Well that was, in every conceivable way, less than ideal.
She had not anticipated the angel’s interference, not here of all places. This world was thin, starved of mana, a dry husk drifting through the void with barely enough ambient power to sustain anything of consequence. It should have been safe, It should have been quiet… Instead, that accursed angel had somehow forced its way across the gulf and into this desiccated realm, trailing righteous fury behind it like a banner, and in doing so had aided that sanctimonious, self important excuse for a hero in dismantling what was meant to be a delightful surprise.
She could still feel the disruption, the unraveling of carefully laid threads, the way her plans had been pried apart by meddling hands that believed themselves justified.
Very Irritating, though still, it was not a total loss.
When the god corpse fled, tearing itself away from the battlefield in a graceless but effective retreat, she had expected pursuit. She had expected the hero to give chase, followed by her pesky mate. Instead, they stopped and turned back. Perhaps they were wounded, or perhaps they were exhausted, perhaps they were simply satisfied with the damage done.
Whatever the reason, they allowed the corpse to escape. That decision worked very much in her favour.
Yes, the ambush had been significant, and yes, it had required time and care to arrange, but it was hardly her only venture. She was not foolish enough to hinge everything on a single effort. The furthest operation, the one she was presently guiding her corpse toward, was far more important in the long term. That was where she intended to begin rebirth in earnest.
Once that was secured, everything else would follow.
She could almost see it already. A quiet resurgence of power, subtle at first. A bit of creation here and there, a few experimental lifeforms to test the soil and the air. Perhaps she would integrate more directly with the dominant species, those clever apes who strutted across the surface with such misplaced confidence. She could whisper to them, offer promises, power in exchange for devotion. They were always so eager for that sort of bargain.
Monsters would bloom from the forests and the mountains under her guidance. Cults would form. Cities would fall. Eventually, inevitably, the world would kneel.
It truly was not that complicated.
The corpse moved steadily through the deep pine forests, the trees rising tall and narrow around it, their needles whispering softly as wind passed through them. The air was cool and heavy with the scent of sap and damp earth. Beneath the canopy, the light thinned into a greenish gloom that suited her purposes perfectly.
Ahead, in a small clearing gouged into the forest floor, her creatures worked with tireless enthusiasm. A collection of monsters hauled materials back and forth, their mismatched limbs and twisted forms slick with soil. Some dragged slabs of stone, others carried bundles of bone and half decayed flesh. Several were already digging, clawing into the earth with fervent dedication, widening a pit that yawned dark and deep.
The god corpse approached the edge of the excavation and did not hesitate.
With its seven arachnoid legs, it climbed down into the pit, the limbs piercing into the soil and gripping the loose earth with unsettling precision. The descent was slow and deliberate, the pale body lowering itself into the hollow among the other forms that had already been deposited there.
Those earlier bodies were in various states of decay. Some were little more than tangled skeletons slick with rot. Others still retained patches of greyed flesh clinging stubbornly to bone. The smell was rich and oppressive, a thick sweetness of decomposition that clung to the air.
Her corpse, still comparatively pristine despite the divine damage it had endured, settled atop the heap with a soft, wet shift of displaced remains.
Through the soul link, she extended her will into it, and then beyond it, into the gathered swarm of her creations.
Bury it.
The command rippled outward without words, a pulse of intent that every one of her pretty creatures felt and understood. Their movements quickened immediately, delighted obedience humming through their shared connection. They scrambled to the edges of the pit and began to push the loosened earth back in, claws and limbs working in unison as soil cascaded downward.
Dirt struck pale flesh, rotting bodies shifted and compressed and of course, the corpse did not resist.
Layer by layer, the pit filled, and her creatures, ever devoted, worked with evident satisfaction as they concealed the seed of her rebirth beneath the forest floor.
The soil trembled first, not violently, but with a subtle shifting, as though something beneath it had decided that the earth was no longer a satisfactory ceiling.
Then a hand burst upward through the damp ground.
It was pale to the point of being almost colorless, the skin stretched thin and slick with clinging mud. The fingers flexed experimentally, as though testing the texture of the air for the first time. Dirt crumbled from the knuckles in soft clumps.
A second hand followed moments later, erupting from the soil a short distance away, grasping and clawing at the surface with impatient urgency.
For a few seconds there was only the sound of loose earth collapsing inward. Then a head forced its way through. Wet-looking black hair, heavy and tangled, spilled down over a face that was startlingly smooth and unmarked, as though it had never known sunlight. Mud streaked across her cheeks and brow, but beneath it the skin was porcelain pale, almost luminous in its lack of pigment. If her face wasn’t covered in dirt, she might be considered beautiful.
The figure inhaled sharply, dragging in a first breath that sounded more like a triumphant gasp than a necessity.
With surprising ease, she levered herself upward, shoulders emerging, then torso, then hips, until the full form of a woman climbed out of the shallow grave that had birthed her. She did not appear strained by the act. The earth seemed to give her up willingly.
She stood there for a moment on her knees, blinking rapidly as if calibrating to brightness, before throwing both arms wide toward the sky.
“I LIVE!” she screamed in pure, unfiltered elation, her voice ringing out across the clearing with manic delight.
There was not even a pause before she screamed again, with precisely the same volume and enthusiasm.
“WHO AM I?”
The two declarations carried identical tones, as though both were equally wonderful revelations.
She pushed herself unsteadily to her feet, wobbling slightly as though unfamiliar with the mechanics of balance. Mud slid down her limbs in sluggish rivulets. She brushed at her arms and torso with distracted curiosity, flicking clumps of soil away as if tidying herself after an inconvenient nap.
Once satisfied that she was mostly upright and only moderately filthy, she looked around.
Before her stood a collection of creatures that, by most standards, would have been described as grotesque. Their limbs were elongated at odd angles. Some had too many joints. Some had teeth that did not entirely fit inside their mouths. Others had eyes placed just slightly too far apart, or too close together, or in quantities that exceeded the usual two.
They were gnarly and sharp and undeniably bitey.
She beamed at them. They were extremely lovely. One of the creatures, shuffling forward with what might generously be called eagerness, extended something toward her with a clawed hand. It was a book. The cover was damp but intact.
She accepted it without hesitation and flipped it open, skimming the first page with intense concentration.
The handwriting inside was energetic and slightly uneven, as though written in great haste but with tremendous enthusiasm.
So you’re probably confused and stuff, but that’s okay. You’re what I will turn into and this book is to remind you of the important things you might have forgotten!
She nodded seriously to herself. That seemed considerate, so she continued reading.
The Triumvirate is bad and they are horrid wenches who never loved you and want you to die.
Her brows knitted together in mild offense on behalf of herself. That sounded extremely rude of them.
There is a stupid hero that I gave a gift and she still wanted to kill us! Ridiculous. Kill the hero because they will kill you if you don’t.
She gasped softly. The audacity. Receiving a gift and responding with violence was terribly impolite.
She has a wife. The wife is as bad as the Triumvirate. Has stupid white wings instead of cool ones.
She paused here and tilted her head slightly, and considered the implications. Cool wings did sound preferable to stupid ones..
Take over this world because it’s easy and then you can kill the Triumvirate and be happy forever.
Her eyes widened. Taking over the world did, admittedly, sound like an ambitious but rewarding hobby.
Never forget, you’re amazing, you’re worthy of love, and you’re the best fleshcrafter ever.
Her expression softened considerably at that line.
<3 <3 <3
She flipped to the bottom.
From: Yourself from a day and a half ago.
The woman closed the book slowly and pressed it to her chest.
“Well,” she said thoughtfully to the assembled creatures, who watched her with eager, twitching attention, “that all seems very important, obviously.”
She tapped the cover of the book against her chin.
Taking over the world sounded fun. There were so many people in it, presumably, and people could always be improved. Make them better than they were before. It would be a kindness, really.
“Yes,” she murmured, her lips curling upward into a delighted smile that did not quite align with the symmetry of her eyes. “This is a capital idea.”
Around her, the gnarly and sharp and very adorable creatures shifted in anticipation, as though they too agreed that this was an excellent plan.