Sithis' Workpage

Sidero shook her head as vision faded back to her. The smell of iron and blood hung in the room, rancid. She tried to move, adjust, but felt something go taunt against her waist, something heavy pressing against her. She looked at the weight, her eyes clicked as they adjusted to focal length, and she looked down. Long, fleshy tendrils wrapped her waist, holding her fast and and half-seated to a column she could barely make from the corner of her eye. Out of curiosity, she adjusted her arm, and the meat tightened, send a crushing pain into her forearm. Her body groaned under the pressure, filling her core with a shooting pain.

Her mind was foggy. She coughed up a bit of ichor, and each thought she had was burdened with a heavy strain. She could feel a painful stinging at the base of her head plate, one clearly forcibly made. A blunt wound, as when she tilted her head back, it was bent against the column. But not made by any of the enemies she knew about.

She adjusted as she tried to straighten her back, grinding from inactivity, and her vision begun to clear, cautious not to rub against the restraints. Heavy walls of a bleached stone surrounded her, the room was dark and musty, lit up by a single brazier in the corner, coughing as it spat up sparks. A large stone door was to her left, showing no handle. Across from her, was another person shrouded in dark red robes, the source of the bloody smell, restrained as well. But unlike her fleshy binds, they were heavy irons made of wrought steel and cables. She recognized the make, as they were all made of the pieces of god, but something about these ones. They were wrong, bearing etches and marks not made by that of the blessed god, but ones marred by the stench of flesh.

The figure across from her snarled as it stirred. It shifted, adjusting its shoulders, causing the chains to make a wretched noise as they tightened, causing the figure to gasp at the crushing pain. It lifted its head, revealing a red, flayed, and mushy face, it drew in a sharp breath to find its voice.

"Where…" the figure gurgled, its voice raw and full of phlegm, "Who…?"

It looked at Sidero, yellow eyes looking right through her. It looked at her mechanical alterations, and scoffed. It chortled, and hung its head yet again.

"One of the machines…", it coughed, its bloody breath filling the room with a stench that made Sidero feel ill, "Fantastic…"

Sidero felt ill, looking at the wretched creature. A monster of the flesh, the enemy. She felt a mix of fear and anger rise inside of her. But she knew its heresy was nothing to the chains, defiled they may be, that held it. Its presence caused a burning in her, one that filled her with righteousness against the evil before her.

"Such intelligent words," Sidero taunted, leaning forward. "Or, Sarkite, perhaps you lack the capacity to even know what they mean?"

"It is Nälkän, girl." The sarkite retorted, a tendril of veins pulsing across his face in anger. "Did your dead god teach you no respect before it killed itself?"

Sidero tried to lunge, infuriated at the insult, but her fleshy retraints went taut again, pulling her closer to the pillar. She could feel them crushing the pistons and cogs in her stomach, a small jet of ichor ejecting from her mouth. The Sarkite hissed as the oil splattered on its face, and recoiling in shock. It's constraints tightened in response, cutting through his robes and gouging into red flesh, causing it to scream in pain. It cursed as blood pooled on the floor

"Mongrel."

"Scrap heap."

(——)

Sidero and the Sarkite laid still in pain, many hours having passed since they spoke. Their restraints had not loosened at all, and both of their attempts to break them had met with them tightening further.

Sidero felt the air grow stale, as the blood of the sarkite and her ichor began to dry, and cake onto their restraints. Sidero no longer needed to eat, but the sounds of pains driven on by hunger began to trickle from the sarkite, the beast gurgling as it was no doubt being consumed by hunger.

He groaned, and as time passed, Sidero watched as the beast began to wither. And she could do nothing but sit there.

(——)

After what felt like ages, Sidero felt something as she looked at the Sarkite.

And she felt a strange sensation in her. A feeling she had not felt since she was a child, before she found the god of order.

She felt pity. Sadness for the wretch as it withered from hunger. It was a bestial thing, Sidero knew, but as it weakened, she felt a sensation like a hunter feels when viewing a ragged animal in a trap. It's evil eyes had slowly broken away, and they turned from yellow to red, strained and ragged. It was in such a terrible condition, it was hard not to pity.

And as she looked closer at teh chains, she recognized some of the markings. Simple ferromancy. Sigils she could break.

Looking upon the wretch before her, she worked past her hatred, to pose a question. It made her feel vile to offer, but it filled her with so much pity, she would feel sick to continue to stay quiet.

"Do you recognize the flesh restraining me?"

The man looked up at Sidero. His mouth was dried with blood, the chains having crushed its chest, but it looked up with the same dejection it had as the moment it woke up. It took a look at the coils around her, and just barely, she could see his eyes flash with recognition.

"Why?"

And Sidero saw it in its red eyes. A flash, barely there, but she could see it clear as day. Hope.

"I recognize your chains. I could unbind them. But I need my arms to release them. If you could do anything to free me, I could free you."

"And what would stop you from killing me like a dog the moment you're free?"

"I could see your flesh burning against the chains. You're helpless without me, and I cannot break these without you."

"I'd rather we both be ripped in half."

Sidero grimaced, and, for the first time, met the Sarkite's gaze. "Then you'll starve, Nälkän. And would you want that?"

The sarkite's scowl melted away to a face of shock. It blinked as it looked Sidero's restraints. It winced as its hand split open, and a fleshy red tentacle emerged from his hand at the joint. It wrapped around an exposed point in the restraints, and, with a tooth at the end of the appendage, dug into restraints. Sidero felt her restraints quiver, and they began to lessen their grip. Her metal joints and bones began to bend back into place, as the bags that made her lungs took in a deep breath for the first time since being put into this tomb. Finally, the ropes of flesh fell to the floor, and Sidero straightened up, her spine popping as she stood upright.

"Uphold your end of the deal now, please. My hunger is maddening, and I can feel them tightening again." The sarkite choked, looking up at Sidero. It's eyes radiated a primal pain, an animal trapped in a cage.

Sidero looked at the sarkite. His chest was soaked in blood, and the restraints that held them clicked and tightened from the movement that freed Sidero. He winced as he looked up at the Mehkanite. Sidero thought about how much of it's pride it swallowed to ask for mercy.

Sidero thought she should leave him.

That was the reasonable thing after all. He was an abomination, a spawn of the all that wrong with the world.

But Sidero felt something deep within her, something she could not will away.

She felt pity for it.

She felt for the abomination.

Against her judgement, and at the request of her heart, her hands flashed as she began to work at the lock, the ferromantic sigils breaking with ease as they loosened their iron grip.

And after a few moments, the metal restraints fell to the floor, and the sarkite was free.

His body, no longer held back by chains, began to mend. He stood back up, and stumbled back. He looked at Sidero, and, without words, nodded in thanks.

Sidero began to examine the room, as while there was a door, there was no handle. She looked at the walls, that upon closer inspection revealed small runes, smooth in display yet harsh in their presentation. The sarkite clawed at the fleshy mass that once bound Sidero, smelling at, and upon deeming it fine, began to consume Sidero's restraint, devouring them whole as it consumed them with ease. He groaned in pleasure, his hunger sated.

Sidero looked closer at the etchings on the wall, and noticed, just barely, how fine they were. They were ornate and polished, yet small knicks in the deeper veins of the wall showed a crude construction, practically as if both a construct and animal had carved together at once.

As the sarkite finished, Sidero, just barely, could hear the muffled sound of footsteps. She turned to the door, as the sarkite looked to the door, alerted to the new noise. It cursed in its language, and began to hiss. It must know what is coming. Sidero cautiously stepped forward, and the door began to open. The sarkite, lacking the tact Sidero had, lunged through the fame the moment it could fit through it.

Before he could pass through it, a hand encased in brilliant silver jetted and clasped around its throat. Sidero moved back, falling into a defensive stance, ejecting a blade from her wrist. The sarkite howled in anger, and clawed at the hand frantically. The hand's owner moved into the center room, revealing itself before the crackling brazier.

The figure was draped in robes, obscuring most of its body and head. The arms and legs were encased in the shining silver, each scale moving on its own, as the ones at its hands moved forward and circled the sarkite's neck, fastened to the rest of its arm through small, stringy tendons. The skin beneath was raw and skinned, not unlike that of the sarkite. On its face was a mask, perfectly symmetrical, yet bearing ornate horns and carvings depicting the face of a dragon. While Sidero could not see its eyes, a soft blue glow emanated from slits along its face, illuminating the furious sarkite's face. From its back exteneded a magnificent set of iron wings, the joints magnificent clockwork and taught cables, with feathers with copper stems folded neatly while glinting of silver and gold.

"Who…?" Sidero mouthed stepping back, taken away by the being. "How…?"

The figure turned to face Sidero, the glow turning and facing her. The small sound of whirring could be heard, as its own eyes adjusted on Sidero.

'Who am I?" The figure responded, fluting its free hand against its chest, in a voice that sounded far to perfect to be from that of a human. The sarkite continued clawing and cursing, but the figure paid it no attention, "I, defiler of emotion, am Caminus, an Angel of Tiě Lóng, the Iron Dragon, God of Mankind."

"Liar!" the sarkite cried, and clawed at Caminus' mask. "Child of the Mutt, Spawn of the Decie-!"

With the sound of grinding metal, the sarkite's cry was cut short with a loud snap. Caminus, its eyes hardening and the scales around the sarkite's neck retreating to its hand. The sarkite's head was bent at an unnatural angle, and its eyes lulled. Caminus tossed its corpse against the pillar, a wet slump colliding against the stone as the body of the sarkite rolled onto the floor, lifeless.

Sidero looked at the corpse, stunned. Just like that, the creature Sidero had shared this small prison with killed just like that, all in an instant.

"Enough of the ramblings of the defilers of the mind." Caminus stated, wiping the blood from its hand. It's voice was both soft and deep, like that of a being with great age. "Now you, tell me. What would you have done, if you had escaped and faced the disciples of the god that still yet lives?"

Sidero moved back, carefully stepping back from Caminus. She swallowed hard, confusion welling up in her mind, all the time she had been alive, and yet a being of opposites stood opposed to her.

"You don't know, do you?" Caminus asked, sighing in disappointment. "Your people cut out half of what makes you human, the gifts bestowed on us by our makers, and then you have the audacity to forget them? Astounding."

Sidero was further stunned by the tone. 'Gifts? The Flesh was a gift!' she thought, anger burning within her.

"You are beyond saving." Caminus taunted, looking Sidero in the eye. "Maybe had your foolish god taught you foresight, you would see your path leads to nothing but despair, agony, and dying pointlessly. Exactly like Mekhane did."

That was too much. Sidero could not stand it a moment longer. With a loud hiss of steam, a metal rod erupted from her arm, flying towards Caminus. It crashed into his face, shattering his mask, but the rod glanced off his skull, flying astray and embedding itself in the stone behind him.

Before she could strike again, she felt a small whiff, and a hand lifted her off the ground by the throat. Caminus was on her in an instant, his eyes turning from the soft blue glow to a harsh crimson. The scales tightened around her through, as the ends, which Sidero could now feel were an unearthly degree of sharp as they dug into her neck. What was more terrifying, is that the machinery of her body ceased to resist, the oppressive air of the Angel deafening, and as if his mechanical prowess was enough to command the ichor to his bidding. She tried to fight, but it would not listen. She tried with all her might and will, and yet her body hanged there, unmoving.

"You are a fool. You worship the God of Order, Mekhane? It's delusions led this world to despair, and its mad obsession with order led it to cage the god-eater, our defebse against the madness of the void. He abandoned us. But despite Mehkane's foolishness, this is not our finale. Tiě Lóng lives, and his Children hear his voice. We see all that makes us human as sacred. Mind and Body!"

"And you, 'Priestess'," Caminus yelled, lifting her Sidero higher, now bellowing in anger. "Have helped lead mankind astray! You have cut out emotion, in favor of reason. But what is life without satisfaction, without hope, without love! The sarkites defy our minds, what seperates us from animals, but at least they are that! You, and all your kind, are not human, and, as such, lose your right to defile Tiě Lóng's gifts!"

Sidero barely felt it, but she felt the breath escape her lungs. she felt a massive weight fall from her neck, her head feeling light, and her neck burning. She gasped, but no air moved in or out. she couldn't feel anything below her neck. A crash against the floor rung in her ears, an uncanny ringing as she heard her own body crash against the floor, while her head was still head high. The searing pain was unbearable as she choked for freedom. She tried to plead for Mekhane to help, and Caminus held her severed head in his hand. She felt the life drain from her, and her eyes shifted, and she defiled Caminus' presence no longer.

(——)

"Caminus, my son…" The voice whispered, its soothing voice, both soft and firm, loving and authoritative, with the sound of perfected harmony and pure individuality. The voice Caminus would die for, echoing in his mind.

"I…" Caminus breathed, shame welling in his throat, "I am sorry. I should not have been so impetuous. I should have been more patient. Yet I fell to my anger again"

"Take heart, my son, for I understand your anger. It is proof of my gifts to you. The Children of the Dragon and Serpent are hard to sway, but there are thousands. I do not hold it against you, as there is still yet chance some could be redeemed before my return."

"Thank you, Father.'' Caminus whispered, his beating heart calming. "For understanding."

"Of course, my son. You need never apologize for being human."