The transport spat Jessa and Marcus into Site-09's sterile glow, the aetheric beacon's hum fading as medics swarmed, their gloved hands yanking at her blistered leg, her frost-burned neck screaming under their touch. She shoved them off, her voice a rasp—"I'm fine, patch him first"—nodding at Marcus, his shoulder oozing corrosion, his face pale but set, his scanner still clutched like a lifeline. The air stank of antiseptic and rust, the whisper—watch… me…—a dull throb in her skull, sharpened by Haven's End, unshaken by the steel walls around her.
Marcus grunted, waving the medics back, his eyes on Jessa. "Site-09's got intel—Haven's waking up, not just echoes but something older, tethered to that whisper in your head," he said, his voice low, cutting through the chaos as a screen flared behind him—grainy footage of the town, shadows splitting, writhing, the fountain pulsing like a heart.
Marcus grunted, waving the medics back, his eyes on Jessa. "Site-09's got intel—Haven's waking up, not just echoes but something older, tethered to that whisper in your head," he said, his voice low, cutting through the chaos as a screen flared behind him—grainy footage of the town, shadows splitting, writhing, the fountain pulsing like a heart.
Her stomach twisted, the frost-burn flaring, a white-hot lance down her spine. "The Watcher—it's not just riding me, it's calling something," she said, her pistol trembling in her grip, her blistered arm barely holding it, the Corrosion Realm's echoes—her sister's screams, her mother's wails—flickering at her mind's edge. A klaxon blared, red lights bathing the room, and a voice crackled over the comms: "Alpha-Class breach, Haven's End—containment failure, all units deploy."
Marcus slung his aetheric rifle, his jaw tight. "No time to heal—we hit it now, or it tears through everything," he said, dragging her toward the transport bay, her leg dragging, pain a jagged rhythm syncing with the whisper—watch… me…—louder now, gleeful, pulling her toward the dark. She nodded, teeth gritted, no armor left—physical or otherwise—just raw will and a gun.
The beacon flared, Haven's End snapping back into focus, the square a festering wound: frost shattered, walls weeping black rot, the fountain spewing a tar-thick mist that coiled upward, alive. Jessa stumbled out, her breath fogging, the whisper a roar—watch… me…—as the mist birthed a shape: massive, eyeless, its skin a lattice of cracks leaking shadow, claws like scythes, its presence crushing the air, the town trembling under its weight. "Alpha-Class—the Watcher's core,"Marcus shouted, his scanner shrieking, needle snapped off the gauge.
She fired, blue bolts sizzling uselessly into the mist, the entity untouched, its form splitting—dozens of shadows, each a mirror, each real, lunging with wet, snapping rasps. Marcus roared, his rifle blazing, bolts tearing through lesser echoes, but the core loomed closer, its whisper—watch… me…—a physical force slamming Jessa to her knees, her frost-burn erupting, skin splitting, blood freezing on her neck as the Corrosion Realm swallowed her whole.
Her sister clawed at her face, nails raking, her mother's voice a banshee howl—"Why didn't you save us?"—the man from the alley gurgling, melting, the Watcher's laugh a tidal wave drowning her. She screamed, clawing at the frost, her blistered arm useless, her leg a dead weight, the real world a faint shimmer beyond the nightmare. Marcus's voice cut through—"Jessa, fight it, you're still here!"—but it was thin, distant, the Watcher's grip iron, her mind fracturing under its weight.
A claw slashed, real this time, ripping through her chest, corrosion boiling her blood, blisters blooming as she hit the ground, her pistol skittering away. Marcus charged, his Veil stabilizer sparking, shoving a containment orb into the entity's core—it flared, runes cracking, holding for a breath before shattering, the shadow surging free, its laugh a guttural echo of the whisper—watch… me…. He fired again, bolts wild, but a tendril speared his leg, pinning him, his scream raw as he collapsed, reaching for her.
Jessa coughed blood, frost biting her lungs, the Watcher's form towering over her, its cracks splitting wider, shadows pouring out, wrapping her. "No plot armor this really is the real world… huh?" she rasped, a bitter laugh breaking through, her eyes locked on Marcus, his face twisting as he clawed toward her, too late. The Corrosion Realm fused with the real—her sister's hands cold on her throat, her mother's wail deafening, the Watcher's voice her own now—watch… me…—and she felt it take her, her body a puppet, her mind a shattered mirror.
The entity turned, Jessa's form dangling from its claws, limp, frost-burned skin cracking, eyes empty as it lunged at Marcus. He fired once, a bolt ripping through her chest—a mercy shot—before the shadow swallowed him, his scream cut short, the fountain's pulse slowing, Haven's End sinking into silence. The whisper faded, sated, the town's rot claiming its prize—no heroes, no armor, just the dark, victorious.