The mask of molten skin

by **Daegron** on April 15th, 2014, 6:25 am

Spring 23rd, 514AV
evening

The face in the mirror was mocking. A cruel devilish smile that hinted of a terrible thing bound to happen. Yet the Morpher did not pay heed to that subtle yet grave warning and kept staring. A few bells had already passed and he stubbornly kept looking at his image having lost track of time. As he patiently watched and traced every line on his face, every single hair or flake of skin and after changing countless expressions to understand what parts of him made them appear, he finally was one with himself and the rest of the world had already faded into a dim background. His mind was empty, the sound of his breathing and his beating heart dominated every tick that passed, till the ticks mattered no more. He looked deep into his eyes and he slowly felt separated, as if his whole perception, all of his senses had taken life and had flown away from both the man and his idol, taking an observer's seat somewhere close and offering a new perspective.

He had finally decided to start his first experiment, after a long time of inactivity. He hated himself for procrastinating for so long, it wasn't like him at all. All these days since his awakening he'd been using his Art, his shifting talent for all manners of reasons and even in the absence of one. Yet it was such a long time ago that he delved deep into his unique ability, the one he loved and the one that not only shaped his appearance, but also unbeknownst to him, it shaped his very being. It was a good time to take a few steps further into that Art, to better himself, to strengthen his magic, to feel that sweet euphoria. To explore new limits even. The experiment's objective was simple: He needed to study faces, to find the common traits that humans shared behind whatever mask they wore and to understand them. Then it would be a lot easier for him to change his own. Not by imitating the faces of others but creating his own unique ones. He had found the way to become something more than himself; to become many others, to become everybody. He'd already spent days in the crowds taking notes and watching their masks, their imperfections and their physical characteristics. With all that information already gathered, all he had to do was to make it happen.

Now looking from that eerie perspective at the man and the idol, while in fact being focused in his dark green eyes, his breathing got deeper and slower. With his pulse throbbing and echoing on his temples and his throat, he seemed to grin. And the idol grinned back and all was good. With each passing breath, he felt more separated while at the same time he could realize the texture of his skin, the multitude of blood vessels underneath and the chain of nerves that made motion and sense possible. Awareness was everything for him and the most important ingredient for this experiment to begin. With every single pulse, all other thoughts slowly faded and were flushed out of his brain; what was left behind was what he could see through the mirror, his physical self.

Soon he was ready to begin...

_

by **Daegron** on April 17th, 2014, 3:55 am

His lips started moving and his chanting slowly began. It started as a thin whisper and followed his breathing slowly increasing in volume as his vocal chords resonated from the depths of his throat. These were no words in any known language. Just a slow moving stream of sounds that were conceived in his twisted mind, born in his lungs, shaped by his throat and oral cavity and flowed outwards with the air he exhaled, only to return like a wave to where they came from as his chanting continued while he inhaled. His disturbing mantra seemed to dominate the very air in the small room he lived, as if it took life and crushed everything else around it. His heartbeat was like a drum, carefully keeping the rhythm tight while his flesh would start it's shifting dance.

The chant was an integral part of his Art, his own signature in a discipline as ancient as the world. No one would understand why he sang like that or how these terrible sounds were coming from a simple human being. Yet for him they were words of power and focus, as important as Morphing itself. And like himself, the chant was never the same; every time it was different.

He reached deep inside him and found the core of his essence, of his very being. He would need as much Djed as he could muster in the chimes that would follow. He led a small portion all the way up to his head through the countless nerves and blood-paths running beneath his skin. As he felt it swirl around his face, the first change begun. His cheekbones lowered and his forehead expanded upwards while his jaw narrowed. His skin stretched and the lines around his tired eyes, on his cheeks and forehead disappeared as it took a healthier though pale tone. His thin lips grew slightly larger and changed into a more welcoming pinkish colour. His unkempt stubble retreated back into it's roots revealing slight freckles. His raven black mane turned into a reddish brown and shortened to an inch long well-kept wig, as if he just had a haircut.

He was now a young and handsome man...

_

by **Daegron** on April 18th, 2014, 2:31 pm

The fervour of the young and restless. It flickered inside him and slowly grew as he observed the lad's face in front of him. His chant faced into a whisper and seemed to disappear in the background as he raised his scarred hands and run his fingers across his cheeks. His new face felt numb, but the tips of his fingers could feel the softness of his skin. He smiled, and the idol seemed to follow in rapture. He tried different expressions, some outright silly even, and the absence of lines on that youngster's face was a Such a face belonged to a lad not older than twenty years. He shuddered at the thought of rough years passing by, but such a thought was swiftly dismissed. He seemed to find energy anew, and will to accomplish everything. He'd conquer the world under his feet and set women's hearts ablaze with passion. Enthusiasm came over him and he couldn't help but want to keep this face and the joy it brought for ever. It took a few chimes and countless plans for a successful future until he finally accepted the distressing fact. That it wasn't himself that stood before the mirror, but a façade created by his imagination, or perhaps the reminiscence of his faded youth. With that realization he was ready to move on...

And so the chant grew louder and louder, still following the Morpher's cycle of breathing. And with each passing tick, the next shift was slowly shaped as another small portion of Djed was drawn. His cheeks expanded and swelled while his mouth widened. His jaw broadened and his neck soon turned thicker. Lines appeared on his face as layers upon layers of fat were created underneath his skin. His eyes shrunk while darkening to a brownish hue and his eyebrows got thicker. His complexion changed to a darker tone, as if he'd lived his whole life under the scorching sun. His hair lengthened again and twisted into thick curls while at the same time darkening to a dark brown. His lips puffed up even more to match his bloated face while his nose flattened and grew larger. Under his chin a greasy flab appeared. His ears grew larger and his earlobes hung heavy.

He was now a southerner. A hideously fat one.

_

by **Daegron** on April 22nd, 2014, 7:18 am

Gluttony. This word was enough to describe everything about the man he'd just turned into. Again his hands ran across his face and the chant faded into a low whisper as he felt his new mask. Again, there was just numbness on his face but a greasy surface was felt by his fingers. He smiled, and a broad hideous leer appeared in the mirror. He was a flabby chunk of pudge and there was no place to hide. He suddenly felt hungry. Not just for simple food or drink. He felt like he had the appetite to devour everything he could see around him. He fancied grabbing other people's belongings or fortunes and piling them up into an enormous hoard. And on it's very top he would squat and eat and drink and feast till he'd burst into a greasy explosion. The thought brought the unpleasant taste of lard in his mouth and all of a sudden a nauseating feeling, as if his stomach was turning inside out, overwhelmed him. It was time to ignore everything and change again...

His whispered mantra tuned into a growl and grew louder following his improvised pattern. This time the sounds were angrier, as if his song was the extension of his thoughts. It was as if he took another part of his Djed, this time channeling it by force, in order to continue his shifting. And his face slowly deflated as his forehead shrunk. The flabs retreated and finally disappeared leaving behind hard skin. His brow ridges rose at the sides and lowered at the center but his eyebrows stayed the same while his temples rose higher and outwards, giving him a natural gruff look far sterner than his own. His jaw, nose and mouth turned to his natural shape and his chin widened and jutted outwards as a faint stubble reappeared. His lips turned thin again and his complexion took his natural hue. His hair shortened and retreated into his skull leaving the top of his head bald. His eyes changed to an even darker shade of brown. Before the shift was over, a deep scar appeared running from the left side of his forehead downwards between the eyes and reaching below his right temple as his skin formed a deep ravine along it's length.

He was now a hardened warrior.

_

by **Daegron** on April 22nd, 2014, 9:19 am

A strange sensation, as if millions of needles touched the surface of his face at the same time almost stole his focus. Yet stubborn as always he growled his incomprehensible words and resisted his skin's pull and urge to stop the constant stress of the Morpher's shapes. A few moments later it was gone and a mild headache started to settle in. But he paid no heed to that subtle warning. It was a sign that things would get more serious. His shapes, born of his very own Djed, would slowly come to life...

He could almost feel the thrill of conflict, the heat of battle. Excited by the inaudible clash of steel upon steel and startled by the painful moans of the wounded. It was the song of violence and bloodshed and in such thoughts he indulged himself. His heartbeat raced as if death was imminent in every direction and it was as if he could actually remember how that terrible scar that decorated his visage was born. The deathly arc and then the sting of a sword's tip that barely missed it's target, but scarred him forever. And then it was the wild joy of pillaging, raping, looting and taking by force whatever spoils the defeated was unwilling to offer. No quarter, nor mercy; just rage and the immeasurable delight of slaughter. A few chimes flew until he was able to gather his wits. This was getting too close, too real for comfort. Yet it was breathtaking, beautiful in all it's might. He focused once more, never stopping his verbal delirium. He had something new in mind...

As ireful words erupted from the depths of his chest, and spread around the room, crawling in every dark corner, he cunningly grabbed another part of his Djed directing it forth towards his new morphing. It was as if he'd shamelessly stolen a little part of his essence, poisoning himself in the process. Yet he went on, ignoring his better judgement, his impulsive self steered him to a darker path. His hair grew a couple of inches long, raven black and greasy with random grey streaks. His chin elongated, got thinner and pointy; soon after, it was decorated by a meticulously cared goatee. His jaw narrowed and slowly all fat was drained away, leaving behind a bony mask of a face. The scar faded but lines stilladorned his forehead. His nose elongated and hooked downwards reminding a vulture's beak. His cheeks sunk into his oral cavity and dark bags of skin appeared underneath his sullen darkened eyes. His brow remained as it was, an angry and devious glare.

He was now a guileful trickster, a black-hearted crook.

_

by **Daegron** on April 22nd, 2014, 11:06 am

The second warning wasn't subtle. The needles did not simply touch his skin but were plunged deep into his face. The sharp pain almost shook him violently out of focus as his eyes felt like they were stabbed with flaming hot nails. And the needles carved their path down his spine and his voice faded from his suffering. For a moment between two blinks of an eye, he was able to see those needles covering his face, the countless drops of crimson running down his smeared visage. But his chant did not falter. Gathering all the strength he could muster, he still kept the transformation, fighting with tooth and claw against the will of his flesh to return to it's natural form. And as abruptly as it started, the pain stopped. He felt he was in absolute control, that he had dominated over his physical self, over his Art. But the terrible truth was far from that...

The stench of corruption emanated and sullied the very air around him. He now was vile and grim, cunning and crooked. He'd take all he could lay his hands on, gather as much power, as much influence and wealth as possible. And on his way to complete control he'd spare no one. Hideous acts of terror and deceit filled his brain and he could clearly hear his fiendish cackle as he burst into a wild, frenetic laughter. There was no man nor anything to stop his ascension. A wave of euphoria washed over him him as he spat the last and most hateful snake-like words of his chant. He needed it no more.

And as the ticks passed admiring himself with his incredible mask, tainted with vices aplenty, he heard it.
"Why do you need a face ? Without one you are every one..."
A suggestion from a sweet whispered voice that beckoned him in it's mellifluous tone to do the unthinkable. Unable to resist, he simply followed..

_

by **Daegron** on April 22nd, 2014, 12:47 pm

_
He covered his face with his hands and focused on his breathing. Only then did he realize that his heart was beating like crazy, it's elevated rhythm like a gallop. He concentrated and let his face shift into it's natural shape. He reached inwards to grasp into his core and use those last strands of Djed to follow the whispered suggestion. And when his hands fell to his sides he watched as his characteristics slowly faded while his face shifted into what resembled a pale porcelain mask. Yet when it was done, he knew that something was wrong. He blinked and caught a glimpse of a horribly disfigured face. Small pustules started dotting his whole visage and before he could understand what they were or how they appeared they started growing into large blobs of flesh while his complexion changed into a subtle mess of colors. He watched in horror as his face slowly liquefied and bubbled. It was as if the mask he wore was a molten palette. His breath was heavy and uneven and in dread he witnessed the molten skin flowing downwards covering his eyes. And a few moments before his vision faded he knew that what used to be his nose now was a lump of meat and as he desperately tried to scream in agony, he had a mouth no more. His breathing was forcefully stopped and he writhed, shaking uncontrollably as he choked. His hands instinctively covered his face and he tried to focus on his heartbeat before it stopped. He frantically tried to sing his chant in his brain, trying to stop this delirium of uncontrolled transformation. The ticks that followed felt like a century as he struggled to cling on to the pattern, his only chance to survive. And mere moments before he'd lost consciousness and fade into oblivion, a slight opening where his mouth was, allowed him to breathe again. With strength and tenacity anew, he persevered, and soon he regained his sight. He pressed on the remnants of his face, ignoring the blunt pain that followed, and tried to shape them, like a sculptor shapes clay into a semblance of a face....

Soon it was over. His skin felt like rubber and his anguish faded. A splitting headache was left in the terror's wake for a few days. He dared not watch at the mirror anymore. He wouldn't look at the mirror for the days to come. He dared not touch his face no more and covered his head meticulously trying to hide the awful truth. He felt swollen and numb and had no idea how he looked. He only hoped that something from his old self was left behind. Later on he'd find out that his appearance, his normal form, was barely changed. He'd learned a lot, he'd gained new insight and honed his art. Yet a little part of his sanity was forever gone...

_

by **Catastrophe** on May 5th, 2014, 12:21 am

Daegron :

Notes :

Completed The mask of molten skin