Ceranai
patreon
SOM - Chapter 12 - Soul Surgery
🕑 Added 2024-03-22 23:18:01 +0000 UTCDown in the forge basement nestled a modest living space. It comprised a small room for the old master smith, and a larger dormitory for her apprentices. Rurik remembered his old companion fondly, but so much time had passed that he didn’t remember her name. Instead, the aspect referred to her as ‘Vera’s maker’, after an apparently famous sword she crafted out of thrice infused aeldrin steel.
Though the smith’s room was more luxurious, Luke claimed the apprentice dormitory for himself. By pushing three dwarven beds together, he made a makeshift sleeping area big enough for his human frame. The spongy stone of the mattresses took a bit of getting used to, but were comfortable enough to lie on. After an exhausting day, Luke fell asleep almost immediately.
For the first time in a long while, Luke dreamed. His dream started out with him in a coffee shop trying to order a latte from Chrissy. With perfect hair and a cute smile, she looked better than ever. Seeing her made Luke’s heart clench, even within the dream. Chrissy’s good looks had always made him feel insecure.
In the dream, Luke arrived at the front of the queue, only for Chrissy to shake her head at him. She then pointed at a sign that said ‘no brains, no heart, no service’. When he looked down at himself, he saw that his skin was a dull grey, and his ribs had been pried open. The last thing he saw before waking up was Nathan standing behind the counter, pale and undead, holding Luke’s beating heart in his hand.
Luke took a few minutes to shake the dream when he awoke. It hadn’t been subtle about playing on his inner fears. Even if Luke didn’t normally put much stock in dreams, it was hard to shake off the feeling that it meant something.
Determined to make the most of the day Luke set out to cultivate another point in [Strength]. He was used to early morning workouts, so got stuck in with little preamble. The clanking of metal was enough to wake the dead, but neither the forge spirit, nor any undead interrupted him.
An unexpected problem with Luke’s rapid power growth was that it made it harder to push himself to the point of failure. He usually followed a well thought out regimen designed to maximise his goals. The lack of actual gym equipment made this difficult. Measuring things in ingots was imprecise at best.
Luke was doing improvised deadlifts with a metal anvil when he felt the aether thicken in the surrounding air. He was pushing himself so hard that he was feeling lightheaded, and almost missed the notification.
[+1 Strength Cultivated.]
When the forge stopped spinning Luke saw a shadow standing over him. Fortunately, it was just Rurik.
“It’s impressive that you figured out how to cultivate by yourself. You’re a natural, son. Granted, the city is still dense with aether from the deep reaches of the Veil.” Rurik said.
“I don’t think I can claim all the credit. It’s a very similar feeling to levelling up, already know what to do,” Luke said.
He rolled to his feet and stood. The sensation of aether reinforcing his body was nothing short of euphoric. Luke took a few deep breaths and paid close attention to the changes in his body. Though his muscles screamed at him, the burst of cultivated aether gave him a second wind. Curious, he bent down and lifted the anvil one last time. It wasn’t trivial, but it was noticeably easier. I could get used to this feeling, Luke grinned.
Much like his previous attribute gains, the initial boost pushed beyond his limits, before settling down to a new normal. Luke put the anvil down gently, lest he drop the anvil and incur the wrath of the forgemaster.
“Rurik, you mentioned a saraman framework of cultivation. Does that mean other frameworks use different attributes?”
“It’s called the Saurian School, son. Be careful you don’t offend any Saurians. They take their personal honour very seriously. As far as attributes go, there are myriad ways of conceptualising the self, even when psions use the same framework,” Rurik said.
“What do you mean?” Luke asked.
“Exactly what I said, son. Look at your strength attribute. Your muscles grew just now because you seem to believe that your size is intrinsically linked to how strong you are.”
“I see,” Luke said. He did not see. “So how do concepts like [Fire] fit in?” He asked.
“Well, aether comes in all shapes and sizes. Concepts are how the soul shapes the aethersea. They’re ideas given form by trillions of minds. Every time you think of a flame, you add to the concept of fire. A cultivator weaves the aspected aether into their soul,” Rurik said. As he spoke he absently swirled fire around his fingertips.
“Their soul?” Luke asked. The immediate surge of power from his cultivation was wearing off, and with it his muscles had begun to protest their harsh treatment. He began carefully stretching them out.
“You know, the core of your being. The concept of you. It's the part of you that connects to the aether and defines you.” Rurik patiently explained.
Rather than sound like an idiot by opening his mouth, Luke stopped talking. The more the aspect said, the less he understood. Despite everything, it all sounded like superstitious mumbo jumbo to him. Nonetheless, if he entertained the possibility that his soul was real, then he needed to fix it.
“The system said that if my affinity with [Undeath] reached gold rank then I would become an undead, is that normal?”
“Yes, son. That’s one way it happens,” Rurik said with a hint of sadness in his voice.
“How do I get rid of it?” Luke asked.
“With difficulty. I hope you aren’t averse to a bit of pain.”
“Well not exactly, but…” Luke mumbled.
“Good. I was a bit tempted to immolate you when I first saw you, but I’m glad I held off. It would make me sad to put you down, son,” Rurik said nonchalantly. Not that Luke needed another reason, but he certainly didn’t want to get on Rurik’s bad side. Luke squared his shoulders to face the dwarf and hid the apprehension skittering down his spine.
“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t want that. So, how do we - I mean I, do this?”
“Removing a concept that you’ve already started to imprint is like cutting out a growing cancer. First you have to identify it, then you have to cut deep enough to get it all out. It’s a lot easier when you are replacing it with a concept that thematically opposes, or dilutes it. [Life], trees and the like. Might I suggest [Fire]?”
A little while later, Luke sat by the furnace. He was at the limit for how many concepts his mortal soul could support, but getting rid of [Undeath] would open up a slot. [Fire] wasn’t a bad choice to fill the gap, but even a blind man could see that Rurik was biased. Luke had to consider his long-term plans.
What concepts he cultivated would not only pave his way to power, but would shape him in turn. It was apparently normal and even required for psions to align themselves with their concepts. This was why [Fire] cultivators tended to have short tempers, and why his [Murderhobo] concept might be problematic going forwards.
Luke exhaled. If he wanted this to work, he had to focus. With his legs crossed he sat in a lotus position, trying to imitate Chrissy’s yoga pose from memory. The first step psions took before doing any work on their soul was to essentially meditate. He wouldn’t be able to even perceive his own soul unless he could quiet his mind and let the feelings of his body fade away.
Luke inhaled. He found that focusing on his breathing helped to tune out his mind, but made him hyper aware of his body. It was incredibly difficult to empty his mind of everything and think of nothing at all. Yet, his increased [Wisdom] made it easier to focus. After a few minutes, Luke felt like he was on the verge of something.
Eventually, everything else faded, and Luke could sense what he figured must be his soul. The best way he could think to describe it was as a misshapen ball of knots. It was tangled, disordered, and pulsed unevenly.
On the outskirts of his soul, Luke could just barely discern some of the disorganised threads stuck out from the rest. Much like when he felt the domains contained within an aura, these threads had distinct flavours that separated them out from the rest. Luke ignored the unyielding [Bulwark] and went past the angry red [Murderhobo], until he located [Undeath]. Cold, dark, and corrosive, the necrotic essence was like a worm that rotted away everything around it.
Luke exhaled. With a mental grasp as firm as his resolve, he reached towards the cold tendrils of [Undeath]. The initial touch was like plunging his hand into ice. It took him a few seconds to get used to it.
He tugged at the thread, to unravel it from the dense and chaotic weave of his soul. Each pull felt like there were needles being dragged over his brain. It wasn’t just a physical pain, but went deeper than that. All he could do though was grit his teeth and fight through it.
Despite the pain, Luke’s [Will] was strong. Through the agony he persevered, fuelled by the necessity of the task. He thought of the undead rats and zombies he had killed, mindlessly consumed by a hunger to feed on the living. Then he remembered the cold cruelty he had felt in the ghoul’s aura pressing down on him.
Luke refused to become a monster. The necrotic essence resisted, clinging to his soul like a leech, and digging its teeth in harder the more Luke pulled.
Beads of sweat formed on Luke’s brow. The pain made it difficult to remain focused on his soul, and after removing only a small part of the concept he had to stop. When he looked down at his body, he saw several small black wounds leaking black ichor had appeared on the backs and palms of his hands. He checked his system interface.
Concepts:
Undead (Copper, 40%): +1 Endurance, 15% necrotic resistance.
All of that pain and effort had reduced his attunement by a measly nine percent. He would have to repeat the process four times every time he ate the shambler meat just to keep it steady. The soul surgery and early morning work out left him feeling famished. He needed to eat, and the rubbery meat would have to be a last resort.
When he opened up the marketplace Luke was pleased to see that it had filled out while he slept. There were well over a thousand listings. With the glut of items on offer, Luke had to fiddle around with the settings to arrive at something more manageable.
When he filtered by categories Luke found more food had been listed under ‘Cultivation Resources’. It was an odd collection of consumables. Much of the list was made up of pills and potions such as a [Deepsea Draught], and several [Pills of Cultivation], in different rarities. Some items came as scrolls, books, crystals and talismans.
Luke was only interested in the food and drink on offer. Some of the offerings, like [Nightshade Tea], didn’t sound very appealing, but Luke was very interested in buying a [Mammoth Steak], or [Raptor Wings]. Often when one seller listed multiple items they had a similar theme. For example, that Jonas guy seemed to farm his loot in some kind of garden paradise.
Gazing upon the array of treasures for sale, and the large sums of credits to be earned, made him envious. Now that he was more acquainted with his soul, he recognised the influence of his [Murderhobo] domain. It was hungry.
Let’s flood the market.
