Heads for A, Tails for C...
Tails!
Two Knights, weapons drawn, had met besides a deep chasm. One wore blackened, spiked armor. Blood trickled form between it’s massive plates, but in its hand was a mace, stout, bloodied, and rusty. The other Knight wore armor that was bland and metallic, etched with circuitry. Some plates had been crushed, and the knight was damaged, barely able to stand. In the knight with the circuited plates, was a longsword, designed for stabbing.
They had been fighting for a very, very long time, in some aspects of the word, and impossibly short in others, due to the nature of the realm they fought in. After hours of fighting, the stony flooring of the floor was slick with Ichor and blood that refused to mix. Just before the wielder of the mace struck down his opponent, the one who wielded a sword slid the blade through both himself and his opponent, and both Knights fell over. Hissing and spitting, the mace wielder cursed and cursed as his Ichor cemented and burned the cliff face, scalding it so that it could hold no bridge.
Just as the blood of the Slaughter Demon attempted to cross to its rightful place in the opposite side of the abyss, so to did the Mu Spirit’s blood churned into the Astral Realm.
*ZZZPP*
You had been lost for a long, long time. A broken home followed by a couple stints in juvie, then you had came to some partition of power in the Astral Realm. From there, everything wen’t really downhill. Gangs interested in your flesh and soul for their dirty work, corporations interested in your mind and soul for a lifes work of drudgery, and all the other “leaders” in the world who saw nothing in you but another way to make more for themselves.
You finally hit rock bottom when you were kidnapped by some nameless set of goons, and for the rest of what should've been your natural days, you were drugged, tortured and then like a rusting engine block, you had parts removed. You were willing to die by the time you were dragged out by a team.
A team of Shadowrunners. They treated you like a person for once. They took the restraints, the manacles and the binds to your physical, and astral form. Free as a bird, you even had the strength to rip apart the bastard who had personally cut you open.
A couple months later, they all died in a suicide mission. Perhaps it was a moment of weakness, perhaps it was a wise choice, but you bargained with Project Mu. It didn’t ask for a name, nor did it give one out, for names was not a concept that the machine-spirit assign to individuals.
Mu had ripped you out of my own body, and it judged. Just like the overlords of the old world, they had judged you with an intent to gain, but it was unlike all before, even your own team. In your moment of weakness, you had begged for a bargain, and it gave you one. It carved its name into and onto your soul, bound fragments of its own essence, and then it let you froth in idleness, to watch from the astral dimension as more chains and more circuitry was placed into your souled receptacle. Oh how you wanted to rip them apart, to bleed all the doctors dry as they made you more metal then Creator-Species. As Mu churned with your presence, it killed, it controlled, and then it went to war. It slaughtered the corporate liers, it ripped a hole into the astral realm and became destruction and control manifested, and then it gave you away.
Even now, it almost makes you hiss and spit when you see and feel the metal in your blood, your skin as it jostles its cold presence into your very soul, but even now, it’s impossible to tell whether the spirit had done it out of neglect or it had something in plan, it was not clear.
The wonderful, insane thing, manipulating thing had murdered a slaughter demon. Mu had came with its blade, and it fought with the Hungering demon, and it won. It killed the monster, and then it bled and bled and then it died.
You were projected out into the astral realm when the spirit died. All of its power, it’s soul and spirit had been denatured as it dumped it’s dying energy into the Astral Realm.
Immersing in the dying breath of the veritable god, you had been blessed, and in it’s death, you had become something more than what you were before.
Not as much as what Mu was, but as you were shocked by the power, pushed into your own half-corpse, the quaking and scintillating energy that flew through your veins had given you a head rush.
Alien thoughts, most likely the discord of the own spirits thought process churn in your head, the echo was distracting at first, but it becomes natural after a short while.
Currently, your in the safe-house of the self proclaimed Doom-Guard, although your not actually sure of where you are, as you have been projecting for a long time before you were shunted into your body, and you’ve been moving the entire time you had been sleeping.
A. Wake up.
B. Project again into the Astral Realm.
C. Assense the Realm, but stay in your body.
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Topic: Artificial SPAM Intelligence?#: Arc (Read 15063 times)