The Oppressive Sweetness 3

As far as the Great Csillacra was concerned, Donovan was asleep. There were no rampant trains of thought and no annoying philosophical questions. Hypotheticals too were a non-issue at the moment.

But that didn't mean that Donovan was COMPLETELY asleep. Sure, he wasn't conscious. There was no active decision making, and no inner monologue.

There was not a thought inside of his head at the moment.

If anything, his current state was more akin to a painting hanging on the wall of a movie set. He was there, watching the show play out, but utterly incapable of influencing the story in any way.

Having his ability to think suppressed was strange - is what he would have thought if he had actually been able to. As of now he could only absorb information.

Information about something.

It was hard to tell what exactly 'information' pertained to without the ability to think about it. He couldn't even tell if it was useful.

What little information he could parse into neat little morsels of certainty owed their existence to instinct, realizing subtle changes in his body. Certain places in his body were now described to him as 'new', as if they had been replaced by a part fresh off of an assembly line.

He could 'feel' his heart beating stronger than before, even though he was completely incapable of registering those sensations. Don 'felt' stronger even though he wasn't lifting anything.

Probably the biggest change was that he was thinking faster.

That's right, even in the absence of thought he was thinking faster. At least he felt he was. The information he was blankly watching flow through his brain was moving slower but had not decreased in traffic volume.

Slowly, he began to claw back his mental faculties.

Small amounts of 'thinking' returned to his brain, short little chains being broken or stretched allowing him that little extra bit of freedom to remove the next one.

The Great Csillacra was not oblivious to this development, but it would do nothing to stop it either. Fully expecting some degree of resistance from the individual who had resisted its commands for so long, it finished the part of the process requiring conscious thought not be present.

Still, it had been expecting to retain its peace and quiet for a longer period of time than had been given. Donovan's stubbornness and resistance to suppression was beyond its ability to reasonably control.

Please do not interrupt me. I do not wish to leave you injured.

The Great Csillacra transmitted its wishes as it had done before, no longer implying the threat of forced sleep.

Donovan, still not yet recovered to the point of more complex conversation, could only reply with a mix of very basic emotions. Confusion, intrigue, and a hint of suspicion.

You may watch, child, but I cannot guarantee you will understand what you see.

Inferring his meaning, assuming there was one, the Great Csillacra permitted Donovan to 'look' at what was happening to his body.

The Great Csillacra knew perfectly well what each of these individual tidbits of data were meant to do, each altering his body down to his very genetics. It was essentially rebuilding his body from scratch, making use of the oppressively sweet fruit to supplement what should otherwise be there naturally if he had evolved in an environment containing split.

Unsurprisingly, 'pain' was a feeling that very frequently manifested itself in the stream of information. Don couldn't feel this pain, but he recognized that he would have likely been in agony if he was still directly connected to his body.

A wave of relief, permitted by his slowly growing control, washed over this mental space. He didn't know why he felt relieved, but the fact that he could even question it was a good sign.

The Great Csillacra realized it wouldn't be long before he would be completely lucid. Perhaps he would once again become a nuisance, he seemed to be unable to restrain his rampant thinking, and need to be forced into an unconscious state again.

However the Great Csillacra found this behavior quite amusing, it had put Donovan to sleep only to keep his mental faculties from further damage. Very few individuals would try to resist or refuse its commands, usually only doing so out of fear or shame. Don was the only one to resist its influence out of curiosity.

His desire to know more, or rather his species' desire on the whole, was a departure from what the Great Csillacra knew of other sentient life.

And it was willing to teach, willing to cultivate this version of humanity it had designed. It had a mission for them, one only they could pull off, but they were far from ready.

The Great Csillacra was fully aware of the fact that it would need to break its vows of neutrality in order to get them to where they had to be. It could couch these violations with excuses and justifications, reparations being one it would have to rely on for a very long time, but eventually others would catch on.

It needed to bring them to a level where they could fight on their own, be it through legal, economic, or even military channels. Fortunately, it would seem, they had the tools at their disposal. What they lacked was material, manpower, influence, knowledge, and ability.

Material could be granted in part by way of reparation, the Sanctum had a vast store of resources and would have no qualms parting with the materials they would need to build and grow.

As it stood nobody besides them could use higher heat tolerance metals like iridium, tungsten, and osmium to their fullest potential.

Knowledge was something they already had in spades, they just didn't have the requisite knowledge to fit in with the rest of the world at large.

Influence, much like knowledge, was something they would have to accrue through the academy. Through collective or individual feats, they would need to build up enough to make them visible to the public eye.

This would be much easier for Donovan to do, owing entirely to the nigh eternal obsession with conflict and individual prowess, but Diana could definitely make a name for herself in the political and economic spheres if she played her cards right.

Manpower was probably going to be their biggest hurdle, something the Great Csillacra knew very well. They could only have a child every one to two years, and it would take years for that child to mature into a useful source of labor.

They would have to find other sources.

Either through diplomatic negotiations or purchase, they would have to figure it out on their own. It could do nothing to help them in that arena.

But it could push their ability to the maximum.