[So,] said the octopus floating beside you. Their tentacles dangled below them, swaying like kelp under the ocean's moon-lit current. [You picked up that? We should have known. You really are too observant for your own good sometimes, you know that?
The Quagma flexed a tentacle, and the barest wisp of an illusion sprung into being. It flickered and wavered as the instance concentrated, effort written on their expressionless face. The taint of fae magic sparked and flared against the weakened boundaries of the Quagma's eldritch energies as the Quagma struggled to maintain it. With the hiss of a thousand solar storms, the translucent image vanished, popped, overwhelmed by the conflicting energies in the air.
As it did, you think you see it, a glimpse of something that strikes a chord in the cocoa that flows through your hearts. Something, no someone, whose face you've seen countless times in reflections, poked and prodded and lovingly tended, one who you'd recognize no matter the vessel the soul took on, for how could you not?
You'd know yourself anywhere, after all.
For the briefest moment, you'd seen a weapon. A war hammer, essentially a rough cubic cylinder of dark jagged metal with a handle of something that felt like one's gaze had been painted in grease. Blue tentacles grew from the base of the handle, tentacles that wrapped around the hammer's head, shifting and squirming as though exploring its surface, keeping the handle and the head together in a tight embrace.
You'd felt the power that thrummed out in heady waves, waves that nearly threatened to topple you. A silent cry, of love, of desperation.
And then it was gone, like it'd never been there.
The Quagma slumped with the effort. Their size shrunk by a fraction as a ripple wavered across their form, as though they'd retreated a touch deeper into the water.
But of course, there is no water. Only air.
[Let Us lend you Our power, join Us in true harmony. Let Us in. Fully. Together, We could do so much more. We could be so much more! But without you, without the power of Our full self, this is all that We can muster. Without the link a {Soul} provides, without that anchor, We are but flotsam before the might of the hurricane that is {Reality}, especially as We are now.] Their eyes glistened and sparkled, drawing in your gaze with their earnest hope.
You deny their request yet again. The Quagma grumbled, but acquiesced. They'd known, expected this outcome even, predicted using ordinary deductive reasoning rather than relying on their now inaccessible Past and Future Selves to directly observe the ocean of possibility. Only a few Present Selves were currently capable of contacting them, and it showed.
Yet still, it grated on their nerves to have to rely on such mundane methods. They missed the full scope of their usual powers, that much was obvious.
You grunted and stumbled when an oblivious NPC walked into you. With your good foot, you roundhouse kicked them in the face. The poorly constructed caricature of a sophont's skull shattered explosively into dull shards, yet still the gray featureless golem in a parody of a school uniform walked on.
"Hey! Watch where you're going!" it exclaimed as it continued in a straight line. It hit the wall, and instead of changing direction, it simply continued to walk in place against the wall. "Hey! Watch where you're going!" it exclaimed again, identical to the annoyed tone of before. "Hey, watch where you're going!" it repeated, over and over again each time it bumped against the wall.
Your head shook while you limped past the broken construct, still pressing forward despite the challenge offered by the wall. Each of your steps is more painful than the next, yet still you bring one foot ahead of the other. If need be, you'll crawl like a worm to your destination. Your determination to see things through will carry you through any challenge, and you know it.
That, and the significant amounts of {Plot Armor} adorning you. The {Corruption} inside of you hurts, and it takes nearly all of your Lucky Stars to keep it from spreading.
[It makes sense,] the octopus mused behind you. You knew the reason, so you tuned them out while they thought it out. You needed the energy instead to focus, to move forward with every exhausting step.
[The interconnectedness of the quantum realm, the {Matchmaker Mallet} still being accessible from there… But why did We not return him? Why can We reach it at all?] The Quagma sent an ethereal tentacle as far as they could. It barely reached out a few dozen meters from them before it stopped. They withdrew the tentacle and sulked, following behind you at a distance of exactly π meters, moving along with you at a rate identical to your own.
Almost like they were being led, strung along an unseen line, stretching from you to them.
[It’s not quantum superpositioning, the symptoms don’t match… Then, could that be it? So many minds, all singing together as one…even if only in dreams so far… He is still so young to have begun developing one, yet, here he is. Just what is Our other Self doing?]
[To Be Continued?]
[this interaction is but one possibility, one way the route could lead towards, or may have had. nor is it the only way.]
[this excerpt IS going in a chapter (or possibly series of chapters) showing observation logs of different POVs of quagma across different timelines and locations as they attempt to unravel the mysteries of the Fae and {Normalcy Corruption} (it's actually an excuse to try out a bunch of different styles at once)]
