(I) City

, Weave Tabloid

29 (I)

City

The was a disgusting book. Vile on so many levels. It was a document of torture and agony inflicted directly into the minds of its readers. And Shiv absolutely loved it. It was everything mentioned above, but also extremely educational, mainly because the elderly vampire he had learned was called Sculptor Ekkihurst was so detailed and meticulous in his teachings.

As Shiv jumped from body to body, experiencing death time and time again, he learned the finer nuances of the circulatory system first. What followed was the importance of the heart, the general layout of blood vessels, and how veins and arteries both mattered for specific reasons. He also learned about vampirism.

One of the vampire students opened their chest casually, cutting themselves open and exposing their heart. Though the organ pumped, Sculptor Ekkihurst next opened Shiv’s heart and made a comparison.

“As you see,” the Sculptor began, “this is a pure organ. It is an organism of matter. It is essential for their vitality, but more like an anchor, a vessel. This”—he gestured to the other vampire’s exposed heart—“this is the Lineage Core. This is why we can use our bodies the way we do. We are part of a collective whole, and we are family for each other, eternally, and expand our power with our growing lines.”

Shiv blinked. Something about the vampire’s words made Shiv recall a thing Georges complained about before.

Ekkihurst continued. “It connects me to you, and especially connects you to your sire. That is why we grow stronger with every new member we bring into our fold, and why we can draw on the powers of blood even without a spell component nearby.”

A component, as Shiv realized, was flesh or blood—anything organic, really. Biomancy didn’t work without something to affect—that was the entire meaning behind the name: biology, and for manipulation. Apparently, all vampires had a small micro-dimension inside themselves, or something like that, and from there they could draw more things out of themselves, recomposing their bodies. It also connected them to their elders in ways Shiv didn’t grasp yet.

And to make matters even more peculiar, it seemed that vampire ichor was smart enough to do a lot of the work itself. The way Ekkihurst described things, it was as if the ichor flowing through their veins was intelligent, rather than their brains. “Not quite so for humans,” Ekkihurst continued to explain. He examined Shiv in detail, flaying him open over and over again, having his students kill him repeatedly, and through it all Shiv learned as well.

This was documented material specifically to enhance a vampire’s knowledge of how to manipulate and even heal their victims. For despite the way the vampires treated other people like cattle, cattle still had worth, and vampires, despite everything, abhorred waste.

For what felt like hours, Shiv experienced various modifications made to his body. Most of them ended with him dead—either suffering a brutal stroke, his heart popping, or his veins simply pulling apart, leaving him internally hemorrhaging and perishing soon after. But all this allowed him insight into the nuances of his biology. His Biomancy did not grow, but his basic understanding of Practical Metabiology leapt forward by two levels—a remarkable gain from simply reading a single chapter from a book.

Practical Metabiology > 3

To Shiv’s surprise and disappointment, he made it to the end of the entire chapter and found Sculptor Ekkihurst declaring the class over. As a final “thank you” for the students in attendance, he gestured for them to indulge, “for this final subject won’t last very long anyway.” And then they descended on Shiv, and he discovered just how annoying it was to be sucked dry without learning anything.

As everything faded to black once more, Shiv expected to appear in a new body for the second chapter. However, he found himself in a cage, staring directly at Ekkihurst, who was standing on a bridge made from solidified blood. Below, there were hundreds of other cages, pitiful moaning noises escaping them, and what seemed to be wires—no, tubes filled with blood—connected to the cages. Shiv looked at his own arm and, to his fascination, found something threaded through his veins. He also noticed his hand: the prisoner he inhabited right now was atrophied and fragile. His bones were brittle, the skin was sallow, and there was some kind of infectious growth spreading along his surface.

Ekkihurst stared through the bars, observing Shiv with fascination. “You’ve done well. This is a special chapter, one where I give my personal congratulations.”

Shiv looked at the vampire in wonder. “Is it?” he asked, trying to see if he Sculptor would respond.

The vampire didn’t respond. “Don’t try to speak to me right now. This is not actually a conversation. I am not here. I wrote this book mainly to spread knowledge and expand our collective understanding of the organism. All organisms. Now, some might say my ways are macabre and brutal. I cannot disagree, but once again, my bloodline has made me a predator above all. And I see no problem with that. However, this is not about me right now. It’s about you."

Shiv nodded along, even though the vampire couldn't take note of that.

“Do you know how few people finish the first chapter without stopping? The book records that, you know. The book records a great many things. Most stop after the first death. They close the book. They turn away. Cowards. Well, no, not cowards, but you understand my point. Those who don’t have the rigor don’t have the desire. But you have something more than rigor and desire. You are interested. No, you are in love. You’re in love with Biomancy. You’re in love with the organism. Well, I thank you. I thank you for sharing my love. Despite potentially being adversaries—perhaps even if you want to kill me someday—I thank you for being in love. And I ask that you continue holding this love. For someday, we will make something truly novel.”

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Ekkihurst closed his fist, and his hand turned into flowers, then some kind of crystalline shell, then back to claws. “Look at this,” Ekkihurst said, sneering at his shifting flesh in disgust. “I can do this with Biomancy. Other vampires? They ooh and ahh. But that’s nothing. We have not made anything new. We copy each other. We move traits together. But this is like children slamming blocks together.” The elderly vampire spat off the side of the ledge on which he stood. The spit hit one of the cages below—Shiv could hear weeping. “But someday, someday, we will make something truly, truly novel. I believe it. I hope you believe it, too.”

And then the chapter ended, and Shiv found himself staring at an open page, one depicting incomprehensible scribbles scrawled in blood with a glowing spell pattern at its core. A question pulled at his mind, asking if he wanted to read the chapter again. Shiv let out a breath. Though he was curious, he decided to stop for a while and potentially ask another Biomancer—a proper Master. Everything he learned, everything he did, would shape his next evolution. He wasn’t sure if he wanted an exact evolution tied to a vampire, and considering Shiv created very little and mostly just used his skill to harm, he suspected that he wouldn’t be growing any novel organisms. More likely, he would get something that would allow him to injure or destroy organic tissue.

Shiv thought,

Just then, he felt slender arms wrap around his torso as Uva placed her chin on his shoulder. He gave her a smile, but she was looking at his book with both eyebrows raised. A frown etched itself onto her face. “What is that horrible thing you’re reading?” she asked.

“That’s what I said,” Adam groaned off by the side. “He’s just been staring at it for the past bloody hour, just shaking and grunting from time to time.”

“Adam,” Shiv said, sensing the Young Lord reaching for Uva’s plate with his Biomancy field, “if you touch that, I will show you what I just learned.”

“I’m hungry,” Adam complained.

“I will fix that in a moment. Don’t touch the plate. That’s for you,” Shiv said, looking at Uva, his tone turning gentle.

Her frown flattened into a smile. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“Shiv, hurry,” Adam said, his voice flat with disdain. “I need to eat something before I retch from listening to you two.”

Valor declared with vehemence. Shiv coughed. His mistake from earlier still haunted him a bit, but done was done, and he enjoyedwhat was done. Shiv closed the for now, then stowed it in his cloak.

“It’s not a bad book,” Shiv added. “There a lot of torturing and suffering and death inflicted on the reader, but…”

Uva shook her head. “It sounds like a terrible book.”

“...it’s very educational,” Shiv finished.

She sighed. “You are just…” She brushed his face. “Your mind is like a piece of metal.”

“Should I be offended?” Shiv replied.

“You should be many things right now,” Uva said, “but I’m glad you are none of them. I suppose it takes fortitude to survive being favored by fate.”

Shiv chuckled. “Yes, well, I would more describe myself as being a darling of disaster.”

“Fortunately for you”—she pecked him on the cheek—“I think I quite like disasters. And speaking of disaster”—she looked down at him, taking in his bare torso and hospital attire aside from his cloak, and at Adam, who was sitting at the kitchen table in his armor—“you two need some proper clothes. A proper wardrobe.”

“But you were so happy about my lack of clothes before,” Shiv said.

“I don’t want anyone else to be,” Uva hissed, her eyes growing dark.

Shiv felt a shiver run through him.he thought.

She rose from his body and stretched. “Come on, both of you, let’s go out.”

“Where are we going?” Adam asked, narrowing his eyes. “And are you sure that you two just don’t want to go together?”

“Oh, Adept Adam come now,” she said, chiding him as if he was a small child. “You need to be dressed, too. And with something better than”—she wrinkled her nose—“that horrible outfit you were wearing the other day.”

“Why are you judging me?” Adam snapped. “You’re the one who gave me the outfit.”

“Yes, but you decided to wear it anyway,” Uva replied. “Did I make you do that?”

“I…” Adam sputtered. “How is this my fault?”

Shiv laughed.

After an awkward encounter in the elevator—in which the small Umbral child they’d run into multiple times over the past few days pointed at Adam and asked if he was the one making all those noises all night—they departed for another section of Weave.

This time, they were going to a place colloquially called Culture Valley. It was nestled between two major residential districts and was the beginning of its own principality. There were apparently thirteen principalities in Weave, each focused on a dedicated industry or function for the city.

Thus far, Shiv had only been at the Symposium Principality, the core of everything—where important operations ran, where the government and the Composer decided on the agenda for Weave, and where Passage, the main means of transport between this dimension and the rest of Integrated Earth, was anchored.

Weave was an interesting place. The more Shiv studied its layout, the more the buildings seemed like large insects caught in a web. There were many, many people moving between places, across bridges, and massive nets served as a safety measure in case someone fell.

To his increasing surprise, he noticed a few other things. There was a higher concentration of Umbrals than Weaveresses, and there were also far more of the smaller, male weavers than Weaveresses. He'd barely seen any of those in the Symposium Principality, so he was rather surprised at that. When he asked Uva why that was, she explained that weavers were mostly relegated to the lower-importance jobs in the city and held lower social standings. As for the former point; it took a long time for the spiderfolk to reproduce—requiring a gestation period within a final host body after they’d finished being feral larvae, otherwise they would be born feral. It had resulted in a demographic problem: not enough people were dying anymore. With the city’s advancements and more people reaching Adept Tier for Physicality early in life, deaths by natural causes or disease had flattened substantially.

Shiv could see why that was a problem, so he started to speak, then stopped himself.

“Yes, it’s about how it sounds,” Uva said. “The Composer did not choose her form exactly. She has always been honest about this. However, she is not a cruel goddess, and she does not want to force the breeding on anyone.”

Uva fell silent. “Thus, we have a demographic issue. Projections show far more feral weavers in the next few years, and not that many Weaveresses or non-feral weavers.”

“What about feral Weaveresses?” Shiv asked.

“If you become feral, you don’t become a Weaveress. Their biology doesn’t express itself that way.”

They landed in Culture Valley a short while later, and Shiv found himself walking down a thoroughfare filled with musicians, hawkers, advertisers, swindlers, people peddling wares, and more. Once again, every day down here felt like the Festival of the Eclipse back on Blackedge. But to the people, it seemed like they were going about their everyday lives.

“So much noise,” Shiv said. He managed to keep his hands from shaking this time, but then he noticed something about Adam. The Young Lord was practically flinching every few seconds—Shiv realized.

“You all right?” Shiv asked Adam.

The Young Lord clenched his teeth. “I’ve been to the capital. I’ve endured that. I can endure this.”

Despite his words, Shiv’s Psychomancy picked up an imprint of strain, stress, and also strength. Adam Arrow could be sour, could be mean, could be a grudge-bearer, but Adam Arrow was a Pathbearer, and he had pride in himself—a positive pride in being noble and decent.

Shiv thought.