Super Genetics
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B2 - Chapter 43: Nexus Identification
🕑 Added 2024-12-19 17:35:13 +0000 UTCJaid felt the pieces of her visions like a puzzle slotting together. The future was never set in stone—she had learned that the moment her very first vision had failed to materialize. But though it wasn’t set in stone, it could be guided along, put on a path that once committed to, would resist deviation.
That was the marker of a skilled Seer. Not the strength or speed in her arms, like a Duelist. Not her control or inexhaustible reserve of aura, like an Elementalist. Not the power of her thralls like a Summoner, nor the strength of her mind like a Hypnotist.
Her expression of power was through her manipulation of the future. And unfortunately for her, the future was dictated by the people most capable of affecting its path.
When she’d ascended to the D-rank, it had come with a new Skill. It was a Skill she had already begun to naturally hone, only confirming her keen intuition.
[Nexus Identification — Passive]
The user’s System interface will highlight the Nexus of the user’s fate. This Nexus will be integral to the veracity of the user’s [Future Sight].
It wasn’t a static marker—each person had their moment or moments of higher than usual impact on their localized future.
When she’d first arrived in this frozen hellscape, it had been only her and Al’Ruzan. She’d understood even without her Skill that he was her Nexus.
Without Al’Ruzan, she would have frozen to death in the first hour; would have starved to death in the first two weeks.
Would have killed herself in the first two months.
She understood implicitly when she met a Nexus—that, she had never doubted.
But she had also been supremely secure in her belief that she not only recognized them—she understood why they were a Nexus.
For Al’Ruzan, it had been about her survival. Without him, she would have been dead, meaning he was her ultimate Nexus, for a time.
Her growing love for him over the years had nothing to do with that fact—she simply came to admire him, which in turn developed into adoration, then love.
But she always knew that one day, she’d either leave this place—and him—or she’d die. It was binary. He was her Nexus insomuch as his existence guaranteed her own. She could divorce her feelings from that truth.
When Terry had arrived, the strangest thing happened, shaking the foundation of everything she thought she knew.
He was a Nexus for her, too. When she had realized that, she had expected Al’Ruzan to die or perhaps be exiled by Terry. It had saddened her to realize that fact, but there was no arguing with fate on the matter.
Only, Al’Ruzan hadn’t died—and with her impulsive intervention—hadn’t been exiled. More than that, he was still a Nexus. And the longer they interacted with Terry, the more confused she became.
Juan Carlos became one of her Nexuses. Chippy followed shortly after. When Py Dar became a Nexus as well, she nearly lost her grip on herself.
Her entire life after Awakening had been predicated on understanding and manipulating her Nexus—even before she’d received a Skill formalizing the term. It didn’t make her cruel or unfeeling; she loved Al’Ruzan regardless of his status as her Nexus.
But it had been an unavoidable truth—she was required to cultivate a Nexus in order to achieve the futures she witnessed.
The man, Ben, had become a Nexus almost immediately upon being unmasked. Crimson Spear, the ghoul leader, was one. Then his entire tribe.
All around her, Nexuses began to form, nearly driving her insane, the board becoming so complicated that her intuition was clouded.
It was only as Terry prepared to leave the Bloodsplatter Clan in a desperate bid to return the Lakarot had she realized: he was responsible for the changes in her senses. He was forming the connections between the other players, making them integral parts of the future he was rushing toward.
A missing piece of the puzzle had snapped into place, filling a gap she hadn’t even recognized.
Terry was doing her job better than she was. He wasn’t focused on utilizing each piece to its full potential like she was. Yet, somehow, he was doing just that. By virtue of his efforts, he was forming more Nexuses, creating a weave across the future that was nearly unbreakable.
It was the ultimate expression of what a Seer should be, displayed right before her by an unwitting master.
At first, it galled her and she refused to admit the truth of her intuition. She tried to reassert control, affect the future like she had once done almost effortlessly. But she was fighting a current that threatened to whip her away.
Once she finally accepted him for what he was, something inexplicable had happened, something that neither she, nor any of her teachers, had ever heard of.
She became a Nexus herself. The linchpin in the web he had woven.
It was both incredibly gratifying and humbling.
Now, as they neared the resting spot of the Lakarot, a place steeped in an ancient aura now gone stagnant, she felt the pull of fate on her senses.
All around them, a hundred thousand sanguine flew fitfully, trying to penetrate Ben’s storm. The man himself, with Obsidian Blade’s ghouls, crashed bodily into a line of elites who crumpled before the strength of their party.
Behind her, she felt Terry’s life fading, even as his aura flashed brilliantly in her senses.
And past the sanguine elites, the simple bone structure obscured the pedestal she knew was waiting, its hollow tube stretching down into hidden depths below this layer.
The Lakarot was tied securely to Ben’s waist and he rushed forward to return it to its resting place. Five towering presences unveiled their auras—the Red Dukes, as Terry had called them.
Their bodies were as big as Ben, their auras each a match for his strength. Before they could make it inside the chamber, the five Dukes swarmed him.
[Mara-Lin-Jaid]: Al’Ruzan! Retrieve the Lakarot!
Her love rushed to obey without a word, his spear launching forward to distract one of the Dukes hounding Ben. In that moment, the A-ranker detached the Lakarot container and tossed it to Al’Ruzan, who returned to her side as Ben was engaged on all fronts.
Terry limped forward, propelled mostly by his aura.
[Terry]: What are you waiting for! Let’s go, Al’Ruzan!
Her love turned to her, waiting for her signal. She shook her head, sending a message to Terry.
[Mara-Lin-Jaid]: You must take it, Terry.
His face was ashen from blood loss, one arm hanging limp.
[Terry]: I’m done, Jaid. Have Al’Ruzan take it.
[Mara-Lin-Jaid]: You don’t understand. Take the Lakarot inside of you. The power will allow you to bypass the creature locking this space down.
Terry stared at her in dumbfounded shock and she wrinkled her nose at the delay. It is so much simpler when they just obey.
[Mara-Lin-Jaid]: Remember what I said? Trust me.
She bit down her pride, letting out a deep breath before sending her next message.
[Mara-Lin-Jaid]: Please…
The annoying boy stared back a moment longer, his face pale, his eyes sunken. Then, his face hardened and he nodded once.
When he reached toward Al’Ruzan and took the Lakarot, she finally relaxed.
***
Under his leadership, his people had stagnated. Cycle after cycle of slow, inescapable death met them with unrelenting surety. A clan member lost to a draugr ambush while foraging; a spawnling underdeveloped due to lack of Blood when they’d been forced to relocate for the seventh time; three lost to a dire wolf pack he hadn’t sensed coming.
All these failures and more, built upon the terrible truth that his clan had lost the Lakarot, dooming the entire Underworld to that same slow, inescapable death.
The guilt of an entire realm’s demise lay upon his shoulders.
But a leader—especially a leader of the Children—didn’t lay his doubts and fears upon the psyche of his followers. A true leader bore that weight solely, isolated and alone so that his subordinates operated unencumbered.
When Rising Claw had first bidden him to flee with what remained of their Clan, he had imagined in his deepest, most secret self, a glorious, triumphant return to their ancestral home. In those hidden dreams, he saw himself returning the Lakarot to the Mother, saw himself elevated to the position of respect and admiration that Rising Claw had once held.
Those dreams had slowly withered, like that spawnling starved for Blood, until his actions were mostly automatic, his leadership anemic and stale.
When the Ice Lord had revealed the Lakarot after so many cycles of despondency, he had refused to let himself hope—refused to let himself dream once more.
There were too many hostile layers for their small clan to traverse, too many soldiers of the Charnal Halls to overcome.
The young spawnling—no, he corrected, spawnling no more. The one dubbed, Lightbringer, had revealed his power to bridge the distances of the layers with his very aura. An unbelievably potent ability that had given him that hope once more.
He no longer dreamed of being the one to restore life to the undead. But he did dream, and that transcended his own personal sense of guilt and longing.
And yet, against all odds—and with the help of the strange Outsiders—he and his dwindling clan had survived the trek to the very last layer before the homeland. Through fire, sanguine swarms, and broken paths, they had come.
Despite it all, the weight of the shame and dreadful obligation began to lessen. He saw the path forward, a single layer to traverse before they returned…home.
But he tempered his hope one last time; the final guardians awaited, scaring him abjectly wherein no other obstacle had sparked even a kindling of fear.
The Fleshripper Clan scouts recognized his people immediately, revealing their shame and disgust at their presence openly. None dared to impede them, but neither did they hide their thoughts.
Still, there was a tint of concern intermingling with their dislike of the Bloodsplatter Clan; something had occurred with the Fleshripper Clan that made them question themselves.
To an elder like Crimson Spear, they could not hide their feelings from their aura.
He resisted the urge to press them, waiting instead to meet with Obsidian Blade as was custom among the leaders of the ghouls.
Crimson Spear may have been disgraced, the Bloodsplatter Clan exiled. But some things held true, regardless of caste or circumstance: leaders treated with leaders.
As the Fleshripper scouts led them into the wide open cave that was the center of their domain, Crimson Spear recognized the lingering scent of violence swirling in the eddies of the ambient aura.
Have the Fleshripper come to blows with the Red Dukes? Or have they fought with the Lord of Ice and Lightbringer?
He didn’t allow his emotions to stir in his aura, instead keeping his thoughts and fears hidden as he spotted Obsidian Blade in the distance.
What he saw among those still standing sent a fissure of doubt through him that he had to shove down lest his aura reveal his thoughts.
Sanguine stabbed and crushed by ghoul strength…but also, other ghouls slain by their own.
A rift had formed between the Fleshripper Clan, and Crimson Spear could not tell which side had emerged the victor.
The absence of living sanguine filled his hidden heart with hope, but he didn’t see Lightbringer or the Ice Lord present, which could indicate the survivors had given chase.
All this was swept from his aura as he approached Obsidian Blade. The auras of the Outsiders at his back were raging torrents, revealing their thoughts the way a newborn spawnling might.
Fear, excitement, and confusion preceded them and he had to force the currents away from his own aura.
When Obsidian Blade and Crimson Spear stood before each other, their auras spoke before they did.
It was a surprising first taste of his brother’s aura after so many cycles. He sensed the power, the strength, the indomitable will—as always. But what was new was the hint of doubt that he tried to suppress, yet couldn’t. The image of an underground mountain appeared in Crimson Spear’s mind, so strong and sure in its place—until the flows of an unseen river eroded its base and it collapsed with no warning.
He acknowledged Obsidian Blade’s thoughts with his own. An image of a bridge stretching over a ravine, carrying the weight of that same mountain on its back. As the mountain crumbled around it, the sense of relief, of a weight that would have seen it broken, drifted away.
In his mind, he stood on that bridge, looking up at the open air for the first time as his guilt and shame sloughed off his shoulders into the river below.
Obsidian Blade shaped his aura, revealing surprise.
“You have grown wise in your disgrace.”
Crimson Spear rebutted that statement with another image—that of the Outsiders behind him, the Ice Lord, and the Lightbringer.
“I haven’t. I’ve been instructed.”
“As have I.” Obsidian Blade shaped his aura to show Whirling Bone. “Sanguine sympathizers nearly took the legs from the Fleshripper Clan.”
“Yet here you stand.”
“More than that—we prepare for war.”
Crimson Spear felt the finality in Obsidian Blade’s aura, a readiness for death in the service of the Clan.
He shaped his aura in agreement but with a simple suggestion.
“Rather than charge into death—a glorious and worthwhile pursuit in any other circumstance—bide a while with the Bloodsplatter Clan. It would be in service to a higher duty.”
Obsidian Blade didn’t need to ask—the only higher duty than to the Clan was to the Mother. Still, Crimson Spear took pity on his brother’s curiosity and began to explain the purpose of the bone charm in his pouch.
***
At first, he thought Mara-Lin-Jaid was simply being her irritating, purposefully confusing self.
Then, the realization of what she was telling him to do struck home.
I won’t survive with the Singularity in me—not for more than a few seconds.
But he could see the logic in her plan. The raw power of the Singularity would fuel him just enough to get it where it needed to go.
What did it matter after that? He was dying anyway.
Steeling his mind, body, and aura, he sucked in a deep breath, then opened the Aura Filtering Container.
Power pulsed out in answer, ripping across his senses, pushing away the swirling aura inundating the cavern. Shrieks of surprise and a wave of eagerness suffused the air.
The Red Dukes battering Ben’s ice-encased form turned as one, their heads swiveling toward the Singularity—and Terry.
Ben threw himself on two of them, while Al’Ruzan rushed to meet the others. He was stabbed through the stomach, then battered aside.
Mara-Lin-Jaid gave a desperate cry, started to rush forward.
Time seemed to stop.
The Singularity spoke to him. It spoke of possibilities, of the power to accomplish all his goals and ambitions. He saw himself using it to reach up through the layers of the Underworld, summoning blinding white light down upon a hundred thousand sanguine.
But he knew that wouldn’t win the battle—the elites and the Dukes were sun-resistant and were more than enough to handle Ben and a handful of ghouls.
He saw himself reaching for Crimson Spear, Juan, and the others. But where ten ghouls would fail, a hundred ghouls weren’t much better. Even if Obsidian Blade joined with a thousand more ghouls, would it be enough?
As much as the Singularity demonstrated the possibilities, he—and whatever alien consciousness lived inside of it—both understood the only true checkmate in this war.
With a scream of pain, he reached his hand into the container and shoved the Singularity inside his chest.
Fire swirled from that central point, burning him from the inside out. Aura the likes of which he’d only felt once before—when he’d first taken the Singularity into him—infused his entire being with raw power.
He had seconds, not minutes, before that raw power spent him like a burnt husk.
But with time dilating, he found himself multitasking without thought or intention.
Master of Telekinesis lifted all five Dukes, throwing them back. Though they caught themselves with their wings, the space bought Al’Ruzan, Jaid, and Ben precious seconds to recover.
With his friends given a brief respite, he turned his focus to the space around him. A blanket of power shrouded the air, restricting his senses much like Tinker’s Artifact. He reached forward with his mind and ripped apart that shroud. It shredded as easily as tissue paper, opening up space to his senses in an effortless way. As he prepared to portal, his connection with the Singularity educated him, revealing insights that he had never considered.
Why do I need portals? Why not simply pass through sub-space to my destination?
So he did, moving his physical body through space as easily as one of his portals would have.
Without moving an inch, he was inside the Lakarot Chamber. Standing before him was a bone pedestal, hollowed in the middle. The Singularity ached in his chest, calling out to be returned home. It was within reach…all he had to do was extract it from his chest.
With a pained gasp, he did so, feeling the potential drain away—along with the strength to stand. He stumbled against the pedestal, the Singularity burning the skin of his palm hotter than any fire he’d ever felt.
All he had to do was lift his arm, slip it into the chute—
A presence revealed itself, shadows and aura swirling as that presence moved superhumanly fast. To Terry of a second ago, whose perception had been dilated by the Singularity, he might have tracked that moving presence.
To the bleeding out, barely-conscious Terry fumbling with the Singularity above the pedestal slot, it might as well have been Silver moving at top speed.
The thing ripped the Singularity from Terry’s hand, the air of its passage ruffling his hair. He cried out in frustration, his body collapsing against the pedestal as the realization settled in.
He had failed.
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[A/N]: Thanks for reading, next chapter Tuesday :D!
Comments
Andrew Simpson
I'm impressed at the speed that Terry's power is growing. Unlocking master or telekinesis is one thing, using it to hover/transport yourself is something else entirely. I feel like that was a very understated accomplishment in terms of power spike. He can basically fly now, right? Maybe not very fast (we have yet to see how fast I guess, but based on the speed he is growing, I don't give it long). I also wonder if he will retain the knowledge from the breakthrough that let him teleport. It probably requires a lot of mastery, but also it seemed like there was a knowledge/realization component to it that maybe he will retain. Also, do you think Terry could use his ability to mimic auras to be a weird ghoul speak mockingbird, since so much of their communication is aura based? Seems like a stretch, but it just occured to me.
White Rose
I laughed at that!
Andrew Simpson
I agree with Matt. That kind of cliff hanger gets you put on the naughty list.
Monadologist
Well, fuck.
White Rose
Sorry Matt! Thanks for reading, appreciate you!
Matt w Lichens
TFTC! Evil cliff hanger though.
