Closed Agony and Ecstasy

[Daegron]

Conformity.
Once the door was closed and bolted again, he was left alone in the room. Alone, imprisoned with his thoughts as the only company. Something was wrong, that much he understood, and no matter how assuringly honest Dr. Mazetti seemed, he wasn't ready to dismiss his paranoia. Parnell's motives remained unclear and his agenda could be different from his colleagues'. Yet it was obvious that if they meant him any harm, he'd already be floating on the lake or on his way to her black depths. The herbal tea they'd offered was already acting; it's soothing effect a delight he'd long forgotten.. He felt relaxed and not unusually so. The pain was but a memory and he felt calm, collected, albeit tired. He'd just agreed to follow through with their plans, trusting that they had the expertise to treat his unique condition. And much as he mistrusted them, he needed the cure they had to offer. Much as he hated to be locked up, he knew what happened when he lost control. Something inside him was severed; the connection of his body and energy was long torn asunder and perhaps this was the time to make it whole once more.

He looked at his hands and couldn't help but chuckle. Keeping him tied was pointless; it would be better if those binds were removed now that he was thinking straight. Lest rage overcome him and he lost control once more. His gaze fell on his wrists and an old familiar song was murmured.

His djed was summoned once more, and from deep within him a strand swirled and moved, separating itself into two equal halves.. Through vessels of blood it travelled till it found it's way to his hands. There it seeped into his bones and sinew and instigated the change. The wrist bones moved closer, folding on each other making his hand thinner. His thumbs dislocated and as soon as the binds slid away and fell, everything returned back to it's place.

He was untied now and the first thing he did was to get up and explore the room he was locked in. Windowless, meticulously cleaned and mostly empty of items other than the hard bed, a rather uncomfortable chair, a small table and the cup of tea he'd emptied a while ago. The door had a simple lever that was supposed to open it, but there was no visible way to unbolt it from inside. He knocked at it with his knuckles, only to find out that it was made by some sort of hardened wood. A dull sound revealed it's sheer weight and thickness. Breaking or trying to remove it would be impossible. As his fingertips run along it's surface, the marks left by the previous residents of this cell became evident. Scratch marks, small bumps and dents told the tale of their futile attempts.

Fear was not something he'd succumb to. Getting locked up wasn't new to him; he was just a boy when his siblings confined their little bastard plaything in a closet and left him to rot. Self preservation instincts and great determination got him through that ordeal and the present occasion was nothing in comparison. He'd find a way to get out. Or perhaps, he was safer in there, at least for a while. This trying time could prove great for some contemplation.

The train of thought was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, muffled by the door. Mazetti's surprise once he entered was evident and before he could even speak, Daegron had an answer along with a sly grin..

"It was an unnecessary measure. In the way that you phrased it... If I objected to my ...imprisonment I'd be already gone. Please refrain from using manacles or binds. They will only push me out of control."

The doctor seemed reluctant but agreeable nonetheless. His presence wasn't needed but did not bother the Morpher who waited eagerly for the researcher's arrival. His own calmness was something he'd never expected; it almost scared him.

"Your colleague or employer was given a fair and dire warning. I will not apologize, for he knew the dangers. It's a good thing I didn't get to harm him. "

He was glad that no grudge was held. It would aggravate their already shaky and mistrusted partnership and disrupt their goals. He could not argue on the overgiving explanation. He was guilty of it, every single time, and they wouldn't understand.

The cane tapped rhythmically along with the man's steps as he finally joined the gathering. Daegron thought it to be an unnecessary addition that perhaps was something more than just stylish. Yet the researcher's forthcoming explanation of his plan made that doubt disappear. Simple as that, a rest! A mandatory pause in his reckless and excessive use of a discipline that threatened to destroy him. Much as he'd like to argue, he had no words to say. Perhaps it was a way to remake what was broken; to heal the bond that was severed.

The next "test" that was suggested was met with derision.
"I do not see a reason why I have to repeat myself. As I've already explained, my only means of control over a transformation is to be able to feel the changes as they are made. You saw how things can go wrong. You claim to know of Djedcraft, yet you ignore the fact that not everything is as simple and easy to perform as your enhanced strength"
He grunted and went on, glaring angrily at him.
"You better think of something else, Parnell...that will not do."

[Inoadar]

Inoadar heard the morpher out without comment or expression. He knew that the degree of anger on Daegron's face, regarding "repeating himself", was just a hint of what would be there by this time tomorrow. "I have to agree, sir. Having to repeat yourself is a taxing proposal at best, infuriating at worst. Nonetheless, I will extend the courtesy, since you did not seem to grasp the point I made before our last experiment." He gestured toward Doctor Mazetti, "My associate here DID tell you I had no hard feelings about the results, didn't he? Well, then you should understand that I have noted those results, and am taking them into account with this next activity. There was no need for you to repeat your warning. This is not a repetition of that same step. This time, you will be affected by muscle relaxers. I told you when we began that I was NOT going to do that the first time around." He started counting off on his fingers. "The first step was simple numbness with no additional debilitations. You had limited success. Then we gave you a muscle re-invigorator with NO numbness. May I say that was quite an enlightening experience. So now I'm proposing something I hope to be doubly debilitating. You will have not only numbness, but muscles that are going to be loose, resistant to firm flexing, and also difficult to maintain in whatever form you achieve." As he spoke, he rocked a bit on his cane, which he held before him against the floor. On one of his forward leans, he could unlock the inner mechanism, which would allow him to turn the hook and remove it. This would both expose the stiletto blade attached to the hook, and give him access to the blowgun comprising the shaft. He had not turned the hook yet, so the cane did not come apart as he lifted it casually and placed the hook behind his head. He wanted Daegron to get used to seeing him take this casual-seeming pose. In actuality, this would allow him to use his head as a way of holding the hook in place, and turning the shaft to allow the two parts to separate. This was also handy, because if he needed to unhook the two parts, the mouthpiece of the blowgun would already be right near his mouth. The Morpher-oriented version of 'Wildleash' already loaded. But he was not ready to do this yet. Now his eyes narrowed sternly. "I do not know if you will ever come to trust that I am truly trying to help you. But I firmly believe you need to do NO morphing for a good twenty or twenty-five days. I mean to see that you follow this advice. All I want to see from this test is if your morphed form is more difficult for you to hold than usual. I had thought the muscle strengthener might do that. But that was obviously the wrong approach. So, we're going to go the other way with it." He knew that even if he was proven right, it might just encourage the man to keep trying to hold his morphed form. In truth, he hoped it did. There was one other thing he wanted to find out besides just the fact of whether a muscle relaxer made it harder to morph. He was also curious if djed was only spent during the transformation, or if it continued to be spent as the form was held. He'd seen the slight degree of suffering Daegron had endured after the first "numbness" test. If Daegron now had to continue putting forth effort to hold whatever form he took, he should suffer a greater degree of after-effects. He signaled Doctor Mazetti to administer the 'Slammer', his hand tense on his cane. Time would tell...

[Daegron]

Determination.
Once Parnell explained the situation and his experimental procedures and plans were laid open before the Morpher's feet, things were cleared up a bit. And much as his instincts screamed, he could not deny certain facts. They had a way to make him feel better even if it was temporary. They could make it permanent. They seemed genuinely interested in fixing him up. They definitely knew what they were doing. They treasured method and organization. They had not harmed him yet. They were patient enough to deal with him. This was pure logic and he could not dismiss it. In the end, this kind logic was the only thing that kept his head straight; it made him retain his human qualities and not succumb to one of his vile transformations or grotesque morphing ideas that occasionally appeared in his brain. Count the facts, weigh them and make a decision.

"Very well then... It seems that I have no other way but to trust you. And you have no other way than to be VERY careful, lest something worse than the last...incident happens."

He'd go on with this. Whether their gain was knowledge, expertise or something more sinister, he had to go on. His gain would be a fresh start, a way to make things right , to heal and repair. Much as it pained his pride, the moment he stepped into the NMSS, he was at their mercy. The suggested course of action, on which he really didn't have much say, or alternative, would prove to be difficult for him.

A fact that he knew very well and was proven earlier was that numbness affects his control of a transformation. It did not affect his ability to make the change, it did not affect his Djed use and command but it was impossible for him to know whether things were done correctly. A sloppy transformation where structure wasn't properly controlled had terrible consequences. He could think of a few on the spot. A blood vessel severed that would create an internal bleeding, a muscle that wasn't properly "wired" and thus ineffective. A few bones misarranged that could create grave injuries once the transformed part was utilized. Incomplete or lacking neural connections that denied full control of a part. The mingling of incompatible materials that could cripple him. And last but not least, a terrible and painful death.

The muscle invigorator was proven to be quite the treat. His body felt alive again, the pain that plagued him long forgotten. It didn't actually empower his magical potency. Daegron believed this beneficial effect, this surge of life primarily affected his psychology, making him feel stronger. This gave him the confidence he needed to command his Djed and use it more effectively. But it was expected to have his mind pushed off the edge. Power was corruption and as Parnell had mentioned earlier , certain limitations were not meant to be removed. Self-moderation was very important if he wanted to stay himself. And perhaps this was the hardest part. And time was a healer like no other.

Twenty days were a long time for one that depended so heavily in his magic. His Art affected every fibre of his being, it defined his existence and shaped his personality. To deny his Art would be to deny himself. Logic once again prevailed. The path to betterment always involved questioning oneself. And through this trial he hoped that he'd gain the clarity needed to find what was wrong and make it right.

So, it was time for the test. He'd have to try and shape his flesh under two different debilitating factors. The numbness he'd experienced earlier and knew what to expect from it. The muscle relaxer would make any rearrangements harder; his own flesh would be unwilling to follow. He'd have to focus heavily on his Djed, to use as much as possible in order to strengthen it's commanding effect. And to do that, he needed to draw the necessary energy in a way that would not aggravate the harm that was already done.

"Let's try this little test of yours. But know that this will be very taxing for me. With the slightest hint that something' s wrong, I am ending this. I trust, for your sake as well as mine that should things go out of control, you will sedate me. Do not fail or betray me..."

With that said, he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. A slight pin prick was felt on his left arm and he knew that soon the drug would act. First of all he had to focus on his own body, to feel every little bit of it's structure, to gain as much awareness of his physical form before the numbness would settle. From then on he would work by memory and not actual sense. It was a good thing that he knew his own anatomy well. The shape he'd attempt should be something that wasn't structurally complex. It would help avoid unnecessary damage. By doing things slowly and keeping himself disciplined and focused, the earlier failure would not be repeated.

Concentrating on his breath, he stood still. His heart was beating steadily, pumping the drug around his body. and following the pulse's rhythm he felt the blood flow around his body, travelling through red vessels and paths. With slight slow movements he counted and acknowledged the presence of every bone, muscle and joint; a strange tingling sensation running all over his skin as he reached into himself in an attempt to map as many neural branches and nodes as possible. And as awareness was gained, as this useful information was committed to memory, so the feeling was lost, drowned by the numbness that slowly covered all parts of him.

His eyes opened wide. He looked at himself and moved around a bit to make sure that things were good. This numbness was very different than the last time, but it was good to see that he still had control over his body.

It started from a single vowel. From a breathy note it grew into a monotonous moan. It resonated on for a long while till it ended with a mighty roar. Then more notes were added, more deep vowels emerged from his vocal chords accompanied by throaty and hissing consonants. His mantra was a twisted hymn to life, a blasphemous torrent of threats and curses in some language that did not exist. Phrases that had no meaning, but words of power for himself. He sank deep into his core seeking the thing he treasured the most. His precious essence, his Djed was floating, formless but ready to be incited by the Morpher's will, to shape itself, to spread around his body and to force it's shape upon flesh. He spoke to this black nothingness and invoked it to stir. And it vibrated upon his command; as his song beckoned it slowly swirled within itself, creating a whirlpool of energy. His chant changed from slow repetitive patterns that created that swirling motion to a sequence of commands. And his essence obeyed and was cut in two equal parts. They flew with great speed towards his arms and spread along their length. And their vibration initiated the change. It was far harder than he anticipated. But instead of the earlier morphing spasms, this time he tried to memorize all those small details as they came into play, making the transformation flow continuously. He raised both his hands where he could see them. His bones softened and slowly melded into each other, like clay forming a pair of strands where his arms were. His muscles were unresponsive at first; they simply gave way way as the bones connected. Sweat started running down his brow and his teeth gritted as he pushed on, attempting to rearrange the muscles. It took a few chimes of intense effort to finally make them shift their position. Unable to feel them move and having as his guide his sight, he recalled previous transformations and the memorized structure to make the shift. The bone-strands formed some sort of a spine, that reminded a serpent's tail. Skin was pulled as his limbs elongated. Tendons were forced to coil around that spiny arrangement, forming some sort of powerful spring and his muscles were rearranged to facilitate every move as he experimented with them. On the tip of each of those new appendages, a pair of sharp claws protruded, tearing through skin.

It took several chimes of this grotesque show for the transformation to finish. These new tentacles were flailed and waved around as they were created, demanding every bit of focus the Morpher could spare. Hid Djed was constantly flowing as it was shaped by his will.
With great persistence he had prevailed. He looked up to the two doctors, proud and full of himself. His grin was wide but it was clear that he was struggling to keep the transformation going.

"Power ! Overwhelming Power !" whispered that familiar voice. It's tone was calm, it soothed him and gave him some strange sort of pleasure.
"Don't you want more ? Don't you need more, don't you crave more ?" He could almost see those luscious red lips phrasing the questions. A breath teasing his ear and running down his neck. Charmed, he could not deny the truth they spoke. Much as he struggled to break free from the suggestion that would drive him over the edge, he knew it was futile. He wanted to shape more, to create more, to tear those insolent weaklings to shreds!

As he lost control, that little part inside him that was his sanity made his eyes open wide, filled with despair, pleading the spectators to stop him before it was too late. HIs face was now but a madman's mask. One that shifted to take a shape of it's own...

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words : 1651

[Inoadar]

Where some researchers may have been quick to fire, Inoadar did no more than unhook the lock on the handle of the cane and bring the weapon to bear near his mouth. But he did not fire. Nor did he signal Doctor Mazetti to approach. The doctor looked back in shock, trying to convey the unspoken fact that, once Daegron got to his feet, there would be little he could do. But Inoadar knew he had time to at least attempt to get this phase of research done. True, if the morpher could not be reasoned with, the dart would fly, and research would be less productive. He would, however, still see the effects of his...'Morphleash'...yes...he liked the sound of that. All he really needed to do was keep the man from attacking him for a few chimes, the more the better. "Do NOT rise!" he said in a commanding voice, as if Deagron was obliged to obey. "I speak both to the body, and the mind currently controlling it! If you rise, it will be the same result, only your bindings upon awakening will be far more limiting." His association with the mage, Miro, had touched on the subject of the 'Sweet Whispers' that djed crafters experienced when they pushed their limits. He suspected it took much the same form as the voices he'd heard in his head while being interrogated in the Black Hole at the hands of the Druvin, Ematho. Unless he was far wrong, it would be like a second personality; one that did not want to stop. He would play on this. He'd come to believe he should not have babbled that flood of chemical terminology. He'd thought it would confuse the morpher into inaction, but it had only aggravated it. This time he would approach with something more direct: Outright threat and proposal of temporary truce. "I have a new compound that I will use on you if you so much as wave a tentacle my direction. It will cause you to lose control, both of your body and your will. You saw that I was able to sedate you before, and I have THAT option at my disposal as well." He could see the fury in Daegron's face, but for now the morpher seemed to be listening. "Yes...that's the spirit. Bide your time. I am fine with that attitude. I feel confident that I can subdue you. But let me ask you, Do you NOT want to know more of your capability? This is what I want as well, but I know your rage grows, you think me weak, fine. You think me reliant on trickery to prevail, fine. But what you also must accept is that I am not trying to "defeat" you. I want to know what happens as you hold this form against the drugs I have given you. "The more you know about what you can do in spite of drugs meant to curb your power, the more you know ABOUT your power. Can that possibly be a BAD thing?" As long as Daegron held his place, Inoadar would continue to stroke his ego. Of course, it was not the subject's ego he gave a damn about. The more time passed before he was forced to subdue the man with chemistry, the more findings he could arrive at. Subduing the man was going to happen eventually, even if Daegron became completely docile. But that was not likely. As Inoadar continued to ply the man with speculative and challenging compliments, he could see that he was losing him. It might be enough already for him to make a comparative conclusion. Again, time would tell.

[Daegron]

Ecstatic.
His facial muscles shuddered, affected by the immense amounts of Djed that were actively swirling around his body. A slow moving static wave of energy that propagated all over him; it's mesmerizing dance eating away at the Morpher's control and inciting his flesh to shift. His skin was pulled and torn and opened and remade again as his visage took the form that a spectator could name "the ever-shifting mask". Expressions changed with every passing tick and a myriad of facial characteristics that were memorized or used, kept forming on that mask creating innumerable combinations; many of them were beautiful and others terrible to behold. His skin was an unstable mass of liquid that throbbed and bubbled between transformations. He was everyone ! But his emerald eyes, the only constant in that continuous change, would only give a blank stare, revealing the truth. He was no one.

And the Abominable One awakened. After years of deep slumber, where His dreams were Daegron's worst nightmares and His hopes were the man's suppressed fears, His formless, immaterial corpus shook violently and was incited to rise. Recounting days of glory long gone, where Man was but a primal being, slave to impulses, prone to violence, unable to grasp control and a tool meant for destruction. Before Logic or that dreadful enemy that was Humanity had banished Him to dwell into the darkest Abyss of the Soul. He was Chaos. It took Him but a moment to connect with the essence, to take life in the Djed, to meld with the man that was now reduced to nothing more but a viewer; forever to dwell in those dark corners of his mind, to haunt and dictate him.

The poisoner's order was ignored. The Morpher's body got up swiftly, but was not compelled to move forward for an attack. There was a magnificent kind of fury in that ever-shifting mask of a face and a hint of victory.

"And what is control..." He replied with an ever-changing voice while the man's throat, vocal chords and oral cavity followed the shape of His will. "... but a pitiful attempt to deny the beauty of change ? the glory of evolution ?". The faces grinned. "And what is will but a thing to be shaped and used ? Amuse me..."

Parnell's suggestion appealed to Him. What better way to begin this reign, but with a test of mettle. Djed was running wild along this body. It was harvested, energized and commanded to Morph it. There was unlimited potential, and both personalities that were hosted in this shell, knew that fact well. But there was also danger and dire consequences. The Abominable one couldn't care less as long as there was power to gain.

"Tis not a bad thing... but know that the more I hold against the drugs, the more powerful I become. How can you hope to contain me when your pathetic life is so easy to take?"

The tentacle was slowly guided towards the poisoner's face. It was not an attack, but a mere display of potency, a threat to counter those that were received, to even out things.

"Very well then, let's see how far this goes.."

But Daegron tempted as he was, he knew better. He valued life more than anything. And impulsive as he was, he knew that things take time. While He hungered for more and was eager to consume everything in His path, Daegron had strength and grit. He would achieve perfection in due time; patience was not his ally but determination was. And those green eyes moved again and narrowed as the researcher's offer was processed by that primal horror that had taken control. He was so eager, He was but a fool.

In that maelstrom of madness, a flicker of hope shone. A weakness was spotted: arrogance. He realized that as long as he fought against Him , the more powerful His influence would be. What if he surrendered ? Perhaps the Abominable One would focus more into the promise of power and dismiss Daegron's will ? Risky, but it seemed like the only way.

The green eyes shone with cunning as he let go of the struggle. He'd need patience more than anything else. Once the notion of victory had seeped through this vile mind that had the upper hand, he'd seize the chance; he'd seize his existence back.

And the ticks passed...

[Inoadar]

Inoadar just smiled, his amusement entirely genuine. The morpher's alter ego was as genuinely aggressive as it presented itself to be. It promised eventual murder and mayhem, and Inoadar did not doubt the promise to be sincere. It made the verbal jousting all the more satisfying. He had his chemistry at hand and he trusted his skill to ensure that it would be effective. "Amuse you? It would amuse me to see you find a form you like, but to then lack the...control...you know, that "pitiful attempt to deny the beauty of change"...to lack the control to maintain it, despite your...will...to do so." Inoadar's voice grew more scornful with each word. "Perhaps it will be myself that will shape and use your will. How would that...amuse you?" His eyes locked with Deagron's, promises of something terrible in HIS eyes as well. "So if my pathetic life is so easy to take, why are you sitting there...hesitating? Is it because you are feeling the need to maintain...control?" he sneered this word with as much disdain as the morpher had said it with. "And why would that be?...Shall I tell you?...Very well..." he began to pace, relishing his lecture. relishing the uncertainty in the furious morpher's eyes. "It's because you...suspect...wisely, I might add...suspect that maintaining YOUR control...is the only thing keeping me from putting you under MY control." the poisoner taunted, keeping the blowgun in ready position; he was no fool. He stopped pacing and looked the man directly in the eyes. "But here's where it gets interesting...You see, I was recently incarcerated in the Black Hole...questioned...tortured...and, surprisingly enough...released." He thought for a moment that the morpher was going to launch at him right then. But it looked as though the man was morbidly enthralled with the speech. Inoadar could only assume that Daegron was letting the poisoner seal his own doom with his infuriating tirade. His enraged arrogance could probably not believe he could lose, and was letting Inoadar truly earn the destruction he was going to receive. It didn't matter to Inoadar either way as he went on. "But before I was released, I was inflicted with a type of madness. A different sort than the kind YOU are experience right now," he added with a sneer, "...but also the same, in that it is like a separate personality. What I came to realize was that my true self was genuinely beaten. And this lurking, twisted version of myself arose to take its place. To keep me strong enough to survive, despite the madness." He shrugged, "In a sense, I was grateful for its manifestation, for it got me through my ordeal." He spun back to face the morpher, "But its time was done, and I no longer needed it. But it would not relinquish its hold...What it came to was that I had to break IT...the way I had been broken. This was the only way I could then rise to assume MY RIGHTFUL PLACE." he stabbed his finger at his chest with each syllable. His smile became suddenly serene. False, but serene. "And, sadly, that is what I believe is going on with you." Inoadar's voice again became scornful, "You speak of your disregard for the concept of control...Like it's something you've chosen! You LIE to yourself, and that is where YOU are the pathetic one! You claim to shun control only because you are UNABLE to control. You think this makes you FREE? It makes you USELESS, is all!" "When you get your control back, you'll get your purpose back! Until then, you're just a floundering, aimless, waste of Rhysol's tolerance. And I will not allow this if I can change it." He brandished the blowgun, not to use but to display, and only for a moment. "And change it I CAN...and I WILL! I will make morphing such a horrible experience, it will set your madness back into the recesses of Daegron's mind! It will undo whatever his foolish over-giving has done to his true self. It will break YOU and allow DAEGRON back." He brought the blowgun to his lips, "You want no control? Very well then, lose it!" he blew in the mouthpiece, and the dart sank into Daegron's leg.

[Daegron]

Conception.
"Time is subjective.." He had no idea why that conclusion was formed in his brain. But it seemed to him that time stood still."Our perception and our senses can only dictate the flow of time and the speed of it's passing.". Everything was slowed to a halt; the flickering flame in the oil lamp stood still. Parnell and Mazetti were motionless as if petrified, breathless. He was slowly drifting away while some other kind of entity had stolen his own body from him. Yet he still had himself. For a moment that felt like a few bells, he contemplated if this was what death was like. Oblivion, a deafening silence, lack of motion, devoid of time, a vacuum.
"Yet I still think... therefore I do exist ?" he wondered as his senses dulled and his sight grew dim.
"Logic implies thought. Thought is provoked by experience. Experience is a product of one's perception. Perception relies on one's senses. To sense is to feel. To feel is to exist. Existence cannot be static, for it requires evolution. Evolution is one form of motion. Motion is created by certain physical or mental processes. To process is to think. To exist and think is to live." A peculiar series of statements followed and echoed in his mind, like waves in a pool whose surface was touched. And out of nowhere, a low thud was felt. It evolved into a monotonous slow rhythmic pattern. He assumed it to be his beating heart, and even if it was not, he would still grasp that notion to remind him that he was alive. The origin of his previous thoughts was still unknown but finally he knew their purpose.

Logic was the one thing that still kept him there; a prisoner in his own shell of shifting flesh. It was the thread that kept him tied to this new-found state of being. The last bastion that defied this malevolent entity's dominance, the part of him that wasn't affected or corrupted by whatever foolishness threatened to be his demise. And it was something else too; a weapon, what his current enemy lacked and mocked. It was clear that he needed to hold onto that.

Everything was peaceful and serene and he knew that this wasn't right. It was how he was lured to fade away. He was a being of conflict and strife and much as he craved peace and calm, now certainly wasn't the time. It was a time to be prepared, to concentrate and focus. Thankfully, he needed not to sink within himself, he was already as deep as it went. He needed not to dull his senses and distance himself from the world, for these were already stolen from him. It was a perfect time for meditation. And time was defined by the rhythmic pulse that must have been his heart.

He focused on the void, letting the vast emptiness swallow him. As sense of time was long gone so did the sense of space, for in order to define a space he needed a reference. He imagined the creation of a single point. It was not matter nor energy, but merely an idea. And on that idea he directed everything that he was. An amount of beats had passed and that point was born. He had a reference now. So he focused his thought into the creation of another idea, another point, which was soon created almost effortlessly. The next part would be motion. By keeping in mind the first reference point, he willed the second point to be displaced away from the first. It took a long while, but the point was set into motion. He directed all his will onto it till many beats passed and he was in full control of it's motion. And so he had energy. Motivated by his success he went on, forcing that immaterial point into a reciprocating motion. Soon he had a vibration. It was now easy for him to draw more points in that canvas of emptiness and to direct them to do the same. And so he did till a multitude of vibrations were realized. Excited, he pushed on, till those points converged and their erratic motion finally settled into one rhythm that matched the beats that was time. And as those points resonated, they seemed to meld into one. Energy was made into matter and into energy again, and so on and so forth. It was matter that did not exist in the physical world; but a kind of matter that was essence. And he had a name for that unique creation:

Djed. And it grew, multiplying itself, fed by his thought, bred by his will till there was enough. And since Daegron knew time and space, had created motion and energy and turned them into Djed, the void was no more. He existed once more, his senses returned. He was re-made, renewed, returning. And while the Abominable one was taking a path of no return, wasting every single drop of djed that he could grab, The Morpher had essence of his own and will to take back what was rightfully his.

A verbal contest was taking place. And he could now hear the poisoner's words as they were flung like a hail of arrows against whatever dwelt in his body. His body that was constantly shaped into grotesque variations of the most horrible nightmares. Misshapen limbs, claws, tentacles, mouths, eyes. All the things he's done to himself, connected in a myriad of sick ways. A mingling of flesh and bone that could only be Chaos. All he could feel in that entity was scorn and arrogance and fury. And the words rang true. Daegron was also defeated, but in the void he had remade himself. Still unable to take back control, but his existence was long forgotten from his enemy and that was an advantage that he treasured. And in that fury he felt a change that had a pattern unlike the transformations that were brewing in that body of his.

Djed was amassed by that entity to one of his hands. He knew the plan for he had made it happen not too long ago. Information was written and calculations were made, both physical and anatomical and as soon as they were ready, an instant transformation would occur. The Abominable One was creating a weapon that would manifest in a single moment and would be thrust against Parnell. His only ally in this ordeal, who was delivering a beautiful speech, would surely die, and his own limb would be utterly destroyed. But his enemy was so focused into that invocation that would never expect that Daegron had in mind.

As Parnell delivered his last words, the world slowed down again. The cane was brought to his mouth. The last details of the transformation were written and the entity willed that terrible weapon to happen. It was the perfect chance; while He was so focused into making the transformation, a crack was opened. With his swirling new Djed, Daegron walked into himself again. In the nick of time, real time as it was perceived by everyone in this real world, he willed his own essence to meld with the Djed that He had conjured. But that Djed was now weak, the remnant of an essence spent into a reckless display of power, misused and without purpose. It was consumed, but the process was so taxing that the exact moment that he had sense of his own body, he felt a sharp wave of pain washing all over him. He didn't feel the dart's sting, but he'd seen it coming.

He screamed his lungs out and collapsed...

[Inoadar]

Inoadar was astounded and scientifically intrigued to watch the effect of the modified 'Wildleash' compound. It was a most bizarre montage of random mutations. Where Wildleash caused a Kelvic to shift uncontrollably, they were only shifts between their human and animal forms. There were a few exceptions. A jaguar Kelvic might still retain its spots during a quick tick of human form; and maybe have no tail while shifting back to cat form. A bird Kelvic may still have feathers among its hair while in human form. A bear might have fingers on its animal paws. But all these were only while the uncontrolled shifting went on. All final shifts were to unconscious human form, with the ensuing passivity already active. And while Daegron also ended up an unconscious human, with clothes shredded nearly everywhere from bizarre morphing, he underwent so many different mutations, Inoadar could not keep track of them. Everything from tentacles to spiked skin, a Dhani rattler-like tail to webbed fish spines down the sides of the neck. Increased torso length, reversed joints, horns, a three-foot tongue, The morphing shifts covered everything. But it was over in just a few chimes. Inoadar signaled the cowering Doctor Mazetti with a stern shout to shake him loose from his shock. The medic collected his wits, and the Pillowsap toxin, and administered it while the 'Morphleash'-related unconsciousness was still in effect. "Keep him out" Inoadar ordered. "Use whatever you must. When he awakens, I want him already bound. It may take a day or two to get this arranged. Once you know he's out for a while, you may start prepping the bandages." He was donning his coat as he said this, and was out the door moments later. The closest forge was Thorin's Forge. Inoadar assumed that all forges were in the armor crafting business. He was irritated to find that the Isur running this shop was not. Being a man that only wore mail at most, and leather most frequently, Inoadar had never actually investigated the range of Mr. Thorin Valdinox' practice. After a few exchanges, where the man told him he should go to the Defiled Blade for all types of metal armor. Inoadar commented that he wasn't looking for anything so fully functional. That, in fact, he didn't want the person inside of it to be able to move at all. The blacksmith considered for a moment, then acknowledged that he did do some decorative pieces with old suits of plate. Inoadar asked eagerly if they were completely immobilized in the joints. The man began to explain that fusing the joints was a fundamental step in making decorative suits that stood in place on their own, when a cold voice slithered out of the darkness behind him. Female, compassionless, calculating. "Why, Doctor...Parnell...do you want a suit of armor you can place someone in, but that cannot otherwise be articulated? Do you have a body to be rid of?" Inoadar did not turn his face to look into the shadows of the forge. It was his understanding that the Valdinox family was headed by a woman of that name. He did not know if this was that very woman, and even though he would have liked very much to, he restrained his curiosity to defer to her prerogative. "I would not go to so much trouble, Ma'am. Nor would I be such a fool as to involve others. Others that might seek financial gain at my expense. This is a very different kind of business, my lady. The business of research and experimentation." "We all do research, Doctor Parnell. And I am considering an "experiment" right now. You sir, are one of the very first I have seen to be released from our dear Lord Ematho's "guest home". Since then, your behavior is quite at odds with what one would expect. Where most are quite public in displaying their uncompromising reverence and loyalty to our Lord Rhysol, in the privacy of their own domains, they frequently wane in their enthusiasm." Inoadar shrugged and said nothing. "You however, with every reason to feel the pressure of scrutiny, go rarely to any visible lengths to show that you know Rhysol at all. Yet in the privacy of the NMSS, and your room at Tarsin's Home, you go to your knees and offer such prayers as to rival the Druvin themselves. You are unique, Doctor Parnell, or should I call you Mr. Torrel? Or was it Tyrell? Trovelle? Porellis? Morley? Clark? Vernon?" Inoadar did no more than to raise his eyebrows to show that he was impressed. The woman laughed and continued. "You need not explain the use of so many names. It IS, in fact, one of our own techniques, and you came upon it with no schooling from us whatsoever. You catch my attention again, good sir." Inoadar remained expressionless, "You make no mention of the name I gave to my "Rising Dawn" contact, my lady. 'Torval'." "Do tell." her voice became even more intrigued. "There is nothing to tell." he said matter-of-factly, "They are no more, and so, I have no more need of it." "Well, this is all quite enlightening, but I am curious how much experience you have with squire's work. By this I mean, have you ever assisted a man in donning a suit of plate armor?... No?... Well trust me, you will need assistance. Now I am willing to have Thorin here go with you to handle this. You, then, will remember that I gave you aid when you needed it, and may be so polite as to reciprocate. In fact, we may find it profitable to exchange favors on a regular basis, Dr. Parnell." "You are most kind, my lady. But I am man that does not like to operate from a position of indebtedness, however highly placed my contractor." Inoadar was not about to admit to the level of intrigue this proposition held for him. "Even if it brings the means to rebuild your shop to new standards of excellence?" the voice enticed. Inoadar stammered in surprise. "I-uh-I am still indebted to the city for the last one, my lady." "A pittance. Nine hundred gold. We will pay it and add it to our contract. No hurry, give it some thought. Seek me out soon, though. You may rest assured the services we will ask of you in return will be of significant impact. No more slavers in alleyways. Run along now, Thorin, go with him." The blacksmith was already closing up shop and replacing his apron with a cloak. He brought out a kit from a back room and gestured towards the door. They carted a partially disassembled suit of plate back to the NMSS. Doctor Mazetti had already treated several entire body's worth of bandage wrapping with 'Phantom Shell' poison. It made any skin it came in contact with highly sensitive to pain. By the time they'd wrapped Deagron tightly in these bandages, with slivers of metal strategically placed in joints and tender skinned areas, and squeezed him into the parts of the iron suit, riveting those joints which had not previously been smithed together, it had been a full day and a half. Daegron was now fully bound in a tightly fitting metal suit that could not be bent, but did not block circulation. Any morphing he might try to do would bring chemically sensitized skin into lacerating contact with slivers of metal, and be held in shape by the metal suit. He was going nowhere. Inoadar thanked Thorin, who did not hide his dismay over the plight of the encased victim. The blacksmith returned to his own life, and Inoadar now informed Doctor Mazetti, who looked like he was going to be sick, that he could now allow Daegron to wake up.

[Daegron]

Emergence.
It was a deeper kind of slumber. Dreamless and black, as if everything was blotted out by that nightmarish experience of re-connection with his own self; with his Djed that was misused, with his body that was abused with that terrible entity that was now silent. Or was it whatever drug was in the dart? Neither that, nor the time that had passed mattered now, for that trip to oblivion was nearing it's end. His senses faded in along with his consciousness, slow yet steady.
As they came, they offered a bizarre, distorted version of reality that could be a strange dream. Or at least that's what he would soon hope it to be.

The muffled sound of voices was heard, as if they were having some sort of a discussion. the words were unintelligible, as if they belonged to an odd language that lacked consonants and spoken by beings without mouths or any other relative open cavity. And interrupting whatever they were trying to say, the sound of metal objects being hauled and dragged. But who were they ? What manner of twisted creatures spoke like that?

The smell of soot and smoke and something that reminded him of an old forge entered his nostrils along with that familiar smell of stale air, mixed with a bit of sweat. What manner of place was he in ? Surely a dungeon of some sort and he could imagine a lake of fire burning miles below where he was probably suspended.

He'd drank blood. The taste was unmistakable, like the countless times his gums bled open by whomever was eager to deliver a few solid blows on his ugly mug. And with it, the taste of dirt and dust and iron. As if he'd morphed his face into that terrible maw and chewed at some poor petcher's armored hand. What had happened after his return ?

His eyelids opened and that dim lamp light danced once more. Everything was blurry, as if he was underwater; colours and hues swam. the room was familiar. He was there before, when it all happendd. Things started to make sense, he probably was still in the NMSS, at the hands of those doctors. At their mercy or better, at their lack of it.

A strange kind of warmth engulfed his body. As if he was tugged under a set of warm blankets and sheets. But an unusual tingling sensation covered him whole. And curiously, he could feel every single hair on his body, every inch of his figure was acknowledged, despite the fact that he was barely conscious.

Everything seemed to clear up as the veils that enveloped his senses were slowly lifted. his eyes darted from side to side, but there was nothing but that old ceiling to see. A large part of his field of view was blocked by some sort of obstacle. As if he was wearing some sort of blinkers. Or was it a visor ? Why would he wear a helmet anyway?
"Where am I ?" he said with a weak croak born of his parched throat. There was no reply, but his voice had a certain timbre as it echoed. Almost metallic.

So he did the first mistake. He tried to move. A sharp sting was shoved into his thigh. No. He was slashed. His eyes widened at the realization. His leg was severed. He could not suppress the scream that escaped his lips. And as his chest expanded to take in a hasty breath, he felt another sting on his belly. It was like a sword that just run across it, and he could almost feel his entrails pouring out. And he cried and he screamed on with his ominous metallic croaks echoing.
"What have you done to me ?" he wanted to shout, but only a moan came out. He was shaking. "This isn't real, this isn't true, this...aaaaaaaaaarrrggghhhhh" Another blade had just chopped off his arm just to get shoved under his armpit. He was trembling, choking in his own baited breath. soon he'd have no breath, nor blood nor life. A fitting cough came that triggered another sliver in another soft spot. His throat was slipped. the next scream was a gurgle followed by a choking fit that lasted forever.
"I am undone, I am no more..." the thought filled his head and blacked out everything in it's gravity. It made him stand still as if waiting for the inevitable end, begging it to be swift yet knowing that it wasn't meant to be.

The tingling sensation lingered. It still covered him whole, and though muscles were shaking and rivers of blood were pouring, he still could feel; even those parts he thought severed, were still there. He could wiggle his toes, clench his fist. the pain was taking his breath away but he was alive.

Then the notion came to him. He was being tortured. For all his sins, all the things he'd done all the people he'd hurt. retribution had caught up with him finally in the form of someone who was cutting him up. The same one who was also keeping him alive despite all odds. As if by magic. A fitting torment for one such as him, truth could not be denied.

The good doctor Mazetti's face appeared in the corner of that visor. And blurred as Daegron's eyes were from the tears that watered and scorched their way across his temples. There was nothing better than rage to soothe a tortured mind. It burned his very being and almost made him forget the agony that he and his researcher friend had got him through.

"You ! I was a fool to have trusted you. You are a worse kind of snake than your friend Parnell" he spat the words, yet his voice was trembling. But he noticed that the face before him was unfitting of such a position. He was just helping....

"Are you here snake ? Are you here, you double-crossing piece of shyke ? As if slithering out of your mother's verminous shyke-hole wasn't enough to make us cry?" No way to hide it. Just pointless insults to provoke him to talk. He just needed a target for his frustration.

"What did they pay you ? Or is torture your scientific interest ?" he screamed and hissed and choked and bled. There was so much blood pouring out of him, he could feel it." Show yourself you bastard ! Before Dira claims me, before Uldr sends me back, I want to see your face..""

He shook his head trying to see over that petching visor that covered everything else than Mazetti's face which had taken a sickly shade of yellow. Just when anger had made him ignore his grievous wounds, a dagger pierced him where his jaw connected with his skull. His eyes almost popped out and the wail that came out of his throat, along with the shrieking torrent of curses that followed, were enough to make even the Voice herself cry. But it wasn't long till his own voice had died, with one dreadful gasp that ended with a series of weak whimpers.

No, he could not break now; he would never break...

[Inoadar]

Inoadar listened for a moment, chuckling mischievously at the discomfiture of the good Doctor Mazetti. The man looked desperately at him, begging to know if he could inform the poor victim that this stage of the grand "experiment" was not his doing. But the poisoner held his finger before his lips and shook his head. Soon enough though, the encased voice's insults began to target the unseen mastermind, and Inoadar piped in. "I'm sorry, were you speaking to ME or the good Doctor here? And I'll need to know exactly...and I mean exactly who I am answering. This is paramount in determining the duration of your..."stay"...here. Is this the cooperative and reasonable Daegron? Or the brutish loudmouth that is only capable of using a fraction of the man's brain when he falls once again into that oafish folly called Morphing?" He knocked on the helm, "Over here, boy. Are you listening now? Well, actually, I'd really like to tell you what the point of this is; what the goal is, and the specific strategy to reach that goal. I always enjoy regaling captive audiences with accounts of my brilliance. But...sadly, I doubt you have the wit to appreciate this one." His sad tone of voice was pure mockery. Inoadar was in his element. Rarely was the satisfaction of unrestrained taunting so in line with the aims of research. He fairly waltzed around the room as he went on, coaxing the imprisoned victim to impotent rage. Rage that would only lead to incomprehensible suffering if he made a move to struggle free. Soon enough, Inoadar knew Daegron would try to morph some manner of escape from his steel coffin, and then the lesson and cure would truly begin. Only through agonies brought on by his own attempt to rely on his magic, and the frustration of meeting the obstacles set in place by Doctors Mazetti and Parnell, would this alter ego be broken. Inoadar was supremely confident that this would eventually occur. It was only a matter of how long before the forced paralysis brought him to abandon morphing as a cure-all and remain willingly unaltered. And then, how long he'd need to remain in his unaltered state before his djed stability returned to his pre-over-given condition; that which most people would consider "normal". Of course, during this time, Inoadar was not averse to relieving the man's pain with more herbs and drugs, in mild doses. It had only been the fact that he had no way to stop the man from painlessly morphing during his drug-numbed episodes that negated that approach. But the man would have to beg for these doses. It was all part of breaking him. Thorin had left a single panel locked, but not riveted or heat-fused, so that these drugs could be administered. Since the panel's securing latch could not be accessed from the inside, there was little chance of Daegron undoing it. Nonetheless, the two doctors stayed in shifts when Daegron was not chemically sedated. Inoadar wished that Mazetti would get into the spirit of research, while on his shift, and taunt the bound patient. But, alas, it seemed that the doctor was more practitioner than researcher. So now, it was a waiting game. How long it took for Daegron's aggressive morpher persona to surrender to abstinence. And how long for the man to have to wait before his djed balance returned to the point that he could morph without losing control of himself. In the meantime, Inoadar continued to provoke the man into trying to morph his way out. The more he screamed in pain, the sooner he'd accept his defeat.