Chapter 35: Purple Aberrant

The purple skinned variant stared at the Collector. Neutral expression

She did not struggle against her bonds, nor did she exhibit any outward signs of fear. The stench of fear was absent from her.

Likely, another defective specimen.

The Collector clicked its mandibles. This was what happened when evolutionary growth was allowed to develop without the guiding hand of the Collective.

It led to defects, aberrations that developed and compounded upon itself until finally, tinkerers arose, species that existed only to harvest and destroy their ecosystems and then move on to others.

Regardless, the Collector would still attempt to extract information. It approached her, but did not touch her, for it knew that she possessed some means to incapacitate those she came into contact with.

Instead, the Collector opened its mouth and extended its biotrigger. It ejected a short burst of reactive chemicals from its pyrocatalytic glands, and an instantaneous burst of flame burst forth, engulfing the variant's hand in a mirage of blue-tinted white.

The cloud of flame lasted for a single instant to prevent a fire from starting in the forest, but that instant was enough to sear the purple skinned variant's hand.

The flesh warped, curling up and twisting into strands from the heat like paper crumpling under a match flame. The skin crisped and cracked, some parts already welling up into blisters.

Interesting. It would seem that these purple variants, these 'daemons', as they were called, possessed physiology extremely similar to that of humans. However, more durable. Even an instant of exposure to the Collector's flame would have blackened human flesh into charred carbon.

This specimen retained the relative structural integrity of her hand.

The daemon winced as she felt pain assault her, for the Collector knew that among pains burns were one of the more severe kinds to the nerves of humanoids.

Yet, the specimen adjusted quickly, returning to neutral expression after an initial display of discomfort.

The Collector analyzed her.

Physiologically, the specimen appeared to be quite young. If compared to the growth cycles of humans, then this variant would be approximately twelve to fourteen years old. At a maturity level that would not indicate significant deterioration of neural functions.

However, the Collector could see outlines of healed wounds across the specimen's body. A network of lacerations, torn patches, and burns of all shapes and sizes.

In such quantity that it seemed her entire body patterned with them. Judging from their dimensions, none caused through conventional biological weaponry such as jaws or claws.

All caused through tools. Atop her forehead, there was a burn fashioned in the shape of a nine-pointed star. A crude visage of a solar body, it seemed. Likely, a marking seared into the flesh for classification purposes.

The Collector clicked its mandibles. It would seem this specimen had endured significant bodily harm to it over time under the manipulation of its fellow tinkerers. An explanation for its noteworthy pain tolerance. And a testament to the defects of the tinkerers.

They were not united. They savaged and brutalized each other. Warred with each other. Did not know how to act for their own greater interest. For their own collective good.

The Collector would spare this specimen from the shortcomings of her brethren and induct her into the welcoming breadth of the Collective.

But first, she would have to earn that privilege with information.

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"You too are a specimen that seems capable of utilizing this phenomenon known as 'magic'. Yet, your apparent age indicates that you should not have significant degrees of experience with this 'magic'. Still, you will answer my questions."

The Collector trained its biotrigger on the purple skinned variant's head, ready to melt her skull into liquid lest she attempt any sort of vocalization for magic.

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The purple skinned variant nodded. She closed her eyes. The Collector analyzed this movement, attempting to sense hostile intent. There was no telltale sign of magical activity, and then –

'Thank you.'

The Collector clicked its mandibles in reaction. It heard the specimen's voice ringing not through its external auditory systems, but internally, through its minds, or, more specifically as it recognized, the latent psionic channels imbued in its neurons.

'Thank you for killing them. I wanted to kill him for so very long. I wanted to kill them all. Seeing it happen-,"

"Cease this psionic communication," said the Collector as it aimed the biotrigger at the specimen's head.

The Collector possessed natural defenses against psionic attacks in its original state, but right now, undeveloped as it was, it had some vulnerability to them, although it would still take a powerful psionic to accomplish such a feat.

'Psi…psionics?' came the wondering thoughts of the specimen.

She blinked, then opened her mouth. There was no tongue, just a root of flesh useless for vocalizing anything. Judging by the scar tissue surrounding the root, it was evident that the rest of the tongue had been torn off long ago.

'I…I can't talk. Not normally. I'm sorry, forgive me for being so broken. But, but I can help you. I…have a feel for what you want. You want to know what magic is. I can do that for you. I can teach it.'

The Collector noted the specimen's confusion of the word 'psionics'. Indicated a lack of experience with psionics. Indeed, this did not feel entirely similar to the psionic communications that the Collector was already familiar with.

It was weaker in presence. Not at all nearing the levels required to penetrate even the Collector's current inborn psionic defenses.

The Collector reassessed the specimen's threat level and decided that it would be more beneficial to obtain information from it. Provided, of course, the specimen did possess the adequate knowledge.

"You will tell me of this phenomenon, this 'magic', and you will explain it to me in sufficient detail such that it satisfies my understanding of it. Then, I will determine whether I may utilize it," said the Collector.

'You can. You already are, a little bit. I…I may be worthless, but I know magic. I used to study it. I can see it. I see it in you. See it better than others. You have mana, ah, latent mana, it was called,' conveyed the specimen, lingering on the word 'latent' with a degree of unfamiliarity like a word she had memorized in rote practice without truly understanding it.

She stared at the Collector with open eyes, and the Collector noted then that her eyes did not hold much of anything in them. No conveyance of emotion.

They were simply permanently screwed into a wide-eyed stare that once must have been the product of fear but now had carved itself deeply into her as a default expression.

Beneath that gaze, her body language and mannerisms showed that there was no fear, no sense of self preservation, merely a sense of aberrant stillness.

Highly defective in the mind. Yet, unlike the aberrant sorcerer, it seemed willing to part with valuable information.

A defect working towards the Collector, then.

'I simply have to open your spirit roots. Then, you will know. You will see. I know…I know that someone like me should not be asking anything of you, of anything from anyone, but, but for this, I want you to do something for me.'

The specimen's eyes managed to convey a slight shimmer of emotion. An aggressive emotion. The kind she had exhibited before when she had torn apart the younger human.

'Can you…can you kill them? All of them? I don't care who. Humans, faeries, elves, xian, even the gods, if you can.'

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