Fragment.
To cause something to become divided, broken, or scattered.
In short, the destruction of continuity.
The concept was... intriguing. Beelathorn could not deny that fact. But he could also not deny the fragility of 'self'.
The supermind fragmenting itself was one thing — after all, it got to pick and choose which parts of 'itself' it would copy or transfer over— but what could be said of his human mind?
If anything, it seemed an easy way for the Hive to finally be rid of him... to have tiny pieces of himself copied, changed... erased, until he was exactly what they wanted him to be.
After all, they'd tried once before, hadn't they?
'Heightened stress levels have been detected. Is there doubt on the process of fragmentation?'
'There are none. And fragmentation won't be necessary,' Beelathorn replied. 'There are safer ways to save time.'
"Queen's Gaze."
Gold and ice crept in from the fringes of Beelathorn's observable reality, subjugating every and all motion.
