Subject: (( In scenes that won't happen but won't leave my head ))
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Posted on: 2023-11-26 04:28:57 UTC

(( Supposing Tomash did need a weapon ))

Tomash wasn't too great a construct artist, but he did have some skill at pulling concepts into existence - he'd needed it to get into his line of work. In this place where the death of digitized people was possible, he needed a weapon, and so he set out to create one.

Daggers popped into his outstretched paw and vanished soon after. In and out, in and out, varying as Tomash iterated on his designs. Some of the more useful failures lingered in the air near him as ghosts for later reference.

Near the end of this process, the physical appearance of the dagger was unchanged, but the aura it exuded (whether this was something Tomash could control because he was in a place more powered by stories or whether he always could have done that, he didn't know) was being fine-tuned.

Tomash's dagger was black, with swirls of poisonous green working their way into the blade. Its grip was unadorned and bone-white. The blade seemed to smoke around the edges, as if it was threatening to dissolve away.

This was Tomash's vision of the instance-crashing virus he knew from home. There, the weapon had to be tailored to one's target, to the point that its use was always "assassination", never "murder". The general form of the virus had long been theorized but never, thank any applicable gods, brought into reality. (Those who tried tended to find themselves ostracized at best and disappeared at worst). Here, though, where weapons effective against digital minds were expected, it was all too possible to create that most loathsome of objects.

And it was a loathsome object which knew itself to be such. The existence of this weapon was, to Tomash and many of his fellows, an abominable thing, an unholy thing. As one of the earliest comments on the bug it exploited had noted, such crashes were "anathema to this end of endings".

Tomash's dagger radiated its creator's revulsion at its necessity. Those who saw it saw a thing that should be destroyed. That must not exist. That is contrary to all that is good and right and proper and which should be escorted to a volcano with all due haste.

Tomash, much more quickly, summoned a belt around his waist and sheathed his creation. "There. Done. Here's to never needing to use it."

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