Chapter 46: 045 Operation

Before he had realized it, he was seated back upright. What happened? He remembered placing his clothes off to the side and laying down, and then a branch? A vine or at least something similar forced its way into one of the veins on his wrist.

After that it got all murky. The ever so slight chill similar to the feeling he got when he touched the Great Csillacra's heart. Did he become submerged in it somehow? Or was he just slightly sweaty?

"How long was I out?"

"Out? Donovan you barely just laid down. Thirty seconds at most. Are you done already?" Diana hadn't even had the time to feel horror at the plant that stuck itself inside of him.

Donovan looked to the Arboreal Maiden for answers.

"I said it would be quick didn't I? Unfortunately that will be the only short measure today. I am afraid transforming the body is quite the time consuming process."

"I'm sure it is. When do I start that part then?"

A hole opened up in the floor, a thin purple branch emerging in turn. Weighing down this twig was a fruit the size of a fairly large pomegranate. Unlike a pomegranate though, this fruit was visibly juicy. A great big fluorescent purple plum practically dripping with sucrose. It's odor was the same as the one that had surrounded them previously, only this time much more potent. Diana wasn't even that close to it and she was practically choking on the stifling sweetness.

"Eat that and lay back down as you had before. It is vital that you consume the seed as well, don't chew it, swallow it whole."

Donovan, used to following orders, felt reluctance at this one. He was used to bad food to a degree, and he could tolerate a great deal of discomfort should it be required, but he had a feeling that this fruit might be a little too sweet for his liking.

Sweet to the point of pain in fact. Like the instant he put it in his mouth all of his teeth would develop cavities and his brain would overload from the new sensation.

The smell only got worse when he plucked it off the little branch, a small tear in the outer skin exposing the interior. A plume of gaseous sugar seemed to travel directly through his nostrils into his brain.

Trying not to think about it too much, he bit in.

He was unsure of whether or not he regretted taking the bite, or thought he was the luckiest person alive. On the one hand, he had just experienced what was probably the most delicious tasting fruit in the entirety of the galaxy. On the other, he could no longer feel any other signal besides 'sweet' anywhere on his body.

It was strange. His entire body sensed the sweetness, even parts of him which he understood had no method of determining what qualified as sweet or not. He could understand taste, scent, and sight, maybe even touch to a degree, but sound?

Could you hear sweetness?

Stuck in a mire of the now oppressive perfume, he soldiered onwards. Bite after bite, chewing and swallowing as necessary, making sure that he didn't let anything spill.

Not that there was anything TO spill.

Despite the plumpness, odor, and general softness of this succulent snack, there was no liquid being spilled. It wasn't dry, Donovan could feel the gushing with every squeeze of his mandibles, it just wasn't leaking from where he had bitten. It was like the fruit outside of his body was frozen somehow, unable to move except where he touched it.

Before he had realized, he was left with only the seed. Truly it was more like a pit considering its size, but it lacked the rounder shape and rough exterior. Visually, it was more akin to a sunflower seed.

He wasted no time throwing that into his gullet either, pleasantly surprised to find it lacked the overbearing odor of the flesh.

"So do I just lay down now?" His stomach already felt like it was going to tear itself apart. Just what was the sugar content of that fruit?

"And close your eyes. You will likely feel some discomfort or even pain around your throat and chest, but you should remain calm. It will not last long."

Not long after Donovan closed his eyes, he could feel vines slithering along his exposed skin. The wriggling sensations traveled all over his body, between his digits and even (to a short bout of shock) underneath his underpants, before stopping it what he felt might be symmetrical patterns.

Some wrapped around his legs, others securing his arms, while the majority placed themselves along his ribcage. There where even a set of three on his neck, one on each jugular and his trachea.

- - - - -

When Diana saw what those vines were doing to Donovan, she almost screamed. Initially they just scrambled all around his body like ribbons in the wind, but when they stopped a chill started to run down her spine. He was starting to bruise, everywhere.

Split Decay.

An arm restrained her before she could jump to his aid. "Settle down, he isn't in pain. The protection of those seeds you two ate needs to first be removed before it can begin. The Great Csillacra will not let him be needlessly injured." The Arboreal Maiden was stronger than she looked.

Once those same webbed patterns indicative of decay along his arteries and veins manifested itself fully, the vines once again took action.

All across his body they inserted themselves without so much as a sound or drop of blood. The only sign they were actually inside of him were the distinct bulges that slowly shuffled around under his skin.

Diana had no doubt that they were also slaving away much deeper inside of him.

She wondered if she had made a mistake in letting him go first. Now that she knew exactly what was going to happen to her, she was far less enthusiastic to take part.

For Donovan, the process was not nearly as eventful. At least not that he could tell.

His body was almost completely numb, something to be expected of course, but he was used to the feeling sedatives gave off. He could also feel the squirming. Not nearly as detailed as before, but the slight shifts in his body told him that there were things happening to him.

Sleep.

What was that? It might have just been sensory deprivation, but he could have sworn he heard something tell him to sleep.

Modification is difficult while conscious. Sleep.

There it was again! It definitely wasn't a hallucination this time around, but the voice was still very strange. Why? It didn't sound too different from how most people talked, even if it was a little choppy on the syllables.

Not voice, thoughts. Stop thinking, sleep.

Thoughts? So it wasn't a voice? That would explain why it was so different than normal speech. Hearing it again there wasn't really any weight or tone to it. But if it WAS a thought, whose was it? Surely not Donovan's.

Not yours, mine. Please sleep.

The Great Csillacra? These were the thoughts of the Great Csillacra?

Yes, now sleep.

How could Don possibly fall asleep now? He had so many questions. Was this how the Arboreal Maiden communicated with it?

Sleep.

He wanted to try talking to it, but he didn't know where to start. Internal dialogue maybe? Did he just think what he wanted to say? Could stuff like pictures and emotions be portrayed?

Please, stop thinking and sleep.

What about colors? Could they share their perception of colors? That was something that had gnawed at him for a long time but he had long since given up on figuring out.

What?

For example two people may see the color blue, but what if the way one person sees blue is how another would interpret green if their consciousness was magically transplanted inside their brain?

W-what?

Could that be a reason that people have different preferences for colors? We actually all enjoy a single 'color', its just that everybody sees the real world information differently?

Why are you doing this? I need you to sleep.

No, that couldn't be the case. Some people like black and white, and pretty much everybody agrees those are just extensions of bright and dark.

...

Then what about different ranges on the spectrum? They don't exactly have colors seeing as they are colors in their own right, technically. If that's the case then how would a brain that is unable to comprehend ultraviolet light without machine assistance react to it?

. . .

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Would he just see it as a new color? Would it overlay and blend with the other frequencies on the visible spectrum? Could you paint with it? What about smell? Could the same thing be done for smells?

.  .  .

There was so much potential here he wanted to test, unintentionally ignoring the infinitely more pressing matter and voice attached to it.

Are you finished yet?

Donovan barely even registered the question. Suddenly he found his mind inundated with information, information he couldn't even process.

But he tried to.

Does that answer your questions? Sleep!

That was what it felt like to get information he couldn't handle? How odd. Don thought there might have been more to it than just a bunch of sensory cues, though he supposed that was all information really was. Just a bunch of tiny data bits fed to the brain in a consistent stream.

Just go to sleep!

He found himself inundated quite suddenly with a wave of drowsiness, wondering just how had the great Csillacra done that.

There was a portrayal of 'anger' and 'irritation' in his mind before another surge fell upon him, drowning his conscious in full this time around.

Meanwhile, Diana watched on as a small chuckle escaped the Maidens lips.

"It would appear he is quite the troublemaker. I don't think anyone has given the Great Csillacra such a hard time it had to resort to brute force before."

Diana's face went pale, Donovan! "What did he do?"

"Oh nothing serious, he just went overboard and ignored the Great Csillacra's order to sleep. He is asleep now of course, but the Great Csillacra had to force it." She took a small cloth from the inside of her sleeve and began to wipe down her staff. "It took no offence. In fact, it seems to have only deepened its interest in the two of you."

"In what way?" Diana was nervous about asking that question, but there was no way she could continue the conversation without it.

"The spirit, conscious as you know it." She moved from polishing the gilding along the shaft to some of the ornamental attachments on the side. It only took a few wipes before it shone noticeably brighter. "It is a very rare occurrence that someone possesses the willpower to remain in a state capable of forming a cohesive thought while being operated on. Apparently there has never before been one capable of actively resisting and holding a dialogue."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"I wouldn't say that. Sure it might be slightly inconvenient in the short term, but it means great things for his potential. The Great Csillacra is particularly interested in seeing just how powerful it can make him." The way she expertly handled the tarnished and dirty areas without being able to see confounded Diana. "The level of mental stability under extreme sensory deprivation is extremely indicative of the maximum level to which an individual can expand their ability to manipulate split."

Diana could only take these words at face value, she had no idea how split worked. "What do you mean by extreme sensory deprivation?"

"Currently, his entire body is numb, he can feel nothing. He cannot see or hear, and taste and smell have been blocked as well. Perhaps the only thing he can actually tell for certain at the moment is which direction down is. The vast majority of people will panic when placed into this state. Donovan carried on as if he had been expecting it."

- - - - -

As far as the Great Csillacra was concerned, Donovan was asleep. There were no rampant trains of thought and no annoying philosophical questions. Hypotheticals too were a non-issue at the moment. But that didn't mean that Donovan was completely asleep. Sure, he wasn't conscious. There was no active decision making, and no inner monologue.

It could be said that there was not a thought inside of his head at the moment.

If anything, his current state was more akin to a painting hanging on the wall of a movie set. He was there, watching the show play out, but utterly incapable of influencing the story in any way.

Having his ability to think suppressed was strange - is what he would have thought if he had actually been able to. As of now he could only absorb information.

Information about something.

It was hard to tell what exactly 'information' pertained to without the ability to think about it. He couldn't even tell if it was useful.

What little information he could parse into neat little morsels of certainty owed their existence to instinct, realizing subtle changes in his body. Certain places in his body were now described to him as 'new', as if they had been replaced by a part fresh off of an assembly line. He could 'feel' his heart beating stronger than before, even though he was completely incapable of registering those sensations. Don 'felt' stronger even though he wasn't lifting anything.

Probably the biggest change was that he was thinking faster.

That's right, even in the absence of thought he was thinking faster. At least he felt he was. The information he was blankly watching flow through his brain was moving slower but had not decreased in traffic volume.

Slowly, through sheer force of will, he began to claw back his mental faculties.

Small amounts of 'thinking' returned to his brain, short little restrictive chains being broken or stretched allowing him that little extra bit of freedom to remove the next one.

The Great Csillacra was not oblivious to this development, but it would do nothing to stop it either. Fully expecting some degree of resistance from the individual who had resisted its commands for so long, it finished the part of the process requiring conscious thought not be present.

Still, it had been expecting to retain its peace and quiet for a longer period of time than had been given. Donovan's stubbornness and resistance to suppression was beyond its ability to reasonably control.

Please do not interrupt me. I do not wish to leave you injured.

The Great Csillacra transmitted its wishes as it had done before, no longer implying the threat of forced sleep.

Donovan, still not yet recovered to the point of more complex conversation, could only reply with a mix of very basic emotions. Confusion, intrigue, and a hint of suspicion.

You may watch, child, but I cannot guarantee you will understand what you see.

Inferring his meaning, assuming there was one, the Great Csillacra permitted Donovan to 'look' at what was happening to his body.

The Great Csillacra knew perfectly well what each of these individual tidbits of data were meant to do, each altering his body down to his very genetics. It was essentially rebuilding his body from scratch, making use of the oppressively sweet fruit to supplement what should otherwise be there naturally if he had evolved in an environment containing split.

Unsurprisingly, 'pain' was a feeling that very frequently manifested itself in the stream of information. Don couldn't feel this pain, but he recognized that he would have likely been in agony if he was still directly connected to his body.

A wave of relief, permitted by his slowly growing control, washed over this mental space. He didn't know why he felt relieved, but the fact that he could even question it was a good sign.

The Great Csillacra realized it wouldn't be long before he would be completely lucid. Perhaps he would once again become a nuisance, he seemed to be unable to restrain his rampant thinking, and may need to be forced into an unconscious state again.

However the Great Csillacra found this behavior quite amusing, it had put Donovan to sleep only to keep his mental faculties from further damage. Very few individuals would try to resist or refuse its commands, usually only doing so out of fear or shame. Don was the only one to resist its influence out of curiosity.

His desire to know more, or rather his species' desire on the whole, was a departure from what the Great Csillacra knew of other sentient life. More importantly, it was willing to teach, willing to cultivate this version of humanity it had designed. It had a mission for them, one only they could pull off, but they were far from ready.

The Great Csillacra was fully aware of the fact that it would need to break its vows of neutrality in order to get them to where they had to be. It could couch these violations with excuses and justifications, reparations being one it would have to rely on for a very long time, but eventually others would catch on.

It needed to bring them to a level where they could fight on their own, be it through legal, economic, or even military channels. Fortunately, it would seem, they had the tools at their disposal. What they lacked was material, manpower, influence, knowledge, and ability.

Material could be granted in part by way of reparation, the Sanctum had a vast store of resources and would have no qualms parting with the materials they would need to build and grow. As it stood nobody besides them could use higher heat tolerance metals like iridium, tungsten, and osmium to their fullest potential.

Knowledge was something they already had in spades, they just didn't have the requisite knowledge to fit in with the rest of the world at large.

Influence, much like knowledge, was something they would have to accrue through the academy or other such channels. Through collective or individual feats, they would need to build up enough to make them visible to the public eye.

This would be much easier for Donovan to do, owing entirely to the nigh eternal obsession with conflict and individual prowess high society at large displayed, but Diana could definitely make a name for herself in the political and economic spheres if she played her cards right.

Manpower was probably going to be their biggest hurdle, something the Great Csillacra knew very well. They could only have a child every one to two years, and it would take years for that child to mature into a useful source of labor.

They would have to find other sources.

Either through diplomatic negotiations or purchase, they would have to figure it out on their own. It could do nothing to help them in that arena.

In fact there was very little it could do for them, but now was its chance to make a permanent, important, and incredibly decisive contribution. The Great Csillacra could push their capabilities to the maximum.

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