Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

survived her time as a manifest pretty much unscathed. Probably because she’d never been a picture of mental health. Was that the connection? Did it mean something? Did it mean anything apart from the fact that she’d been sitting in a room on her own for far too long, and she was ready to grab at anything that even looked as though it might make sense? Was it in fact time that she gave up, went home, had several large meals, and then slept for a week?
    Diana sighed and pushed the tempting thought aside. There was an answer here somewhere. There had to be. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that the Mater Mundi wasn’t what most people thought it was. It had its own direction and agenda, and didn’t hesitate to use whatever innocent tools it felt necessary to get the job done. Irrespective of the harm it did to its victims along the way. The Mater Mundi treated people exactly the way the Iron Bitch had. Diana sat in her chair in her little room, and felt very small and very alone. This was too big for just one person, even her. But there was no one else she could take her questions and fears to. She couldn’t go to the leaders of the esper underground. The Mater Mundi had founded the underground. She might still be involved in running things, on some deep, very secret level. Which meant Diana couldn’t trust anyone. The Mater Mundi could manifest through anyone, strike at her through any friend or enemy or stranger. If it knew what she was doing… Diana sat up sharply. Something was wrong. She could feel it. She looked quickly around her, suddenly convinced that someone had just come into the room, but the door was shut and she was alone. She shuddered suddenly. The room was icy cold. Her breath was steaming on the air before her. Hoarfrost was forming on the computer equipment. There was a feeling of pressure on the air, as though something impossibly large was coming, forcing its way through dimensional barriers and rattling the windows of reality. It was close now, looking for a way in. Diana surged to her feet, kicking the chair away to give herself room to move in. She pulled her power around her like a cloak. It didn’t stop her teeth from chattering or her
    hands shaking. She didn’t bother trying to call for help. She knew no one would be allowed to hear her.
    She knew what was coming. Every piece of computer equipment in the room rose up and took new shape. Metal and plastic humped and cracked, splitting and reforming around the new thing that was creating itself through the transforming tech. It made a sort of human shape, towering over Diana, with a wide, blocky body and two arms of different length, ending in sharp metal claws. The head on top of the body had viewscreen glass for eyes and a jagged metal tear for a smile. Static sparked around the head like a splintered halo.
    The Mater Mundi had found a new way to manifest. “Hi,” said Diana, fighting to control her chattering teeth. “Good of you to drop by.”
    You’ve been asking questions, said a voice in her mind like grating teeth, like hissing pipes, like children crying. You must stop. “Then stop me,” said Diana. “If you can.”
    I will if I must. Do not mistake my forbearence for weakness. “Bullshit. If you could have done anything, you’d have done it by now. But you can’t. You made me so much more than I was, and you can’t take it back. The best you could manage was this sending, this metal golem to intimidate me. I’ve seen scarier mobiles in children’s nurseries.”
    I can break you, child.
    And Diana was back in Wormboy Hell, naked, in the dark, crawling in her own piss and shit and vomit, while Wormboy played awful, sadistic mind games, torturing her again and again until she destroyed her own voice through constant screaming.
    No, said Diana. Get out of my mind, you bitch.
    And she was back in the records room again, shivering and shaking, the taste of imminent vomit in her mouth. She glared at the metal construct, her mouth stretched in something that was as much a snarl as a smile. Her rage warmed her, driving out the cold. And when she spoke, she was Jenny Psycho again.
    “That shit won’t work with me. That was the past. I’m stronger now, stronger than I ever dreamed of.
    Maybe stronger than you ever dreamed of. You can’t stop me. No one can stop me. I’m going to find out who and what and where you are, and then I’ll make you pay for all the poor bastards whose lives you