13 – Compassion

A considerable chunk of Mateus’ own life and blood, his kin and source of life, slid away from him in a little mound of grey ash. He found himself unable to stand, now reduced to little more than a malformed mass of nanites, made of the few that survived the blast of magic directed his way.

Computer was fuming. Red, ominously big messages invaded Mateus’ vision, begging him to take action.

But Computer needn’t worry. Because Mateus could already smell blood.

In his frenzied rage, he shape-shifted into a mass of writhing tentacles. The ends of those metallic, hard but malleable libs became little drills covered in razors. They sought the first living thing they could find, and they sliced and tore and killed.

As soon as he decided to act, the first morphing of his body was directed towards the merchant. Mateus could see his eyes crumble from their hardness and determination, to horror and disbelief. He felt an immeasurable satisfaction then, when he witnessed the dawn of realization on the merchant’s face.

Turmion realized too late just how grave his mistake had been, and how much it cost him. His body, now featuring a huge hole in the chest, slumped lifeless on the ground. Mateus quickly scanned his surroundings.

The underlings of the merchant’s were all armed, but they were keeping a safe distance away from him. From the looks on their faces, they were all frozen in fear, many of them stuck in the limbo of indecisiveness. They were choosing, right in that very moment, if it was better to run for their lives or if they could afford to take their chances at fighting him.

But it was too late. They had witnessed his true identity; they had seen him for what he was. If he wanted to have a chance at returning to his old life, he had to silence the witnesses. He had to kill them all.

He rolled with his amorphous body. The armed men scattered to the winds, but he ran after them. using the nanites as ropes, he bound their feet and then slashed at their throats. He flung high velocity projectiles at them, ejecting hardened metal from his own body, and he chased after those who ran in the forest.

Barely a few minutes later, the last scream of agony resounded through the forest. Then, silence.

Mateus returned to camp, and realized that the silence was not absolute. He heard something, like a whimpering of a muffled voice. His eyes widened in realization, and he ran towards the small demi-human kid.

He let out a sight of relief. The kid was alive, unharmed even though visibly shaken. Mateus extended a hand towards him, and loosened his bindings and removed the gag that was suppressing his voice. Crouching down beside the kid, he talked in his sweetest voice, straight from the heart.

“Hey.” He said. The kid retracted back, burrowing into the fabric of the wagon behind him. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” He held out a hand.

Surprisingly, the kid took it.

***

Tommy had no idea what even happened. His mind tried to process the events that led to what he was seeing right now, but his brain failed to comprehend what was happening. In the end, he decided, he was still alive.

The strange shape, seemingly crouching beside him on his strange metallic body had saved him. He recalled the shape having a human body, before the merchant wounded him, but now it was nothing more than a mass of liquid silver.

And yet, the silver extended an appendage. It visibly coalesced into a hand, and the metal assumed the color and texture of skin. He wanted to run away. This was a monster; this was an abomination.

And yet. It wasn’t, was it?

He remembered, from the forest. This was, however strange, his savior. This was, for some reason, a Hero of the kingdom. Someone who was very well willing to die to defend his freedom.

And, Tommy thought, if that was the case then he owed him some measure of trust.

For this form of flowing silver, from which a hand tried to grasp his, was none other than Mateus, hero of the kingdom. A fallen hero, a tainted hero. But a hero nonetheless. And who was he, Tommy who had been banished from his own village, to judge?

He wanted to believe himself redeemable, and so he had to believe in the fallen hero as well.

Gingerly, he took the outstretched hand. It was warm, just like a hand should be.

“Oh, I’m very sorry!” Mateus apologized, and then somehow his former human shape came back from the formless silver he had become. “I didn’t want to scare you. Sorry.” He looked really sad, for some reason.

Tommy felt like he was the one who had to console Mateus. He smiled a reassuring smile, and saw the hero’s face warm up a bit.

“You got a name?” The hero asked.

“Tommy.” He said, and realized his voice was shaky and unsteady. He cursed himself, because he didn’t want to make the hero feel uncomfortable or bad. It wasn’t his fault if his voice didn’t want to come out, it was the gag, and the whole ordeal before whatever the hero just did.

Mateus looked around, and his face was a mix of despair and panic. He looked at the mess of bodies and blood, and his eyes were full of regret, anguish and pain. He was almost on the verge of tears.

Tommy had to think of something. He quickly got up, taking a couple tentative steps on his shaky legs, and waddled towards the despairing hero. There, he embraced the man tightly, even though he barely reached at his hips.

“Thank you, hero. I was so scared.” He made his voice small. He almost saw a weight lift from the hero’s back.

Then, Mateus looked around once again, and steeled himself.

***

Consumption would be safest course of action.

Computer said, confirming Mateus’ theory. That the response came in monotone voice, with the letters flickering in his vision together with most of his HUD, made him quite sad. Losing so many nanites had made him sluggish, slow, and had robbed Computer of a good portion of its own capacity to think.

He stared at the lifeless bodies. Consuming them would replenish his reserves, as well as hide the evidence permanently. He approached Turmion, moving with his hollowed shell of a body, barely capable of moving while maintaining this for with so little mass available, and saw a face frozen in death, paralyzed in the few instants before death claimed his soul.

Mateus saw the despair, the hatred, the disdain. The sadness. There was a melancholic feeling that accompanied the man wherever he went, but it had never been as evident as right now. In death, his sins came back to haunt him. He was clutching the cloth, having crawled to it before he drew his last breath.

Do it.

Mateus thought, and Computer set to act.

Fifteen bodies, scattered through the forest. After he was done eating the last of them, he returned back to the wagons. His every steps were heavy and sunk into the ground a few inches, while he felt sick and riddled with guilt.

What was worse, was that he felt his hunger quenched, albeit only a little. What was even worse, was that he now had a perfect recall of all those bodies and their possessions in his mind, and that he could take their shape and form should he ever wish to.

Lives, with a story and a past, now little more than possible sleeves he could wear. Possible camouflages for him, illusionary skin his chameleon body would allow him to impersonate. To fake. After having usurped.

And yet, it had to be done.

It was his fault, after all. He had been careless. Now, he knew what he had to avoid. He would go back to his family without incident, keeping a low profile. Then, as soon as he managed to find someone who could help him, he would announce that the hero survived and that he was coming back.

Everyone would be there, his father and sister and mother included. They will be happy again together.

A faint smile touched his lips.

He took another step, but this time he sunk much deeper into the ground. It was softer here, and didn’t allow him to walk like this anymore.

How did the nanites manage to replicate indefinitely before?

We were not one body. We were many, connected with radio waves.

Radio waves? What are they?

I do not know. I used to know, but not anymore. I will have to investigate.

Thank you. For now, however, what can we do?

***

Tommy observed the hero, much relieved that after the many emotions touched the man’s face, he eventually returned to a state of quasi peace. He had a determination in his eyes, one he saw back when the hero was defending him and that now once again donned the man’s face. This was good, however for how much it would last he did not know.

As for what was about to happen to him, he had no idea. Judging by how far the hero had gone to save him, he was quite sure that if he told him that he was banished from the village and could not return, then the hero would take him with him.

But, perhaps this would be too much. He didn’t want to manipulate the hero’s fragile emotions like this. What were the alternatives?

He pondered over the question for a while, as he observed the hero’s milling. He was walking back and fro, with a heaviness in his steps that made his feet sink into the earth so heavy he was. It was like his body was heavier than the bear that was chasing him in the forest.

Yes, the bear! He remembered the hero saving him, just before he ran away and was captured by the people at the camp. If only he hadn’t done that stupid thing, then all this would not have happened. He felt like crying. But he didn’t. He was strong.

Mateus produced a small protrusion from his body, then tried to detach it. It disintegrated into grey ask, however, glittering motes of silver falling down into a heap on the ground. The hero sighed. Tommy only looked on, interested.

Then, Mateus had a revelation. He made a cube of silver, then pulled the life away from it. Tommy could see the sheen and vitality of the silver fade away and retract into the arm that made the cube, until eventually the bridge severed with retracting tendrils. The cube didn’t break down, however. It stood there, dead metal, lifeless and cold. Heavy.

Mateus lifted it up and put it on the wagon behind Tommy. Then, he made other cubes until his feet didn’t sink in the ground anymore. He cleaned the blood from the wagon, covering it with liquid silver, and then retracted it to reveal a spotless surface beneath.

In the end, he sighed and sat beside him.

“You must have questions…” The hero said.

Tommy nodded.

“Ask freely. I’ll be honest.” Mateus said.

Tommy wondered what he should ask. For some reason, he felt like the hero really was going to be honest with him, and no matter his own reaction the hero would not hurt him. He would be sad, distraught at most, but not angry. And this filled Tommy, a wolf-kin of barely 15 years of age, with tenderness and compassion for a hero twice his age.