitry, magnifying the shining burn of one's mana within their own body.

From above, the waters simply took to a subtle gleam of mauve, but below? Laurentius was engulfed wholly, transmogrified for muscularity that toughened, flexed out challenged even greater magus ilk.

Around the shrine pool, the clergymen held their meditative stances, chanting...
The Maledictus carried out the Herald's Oath, line by line...

The new Champion of Terminus was actively being born again...
''I renounce that which makes me One Of Many... For we are Many Of One...''

''I renounce that which seeks further bloodshed... For soon we shall never bleed again...''

''I renounce that which makes me mortal... For soon, we shall join the undying...''

''I call upon the Herald, for the strength to carry his vision, so that I may achieve mine...''

''I call upon the Herald, to offer up my flesh and soul so that I am rewarded His...''

''Through the cost of His hand, I shall live forever more- No longer to suffer the wrath of mortality...''

''But of a dreamscape crafted for me... And to all who also see''
"Usque Terminus."
The lips of the collective spoke in unison, seemingly joined under the single psionic command to utter the Patron's name to invoke his incantation.

A telekinetic entanglement ripped Laurentius from the waters, to gravitate high above. The droplets of the black substance from their suspended form pitter-pattered back down to the shrine pool's surface, all the while? Their wet form immediately ignited in ebonic pyre. They burned with a soul chilling singe, though it did not seek to unmake them.

Rather, it was the byproduct of Terminus' essence in raw abundance -- offering a false flame of occultism. The residual actively shifted at their changed anatomy, moreso focused on their skeletal framework. Something bound to the bones sought to spider into the recently established flesh akin to a contagion -- a foreign magic marring Laurentius' anatomy -- detected not by sight, but through one's sensory prowess, pulsating their mana through the atmosphere and etheric essence through their vessel akin to magus sonar.
"Quite the nuisance... Foreign blood... Disease upon my conjuration... And crystalline obstruction."
It was obvious that the crystals were much more of a prominent issue than the burning blood -- one injury would block off the other.

The pyres of his conjuration cracked at the crystals, promoting an unhealthy environment for them to fester within. Where they would take root, would begin to shed -- with Terminus' essence permeating down to the bone marrow itself, eating away at the roots that fed upon the mana-sensitive fat within their yellow marrow.

"That should do it..."
An overconfidence? Perhaps...
Though, with the rapid shedding of blackened crystals, it was easy for one to presume that the blood that would hide between the seams of armor and flesh would simply boil away.

It was presumed that the new flesh, combined with Terminus' cancerous flesh would act upon the foreign presence akin to antibodies in a living vessel.
What need had he to try again?

(Etheric Presence)
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[01:10] A pulse had kicked once- then stilled.

That moldering flesh, suffused with the energies of the pit, strengthens. Toughens. The sores and boils calcify and harden into thick and knotted scar tissue atop the exposed muscle. A living being would be in total, utter agony- and perhaps, Laurentius is...

... yet for his kind, it is all they know, and so- to him, it's just... normalcy. Muscles cramp and twitch powerfully, his body contorting as they are strengthened and toughened, as a circuit is scalded to power.

To be many of One
To never bleed again
To join the undying

To be his Herald.
A Champion.

To cast off the remnants of his old flesh
Pull on the new flesh, like borrowed gloves...
A soul held, in the hands of the Undying one
Immortal, against the world...

... to usher in a new vision of things.

Usque Terminus.

Up he lifts from the waters, ignited in a black pyre that sears and shifts about- burning away the crystals, the flames left to sputter out on their own over time- and when faced with his undying resilience.

This annoying mark upon his creation, cast aside. The essence of Terminus settles into his soldier, and soon, the cancerous mass would mend itself together again.

Through it all, Laurentius remains in a state of relaxed acceptance. Complete, total obedience to the whims and wills of his creator. Where some undead were unwilling servants, or others had some ideological bent to their goals- tried to justify, or rationalize-

Laurentius knew who created him and why.
He had no need for such things as 'reasons.'
Good soldiers follow orders.
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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[01:33] Laurentius of Terminus ponders, "The same orders as before, my lord...?"
[01:35] Etheric Presence's voice (to Laurentius of Terminus): Go forth... Test your new strength. Learn of the world and its mannerisms, and report them back to the hierarchy here.
[01:37] Laurentius of Terminus thinks, "As you command, so shall it be done."