Mask of Humanity

Nicolai was half-asleep, half-awake, when a flicker of light and a crackling sound ripped him from his doze. He sat up, clutching at the polearm, watching as the torch on the wall spluttered into life. The flame grew stronger and firmer, a bright, warming yellow that reminded him of a sunrise.

‘Daytime,’ said Kleos behind him.

The light and the words dispelled the sweaty unease of the night. Nicolai rose to his feet, wincing at the aches and pains of his body after hours on the hard stone. The sensations triggered an old habit and he found himself stretching, beginning one of the morning routines he’d once clung to with a near religious adherence.

Kleos watched silently as Nicolai moved through poses, at first stiff but increasingly smooth and limber. Nicolai snuck glances at the head here and there, seeing that it wore a pensive, distracted expression, staring at Nicolai but not seeing him, its mind on other matters. Nicolai left it to its thoughts, enjoying the quiet and the calm. His own mind was largely empty, his body moving automatically.

After completing his warm-up stretch Nicolai drank from the blue water bottle, finding that it was almost fully refilled after the night. The water was cool and wonderfully thirst quenching, as though there were a half-litre of water in each sip. However, this led to a pressing urge to urinate, the first of his new life, and he searched around the room until he found some kind of large clay jar in the cabinet.

Following this he moved into a series of cardiovascular and body-weight exercises, a forty-five minute routine that would maintain his fitness and strength, then flowed into the warm-down stretches to get the final kinks out of his muscles.

He paused partway through, when Kleo spoke for the second time that morning. It asked to be placed upon the table, and once there it resumed its pensive silence and empty staring.

Once the routine was finished, Nicolai paced around the room, his body searching for something, a frown growing on his face. He finally stopped, frustrated, trying to work out what he was doing, and realised he wanted to have a bath, floss and brush his teeth, shave and apply facial creams. His mouth tasted disgusting. He took another drink of the blue water, rinsed his mouth with it, swallowed, then scrubbed at his teeth with his fingers.

As a youth he’d been particular about his appearance, at the time due to vanity. Later on he became even moreso, but then it was due to a desire to blend in and out of necessary to craft various different appearances. Avoiding the authorities and his enemies had never been easy, even back then before the rise of surveillance states. On top of that, the presence of reliable routines in his life helped him manage his various… issues.

The interruption to his routine derailed his calm state of mind, and his frown grew.

He finished cleaning his mouth. His body wanted to bathe but was unable. ‘Does this place have a bath or shower?’ he broke the silence to ask Kleos. He already knew the answer because he remembered the other rooms and recalled no such devices. But as he stared at Kleos he felt a mounting hope. Maybe there was something he’d missed, some alien design that hadn’t resembled a bath or shower to his eyes, or perhaps a hidden room.

The heads eyes were dim, and its face creased absently at his words then its eyes glanced towards him, blinking as though emerging from a dream. ‘What?’

‘Is there a place for me to clean my body with water?’ Nicolai clarified, the stupid hope rising.

Kleos frowned harder. ‘No,’ it said.

Nicolai’s hands clenched and his teeth grit. He felt a powerful urge to break something, and forced his eyes away from the head. There was a chair which he started towards but then he thought he might want to use it to sit in and forced himself to stop, grimacing. Just another impulse. He had to maintain control but it was increasingly difficult. What was building within him required release. His eyes searched the room.

They fell upon the polearm, the footman’s mace as it was called, and he lunged for it, gripped it tight.

The polearm’s hammer-head hissed through the air as he struck, imagining phantom figures surrounding him, parrying blows and dodging strikes then countering, savage and vicious. While he vented his rage another part of him nodded approvingly, figuring this a good use of his time. It was wise to grow accustomed to one’s chosen weapon. His body was comparatively unused to handling polearms, though his mind knew what to do, and the practise helped him bridge the gap.

After twenty-odd minutes his brief anger had long-dissipated and he felt calm and relaxed, finding satisfaction in his fight with the shadows around him and the increasing smoothness and skill in his movements. That gradual improvement kept him going even once the original purpose was complete.

‘You’re good,’ said Kleos.

Nicolai knew he was good so he didn’t reply. He disliked braggarts, and especially disliked the fact he’d been one in his youth.

‘Used one of those before?’ continued the head.

‘Not exactly,’ said Nicolai, timing his words for a lull in the movements, his eyes on the shadowy figures he imagined advancing towards him. He slid aside from a blow, twisted and struck. ‘In my professional career I predominantly used a different type of weapon.’ He caught an imaginary slash on the metal reinforcement below the polearm’s hammer then kicked out.

‘But I always enjoyed fighting. After my freedom was taken, I was given leave to compete in virtual arenas during downtime.’ Speaking was distracting and he had to step quickly to avoid a strike from one of the phantoms. ‘Medieval style battles were a very popular format,’ he added, recapturing the tempo and striking out.

He wished he could have spent more time in the VR battles. GRECKON had restricted his access after he won too many tournaments and people started trying to work out who he was. They couldn’t tell people they were letting a Module in a killbot compete in public VR games, even if he was technically human.

‘I’m… not sure what all that means,’ said Kleos. ‘But, it’s good that you’re good. You’ll need those skills.’

Nicolai sensed the head had finished thinking and wanted to talk, so he brought his movements to a stop, breathing lightly, then moved to stand by the table. In contrast to Nicolai’s expectations, Kleos seemed a little surprised to see him stop.

‘Aren’t you going to get used to its Art, too?’ it asked.

Nicolai was very interested in the ability to throw blasts of wind the skeleton had showcased with the hammer, which he assumed Kleos was referring to by Art. The examine text had said to use Oma to do so, but the skeleton hadn’t possessed any Oma crystals. At the same time, just by holding it nothing had happened or presented itself to him.

‘I don’t know how,’ he said, seeing no reason to hide the fact from Kleos. Nicolai didn’t trust easily and he didn’t trust the head, but he did trust in its desire to look out for itself and try to get a body, and right now, Nicolai was the only route available for it to do so. It was chained to his wagon.

Kleos was gaping at him. ‘What do you mean you don’t know how?’ For some reason the head was angry.

Nicolai matched its gaze with a blank stare. ‘On my world, we don’t have magic.’

It spluttered. ‘Magic? Wha—you have the Mark! You’re telling me you can’t cultivate?’

This was clearly a big deal to the head. That likely meant it ought to be a big deal to Nicolai, too. He reached into his mouth and gripped his Seed with two fingers, taking it out into his hand and showing it to Kleos. ‘I have this,’ he said, hoping the head would let out a knowing sigh and explain everything.

Instead its eyes boggled as it stared at the little worm, which peeked back at it from between Nicolai’s fingers. It stared at the Seed then at Nicolai. ‘What? What is it? A worm?’

Nicolai tsk’d, frowning back at the head. ‘I thought you were the all knowing severed head?’ he said, trying to inject a little levity into the conversation.

‘You can’t cultivate?’ Kleos repeated, its voice and face filled with rising despair.

Nicolai sighed, frustrated, trying to decide what to do. He was still looming above the head which wasn’t great for conversation but he didn’t want to kneel, either. He grabbed the chair from across the room, plonked it in front of Kleos and sat down, pleased with himself for solving the problem. Then he touched his Seed with his right hand and thought examine.

He glanced at Kleos. ‘This is what my Mark says when I examine the Seed: “Soul Seed. The Seed of an undefined Soul. Soul Seeds were the creation of a long-dead race which lacked a natural ability to Cultivate. By implanting a Soul Seed into themselves, they were able to gain a footing in the Spiritual Realm. Seeds consume soul energy and Oma to grow, and the user must bond with the Seed in order to eventually allow it to merge with them, gaining a Soul and becoming a Cultivator.”’

He looked at Kleos expectantly, hopefully, and was pleased to see the thoughtful frown back on its face.

‘O-k,’ said Kleos, drawing the word out. ‘I see.’

Nicolai smiled and leaned forwards, trying to encourage the head to expand on that.

‘I didn’t expect this,’ it mumbled instead. ‘You don’t have a Soul. I didn’t know that was possible.’ It frowned grimly at Nicolai, looking at him like he were… what? An animal, perhaps? Kleos seemed to have many different frowns for different moods, and the only time he’d seen it smile it had looked like a grimace.

‘But I will have a soul once I finish feeding this and merge with it,’ he said, raising the hand which his Seed rested on, trying to move past the unease he felt at the reminder of the whole soul issue. His Seed was questing around his palm, now, peering about the room, looking at Kleos here and there from between his fingers. Kleos didn’t reply, back to thinking again. After examining his Seed something had occurred to Nicolai, and he leaned forward, pressed a finger to the side of Kleos’ head—‘what are you doing?’ the head barked—and thought examine.

The gold of his Mark poured over his finger. For a moment it seemed to struggle, and Kleos was swearing and snarling, then some kind of barrier broke and the gold touched the head. Text rose above Nicolai’s hand.