Worm belongs to Wildbow. As for this plot, it is based on, though distinct from, my previous fic, Golden Afternoon. I recall one person commented that the choice of the protagonist there seemed rather arbitrary. I created this fic to try and write the same concept, but more reasonably paced, and based solely in the Worm Universe. Also, thanks Moka-girl (u/2097368) for suggesting this and providing feedback on my ideas for it.

8/25/10, ?

I see everything and nothing at once, a torrent of unnameable colors, impossible scenes. I cannot tell if I was moving, can barely remember what it meant to move, can scarcely remember anything prior to this sensory overload. Time, inasmuch as it seems to be passing does nothing to make some of the visions more comprehensible, but I begin to be able to sort them, to put those which I can pry some meaning from in the 'forefront' of my 'vision'.

I fixate on my own form's trajectory in time, but this proves no more revealing. A golden figure, flying without direction, ambling through a small planetoid.

Is that me? I wonder. There is none of the familiarity which I seem to expect, if that were true.

Yes, something informs me. A silent voice, seemingly perfect in clarity, emanating from within. Part of me seems surprised by this, but another accepts it as par for the course.

If I can receive answers so easily... then…

One question above all has been impressing itself upon me. What is my name? What am I called?

Zion. The response to my first query comes quickly, but so does the second.

Scion.

My grasp of the concept of a name seems inadequate; I had thought both of the questions were effectively the same.

The golden man's (my?) aim was to do good, to help people. Multiple, conflicting definitions of these terms bubble forth, with a slew of memories. A biped - Kevin Norton, striking at me ineffectually, yelling, babbling. I fixate on some of the words. Are they memories, or visions dredged directly from the past? I cannot remember why I should make a distinction.

Should I continue the task I have apparently been doing? I receive an answer, though it seems meaningless.

?, Moments Earlier

A collection of creatures, mostly bipedal and mostly imbued with a certain something - an arresting quality, drawing me in and informing me of things which shouldn't have been able to know, gather in in a complex. One, a female in a suit, advances towards a still, horizontal, figure, directed by her shard. I comprehend these technical terms without remembering how I learned them.

The shard plots a course in service of it's bearer's goal. I observe this out of curiosity.

Its name comes naturally as well, as mysteriously as the rest. Fortuna. Again, a discrepancy, for it, -she-, is called Contessa.

Monikers spill forth: Eidolon, Rebecca Costa-Brown, Doctor Mother, Number Man. Some of them have more than one name; others, especially those further from the scene, kept in confinement, have none at all.

The female separates the unconscious figure's head from it's body. The figure, which was a male, sprays red fluid indiscriminately. None of the spectators seem affected by this spectacle, except for one, with a shard - the word transposition suggests itself - that appears to be collapsing. None of its futures - many of the visions fall into place now, identifiable as such, show its survival.

The female's shard has functioned perfectly, though neither she nor anyone else present appears to realize this. Instead, they return to their work. They have been at it for years, and will continue in a high proportion of futures. The subdued biped's head separates and reattaches as my sight cycles through time. Something about its form draws me, just as most of the crowd's shards inspire revulsion, and Contessa's shard calls forth a sense of bemusement.

8/25/10, Minutes Later

The small quadruped expresses no signs of gratitude upon return to its larger, two-legged companion. The latter does, and expresses it verbally, even as the former scrapes at its skin with its claws. I recall seeking to accomplish such things, yet even then, it was unsatisfying, means to an end now lost.

9/23/10, 3:23 AM EDT

Two shards, both unrestricted, both reeking of something unnatural. One is borne by the other. They are both humans, the primates which dominate this planet, but while one has and will be accepted as such by his peers, the other will experience this only rarely, due to external, shard-driven alteration.

His form, like my own, is metallic. But mine inspires awe amongst the locals, while his is misshapen to their eyes: not repulsive, but an eyesore. A symbol is tattooed on him, arousing my curiosity.

My descent upon the scene triggers a response from virtually all nearby sentients. The only exceptions are several juveniles, not sufficiently mature to process their surroundings, as well as the metalloid shardbearer, who has been subdued.

The other shardbearer tries to flee, a rift between universes forming adjacent to him. I abolish it easily, and reach towards him, restraining him briefly. This is enough, as locals rush to the location, turning on my target for no reason other than my own apparent hostility towards him. The metalic biped is now cognizant of my presence. He cannot remember his own name, but he knows mine. Soon, he will dub himself Weld.

Something about his position is familiar.

10/2/2010, 10:14 PM EDT

It is the most populated city on this landmass, yet its shard count is lower than I expect. Its human count is lower too, as a girl with a shard has taken it upon herself to alter it by consuming several nearby civilians. My light bombards her as I descend, removing them from her stomach. They are mostly intact, which surprises me.

She emits a large roar, not at all what would be expected from her physical form, at least, the top half. Rushing forward, one of her lower mouths opens wide. Her companions, all with unrestricted shards, are paralyzed with horror. My powers sense no danger, however, and I am enveloped.

I sense greater distress from the shardbearers gathered outside, as the human in which I reside begins using her power. Golden men begin to pile up in the accumulated slurry of vomit at her feet.

They do not have whatever power it is that animates me. Perhaps it is because they are inexact copies, though that did not seem to impede any of the previous humans her shard operated on. The golden men lie still.

I burst through her stomach, upon remembering another command I had once obeyed. Fight the monsters. Stop them.

I hit her with a beam of golden light, following up a few moments later with shorter, concentrated blasts. Her wounds regenerate rapidly, but her rage is dimming, overwhelmed by the power of my attacks.

She has been thoroughly fought, I decide, so it is time for the next step. I send her plunging into the subterranean chamber below. She will be able to reach the surface in minutes, but by then, her desire to fight will have been subsided. Having fulfilled my directives, I fly off, tangentially aware of the confusion on the faces of the monster's companions. Their own destinies... I feel another burst of displeasure upon observing them. Though has lessened over the months, these unrestricted shards still inspire a certain distaste in me.

I ignore the question of their futures.

10/16/10, 9:45 PM EDT

The male and the female exchange words, most of which are meant to convey hostility. The female, unlike her companion, has a shard, untempered and mildly repulsive.

Canary. Paige Maccabee. The dichotomy between a human's name and what they are called no longer surprises me, yet in this case, she is called by both of those terms, though named by only one. Her shard is already acting on the male; there are few futures in which he will survive. My distaste for the shardbearer gives me additional motivation to move; I counteract its effects, an act which is second nature to me by now. I take an odd pleasure in capturing her, powerless, and I do not see, but imagine the act of crushing her, of separating that cursed shard from her…

The sensation is odd, appealing to a certain part of me and yet not consistent with my previous actions. I decide that, at the very least, this is not the place to reevaluate my plans. I release her, and depart, knowing both are too shocked to continue their skirmish.

Why am doing this? Again, I receive an incomprehensible reply. It feels less natural this time.