The 108 Chapter 38: Gene Modding

The first skill I should pick is the most obvious one, and yet I find myself hesitating. 

‘Heir Mage Predisposition [Augmentation] [Tier 3]: Cost: 1750 Requirements: possession of the previous tier.’

Augmentations change you on a fundamental level for every coming loop.

This skill makes you unnaturally talented at anything related to magery, to the level of the most talented heir of a sect dedicated to the arts.’

I can afford it. I will be working on flesh magic, therefore getting it now is a necessary long-term investment, and yet I find myself hesitating. I know what’s holding me back: pride. 

I was an amateur boxer back on Earth and I was never good at it. I was also a moderately talented cellist, good enough to make a career out of it, but I could never have played for, say, the London Symphonic Orchestra, or become a soloist. I always lacked that last spark of brilliance that separated the competent from the exceptional. In a way, flesh magic is the first true talent I’ve ever shown to the extent that Kimera was impressed. And it’s good. It’s just… not good enough. I know I already picked faint close quarter predisposition so it shouldn’t stop me, and yet, it feels a bit like giving up. Picking heir predisposition will be admitting that I’m simply not good enough, that no matter how long and hard I practice, there will be an upper ceiling I cannot break through if I am ever to challenge Lilth Serrane Kerentis in person. 

What hurts is that it’s true. I am, simply, not good enough. It’s not just my natural talents at something, but also my mindset. Someone more determined, more adapted to the loop would have died on repeat to farm qualia early on. They would have ignored the few and sacrificed the many so victory comes faster. They would have established an optimized training route regardless of whatever calamity befalls the station. I am simply not employing the loop to the best of its potential, because I can’t do it. It’s just beyond me. I am not the perfect candidate. Or so it seems to me.

So, I need to change myself, possibly at every level. What is pride for me, but a chain weighing me down? Just a shield of my ego against a judgment that doesn’t exist. No one will remember my embarrassment. No one even cares right now. I need to accept that I need to be reforged, and get on with it. Who can claim that they were given the chance of improving themselves at a fundamental level with the press of a button? I am the most privileged person in the galaxy.

Alright, let’s get it.

I see my point budget plummet from 3624 to 1874 with no regrets. Obviously, I don’t feel any difference just like last time I purchased such an upgrade. This is a space between times. I cannot practice here, just like Chronos repeatedly told me, so I can’t feel if magic comes more easily. I still feel a little fear seeping through whatever deadens emotions here. One more piece of the old Steve has been shed to be replaced by a newer, better Steve. Really, I should be glad. It might be a Ship of Theseus thing. In the end, how much of me will still be me? The question is academic. I will save this station and the planet below no matter the cost. Compared to the suffering of millions of Enderlithians and billions of other sapient beings, I’m nothing. 

Right, let me get back to reality so I can enjoy being a genius instead of wallowing in my own doubts in the domain of a mocking god.

The next upgrade for close quarter predisposition blinks in my screen, but I ignore it. It’s not urgent. I’d rather have some flexibility than a skill that eats everything I have. There is, however, something that would be useful to get, an even more obvious pick after spending almost a year hitting people with a staff technique I do not feel that comfortable with. I quickly go through the search function, eliminating candidates as I go. Staff of the Black Hole. Edgy shit. No. Path of the Endless Hands. It looks cool, but it requires a mastery of Flesh magic I don’t have yet. Also I’m not carrying a dozen staves hidden in my sleeves like some demented scarecrow, thank you very much. Staff of the Bright Dawn. Hmm? I take a look.

Third tier skill, a Purifier exclusive. Then no: I will make contact with the mysterious group eventually. I might learn it from them, or even find manuals in one of their shuttered bases even if they decide that I must be sacrificed to some distant stellar body instead of helping. I mean, it’s possible. No need to waste precious qualia on that. Path of the Red Dwarf. This one requires flaying oneself alive. Hard pass. Chains of the Nebular Wind. I check it: the weapon required is a staff and chain, a strange combination used by a people with three main limbs. Nope. Uran Commander’s Bridge Defense Technique.

My fingers freeze over the screen. I give Chronos and Morag a glance, but they are, of course, pretending to be busy mortals. At the moment, they’re checking a selection of old red wines in bottles with withered labels. The little jesters.

The unassuming name of the technique flickers in the false light of the mimicked CRT monitor. Uran. I remember. Icacalu mentioned Ura as the birth world of the Founder, his presence still felt in every crevice of the ancient station. I open the skill window. 

‘Uran Commander’s Bridge Defense Technique [Knowledge] [Tier 3]: Cost: 500 Requirements: none.’

It gets added to your soul book.

The standardized staff technique of an ancient stellar empire, this lost, flexible art suits a variety of affinities, but best matches those with an explosive strength and mobility options. It is equally good at handling large groups and fighting in duels, offering comprehensive options for a wide variety of tactical situations.’

Lost art. This is it: the kind of stuff that cannot be acquired via a mentor. And explosive strength and mobility? That’s for me. I’m not going to get scammed, though. It’s not because something is lost that it’s good. If only there was a way to…

“I don’t suppose I could get the machine to show me what a style looks like before I purchase it, is there?” I ask the two idiots.

“But of course, there is!” Chronos replies. “You must only ask.”

“You…”

I bite back an insult.

“You could have mentioned it before I purchased Demetrion’s soul magic, only to sit on it for like, five loops.”

“But then you would have only seen how effective it can be, not the efforts required to master it,” Chronos idly notes. “Not to mention, learning the technique was never your priority. Have you perhaps considered that it takes serious dedication to master a rare art? Of exclusive focus? Back in my days, monks used to wake up at dawn just to perfect that one flawless kick.”

“You’re the God of Time. Every day’s back in your day,” I grumble.

“And every day has people focusing their entire existence on the mastery of one skill while you gallivant around the station, seducing researchers. Or do you believe those sect masters study their art an hour after lunch every day before they play Bridge?”

He smiles with disturbing kindness.

“I do not blame you, my champion, but you can only gain something worthwhile if you spend time on it!”

“Yes yes, you’re right,” I grumble.

Bastard has a point. Anyway, time to check what this Uran style is all about. The way I see it, I don’t technically need a new staff style right away, but since I keep practicing and it will be relevant for a long time, might as well study a style that fits me more. I press a few keys and watch grainy footage.

A bearded man stands in a strange, layered uniform facing an elaborate gate that wouldn’t look out of place in an ancient mausoleum, but I soon recognize that this is crystal, not stone, and we’re inside of a spaceship. Despite the ‘bridge’ term, the battlefield appears to be a corridor leading up to an airlock. The bearded man looks bored at first, but it was only focus. Something cuts through the edge of the ‘gate’ and he’s already moving.

His enemies wear suits that look halfway between armor and diving suits. They rush in after the flying frisbee of the gate. The bearded man dives under the projectile then thrusts forward with his entire body. The staff he wields looks like a tool used for something else used as an improvised weapon. The overly elaborate tool hits the lead boarded, cracking the helmet and sending him careening through the ranks of those who follow but they adroitly dodge without interrupting their charge. What follows is a masterclass in range management and positioning. It’s clear that those are all either third or fourth awakening at the absolute summit of their art, elite fighters who would leave even Osiru in the dust. For some reason, they’re not using mana abilities in this fight — maybe to keep the ship intact? Even with the combat slowed so I can follow, I get to appreciate how versatile and direct the style is. There is a bit of flair in the Ape’s style as a way to distract the opponent. The Uran Bridge Defense technique does have feints but they’re minimal, mostly ways to reposition. Sometimes powerful with wide gestures, sometimes a hurricane of short form strikes, the technique remains surprisingly, well, humble. There are no moments that make me impressed yet the bearded warrior consistently rids the corridor of his enemies before the recording stops.

Alright. Yes, this is it: no flourish, no trickery, use of overwhelming strength when possible which will match my flesh affinity well. This is what I want. It does everything and it stays down-to-earth, just the way I like it.

After that I still force myself to watch a few other styles just to make sure I’m not biased by how cool the wielder was. The Red Dwarf style is especially impressive, but I remain convinced that the Uran style is the one that matches my personality the most. Also I don’t want to flay myself. Which makes me glare a bit at Chronos who, as always, ignores me. Is it a coincidence that the style that calls to me belongs to the Founder’s long lost faction? Something I only found out because I talked to Icacalu?

Surely yes. It has to be a coincidence. And it doesn’t matter in the grand scale of things.

I look up to Chronos, who winks. Definitely a coincidence.

“Anything else?” he asks me.

I realize I’ve been standing before the skill machine. With one last sigh, I select the skill and watch my points plummet. A manual is added to my soul book. 1374 points left. Very expensive. Ah well. It’s a lost art.

“I think I’m ready.”

“Have fun!” Chronos replies before snapping his fingers.

Still not my flat.

I take a deep breath to push back the storm of emotions rising inside me. It’s back to the Garden for a war form, and then we’ll start chipping at this Everest of fuckery that is the bomb plot. It’s been years and I’m still only getting started, dammit.

***

Antea sits across her large desk, fingers intertwined. In the earlier loops she would use a matronly and intimidating approach, being the dark eminence of an ancient and powerful guild, but she has long since elected to use a more familiar persona. Right now, her loose black cowl only makes her austere appearance more out-of-place in her tastefully decorated office. She looks concerned, perhaps even a little queasy which I can understand. I am now starting the loop by contacting her directly since I have a way to get recognized, a more efficient method than going through the less influential Kimera. 

“Was the suite to your satisfaction?” she asks rather curtly.

“Yes?”

She’s stalling.

“But I assume you didn’t bring me here for small talk?” I finish, feeling a bit rude.

“It is… much to accept,” she says after a short while.

“I understand. Take your time.”

She gives me an unamused look and suddenly I’m thirteen and I farted in math class. Her manicured hand rests on the notebook.

“Having gone over my notes, there are… three things I would like to go over. First, you mentioned that you failed to update the book in previous, shall we say, more experimental loops?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“I propose more regular updates. I am aware that the very notion of ‘saving time’ must sound absurd.”

“No,” I interrupt. “I have to watch it all happen, and I am not having a pleasant time. I would rather reach a state where we avert the bombing as soon as possible.”

I hesitate.

“I think… the repeated catastrophes are changing the way I think and not in a good way. I can still change. I would rather not do so in a way that makes me…”

I pause again.

“Broken?” Antea suggests.

“Colder. Jaded, maybe.”

“I understand, or rather, I can appreciate your circumstances. As I said, I’ll set up more regular meetings so we can update our notes with more reliability, which leads me to my second point.”

She rests her head upon her fists, in a display of weakness I wasn’t expecting from a grandmaster of the guild.

“We’re reaching the limits of this method’s benefits,” she declares without preamble. “I imagine I didn’t have the time to inform you in a previous loop. Krane and I have conducted a few tests and come to a rather pleasing, if inconvenient, realization.”

“What is it?” I ask after a delay.

“The year is not set in stone.”

I frown as she explains.

“While most large-scale events remain the same with tiny variations, battle decisions and the like often differ by margins that, while not significant in the course of the war, prevent us from fine-tuning our response to Transformation at the finest level. Simply put, actors will take slightly different decisions loop after loop, and while those changes remain minor, they make long-term accurate predictions… difficult. We did not realiza it at first due to the high number of introduced variables every loop, but now we have come to realize that the exact same input appear to lead to slightly different outcomes. Some sectors we deemed lost have been saved, and some that were meant to hold, fell. It’s possible that the change is simply due to the fact that we act slightly differently, but General Krane and I are of the opinion that people simply take slightly different decisions each time. As I mentioned, we have reached the limits of the usefulness of our methodology. We simply cannot change the course of the war any more than this without a major paradigm shift. And that is before we even consider Kerentis’ increasingly fast response. Only the more significant events can be truly relied upon. We need to find another way.”

I need to stop her here, because the implication forces me to take a few moments. If what she says is correct, then there is a limit to how precise I can be if I want to achieve some sort  of perfect ending.

On one hand, the implication is a huge relief. It would confirm that free will is a thing, that we have an opportunity to change our fate by making decisions. It doesn’t matter that it’s only for minor elements: the Year of Judgment is subject to so many plans on Enderlith, that I don’t believe a single actor could predict what an absolute dog’s dinner this turns into. So there is no real predestination, which is… good. On a conceptual level, I think. The problem is that I can only refine a plan so much before people start doing people things. And the most important part is, the beginning of the year should always be the same, but the longer the time spent is from the fixed point of origin, the more variations there should be. It hasn’t been relevant yet, but it will be.

“So,” I ask after a little while, “what now? Find another angle?”

“Right now, we’re looking into recruiting more people. If we cannot exert deeper control, we should broaden our reach. Obviously, Krane and I will need several loops to identify, vet, and recruit potential allies, but I do believe it will be worth it in the end. We might end up with enough people to make a real difference.”

“I see.”

“The problem we have is that… I believe you can tell what difficulties we face.”

“Other avatars will have agents. Those agents will allow themselves to be recruited loop after loop…” I begin.

Antea nods.

“Not just agents. Even the avatars themselves remain mysteries.”

She returns her crimson eyes to me.

“You must not help us with this. Your time is better spent making progress.”

“No complaints on my end,” I reply. “I’ve tried recruitment before and… yeah. Krane was right. I need to prioritize getting stronger,” I admit.

Although I maintain that meeting Mars made the short Law loop worthwhile. Ah, whatever.

“Good. This nicely ties me into my third and final point,” Antea says.

She leans back in her seat, considering me in silence for some time. With her posture relaxed like this, I can almost see the woman behind the public persona. Antea wasn’t always that authoritative matron ruling over the guild’s entire research department. But then the impression is gone and I’m dealing with a Grandmaster Fleshcrafter again.

“There is a limit to what Kimera can teach you, one you will soon reach.”

I hold back on my anger.

“Not trying to poach me, are you? Kimera said it would happen.”

“Not poach you, well, not in the way you think.”

She leans to the side, eyes calculating. There is something predatory in the way her fingers curl and uncurl.

“What you have with our little star researcher is precious. I have no intention of standing between the two of you or the bond you share. I do believe I expressed my pleasure at seeing her… unwind a little, hm?”

I concede the point with a nod.

“But the truth remains that Kimera is a researcher first and foremost. Her focus is…”

Antea pauses. Her gaze grows cold.

“Her focus will be gene plagues, though she hasn’t realized it yet. Most of our wide-dispersion cures are scaled down pandemics. Although those have their use, they are not a solution you can easily employ.”

“I’m guessing Transformation’s soldiers are immune to it.”

“They’re not,” Antea replies, stone cold. “But there are no plagues that would kill them that also leaves our own side intact.”

I need a moment to digest that. The guild has a plague that could harm the Tree of Everything? Well, not kill it, I think, but kill its drones? That’s kind of impressive.

“There is a reason why we never had to deploy them against a human opponent. The sects and other factions know we have it, and that is enough.”

“But you don’t use them when Kerentis attacks you.”

“It would not save us,” Antea replies with a shrug. “So I advocate against using it. Gene plagues would not save us in the loop; it would only increase the suffering of everyone present until you die. You are also getting sidetracked, initiate.”

“Sorry.”

She shakes her head. 

“Perhaps her influence over you is a little too strong. As I said, you can live with her, love her, I do not mind nor is it my prerogative to stop you. What you need to consider is your objective. If you wish to master the War Form, you will need support from someone with…”

The room doesn’t darken so much as the light is now blocked by a monstrous form, an inflated column of tendrils and claws like a hydra, then a titan, then a lithe form all in angles and hooks. Only Antea’s face remains unchanging as she lowers it until we are level: me in my default vanilla form and her in an ever-changing mess of flesh designed to the simplest cell for the express purpose of killing.

“More experience.”

I want to tell her off, but I can’t. This control… I have seen nothing like that since Apotheos, the leader of the Blood Conclave back on Obis, and he had the power of Transformation on his side. She’s showing off, and it’s working. I’m sure she has a much wider breadth of abilities. She just wants to demonstrate her fine control.

I’m convinced. But I also don’t want to admit it just now, because I don’t need to decide now. There is still much Kimera can teach me. I’m not ready to, ah, leave her behind. 

The very notion is unbearable. 

“I’ll consider it.”

She’s back to normal in half a second. 

“That is all I can ask,” she lies in a completely conversational tone. “You are free to decide when and how to complete your training, however if you wish to stop the deaths of many…”

I find it hard to hold her gaze. 

“You will come to me, and I will train you.”

“Not someone from Enforcement?”

She smiles.

“I was not always the Head of Research, young Prentiss.”

***

The suite’s receiving room is large enough for ten people, a decadent luxury here where space is at such a premium. Kimera is guarded, more so than I’ve ever seen her. Her eyes go from the notebook to me with a hooded intensity I find, well, a bit heart-breaking. It’s not her fault, of course. She searches my face for something, traces of dishonesty perhaps.

“I do believe you, of course,” she whispers, slowly.

I don’t need to feel her soul to know she’s scared. This is the first time we meet while I’m already at the third awakening, at the summit of my power such as it is. It’s also the first time I come through Antea rather than through the entrance. She’s afraid of me. The power imbalance has been removed and while she’s still a step of awakening above, we are now more closely matched in status. I an genuinely a threat rather than an amusing pet project that might lead to something. 

I find this more painful than I expected. After Obis, I thought she — I don’t know what I was thinking. That our relationship would transcend space and time? That she would suddenly remember events that never happened? I am such a fool. And what hurts is that being her match turns out to be a detriment to us. I don’t like the implication.

“Well, I can see why I fell for you,” Kimera says after a while, the fear turning into something different. “So, which cellular organism is uniquely suited to —”

“Persean Subaquatic Codan.”

“How do you know?” Kimera blurts.

I scoff.

“It was either that or Larim worm specific knowledge, Kimera. We’ve been through this dance before. You tend to test the same knowledge when you want to make sure a disciple’s theoretical knowledge is sufficient.”

“I know! I know. I just…”

She frowns, then looks up.

“Convince me. Antea claims you are soul awakened. Surely, you can do that, yes?”

I know what she means. This isn’t about fleshcrafting now. So I very gently grab her by the hands. They’re thin and delicate, hiding her deceptive strength and with short claws that make her lab work harder, forcing a more careful touch. She grips back with tension. I sit us down on a couch. What should I do? Fuck what I should do. Let me follow my heart, for once. I lean closer until our eyes are level, then the floodgates open.

“Even when I leave, my thoughts always return to you. I work to save this station out of duty but I work to save you out of love. You bring color to this mess; you bring life to the prison of my existence. There is no one I want to see more every time I wake up in the sorry flat with an assassin on my tail. Every time we split, every time I die, my heart is broken and I grieve for what we’ve lost. There wasn’t a day in Obis that I didn’t think of you, of your clerverness and your determination when you develop a cure for the Larim Worm, the way you focus your whole soul on that task because you want to help and you will accept nothing short of perfection. I love the way you move, the taste of your lips and the spark in your eyes. I know I can face any deaths because I will return and you’ll be there and there will always be a reason for me to save this station. And even if you forget us, I won’t, and I will remind you. Every time. If you’ll have me. I love you, Kimera.”

She leans even closer until her warm breath brushes against my lips. Her eyes search mine, fascinated in the way she is when she finds a new vector. I can taste her fear and feel the way she brings it to heel.

“Show me,” she demands.

I open my soul to her. I share the memories of our research, the way she taught me. I show her pulling me up after the path of glass. I show us making love at the end of the world while Kerentis burns down the guild and half the station. I share the deep longing and the belief that she will succeed in her research, and I will in my quest, as well. Eventually. I’m only interrupted when she kisses me. I return the feeling and the hungering fire of how much I’ve missed her, and us. The shared feelings hits her like a hammer. She pulls back.

“Stop!”

I do. She searches my face, eyes clouded and face flush despite her fine control. She pushes me against the seat before straddling me. I can’t help but chuckle.

“Actually, go on,” she orders.

I feel her need to take control, to search my memories for endless proof that yes, I do love her, and no, there is no trick, My soul is bared. She finds the memories of Antea and their adversity and groans in annoyance, but she loves the training sessions and what usually comes afterward. I feel her concern when I show her how deep down we fell into the rabbit hole of hedonism. I feel her agreement.

“We must not let sex get in the way of research, my disciple,” she declares after a good minute of blissful snogging.

“I bow before your wisdom.”

I smirk and send her a memory of me bowing in dubious circumstances. 

“You animal,” she protests. “Stop distracting me.”

I cut the connection, causing her to shiver. She regards me with a look of deep consideration.

“Actually, go on.”

I still pause. Something bothers me. It all feels too fast. Well, we’ve always hit it on after I had the Visage of the Meek reversal, but usually by that time we’ve been side by side for a week. This strikes me as rather sudden.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “I wouldn’t want to rush you. Are you truly convinced?”

“Of course not,” she scoffs. “We’ve met for less than an hour!”

“Then…” I hesitate.

“My other selves have trusted you and I am brilliant, therefore you must be doing something right. Your knowledge speaks for itself. I am merely being efficient.”

She nods, very pleased with her thought process.

“I am more curious than scared, disciple. You must have been quite convincing, and competent, if I ever fell for you. Not to mention consenting to you being my assistant.”

“Well, you even learnt the… Udulu thing.”

“The tongue twister?” she yells, scandalized. “Disciple. I must have loved you very much.”

“You did!”

***

Kimera leads me deeper in the Garden, past a great amount of security checks and to a surprisingly luxurious lobby behind which waits an ethereally beautiful man with flowing white hair. He’s like all the spicy romance dreamy male characters rolled into one perfect entity, right down to the powerfully violet eyes. 

“Kimera darling,” he greets in an androgynous voice. “Have you come to revive our flame?”

“Sorry, my heart was robbed while your back was turned,” she replies in a conversational tone.

I don’t think there was really anything there considering our host’s eyes widen in pleasure, then he gives me an assessing glance and licks his lips. Yeah, looks like we’re both on the menu now. 

“Oh, my, hello newcomer. You are…”

His eyes flicker.

“Steve Prentiss, initiate. And you managed to capture Kimera’s attention! I will be following your trajectory with great interest. Now, what were you here for?”

“Beginner gene mod package, combat variant, hmmm…”

Kimera turns, blinking. 

“Variation 3? No, 5. General purpose,” the man says with a knowing smile.

“I’m more of a generalist,” I admit. “And you are?”

“Ah, but where am I manners? I am Grandmaster Phage, head of the Gene Library. I see that you have been granted initiate status… three days ago by Grandmaster Antea?”

He smiles coldly. His soul is strange, fleeting and flexible which makes it unreadable rather than truly hidden. The only obvious emotion is curiosity, and then only because it’s painted on his face.

“Unfortunately, she has not seen it fit to grant the points that go with such a promotion.”

“I’ll be paying for my disciple,” Kimera declares.

“Disciplie! My oh my. Very well then. Beginner gene mod pack variation five coming up. Will you be needing a room?” he asks with a voice like silk.

“Yes please.”

I pick up on Kimera’s feelings. She’s concerned, so I close in slightly while we take a side corridor to a sterile room — the same kind I’ve been trained on before: pleasantly white and designed for easy cleaning. Kimera sits across me, her soul slowly pulsing.

‘What’s happening?’ I send her.

‘You can’t trust Phage. He will break you for entertainment if he finds out you’re an avatar. Or call Kerentis to see what happens. His only hard line is what happens to the library. Anything else is a source of amusement.’

She shivers and I hold her hand. Thin fingers close around mine like a vice, but then a coffer is lowered on the table between us by a fancy pulley, and she settles her mind. It’s always a bit scary how quickly she manages, but I suppose I do the same.

“Before we can get you a war form, you must first become familiar with gene modding. While you are familiar with a wide variety of human gene structures, what you will learn now is how to apply human-compatible custom genes, the ones used for stable gene mods. Stable gene mods are creature genes modified to be compatible with human anatomy in order to prevent a rejection. By selecting those you’re interested in, you will eventually create your modded body. I am currently wearing my modded body,” Kimera says, pointing at her thin frame with clawed fingers. 

“I had guessed.”

“Do not interrupt, disciple. Deciding on a permanent modded body is a big deal because it changes how you perceive yourself, and how others perceive you. It is, essentially, the new you. A brand new body comes with limitations, of course. Yes?”

I lower my hand.

“What if I want to keep mostly the same?”

“Then you have revealed a truce about yourself,” she replies with a shrug.

“Is it…bad?” I ask with some hesitation.

“No. You will be vastly superior to other awakened in body abilities alone no matter what you choose. As for the appearance itself, did I mention the importance of a humanoid appearance?”

“In a previous loop, yes. You said it helped keep us grounded, I think?” I reply with some hesitation. 

“Those of us who forfeit humanity and especially a face will attract a lot of attention from the Shadows. But I digress. The question of identification isn’t much of an issue for you seeing as you are a citizen. And…”

She falters.

“The l—”

“Don’t say it,” she admonishes. “Use your soul for those.”

‘The loop. Got it’, I send.

“In any case, the two difficulties are first that your nutritional needs will increase so long as you wear the modded body.”

“Which is why you always use mana to keep your body going because you keep skipping meals?” I ask in an innocent tone.

“Do not interrupt me, disciple,” she says a little bashfully. “And yes. You can offset the food need with your own qi, but I do not recommend it as it can be quite draining. What?”

“Nothing,” I lie.

“You must do as I say, disciple, not as I do. Now quiet! The third difficulty comes from a new body’s capabilities. If you have spent…”

She eyes me up and down.

“A bit under thirty cycles,” I helpfully supply.

“So young yet. A bit under thirty cycles adjusting to your current body and then you change it, you must undergo reeducation in order to learn how to move in it again. It will get easier with practice, but this is an important first step that will get you used to changing bodies in preparation for the true art of war forms.”

“You were right,” I say. “It really feels like flesh mana takes a lot of effort in order to be truly useful.”

“Yes, but we have so many tools,” Kimera replies with a smile before her nose turns up.

“Not like the other sects can toss rock and fling flames from the get go. Stop interrupting, disciple. We have a long night ahead of us.”

She opens the coffer, revealing glass phials slotted in precise rows on a grid. Each contains a ball of, well, meat. Some of them have strange colors so they look like alien eggs. They look less than appealing.

“The beginner pack comes with a variety of gene sequences that work together quite well.”

“I thought we would mix and match?” I ask, a bit surprised.

“Sure,” she scoffs. “In fifty cycles when you are a grandmaster yourself. All of those packages were created by a symposium of experts for the benefit of the guild’s students, disciple. But I do admire your, ah, self-confidence.”

“You like that in a man,” I reply.

She smiles and the mood lightens a bit.

“And now, get those sequences. Bottoms up!”

For people at my level, the easiest way to acquire new genetic material is to swallow it. The sample gets destroyed so I don’t digest it, exactly, but I don’t have a great time shoving slimy golf balls of uncooked meat down my gullet. As each sample is absorbed, I get a sort of warm feeling directly in my head, then if I focus, I feel the strands stored in their neat spot in a corner of my mind. There are… so many. And they’re so interesting: twisted to fit a human body in function while still conspicuously alien. As I look deeper, I see the way masters carefully carved each sequence, nurturing them to perfection so that initiates can use them with minimal side effects. I think it’s really now that I understand what it means to be part of the Flescrafter guild. It’s not just Antea and Kimera and Lumie and the people who make it now, or the Garden, or the military and economic power behind it. It’s the generations that came before to build us into a group free of Transformation, with a path well traveled for those who would follow. We are standing on the shoulders of giants.

“Quite something, isn’t it?” Kimera asks with a gentle smile.

I grab her hand to make her feel how much I appreciate everything. And this is just the tip of a very deep iceberg. I’m not having the best of times since the year began so it’s easy to forget that a large majority of people actually do want to make the world better for themselves and others, and then nasty little cunts like Malice show up to ruin it for everyone. 

“Right. What’s next? One at a time?” I ask.

“Yes. You need to change your entire body into the upgraded form at least once in order to ‘memorize it’. Implementing only part of the change will lead to major imbalance, so you must try to do as much as possible in one go. I believe in you, disciple, and I will remain here to provide support. We can also request hypercaloric rations to help you.”

She hesitates.

“If you fail to balance the mods for too long, you will die. But I am certain an initiate of your talent will have no difficulties.”

She nods with a confidence I share. I’ve performed the Visage of the Meek reversal on myself. I’m more ready than any other initiate in the Garden.

“Alright. First, start with the skeletal muscle system. As a part of anatomy that’s directly under your control, you can, you can…”

I’ve already identified the sequence in question. It turns muscle fibers into a denser version that doesn’t sacrifice fine motor control… truly a marvel. Closing my eyes, I apply the sequence starting with my forearms and then pulling up. I’m so used to fixing my muscles that the work goes smoothly, and I don’t miss anything. It just takes time. Seconds turn into minutes, and then hours of deep focus as I carefully transmute the old base fibers into their more twisted counterparts. I’m going to be heavier and consume a lot more energy, that’s for sure.

“Where did you say those fibers come from?” I ask Kimera as I work on my neck.

“Modified deep sea anthropoid from a water planet,” she replies after a delay. “Sadly extinct in the wild. Have some food.”

She shoves a bar in my mouth, which distracts me. I focus on my digestive systems for a few minutes before returning to the muscles. Face last, and then, I’m done.

I stand up from the seat feeling both heavier and stronger but also, awkward. Off balance, perhaps. It’s difficult to even stand straight and I find myself grabbing the edge of my seat, which groans under the pressure. I check my left forearm. It almost looks the same except the smooth fibers under the skin have a more segmented quality, as if they were composed of a chained cubic structure instead of the normal straight lines. Interesting. They’re also marginally more blue. I only notice because of my sunless English person complexion.

Kimera’s shock draws me back to the real world.

“Yes?” I ask, slightly worried.

“Was this really your first time?”

“Modding? Yes.” I ask, then I remember.

I’m now a certified genius.

“I have never seen any initiate with this level of control, disciple,” she remarks.

There it is, a hint of worry, but then it is replaced by pride. 

“I have trained you well,” she declares.

“You have! And now, what’s next?”

I feel a tightness in my chest.

“Heart, maybe? I think I know which sequence is next.”

“Yes, disciple. I will advise you to keep movement to a minimum until you’re fully done or risk breaking something. It has been over five hours since we began. How are your mana reserves?”

At least Flesh is an efficient affinity.

“I’m fine. I’d say… about half.”

“You will need to rest at some point,” she says. “Have some more food, and then we continue. You have a lot of work ahead of you, disciple.”