Looks Like Rain

Looks Like Rain

Part I

Valki had been wandering. She didn’t know quite how long. Her last orders from the Morrigan had been to stand by in case the situation with Okin and the Borozov boy happened to change. And so she had been listless. Valki didn’t know what to do without any orders.

She had been thinking recently, as she observed the states of realities both stable and crumbled. Valki wasn’t used to that. She was a doer, not a thinker. It was her opinion that thinking too much wasn’t healthy. That’s how you got people like Bacchae. Maybe if there’d been less thinking, Okin would be here with her now.

He’d know what to do. He’d know how to sort out her head, filled with not only the memories of him, but also of the Borozov boy, the ones that were not hers. Yet even if they weren’t, she couldn’t understand the tight feeling that crept into her chest whenever she recalled them.

It almost made her want to go to him, to ask him to give her an order. But she wasn’t the person he was looking for her to be, and he could never be Okin.

Everything had been easier, before Okin had gone. If she had to think, she tried to think of those memories. Back when she’d had a purpose, when there had been an evil to defeat and a cosmos that needed protecting. Back during the war. Most people who were there didn’t remember it fondly, and she was embarrassed to admit that she did.

So she drifted for a while longer, recalling those days she had spent with Okin, saving the universe.

~ o ~

Bacchae was late again. It had gotten to the point that they’d started telling him they were meeting twenty minutes early in the hopes that it would even out. But he was, unfortunately, smarter than that, and so had been making a habit of showing up even later out of spite.

So when he did finally stroll through the door to the war room, Valki and Okin had already sat there for a good fifteen minutes. Valki was nearly visibly fuming. She had never gotten used to Bacchae’s general attitude and on principle she never would. Okin was less bothered. He wasn’t as rigid as Valki was, and though he was still annoyed, he knew that getting upset was giving him exactly what he wanted.

Because ultimately, the tardiness was a form of rebellion for Bacchae, the only one he could really perform at this juncture. It was the one way to express his displeasure of being roped into a war that, at the end of the day, he had never really intended to take part in. He thought that since the Morrigan’s deal had been with the Trickster, that he shouldn’t be held accountable for it. She disagreed. And since he no longer had the ability to contend with her, here he was, strolling in forty minutes later than they’d told him to.

Yet despite that, he still didn’t look happy. “Where’s the old hag?” he grumbled. “She’s even later than I am.”

“She’s very busy,” Valki growled. “What with keeping the Malice from entirely remaking the cosmos and all. She doesn’t have time to wait around for you.”

“Well, maybe I don’t have time to wait for her either, ever think of that?”

Scoffing, Valki crossed her arms over her chest. “And what is it you could possibly be doing?”

“Something that’s not this.”

Okin sighed. Inevitably he was going to have to stop them again. He opened his mouth to do so, but it turned out not to be necessary.

“And you will have nothing to do at all, when the cosmos as we know it ceases to be.”

The room darkened slightly, and when they turned to the empty side of the table, it was quite obviously no longer empty. A cloaked figure sat in the chair, the hood completely covering her face, save for a pair of nearly blue lips, which were currently pursed in displeasure.

Okin and Valki sat straighter. Bacchae just sighed. “At this point it might be nice, the way you’ve been running me ragged.”

“Ah, of course, that reminds me. You are supposed to report on the status of the Volk.”

Bacchae looked thoroughly unamused at being blown off. “He says he’s bored. He’s back in his cave napping.”

“Could we potentially make him another ally?” the Morrigan probed.

“I wouldn’t count on it. He claims he’s over the whole thing, but I think Okin’s little stunt made him skittish.”

Okin’s eyebrows furrowed. “All I did was grab a tooth.”

Next to him, Valki was desperately trying to maintain a stoic expression.

“The Volk may seem a monster,” the Morrigan explained. “But he is little more than a beast. The instant circumstances don’t favor him, he’s liable to retreat.”

“Well, at least that’s one less enemy we have to worry about,” Okin shrugged, almost looking a little embarrassed.

The Morrigan leaned back, her lips parting thoughtfully. “Then with the last variable sorted, this may finally be the moment to counter-attack.”

“You’re talking about the factory, aren’t you?” Valki asked, and the Morrigan nodded. Both of the Seraphim fell into contemplative silence, but Bacchae just looked confused. He glanced back and forth between them all.

“The huh-na-ma-what?” he asked, when he realized that no one was going to explain.

“You really need to bother showing up to more of these meetings,” Okin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Why bother when most of them are boring as fuck?”

“Then why are you here right now?” Valki stood, her eyes dangerous.

“Because your boss would rip my dick off if I wasn’t, and that’s the one thing I happen to like about being stuck in a disgusting sack of meat.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to be informed on the subject we were actually discussing?” the Morrigan interrupted quietly, her tone irritated.

“Not really, but sure. Enlighten me.” Bacchae leaned so far back in his chair that two of the legs left the ground and he almost flipped it over. His antics went ignored.

“The factory is the reality where the Malice is creating his army,” the Morrigan explained patiently.

But Bacchae still frowned. “But he can just make shit whenever he wants, so why have something else do it for him?”

“The same reason anyone builds a factory, I imagine,” Okin shrugged. “Efficiency.”

“Somehow he’d utilized his ability in its creation. It can produce hundreds of terrible ideas every day.”

“Oh, that’s bad. Cuz you can’t do that, can you?”

“While I may have a rather large quantity of souls at my disposal, my powers have been all but spent. Okin was the last Seraphim I’ll create for a long time.”

“So you’ve got a limited, dwindling soldier count, while he can just keep crankin’ em out day and night.”

Okin frowned, his expression grave. “So you can see why taking the factory out is our first priority.”

“Okay, but he’s gotta have thought about that.”

“My scouting mission revealed that the factory is indeed heavily guarded,” Valki reported. “It seems a good third of the troops he’s making never leave the reality at all.”

“So if we went to take it, it’s going to cause heavy losses, which we certainly can’t afford.” Okin’s gaze darted here and there, trying to sort out the problem.

“Which is why we’re going to take a different tact.” It seemed, however, that the problem needed no sorting, as the Morrigan already had the solution. “He’s expecting an army. He might not be as prepared for an infiltration.”

“So you’re gonna go all guerrilla warfare on his ass,” Bacchae made some wild hand gestures, while Okin leaned back thoughtfully. “Who’re you sendin’?”

“Why, you three, of course,” she seemed nearly amused. “I could only trust the best with this important mission.”

“Of course, my lady. I would be honored,” Valki chimed in immediately.

Okin didn’t look so sure. “I understand the sentiment,” he began. “But we also happen to be highly recognizable. We are, after all, public enemy number one for him.”

Bacchae, who had been struggling for words this entire time, nodded vigorously.

“While that may be true, who said anything about being recognized?” the Morrigan’s head cocked slightly.

The other three looked confused.

So she continued. “Why, we have a man in our presence who can make a room believe they’re seeing anything at all.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bacchae interjected. “If you’re suggesting what I think you are, then you’re dunking your wieners in some real hot oil there.”

“Whatever do you mean?” the Morrigan asked primly, thinking that he was about to say something incredibly stupid. “You could just make yourself invisible to the eye, correct?”

“Not as far as I’m aware. I can’t make everyone not see something that’s right in front of them. Only see it as something else. And there’s a reason why I never do that thing I do on myself. It doesn’t just make folks see things, it makes them believe it too.”

The others all straightened a bit, realizing that he was actually saying something important.

“So if you’re about to say: ‘Oh, you can just disguise yourselves as parts for the grinder and the flesh creatures will take you all in,’ then you’re crazier than I am. I convince myself I’m a non-sentient pile of meat and there ain’t no going back. A pile of meat I shall remain. The delusion wears off pretty quick if I’m there to maintain it, but if I’m someone else, well then I’m not really there at all, am I?”

“What if you become something sentient?” Okin asked. “Could you pull yourself back? Remember who you are?”

Bacchae scrunched his face. “Maybe. Nobody else could, but if I got lucky… I might be able to.”

“You’re going to have to,” the Morrigan intoned. “It’s the one thing he won’t be expecting.”

“Wait, I’m confused.” Bacchae frowned. “What exactly are you insinuating I should turn into? I’m trying really hard to be the dumbass who’s not getting what you’re putting down, but I’m really not going to like the answer, am I?”

“Most certainly not,” the Morrigan smiled.

~ o ~

The creature lumbered along, sometimes on two legs sometimes on four. Its body was amorphous, more a concept than an actual being. Its flesh rippled like water, and so it tumbled along, dragging its burden behind it.

In two tentacle-like appendages, it gripped the wagon firmly. It was not a struggle to drag it; the creature had no musculature to speak of, so there was no strain. Its flesh adhered to the metal handles of the wagon and away it went.

Though it wasn’t sure where it was going, it continued forward regardless, towards some distant destination.

In the brief moments here and there where it possessed a nose, it took in the sickly sweet odor of its cargo. It didn’t bother looking back. Every once in a while an eye would emerge from the back of its head and briefly observe the pile of limbs, organs, and other miscellaneous bits of flesh that were opening rotting in the wagon behind it. The creature didn’t think too much of them. To it, they were simply materials to be delivered.

Ahh, right. There was its destination. The loose cobblestone road that floated over the roiling greens and purples folded into a translucent bubble ahead of it, through which not much could be seen through the thick haze of smoke.

The creature was able to straighten now and walk mostly on two feet as the road was much less lumpy when actually held together by gravity. Though it didn’t have lungs per say, it instinctively tried to hold its breath as it passed through the barrier. If it had ears, they would have popped as gravity suddenly exerted itself. Its grip on the wagon had to increase as friction became a force to be fought against. It wasn’t harder to pull, just an adjustment that had to be made.

Though the smog was still thick, it cleared a little up ahead, to reveal a sky stained a deep red. That vibrant ether cast the numerous smoke-stacks in shadow. With the great scraping, grinding noises emerging from somewhere deep within the interior, the entire structure seemed more like some screeching, dying beast than the lifeless machinery it truly was.

The creature didn’t think very much of this either; it didn’t really have to capacity for metaphor. But it did detect an odd sense of tension in the air. Still it journeyed ever onward, joining the line of wagons slowly being dragged towards the factory.

Though straight, the path ahead of it was long, and as it continued, the factory only grew larger and larger, until eventually it nearly blotted out that angry sky all together.

Ahead of it, the line was lumbering through the enormous double doors, the metal simultaneously rusted and dripping with grease. As each of the wagons passed under its hulking frame, a series of beeps were directing them to their final destinations. The creature didn’t consider it until it sat under the scanner and realized that it didn’t actually know what the beeps meant.

It should know this, if felt that it should, but it didn’t. There was an odd sense of disconnect. For just a moment, it felt like it was something else entirely.

Though it didn’t come from the beeping, the creature did get a distinct feeling of instruction. It knew that it had something it had to do. It was filled with a sudden sense of urgency. It needed to get inside this factory, and most importantly, it needed to not be suspected.

Suspected? Of what?

It couldn’t be sure, but it continued straight forward, trying to look like it knew where it was going. Directly ahead of it were a series of curving hallways, more like ant tunnels than man-made metal. It would quickly find itself lost, but at the moment, that’s exactly what it needed. Someplace no one would see it.

It continued further, its burden growing heavier by the minute. Past countless pipes groaning and spewing steam, past crunching gears and whirring pistons, it took as many turns as it could.

Finally, it could no longer pull the wagon any further. It struggled a few more steps forward, then stopped, panting heavily. “Motherfucker,” it burbled through an orifice that was quickly growing to resemble a mouth, “you people need to cut a few pounds.”

He felt his flesh rapidly solidifying. It was a wildly unpleasant feeling, and induced a moment of supreme confusion as his mind slid back into place. His mouth tasted like licorice, and he smacked his lips repeatedly, realizing that he had lips.

Bacchae—yes, that was his name he was pretty sure—sighed. Once more he was chained to the flesh. Honestly, if he wasn’t so afraid of losing himself permanently he might do this more often. Besides, the one thing he’d want to be couldn’t be imitated anyway. He didn’t even exist anymore.

Ugh. He shook his head, trying to clear it. A sudden spurt of steam right next to his ear shocked him fully back to himself.

Right, he didn’t have time to disassociate. He had two idiots that were still stuck as a cart full of flesh bits. Now that he was back, the delusion would fade naturally, and he considered letting them suffer a little longer for putting him through all of this. But they wouldn’t even realize that any additional time had passed and every second he waited was a potential second for him to be caught.

So he snapped his fingers and with one blink the wagon was suddenly full of two Seraphim all tangled up and both looking horrified. Bacchae was a little taken aback by their sheer panic, but then laughed. “Oh, right. You guys don’t know what not existing feels like.”

“A-and you do?” Valki tried very hard to keep herself together.

“Can’t say that I do, but unlike you two I can easily imagine it.”

Valki, never one for deep thought, recovered quickly and stood, turning back to offer Okin a hand. He was still gaping like a fish a little, but her touch seemed to kick him back into gear.

“Welp,” Bacchae stretched, trying to get the last little bit of stiffness out of his muscles—ugh, still hated that he had those. “That’s my part of the plan, so where are we goin’?”

The two Seraphim climbed out of the cart and tried to get their bearings. “First of all, where even are we?” Okin asked, still looking a little out of sorts.

Bacchae just shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. I half-remember stumbling through the front door and trying to get lost in a weird little corner so nothing would see us morph in front of their very eyes.”

“All things considered, that might not be so odd around this place,” Okin mumbled.

“The Morrigan sensed something very powerful at the center of this factory,” Valki got right to business. “Odds are that if we destroy it, the factory goes down as well.”

She started walking, forcing Okin and Bacchae to hurry after her. “So what?” Bacchae asked. “We’re supposed to wander around until we just happen to trip over the damn thing?”

“We weren’t able to do much reconnaissance,” Okin admitted, “but the whole factory seems to be laid out circularly, with everything converging in the center.”

“So we follow the machines, we find the core or whatever?”

“That’s the thought at least.”

“Great.”

Ahead of them, Valki paused and held up a hand. The narrow tunnels finally widened out and she was glancing cautiously through the opening. Bacchae tried to lean out to look, but Okin pulled him back against the wall, waiting for Valki to give the okay.

After a tense minute, she did, and the three emerged into a hot, humid room filled with all sorts of incomprehensible gizmos and lumps of machinery. The very air itself seemed dyed a shade of vivid orange, and smelled like blood. Dominating the center was a large conveyor belt that trundled noisily along.

From where they entered it seemed to mostly be transporting the parts that the creatures had been carrying inside. There were not only human parts, but as the conveyor merged with several others, animal parts, mechanical and metal devices, and other miscellaneous materials joined the fracas. They were run through several machines, and as they continued, each one seemed to be sticking some of those materials together in ways holy unsavory.

“So, he’s using all those parts, right?” Bacchae broke the silence. “But I thought he could just make anything whenever he wants?”

“That’s the idea, I think,” Okin frowned, seeming a little confused himself.

“You know, that’s a good question.”

The three of them froze in place, not even daring to swivel their heads to look for the source of the new voice. They all knew there was probably no point anyway.

The voice laughed. “Aw man, you guys look so surprised. I mean, come on. Did you really think you were going to sneak into my territory and I wouldn’t notice? I’ve got eyes all over the place.”

With a horrible squelch, several very human-looking eyes suddenly opened along nearly every surface large enough to produce them. Bacchae dared to turn his eyes just enough to see that on the ceiling, a pair of lips had also formed. Currently, they were giggling.

“Get it? Eyes. All over.” Yet the voice was only met by a now slightly more defiant silence. “Well, I thought it was pretty funny. But regardless, how did you people manage to get in here? I swear I look away for one minute and I miss all the good stuff.”

“Frankly,” Okin finally broke out of his frozen state, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Not telling? Ah well, I’ll just get it out of you later. Now, let’s see who we’ve got here. Generic Seraphim number five-hundred and seventeen, that bright young up-and-comer who got lucky and stabbed a filthy traitor for me, and… oh! Well, well, well, the pathetic, squishy remains of the loser himself.”

Bacchae’s fists clenched, but for once, he didn’t say anything.

“And… wait, is that really it? Just the three of you? Wow, that’s… what a pathetic guerrilla operation. Is this really everything the Morrigan’s got left?”

“You’re going to eat your words soon enough,” Valki spat.

“Sure, sure. Keep dreaming. Anyway, I’m going to capture you now.”

Right on cue, several of the shapeless creatures emerged from all directions, and the floor began bubbling and frothing as hands burst from its surface.

“On the conveyor belt!” Okin shouted, as the three struggled to get away from the grasping hands.

They were beginning to pop out of the rubber as well, but more slowly, and there was nowhere else to go.

The two Seraphim leapt to action, hopping onto the belt and sprinting ahead. Though he was taller than both of them, Bacchae proved slower. He had trouble navigating all of the shit already on the conveyor belt, let alone all of the machinery that periodically interrupted it.

Okin finally noticed that he was lagging behind, and called out to Valki, but it was then that one of the spreading hands latched onto Bacchae’s foot and he fell forward, bouncing slightly on the rubber.

Unsure of what to do, Okin froze.

“Go on, you dumbass,” Bacchae shouted back.

“I can’t just leave you.”

“They’ll give you some breathing room if they have me. You’re not the one he’s really after anyway.”

Okin struggled with himself for another second, then Valki called to him and he shook himself, running after her.

Bacchae simply sighed, and sat there as the numerous creatures slithered closer. They wouldn’t attack him, the Malice no doubt wanted him in one piece. But speaking of the bastard, he really wasn’t looking forward to what came next.