After Amrita's body had been completed, Malodore had kept the keys to the Advanced Hob Laboratories - not because it was trying to steal them, or do anything against the rules, but because it knew it would need them. It was hardly going to attempt a relatively serious surgical procedure inside its own bedroom. The keys jingling in its sleeves were a constant reminder, too - a reminder of what it had resolved to do, an urging to get it done before it lost access to the facilities.
It was, of course, afraid; it felt this fear was quite reasonable, given what it was planning to do. It sat up at night, feeling its way again and again through every memory it had of the wing ceremonies it had seen in its childhood. They had been given a basic explanation at the time, of course... but there was more to it than that. Massive amounts of FEAR, for one thing, more than Malodore could generate on its own.
But it had a theory. The bloodmetal responded to FEAR; it was not a normal, inert metal. Instead, it bore some unusual organic qualities; it could be 'fed' ordinary metals, increasing in size as it consumed what it was given. It could also be 'fed' FEAR, and in doing so become attuned to the FEAR of the being that 'fed' it. Malodore's own hands and tail were already made out of bloodmetal, fused and grafted onto its bone structure long, long ago, when it had been too young to remember.
Bloodmetal seemed to grow, like a tree, and become part of the body it was fused into. Certainly, Malodore's own hands and tail didn't feel like prosthetics. But the speed of that growth, and the speed of the healing... if Malodore's theory was correct,
that was what the elder plague doctors' FEAR had been poured into modifying. Forcing the bloodmetal to fuse into the body, and forcing the body to heal around the bloodmetal - making plague doctor and wings into an integrated whole.
It would not be able to do that. The massive, full-size wings that were traditionally granted would be wholly impossible. Without a prodigious amount of FEAR to forcefully integrate them into the body immediately, wings that size would simply tear themselves free from the back, with highly unpleasant consequences.
No.... it would have to start small.
After days upon days of research and sketches, Malodore at last had a final plan. The first phase would take three-quarters of the bloodmetal it possessed, reserving one-quarter; it would feed that quarter over the next year, bringing it up to size again for the second phase. It would do the same again, adding to the size of the wings gradually, giving its system time to adjust to the new additions while also giving the bloodmetal a chance to replenish itself.
The plan would take years, but it would work... probably.
The first phase was the most critical. The bloodmetal was used to being wings, at least; the form would be familiar to it, the metal amenable to being shaped into that form. And the initial form need not be perfect - as the bloodmetal integrated into Malodore's system, the plague doctor's own FEAR and will would smooth out the metal's structure into something natural and fitting... or so it devoutly hoped.
The same evening that it finished the last sketches, Malodore sat in its armchair, the bloodmetal in its hands. The substance was heavy for its size, and just barely pliant to the touch. It was warmer in the hand than one would expect metal to be, though not as warm as a living being... and, right now, it thrummed with FEAR.
Malodore held it tightly, trickling FEAR into it, and thought of Armida. It had fed the bloodmetal faithfully with both metal and its own FEAR, increasing its size by at least double, and attuning the metal to itself rather than Armida. Still, at times it still felt like her... just a little bit.
I'm almost ready, Zia, it thought; one hand shifted behind it, and it leaned forwards. Its backblades bristled as it carefully pinched the smallest blade between its fingers and pulled. The blade detached from its back with a slight wrench of pain - something like pulling a tooth, it was said, though Malodore had no teeth to pull. Gritting its beak against that pain, Malodore brought the detached blade around and laid it against the surface of the bloodmetal.
The bloodmetal
rippled, surface shifting to cover and consume the offered blade. Elder plague doctors had no backblades, and while Malodore wasn't sure they fed bloodmetal with them, it made a certain sense - backblades were carried for years and years, and while they were made of mere ordinary metals, they were still a part of the body in a way. It made sense to give them up to the bloodmetal at the last, that the bloodmetal might consume and in so doing learn the taste of the body...
Slowly, slowly, Malodore pulled blade after blade from its back, feeding them to the bloodmetal in its hands. It winced at the pain of removal and the faint traces of blood on its back, spilled out of the now empty sockets where the blades had once sat. It had previously removed its backblades only to straighten them after bending; now it was destroying them entirely. Its back felt naked and empty.
At last, all the blades were gone. The bloodmetal had increased in size, too - not much, but a little bit, and faint red whorls marked its surface. Malodore took a deep breath and stood, holding the bloodmetal tightly to its chest.
There could be no return now. Within the next few days, it
would have the beginnings of wings on its back. It refused to think about the alternative.
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