Phantom Chained

Chapter 10. Rebirth. Elm.

We walked together,

on the path of war,

and whispered to each other;

"We are done for."

We screamed at the heavens,

mouths open wide. 

Too late for help to cry,

from above, within the sky.

We looked onward,

straight ahead,

cursing the road,

and all that it meant.

We looked at our feet,

down into the depths,

and lowered our heavy eyes,

dropping down with heavy breaths.

We begged to die,

at the end of this abyss

but she did not accept us, 

the unfair Miss.

Elm's gloomy song

I watch. I observe. I suffer.

And can't do jack about it, what the hell! A miracle crash-landed out of nowhere. The apocalypse is still a work in progress, so there just has to emerge a method of premature resurrection. 

I see how it's going to be. Can imagine pretty well.

A flash of divine power deafens the living with the wail of angelic trumpets, pouring into the embryos of data and readying them for the afterlife. One after another, the cells begin dividing, joining into a multilayered conglomerate, forming a self-regulating system which calls itself the 'crown of creation.'

A funny collection of single-cell organisms that dream of immortality. 

The end of Clara's fibulae have already gotten covered with a thin layer of cartilaginous tissue and a lone spark appeared and fizzled out in an instant inside the skeletal brain.

I never would have even imagined that I would become a source of energy for the process of rebirth. Don't tell me even the brain will get restored? What about the memories? Hopefully not the memories, I definitely don't need Clara remembering everything. That aside, how will she get out of the coffin? If she can't get to the surface, she will suffocate and despite how pleasant that would feel, what then? Will she die and rot again, only to get resurrected? Will this continue for eternity or will she be able to breathe somehow?

Using me, perhaps?

Questions, questions... Pointless, worthless, tortuous. I tremble before the cocoon of energy like a miser before a pile of gold, like a dehydrated traveller before a jug of water. Right now, the leak is barely noticeable but soon the sun will set, and then...

I noticed that the corpse's energy consumption follows a cycle, repeating thrice a day. The drain is strongest during dusk. Then comes a period of slow extraction. Finally comes a stage of calm, when the corpse and I can co-exist peacefully just like the good ol' days. This is the stage when the cells of my beloved Clara's bygone body explode into life, multiplying, operating and differentiating to fit various roles.

I almost-lovingly observe the process from a distance. I bet you will tell me that it's best to destroy the first signs of life while they are still unable to retaliate but trust me, I gave it lots of thought. 

But changed my mind.

I'm terrified! My intuition hisses like a ball of angry snakes; 'Careful, it's-s-s dangerous-s-s, too ris-s-sky!'

And I wholeheartedly agree. I don't even want to attempt it. To become a part of Clara, living or dead? No, thanks. I'm better here on the chain and I know what I'm talking about. 

I once had a certain... experience of taking over a human body. First and last. One stupid nun tearfully pleaded for me, and I didn't get a triple but a centennial approval, if not more. And so I entered; who wouldn't?

The ability to ascent from parasite to owner, is there a bigger temptation for a creature like myself?

If my intrusion to the spindle can be compared to an ambitious thief digging a tunnel under a treasure vault, then possession is a battle! A battle to conquer a house with its full interior, a complete and utter victory over the owners. After that, you can do whatever you want, be it taking ownership of the house or making the old owner serve you while you relax on the captured territory. 

And so, I lost my first battle with utter embarrassment.

Of course, I didn't just blindly charge in there; I had a solid base of theoretical knowledge from a couple of wise mentors who generously shared their knowledge for taking over a fleshbag.

Unfortunately, words mean nothing when you get thrown into boundless space filled with squirming clumps of proto-plasma, a scarlet universe oozing with chemical substances and pierced with sparks of electric impulses. Packed to the brim with birth, death, decay, motion.

I'll admit that I completely lost control from the paralysing fear, instantly forgetting my mentors' words. The bloody, sloshing mess was inside me... I was inside it... Digesting, dissolving, absorbing! But I have to let it as it's the only way to assimilate into the myriad of twin spirals, into each and every one of them and only then, my mentors told me, comes the light of full control. That's how they gained access into the projection of human consciousness in the person's centre of control inside the brain. Do that correctly and the flesh golem is yours, do whatever you want with it! Operate the strings or swim in energy to your heart's content! Pure bliss!

And I couldn't do it.

'Masochism' is too beautiful and sophisticated of a word for these perverts, my mentors. 

The memories make me shudder in disgust. I look closer at the bones, seeing the cells slow down; they need more energy. Or rather, they need me.

It's time.

It is important not to miss the moment of activation and get as far away as possible fast, sacrificing some energy for the chain. It's working so far. Maybe I'll give my nursing girl some more time, she is providing for two, after all. 

An undead being and a living corpse.