Silhouette

Though they dwelled in vastly different fields, Techlord still respected the man he accompanied back to the exit of the Shadow Den, the repurposed orphanage they used as their base in the Sunken City. Mesker Duskenfer may have come from some rich noble family or whatever wizards did, but it was clear he bothered to get his hands dirty, unlike some other people who worked alongside his boss. Like, say, some pompous robot.

He only needed to watch the man walking beside him to notice the differences. That Decanov was a shameless city-dweller, and his pristine white lab coat was only further proof of that along with the shining metal that composed his body. Meanwhile, Duskenfer was here, down in the nitty-gritty, and the way the skin of his arms had become blacker than coal rather than its natural pale hue was proof of his efforts. He was a man who meddled with demons and lived to grow old. A man who experimented with bizarre materials every day. A man whose lifestyle was not unlike his own.

Again, drastically different from some smug machine that stayed holed up in a neat workshop.

"You seem troubled, young man."

He turned to look at the old wizard accompanying him. His luxurious robes did lower Techlord's opinion of him, especially with their golden firey design, but he could hazard a guess they were somewhat similar to his armor. It was something made to be functional first and foremost, with some purely aesthetic additions only put in when nothing else could. And, well, the final result did look far better than anything made in the slums reasonably should. His knowledge of magic was vague at best, but he could hazard a guess that these clothes were heavily enchanted.

"It's nothing."

"Are you still bothered by that mechanical fellow? You two seemed tense in our last meeting."

"Nah. So long as he stays up there and doesn't put his stupid nose in my business, I'm fine."

"If you say so. I must admit I did not expect Silhouette to rely on such an explosive character. I'm happy the two of them seem to get along."

"You know that bozzo?"

"Somewhat. I can say Silhouette continues his streak of surrounding himself with capable yet unstable people."

"You count me among those?"

"Techlord, think for a moment. You are still young, you are more heavily burned than some victims of blazing imps wind up, and your usual way of expressing yourself heavily involves complaining or antagonizing others. It is a miracle someone as paranoid as your employer feels safe leaving you alone down here."

"Screw you."

"Do not take this the wrong way. You are highly intelligent for one so young, and your inventions from mere scraps are impressive. It is simply a fact of life that the most competent people are often also the most extravagant."

The teen in sci-fi armor rolled his eyes behind his helmet. He'd take the compliment and ignore the rest.

"What about you? You're dressed awfully well for someone living down here with the rest of us."

"I like my calm and quiet. This desolate place lets me live in peace."

"And how do you find clients then?"

"I find them. Those I trust receive the means of contacting me, and sometimes they lend those. Not to mention, unlike Silhouette, I do not need business. It is welcome since it allows me to acquire better reagents, but I could continue my isolated lifestyle uninterrupted until the end of my days."

"You could just say you're retired and only help people you know or their pals."

"And ruin the myth? No, no no no. Let me give you a piece of advice I learned from my long time as a demonologist: always maintain the legend. People are more likely to take you seriously if they don't consider you a person but a force. Just look at Silhouette."

Techlord hummed as he pondered the thought. Sure, he saw the point. His boss did make efforts to keep his facade as some almighty shadow beast or whatever going. On the other hand, he knew that wasn't who he truly was. He hardly heard of anyone else offering their employees donuts in the slums, at least not without adding in some questionable substances to the mix. Not to mention, it was taxing. Silhouette often looked stretched to the limit of his ability and was constantly busy. Well, so was he with the work that kept getting dropped on him, but he could tell running this mess was more stressful than his tinkering.

Yeah, that whole cloaks and daggers and creating a myth stuff wasn't for him. He'd much rather make a big gun and wave it around to get people's respect.

"Yeah, not my style. The boss's theatrics aren't my kinda thing."

"I can see why. You are far too blunt to enjoy the theatrics. Though I must admit, I am curious as to how you found yourself under his employ. You two do not seem to have enough in common to meet naturally."

"Funny story, that. He skinned me."

"He what?"

"Got in a fight with a bunch of Patchees to test my latest mech, won without breaking a sweat, and then Sunburn turned up. Silhouette was passing by and saved me, though not without peeling me like a potato to remove the molten armor burnt into me."

"Goodness gracious. As a pyromancer, I know the sort of thing he is capable of, and let me say, you are recovering very well."

"Thanks, I guess. I had some trouble early on, but now? Now I can't wait to blast him in the face with the Techzooka."

"Ah yes, that."

As the mage cringed when remembering the devastation the poorly named weapon brought, he suddenly found his attention caught elsewhere. Approaching the duo from the outskirts of the area surrounding the orphanage was a bizarre shambling figure.

The two didn't need to talk. The lights on Techlord's armor lit up as gadgets and gizmos readied themselves while the demonologist prepared a fireball in each of his hands, his brow furrowing as he tried to scry the strange interloper seeking them.

No, scratch that. As the metal and plastic armor of the younger of the two lit up, the odd thing quickened its pace, and as it drew closer it became evident it was solely focused on the inventor.

Soon both could discern the traits of the being, and both found themselves getting a little nauseous. The humanoid mangled mess's struggles to utilize its joints were explained by its abominable body. It was a skeleton covered in fractures and held together by charred flesh and colorful melted bits of inorganic materials, scarlet moss forming strings and patches to mimic muscles and drive the carcass forward. Had the thing been immobile, it would have been impossible to discern it was somewhat alive.

Well, there was something else at play. Something that likely explained how broken remains and carnal trash could be capable of motion, let alone life. A green gem lightly pulsed in the thing's torso, partly peeking out of the ribcage due to the way some of the bones were missing and the local carnivorous flora covering them failed to grow over the magically glowing rock.

Overgrown masses of moss formed lumps on the head of the skeleton, almost completely covering the sockets of the skull whose jaw began to clatter as it got near, thin strings of red plants bringing it up and down as sounds impossibly found their way out of the carrion monster's chest.

"Origin... Origin..."

The teen and the senior watched the repulsing yet captivating display get closer.

"Mesker, you're the exorcist. Is that a zombie?"

"Boy, I have no idea what that thing is. All I know is it is more alive than dead, and I'm tempted to remedy that."

The thing's foot got caught on a rock and it fell. Undisturbed, it continued to crawl forward as its limbs adjusted their position to allow it to continue moving while standing back up at the same time, its legs soon arching above its head and trunk before resting once more on the floor in a display normally observed among gymnasts, not horrors. It was, thanks to its bizarre body composition, also much more horrifying than the already uncomfortable display of flexibility could be to some people. Needless to say, Techlord was very glad he had installed some perfume diffuser in his helmet to help fight back the rising urge to puke.

"Origin... Origin!"

"Why haven't you done so already, then?"

"As tempting as it is, I'd rather avoid burning down a poor confused yet perfectly sapient and safe undead just because it sent a few shivers down our spines."

"Why do you think I'm afraid?"

"Because this thing somewhat unsettles me, and I handle demons for a living."

"Origin!"

"Alright, what about that crystal? The boss said the lights on my armor screamed weak points, is something similar going on here?"

"Well, such a glow is usually the sign of a heavy concentration of mana, yes. Give me a moment."

The mage dispelled one of his burning orbs to instead form a violet circle he placed in front of one of his eyes. He hummed in thought as he studied the item lodged in the creature's chest before letting go of his remaining fireball.

"Well, that is one surprising discovery. Techlord, I believe there is no need to be ready for a fight."

The teen turned to question the old man's decision right as the shambling mess arrived before them. Rather than charge or jump or screech or anything of the like, it stared at his armored form. It did nothing else, simply standing there and lightly swaying, its inhaling voice occasionally arising once more to resume its call in whispers.

"Origin..."

"Mesker, explain."

"This green gem is what we commonly refer to as a Second Chance Pendant. A very situational and often unreliable form of resurrection, though cheaper than all other safe options. Have you heard of the phoenix? Marvelous birds. Due to their theoretically infinite lifespan, their ability to reproduce plummeted, resulting in clutches occurring only once a decade. To make matters worse, most of these eggs will never hatch. Even if they are fertilized, they cannot grow to fruition if their inherent mystical power is insufficient."

"Mesker."

"Yes, yes. Second Chance Pendants are essentially crystallized failed fetuses. That is how they function. They kickstart the reaction for revival, bringing the soul back to the body of the recently deceased. Unlike better methods, the body remains unchanged, so lethal wounds are not healed."

"So that should not be alive."

"Under normal circumstances, yes. See, those stillborn eggs can occasionally reach adulthood. Very rarely, destroying them and initiating their natural fiery revival will resurrect them into healthy chicks."

"That doesn't look like a bird."

"Yes, it does not. You see, what we have here is what in our field we call an improbable mishap."

"Ah, we have stuff like that. When all the trash somehow reacts together and explodes."

"Exactly. See, I believe our dead man failed to activate their pendant in their last moments, and since then has been serving as a pleasant bed for this local bit of carnivorous flora."

"Yeah, Blood Moss. Go on."

"Well, something composed of enough human flesh must have made contact with it, activated the gem, and somehow the event birthed this thing. My theory is whatever new material arrived provided the necessary life energy to kickstart the reaction and thus heavily influenced our newborn recycled soul."

"Alright, but what does it want with... Me..."

Not that his brain wasn't stuck in fight or flight, he could recognize pieces of the plastic and metal bits spread throughout the body. Namely, if he squinted past their highly damaged state, they looked somewhat similar to his previous white armor, before he met Silhouette and got access to all those new shadow materials. An armor that he had last worn when he was piloting his Tech Mech. A Tech Mech that got incinerated by Sunburn which resulted in his armor melting over his skin.

Like, say, the skin currently attached to the debris on this walking carcass.

"It's my skin isn't it."

"That is what I'm led to believe, yes."

The teen sighed under the careful gaze of this abomination he seemingly was indirectly involved in making. He removed his helmet and exposed his scarred and hairless head to the world, holding it against his waist as he stepped closer to the living carcass. Yes, now that he was better informed, he could it. He could see how it wasn't being aggressive but curious, not feral but hopeful.

The thing partially made of his discarded flesh froze as he got closer, the tip of his toes nearly touching its own. He held back a grumble as he realized the creature was a good head taller than him, and internally he began to rant on stupidly large people despite the fact the skeleton that served as its core was relatively average for a normal human male. The distraction didn't last long thankfully, quickly thrown to the side in favor of further studying the not quite undead that had come to see him.

Yes, he realized it now. Silhouette said he had thrown his peeled skin and ruined suit away in the flow of the sewage. It had been some time now since he had been recruited by the shadowy man. What Mesker said implied his skin had still been fresh when it kickstarted that strange reaction. How long did this process take? How long had it been wandering in the tunnels? Had it been searching for him all this time? Did it truly find a way from its native sewers to the Sunken City just for him?

He sighed again before placing his hand on its shoulder, ignoring the way the red moss covering it squelched at his touch.

"Alright. First order of business, we gotta get you presentable. Mesker, any chance you can help rearrange it to not look like a dude that's been left rotting for months?"

"Sadly not. Even a flesh weaver would struggle considering it is also part plant and part inorganic."

"Alright. So, gotta make a new suit. That's fine. I didn't both hours of sleep anyway."

"Origin?"

"That sounds dreadfully unhealthy. Before you continue, may I advise you to take a moment to think about a name? Do ponder it, it will-"

"Come on Tech Junior, we have measuring to do."

"Origin!"

"Second order of business: teaching how to use more than one world."

As the inventor and his adopted spawn turned around to return to the Shadow Den, completely forgetting his initial task of accompanying Mesker away, the mage couldn't help but voice his thoughts out loud once the two were out of earshot.

"What a terrible name for such a heartwarming story."

Alan Leone was a man of science above all. If he was shown undeniable evidence, he could easily interpret it and begin to theorize. He was not some blind idiot who refused to admit the truth when it stared him in the face.

And yet, here he was.

He stared horrified at the screen before him that showed a humanoid figure vanishing into a cloud of black smoke, the footage rewinding back and forth courtesy of his employer's hand pressing a button on his remote.

Mister Marley was almost nonchalant about the whole thing, but the lack of emotion was deceiving. Everyone knew the CEO of Xenocorp kept a friendly at all times, even when threatening employees. For him to fail to maintain the masquerade... Regardless, the poor scientist in the room was far too preoccupied with the impossible reality facing him to fully realize how out of character his employer was.

The handsome man in the dapper suit ultimately put an end to the loop, pausing the footage after a final rewind to show in detail the dark entity in the middle of its transformation. He slowly put down the remote on his desk before putting his hands together, elbows resting on the wooden furniture while his fingertips and his palms stayed apart.

"I remember you telling me Project Null was dead, Alan."

The man with a youthful face but elderly hair's head jumped from the frozen screen to the businessman so rapidly that he lost his balance and almost fell out of his chair.

"It's... It's..."

"Then, pray tell, how do you explain this?"

"It can't be..."

"Oh, but it can. As soon as he appeared I had our people blazing through the city in search of answers. He first appeared in the slums. He is the leader of a ring of arms dealers of sorts. Everything related to him, be it products or bases, is overflowing with dark energies. Namely, the very same ones your creation displayed."

He leaned forward and a little closer, his eyes piercing through the scientist's confusion and panic.

"Care to explain?"

"Mister Marley... I... I assure you! I checked everything myself! Project Null burned all of its life force to escape! It would have died in minutes!"

"I remember you being much more conservative with those sorts of declarations. Namely, I remember you begging me to scour the city in search of it before it could recuperate and rampage."

"I know... I... That's why I'm sure. I... I broke some rules. Used tools and footage you forbade me from approaching after the failure. I needed to be sure. To know it was dead. That it couldn't be a threat."

Mister Marley leaned back in his seat and let his fingers drum against the wood.

"Then we have a problem, Alan. You see, despite your recent failings, I am inclined to believe you. Which begs the question: if our Project Null died, then what is this?"

Both men turned to stare at the paused footage, a recording from one of the city's news channels. A blonde journalist was interrogating someone the channel labeled as "Silhouette, the man who ended the Nightsnatcher".

Someone who was exactly what their dear secret project was meant to become.