Terminus: Centricon-Reborn 8

[00:22] Syrta had been busy in the cave, the Centricon open in her hand, as she tried to make sense of how the materials were laid out. It was a bit of a odd way of doing things, but if this went wrong, that could just be the end for her permanently.

Still eventually she began to place the materials down, opting to just correct the shape as needed one it was more or less started.
(Syrta)
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[00:32] Eyes peeled open as she approached. Pupils followed her movements, illuminating the path with her every footfall. Alas, the dominant eye had awakened.
How long had it been? A few months?
Reagents were being organized in a parallel fashion, with the Seer Acolyte at their center, likely trying to establish themselves well in advance to acknowledging the Terminal itself.

Regardless, they were noticed... And now, observed in silence.
(Terminus)
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[00:42] Having placed the materials down for the ritual, and checking no less that fifteen times to be certain it was correct, Syrta breathed a small sigh of relief, as she began to thoroughly mix the fairy powder with the sludge.

If her patron had woken to her presence and looked at her, they would see they had made their choice. She had weighed out the pros and the cons of her measure. Gear would be a touch more expensive to procure, but it also wouldn't be impossible either, given the recent world events. And if she carried her Patron's mark with her own being, those perhaps unwilling to seek it might change their mind. And if they tried to harm her? Well the Terminal could always make use of their bodies.

The mixing finally complete, she turned to face her Patron, having felt its gaze on her through her own eyes. Recent months had seen them near as perfectly fused as they could get to her own flesh, letting her see normally even in reasonably bright areas. Although the blindfold did help conceal her looks from the more curious of people.

"My Patron, it is time. I have thought it over, and I have decided to conduct the Ritual of the End."

Looking over the Centricon one last time as she memorized the words, Syrta, once an Ursidae had chosen to be remade in their image. With a closure of the book, its form vanishing from view, she hefted the mixture up, pausing just shy of applying it to herself.

After all, to deny her Patron the chance to speak, would be unthinkable.
(Syrta)
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[00:53] 'My Patron, it is time. I have thought it over, and I have decided to conduct the Ritual of the End.'

The eyes of the Terminal were not deceived. It was to be suspected that this time would come sooner or later, though... Would it bear fruit? Or simply bring upon the demise of yet another mortal candidate?

Surely, there was plenty of time to speculate...
But the consequences? What were another fifteen years to an immortal?

The fairy dust showcased just moments prior, was now mixed into a pasty sludge to be applied across her form.

"Your decision will mark the end of your current life... Though, you will not relinquish yourself of your finite mortality. I will consume your humanity... Your weakness, and birth you into that, of my own flesh.

Surely, you should realize what that will mean..."
Serpents of the flesh slithered along the walls of the organic cavern walls, arcing upright with their barbed heads aimed for Syrta. None dared to advance too much further as to interrupt her endeavor, waiting readily for the ritual to see initiation.
(Terminus)
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[01:06] 'Surely, you should realize what that will mean...'

To say she didn't would be an understatement. Syrta knew full well, that if she couldn't handle it, that would be the end of her own life. And if she did succeed in surviving the process.. Well there was always a means of keeping oneself hidden after all.

Taking the mixture the Ursidae applied the substance to her form, the sludge-like liquid coating her from head to toe. Once that had happened she spoke, her words clear and of conviction. There would be no more doubt, only perfection, and The End.

"Ultimum praeco invoco ut offerat carnem meam et animam, ut merear carnem eius."

The words had been uttered, there was no return beyond this point. Her life as she knew it was nowforever closed to her, as her new one was solely dedicated to her patron. Now she merely had to survive the process, and the recovery after words.
(Syrta)
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[01:24] It was the year 2060 AC.
The underbelly of Black Rose Island was growing infested with the roots of the Terminal growing vast along the subterranean regions. At last... Despite years of searching, it had found one...

A mortal capable of carrying out its will competently...
A worthy vessel to become an extension of itself.
It was not quite in the fashion of the late Menos, so many decades prior... But certainly, the proclaimed Demon God could take notes from the demon's book.

"Caro tua amissa est..."
Maws parted open across the many walls to reveal a black abyss down their depths. Before her, the dominant eye took rise in the wake of a greater maw. As it parted, a display reminiscent to the cosmos themselves shown themselves to Syrta.

Absolute oblivion lied beyond the jaws of the Terminal: The fate of so many mortals prior... Consumed to become a part of the creature. It was almost as though this very ritual aroused the prisoners of the flesh wall's from their limp dangle, flailing out for Syrta as their wailed out.

They had lost their minds years ago, no longer the men and women that fused with the Patron. Their minds, dominated... Their flesh, claimed... Their souls and essence? Unknown to any but the Terminal itself.

With the final ritual initiating words, tendrils lashed out to twist around paste coated arms and legs to hoist her up high...

Its dominant eye followed, central maw gaping wide... Was he... The tendrils toiled her forth, sending her sprawling down... For his open maws. She would descend into the abyss, wherein his jaws would slam shut behind her.

Should Syrta not have second thoughts...
Should she not strive to struggle...
To flail... To flee while the ritual was still in the works?
Down she would be tossed, into its jaws...
Into the dark...
(Terminus)
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[01:31] Those words that were spoken in response was heard, as she felt her Patron both lift and toss her into the void that was its maw. She had no need to resist, or make second guess. Either she would be remade, in their image, or she would simply cease to be.

Falling into the void like cosmos, Syrta didn't blink, her new eyes allowing her to gaze into the void, to see the figurative door behind her closing, as the maw slammed shut, as a new one opened in front of her in the form of the cosmos.
(Syrta)
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[02:01] They appeared to be stars in a vastly vacant scape...
Ever so distant, that even in freefall their positions never seemed to budge.

Was this something... Extradimensional?
A burning could be felt... A rise at the skin, as though it were literally ebbing away. Hair follicle by hair follicle being tickled away... Flecs of skin peeled akin to a fish being descaled by an eager albeit inexperienced fisherman.

Nay... This was no alternate realm... This was certainly the inside of the proclaimed Patron itself. The 'stars' being an optical illusion as a substance flowed around Syrta. Digestive fluid, attempting to break her body down. The sludge infused with fairy dust proved resilient to the attempts to break her down. All the same, the presence of the occult was intense at these depths, piercing beyond where flesh lied for what lied beneath the surface.

To juxtapose the flaying burn on the surface, came the bone-chilling creep that iced at the core, crawling outward from her veins. The vascularity of one's anatomy could be noted taking an ebonic turn with prolonged exposure.

"Arma tua…"

A telepathic connection was wrought betwixt her and the Terminal. At the same time, the words uttered within her mind sounded off as the cue of her arms twisting it on themselves. The chill of the occult was the evident goal. To hone on the darkness... To embrace the agony it was born from, meant to distract from the suffering one was brought, to harden focus on what destructive influence they could impart upon everything else.

It was simply the nature of the magic... So overwhelming in its malignant embrace, yet... As it sought to destroy, further exploration only opened up more opportunities. Observing one's arms being disintegrated as a sacrifice to the Terminal would only be swiftly followed upon with the forced generation of flesh from new stubs at the shoulders. They snapped and jerked in their erratically manifested stature.

The essence from the material of the ritual provided minor fuel, but the rest? It came from within Syrta. Her Willpower... Her raw vitality? It was being sapped away by the stygian powers at work, converted into more of Terminus... And gifted back unto her.

"Tibi pedes..."

Her legs would find the same fate, withered away to the very oblivion that encompassed her. Though, that wasn't all. Through these unravelings of flesh and bone, came the invasion of the flesh... The vascularity...
The mana circuitry itself was tunneled into, hacked into.

"Voluntatem tuam…"

It was on a small scale... But seeds of the demon patron were being placed at the nubs that once claimed appendages. Growths took form rather quickly, abruptly, but paled in comparison to the limbs they once held.

"Natus iterum."

Surely, her body was growing more limp as this procedure drew onward... But her stubs... sprouted forth... Arms? They resembled something more akin to beast than beastkin. Legs? It seemed to be much of the same treatment...
Before the infectious matter ebbed over the remaining flesh akin to the very cancerous nature of the rest of the cavern. The flesh moss crawled, transmogrifying mortal flesh in its wake.

"Spare those of the surface, a meager glimmer of my true stature... It shall come with a glimmer of infinite potential as well."

The flaying was growing intense, with layers of skin rising away... but meat moss crawling to take its place... Only to be scorched in the endeavor to match the abyssal scheme of the current environment.



(Terminus)
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[02:01] {Item} You picked up Sludge. Dropped by Syrta..
[02:01] {Item} You picked up Perdegrine. Dropped by Syrta..
[02:01] {Item} You picked up Luminite. Dropped by Syrta..
[02:01] {Item} You picked up Fairy Powder. Dropped by Syrta..
[02:01] {Item} You picked up Air Crystal. Dropped by Syrta..
[02:01] {Item} You picked up Luminite. Dropped by Syrta..
[02:01] {Item} You picked up Perdegrine. Dropped by Syrta..
[02:01] {Item} You picked up Water Crystal. Dropped by Syrta..
[02:20] The inside of the 'starfield' was a new experience, a mild distraction, soon broken by the feeling of her flesh starting to feel a mild burning sensation. It's wasn't terribly concerning at first, although she soon realized that for as fall as she fell, this was no alternate space. She was inside of her patron, and while that was a matter of some concern, it was also of a far greater one that amount of occultic power here as well. The frigid feeling of her body, as she willing accepted the power within her body, letting it remake her stronger than before.

Words flowed into her mind, the only way she was now sure she wasn't dead. All in the language of the rituals she had done, and a few studies besides. But these were new, unknown. But something was off, not quite right, and just as Syrta began to focus on it, the lancing pain of her arms twisting in on themselves, bones and flesh tearing from the forces worked upon them.

'Focus, use the power here, and make it your own.. The agony is merely a weakness finally leaving ones body.'

That thought alone kept her going, the agony while present, directed, to improve herself. To make herself stronger. She would be His beacon to those on the surface, the last thing they saw if they attacked her, or a familiar face of many in following. With the Ursidaes legs and own lifeforce being both destroyed and remade, it was harder to remain conscious, as her body slowly began to lose the tension, her body becoming limp.

It felt as if only her mind was still functioning by the time the true agony of her circuits and body finally registering caught up to her. If emotions could be felt from the link, the pure unadulterated agony of Syrta would be like a searing through it, a beam of a mortals pain far brighter in the void of its mouth.
(Syrta)
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[02:31] Soon enough, what human skin was once left was burned away... Digested. The former arms and legs of the woman, vanquish in the same fashion. What remained was engulfed in bulbous flesh mass that encased the human nugget that persisted... Breaking down what little was left. It was an organic form of dough, to be kneaded by a faceless force, and molded as one saw fit.

Ultimately however, the environment dictated whether it would rise to the occasion. The Terminal ebbed, jerked and writhed... Before retching up Syrta to the cavern's floor, coated in lavender blood. It sheathed her figure, akin to the sheathing membrane that'd entangle a newly born. When the outside world would be exposed to Syrta once more, in this altered state, the fluid she was coated by acted much more akin to an acid, gnawing at the flesh and demanding that she'd get it off with haste.

To her dismay? There would be no matter anywhere near the scene. All the while, she was to be beheld by her Patron...
Gazed upon, for no longer was she the same mortal that arrived to the caves earlier.

Now? She was something else...
Someone born anew...
The question was... Who was this new entity that took Syrta's essence and likeness?

The terminal idled with expectation...
At any moment, they'd power through their agony...
At any moment, they'd stand before it, and reintroduce themselves...
Perhaps, something else it hadn't considered yet.
(Terminus)
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[03:10] Being retching up onto the moss coated floor, Syrta flopped onto the floor, her body remade and hurting all the more, as she felt her body burning from the lavender blood coating her body.

A flare of occultic mana saw the blood cooked off her form, as the now reformed magi slowly dragged herself off the ground. Syrta was still hurting, but she could feel her new form giving her strength.

"Your acolyte, Syrta, returns to your service, my Patron."

Taking a knee, the now reformed woman bowed her head in respect towards the Terminal, her new body far different that what it had been. Flexing her new fingers, a feeling of joy slowly filled her. It felt far more superior to her former limbs, her new claw like fingers would be remarkably useful when it came to delivering blows.

It would take a bit of time to recover from this change, but her new form would suit her needs perfectly, as a Herald as the End.
(Syrta)
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[03:19] Eyes gazed upon them as they reintroduced themselves upon the epilogue of the ritual. Alas, she had reemerged at the end, no longer the Ursidae that wandered into the cave so many years before.

They marveled over their new form, all the while...?
Vermillion static gattled the wall's height, triggering a bubbling of the flesh. The ritual had taken its toll on the Patron, having exhausted a large bit of its own reserves in the transformation process for Syrta.

The tentacles that once reared upright with her closed proximity fell limp at the fleshy flooring, dehydrated of their sanguineous contents -- nutrient-drained to supported the greater cancerous body embodying the cave. Exhaustion had spread through it all, demanding the Patron rest once more.

"Serve, in your venturing to the surface. Fetch others, taunted by the lust for power, driven by desire left constantly unsated... Using your power and knowledge of my word, serve... By drawing forth your own followers.

Followers of my Word...
Followers of my Oath...
Followers to you, as my Hand...

Become my Hand, an extension of me... And take the role... As my prophetical 'Herald Of The End'."
(Terminus)
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[03:21] Terminus says, "--and for your service, shall come more of my blessings..."
[03:27] Syrta says, "By your will my Patron."