A soldier shouts, his voice cracking through the comms. "Subject Rask.09-V. Cease and desist. You are designated compromised."
Vael hears the crackle. He hears the heavy boots on crumbling concrete. He sees the Rindscale gorebreed, already shedding its third layer of flesh, its new form leaner, faster, its exposed maw dripping. He stands in the center of a collapsed medical bay, debris sharp against his suit's plating. Anna pulls herself from under a support beam, coughing. Her Mournclad suit whines. Her wrist scars flash as she moves, a brief glimpse of skin. She is a liability. Command wants him dead. The Rindscale gorebreed wants to consume everything.
"Get out of here Anna," Vael says. His voice is a low rasp from the suit's vox.
She shakes her head, defiance in the tilt. "No. I bought you time. I'll buy more."
Anna charges a cluster of human soldiers, a blur of red and white armor. Her Culex suit's blades extend, a suicidal arc. She means to draw fire. She means to die.
The foreign consciousness inside Vael's suit screams at him. LIABILITY. SACRIFICE. EFFICIENCY.
Vael sees the flash of a heavy pulse rifle. The round will tear through Anna's weakened Mournclad. Her regeneration abilities will only buy her seconds. This is the choice. Preserve the secret. Or abandon the cold, predatory focus.
He moves. Not thinking. Reacting.
His Gravemind suit lurches, a sudden surge of power. A sickening crunch echoes from his spine. His vision blurs with a crimson haze. Pain spikes behind his eyes, a familiar throb of the neural crown. It's a splitting agony, tearing through bone and nerve. He ignores it. He embraces it. The "pain enhancement protocols" ignite, fueling his movements.
He lunges, a dark blur. He slams into Anna, catching her mid-charge, throwing her sideways, clear of the soldier's firing line. The pulse round rips through the air where she stood, vaporizing a section of the wall behind her.
"What are you doing!" Anna shouts, scrambling.
He ignores her. The suit burns. His blood, real and hot, pushes against the bio-plates. It oozes from seams, a thin, shimmering crimson aura beginning to coat his armor. It's not a leak. It's a release. His skin prickles. His veins thrum with power. The metallic tang of his own blood fills his mouth, thick and coppery. The foreign consciousness shudders, a low hum of triumph.
The human soldiers pivot. Their weapons track him. "Fire! Fire on Rask!" The squad leader's voice bellows, no longer containing the clinical detachment. This is hatred. This is fear.
Bullets strike Vael's suit. They ricochet. They dig in. Each impact sends a fresh jolt of pain, a wave of energy through his system. The "pain enhancement protocols" demand it. He feeds the suit, and the suit gives him more. He feels faster, stronger. The world slows around him, a brutal, fractured ballet.
The Rindscale gorebreed roars, a multi-ton beast, its exposed muscle twitching. It's tired of waiting. It lunges for the nearest soldier, its jagged claw ripping through composite armor like wet paper. A wet shriek fills the air. The soldier's torso splits. Clinical. Anatomical.
Vael doesn't waste the opportunity. He moves through the chaos, a dark phantom. The bleeding intensifies. Crimson streaks bloom across his black armor, catching the flickering emergency lights. He is a living wound, a walking hemorrhage. But he doesn't care. The foreign consciousness is pleased.
He ducks under a frantic plasma blast. The Rindscale gorebreed sheds another layer, this one armored and spiked. It whips a tendril at Vael. He slashes with a suit-integrated blade, parrying the attack, the impact jarring his entire skeletal structure. A dull thought, detached and dry, crosses his mind: They could have aimed for the eyes. If I had eyes.
Another soldier, a medic, aims a high-frequency sonic cannon at the Rindscale gorebreed. The creature shudders, momentarily stunned. Vael sees the opening. He slams his shoulder into the medic, sending him flying. The medic crashes into a pile of shattered bio-scanners. He does not move. The unit designation on his shoulder patch is "Subject Rask.09-V," a ghost of his own.
The hunt squad leader, a hardened veteran with a grim facial tattoo, drops to one knee. He barks orders into his comm. "He's infected! Kill on sight! Do not engage in melee! Termination order is absolute!"
The words hit Vael like physical blows. Termination Order Issued. Asset deemed compromised. He remembers the garbled transmission, the cold voice in his head. Now it is real. The betrayal is complete. These are his own kind. His former comrades. And they want him dead.
It means nothing. His "Identity Drift" has reached its critical point. The "cold, predatory focus" hardens, a new skin. There is no empathy for his pursuers. Only obstacles. Only targets.
The Rindscale gorebreed recovers, its spiked layer glistening. It charges Vael. Simultaneously, two soldiers flank him, firing their assault rifles. He is caught between the monster and the hunters.
Vael pivots. He lets the Rindscale gorebreed close. He feels the thrumming from his suit, a strange sense of anticipation from the foreign consciousness. The neural crown pulses, a cold dark energy radiating from his helm. He sees weaknesses. He sees trajectories. He sees the inevitable.
He brings his reinforced forearm up, deflecting the Rindscale gorebreed's spiked limb. The force rattles his bones, but the pain fuels his counter. He slams his other armored fist into the creature's side. The Rindscale gorebreed screams, a high-pitched, tearing sound. It stumbles.
The soldiers open fire, a coordinated burst. Vael twists, using the Rindscale gorebreed as a shield. The rounds rip into the monster's flesh, tearing holes, shedding more layers of its grotesque hide. The Rindscale gorebreed roars in pain and rage, turning on the soldiers, its new, more aggressive form lashing out.
Chaos erupts. The Rindscale gorebreed is a flailing, thrashing mass of muscle and bone. Soldiers scream. The beast tears them apart, limb from torso, a clinical dissection of flesh and armor. Vael observes. He uses the distraction. He lunges for the hunt squad leader.
The leader sees him coming. He raises his pulse rifle. "You monster!" he shouts.
Vael doesn't answer. His suit bleeds freely now, coating his gauntlets in a slick, crimson sheen. It looks like wet paint. It smells of iron and blood.
He slams into the leader, his armored shoulder impacting the man's chest. A wet crack. The leader crumples. Vael brings his foot down on the man's rifle, crushing the weapon's barrel.
"Termination Order," the leader gasps, blood bubbling at his lips. "You... you are a mistake."
Vael raises a hand, his fingers flexing. The foreign consciousness whispers, a sharp, cutting directive. No, it is not a whisper. It is a command.
He brings his hand down, sharp and precise, smashing the leader's helmet. The visor cracks. Bone splinters. The leader's body goes limp. Another death. Another body. Six soldiers are down, now seven. The hunt squad is no more.
The Rindscale gorebreed, its body a mess of shredded layers, its movements slower, weaker, finally collapses. It lets out a wet gurgle, its last, hideous breath. It twitches. It stops. Its destruction marks the climax. The threat is eliminated.
Vael stands amidst the carnage. Blood, human and Gorebreed, paints the floor. His own suit drips crimson, a constant, shimmering aura around him. The air is thick with the metallic tang of death and the acrid smell of ozone. The neural crown pulses with dark energy, a cold throb behind his helmet. It is more pronounced, more solid. It feels like part of him. Or he, part of it.
Anna crawls to her feet, her suit scorched, her breathing ragged. She stares at him, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and something else. Fascination. Fear. She saw it all. The bleeding. The ruthlessness. The cold efficiency. Her self-harm scars seem to pulse with her internal turmoil, a mirror of the wounds she cannot heal in him.
"Vael?" she whispers, her voice a desperate plea for the human she remembers.
He feels nothing. Or perhaps, the nothing is the something. The finality. He is Subject Rask.09-V. The civilian name is a ghost. A forgotten memory.
As Vael takes a step, his boot squelching in a puddle of blood, a new, unsettling physiological change occurs. Beneath his bio-plate, from deep within his suit's armor, a subtle, involuntary pulsing begins. Not the familiar thrum of his neural crown. Something different. Something new. Bioluminescent nodes. Faint at first. Then brighter. They pulse with a cold, blue light, visible through the seams of his armor.
His suit. It is changing. It is integrating. A transformation far beyond mere bleeding. A new, terrifying state. His "Feral Ascension" begins. It feels like something breaking. Inside him. Inside the suit. His perception of himself, fracturing. Something snaps.A soldier shouts, his voice cracking through the comms. "Subject Rask.09-V. Cease and desist. You are designated compromised."
Vael hears the crackle. He hears the heavy boots on crumbling concrete. He sees the Rindscale gorebreed, already shedding its third layer of flesh, its new form leaner, faster, its exposed maw dripping. He stands in the center of a collapsed medical bay, debris sharp against his suit's plating. Anna pulls herself from under a support beam, coughing. Her Mournclad suit whines. Her wrist scars flash as she moves, a brief glimpse of skin. She is a liability. Command wants him dead. The Rindscale gorebreed wants to consume everything.
"Get out of here Anna," Vael says. His voice is a low rasp from the suit's vox.
She shakes her head, defiance in the tilt. "No. I bought you time. I'll buy more."
Anna charges a cluster of human soldiers, a blur of red and white armor. Her Culex suit's blades extend, a suicidal arc. She means to draw fire. She means to die.
The foreign consciousness inside Vael's suit screams at him. LIABILITY. SACRIFICE. EFFICIENCY.
Vael sees the flash of a heavy pulse rifle. The round will tear through Anna's weakened Mournclad. Her regeneration abilities will only buy her seconds. This is the choice. Preserve the secret. Or abandon the cold, predatory focus.
He moves. Not thinking. Reacting.
His Gravemind suit lurches, a sudden surge of power. A sickening crunch echoes from his spine. His vision blurs with a crimson haze. Pain spikes behind his eyes, a familiar throb of the neural crown. It's a splitting agony, tearing through bone and nerve. He ignores it. He embraces it. The pain enhancement protocols ignite, fueling his movements.
He lunges, a dark blur. He slams into Anna, catching her mid-charge, throwing her sideways, clear of the soldier's firing line. The pulse round rips through the air where she stood, vaporizing a section of the wall behind her.
"What are you doing!" Anna shouts, scrambling.
He ignores her. The suit burns. His blood, real and hot, pushes against the bio-plates. It oozes from seams, a thin, shimmering crimson aura beginning to coat his armor. It's not a leak. It's a release. His skin prickles. His veins thrum with power. The metallic tang of his own blood fills his mouth, thick and coppery. The foreign consciousness shudders, a low hum of triumph.
The human soldiers pivot. Their weapons track him. "Fire! Fire on Rask!" The squad leader's voice bellows, no longer containing the clinical detachment. This is hatred. This is fear.
Bullets strike Vael's suit. They ricochet. They dig in. Each impact sends a fresh jolt of pain, a wave of energy through his system. The pain enhancement protocols demand it. He feeds the suit, and the suit gives him more. He feels faster, stronger. The world slows around him, a brutal, fractured ballet.
The Rindscale gorebreed roars, a multi-ton beast, its exposed muscle twitching. It's tired of waiting. It lunges for the nearest soldier, its jagged claw ripping through composite armor like wet paper. A wet shriek fills the air. The soldier's torso splits. Clinical. Anatomical.
Vael doesn't waste the opportunity. He moves through the chaos, a dark phantom. The bleeding intensifies. Crimson streaks bloom across his black armor, catching the flickering emergency lights. He is a living wound, a walking hemorrhage. But he doesn't care. The foreign consciousness is pleased.
He ducks under a frantic plasma blast. The Rindscale gorebreed sheds another layer, this one armored and spiked. It whips a tendril at Vael. He slashes with a suit-integrated blade, parrying the attack, the impact jarring his entire skeletal structure. A dull thought, detached and dry, crosses his mind: They could have aimed for the eyes. If I had eyes.
Another soldier, a medic, aims a high-frequency sonic cannon at the Rindscale gorebreed. The creature shudders, momentarily stunned. Vael sees the opening. He slams his shoulder into the medic, sending him flying. The medic crashes into a pile of shattered bio-scanners. He does not move. The unit designation on his shoulder patch is "Subject Rask.09-V," a ghost of his own.
The hunt squad leader, a hardened veteran with a grim facial tattoo, drops to one knee. He barks orders into his comm. "He's infected! Kill on sight! Do not engage in melee! Termination order is absolute!"
The words hit Vael like physical blows. Termination Order Issued. Asset deemed compromised. He remembers the garbled transmission, the cold voice in his head. Now it is real. The betrayal is complete. These are his own kind. His former comrades. And they want him dead.
It means nothing. His Identity Drift has reached its critical point. The cold, predatory focus hardens, a new skin. There is no empathy for his pursuers. Only obstacles. Only targets.
The Rindscale gorebreed recovers, its spiked layer glistening. It charges Vael. Simultaneously, two soldiers flank him, firing their assault rifles. He is caught between the monster and the hunters.
Vael pivots. He lets the Rindscale gorebreed close. He feels the thrumming from his suit, a strange sense of anticipation from the foreign consciousness. The neural crown pulses with dark energy, a cold throb behind his helmet. He sees weaknesses. He sees trajectories. He sees the inevitable.
He brings his reinforced forearm up, deflecting the Rindscale gorebreed's spiked limb. The force rattles his bones, but the pain fuels his counter. He slams his other armored fist into the creature's side. The Rindscale gorebreed screams, a high-pitched, tearing sound. It stumbles.
The soldiers open fire, a coordinated burst. Vael twists, using the Rindscale gorebreed as a shield. The rounds rip into the monster's flesh, tearing holes, shedding more layers of its grotesque hide. The Rindscale gorebreed roars in pain and rage, turning on the soldiers, its new, more aggressive form lashing out.
Chaos erupts. The Rindscale gorebreed is a flailing, thrashing mass of muscle and bone. Soldiers scream. The beast tears them apart, limb from torso, a clinical dissection of flesh and armor. Vael observes. He uses the distraction. He lunges for the hunt squad leader.
The leader sees him coming. He raises his pulse rifle. "You monster!" he shouts.
Vael doesn't answer. His suit bleeds freely now, coating his gauntlets in a slick, crimson sheen. It looks like wet paint. It smells of iron and blood.
He slams into the leader, his armored shoulder impacting the man's chest. A wet crack. The leader crumples. Vael brings his foot down on the man's rifle, crushing the weapon's barrel.
"Termination Order," the leader gasps, blood bubbling at his lips. "You... you are a mistake."
Vael raises a hand, his fingers flexing. The foreign consciousness whispers, a sharp, cutting directive. No, it is not a whisper. It is a command.
He brings his hand down, sharp and precise, smashing the leader's helmet. The visor cracks. Bone splinters. The leader's body goes limp. Another death. Another body. Six soldiers are down, now seven. The hunt squad is no more.
The Rindscale gorebreed, its body a mess of shredded layers, its movements slower, weaker, finally collapses. It lets out a wet gurgle, its last, hideous breath. It twitches. It stops. Its destruction marks the climax. The threat is eliminated.
Vael stands amidst the carnage. Blood, human and Gorebreed, paints the floor. His own suit drips crimson, a constant, shimmering aura around him. The air is thick with the metallic tang of death and the acrid smell of ozone. The neural crown pulses with dark energy, a cold throb behind his helmet. It is more pronounced, more solid. It feels like part of him. Or he, part of it.
Anna crawls to her feet, her suit scorched, her breathing ragged. She stares at him, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and something else. Fascination. Fear. She saw it all. The bleeding. The ruthlessness. The cold efficiency. Her self-harm scars seem to pulse with her internal turmoil, a mirror of the wounds she cannot heal in him.
"Vael?" she whispers, her voice a desperate plea for the human she remembers.
He feels nothing. Or perhaps, the nothing is the something. The finality. He is Subject Rask.09-V. The civilian name is a ghost. A forgotten memory.
As Vael takes a step, his boot squelching in a puddle of blood, a new, unsettling physiological change occurs. Beneath his bio-plate, from deep within his suit's armor, a subtle, involuntary pulsing begins. Not the familiar thrum of his neural crown. Something different. Something new. Bioluminescent nodes. Faint at first. Then brighter. They pulse with a cold, blue light, visible through the seams of his armor.
His suit. It is changing. It is integrating. A transformation far beyond mere bleeding. A new, terrifying state. His Feral Ascension begins. It feels like something breaking. Inside him. Inside the suit. His perception of himself, fracturing. Something snaps.