Godclads-Chapter 34-4 Amensitech

[Constructing matter from forgotten memories—or destroying matter and using it as forgotten memories—or even just making more people forget, to build something that most can never see: a hidden architecture, if you will; an unseen battlefield, or facilities and institutions that we control, only perceivable by the people we trust, or to whom we have given grace.

This, this can change the battlefield. Never mind the battlefield—this can change thaumaturgy.

With this—Avo, have you considered what to call this new creation?]

“How about Amnesitech.”

-Conversation between Template Kae Kusanade and Avo, The Hidden Flame

34-4

Amensitech

[Amnistech,] Kae said. She tested the word on her tongue as if it were a new flavor, and after a moment, she nodded, her small mouse-like face lighting with glee. [Yes, I think— I think it’s fitting.]

[I think it’s fucking dumb,] Peace interrupted, his expression sour. Many of his templates were still badly beaten, bloodied, and mangled from all the torment the other templates had put him through. As Avo was running a functional anarchy, he left his inner society to its own devices—and pleasures.

[Go lick a rash-hole, Peace. No, you’re always complaining about how things are fucking dumb.] Chambers spat at the Low Master, and a string of curses was his reward. [Don’t worry, Kae, I think it sounds great.]

And more than sounding great, it was also effective. The Woundmother worked in tandem with his spreading conflagration. As flames danced—threading from one member of his cadre to another—bits of blood lined with gold, red, and that ineffable ghostly color brought forth new constructs within the already complicated structures of exo-cortexes. These implants, connected to the minds of his cadre by a neural lace and serving as the means to link them to coldtech networks such as Threshold, were subtly upgraded without anyone ever knowing.

Such was the greatest benefit of being a construct made from lost memories. Only one who possessed the power of ignorance could see them, and even then, it was not a conscious thing.

At the same time, Avo slipped out from the Stormsparrow’s ontology, direct motes of blood through meters of solid matter and. Moments later, droplets of red twisted and coiled out into the void; they traveled slowly at first, doing their best to avoid notice, and then—once enough distance was established—they turned to bolts of lightning, striding further and further until finally, Avo created a few tons of mass and detonated them.

A chain of explosions lit the near-void. If one looked up from Light’s End, they would see sparkling dots from all the high-yield detonations taking place. This would not go unnoticed—it would draw attention from satellites and planetary assets. Such was his desire, after all. He needed the majority to think that he was stealing this from Voidwatch, and, hell if not, for a nearly botched attempt.

A few moments later, he began constructing a new spire of poison in the void. Dots of blood began to clot together, but after just a moment, they faded from sight, vanishing to slip between two places. As a construct of matter and memory, Avo could choose who would be held at a distance. More than that, though, he could create it in sublime secrecy.

Shaped from lost memories entwined with the nature of matter, Avo could grow an entire city from his… Amensiaite and no one would be any wiser—not even the Majority, the Overheaven reigned over the Domain of Information, could see the grand deception he was weaving.

***

Back in a nested realm of shadows, the majority stood in a loop of thinking as whispers were exchanged among its constituents. They chattered in hushed voices, and one could practically taste the anxiety leaking out of them. “What have you done?” the Inner Council demanded. Other voices echoed after them, but they were the first to respond.

As usual, this republic was guided, ruled, and whatever democracy they thought they had was manufactured. After all, it was in human nature to succumb to idolatry—and if not a god, then an idea; and of ideas, representatives, icons, and individuals. Chains from chains, and nothing was ever learned.

“You wanted a Deep One. Getting one for you. Want you to understand my capabilities. That I have no true limits.” Avo filled his voice with bravado as he intensified the explosions. By now, the space around the planetary ring was wash with a chain nuclear-level explosions.

“You are actively engaging in conflict,” the Majority said in disbelief. “You—”

“The Voidwatch isn’t incompetent,” Avo grunted. “Minds noticed. Have protocols and protections. Didn’t say I was going to get it out clean. Don’t worry. Won’t lead it back to you. Will claim the Deep One and move it somewhere. Somewhere beyond the reach of technology. Will have all the time in the world to examine and judge our prize there.”

The Majority were silent for a moment, then broke out into smaller discussions. The murmurings were like a droning hum, and soon the Overheaven of Information became as if a hive. I was content to watch—to just study. Though he couldn’t see through the majority entirely, he was gaining a better measure of how they operated.

Ultimately, they were human—all too human—with patterns of behavior and flaws inherent to mankind. The weakness within them lay in the realms of sociology and psychology. The inner council directed them, guided them, and removed some major weaknesses of a republic, such as indecision, deadlock, and social decay. That meant they had a single point of critical failure—a vulnerable target for him to subvert and exploit.

“Might not be a clean extraction in the end. Will give you what you asked for. And then it will be your turn.” Avo could not help but chuff with laughter, and as the Majority quivered in discomfort, the world felt oh-so wonderful.

***

With the spires slowly spilling into existence, he turned his attention back to his cadre once more, and instead of just syncing his memories with theirs, he began his first test run for his Amensitech implants.

He connected them to each other as if they were Auto-Seances. Forgotten sequences of memories were tethered together, connecting Chambers to Draus to Naeko and more. As the unseen module began to hum within their exo-cortexes, he sent a trickle of mem-data through an implant he constructed within his Soulscape. They should have received a burst of memories subconsciously—scenes detailing his battle against Zein. However, as his thoughtcast arrived, they barely responded, with Draus frowning momentarily as his cast was regarded as an odd and intrusive series of thoughts.

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Ignorance sighed. Should have expected this. Human mind is not designed to function this way. Already hard to distinguish between certain impulses and thoughts. They don’t have our capacity. Cannot sift through what is a strange trick of their mind. Cannot control their minds perfectly. Also don’t have influence over ignorance.

Avo understood that. That was troublesome. The implants created a hidden network accessible to only him… just him. Even with his cadre tuned in, they couldn’t actively use it because it was created out of something their minds couldn’t remember.

The human mind needed additional buffering and support.

What they lacked, ultimately, was a warmind of Ignorance. And thus, Avo was inspired to commission a new creation from the Woundmother and Peace.

CONSTRUCTING [WARMIND OF IGNORANCE]

It wasn’t going to be an impossible thing to create. He had the means. He had the trauma. He even had an expert. Now, he just needed to align the broken sequences of mind with the patterns of thaumaturgy.

Kae chuckled darkly as she considered what he was making. [Avo, you do know that you can use this… forgotten matter as hidden bombs inside people? Or implants to spy on them? All you need to do is grow them in more people. No one will even notice. We don’t just have hidden architecture, we have the means to truly finish your hidden empire, and construct a true panopticon.]

“I… yes… yes!” Yes, he could create an entire Sovereignty for himself anywhere he wanted. But more importantly, he could turn everyone into a private spying apparatus—his own brand of sleepers. The best part of all was that he didn’t even need to train them.

Suddenly, Avo found himself rather thankful that Jaus Avandaer had banished Noloth into the Deep Nether. A Heaven of the Mind was a magnificent and terrible thing to possess. Not only was it a sublime tool, but it also was a danger beyond comprehension. He meant that literally. Now it was his tool—but soon someone else would start designing cannons related to consciousness, mind, memory, or more. He was simply the most suited to weaponize such domains.

It was while thinking of Jaus Avandaer that Avo was summoned.. The speaker wasn’t a chorus—a metaphysical entity created from information and forged by data drawn from countless citizens—nor was it one of his many songs, or his reunited Heaven of Blood, or a crusade, the blade-freed dragon, or any of his templates. No, this was a purely human voice, speaking to him from a lounge within another structure, a facility, an institution planted upon the planetary ring.

From within a lounge aboard Axtraxis Academy, Jaus sat with strings of love cocooning his person while two Paladins stood guard beside him. He watched proceedings through Chambers, but wasn’t there in person. Curious. Interesting. But most atonishing of all was his intuition, his insight.

“Avo, if you are there, I would like to talk to you. We have a few things to speak about.”

The Hidden Flame was surprised and impressed. Jaus Avandaer knew he was there somehow? Was it because he felt a change in Chambers’ mind? Or did something else give Avo away? After just a moment of hesitation, the Hidden Flame responded, gliding across angered bonds and materializing before Jaus in a flash of mental flame.

The Paladins flinched back. Soulfire rushed through them. Avo responded by implanting them with shards of Amnesiaite and drowning them in lost memories. He would take that out of them later. As courtesy, he shared his actions with the Chief Paladin.

+Avo, the fuck,+ Naeko hissed.

+Don’t worry. They’ll be fine. Just going to talk to Jau—+

The Hidden Flame let out a hiss of displeasure as a great weight closed around his very being. Right. Naeko was Ninth Sphere now. That was Avo’s fault; too much gloating. Time to come back to Idheim, back to the planet.

His burning presence quivered before the Savior, and Jaus merely looked up and smiled.

“It is good to see you, Avo,” Jaus said carefully, gesturing at one of the open chairs. “Might you speak to me as a person would another?”

The request made Avo pause. “This is who I am now. What I am. We can speak just fine this way. Could be more efficient if I—”

“Humor me.”

Avo paused. What was Jaus playing at. “Please. I insist.”

“I don’t see a point in pretending to be something I am no longer.”

“There is a point: my comfort and ease of our communication. I won’t pretend to understand what you are and your capabilities. You are quite different from both mortal and divine, to put it simply. But take pity on me.” He held up his hands as if pleading or praying. “Take pity on this mere mortal.”

Avo scoffed. “Mere mortal,” he repeated. As if there was anything mere about Jaus Avandaer.

Bits of blood leaked from his Conflagration, and a sheath was forged sinew by sinew, droplet by droplet. His augmented Bone Demon body materialized in the chair across from Jaus, and Avo took a few moments to acclimate himself to the limits of a biological vessel.

“Ah. What an interesting specimen you are. My wife would have liked to make sport of something like you.”

Deep inside Avo, Zein did something uncharacteristic, she shrank; she tried to hide.

Jaus continued. “But this better. I can see your teeth. Predatory. Your design screams of someone’s attempt to make a beast. Or a monster. This, I can understand. More than a god, I think.”

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“You broke them.”

“Yes. And that requires only conceptualization. Not understanding. Or sympathy.” The expression on Jaus’ face flattened into blankness. “And gods—exactly what I wanted to speak to you about. I understand that you have been returning them, reconstructing them, and giving them back their existence.”

Within Avo, a presence recoiled. Horror, outrage, curiosity, and apprehension bled into the Woundmother. “Godbreaker…” Their limbs tried to reach out through Avo, but he bade her to stop. Asked her to hold back. The Heaven of Blood strained, it’s elemental urge tension warring between an insatiable urge to unmake the one that unmade them and an unmistakable need to grow—to continue to evolve. To defy Avo now was to sacrifice the future for a pointless act of revenge. And thus, the Woundmother chose to stay their hand. Because though gods were elemental, some burned differnet from others.

Avo shook his head. “Apologies,” he said, wiping away a faint trace of red left on the table. “Discomfort is mutual. Gods don’t exactly like you either.”

“So I see,” Jaus said. They studied each other. Avo regarded Jaus’ accretion, listening for any hints or weaknesses. Jaus, for his part, tried to read Avo from his body language. Something that likely wasn’t so easy.

“Why,” Jaus asked. It was a genuine question. “Why did you restore the gods?”

Avo grinned, showing rows of jagged fangs. “At first, because I could. Because it was an expression of power—absolute, broken, then whole. Fractured. Restored by my Frame. By my will.”

Jaus flinched slightly at that, his face displaying a panoply of disgust, outrage, and finally weariness. But it changed. “Your reasons changed afterward.”

“Yes,” Avo said. “It became more a matter of choice, of discovery. The gods are elemental—you know this.”

Jaus nodded. “You see how they are, how they operate. You understand that there can be no coexistence.”

“There can be,” Avo said. “Through me.”

Jaus blinked. “And so, you envision yourself as a tyrant?”

Avo considered that. Perhaps that might be a fitting term, in some ways. But ultimately… “I am a canvas. Not a tyrant. Just an experience. As other people are experiences to me. I can learn through them. Them through me. More like a server. With a bit of administration. Don’t want to bend people. I just want to see…”

“See what?” Jaus leaned in.

“What do people become? With enough mistakes. Enough trauma. Enough joy. Enough time. Enough experiences. I want to see the colors. Always.”

“And the gods?” Jaus asked, his voice quiet. “You wish to see if they can change? To learn through you as well?”

Avo glared at Jaus for a moment. “Never call yourself a mere mortal again. See too much. Horrific insight. Makes me want to eat your eyes.”

“Please don’t.”

+You better fucking not,+ Naeko muttered.