The Mook Maker

It was quite a rough awakening. 

 

Not the usual kind. 

 

Typically, bad mornings involved splitting headaches, mild memory loss about the night spent drinking, dizziness, upset stomach, or perhaps just crippling tiredness from the lack of sleep if alcohol wasn’t involved, paired with the inability to focus, and the struggle to go on with your mundane day. 

 

None of it was the case here. 

 

Physically, I felt perfectly fine.

 

Better than fine, in fact - I was rested, fully invigorated. My mind was sharp, my attention focused, without a single gap in my recollection of the events that just transpired, without the need to put together the pieces of the puzzle by awkwardly questioning others. 

 

Yet, there was another, unsettling sensation - a missing time. 

 

Except, perhaps ironically enough, it wasn’t the memories that went missing.

 

It was my sense of self.

 

I could recall everything that had transpired in crystal clarity without much issue, but for one small, nibbling part absent - the continuity of the consciousness, a self-awareness of sorts. For a short time, my life had turned into a movie or a wicked dream I had no control over, yet was able to recall with perfect precision. 

 

Maybe, I thought, an actual amnesia would be preferable to my current state. 

 

I found out the hard way that the devastating sense of loss that had gripped me every time the ‘sealing’ severed the unseen yet omnipresent connection between me and my girls had a ‘positive’ equivalent that would seize my mind with the equivalent force.

 

Perhaps ‘positive’ was an overstatement, though.

 

I had little to no idea what the power behind the system, the networked minds and the lives of my people was, or how it worked, but it had instincts of its own embedded within, and I was a subject of its whims, willing or not.

 

The one I experienced a few hours ago could be described, for the lack of better words, as a… feeding frenzy.

 

The uncontrollable drive to expand and exterminate, to devour anything in our path, in order to make more of our kind in the process, to add more minds into our collective, to make them sing the beautiful song of harmony together.

 

Exterminate. Consume. Multiply. 

 

In that single moment, there was no sense of ‘me’ - for the short moment there was only ‘us’. 

 

Whether it was a tragic side effect of Narita’s evolved power sent to overdrive, an inevitable result of our force crashing with the equally numerous enemies allowing my monsters to thrive on the hunt, or perhaps even a horrible calculation error produced by the unreliable system, I didn’t know, but one thing was certain - it was overwhelming. 

 

The most harrowing part of the process was the fact it wasn’t accompanied by any true loss of control - most of my people remained acutely aware of their surroundings, and able to perform the complex tasks, capable of carrying out the assault with precision -  it was an overwhelming if somewhat, temporary loss of myself.

 

A sensation itself, though very complicated due to the sheer number of minds involved in the process, meant a very simple, though thoroughly aggressive action as a result. 

 

The system, thriving on constant violence, and the consensus of the thousand minds singing in unison resulted in the simple, concentrated aggression towards the predetermined target - the humans in the fortress. 

 

Deep down I wanted to shift the blame, to say I didn’t have any involvement in this and was controlled by outside forces, but I didn’t. 

 

It was I who designated the castle as the target, and I could have stopped the attack.

 

The power had as much control over me as I had over it, but the idea of the numbers going up was too intoxicating at the moment, and I was drunk on it. 

 

In retrospect, it was horrendous. 

 

Even if the world would be more beautiful by creating more of our kind, was it worth all the killing? 

 

The regrets, the pricks of conscience, came back, eventually, once I regained the sense of myself from the trance of being ‘us’.

 

Still, despite everything that had happened, I couldn’t find the strength to blame my monsters, my adorable girls, for all the destruction and death they had caused. They were part of me as much as I was part of them, and if there was anyone to blame, it was myself. 

 

I hugged Narita, Miwah, Tama, and many others, and meant it every single time - they were precious, they were beautiful, and they were mine.  I loved all of them - they were my world and I was theirs, joined together without enmity, without jealousy or discord. 

 

The connection between us seeped deep within my brain, integrating one with another. 

 

None of it saved me from feeling guilty. 

 

None of it made me less culpable for my actions. 

 

I stood at the walls of the castle facing the river, and the fields on the other side which separated us from the city limits proper with its own set of walls surrounding it. 

 

My girls hadn’t advanced towards the main population centre yet, carrying on the original plan that involved us taking over the castle, the main bridge, and then fortifying the eastern riverbank under our control. 

 

They didn’t go berserk. 

 

As I still struggled with myself, they were securing the position, with the vines creeping over the half-ruined bridge to reconnect to the other shore, allowing us to send the defenders home now the fight was over. 

 

There was only one flaw in that plan - there were very few humans left to release. 

 

I waited for my girls to count the bodies.

 

For the first time, I wanted to know how many human lives my lapse cost.

 

Looking down the castle’s walls, to the wild river running beneath, the thought of throwing myself down to the depths had crossed my mind, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it - my girls deserved to live, and I was part of them as much as they were part of me.

 

A small ‘Displacer’ decided to cling to my leg for some reason too. I didn’t know why, 

 

My mind was busy with other things. Like blaming myself. 

 

Still, I remained at the castle walls, my hands resting on the merlons, even if it seriously challenged my phobia of heights, pushing my brain to form the best, most effective plan for how to prevent another ‘feeding frenzy’ without the need to sacrifice ourselves to our own enemies. 

 

I couldn’t think of one. 

 

In fact, the soldiers that once occupied the castle had proven that the negotiation with the humans would remain a serious challenge even if their leadership was convinced to stop the fighting. It doomed us to the endless cycle of violence, despite attempts to counter the native’s belligerent nature or victories that felt pyrrhic at best due to the cost I would have to pay in my sense of self. 

 

Our growing numbers were as much the solution as they were the cause of the problem.

With great power came great insanity, and with that insanity came even greater power. 

 

However, I wasn’t after power - I was after control, I decided. 

 

I needed to work to prevent another ‘feeding frenzy’ which turned the humans into fodder for the fog that created my girls. 

 

Maybe, that was why it was red, a not-so-subtle reminder of what made it work. 

 

“Overview.” I subvocalized, and the system, or power, or whatever madness fuelled it, reacted with the imagined eagerness to show me the potential of destruction it could wield. 

 

Perhaps I should fear the numbers. 

 

I never thought of it before this way, even when I was afraid of the monsters I now clung to. 

 

The Horde was, always, hungry. 

We had grown again - the ‘overview’ had confirmed what didn’t need confirming. 

 

Unlike the ‘Eviscerators’ and ‘Purifiers’ which only participated in the initial stage of fighting, the ‘Defilers’ population had skyrocketed, reaching its arbitrary upper limit as a result of the battle. 

 

Despite the fact that they were far from being the most numerous breed among our ever-growing horde, they were the ones who experienced the most drastic growth due to the sheer quantity of opponents slaughtered rather than their quality. 

 

As potent  -- and dangerous -- as the local ‘elites’ were, none of them participated in this encounter.  

 

Fifty levels, several hundred individuals, were all born from the blood spilt, or rather the life force of countless ordinary human soldiers drained in an instant. 

 

The treacherous part of me suggested it was for the best that the number of ‘Defilers’ grew, that they were a cute, lovely, and importantly a crucial part of the moving ecosystem, providing both substance and healing to my other companions.

 

I couldn’t shake off the guilt weighing my heart down.

 

Seeing the numbers brought up an endless sadness once more, I had to dismiss the screen.

 

So many human lives were extinguished, their very essence harvested by ‘Defilers’ - or perhaps even Narita herself - in an instant, in a single burst of magic. 

 

I didn’t know what I should think of it anymore - and I opted not to think about it at all, even if it took repeated “don’t think” mental reminders to do it. 

 

It didn’t help - I was still feeling miserable. 

 

“Master?” Tama whispered to my ear, beckoning me with her muzzle

 

“Did the Viceroy survive? Or the scribe… a sage, whatever was his name.” I asked, welcoming Tama’s assuring presence.

 

“All the work and no play, Master?” She crooned, her voice full of concern. Like many of her sisters, she didn’t feel any meaningful empathy towards the humans but showed quite a lot of concern towards me.

 

Miwah didn’t let herself stay behind, and joined me on my other side, as she wanted to physically convey she wouldn’t let me fall - whether it be down the walls, or to the depths of my own distressed psyche. 

 

I gave out a pained sigh, bringing my gaze towards the horizon.

 

“All the work and no play,” I responded in a murmur, forcing my gaze to the skies above, as if  inspiration was to be found in the cloudy skies above, still overcast from the morning rain. 

 

The voices were absent - or at least, unnoticeable, lurking, patiently waiting to be let in once again. 

 

I was afraid to do so.  The strength of the temptation to succumb terrified me as much as what would surely follow.

 

“We will need them. They, and all the friendly humans we have left, or it will turn into … this again.” I replied. I wanted to gesture to the castle’s main keep behind us -- and the organised chaos there, with a thousand of my girls milling about to make the fortress our home, twisted to our image -- but both my arms were captive to the embrace of my concerned girls. 

 

This was, quite literally, a prize we had to kill for. 

 

I didn’t look back, my gaze still fixated on the unseen distances beyond the city, forcing my mind to calculate the best, least violent path forward.

 

For all the guilt I felt, I just couldn’t let our journey end here. 

 

I had to persevere, for my menagerie, for my girls, to give them a safe place to dwell within and a future they could look forward to, one that wasn’t stained by blood and the constant, never-ending, cycle of violence. 

 

They deserved it, to be happy and safe, for all their dedication to protect me from this senseless madness. 

 

As deplorable the killing humans felt, and I swore myself to avoid such a slaughter ever again, letting my girls perish was equally unacceptable. 

 

If only there was a path which would allow me to stow away the madness, and avoid the war, but nevertheless allow my creatures to thrive. 

 

Miwah and Tama sandwiched me between them, and I didn’t struggle. Of course, the single ‘Displacer’ designed to keep close in all circumstances didn’t let go either. 

 

“Ari is unharmed, Master,” Arke suddenly added, the bat girl resting atop the wall, “Our improvements do work on her perfectly. One hundred and nine humans have been rehabilitated. Hard to control at the same time, but we can make so many improvements!” 

 

‘Rehabilitated’ was a strange choice of words for the puppeteered, and thus permanently enthralled humans, and it was the first time the word had been used, but I left Arke at that, letting her choose their vocabulary. 

 

She was her own person, after all. 

 

“Oh, Master! Maybe I should give Ari claws so she can protect herself, or perhaps a fuse of thin layers of carapace under her skin. Or maybe give her eyes like ours so she can see in the dark…” Arke continued to muse excitedly about the possible improvements to our only friendly human, or to the local ecosystem in general. 

 

She went on a tangent about whether the horses were better to be used as food by increasing their body mass, or whether they could be modified to scale walls as mounts for our ‘Defilers’. Living armour was also mentioned. 

 

Arke was clearly inspired by the infusion of energy, eager and impatient to release her own creativity through twisting flesh, bone and blood to her whims and wishes. 

 

If her current outfit was any indicator, or the look of the first few ‘puppets’, she and her sisters were perfectly capable of making their ideas into a reality through magic perhaps more sinister than the draining spell that swept the fort’s human defenders. 

 

“We need to focus on keeping the human survivors if there are any. One that wasn’t puppeteered already.” I pressed in the desperate hope to redeem myself by saving at least a few unfortunate souls who didn’t fall to the blast if there were any.

 

“Yes, Master! There are twenty-three humans who came with the human leader, all alive and captured. There are thirty more unconscious humans in the castle, Master, we haven’t started working on yet!.” Arke continued, shifting her leathery wings impatiently. 

 

I realized I had over sixty ‘’Fleshspeakers’ and they were, as far as I could tell, unaccounted for - and all of them eager to give the laws of nature a lesson. 

 

“Do you wish to rehabilitate them, Master?” The bat girl asked, hopping atop the wall, stepping over the crenellation on the other merlon, as if it was a child's play without regard for the height. 

 

Though falling was unlikely to be an issue, as Arke could fly, I found my stomach churning at the idea of the fall and made me stop considering anything regarding the drop from this height at the moment. 

 

“No. Not now.” I decided, “Imprison them, unaffected.” 

 

A pause - while I didn’t comprehend even the basics of the local culture, let alone its deeper intricacies, it was apparent that whatever brought us here was caused by some discord among the natives, a mutiny conceivably. 

 

Now, as my own sense of humanity fled me, I was torn between the frantic attempts to keep some resemblance of my identity, and the threat of the internal inkling and drives previously unknown.

 

The peace treaty with the natives was, ultimately, the last thin thread that held that together, and I decided to cling to it.

 

“Keep the loyalists and the rebels separate. Whoever went with the lord was obviously in favour of peace with us.” I said, guessing loudly, “What happened to the … Viceroy?” 

 

The division among the humans was more than a convenience to exploit - to me, it was a  chance to find a reason, a justification, for this nightmare, an excuse for the battles fought and people killed. 

 

The voice from behind interrupted my thoughts.

 

“The Viceroy is unconscious. Master. The Sage is. However. Awake.” Narita said, her voice practically melodic despite her speech filled with unusual pauses. I looked over my shoulder at her, then extracted myself from Miwah’s and Tama’s furry embrace. 

 

While Narita didn’t look bad before, she was positively brimming with energy right now. Her horns added to her majesty, though very untypical for the anthropomorphic rat. I wanted to hug her. 

 

Narita was one of my closest companions.

 

The guilt, and the responsibility, belonged to me as well, as for the good or bad, my girls and I were bonded together in more ways than one. 

 

While standing true to my word and allowing the Viceroy and his surviving men to leave, with the content of the treasury nevertheless, would allow me to ease my conscience at least a little bit, there was another option, considerably more valuable than all that silver and gold I was willing to give away - knowledge which could mean salvation.

“Bring him in then. We keep the Viceroy and his men healthy, I want to release them as promised during the negotiation.” I said, and briskly added, “Don’t use the portals on humans, except for Ari, or the puppets!” 

 

“Yes-yes, Master.” My rat-girl replied, casting her gaze towards some unspecified point in the distance as she mentally commanded her sisters to execute the orders. 

 

Though I remained largely ignorant to the mechanics of sorcery, divine forces behind the magically inclined clergy, or even my own, aggressively expanding power, I was reasonably certain of one thing - the ‘scroll’ was somehow crucial to this entire conflict and to our own future. 

 

Whatever it was, wherever it was right now, it has been intimately related to the force behind the weird, nearly malfunctioning system, and the infinite crimson fog that gave my people life. 

 

Some form of a magical artefact, or perhaps a spell-book in more antiquated form, or a device powered by mystical forces.

 

Who knew? 

 

I could only guess. 

 

Although undoubtedly magical themselves, none of my girls were familiar with the humans’ sorcery, whether it was meant to be arcane, profane or hallowed, or whatever word the natives used for the forces that gave us so much trouble.

 

“Did we find the priestess?” I asked, 

 

“She is dead, Master. We found the body, killed before our assault, she will plague you no more.” Miwah said in a soft tone

 

Only her wards would, I wanted to say, but remained silent. 

 

There wasn’t any other casualty to the odd trap symbols since Narita’s spell stripped the fortress of its living defenders, and maybe even its magic. I didn’t know. My companion's power had grown substantially, that much was certain.

 

Still, with the enemy’s priestess dead, there was only one person who could enlighten us on the inner workings of the local magic and mysticism - the Sage. I couldn’t remember the man’s name, even if I was certain he introduced himself, but he was an advisor to the local lord.

 

He must be knowledgeable. 

 

It was his job, I guessed. 

 

Perhaps the priestesses would be a better source of intel, but considering their fanatical enmity towards us I doubted they would cooperate, be it under duress or willingly.

So, I was left with the old man ranting about the scrolls. 

 

Scrolls holding some nebulous, hidden connection to the system, were a key to this.

 

Now our position had been relatively secured, I decided to focus on obtaining some information about the forces that had triggered the events leading to this tragedy, hoping it would provide at least a sense of control.

 

Control over the force that threatened to take my identity. 

 

My brain toiled to catalogue every mention of the parchments, the scrolls, all the instances where I heard of them, and I found out, that I knew nothing - the old man I once took for a scribe, and was, in fact, the advisor, mentioned those, as did the cryptic messages generated by the whimsical and purposefully obtuse system, but that was all. 

 

They were, however, connected, I knew it - and I had a reason to believe that if the scroll could trigger the expansion among our forces, it could enforce some resemblance of control, and allow me to suppress undesired elements like the ‘feeding frenzy’.

 

It was poorly named, I thought.

 

My introspection was interrupted not by Narita, leading the Sage in, but by Helmy.

 

The fiery vixen, keeping the perfect, professional appearance, with her armour and helmet tugged under the shoulder, announced: 

 

“Master. We counted the bodies. At least seven hundred and fifty humans had been killed, not counting one burned collapsed tower!” She said boldly.

 

It was a lot. Humans were fighting each other even before we arrived, as far as I was concerned, so there was no telling how much of the local population had been already conscripted, and how much above the normal peacetime occupancy the fort was.

 

We might have dealt a crippling blow to the local population, even. 

 

This was a disaster. 

 

My ‘Purifier Alpha’ was filled with pride, I could feel the craving in her voice, and somehow, in her mind, her desire to be praised for the victory we achieved. 

 

I was, nevertheless, aghast, for the first time hearing the body count.

 

“We put down four humans at South Maiville, there will be no more disobedience in Fleshspeaker's absence! Three more have been killed in the northern settlement after attacking our sister, Master. They all burned. No human will turn against my Master!” Helmy continued, starting to cackle slightly at the mention of fire, and I could hear the ‘Purifier’ laugh somewhere in the fort. 

 

Briefly, I wanted to yell at Helmy, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. 

 

My valiant not-so-little fox, so brave, so devoted, so cute, she was just following orders, and no amount of guilt and regret could make me hate my own. 

 

I took a few steps forward to hug my vixen. She very clearly liked it. 

 

“Thank you, it was not your fault.” I said, almost whispering, “It shouldn’t have recalled all Arke’s sisters to the battle. I’ll keep you closer now, the humans would be Arke’s job.” 

 

“Yes! Master!” Helmy breathed out. Her helm dropped to the ground, she was all for the embrace. 

 

I could hear the rustle of wings of one of the ‘Fleshspeaker’ bats.

 

“Oh, Master!” Tama remarked teasingly, “Perhaps you took a special liking to my sisters.”

 

I didn’t pay attention to her comment. Ultimately, all my girls were dragged into this. 

 

As much as I wanted to stop this madness, they shouldn’t suffer for it.

 

Yet, the loss of human life was also unacceptable, a last lifeline to my own identity before I would be drowned in the emotions, thoughts and voices of others. 

 

I was itching, not for power, but for control, to overcome the ‘frenzy’, to find the delicate balance between the influences creeping inside my own mind, and to find the place within the world I never asked to visit. 

 

There was no going back. 

 

I let Helmy go a moment after, gave my foxy a kiss, and headed towards the main courtyard. 

 

All of my entourage followed me. I was still holding the hand of the ‘Dispacer’ which just refused to let me alone, and everyone seemingly agreed I should have one nearby. It was not like Tama and Miwah were keeping any meaningful distance.

 

Narita, escorting the prisoner along with the few deformed puppets, met me on the route. 

 

Instead of the courtyard, it was still on the wide section of the road, under the watchful eye of several ‘Fleshspeakers’ and even Kuma with Sora being present. It felt like an impactful moment. 

 

“Where is the scroll, Sage?” I asked the man as they pushed him closer. 

 

He was slightly surprised by the question relayed by the former humans enthralled by the ‘Fleshspeaker’ and replied something in his own tongue, while I had to wait until it was translated to me in terms I recognized. It involved Arke assuming direct control and interjecting: 

 

“He said that …” She relayed, “... the Jin stole it for you. You told him.” 

 

Did I? 

 

“Yes, but I know there is more than one scroll. I know about two. There are more, aren’t there? I want to learn about them all.” I decided. 

 

Translation once again took a while - carrying out a conversation through the zombified humans was as uncomfortable and impractical as it could get, but it was the only way. 

 

It worked. 

 

I noticed the Sage’s expression lightened as he continued to spit out words in quick succession in his native tongue, much to the dismay of Arke lurking nearby to translate. 

 

Perhaps, Ari would be even more crucial in the future. 

 

She, and the snake in her head, one I felt during the moment our minds were one. 

 

It was an unneeded tangent. I told myself to focus. 

 

“Scrolls of…” Arke struggled, “Poskar?” 

 

“Pho-us-kah!” The Sage corrected, apparently catching up to the part of the conversation despite not knowing our tongue. He rattled on a little, making me doubt he was comprehending the entire thing, but the name itself seemed to be a common ground. 

 

The conversation was interrupted by a body falling from a ledge to the ground with a muted thump, almost lost in the background commotion.  It was a dishevelled, dried husk, not merely dead, but completely dried of anything that composed the life itself.  The sage and I turned away with a shared grimace.  The interruption gave me a thought.

 

“What is the proper custom for dealing with dead bodies?” I asked, breaking from the point of the conversation. 

 

There was a brief exchange of words, in human language, carried by the puppet to the sage, but it was apparent the old man cared very little about the dead and didn’t like the interruption. 

 

“Burning is customary, Master.” I was told by Arke, once it was finally translated.

 

“Yes. Yes. Now to the matter of scrolls.” I concluded, and the Sage happily returned to explaining the matter at hand, almost as if we weren’t surrounded by the wake of the major battles. 

 

The advisor’s insensitivity was strange, but preferable, making me forget the thought that weighed my mind, allowing me to cast my mind into future matters instead. 

 

“A scrolls of Pho-us-kah, there were six hundred … and thirty-one.. of them.” Arke interpreted a level of uncertainty in her voice:  “Most of them lost. All remaining were gathered by the … rulers of this kingdom … and have them hidden in the Forbidden Library.” 

 

I breathed out, hopefully unnoticeably. 

 

This was an arbitrarily high number and a strange one at that, but it was believable - I could certainly imagine the tome six hundred pages long. 

 

“Forbidden library? Where is it?” I asked - a brief exchange followed, in an attempt to clarify.

 

“A … tunnel… chest… under the capital? Capital city. City is … three weeks of marching … a week on … horseback … with stations on the way?” It was the answer as related by Arke, full of painful and distracting pauses, but still gathering the gist of the information relatively well.

 

There was an impression of the limited vocabulary - still, the man and the monster still trying to converse. 

 

In the meantime, I considered my options. A mention of stations confused me, but then I recalled the history lesson about the old postal service relying on horses, and it required a replacement animal every so often to keep the speed. 

 

“He wants to get to the scrolls. Read. A lifelong quest? He will do anything?” My chiropteran translator, working together with the zombified human, queried for information.

 

It was too far away and took too much time - the city we had at our doorsteps wasn’t the one we were looking for. Horses feared us, and natives were fighting each other as they did fight us, and the way-stations could be abandoned by now.

 

We didn’t need them - my ‘Displacer’ tugged at my arm - but we needed time, resources, guides, and a plan which doesn’t require a mass assault and the risk of another ‘madness’.

 

I looked at Narita, she was gorgeous as always and realized attempting the same move within the borders of an even more densely populated city would be a massacre.

 

A smarter plan was required. Patient one, I didn’t have. 

 

All of it required work and time - but at least I had something to work on. 

 

I looked at the Sage.

 

“It wouldn’t be easy to fight our way to the capital city. Would you be willing to take a risk of pain and death in exchange for access to all the scrolls?” 

 

He was, shockingly, agreeable with the idea.