Slumrat Rising

The serpent turned, forever eating its own tail, forever grinding down, refining and returning to life- refashioned into something new. Better. Whether it wanted to be destroyed and remade or not.

Truth didn’t want to be destroyed. He had died once already. At least once. He didn’t enjoy it. But he needed to hide for a while, for as long as he could, and this was the best rathole he could find.

He threw himself into the Meditations of Valentinian, losing himself in the visualization. Letting the less perfect parts of him be ground away. Concentrating the real.

The serpent turned, and Truth recovered his cosmic energy even as he spent it in mediation. In this place, the energy did not fall like rain- it was like being tossed around in rapids, no longer able to tell which way was up. Unable to distinguish between water and sky, and drowning in both.

He could feel himself sealing up. It felt like being smothered, then burned, then there was simply comfort. His body soaked in the rays, and held on to them. They flooded into his limbs, his core, his spine, head, organs, all of him filled with energy. Energy that was then taken and refined into a more perfect body. Again and again.

He wasn’t trying to cultivate. He had never managed to both cultivate and practice the Meditations. Didn’t matter. In this place, the energy was pouring in so constantly, his aperture filled naturally. They refined the chaotic rays into pure, stable cosmic energy. It spilled from one aperture to the next, a cascade of honey-gold power.

Truth hadn’t made much progress through Level Four. He cultivated dutifully, but without elixirs, the process was slow. It was normal to spend years, even decades, making the jump from Level Four to Five. “Normal” being defined as an activity limited to a fraction of one percent of mages.

The number of mages who could cultivate in the shadow of this Eminence was even less. He didn’t know how much time was passing, but he could feel tangible progress. His fourth aperture was slowly filling. He, however, was fraying.

It was a soft discontent, growing into nausea and vertigo. He had really messed things up since coming back to Harban. Truth watched the thoughts fly past. Staying detached, not assigning emotions to the thoughts. Keeping the visualization up as best he could.

He had really screwed up, and it probably went as far back as Conjin. The Prince wasn’t a mistake, exactly. But it had led him to make mistakes. He tried to put his finger on where the problem lay, exactly.

The crux of The Prince was power. Personal power was part of it, but only to the extent that it furthered his glory. Established his right to be obeyed. Ah. The crux of The Prince was the power to command, because he had legitimacy. He was a person who should be obeyed, so people did.

Why did they? Yes, Jeon taught deference to authority in almost every interaction two people could have, but… so what? Why did people obey the Prince? Why did he obey Starbrite? System not withstanding. Why did he want to obey Starbrite?

In his case it was benefits. Money, of course, and status, but it was the Tier C apartment and emancipating himself and the sibs from his evil parents. He had grown up believing Starbrite was the path to a better future, and they delivered every step of the way.

Obey me because it is in your best interests to obey. That’s more or less what Jeon taught too- deference to authority would make you employable. A good person, and a good citizen. The disobedient and rebellious wound up homeless, in prison, or dead. Denizens being a frequent case study of the consequence of disobedience.

Those in power will look after you if you are obedient. Your best future comes from your obedience. Truth could see it now. He had lived it, but not seen it. Someone yelled “Follow me!” And you did because it seemed like they knew what they were doing better than you did. You didn’t want that responsibility of thinking what to do.

But what if you didn't? If you just looked at the loud person and said “No.” What happened to Mr. Shouty then? Were they still powerful? They were not. A CEO without employees is an oxymoron. There is no General without an army. And there were some damn stupid CEO’s and Generals.

Made you think. Made you wonder.

He… had really fucked things up with Barton, hadn’t he? He had destroyed that clerk’s life because the clerk had the unspeakable temerity to do his job. The serpent was grinding off all the residue of The Prince, forcing him to really see his choices.

He had kidnapped a weaker person, tortured them, had them mentally broken and turned into a puppet by demons. Demons who were so much more effective because he reinforced their reality. He impressed his own reality on the psyche of this much weaker person. Basically because he could, and it might be interesting or useful. Or just fun.

That was… pretty sick. Truth knew he lacked empathy. That intuitive ability to relate to the suffering of others. He could understand it intellectually, but emotionally, it rarely touched him. Which was why he could be a terrorist. Someone that fed a barge load of accountants to the Ghul or murdered a village of mind controlled people.

Even as far back as the junkie on the side of the canal, he hadn’t given a damn. That couldn’t be good. That wouldn’t make Etenesh proud. He could feel the spark of her soul burning away within him. Had he been deliberately ignoring it? He hoped not. When he saw her next, he hoped he would see her curly hair fly wild and free. That she would be smiling.

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The Tongue of One Who Speaks For God had never cared if he oppressed others. Made you think. Made you think. The angelic sword saw no problem with slaughtering his fellow humans. Oppressing them, ruling over them with fear.

Should he… Truth tried to hunt around for the concepts he was looking for. Should he try to square things with the former Barton? That old identity was probably gone forever at this point. The trauma would be bone deep. But should he, what, set him up with a good job, some cash and some encouraging words?

How much better could he do than “CEO”? Not like Truth was going to be in a position to steal his salary now. There really was nothing more he could do.

> The system sounded strange. Strained.

Pardon.

>Definite strain, the voice shifting tone slightly. Becoming less demonic and more human.

System?

>

Shit, do we need to get out of here?

>

Well, yes, you were hacked out of my soul. Your existence is completely unnatural.

>

Eh?

>

I don’t understand.

>

Truth nodded, and tried to slip back into mindless meditation, but the System’s words nagged at him. Apologize? One apologized when you did something wrong. Courtesy apologies not withstanding. What he did to Barton was sick and pointlessly cruel. On the other hand, he was stronger than Barton and Barton’s grandma. He could impose his will. So it might have been cruel, but was it wrong?

He owed no duty of care to Barton. There was no contract between them. No ties of blood. He could do as he pleased, so long as he was strong enough to ignore the law and the fists of others.

That thought niggled at him too. Did he really owe nothing to the people around him? Really nothing? Was every relationship contractual or self interested?

Etenesh, Jember and the Sibs would seem to be obvious counter-examples. Leaving aside Etenesh and Jember, Truth had been looking after the Sibs since Harmony was born. He just knew it was something a big brother did. The way they were being treated was wrong, and it was on him to protect them and support them as best he could.

But… why did he believe that? It wasn’t some instinctive call of the blood. God knows he felt no kinship with his parents. He had asked nothing, expected nothing, except that the Sibs didn’t waste his efforts.

A wild thought occurred- was it like his fighting? Something from a previous life? A minuscule scrap of empathy to stop him from turning into a monster? Truth almost fell out of the meditation. He wanted to laugh.

Born knowing how to take a hit, how to roll with the punches, how to endure. Born knowing that kids shouldn’t be tortured by their parents, and that their big brother should protect them.

Could you extend that idea beyond the Sibs? Truth felt something creaking. He didn’t know if it was his mind or his body, but he could feel something starting to crack. Could you extend that idea to other people- “I will look out for you, and I don’t expect anything back, except that you don’t waste my effort?”

It hurt, trying to piece the thought together. His first instinct was that people would take advantage. Who didn’t like getting something for nothing? Then you would stop looking out for them and the whole deal would fall apart. So it couldn’t just be you, it had to be everyone. Everyone saying “I will look out for you, and I don’t expect anything in return except you looking out for me too. But not in a specific, cash on the nail way, just kind of generally.”

Oh he could definitely hear something creaking now. He could feel things start to break in him, in his mind. The vertigo and nausea had come roaring back, drawing him. Like this line of thinking was poisonous or diseased. This wasn’t how the world was. This wasn’t reality.

That thought seemed to fit- this wasn’t how the world worked. Everything was a series of self interested actions. Even looking after family was- they provided labor for poor families, and could continue your legacy. Ensuring that some part of you was immortal. Families were a way to accumulate and preserve wealth, managed properly. That was how the world worked. That was what was real.

Charity? Benefitted the giver as much or more than the receiver. It made them feel good. It let them continue to profit at the expense of the person who suffered. No need for an apology, “Your life is hardly my concern. But have a couple wen. You look hungry.” Never mind hiring them and giving them a decent job, where they wouldn’t need charity.

The vertigo came pounding down. The visualization collapsed. He grabbed a hold of his knees, gasping for breath under the pressure of the turning serpent and his whirling thoughts. Why did it have to be a job? Why wasn’t it enough that they were homeless, sick and starving? Give them a house! There was plenty of space- you could fit thirty thousand people in one slum tower. How hard would it be to build a few hundred towers?

Why wasn’t it enough? Weren’t they humans? Didn’t they deserve to live? He looked up at the shadow of the Eminence, forever eating its own tail.

No. They weren’t humans. He had never lived as a human, and didn’t know anyone who had. They were all just rats. And rats will eat each other in a heartbeat.

There was a shattering feeling. Truth fell upwards into the vertigo, his consciousness drifting away. For some reason, he thought he felt someone smiling.

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