minds divide the heart in two

The last eyeball of six settled in with a queasy squelch, and after a few seconds, it began to move, rapidly adapting nerves in the artificial eye sockets readjusting to their new purpose. Ocular fluids flowed from repurposed capillaries, rerouted to other locations on Mor's grotesque body. The skin around his lower back were also now connected to muscles in different ways, allowing the shutting and opening of the six new eyes on his back. Tear glands would probably develop in the next two weeks - they never developed like the other parts there because the previous eyes were nonfunctional.

A small spot of disorientation hit Mor as his brain tried to readjust to having a new perspective literally tacked onto the previous, preexisting one, and a dizzy spell overwhelmed his senses. He hunched over in pain, grasping his head with two hands while the other two sought purchase on a nearby grave.

His legs pushed up against the ground, kicking up dirt and the jar, tipping over the eyes that were in him previously. They rolled down the grass and stopped at the fence, staring up at the unbalanced frame of Mor without actually seeing.

Visions flooded his mind, various syncopated images of strange events, memories left behind in the traces of the people that the eyes once belonged to. A vision of a speeding car slamming into him head - on became the back of a horse suddenly zooming away as he was thrown off a cliff and found himself in a burning building -

"Leftover memories powerful. Violent deaths from previous owners of eyes. Have to rewitness last sights..." he groaned, still staggering from the intense headache. The control he had over his bodily functions were tenuous from the mental strain of suddenly having to assimilate an additional signature, even if it was easier due to it being from some source nonmagical. However, there were six of them, and they added up all the same.

The visions subsided, though the unfamiliarity of his new memories and the strange feel that always lingered whenever he added something from anything with the capacity for sapience still was there. It would take a while for him to get used to the sensation again.

"Disoriented. Rational course of action to delay next transplant until adaptation." Mor spoke with annoyance in his voice, now audible, as though each eye transplanted chipped a bit away from his stoicism. If they did, they also took his sense of judgment away with them as he - uncharacteristically excitedly - declared, "Ignoring rational course of action. Can only test mental limitations if forcing capacity. Location change unnecessary."

Now that he regained his bearings, he walked past Mikhainon with his tools in hand, ignoring his keen observance and heading straight to the mausoleum, where there were sarcophagi that would suffice for what he had in mind. He lay himself down on one and called out.

"Cut me open here. Will perform transplant in new conditions, will test physical and psychological limitations. Much to learn. Much to experience."

@"Poptart"

Morbid, terrifying images raced through Mor's mind. The water overwhelmed his senses, and though he only had to face death by drowning once, what with having come from a rather dry home, it was still one of the more fearsome experiences he'd ever had to go through.

His lungs began to heave, and his head jerked around. Out of the corner of his peripheral vision he could see a horse - a familiar horse. Sparks and static built up in his unfurled wings, and their teal tint grew vivid. The light grew dim and his arms flailed, as did his legs, spraying short jets of flame everywhere.

It seemed, as the flames and sparks settled down, that Mor was either calming down or dying. But then his eyes shot open and he jolted upright, pupils glowing with controlled fury and sheer electricity. The forward lurch sent fragments of his ribs and his blood spurted out from the gaping hole in his chest, which he paid no attention. A sense of purpose filled him, and his voice was commanding, almost powerful in sheer contrast to his monotone. Yet it was also warmer and gentler than anything he could summon on his own.

"Memory... strange. This man - I know him. He saved my life. Origin of cardiac matter... feels - pity?"

Mor fell to his knees in confusion, one pair of hands clutching his head and the other holding onto the ground. "Why pity? Vengeance more sensible. Pity illogical."

The sheer confusion threw his self-control out of whack. Without even meaning to, he began to spark and glow, clutching at himself. The gaping hole in his chest was meanwhile just dripping blood into the grass, and before long he was clawing at his heart. It was by no means any sort of physical or magical rejection - it was a clash between the heart's seeming kindness and Mor's own warped view.

"This is - why - what is happening? Why? Where - this heart - why?"