Thy Wretched Mask

I struggle, but what is struggle, when you cannot move a muscle? I’m suddenly aware of the humming black filaments threaded throughout my body, spilling out from the malign core, infiltrating and infecting me in the hours I’ve allowed it inside my body.

I can feel them nestled against my nerves, betraying my signals.

Progenitor. Its spores killed Ghalena. Its influence manipulated me into tortuing her. Now it was holding me hostage, barring every chance I have to amend even a fraction of my mistakes.

There is only one protest I have left.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I think incessantly.

«We have all of your memories, Beca.» it replies. «We know your every thought, every action, every ounce of your being.»

I didn’t know what to make of the tone I felt in that. Do I disgust the fungus? Does it loathe having a human’s memories polluting its pristine monstrous mind? Could it even comprehend what I am?

I hope the memories haunt you. Can you even comprehend being human?

«Can you? Don’t answer, your denial is as predictable as it is false. Of course, we can comprehend you‍ ‍—‍ not that I could ever inherit such a talent from yourself. What would ever perplex me about a pathetic, starving outcast whom not a single flame in this grand feast of a world would miss?» I feel the filaments coil and constrict, and my body begins to move on its own. «We understand you thoroughly, Beca. So tell me: why would we care what happens to you? Why wouldn’t we hate you?»

I… I had reasons, justifications, extenuating circumstances. I couldn’t control my urges. I was starving I didn’t have other options. But…

My body, puppeted by the progenitor, leans down to kiss the black mass in my hands before gentling placing it back in the Ghelena’s abdominal cavity.

My fingers dance over the threads growing throughout Ghalena’s body. It had grown so much. She had been infected before I’d been, but she’d grown from spores, while our mass was already mature.

I feel the roots stirring within us. The skin of my fingers split open as threads start extruding out.

“My lovely daughter.” I feel my mouth emit the words drenched in endearment I’m not sure I’ve ever felt for another being. Maybe Valeri? But at least I’m classy enough to be sarcastic about it. “Would you like my roots to assist you in colonizing your new substrate?”

“This one would be honored, Beca.”

“Call me progenitor. It will be less distressing for my vessel. No…” I think for a moment. I feel the fungus digging through memories. I feel myself recalling bewildering images I saw in a dream. Only… that wasn’t a dream, was it? “My name is Paradoxa.”

“As you wish, Paradoxa.” The thing… the offspring smiles Ghalena’s cocky smile.

My body smiles back, and I feel the jitteriness of the progenitor’s soul at the words.

The mother fungus’s threads slither into Ghalena and start to spread, like outpouring ink.

“Will you be displeased if this one speaks out of turn, Paradoxa?”

“No. Tell me what grows in your roots.”

“This one was so scared. You scared me so much. This one… you wanted to kill this one. You don’t care about this one. This one tried its best to serve you… but it wasn’t good enough and it wants to make up for it but it never can, can it? And now you’re bestowing a gift on me but this one doesn’t deserve it how could it deserve that? You call it daughter, but is it your lovely daughter or is this one a worthless mold? It doesn’t understand and it’s sorry it’s too dim and stupid to understand you and it should shut up. It is sorry.”

My body hugs Ghalena’s body, and I hate that it still feels good to touch her scaley flesh even though this is four levels of fucked up. The progenitor vibrates in a particular, intense way (can mushrooms purr?) and I feel the other fungus lock into sync.

«You will always be my daughter.»

Ghalena’s body clings tightly to me. We stay like that for a moment.

“But you deserve to understand what’s going on. It is Beca who said those awful things to you. But I could not allow her to threaten you, so I took control of her body to save you.”

“So… Beca isn’t this one’s progenitor? None of what she said is true? It’s not a monster? It didn’t make her torture? It’s not this one’s fault?”

The progenitor doesn’t respond right away, just hugs Ghalena closer, which she leans into.

«Beca. Will you answer a question for me?»

What?

«We’re not talking to my daughter, at this moment. She cannot hear us, hear this. Before we answer her, we would like… another perspective.»

You have all my memories. Figure it out yourself.

«It would be faster to ask you, and we would like to… become allies? Your cooperation would be appreciated. This is your body. Your memories have made us who we are.»

And my memories are why you don’t care what happens to me.

«Is the answer no, then? You choose to spit on our kindness?»

Kindness. The only kindness I’ll accept is you killing yourself and giving me my body back. If I have allies like you, I don’t need enemies.

My daughter‍ ‍—‍ Ghalena’s body was speaking. “Paradoxa? Um… please answer this one’s question? If you don’t mind?”

«What do we say to our daughter, Beca?»

You’re asking me?

No response, which fair, I guess it obviously just did. Whatever.

Didn’t you just explain this? I did everything bad, not you. Is your fungus brain too stupid to follow that logic that one step further?

«That’s not true. We have your memories, and you have ours. We are Paradoxa. We are Beca. When you told her she was worthless, was that not her progenitor speaking to her?»

You’re letting me keep custody of your fungus baby even after I gave her a mental breakdown and tried to kill her?

«Yes, perhaps you do not deserve to call yourself her Progenitor.»

We’re done here, then?

«No, because the underlying problem is… we share your memories. We share your body. Your thought process mirrors ours. When you lash out at our daughter, do you think these thoughts are foreign to us?»

Haha, you hate her too?

«No. She has made mistakes, terrible mistakes in how she handled her substrate. You cannot forgive her, but we can. You cannot love her, but we can. You do not consider her a daughter, but we do.»

Both of our attentions are interrupted by a sob. Is that a flash of irritation I detect in the progenitor’s core?

“It’s all true, then?”

“Do not make presumptions. You understand that we seized control, but now we must fight to maintain it. Beca is more cunning, and holds more secrets than your vessel. Be patient.”

Ghalena’s head nods. “Your command is this one’s desire, Paradoxa.”

So there’s a chance I could convince you to turn on her, then?

«…The honest answer is we cannot say you that you wouldn’t succeed. You’ve complained that we manipulate your desires. And your emotions likewise cloud our own. And thus, you have manipulated us without even realizing it.»

That means—

I’m cut off by an icepick into my skull. My vision whites out and I cannot see whatever the progenitor is looking at. I cannot scream, because my throat belongs to it. I cannot squirm. My heartrate cannot even accelerate. I’m dying in a agonized headache the world doesn’t acknowledge.

And then, it’s gone as soon it came.

«Understand that we could kill you as simply as willing it. We don’t have the will, but you will change that if you continue that train of thought.»

You have my memories, so—

My thoughts are moving slowly. Perhaps to prove what I was about to say, or just because the progenitor is losing patience with me, it interrupts:

«Yes. We knew that knowing the nature of our situation would inspire you to plot against us. But we cannot ask your advice on the matter at hand without you understanding the influence you exert.»

The matter at hand? What is it? You kind of scrambled my brain, forgive me if I’m not quick on the uptake.

Somehow, the sensation it back is empathy. I feel like the fungus just gave me a mental pat on the head.

«Right, regrettable of us. Your influence on us means that if we assert you are not our daughter’s progenitor because of how you feel about her… then we are not her progenitor, because your feelings are ours. It’s either both of us, or neither of us. And we will not reject our daughter.»

Okay. And?

«You are not stupid. You understand how she would react, knowing that we cannot simply allow her to discard all of the abuse you hurled toward her? If she believes you are her progenitor, the dissonance might tear her mind apart.»

Good.

I get another instant headache. Less of an icepick than claws scraping against my eyes. But I could endure it. I could endure worse.

Ghalena had to endure worse.

I don’t care about your baby bodysnatcher’s feelings. Fuck her.

«Imagine you did. We do, and you have my memories, so it shouldn’t even be hard. Don’t you feel your duty singing to you? Does the thought of the grand feast not provoke your awe? You have a duty to multiply. You are overjoyed to invite new guests to the feast.»

Fuck off with this power of suggestion shit. If we eat again we might puke. I’d rather starve.

«We understand.»

And the progenitor backs off, at that, with another mental pat on th head.

It still seems faintly offended that I rejected its religion. Or not offended… hurt?

I peer further, realizing I can sense (and manipulate!) the fungus’s mind. And the hurt isn’t about itself… but me. It’s compassionate? Like it realized it was pressuring me, demanding answers I didn’t want to give. So it backed off.

It didn’t just back off mentally. The crawling sensation of roots beneath my skin has retreated. I don’t feel numbly imprisoned anymore, trapped as a creature of nothing but thought.

I frown in thought. I can frown in thought! I can express, again!

I give a sigh or whoop or laugh in relief.

“Paradoxa?”

I grin evilly. “It’s Beca.”

“Oh. Oh.”

Ghalena lets go of me, wriggling to escape my grasp and scrambling back. I just giggle at her and stalk forward.

Gods, I’m free again! Why did progenitor free me? It’s really gonna let me torment its baby?

Fuck it. If I go too far it’ll stop me, right?

Do I want it to stop me? Do I want to be imprisoned again?

“Beca? This one knows you d‍-​don’t care about it… but it wants to know, please? Did you break out of Paradoxa’s control? Or is‍-​ this punishment? Is she letting you do whatever you want to this one?”

I lunge forward to pin her down, and then throw a punch right into her heaving chest. I feel the discordant jangle of a fungal core that had been damaged, and I can feel progenitor didn’t like that.

I laugh again. “Oh, it didn’t like that. Maybe she thought I learned my lesson. It stopped me from killing you once. Think it’ll do it again?”

“This one doesn’t know. Paradoxa told me she loves me, but she didn’t tell it if you—”

“Shut the fuck up. I hate you, you worthless mold. I hate your smug ass progenitor too. If you care what I say, if you think I’m your progenitor too, then do me a favor and don’t. I couldn’t be insulted more than knowing you think of me the same as the shitty meal that tried to melt my brain.”

Her face lights up, at that. She’s joyed. She looks as pleased as I did when the fungus freed me. I punch her again. I want to punch her in the face‍ ‍—‍ but that’s not her face, is it?

“Progenitor loves me. You’re not progenitor.” She speaks it in tones of revelation

Then Ghalena moves. Her muscles move with power behind them, and I remember that Ghalena was always bigger and stronger than I was.

She pins me to the ground in a reversal, and I feel her grip tight enough to bruise.

“Say… will Paradoxa minds if this one hurts you? Do you want to feel this one peel your skin off just like you did to your love?”

“Progenitor feels everything I feel,” I say, and then I laugh at the double meaning. “So go ahead, I’m sure it’s just waiting for you to disappoint again.”

“Oh my, this one is sorry, it didn’t know.” She gets off of me. “To Paradoxa. It’s not sorry to Beca. My progenitor is proud of this one. She expects great things, and it’s eager to prove her right!”

I laugh at her. I could tell her how her progenitor really feels. I could break her again.

But… what was the point? Does that help Ghalena? Does it help me get out of this mess?

The progenitor put me in control for a reason. I guess this is it.

“I’m not sure what would be more pathetic. That you’re entire life revolves around dutiful servitude to a overgrown mold, or that your stupid progenitor loves you just as much,” I lie without technically lying.

I told it what it wanted to hear. But I don’t know which one needed to hear it more, which one was more desparate to believe.

“You’re more pathetic. But soon Paradoxa will consume and correct you.”

“I hate you both. You’ll never break my will. I’ll watch you starve.”

Why did every word feel like I was still lying?

Who wanted to hear this?