Corrupted souls: The phyrexian metamorphosis

by Werefloof (ao3)

Chapter 1: The leader reborn

A New Perfection
Connor had never been one for mysticism. He lived a life of order and practicality, a software engineer in a world that had long since forgotten how to marvel at anything beyond algorithms and efficiency. But that all began to change the day Sophie entered his life.

They met at an underground art exhibit, a labyrinthine warehouse filled with strange sculptures and bio-mechanical displays. Sophie was striking: short, auburn hair streaked with silver, eyes the colour of mercury, and a presence that seemed alluring and unsettling. She approached him as he stared at a piece resembling a fox-like creature made of gleaming metal and flesh, a synthesis of organic and machine.

“You like it?” she asked, her voice silken and magnetic.

Connor nodded, transfixed by the creature's intricate design. “It’s... fascinating. Alien, almost.”

“It’s more than alien,” Sophie replied. “It’s perfection.”

That word lingered in Connor’s mind long after they left the exhibit. She said that Sophie was unlike anyone he’d ever met—an artist, but her work felt otherworldly, almost as if it defied the laws of nature. The more time he spent with her, the more she spoke of “transcendence” and the idea of evolving beyond humanity's limitations.

“You think humanity is flawed?” Connor asked one night as they sat in her dimly lit studio. The room smelled of oil and ozone, and the walls were covered in sketches of beautiful and terrifying creatures.

“Not flawed,” Sophie corrected, her mercury eyes glinting. “Incomplete. We cling to our flesh, our fragility as if it defines us. But there’s something greater waiting for those brave enough to embrace it.”

Connor chuckled nervously. “You make it sound like a religion.”

Sophie leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s not faith, Connor. It’s science. Art. A truth is hidden in plain sight.”

He didn’t press further, though her words ignited a spark of curiosity. Sophie had a way of speaking that made even the most outlandish ideas seem plausible. Over the following weeks, he found himself spending more time in her studio, drawn to her vision of transformation and perfection.

The Invitation
One evening, Sophie invited Connor to a private gathering. She described it as a demonstration, something that would change the way he saw the world. Hesitant but intrigued, he agreed.

The event was held in an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city. The air was thick with the hum of machinery, and the walls pulsed with faint, bioluminescent veins. A group of people, dressed in black and silver, gathered around a central platform where a strange device loomed. It resembled a fusion of an operating table and an altar, its surface covered in sleek metal tendrils that writhed like living things.

“This is the future,” Sophie whispered, guiding Connor closer. “The Great Work. The culmination of all our efforts.”

He watched as a volunteer stepped onto the platform, their expression serene. The machine came to life, enveloping them in tendrils and light. Connor wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. The person’s body began to shift, their flesh merging with metal, their form reshaping into something both animalistic and mechanical.

When it was over, the figure stood tall—a humanoid wolf with gleaming silver fur and glowing red eyes. The crowd erupted in awed murmurs.

“It’s... beautiful,” Connor admitted, though his voice wavered.

Sophie smiled. “You understand now, don’t you? This isn’t just evolution—it’s ascension.”

The First Step
Over the next few weeks, Sophie worked tirelessly to prepare Connor for what she called “the first step.” She spoke of the Phyrexians, beings who had achieved perfection through the unity of flesh and machine. They were not bound by the limitations of mortality or individuality. They were a collective, each part serving the whole.

Connor wasn’t sure when fascination turned into agreement, but he found himself consenting to her plan. He couldn’t shake the memory of the wolf-like creature, the elegance of its transformation. If this was the future, he wanted to be part of it.

The process began with subtle changes. Sophie injected him with a serum she called “the seed of progress.” It coursed through his veins, leaving a faint metallic taste in his mouth. Over time, he noticed small differences—his reflexes sharpened, his senses heightened, and his skin began to take on a faint, silvery sheen.

“Your body is adapting,” Sophie explained, her voice filled with pride. “The serum is preparing you for integration.”

But with the changes came strange dreams. Connor saw visions of mechanical landscapes, endless spires of metal and flesh stretching into eternity. He heard whispers, a chorus of voices calling him to join them.

The Transformation
The final step came sooner than Connor expected. Sophie led him back to the factory, where the transformation device awaited. This time, the crowd was smaller and more intimate. Sophie explained that this was a sacred moment, one that required focus and precision.

“Are you ready?” she asked, her mercury eyes searching his.

Connor hesitated but nodded. “I trust you.”

The machine came to life as he lay on the platform. Tendrils wrapped around his body, their touch cold and invasive. Pain lanced through him, sharp and searing, but it was accompanied by a strange sense of euphoria. He felt his body changing, his bones reshaping, his skin hardening into a metallic sheen.

He screamed, but it wasn’t a cry of fear—it was a release, a shedding of his old self. His hands morphed into clawed paws, his spine extended into a sleek, metallic tail, and his face elongated into a vulpine snout. His fur was not fur at all but a shimmering layer of metal filaments that pulsed with energy.

When the process was complete, Connor stood on the platform, unsteady but exhilarated. He caught his reflection in a nearby surface—a Phyrexian fox, sleek and deadly, his glowing red eyes filled with purpose.

“You’ve done it,” Sophie said, her voice trembling with awe. “You’ve become perfection.”

The New Collective
At first, Connor struggled to adjust to his new form. His movements felt alien, his senses overwhelming. But Sophie was there, guiding him, helping him understand his newfound abilities. He was faster, stronger, and more resilient than he’d ever imagined.

But there was more. The voices he’d heard in his dreams were no longer whispers—they were a symphony, a collective consciousness that welcomed him as one of their own. He felt their presence, their unity, and he understood what Sophie had meant. He was no longer just Connor; he was part of something greater.

Over time, Connor embraced his new identity. He worked alongside Sophie, bringing others into the fold, and spreading the message of Phyrexian perfection. The transformation that had once terrified him now felt like a gift, a purpose he had never known he needed.

As he looked out over the growing collective, Connor felt a sense of peace. He was no longer bound by the limitations of flesh and individuality. He was part of the Great Work, a testament to the beauty of evolution.

And for the first time in his life, he felt truly whole.

Chapter 2: The disturbing conversion

Connor had always been drawn to the strange and forgotten. Abandoned places, obscure texts, and whispered rumors of the unknown called to him like a moth to a flame. His curiosity was insatiable, the kind that often led to discoveries he wished he hadn’t made. Still, the lure of the mysterious was too strong.

When Connor heard about the old library deep in the Blackwood Forest, he knew he had to see it for himself. Locals warned him away, spinning tales of strange disappearances and cursed knowledge. But Connor dismissed their warnings as superstitious nonsense. His love of the unexplored outweighed his fear.

The trek to the library was grueling. The forest seemed alive, the trees whispering to each other as he passed. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, and the air grew colder the deeper he ventured. After hours of hiking, he finally found it—a crumbling structure, half-swallowed by the earth. Its facade was cracked, and moss crept along its walls, but it stood defiantly against time.

Connor pushed open the heavy wooden door, which groaned in protest. The inside was a mausoleum of knowledge, rows upon rows of bookshelves stretching into the darkness. Dust hung in the air, disturbed by his footsteps. He ran his fingers along the spines of ancient tomes, many of which bore titles in languages he couldn’t recognize.

It was there, on a pedestal at the center of the library, that he found it.

The book was different from the others. Its cover was made of something that felt disturbingly like skin, smooth yet cold to the touch. Strange symbols adorned it, twisting and shifting as if alive. Connor’s breath caught in his throat. He should have left it there, but he couldn’t.

As he opened the book, a faint, eerie whisper filled the air. The words seemed to pulse on the page, written in a dark, viscous ink that glistened like fresh blood. The first page bore a single sentence: "To see the truth, you must become it."

The whispers grew louder as he read the words aloud, his voice trembling. The ink lifted from the page, forming tendrils that snaked into his hands. He stumbled back, dropping the book, but it was too late.

A sharp, icy pain spread through his body as the ink seeped into his skin. His vision blurred, and the room seemed to warp around him. Bookshelves stretched and bent, their shadows clawing at the walls. The whispers became a cacophony of voices, speaking in a language that scraped against his mind like nails on glass.

Connor looked down at his hands, and his stomach turned. His skin was changing, becoming pale and translucent. Veins pulsed beneath the surface, glowing with an unnatural blue light. He clawed at his arms, trying to stop the transformation, but his nails grew long and sharp, raking his own flesh.

“No… no!” he screamed, but his voice sounded wrong—warped and hollow, echoing as though it came from somewhere far away.

The changes spread quickly. His spine arched, forcing him to his knees. His legs fused together, the bones cracking and reshaping. He felt his toes splitting apart, elongating into grotesque, insectoid limbs. His chest heaved as he tried to breathe, but his lungs no longer felt like his own.

He crawled to a broken window, desperate to see what was happening to him. The reflection staring back was not his. His eyes were gone, replaced by dark voids that seemed to pull in the light around them. His jaw unhinged unnaturally, his teeth jagged and mismatched. His skin shimmered, a sickly, translucent blue, and his once-human form was now a twisted amalgamation of flesh and alien appendages.

Connor tried to scream again, but all that came out was a sound that shouldn’t exist—a discordant wail that echoed in the empty library.

The whispers in his head grew louder, forming coherent words now: "You have seen the truth. Now, you must spread it."

“No! I didn’t want this!” Connor cried, but the voices ignored his pleas. His mind was slipping, his thoughts unraveling like a loose thread. He felt memories of his life being pulled away, replaced by an overwhelming urge to fulfill the purpose the book had given him.

The library around him began to change as well. The air grew thick and heavy, bending light and sound. Books floated from their shelves, their pages fluttering as though alive. The symbols from the book crawled across the walls, glowing faintly.

Connor stumbled to his feet—or what remained of them. His new limbs clicked against the stone floor, carrying him forward with an unnatural grace. The whispers guided him to the pedestal where the book still lay, its pages flipping furiously.

He reached out to close it, but the book fought back, tendrils of dark energy lashing out and wrapping around his arm. It pulled him closer, and as he gazed into its depths, he saw a vision—a glimpse of the truth he had been so desperate to uncover.

The vision was indescribable, a swirl of impossible colors and shifting shapes that defied comprehension. It was beautiful and horrifying, a glimpse into a reality beyond human understanding. It consumed him, burned away what little humanity he had left.

When the vision ended, Connor was no longer himself. He had become something else—an abomination, a vessel for the truth he had sought. His presence warped the world around him, bending reality in his wake.

He left the library, drawn by the whispers to spread the curse. Wherever he went, madness followed. Those who looked upon him saw glimpses of the same horrific truth, their minds unraveling under its weight. Some tried to fight, others fell to their knees in worship, but all were changed.

Connor’s memories of his old life were gone. He no longer remembered the man he had been, only the purpose that now consumed him. He was the truth made flesh, a walking nightmare that tore through the veil of reality.

As he moved through the world, the library faded from existence, as though it had never been. But the curse of the book remained, passed on to those foolish enough to seek forbidden knowledge.

And so, Connor wandered, his grotesque form a living reminder of the dangers of curiosity. The whispers guided him, an endless chorus urging him forward. He had become the disturbing conversion—a fate worse than death, a transformation that ensured no one who encountered him would ever be the same again.