Master of Flesh 1 (Patreon)

Master of Flesh 1

-VB-

(25 Years before Prologue, same year as Tyrant I)
82 BBY
Coruscant, Core Worlds

Staring at the sheet of paper with my CHOICES written on it, I felt pretty good about myself. 

But feeling good didn’t mean much in my circumstance. 

Sure, I wasn’t in a world or verse that I was familiar with, but I had Nilbog and Bonesaw combo. I could do a lot of damage with that.

But I wanted to know.

Seriously, where was I?

I woke up in a very weird place. It was dark, damp, and dirty. It made me think of the worst possible choice (Warhammer 40k) but I knew better than to go to the worst possible choice. Or rather, I should hope for the best but prepare for the worst. 

I hoped for a world like … like … 

‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know what a good world would be. Marvel and DC were okay, but there were too many shenanigans for me to survive with stability.’ My hands swept over the walls. It was very metallic. ‘This place doesn’t feel like Minecraft.’ 

I stood up and patted myself down .I had a pair of short jeans, a t-shirt, and my phone. I pulled it out of my pocket and turned its flashlight on.

What greeted me was a mother of all dumpsters in a giant underground cavern that could honestly fit in a skyscraper or two. 

What should have been my reaction upon seeing this would have been to seek an exit.

But I didn’t.

What I did was squeal in glee involuntarily and start dumpster diving to look for scrap metals and tools.

Bonesaw, my Tinker side, decided to take the wheel, and took me on a Tinker fugue.

---

When I became conscious again, I saw that I had made a temporary makeshift workshop table.

On said table was a bandolier of … Bonesaw tools. I didn’t have other names for it. Everything from a rusted makeshift scalpel to a plastic bottle of slime just made me think of Bonesaw. 

The only thing missing was a brain spider, and I knew for certain that sooner or later, Bonesaw the Tinker Power would push me into a fugue for one. 

I shuddered in disgusted anticipation. 

I spent more time looking over my newly acquired tools as my stomach growled at me. ‘I wonder how long I’ve been in fugue,’ I thought tiredly. 

The full list of tools was thus: a rusted and taped-together scalpel, a capless plastic bottle of greenish pink slime that Bonesaw kept titling as paralysis gel, a pair of scissors, a machete whose edge was coated in the same pink slime, and two rolls of bandages. 

I looked around. 

I knew that Tinkers were not quiet. They couldn’t be because their very act of putting new tools, armors, and weapons together was a noisy process involving some kind of metal on metal or metal or flesh (or flesh on flesh) action.

Slowly, I tried to leave the area… and stepped on a metal can.

CRACK

And out of fucking nowhere, three pairs of eyes popped out of a hill of trash.

It was dark, but I saw rough silhouettes of things that weren’t human belonging to those eyes. 

They stared at me. I stared at them.

I ran for it.

They screeched and chased after me.

I turned on a dime and pulled out the machete from the bottommost holder in the bandolier and struck at the closest screeching asshole. It shrieked as it went down, clutching its face. The other two jumped at me, ignoring their downed comrade. 

I did the smart thing and ducked and ran underneath the two jumpers. Whirling around, I lashed out again, but missed.

But some of the slime on the machete flung off and splattered the left of the two. It too went down on the spot, trembling violently but frozen and unable to move. 

The last one hesitated before it tried to run for it. 

I wasted no time pulling out the scalpel, dipping it in the pink slime in the bottle, and throwing it. The scalpel flew awkwardly but its tip landed in the back of the monster. It stumbled forward, tumbled in the trash, and conked its head.

I stopped and looked around for more possible monsters that might have been attracted by these screeches and cries. 

… None. I saw none, I heard none, and I felt none. 

Sighing in relief, I began to ponder what I should do.

Bonesaw was one of my two main powers. The other was Nilbog, a power that allowed me to create my own loyal monsters from existing biomass.

I stared at the three downed creatures.

I grinned.

“It’s only fair that you get to be my guinea pigs after you tried to get me, right?” I said out loud as I walked over to the one I’d struck with the machete. It was bleeding and dying, but it wouldn’t be for long. I knelt down in the trash in front of it and touched its bare body with my hand.

My vision warped and showed me all of the things I could do to this monster, but I was limited by the small biomass.

I stood up and went to the second monster. I dragged it over to the first and did the same with the third, and touched all three of them. 

Their biomass became one, and from the death of three individuals rose a monster of my own making. 

Unfortunately, I wasn’t original at all with my design and chose something that I knew could protect me.

Zerglings. Not one, but two of them. 

… Well, they weren’t exactly zerglings. With their grey skin, lack of eyes, lack of incisors, and lack of dorsal limbs, they looked more like reptilian dogs. 

But they were mine, nonetheless.

They crooned around me, asking for headpats. I gave them, and they crooned louder.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said as I led them through the largest opening leading out of this giant dumpster.