Silhouette

The ratlings had been more than satisfied with their pastries, Foudre enjoyed an éclair, described by Maltodextrin as a classic Gaulliancian delicacy, Goliath a Bossche bol, a large chocolate ball filled with whipped cream from The Lands That Weren't, David a flies graveyard, a squarish pastry filled with raisins from somewhere called Albion - which tickled James' knowledge of Arthurian legends - while Blanche devoured a white forest, some kind of sponge cake from Grimmkin, and Lucille, usually so stoic, couldn't stop herself from sighing and smiling as she ate a Kifli, something that to James untrained eye had just looked like a weird small croissant before being firmly educated by Maltodextrin as soon he voiced this thought, now knowing that it is a pastry from a country called Faminora that could be found not far from Draskia.

Seeing them feast on the sugary treats somewhat saddened James. Oh, he was glad they were happy, but it kinda hammered home the fact he now had no mouth and no sense of taste. Sure, he could theoretically shapeshift himself a mouth, but what was the point if he couldn't use it to eat? With his pitch-black nature, he wouldn't even be able to use it to smile.

He had gotten used to being non-human, to the lack of sleep, the way his senses worked differently now, his new powers... But you never know how much you're attached to something until it leaves. In this case, taste. At least he got to eat a pizza before reincarnating.

In any case, aside from the pastries, the items he had brought back from the Black Block had been a big subject of curiosity for the ratlings, especially Goliath. As soon as he had finished his Bossche bol and had got his paws on the pieces of metal and batteries James had bought, the young large rat had gone into a frenzy and rushed into his workshop.

There was still something James had brought from the Black Block that he needed to deal with.

"Sooo... Magic, eh?"

"Yes, I plan to experiment with magic. Why do you ask, David?"

"Well, it's just... Weird. Like, why bother with fireballs when you can just rip out their throat?"

"Magic isn't only about attacking. You can create shields, heal wounds, control the environment with elementalism or telekinesis..."

"Uhu. And you plan to do all this with a ring and a weird lightbox?"

"A lantern, David, and yes. Never underestimate magic or rings, especially magical rings. There's an entire saga about an evil ring made with magic in my world."

"Sure, sure."

"I'll tell you another day. I'm sure you'd love it, there are lots of fights with massive armies, dismemberments and it ends with a volcano."

"You know making things up doesn't make you look cool, right? We're not that stupid."

James would have rolled his eyes had he still had them. One day he would knock out David with the genius of Tolkien's worldbuilding, but not today. Today, he delved into the magical arts.

The first step described in the guide Magic for Dummies was to learn how to meditate. Unsurprisingly enough, since magic was tied to the Soul Aspect, the best way to get started was to study your soul, and the best path to introspection was, again, meditation.

The guide mentioned that, depending on your personality, affinities, and Aspects, different methods would bear different results. Someone with a close tie to fire would have an easier time getting in tune with themself in a hot area than in a pool, for example. Some people needed silence, others needed noise, some preferred a small space, others a large area... In other words, you had to figure out what worked best on your own.

James recalled how he would focus to perceive things through his infused creations, such as the black bricks of the lair or the bones of Soluble, and thought it might be a good start. He slid his way to a room he had created to be his personal space and took a second to think of the best to position himself. Should he stay in his Silhouette form? Maybe the Skitter one? Maybe a plain old humanoid body?

Let's just try what seems most natural and stick to it.

James stood in the middle of the small room and used his tentacles to set up a few things. He drew some runes in a circle around him with chalk following the instructions of the guide, apparently, they were supposed to help beginners feel things. He then set down the Everlasting Lantern in front of him.

According to the scroll that came with it, the lantern required a magic practitioner to activate it with his magical energies, no matter what they were. The lantern would then be lit up thanks to the energy and, through a complex magical set up inside, would perfectly recycle all of the energy it had received, allowing it to stay alight indefinitely, hence its name. Of course, there was a reason such a system wasn't used everywhere, it only worked with very small tasks and in very small quantities. A lantern was fine, an engine was not.

According to the guide, there were more powerful artifacts that used a similar system but they weren't as efficient and were incredibly rare and expensive. Not that it concerned James, he had no plans on getting himself a "totem of vitality siphoning" or any other fancy the guide mentioned. He had basic needs and basic desires.

He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly - it was all in his head of course since he had no lungs but the activity helped cool him down.

James focused and closed off all of his senses.

Immediately, in the great nothing he perceived, he could feel small spots that sensed things.

The bricks of the lair, letting him see all of the ratlings training in the little parkour course Goliath had created in their little rat-sized gym.

The gun and the bullets he had infused, currently stored behind a removable brick he had set up in his room.

The elite members of Mischief, how some of them were taking care of their regular rat brethren while others were hunting or on the lookout.

Soluble's bones, from which he could look at the Cored thug's surroundings and hear their current discussion.

"So, a silhouette in the sewers beat ya good?"

"Not A silhouette, THE silhouette. I dunno what that thing is-"

"Funny coming from you, slimey."

"Shut up. But that thing, it's dangerous. Knocked out Jeffrey-"

"That's impressive?"

"And Mark-"

"Lizarboy? He's big but I've seen worse."

"Without them ever seeing it."

"Oh, a stealthy one. No wonder your boys got a beating."

"You don't get it, Guy."

"You're being paranoid, Soluble. You should be glad these two are still kicking. You all shouldn't have gone down there in the first place, gods know what kinda stuff lives down there. There's a reason why Sicklers don't go there."

"Guy, it wasn't an animal. It was someone, and they had a gun-"

"Soluble, buddy, there are tons of people with guns out there. I mean come on you're made of acid for Kleptus' sake!"

"Guy, they shot me. And it worked."

"What?"

"The gun. It fired a bullet and it hurt. It knocked me out cold too."

"That's... Noteworthy. A gun or a bullet that can hurt organless Cored? I don't think you could even find one of those in the Sunken City."

"You serious?"

"Dunno, it's not like I've seen the place. I could ask a few of my contacts if you want?"

"Yeah, it'd be for the best."

James mentally shook his head. As interesting as it was, he had some meditating to do. He ignored the calling of the various infused items he had made and focused on himself. In the great nothingness of perception he had entered, he strangely felt no tie to himself.

He focused.

He focused.

He focused.

He felt it.

A small thread, a little string of darkness. No, there were multiple of them. They each connected one of the infused items to... Him? They all twisted and reveled around something, forming the beginning of what could one day become a cocoon. Maybe? It was hard to know with only a dozen threads.

What perplexed James was the fact he couldn't see what was at the center of the threads. There were so few of them that he should have been able to clearly see what they were surrounding, and yet nothing. Why...

Wait. Everything I can see here is linked to shadows somehow. But my soul... It comes from Earth. My darkness shtick comes from my body, not from my soul. It has nothing to do with shadows.

The reason why he couldn't see what was at the center of this loose bundle of strings was probably that in this state he could only see shadows. That should have been obvious. But how could he overcome it? How...

James focused on the sphere he could not see and on the strings that seemed to begin to envelop it. Looking more closely, they didn't stop on the sphere. It made sense, in a way. One end of the thread was coming from the infused objects, then it went to the sphere, it ran around it, but where did the other end of it go?

He caught them, apparently, the whole bundling thing made them shrink because the ends he was looking for were barely a tenth of those that came off the infused objects. Now, as to where they were going...

Oh.

They were going into him. The him that he was currently seeing things through. His inner him, in a way. Which was a roundabout way to talk about...

My soul. Of course, my astral self that sees weird stuff is my soul. And the sphere around which the strings go must be a representation of my Core or something. Now, how to see it...

Creating a mental mirror didn't work, trying to keep his astral body in one place while his view went to another didn't work...

Come on, think James. How do you see something you are? How? I can't force a third-person view, I can't make a mirror... How do other people make magical introspection work? Wait. Introspection. Looking inside yourself. Could it...?

James tried something. A little trick that many people playing VR games often tried.

He bent down until what should have been his head entered what should have been his body.

In other words, he glitched into himself.

And it worked.

The thing he saw couldn't be described. He had expected his soul to be some kind of floating orb or ghost version of himself, but it was so much more.

It was his memories.

His nightmares.

His dreams.

His life.

His death.

Him at six years old, the first time he went to a zoo.

Him at sixteen, when his friend Darcia rejected his advances.

Him as a fetus, as his cells worked on multiplying and arranging themselves.

Him as a confused black blob waking up in the sewers.

It was his favorite music, the odor he hated the most, the horrendous sound of chalk on a blackboard, the smell of his mother's cookies in the oven...

All he had ever experienced, ever been, ever wanted, ever loved, ever hated, all tied together into a single thing. Into him.

It was all that and yet had no color, shape, weight, taste, texture, or scent of its own. It was... It was merely a summary. A summary of his existence. But was that true? No, it wasn't. No. But then why. Why did it feel so... Lacking? Like an egg with no shell.

Wait. The thing the threads had begun to make. Was it a representation of his core or was it his subconscious attempts at fixing this... Not hollowness, no, the exact opposite in truth. Had his soul's shell been lost in reincarnation? How could he fix that? Would the threads be enough? No, the way they were entering his soul, they weren't trying to envelop it, the thing they were creating was something else. Then how? Why?

His body. He had reincarnated. He had lost his human body. Could it be why the shell was missing? It was lost in his human body? But then how could he create a new one? He had a new body but...

Could that be it? Would he need to create a stronger bond between his body and his soul? But how? The only way to create bonds he knew was with his infusion, but it would never work on his soul... Or would it? Polisson had said he had been fundamentally changed. That he had felt something touching his soul. Would this insane plan work? Could James infuse his own soul? Should he infuse his own soul?

Polisson had talked about a desire to serve and increased loyalty, but nothing like increased bloodthirst or pulsions to devour human flesh. Everything had apparently been influenced by James' want for a guard and Polisson's wishes to help his pack and further his own intellect. If James was the only party involved, then his infusion should entirely correspond to his desires, should it not?

He should do further research. Look things up on the Internet. Maybe ask that woman at the magical shop for advice. Or discuss it with the others in the HardCored chat. He shouldn't rush headfirst into this big mystery without preparations.

And yet he found himself unable to leave. Unable, or unwilling? James himself didn't know. Stuck as he was, there was only one possibility.

He pulled on the strings of darkness.

Unknown to him, in the physical realm, all of the shadows within the lair and the surrounding tunnels began to thrive. To dance. To sing. To rejoice. They all began to converge into a single point. Into him.

James watched his soul with rapt attention, making sure nothing would affect it directly. He wouldn't let himself be changed against his will. Not again.

Shadows traveled through the threads but when they tried to spread into his soul, James didn't let them. He redirected them, drove them to surround it instead. None would get inside.

Darkness covered the sum of his existence in a few seconds and yet more kept coming. Always and always.

And then it stopped.

James woke up, back in his little room.

In the Everlasting Lantern, a black flame was burning.