038. Transcendence, 6

(Gamya)

I made him promise everything.

For her best chances to survive all the years to come.

And then I abandoned my own fate, losing grasp and consciousness into the challenging mistake I had made.

From deep within all and every one of my cells, rose this darkness. That form of infection I had thought kept beaten and in good check, I misestimated it.

I mistook metastability between balanced forces and real stability without opponent.

I couldn't see how much of these fairies were slumbering and ready to hatch inside of me.

Because my body had so far nearly not changed, I had confused immunity with a form of equality in the forces keeping a wage over me.

I let them in.

I weakened just enough to tip the scale to the infection. I grew sick similarly to mom, without the challenge of hosting another developing embryo within its bowl of primordial soup.

Because I had fared better, I misread the consequences of my own changing parameters.

I hate my guts for that! Because I did not want to die!

Now I feel my body wilting rapidly like mom, and I know nothing will stand to prevent that... My fate is sealed.

As I felt my consciousness shutting down in growing fevers again, maybe I cried. Probably I clung mechanically to my dad.

Maybe I regretted bitterly trying so dearly to save my mother and her child...

I could have lived on if I had not been so selfless... It really hurts...

The pain of regrets is the worst alright.

Doubting every one of my kind choices in bitterness now that I face my own death in consequence.

I would yell my anger with everything I could if I was still awake. I would fight against my sad fate if I could!

I didn't want anyone to die...

I wanted to see her...

Dad will watch over her, keeping his words to me like a brave sir.

I know I can trust him... But I should have done better for them, for me and for her...

Now I'm falling into an awful end, collapsing inside of myself while the noxious fairies are eating me alive with seeming glee.

~

In my last feverish dreams, I sense how much my body is giving up on most things, its forces retreating gradually.

The invaders take ground and prosper. The infections propagate, but are also changing.

Because of the harsh resistance I still give to it, the strains are evolving. Of course I'm still fighting.

The fairies lose their wings and I give them a fight to remember, if they only could...

As much as my body is now lying down hopelessly and I cannot win this internal war, I continue using my intelligence against them.

We give ground in this autonomous state, my body and I, channelling the infectious seeds into tunnels where we can still exhaust them, strain them, and change them in some ways.

As my body decays and I lose hope of ever waking up again, I'm too bitter and spiteful to accept my sealed fate without an absolutist and desperate fight.

And to surprising extents, focusing my intelligence to play checkers inside, I get some unforeseen and interesting results.

In repetitive strategical recedings and push backs, really fighting back like an army of wilful cells ever could, I get things to change.

Most notably, the fairies change. They don't exactly adjust their tactics like educated warlords would, it's more as if a natural selection at their cellular or individual scale was forced by my inner motions. In a limited way, albeit primarily fighting for my unlikely survival, I get to see the oddity that I can affect the shapes and behaviours of my invaders as well.

I can force my biological resources to change tactics with more subtlety than rushing blindly, and I can transform them as they run along their also blind instincts of consumption.

And although it remains a frightening prospect, I'm shrewd enough still and again, to spot the extent of possibilities this truth offers me.

I'm able to foresee where playing this unlikely military field experience could lead.

There is a series of gambles ahead to replay my fate.

Because as much as the fairies are nibbling on my body, they also grant me this odd ability to consciously affect what I can see of the metabolism inside my body. There's more room for my own design, not just them.

To some limited extent, I'm learning rapidly through necessity how I can myself interact in new ways with the innate processes of my body, normally locked behind pure chemical kinetics and autonomous system programming.

I can become a disease to myself in some way, in order to better fight back... Was this asymmetrical fighting as dad used to say?

Anyway I don't have enough liberties to do anything I'd really want in this slumber, as it's not at all as if I was awake and in full awareness and intelligence of my possibilities. It's more lingering instincts and intuitions acting on their own.

Enough to improvise tactics through the organic battlefield and waters of my fluids.

Fighting off decay and weird faceless and oblivious invaders. We're at the scale of cellular intelligence, not galactic species.

So they're quite predictable, and my slither of ability to tweak my also predictable organic reactions, to elaborate tactics and intelligent sacrifices... My potential is limited, but the results still can do wonders.

All the military tactics I can remotely try to apply along the tools of my white cells and general organisation as a gigantic building, I use them.

I fight back with all the intelligent efficiency I can muster in this losing battle. I make ruthless sacrifices of tissues and cells, breaking dams of weaponry to pierce the enemy deeper.

I'm still overall losing, if it weren't for the odd observation of how much my actions can still change the fluctuations inside of me.

So I play that game with everything that is left available for analysis inside of my head. I feel as if my eyes turned around and dove inside my body while shrinking to this molecular size.

My abstract will focuses on a bet, sacrificing a lot of energy and tissues to get a wave of contaminated prions and cells surrounded.

And then my genius strikes again.

I don't ruthlessly put them down as my immune would. No.

I hold myself back, and focus on turning them. Make them work for me instead.

And it works!

I release grasp to a corner of the controlled tissues to these weird prisoners. I worked them forcefully, reshaping them just enough to my will, so they will work in way helpful to me.

And it fucking works.

This new strain I've twisted around enough so its priorities or perceptions have shifted upside down sufficiently.

Instead or propagating through the cells still under my control or sane, this variation of the strain turns around and invades back the other ones already lost instead.

I felt ecstatic, now seeing a corner of the battlefield where the main entropic enemy was being slowed and turned around by my new ally.

Ally is an exaggerated word, but it gives me some respite for a while, and some more tactical options for the upcoming tides.

What I'll need to do is reclaim and reassimilate the tissues they reconquer for me, but that is not so easy. My organism has a hard time recognizing things as not being foreign bodies, including released cells.

Also my fluids are graveyards growing thicker and darker from all the fallen biology.

Overall, my body is losing itself to necrosis and malignant cancers growing incredibly fast.

My brain already sustained enough damage that on my highest moments of awareness, I know I will never recover.

I'm already dead anyway... And it makes me angry and bitter.

So these noxious fairies will pay, and I will fight back wrathfully to the very end of me.

~