Terminus: To Perfect Humanity I

[20:01] Laurentius had returned once again, months later. The soldier of democracy strides into the room with even, measured, proper marching form, dismissing the attendants and clergymen present.

He kneels before the pit at the center of the room, bowing his helmed head in reverence as he had last time, and speaks. "My lord. I return, with what has been gathered... and tidings." He is damaged, still- wounded, beneath that armor, but slowly healing and piecing back together. It won't be long, now, until he's recovered.
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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[20:12] Laurentius took the position of the Maledictus, on this day, making their approach to the shrine pool. The psionic connection was made, but rather than protrude from the surface -- it silently suggested another approach... That one step into the waters, to allow themselves to drift into its depths -- so that they may be embraced by the alchemical cocktail that made of ebonic waters of the pool.
(Etheric Presence)
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[20:51] Bidden, so does he rise. A shift up to his feet, as the soldier of Antefinem takes a step forwards. One, then another, steady as he was, without hesitation. One boot sloshes beneath the water, then the other, treading deeper until he stands upon the last step- whereupon he simply steps from the ledge, and sinks beneath that dark pool without a hint of concern or fear.

He was called, and so, he went.
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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[21:01] Venturing into the waters revealed that it held some blood-like qualities, mixed well with such to promote the effectiveness of the source's wielder. Where the substance seeped, in-between seams for the vessel beneath the investigative magics -- the nature of their maladies was probed upon.

The likes of attempted inductions into Occult Madness were first and foremost -- it stuck out to him, though hardly the most potent attempt upon Laurentius. The Blood of Terminus permeated the armor for the mana nexus that compensated for the brain, funneling through the very neural networks of mana that spanned across it all.
"How humorous... How... Ambitious... An Occultist sought to invoke powers of the uninitiated upon you...
Amateur."
The Occult could only be strengthened by the occult, in the eyes of a fledgling cultist...

But this, was a Seer of the deepest of depths -- One that had dabbled with even the concept of Oblivion -- Of True Death.
Instead of attempting to unmake the madness, it was only intensified, magnified to such an extent that it'd evolve into something else.

"They lack a true understanding of the powers they dabble with... Only capable of exploring the consequences of the scratched surface. Allow me to reveal this... Gift..."
It was as though the chilling sensation spread throughout the body. It would usually be seen as further deterioration... But instead, it allowed strength to be explored through one's wrath...
Through one's anger...
Through one's justified execution of their Patron's Will, not unlike a zealot. Though, such would only last so long -- it burned through the concentrated misuse of the Occult for the mind.

It left two more... The touch of Mortyl -- something he hadcome all too familiar with. Death sought to claim what he made...
While considered natural, it was... An unmaking of what Terminus saw as...
Perfect.

"How they draw my ire by taunting Mortyl's embrace before me... How she taunts me with her mercy. I shall see her sealed, and existence truly spared."

One claimed to be a sibling to Mortyl in a former attempt to scale the Tower of Aetius...
One that was tricked by the powers of the entity vying so desperately for deification...
Another catastrophe would invoke the powers of Mortyl herself, offering Terminus yet another chance...
With so many encounters with it, familiarity and disdain? He sought to defile her and her kin -- Their mercy would be their undoing.

It was as though the fluids around one sought to boil, yet lacked the air to forge bubbles -- instead refracting light along the exterior of one's apparel. The lifestream was being immediately challenged, with Entropy being lapped up by the Patron akin to a crop being reaped. The Holy magics that sought to claim their hold, held little chance to the Seer -- with the magics of a righteous Death being unmade wholly.

It wouldn't be all he'd work upon... For even the stables that marred a perfect image bothered him...
The very bone marrow they held was actively reconstructed for their raising... Thus, it would be tapped upon in an attempt to slowly re-mend the bones. However, there wasn't enough living material...
There wasn't enough to work with, to replace...
He simply hadn't finished them...

But with one failed attempt, came another idea...
"I have made entities in the past... Cambions made where humans, faeborne and Giants once were.
You, will be no different.

Partake of my flesh, and be born anew..."
Buds of flesh were common within the pool, floating about and sticking upon all that entered it. However, it was common that they died and vaporized with overexposure to malignant mana, given a lack of flesh and mana to feed from prior. In this case however, it was all familiar... Being submerged and forged of it, made it much more capable of invading... Taking root, and slowly, but surely... Festering.

Numerous sites sported buds of flesh now, along one's skeleton within, particularly concentrated where the rusted staples rested. However, it didn't amount to anything for the moment -- simply an attempt, an experimentation... An investment.
"Rise to the surface... And commit to your duty once more."
(Etheric Presence)
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[21:18] The occultic mana had annoyed Laurentius, worrying away at his mind, causing him to hesitate and falter from time to time. Despite his outward portrayal, his flashbacks to an inability to protect the doctor had been a source of mild irritation more than anything of guilt or woe. Annoyance at his own weakness, for so far, he had collected quite a bit of damage.

It is turned to ire, to anger. He was justified in his actions, correct in his movement. He had harvested, reaped, and succeeded in his true goal... to improve his reputation, and gather undeath. He had hidden his identity and nature well afterwards, though he would need to carefully move going forwards...

Mortyl's touch, a rankling thing. Pain meant little to Laurentius, for he was always in so much of it anyway that it blurred into the background of his existence. While some of his kind raged against their nature, he cared not. He was as he was, wrought for a purpose.

Energy is reaped, the sickly green power that he had gathered- perhaps, now enough to raise another...? Yet not enough to improve himself. Not yet.

He floats, idle, limp, and relaxed within the pool, as his Lord weaves festering nodules of it's own ruined flesh overtop dry ivory. Not enough to truly grow, no... but a little. A touch. A grace.

Perhaps, with work, more would come- and so, at the command, Laurentius kicks and swims, rising to the surface, and pulling himself from the dark fluid. A whim of wind encircles him, fluffing and drying out his equipment, as he turns to face the pool and speaks again.

"Thy will be done, my Lord."

As he marches forth again, out into the world, a gauntleted hand drifts into his cloak, applying liberally the cologne that hid what he was. Some had found it overpowering, yet none had noticed the rot beneath it.

For those who did, he had already begun to concoct an excuse... all that was left was for him to ponder which would roam: The soldier, or the harvester?

Tonight, likely the latter.
(Laurentius of Terminus)
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