Heartworm [WEIRD progression fantasy] (Volume 1 complete!)

" 'This is Caenorhabditis elegans, a model organism that will come up as often as Drosophila flies during our classes. It belongs to the phylum nematoda, which belongs to the clade ecdysozoa, and thus develops the mouth…'"

'First. Ecdysozoa are protostomes.'

'Good, you remember your zoology classes, Dario. Therefore, we have another protostome joining the fruit flies as long time companions in the laboratories of geneticists…'"

—Conversation held during the last year Dr. Arreghin taught his course of introduction to genetics for veterinary students.

The flame dropped Dirofil's core upon the cold chihuahuite base of the fake spire. Dirofil retracted his heart into the carcass he had carried with him all the way, fitting himself neatly inside the chest, his core cushioned by connective tissue, the lungs and the heart. With stolen eyes and ears he took in the structured erected before him. A crass attempt at imitating his dwelling. An insulting one.

He let out something with the dog's tongue and a few twists. The garbled sound would have to serve as proof of his indignation for the time being. He thought he saw something stalking him by the corner of his eye, but soon confirmed it was just a drifting collie. He stumbled forward, having to re-acclimate himself to the chihuahua's body.

"Wait here. The Snail will soon come out."

"You insist on calling me a snail. I am not." A voice echoed from the mouth of the spire, from the roughly-hewn hole that served as an entrance.

And when he saw the tentacles emerged, Dirofil was taken aback at the unusual anatomy the splinter had taken. Inside each of these cursed appendages a collection of dog bones articulated with each other, and where they all coalesced a core surrounded by metallized brains loomed, protected behind a chainmail of teeth and bone. And mistreated, forgotten among the bodily remains of used dogs, an imperfect reflection of his lost soma.

Finally, somebody I can speak to. Dirofil communicated through all possible mind links at the same time, causing Caenor to flinch in disgust. Splinter of mine, even.

No, Splinter of other. How did your battle with your furious sister go? Caenor asked, picking a channel to communicate with Dirofil.

As you are able to see, I won, Splinter. And the reward for winning was being ripped from my own body and be left for dead.

Caenor remained in mental silence, regarding Dirofil with his original eyes. "I won't humor that kind of humor." Immediately after, he turned his gaze towards the Flame. "A deal is a deal. You brought me an Original, and thus I will inform you of the position of your rival." Forwarding the left arm, he opened all of his sightmate-eyes for a second, and Dirofil couldn't help but shiver at the sight of such display, knowing what gathering even a single Reaper's eye entailed.

You escaped from a Reaper and stole a good chunk.

I am a far weaker existence than you. You are a mountain collapsing into a lake. I am a mere grain of gravel gently mingling with the waters. I can approach Reapers and harvest their parts with due caution, careful to remain nearly invisible to them. Then he spoke out loud. "Flame, Morbilliv's skull indeed remains entangled into the body of one of my sightmates. He dwells about the Basenji Meadows, as above so below. You are dismissed. Be on your merry way to become a spanner on my works."

The Flame bowed curtly and then raced on all fours to the edge of the platform, recreating its wings as he leaped off, flawlessly transitioning into a steady flight, spiraling upwards as he beat his plasma constructs.

Dirofil, still familiarizing himself with the olfactory aspects of the Chihuahua's body, wondered how the world would smell once the stench of charred flesh was gone.

The nudge of Caenor's mind soon plugged him back into the relevant situation. Whatever you intend, Splinter, remember I am Dirofil, Fourth Imagined. Even in this form I could crush you.

I need to cast doubt on that asseveration. You thought dog parts could help you match even your sister by exploiting her one weakness. I am a better somatic thief than you, way so. I woke up from the slumber of inexistence imprisoned by this mass of dogs, I have never seen the warm light of the flaming core or been exposed to the noxious fumes of the dark core. There's no Splinter of Seloma for me to want to love, there's no preordained fate for me to follow. I Splintered from Doratev when he perfected his core, before you ask, so not even the respect many consider is owed to one's progenitor protects you if I deem you a menace. This is my home. You are a guest. You will behave.

My most urgent interest is self-preservation. It doesn't benefit me to antagonize you so long as your intent ranges from beneficial to neutral towards my goals, short and long term both. I had no idea Splinters could in turn Splinter, but when Doratev is involved "impossible" seems to become a mere suggestion.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Follow me to the depths of my humble abode, and let me have a really close look at your thoughtcrystal.

Dirofil took a single step back. Deeply inappropriate.

Is the end of the world you know and love an appropriate moment to be joking?

If it isn't, none is.

Caenor took a mental note of it and receded into the stairwell. "Follow me."

Calm reigned inside the Corship, flooding every nook and cranny outside the bridge, where Morbilliv stared out the One Eye, and Babesi lounged by her brother's side, entertaining herself with a little imperfection on the floor of the chamber.

"Somewhere out there, our brother is alone," Morbilliv dropped, scanning the Dachshund fields with restless eyes.

"No." Babesi said, raising the whole extent of her body over the hand of her tail, adopting a coiled position. "He's with a buncha doggies."

Morbilliv considered his sister's clarification to be beyond useless, but he refrained from commenting on it. He had seen the mess her mind was, and this wasn't her beign a smartass. "Should we defy Lyssav's wish and embark on a —most likely fruitless— search anyway?"

"The world is better off with Dirofil neutered or thoughtless." Babesi stated matter-of-factly, and then turned when she heard a soft gurgle far behind her. "Oh, hi!"

Morbilliv was next, stirred by her reaction, and after an instant of processing the image before him, he stepped in front of Babesi, claws at the ready. "I couldn't feel you and I doubt you can talk, thing."

Hush, Morbilliv. The sky-blue, legless creature that reminded of a slug of slime with diffuse wounds for eyes sent through the mind links.

"It's Lissy. ParaLyssy!" Babesi dutifully informed her brother.

Morbilliv sheathed his claws, circling his older sister. Her core had been redistributed, divided in several smaller crystals that circled around one long column of amphicoelous vertebrae. Her arms were long and had more segments than any tetrapod needed, the bones tinted with a glacier's blue. There was no voicebox in her, but there were three ears perked up high, little lumps lining her head from side to side. Her teeth had fallen, and now filled the empty case of her core. It's me, Brother.

Morbilliv crossed his arms as he surveyed his sister. There was an unnerving calm emanating from her. An unbecoming peace.

"The one we often see is Furious Lyssy. This is Paralysis Lyssy. Splinters almost never take on the Paralysis form."

This mute and tortuous form made Leptos proud of calling me a sister. May it make you proud too, Morbilliv.

"Tortuous?"

It facilitates healing and increases my control of my own thought energy. I lose my capacity to track down the pain of others, and even to withstand my own if I remain like this for long enough. But it begets in me the peace of the soon to be dead. Of there being nothing to do but suffer and idly wait for the end to arrive.

Lyssav turned over her own axis, and it was a spectacle most gruesome. Her long, rackety arms spun more than the rest of her body, and her ribcage remained facing the wrong way, bearing no relation with the direction her head faced towards. The wounds that served as eyes, two of them at differential heights, each one reaching past the middle line of the face, scrutinized the door, the unfolded retinas taking a warped image of the world in. I need darkness. Silence. Dry dark quietude. Would you be so kind to provide it until I can return to my furious form?

Corship, turn the lights of the bridge off.

The ship didn't react to Morbilliv's command, and then Babesi chimed in.

Turn the lights off pretty please corshicorshi.

In a quick succession, each line of Retriever-based lights stopped shining, Plunging the bridge into a darkness only irrupted by them light of souls and distant Borzoi. Lyssav slid across the floor, dragging her slim abdomen and droopy tail, but she stopped her movement halfway to the darkest shadow.

Babesi rushed in front of her, took her sister's uneven-fingered hand, and pulled her further into a corner. "Sometimes she honors her nickname!" She told Morbilliv, a shade of anguish tinging her usually bubbly voice.

"I cannot psycholocate you," Morbilliv then said, not staring at Lyssav, but more than clearly addressing her.

I am invisible to the minds of the many until I am in need of their aid. It's a downside of this form.

"Do you need help to turn red again?" He decided there was no point delaying the inevitable question. "You are of higher value to the crew when you are able to neutralize mutants with ease."

I am more than capable of fighting threats to the crew in this state.

Morbilliv took three steps towards his sister. Not one more. Not one less. "Repositioning is quite essential in battle. How do you deal with threats whose attacks you cannot evade?"

Did I evade the reapers? No. The Furious Lyssav was enough to deal with them. I prefer that form, it has more autonomy, freedom. But brother, believe me when I tell you: I am as tranquil as we are safe. Anything I can detect, I may kill.

Morbilliv turned on his heels, hands behind his back, and sauntered away from his sisters, down towards the corridor. "I trust you are telling me the truth. It has been overly peaceful as of late, and the sea doesn't deal in peace."

Soon it will. After getting my mouth back I will eat a gigantic thoughtcrystal that acts as an impassable wall in the midst of the sea.

Morbilliv froze mid step, turning only his head 180 degrees to address Lyssav. "The sea thinks?"

No, I believe it just remembers.

"Golly, will be quite a problem if it turns out to be a thinker," Babesi broke her precious instant of silence, and, to the glad surprise of Morbilliv, it seemed to be a legit concern that she had this time around.

"Ah, yes, a moral and existential conundrum…"

Don't get excited, I am sure I can make out the why and it has nothing to do with yoru assumptions, brother. Give me a moment. Lyssav asked in a rather out of character display, at least in Morbilliv's opinion. Oh, a classification problem she means.

"That's right!" Babesi said, mirth erupting from her core at the prospect of her dear sister knowing her so well. "The thingy is in the goddamned middle of the world. Not by the core, not by the edge. In the middle. We cannot just call it The Thinker of the Middle."

"That's on me." Morbilliv said, storming off and leaving the sisters be. "I expected too much."

And as his heavy steps resounded against the metallic lattice of the floor, Lyssav found them distressing, another layer of torture in the prison her body had become.