Spring’s panting ceased and her panicked look disappeared the moment the door clicked closed. She was still staring at the dish full of red water and floating bandages, considering her emotions.
Craving, genuine fear, hope. Why am I so scared? The second-face sprouts will be ready in time, I can go around killing lonely elders, stealing their faces, and nobody would catch me for a long while. Why do I have this feeling it’s important to remain Jasmine Searing?
I need to hurry and create a memory flower, I can graft a regular forget-me-not onto my body and feed it mana. But walking around with a plant sticking from my skin is like shouting ‘I’m not human.’ I guess I could keep it inside my pitcher, but it needs sunlight. I would have to swallow small lighters and switch them daily, but I would need to thicken the membrane separating my pitcher from my mouth, lest I glow from my mouth, and my insides are already crowded…
Spring felt like screaming in frustration. She already carried all sorts of junk within herself. Jasmine Searing’s flayed skin, a hundred teeth, the composter and the food it produced for me, five liters of water, a separate sack for blood. I can’t discard any of them, and space is finite, especially because I have to conform with Jasmine Searing’s body shape. Maybe it’s time Jasmine gained weight?
Spring discarded the absurd notion. Blood and survival come first, yet unlocking or clearing the fog in my memories is also important. What if I once knew a graft or applant which can produce synthetic human blood? That might solve all my problems.
Spring shook her head and stood up, her eyes still fixed on the red water. Survival comes first. Growing strong enough to resist humans should they ever discover my secret comes second. Staying Jasmine Searing comes third. Developing grafts I need comes fourth. Everything else is low priority.
Spring lifted the small basin and carried it to the bathroom. She washed as much blood as possible from the bandages into the water while rearranging her pitcher’s membrane-like leaves to accommodate the next violation of her body.
Once the tubing and insulation were complete, Spring stopped rubbing the fine cotton gauze and downed the bloody water. Her whole body shuddered and screamed at the unnatural flow of water, but there was nothing she could do. If she absorbed blood through her feet, she would filter a part of fat and protein and the liquid which reached her pitcher would no longer qualify as human blood.
Why do I remember that, but not that I must consume human blood? Bloom, what’s wrong with my memories? If I could just find a pattern and build up from there… Spring diverted her attention from the torturous nausea and finished the whole bowl of bloody water.
She sealed the compartment and fell to the tiled floor, convulsing, hugging her knees and trying to return to the seed from which she had sprouted years ago.
I hate it. I hate not being able to sense the sun’s warmth with my skin. I hate hating water. I just want to bury my feet into the ground and exist for one day. One day without a stone enclosure, is that too much to ask?
Spring got no answer, instead recalling being in a similar situation ages ago. She was cut. White sap oozed from open wounds as she lay trembling on the rough floor, iron bars surrounding her. Sunlight shone on her skin, but it felt wrong. It was cold and lacked the unconditional love which once came from the sky.
Spring stood up, suppressing the memories of her slavery. I don’t want those. I want memories of when I was powerful. When I was a level five, six, seven floromancer.
Despite calling them, no such memories appeared to comfort Spring. All she remembered from that period was the world in flames, the Inferno.
Days went by, and after five treatments, Spring’s act around blood grew more composed. She bled two more maids, and for all her effort she only canceled out the blood deficiency without building reserves. Unfortunately, the torment increased Spring’s aversion for water. Her loathing had reached the point where she could no longer make herself drink the diluted blood.
I have to stop. Otherwise, I won’t be able to make myself drink blood when the time comes. Next week is the second weald outing. We will venture deeper, and we will be armed. It’s almost certain someone will get hurt enough to shed blood, and if I could get someone alone, I could kill them before they shout for help. Then, I could get several months’ worth of blood. I would have to make a half blood half sap solution while the blood is fresh to minimize coagulation…
Another week passed, and the second outing had started. Madam Wartorn led her class through the weald’s shadowy greenery. “Today and tomorrow, you will be in an area seven kilometers from the wall. You should split into groups of five we agreed to and prepare, we will release topiary horrors into the trial ground. I have already explained what to expect from them, I reassure you, we’re only releasing five wounded first level specimens. For each topiary horror you eliminate, you will get a reward. Should a single team eliminate all five, all its members will get an advanced implant from the clan’s vault.”
Wartorn went silent, letting the murmur behind her back grow until it reached the point of excited shouts before she continued. “The monsters will have their thorns clipped for your safety. As I have already explained, topiary horrors have sharp growths which make them extremely difficult to deal with. So, even if you easily slay them today and tomorrow, don’t get complacent. One careless moment, one slip, and topiary horrors will kill you. That said, students have died during their second outing, and almost every year someone gets injured. Please take care of yourself and work together to survive unharmed.”
She stopped before a three-meter-tall wooden fence made of sharpened logs. “There are two topiary horrors inside. We will release another one at sunset, and two more tomorrow at dawn. You’re each others’ competition, so I suggest you fan out. Good luck.”
Spring’s squad of five entered first, followed by Cassie's. They made the best healers into squad leaders, probably to increase survival chances should anyone get hurt. I don’t really care that much about the grafts they have to offer, but the more wildlings we fight, the greater the odds of someone getting hurt. Especially if we’re reckless.
“Do you want the reward?” Spring asked the three girls and Rowny, the tough, burly bully.
They nodded, as did Spring. “Good. In that case, we run around to cover as much ground as possible. While instructor Wartorn said topiary horrors don’t react to sound, try to keep the noise down so that others don’t notice us. Let’s go.”
Spring ran ahead, with the other four trailing behind her. She opened her mouth and removed the membrane, which isolated the composter’s stench from the outside world. The field is two-by-two kilometers. Wildlings will catch this smell in a minute or two and head straight for us.
Spring did not take her team towards the center, choosing to go right at a forty-five degree angle. They had barely covered three hundred meters before bushes to their left rustled.
A meter-tall mass of entwined branches resembling an arachnid scuttled towards them, slashing its trimmed limb at Spring like a giant blunt hook.
Spring sealed her composter and closed her mouth, jumping away from the hasty blow. The monster advanced without faltering, swiping at her again and again. Her followers drew their axes from their belts, and Bocha dropped hers. She skidded to a halt, colliding with Gassa, but Spring lacked the luxury to watch them fool around.
Rowny ran up to the monster’s rear and hacked down, but the spider parried his attack with a spear-like leg. Without turning, it jumped towards the stumbling youth, stabbing with another limb, but Dara slashed it, landing a solid strike. The wood snapped, but did not break completely.
“Well done,” Spring cheered, cleaving at the topiary horror.
The monster blocked, moving just like it did when swatting away Rowny’s attack, but Spring had expected the move. She shifted her faint into a downward cleave aimed at the leg which held the monster’s weight. The already tense wood split, and the monster lost its balance, toppling down.
Bocha and Gassa came at that moment and together they hacked off another leg. With two limbs gone, the spider tried to put up a resistance, but Spring’s team besieged it from all sides, hacking it into pieces in a matter of seconds.
“Good work, team,” Spring said, her smile obscured by the white veil. “There’s one more around here—”
Spring’s panting ceased and her panicked look disappeared the moment the door clicked closed. She was still staring at the dish full of red water and floating bandages, considering her emotions.
Craving, genuine fear, hope. Why am I so scared? The second-face sprouts will be ready in time, I can go around killing lonely elders, stealing their faces, and nobody would catch me for a long while. Why do I have this feeling it’s important to remain Jasmine Searing?
I need to hurry and create a memory flower, I can graft a regular forget-me-not onto my body and feed it mana. But walking around with a plant sticking from my skin is like shouting ‘I’m not human.’ I guess I could keep it inside my pitcher, but it needs sunlight. I would have to swallow small lighters and switch them daily, but I would need to thicken the membrane separating my pitcher from my mouth, lest I glow from my mouth, and my insides are already crowded…
Spring felt like screaming in frustration. She already carried all sorts of junk within herself. Jasmine Searing’s flayed skin, a hundred teeth, the composter and the food it produced for me, five liters of water, a separate sack for blood. I can’t discard any of them, and space is finite, especially because I have to conform with Jasmine Searing’s body shape. Maybe it’s time Jasmine gained weight?
Spring discarded the absurd notion. Blood and survival come first, yet unlocking or clearing the fog in my memories is also important. What if I once knew a graft or applant which can produce synthetic human blood? That might solve all my problems.
Spring shook her head and stood up, her eyes still fixed on the red water. Survival comes first. Growing strong enough to resist humans should they ever discover my secret comes second. Staying Jasmine Searing comes third. Developing grafts I need comes fourth. Everything else is low priority.
Spring lifted the small basin and carried it to the bathroom. She washed as much blood as possible from the bandages into the water while rearranging her pitcher’s membrane-like leaves to accommodate the next violation of her body.
Once the tubing and insulation were complete, Spring stopped rubbing the fine cotton gauze and downed the bloody water. Her whole body shuddered and screamed at the unnatural flow of water, but there was nothing she could do. If she absorbed blood through her feet, she would filter a part of fat and protein and the liquid which reached her pitcher would no longer qualify as human blood.
Why do I remember that, but not that I must consume human blood? Bloom, what’s wrong with my memories? If I could just find a pattern and build up from there… Spring diverted her attention from the torturous nausea and finished the whole bowl of bloody water.
She sealed the compartment and fell to the tiled floor, convulsing, hugging her knees and trying to return to the seed from which she had sprouted years ago.
I hate it. I hate not being able to sense the sun’s warmth with my skin. I hate hating water. I just want to bury my feet into the ground and exist for one day. One day without a stone enclosure, is that too much to ask?
Spring got no answer, instead recalling being in a similar situation ages ago. She was cut. White sap oozed from open wounds as she lay trembling on the rough floor, iron bars surrounding her. Sunlight shone on her skin, but it felt wrong. It was cold and lacked the unconditional love which once came from the sky.
Spring stood up, suppressing the memories of her slavery. I don’t want those. I want memories of when I was powerful. When I was a level five, six, seven floromancer.
Despite calling them, no such memories appeared to comfort Spring. All she remembered from that period was the world in flames, the Inferno.
Days went by, and after five treatments, Spring’s act around blood grew more composed. She bled two more maids, and for all her effort she only canceled out the blood deficiency without building reserves. Unfortunately, the torment increased Spring’s aversion for water. Her loathing had reached the point where she could no longer make herself drink the diluted blood.
I have to stop. Otherwise, I won’t be able to make myself drink blood when the time comes. Next week is the second weald outing. We will venture deeper, and we will be armed. It’s almost certain someone will get hurt enough to shed blood, and if I could get someone alone, I could kill them before they shout for help. Then, I could get several months’ worth of blood. I would have to make a half blood half sap solution while the blood is fresh to minimize coagulation…
Another week passed, and the second outing had started. Madam Wartorn led her class through the weald’s shadowy greenery. “Today and tomorrow, you will be in an area seven kilometers from the wall. You should split into groups of five we agreed to and prepare, we will release topiary horrors into the trial ground. I have already explained what to expect from them, I reassure you, we’re only releasing five wounded first level specimens. For each topiary horror you eliminate, you will get a reward. Should a single team eliminate all five, all its members will get an advanced implant from the clan’s vault.”
Wartorn went silent, letting the murmur behind her back grow until it reached the point of excited shouts before she continued. “The monsters will have their thorns clipped for your safety. As I have already explained, topiary horrors have sharp growths which make them extremely difficult to deal with. So, even if you easily slay them today and tomorrow, don’t get complacent. One careless moment, one slip, and topiary horrors will kill you. That said, students have died during their second outing, and almost every year someone gets injured. Please take care of yourself and work together to survive unharmed.”
She stopped before a three-meter-tall wooden fence made of sharpened logs. “There are two topiary horrors inside. We will release another one at sunset, and two more tomorrow at dawn. You’re each others’ competition, so I suggest you fan out. Good luck.”
Spring’s squad of five entered first, followed by Cassie's. They made the best healers into squad leaders, probably to increase survival chances should anyone get hurt. I don’t really care that much about the grafts they have to offer, but the more wildlings we fight, the greater the odds of someone getting hurt. Especially if we’re reckless.
“Do you want the reward?” Spring asked the three girls and Rowny, the tough, burly bully.
They nodded, as did Spring. “Good. In that case, we run around to cover as much ground as possible. While instructor Wartorn said topiary horrors don’t react to sound, try to keep the noise down so that others don’t notice us. Let’s go.”
Spring ran ahead, with the other four trailing behind her. She opened her mouth and removed the membrane, which isolated the composter’s stench from the outside world. The field is two-by-two kilometers. Wildlings will catch this smell in a minute or two and head straight for us.
Spring did not take her team towards the center, choosing to go right at a forty-five degree angle. They had barely covered three hundred meters before bushes to their left rustled.
A meter-tall mass of entwined branches resembling an arachnid scuttled towards them, slashing its trimmed limb at Spring like a giant blunt hook.
Spring sealed her composter and closed her mouth, jumping away from the hasty blow. The monster advanced without faltering, swiping at her again and again. Her followers drew their axes from their belts, and Bocha dropped hers. She skidded to a halt, colliding with Gassa, but Spring lacked the luxury to watch them fool around.
Rowny ran up to the monster’s rear and hacked down, but the spider parried his attack with a spear-like leg. Without turning, it jumped towards the stumbling youth, stabbing with another limb, but Dara slashed it, landing a solid strike. The wood snapped, but did not break completely.
“Well done,” Spring cheered, cleaving at the topiary horror.
The monster blocked, moving just like it did when swatting away Rowny’s attack, but Spring had expected the move. She shifted her faint into a downward cleave aimed at the leg which held the monster’s weight. The already tense wood split, and the monster lost its balance, toppling down.
Bocha and Gassa came at that moment and together they hacked off another leg. With two limbs gone, the spider tried to put up a resistance, but Spring’s team besieged it from all sides, hacking it into pieces in a matter of seconds.
“Good work, team,” Spring said, her smile obscured by the white veil. “There’s one more around here—”
