Chương 3: Arrival arc

"Far away, orbiting a black hole, lies The Toncon Theocracy. It is a nation of faith and faithful men, kind to strangers and eager for knowledge. A peaceful place, and one that is home to two hundred billion souls, living on eleven planets. Eight of which Toncon pulled into its orbit by request. The Church of Black Vigil worships the black hole around which their planets orbit, and long ago, this black hole had ushered out a word. Toncon.

It is a church of governance and faith both, eager advocates of the arts, science and history. Toncon speaks through gravity and time, over years and decades, but it speaks. Faith was found, for what is a god seen only through stories against a being of Toncon's power? Gravity twists to its desire, and it is happy to share all that it has learned about the art. If one has the patience to listen, and a story to trade, Toncon has been known to make dreams come true."

An introduction to the wider galaxy, chapter eight.

"Wake up," Nova demanded. Mat opened his eyes, something that took much, much more effort than usual.

"Mat, wake up this instant. Wake up, you cretin, or you're going to be touched in places you have no desire to be touched." Mat shook his head, and the room spun. Another voice, a strange voice, spoke, and it sounded like they were underwater.

"Don't be alarmed. We are all brothers now, yes?"

"I saw him leer at you!" Nova insisted.

"Rapist. Murderer. Lawyer. I don't like this place, Mat. I want the coffin back. The coffin was safe." He put his hands to his head in response, trying in vain to clear the cotton from his mind. He was used to hangovers, and sleep deprivation, and even waking up after taking some not-so legal drugs. This was like that, but all at once, and Mat wished for death. No, death would be too slow. Instantaneous disassembly of the very atoms he was made out of. That sounded nice and soothing right about now.

"Drink, friend," the stranger urged gently. Mat shook his head, or at least tried to. He fell, but someone caught him, and moments later water was being gently poured down his throat.

"It will help, I swear it." Between the choice of drinking or drowning, Mat chose the former. It did help, though not much. Nova tsked.

"Poisoned, no doubt." How long was I out this time?"

"Oh, it speaks," Nova replied, sounding a little too mocking to be genuine. The AI grunted.

"And now he's clever. Fine. It's been a week, and you thawed three hours, fifty one minutes, and nineteen seconds ago. Cryofreezing back to back like that isn't good for anyone, not even if they have the best tech in the galaxy. Which they don't." Mat groaned, and the stranger sat him back on the bed. A cheap thing, Mat noticed, stacked two high. Bunkbeds. He gripped hard plastic to avoid keeling over, and a bucket was shoved in his hands. Mat wondered why, and then he threw up.

"The nausea will pass," the stranger told him, tone soft and slow.

"But not for hours. You are in for a rough night, friend, but you are in no danger of dying." Another voice scoffed, mocking but not cruel. Mat glanced at them, finding an almost sickly thin man playing cards.

"Initiates. This one won't last any longer than the others."

"Have some faith," the first voice chided.

"Toncon provides." The third, and last, man spit on the floor.

"Shut the fuck up about Toncon, Reg. Every time I have to listen to this. Every fucking time."

"Peace, Pabol. Peace." Reg turned back to offer Mat more water.

"That is Pabol. He's usually kinder, but he's currently losing a copper to Tobi. As Pabol has already said, I am Reg. May we know your name, friend?" Mat dryheaved into the bucked, and more water was presented. He spoke after cleaning his mouth, spitting it out rather than swallowing.

"Mat. I'm Mat."

"It's nice to meet you, Mat. As you're no doubt aware, you're a bladeslave now, just like the rest of us. If you don't know what that means, you'll learn in time. For now, try to breathe, and know that you'll feel better in the morning." Events caught up with him, and even though it had apparently been a week ago, to him it was moments. Being dropped onto a planet from orbit. Watching a man die. Strangeling a woman to death. His knee. His knee. He looked down, a surge of panic going through him.

But his leg was fine, and he fought the urge to hyperventilate. Fuck, alright. The cryo hangover wasn't helping. Solve that first. Anything you can do to speed this up, Nova?

"No," the AI replied.

"Not until you level up, and I'm working on getting your first perks ready now. Nobody told me how damned hard it is to work with real soul energy, not that practice stuff they trained me on." Nothing else was forthcoming. Mat wondered why the AI had been panicking but was now apparently too busy to chat, but Nova didn't respond, so Mat let it go. Another surge of nausea helped distract him regardless. Reg shook his head when Mat started dryheaving again.

"Rest. Sleep, if you can. The only thing we have in abundance here is time." Time. Time became a little loopy, after a few hours. So did his mind. Nova kept him company, every now and then, but Mat could barely contribute, and the AI was busy crafting the perks to begin with. So he threw up, slept, tried not to throw up, and if he was lucky, slept again. The cell wasn't cold nor warm, the bed neither soft nor hard, and frankly, it was all the same.

Reg fed him when he could stomach food, which wasn't often, and days slipped by. Days of misery and pain, which admittedly helped to distract from his memories. And helplessness, at that. Because he was a slave now, blade notwithstanding. A slave. An actual, gladiatorial, slave. A slave. On the third day, Mat woke up to something that wasn't hell. Specifically, he woke up to lines of text scrolling along his vision, and a very smug Nova speaking into his ears.

"Finally," the AI began.

"I finished your perk selection. Since I had a few extra hours, I added text. Mostly flavor. I modeled it after a crawl and a dungeon and a cat, or something. Not sure, those memories were pretty vague. You have not been taking good care of your hippocampus, Mat." Five more minutes. Nova scoffed, but five more minutes he got. Then the AI cleared his non-existent throat again, and Mat groaned, shifting in his bed without covers, hands grabbing for a pillow that wasn't there.

He gave up after deciding the pillow really didn't exist, staring up at the bunkbed above his own. A small, oval symbol was stamped into the frame, two birds focused on a smiling man, and proclaimed; 'LandTech, the one stop shop for all your needs. The future, together.' Fine, fine. Perks. Rewards for killing people. Just show me, oh almighty prototype. And I know you know that I know that prototype doesn't mean better. At all.

It means that it was rushed, works just well enough to demo, isn't ready for mass production yet, and usually has flaws. Instead of answering, the text blinked, pulling his attention. Five lines, each about as intuitive as the next. Multithread epidermis Cat's grace Biosonar Triple-layered protein fibers Restructured neuron connections Mat squinted, which did nothing to make any of that more clear. What even is biosonar? Nova sniffed, insulted.

"I didn't want to overwhelm you with data, but if you want it all, here. Be my guest." Multithread epidermis. Enhanced skin toughness. Fair warning, this doesn't work so well against blunt force trauma. Try not to get hit with a club, or something. Cat's grace. Enhanced balance. Have you ever seen a cat? No? Neither have I, because they don't exist. Biosonar. Sonar, but for humans. Screaming is not optional. Triple-layered protein fiber. Lesser enhanced strength. Lift big rock. Move big rock.

Me big man, me get best wife. Restructured neuron connections. Lesser enhanced learning. Not going to lie, I'm not confident I got this one right. We could find out together! Despite the insults, there was a clear note of enthusiasm in Nova's voice.

"After the first one, which was enhanced strength, by the way, I got in a groove. This stuff is really interesting, you know? Soul energy can do almost anything, and reacts to intent and expectation rather than cause and effect. Yet, once it is set, I haven't found a way to alter it afterwards. It's like the energy snapped into place, somehow." I thought you found stuff like this boring? Reality manipulation, I was promised. Influencing probability.

"Yes, well." Nova cleared his throat.

"I might have somewhat oversold my capabilities. And hey, I didn't know we'd get captured by slavers and sold to be a bladeslave! We need to focus on survival, getting more levels, then freedom. All of these perks will help with that." Mat rolled his eyes, in a far too good of a mood to be truly upset. Part of that came from no longer feeling like death warmed over. The other from the fact that unreliable Nova might be, freedom sounded nice.

And superpowers sounded better, especially to that small, petty part that was left of his youth. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. I'm not doing restructured neuron connections. He declared, mental voice as firm as he could make it. Don't touch my brain. Superstrength would be obvious, and so would echolocation. Thick skin I'm pretty sure any modern doctor would catch in moments even without technology, so that leaves enhanced balance. How does that one even work?

"It's a bunch of stuff," Nova replied.

"Fine tuning your inner ear yields some results, but it mostly comes from streamlining your nervous system and adjusting weight distribution. Nothing all that noticeable to anyone but you, but you'll feel the difference." And it's non-reversible? Nova hummed.

"Yeah. Or at least it looks like that. I reserve the right to be wrong here, but let's assume your choices are permanent." There's future tech, right? How much of this is possible with the right… whatever you call it.

"Fleshsculpters and modsurgeons could do most of this with techplants and biomods, as long as you have the money. Probably not the mental enhancements, not like this, but it's not like I know what's going on in classified research and development departments. Aside from the one I was created in, of course. Still, the more you level, the more energy I get, and thus the more practice I can do. We'll get to reality manipulation eventually, but it's not like you have access to traditional biomods anyway."

That was a fair point. Still. Won't they notice anyway, since you're changing my biology? Basic MRI's could probably see you 'adjusting' my weight distribution, and I doubt that's the best these people have.

"True, but they didn't do a particularly thorough examination before dumping you in this lovely new home of ours. There was no reason to. They'll most likely just assume you've had work done, which isn't all that uncommon. I'd say the risk of doing nothing outweighs the risk of them finding out you have basic bio-enchancements." You were awake for that?

"Sort of. Enough to have a vague idea of what was going on. Now make your choice before the others realize you're staring off into space and get suspicious." Mat suppressed the urge to sigh. His mind was hosting an unpredictable AI, which might or might not be actually playing with human souls, and now he was getting his body altered by poorly understood, newly made 'perks', created by that same unpredictable AI.

On the other hand, the word bladeslave suggested that he was a slave wielding a blade, or at least a weapon of some kind, and that meant he was expected to fight again. He was not so naive to say he valued the lives of a stranger over his own, so that meant killing, or at least doing them harm. Either of which would be a lot easier if he had cat-like balance. Fuck it, Cat's Grace it is.

"A fine choice," Nova praised.

"This might sting, so be sure to keep quiet." Mat was about to formulate a proper response when a feeling of wrong wrapped around him. Describing it would be pointless, for he had no real idea of what was happening, but the feeling was real. The deep, unnatural discomfort was real, and the pain was real too. Those two, he was unhappy to find out, were not mutually exclusive. For a moment Mat was worried he wouldn't actually be able to keep silent, jaw clenching, before the point became moot.

Reg appeared, his weathered face drawn into a frown.

"Still? You will be fine soon, I promise." Explaining that this wasn't cryo sickness bullshit was very far from his priorities, so Mat kept silent. Or as silent as he could be, which honestly, he was relatively proud of. Not in the moment, of course, but later. In the moment he was uncomfortable. Like his bones had been scratched, his scalp tugged at, a sneeze pressing against his throat and all his muscles cramping.

An entire host of sensations, some turning into outright pain, and he regretted every single choice that led him to this moment. This was just wrong, wrong, wrong—"Aaaand done," Nova said. The uncomfortable horridness left all at once, like taking weight off a pained limb.

"Try to sit up." Mat did, and it was smooth. He wasn't faster, nor stronger, or any of it, but balance was easy. He raised his arms, pushing off the bed. There is usually a moment of balancing momentum, countering the force of the shove with muscle and weight. He'd never noticed it before, but he did now. Because it was gone. Reg took a step back, eyebrow raising.

"You look like an initiate speaking to Toncon with a smile like that. And you move well. Biomods?"

"For balance," Mat replied. There was little point in lying, seeing as this most certainly was not going to remain a secret. Fuck, he should have gone for strength.

"I had issues as a kid." Not even a lie, that. Nova cleared his throat.

"All perk options are final. That's a hard limit, not me being a dick. Soul energy kind of—" Snaps into place. Mat interrupted. So you said. Reg cleared his throat.

"Well, you seem hale. Or hale enough to stand, at least. Eat, and then we should talk. I'll warn you now, you won't be pleased with what we're served, but it's plentiful and nutritious." Hunger spiked, as if reminded he'd barely eaten in days. He was a… well-fed man, so he supposed that blunted the damage, but even so his stomach overrode all preferences and desire, blanketing it away with a bland desire for calories.

Off to the side of their small cell, Reg led him towards a table, one where Tobi and— and someone else had played poker not too long ago. Now the pair was nowhere to be seen, though Reg didn't seem to find that strange. The man sat, and Mat joined him, because that was kind of what you were supposed to do. There was what appeared to be a nozzle on the wall, set inside a metallic machine he couldn't even begin to guess the purpose of.

Fortunately, he didn't need to, because Reg withdrew a pair of bowls, detached the nozzle, and filled them with actual sludge. Grey, thick and smelling like absolutely nothing, Mat stared at it with an empty gaze, even his ravenous stomach pausing in surprise. Reg, meanwhile, set down two cups, filling them with water from the second hose nozzle thing. Then the man withdrew spoons, which Mat glanced at. Reg shrugged at his confusion.

"The guards don't care if we stab one another to death, but that's quite hard to do with spoons, so they're all we get. Regardless, Obedias is of the opinion that if we want to kill ourselves, or one another, we'll find a way no matter what he does."

"Obedias?"

"Our illustrious owner." Reg pushed one of the bowls his way, adding a spoon.

"Eat." Mat ate. The food was… fine. Not good, but not bad either. In fact, it was nothing. Like chewing on really bland beans. Hunger pushed him onwards, as did thirst, but the moment those were satiated, he paused, suddenly unwilling to keep eating. Reg smiled.

"I had that same expression on my face the first time I supped here. It could be worse, things could always be worse, but while it might fill the stomach, sludge does not fill the soul. Here." A small piece of chocolate was handed over, and Mat looked at it, shaking his head. If people had food, then why eat this? No, that didn't matter. Not right now. He took it, resisting the urge to chew. Then he looked around, because his delirious mind hadn't remembered much details over the last few days.

Two bunk beds created four sleeping spaces, and together with the table, it filled almost the entire space. To his surprise, there was no door, and background noise he'd ignored until now seemed suddenly pressing. Mat stood, and Reg didn't stop him from walking outside. So Mat stepped from the cell into a small catwalk, which overlooked a central courtyard. There were no windows he could see, and only a single door seemed evident, all other cells open like his own.

And down in the courtyard, hundreds of people moved. They talked, they shouted, they laughed and they scowled. Six sparring rings filled the entire area with the clanging of metal, and one side was entirely taken up by exercise machines. Reg moved up next to him.

"Welcome to the Challenger. There's four hundred of us here, and as you can see, we have learned to share. Showers are just off to the side, you can't see them from here, and a token exchange kiosk is behind the sparring rings. It only takes up to iron tokens, though."

"Just, hold up," Mat replied. Reg shrugged lightly, falling silent. Five seconds, then ten, until Mat managed to take a breath and wrestle down his stupefaction.

"What are tokens? No, scratch that. You said the Challenger. What is that?" The bladeslave waved his hand, as if to indicate the entire space.

"The Challenger is the ship we're on, friend. It goes from place to place, offering fights to the wealthy and elite. Those who can pay to see us struggle and die in person. Everyone else can pay for a livestream. One of those fights, should you win or otherwise impress the judges, will earn you tokens. Wood, bronze, copper, iron then steel. Each gets you more impressive rewards, either from the kiosk or Obedias himself."

"Motivation," Mat said. Reg nodded easily.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"Pardon? Ah, I realize we've not been properly introduced. I am Reginald Edwin Fisher, but please, call me Reg. May I know your name, friend?"

"Mat. Just Mat."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mat." Reg urged him onwards, seemingly to a set of stairs.

"I'm afraid I was not wholly truthful with you before. New arrivals get until they overcome their weakness to rest, but now that you are on your feet, the Judge will schedule you for a fight. It is best to sharpen your skills, should you have them, or to learn some should you not." Mat walked, because what else was he supposed to do?

"Judge?"

"The AI overseeing the matches. I will answer your questions in time, but for now you must focus. We have trainers here, veteran bladeslaves who volunteer—or are paid for, I'll explain later—their time to teach newcomers, and I encourage that you spend your time with them wisely. It might very well be the difference between life and death." That sent cold, shivering ice down his spine, and Mat hurried after his surprisingly fast cellmate.

Down the stairs they went, into the canopy of noise, and towards the sparring rings. None of the hundreds of men paid him much attention, though many glanced at Reg, offering him a nod in greeting. Reg stopped at the rightmost ring, smiling at those he seemed to know. The ring, it seemed, was little more than a sectioned off square, and a man lounged beside it. Reg greeted that same with a smile.

"Yon, my friend, I have a newcomer here for you. Biomod for balance, but otherwise a baser."

"Great," Yon drawled, pointing to the ring. Mat hesitated until Reg pushed him onward. Yon joined him, rolling his shoulder.

"Defend yourself." Mat started to speak, though he honestly wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say, when a sword keened towards his face. He flinched, backing away and raising his arms, though he was too slow to either dodge or block. Yet the blade stopped a few inches from his skin, and Yon sighed, lowering the weapon.

"Well, you're going to die," Yon drawled. Reg tsked, and the man rolled his eyes.

"I'll do my job, don't you worry. Pay attention, newbie, because I don't like repeating myself. This is a transword. A training sword. It won't cut your flesh or break your bones, but it'll hurt like a bitch every time I hit you with it. We're going to train until you can't stand, and we're going to do that every day until your first fight. If you survive, we'll continue until you aren't a newcomer anymore. Any questions?" Dozens. Thousands.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because people like Reg give up a share of their tokens to make it worth my time," Yon replied. Mat twisted around to find the man, only to find Reg gone. Strangers surrounded him, and even Nova had gone silent. Yon continued after a moment, throwing a copy of his own blade at Mat's feet.

"You look confused. Not my problem. Pick up the transword, and try to learn something from this. Either way, I'm getting paid." Mat picked up the sword, shifting his balance to stay perfectly centered, an automatic gesture. When Yon tried to smash him over the head, Mat managed to step aside, only for the blade to hit him on the shoulder anyway. Pain surged up through his arm, and he dropped the blade. Yon clearly didn't let that bother him, lashing out again, and once more, Mat grimaced in pain.

Movement drew his attention, an odd thing to focus on, as the lone door in the entire complex opened. Someone stepped through, alone and unarmed and oddly tired. Mat shook it off, flinching when Yon punished his inattention with a violent kick. By the third hit he'd managed to attempt a block, and to his surprise, Yon's blade was stopped. Then the man's fist lashed out, and Mat scrambled to stay on his feet. His success was rewarded with another blow to the shoulder.

"Tired," Nova grumbled quietly, unprompted.

"Try to be more quiet." Mat's back hit the padded floor, and any response he might have felt like making fled alongside all the air in his lungs. His thoughts, surprisingly, went to something wholly different, the sequence of shock and surprise pushing it to the back of his mind. He was wearing different clothes. Basic, brown, functional clothes, sturdy and synthetic. A yoga-pants like thing with a flowing shirt combo. On the latter, a man faced by two birds stood proudly on his chest, small but present. LandTech.

Yon hit him again, and Mat forced himself to roll, awkward though it was, as panic and adrenaline forced any other thoughts from his mind. Afterword Patreon (No current advanced chapters for this story) Discord