Fabricated Chapter 25

The hooded figure tucks him under a arm, and after a quick sweep of the cells, makes their way back to the steps and then outside. PC twists in their grasp, prompting them to hold tighter and tighter; he feels Alice squirming in his hoodie pocket, trying to avoid the arm that clamps down. 

They cross the campus to the square building in the center, and PC can see from beneath as the figure conjures a Psionic shape which they fit into the lock. Something hums, and the door opens. The figure moves quickly inside, and PC wriggles again, manages to wrench his view from being obscured by the arm. 

It’s not a large room, bare white walls and tile floor. At the center is a circular structure, dark purple and inert; it has been cleaned of vines and debris, buffed and shined. PC feels his breath catch— here is the Psi Gate, just as the Outsider Shard said it would be. 

There is a smaller room connected to this one, and its door opens, and out comes another hooded figure, whom the first kneels to. The standing figure -the Great Revered Emissary, PC guesses- barely looks at the other, attention instead on PC; gloved hands make a ‘give it here’ motion, and PC is almost reverently placed into the waiting palms. The rest of standing figure’s face is shrouded in the dark of their hood, but their eyes gleam bright purple, and in the glow PC sees them wrinkle their nose at him. 

They wordlessly dismiss the other human, and set PC down in a sitting position, head tipped ever so slightly to the side. “Why,” the Emissary says at last, “do you bond to something that does not even live? Something even lesser then the human populace? Do you have no pride?”

Eylion growls; PC feels imaginary hairs on an imaginary neck stand up. The Emissary tsks at them. “You are so young,” they say. “You could yet be redeemed.”

“Show yourself,” Eylion says, appearing and flashing green red red green. “Or are you afraid? Is that why you jump into the heads of humans?”

The gleaming glimmering purple tendrils rise, and a ghostly body follows, and the Elder looks disdainful. “Of a whelp? A whelp and a human invention that not-breathes? No, I do not fear you.”

“Then why do you hide in this host of a human?”

“I do not hide,” hisses the Elder. “I am our gatekeeper, our surveyor. No one will get through that should not. The humans are little more then vehicles to me. We will move beyond them.”

Well, I guess we knew it wouldn’t be easy, PC thinks at Eylion. The Ethereal does not answer, just trembles in anger. 

“You have such potential,” the Elder goes on. “And yet you waste it. On humanity. On their toys. You could be one of us, if you wanted. You are still able to be saved.”

“I don’t need saving—“ Eylion begins.

“You are dying,” says the Elder.

“So are you!”

“And yet we will outlast you,” they say. “Don’t you wonder what it would be like to live out your lifespan? We are merciful creatures. We can make an exception.”

“I don’t need your mercy or your exceptions,” Eylion says, and its form flickers out of existence, only to return in PC’s body as a pushing and a urge and he’s suddenly flipping out of the human’s hold, striking out with a Null Lance of his own—

A shimmering wall of purple meets the green, and it explodes on impact, sending PC staggering back a few steps. The Elder has retreated to its host, is shaking the head at them.

“We knew you would come,” it says through its mouthpiece. “We have eagerly awaited a apprentice. But humanity has soiled you, turned your heart from our cause.” Eyes flick to PC’s form. “I suppose it should not be such a surprise.” A sigh. “I will not enjoy the task of killing you, child.”

The human pulls its hood taunt; the purple glowing eyes narrow. “But it is a task I must do.”

And then they lunge; PC dives out the way, takes only a moment’s satisfaction to hear the clash of body against tile, whirls about on his feet to meet the human so rapidly rising and coming right at him.

Eylion ignites Psionic energy about his fingers and they claw at the human, the sizzle of flesh and rush of blood only a second of surprise, PC wincing and then howling as a second Null Lance from the Emissary cuts clean through, this time around his printed hip, just barely grazing Alice, who screams again, a hoarse sound. He jumps away, flings a ball of energy; it meets a Null Lance, which he narrowly avoids. 

“How long can your host last?” asks the Emissary, one moment wiping the blood from the brow of the body it carries, the next calling small bursts of purple lightning about its fingers and firing them at PC. 

“How long can yours?” snarls Eylion back, bringing PC to the floor, another Psionic energy ball fired in the half space before he hits the floor and the Psionic lightning goes flickering overhead. 

He sees purple glisten amongst the blood on the human face, and a pang of fear runs through him. Eylion, he thinks, Eylion, they can heal.

So can we.

There is a painful pulling at the edges of where the Null Lances cleaved through him, a mingle of Psionic and Awakening that burns more then should, and as he struggles to dash half stood across, he feels the fabric stretch, feels new sutures weave their way across the gaps, feels the holes closing. 

The Emissary comes running at him again, pins him against the wall, and with one deft hand sparking purple, rips PC in half. 

Eylion howls, because PC can not. 

Eylion howls, because the healing is taking too long. 

Eylion howls, and something -someone- answers.

There’s a explosion at the door, the door comes off its hinges, and there is Espeon on the shoulder of Alex, there is Davey, and there is Tulip, clutching the gun they got back at the UFO.

“Shoot that motherfucker!” yells Espeon as she fires off miniature Null Lance after miniature Null Lance at the Emissary; the gun warms, fires, and the smell of blood and burnt flesh rise in the air as the Emissary is caught in shoulder by the plasma bolt. It raises its hand and at least a hundred different ‘strings’ of energy glow about it just for a moment, but PC isn’t certain he sees this, isn’t sure of anything.

Faintly, PC hears voices, hears doors opening. His attention returns to nearby, to his split self, barely held together by the ribbon and his clothes. Davey is here, mushing everything as he picks PC up, firefighter style, narrowly avoiding being caught in the middle as the Emissary returns fire at Espeon. 

But it’s getting hard to tell exactly what is going on. Memories that aren’t real never were bubble over, he smells smoke and fire, hears the plasma guns (so much quieter then conventional weapons), hears the screaming and the cracking of wood, and his vision flickers here, not here, here, not— 

Alex shrieks, and the shriek momentarily brings him to the present, to what’s real, and a wild bolt of Psionics erupts from their hands— it catches the Emissary hard in the chest, knocks them back, gives Davey the chance to gather up the stuffing pieces that have fallen and scamper away. One hand pulls Alice from PC’s pocket, and then puts her back; the other wrapped around PC presses harder.

PC sees a squabble of people emerging from the dorms, but it feels far away. He feels far away, like he’s somewhere above this all, watching it unfold. He watches as the humans rush out of the square building, as they scramble through the growing crowd and grabbing hands to the car, as Alex and Espeon throws bolts and Tulip fires the gun at anyone who tries to stop them. 

He’s aware that Davey reaches the car first, that he’s uncermonioisly dumped into a seat. He’s aware that the other two aren’t far behind, that the car starts, wheels screaming as the truck almost spins out of the parking lot. He’s aware that there is screaming. He’s aware that there is blood, somewhere, from the person holding him together with shaking hands as they peel back his clothes and try to stitch him back into one. 

Someone speaks. PC cannot hear it. He feels the rough fabric of Alice’s paw somewhere on his form. He cannot see.

Eylion?

I am here. I am here. 

The humans...Alice, Espeon...?

Here. Safe. 

And the Emissary? Their followers?

Hunting, comes the dark reply. 

I guess it really isn’t gonna be that easy, he answers, and he isn’t sure if he says it, or he thinks it—

And then there is darkness, and he thinks, in a last second of consciousness, that he is grateful