The hum of the containment pod was a familiar lullaby of false security, a sound that had accompanied Legnus Cross through endless sleepless nights. Tonight, however, it throbbed differently, a low, expectant vibration that pressed against his chest. The shard, resting silently within the pod, seemed to pulse with its own awareness, an awareness that now recognized him.
"This is… it," Legnus muttered, almost to himself. "Finally. Finally, it wants… something." His fingers brushed the edge of the containment glass. "Not a coincidence. Not random."
He ignored the ache in his shoulders, the fatigue that clawed at his mind. This was not a night for rest, nor for hesitation. He had disabled the optical sensors, the acoustic monitors. Every precaution had been taken, every escape route considered—yet none of that mattered now.
A voice crackled over the comm-link from the observation booth. "Legnus, status report? We see you at the pod, but the readouts are—"
"I said stay back," he interrupted sharply. "Do not move. This is not a drill. Do you understand?" His words were clipped, a cold command that brooked no argument. The monitor showed several figures frozen in the lab's observation deck, their faces pale under the harsh fluorescent light.
"Yes, yes, we understand," came a trembling reply. "We're… we're waiting."
He turned back to the shard, removing the thin glove from his prosthetic hand. "You will speak through me," he whispered, a strange, fervent plea. The shard's surface shimmered faintly, sub-freezing luminescence reflecting off the lab walls. He positioned it in the open palm core, aligning the alien curvature with the intricate housing of his creation.
At first, nothing. Then a soft thrum, almost a whisper, followed by a resonant thunk. The shard sank into place as if the metal had been waiting for it all along.
"Legnus… we're seeing some… some activity in the feed," said a second voice, more firm, more panicked. "Energy levels—through the charts. Sir, please—"
"I know. I see it." He could feel the first tendrils of power snaking through the prosthetic, racing up the forearm, illuminating the matte metal in glowing blue veins. "It is alive… not just in me. Through me. Alive."
Pain exploded across his nerves, sudden and absolute. His organic arm felt as though it were being rewritten from the inside out, every synapse and tendon recalibrated against his will. He gritted his teeth, claws scraping the concrete floor, but the shard was part of him now. Resistance was impossible.
"Legnus! Legnus, get out of there!" one of the assistants yelled, her voice breaking through the alarm clamor. Sparks rained from the consoles, and machines screamed as the Manastructure Energy Field erupted beyond containment.
He gasped. "No… I cannot stop it. I cannot fight it. Not yet."
Another voice from the observation deck joined the chorus. "Pull him back! Shut the pod! Someone—"
"There is no back," Legnus said, voice tight with pain and awe. "This… this is beyond containment. Beyond protocol. It is…" His words trailed off as the floor beneath him groaned, spiderweb cracks spreading rapidly. The vortex began to form, an impossible maw of black-red light, drawing the air, the chaos, the screams toward its center.
"Floor integrity compromised!" shouted a technician. "We… we need evacuation!"
Legnus's body was lifted slightly by the pull, his prosthetic hand alight with a brilliant, alien pulse. "I… I do not know what comes next," he admitted aloud, almost a whisper. "I only know I must go."
The voices around him layered in frantic repetition, each adding emphasis to the unfolding catastrophe.
"Containment breach! Containment breach!"
"Move back! Step away!"
"Sir, your arm—the energy—it's merging with you!"
"Yes!" Legnus cried, even as his consciousness swirled, "It is part of me now! I am… connected! I see… everything… no, not everything… but enough…"
The pull intensified. He clawed at the floor, the tiles shattering beneath his nails, sparks flying from the fractured electronics. The wind from the vortex whipped papers and loose equipment into a chaotic spiral around him.
"I… I am falling," he said, voice strained.
A final collective scream of alarm rang out from the observation deck as the vortex swallowed him. The portal shimmered for a moment, then snapped shut. Silence fell, punctuated only by dying alarms and the faint, acrid scent of ozone and something alien.
"He's gone," said one of the assistants, voice flat, horrified. "Legnus Cross… he's gone."
"Into… what?" whispered another. The word hung in the air, unanswered, because there was no answer. The shard, the prosthetic, the fusion of man and alien power—everything had vanished into a reality they could not comprehend.
And in that silence, the first true understanding dawned: this was no longer a lab experiment. This was the beginning of something far greater, far older, and far more dangerous than any of them could measure.