Divine Singularity || Reader x Murder Drones

VII

"Fascinating."

You said it without much ceremony or thought, the word falling from your mouths more out of habit than awe, though the sentiment wasn't entirely misplaced. Between your claws, the orb shifted lazily—a slow rotation of light and motion, purple threaded streaks of white and gold that shimmered like stained glass held to a flame. It weighed nothing, yet everything at the same time. You rotated it in your hand, thumb tracing the inscription burned across its surface.

>Extant<

This particular power held a special place in your heart... if you had one. It was the first thing you had ever manifested, and so, it made sense to use it as a gauge for measuring your control, and training to refine that control.

The writhing power pulsed beneath your touch, just begging to be released. To be free. To be used. You hummed, the sound curling out from one of many mouths as your mind narrowed its focus. The shape shifted, shrinking, then growing once again, though even larger than before. You smirked, a hundred teeth moving upwards. This little cosmic toy had become your favorite instrument.

It hadn't always been this impressive. A few days ago—if time could even be trusted anymore—it was no larger than a worker drone's palm. Now it was the size of a head. Not metaphorically. Literally. You had measured, once. Comparing it against your former shell. Not out of vanity, but curiosity. (Also vanity.)

Another set of eyes was focused on the book resting on a large rock formation nearby. You had learnt to control them independently of one another, so mutli-tasking like this now came like second nature. But your claws made turning the pages slow as always, like trying to read poetry with gardening shears. You were improving, though. Coordination was returning. normalcy, not quite. Still, better than yesterday.

On the topic of the scripture, it was truly a fascinating find, riddled with metaphor, contradiction, prophecy and the kind of poetic ambiguity that suggested the author either understood far too much—or nothing at all. Typical for holy texts.

While cryptic, it still opened your mind and gave answers to a variety of questions that you had sought to end. For instance, a glimpse into what you were.

An angel is what it called you.

A being of life. A protector. A divine emissary come to aid the mortal plane in a time of imbalance.

You closed one eye. Maybe in silhouette.

But it didn't track. You were not light (you could make it at best). You were claws and wings and teeth—divine, maybe, but not holy. You were a drone, once. Tessa's drone. You belonged with her, by her side.

But maybe that wasn't true either.

You had been wrong before—about what you were, about what the flesh-haunted dreams meant, about the life that didn't feel like yours but kept bleeding into your thoughts. You'd dismissed those images at first. A boy. A memory. Something broken and far away. But they kept coming. Familiar. Like a door you had already walked through, then forgotten how to find again.

You'd woken up in a graveyard, and the world hadn't made sense ever since.

You had shed what you thought was your body, and now were some kind of otherworldly being.

So now you were here. Watching your own hand glow faintly as it juggled something made from the bones of creation, while contemplating whether you were ever really built, or merely rebuilt.

What would happen if it all came back?

Would you understand yourself?

What would that mean for Tessa?