Well, actually -- oh, silly me. I nearly gave it away.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
Land of the Machines
Cloak, still coughing and sputtering, entered the Fractured Nexus. It was few minutes when he realized that he wasn't the only one coughing and puttering. He looked up and saw Malice, looking like she was hacking up a lung. She breathed in deeply, and exhaled in one long breath. Then she snapped her head up and saw Cloak.
"Found that realm irritatingly inhospitable as well,
boy?" She spat the last word as if an insult. Cloak glared at her, and said nothing. Malice, however, found this amusing. "Still amusingly mute, boy?"
Cloak continued to say nothing, but slowly and carefully approach her while her head was turned when she was gloating. But he couldn't get close enough, as she dived into another portal. Sighing with resignation, Cloak followed after her.
Landing upon the ground, Cloak blinked and shielded his eyes as he looked around. Everything apparently was of techno-organic nature, even the ground had a strange luster and smoothness. This must be Ferrormor*, the realm of metal and machines. Cloak knew that he had nothing to fear from the creatures here. But he remembered something, a story, about the humans in this realm . . .
Ferrormor humans used to be flesh and blood, with silver-colored hair (regardless of the age). But then a possibly-fatal disease with such potent virality became a global pandemic. The specifics of this disease were lost in time. Ferrormor humans were dying left and right. There was a Ferrormor man who came up with the idea to escape the disease by transferring their minds into robotic substitutes, becoming androids. Now the entire race of Ferrormor humans reside within these surrogate bodies, which had come to resemble their old bodies identically, but only after many years. The original models resembled that of the
Puttermans, with new upgrades being released every few years.
That's the story. Interesting story, but, as Cloak shook his head, had nothing to do with him or his mission. He couldn't allow himself to get so wrapped up in these worlds! His own curosity, the bane of all felines and feline-form Realm Walkers, was why Malice had such a big lead! Cloak dashed forward, attempting to focus on his goal, but this world keep throwing distractions in his path!
Like, there! A crane or condor-like bird covered in what appeared to be armored plating, with six pairs of metal wings similar to those of Archangel. It stood facing Cloak, with it's feet in a marshy, dark pond, surrounded by techno-organic trees. It regarded Cloak imperially, and then calmly, confidently strode away from him, as if Cloak was beneath it's regal notice. Cloak had stopped to watch it, but he attempted to quash this xenozoological interest he's always had, and proceed toward Malice.
It was easy to catch her scent, as the scent of these Ferrormor creatures were far more muted -- the humans didn't even possess a personalized scent anymore. Cloak wasn't sure that they could even smell.
Cloak came across a group of metallic-armored triceratops heard that Cloak didn't know their proper names for. They were in his way. Sure, he could use his mastery of Metal to lift and throw them out of his way. But that would be harsh and may cause undue harm or even kill these beasts whose only fault would have been being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
That's something Malice would do. And it would amuse her. Cloak was not Malice . . . so he just hopped over and dived under and so on, until he had bypassed the herd. He looked over his shoulder and was amused that the herd seemed to simply not care or were blissfully obvious to his attempts to bypass them. Cloak then snapped his attention onward, and ran towards the scent trail.
He saw Malice lending against a strange smooth, yet rocky wall, tapping her foot. As if she was waiting for him to catch up. Cloak narrowed his eyes as he well realized that Malice was toying with him. She was tossing up a glass jewel up and down, carelessly. Then she realized that he had arrived.
"Geez," she said, in a sneering, conversational tone. "What in the name of the Void took you so long?"
Cloak glared at her, folded his arms, and said nothing.
"You givin' me the silent treatment, now?" she snickered.
Cloak remained impassive.
"Here," she said, tossing the jewel at Cloak's feet. "I don't need it."
Then she vanished by swirling her cloak, and Cloak, ignoring the jewel, followed suit.
---
*Ferrormor =
Ferro- + a
rmor