It was inaccurate to say darkness enveloped Tristan, but all his power armor’s ranged sensors dimmed when he lunged into the superfluidic mass. The last thing he saw was an oily polyp blossom outward, its surface briefly aglow in a genuflection of cyan brilliance, then numerous tenebrous petals enclosed around him. In that moment, he and Tethys lost sense of space and place. In lieu of astrometrics, night vision, and spectral analysis, his artificial intelligence provided a slew of biometric data; with that came a warning that flashed red and angry on the holographic superdisplay of his HUD. [b]VAL’GARA[/b] [b]VAL’GARA[/b] [b]VAL’GARA[/b] [I] “Now you tell me?!” [/i] Tristan incredulously bellowed, [i]“I sacrificed myself for nothing! It’s going to kill me and then go on to kill everyone else on this base!”[/i] > [i]Attempted incursion of the Vesuvian Virus into my nanofilter matrix on physical contact with the entity was, and remains, the first and only decipherable indicator. Before that, your guess was as a good as mine. In a word, poor. Countermeasures won’t last long, so it is fortunate you are already inoculated against the virus.[/i] [i]What’s that suppose to mean?[/i] > [i]You are, and have been, infected. I wasn’t sure before, but the signatures match. More importantly, you haven’t suffered any subsequent psychological or physiological mutations.[/i] Tristan was stunned, but in his current state didn’t feel as though he possessed the capacity to react. Even so, he knew this was what he was trained to confront. Well, not the part about being infected and likely doomed to become a monstrosity—rather, how to fight against odds impossible. He needed to calm down and come up with a plan, but what? He was still alive. Perhaps Tethys was responsible for that, but there remained the possibility his enemy deigned to manipulate him. He couldn’t allow himself to become an enemy asset. Ultimately, he he needed more information. << [i]Sssso[/i] >> It was like an annoying buzz in his ear or the whisper of a ghost, if such existed. He didn’t appreciate the distraction, but maybe it was a clue. Tristan wanted to know, so he asked, [i]What was that?[/i] > [i]The entity is overpowering my efforts to block its psionic messaging. It is likewise pursuing more aggressive and physical avenues in order to remove me as a barrier.[/i] [i]I’d prefer you stay intact. So it wants to talk? Try letting it have enough interaction that it doesn’t treat you like a wall to be broken through[/i]—he recalled the concrete bunker doors being reduced to rubble mere moments earlier and cringed. [i]What’s the worst that can happen, eh? I’ll lose my mind and become a lunatic mass-murderer sooner rather than later?[/i] > [i]Standing down.[/i] << [b][i]SOUNDER.[/i][/b] >> No longer a whisper. No longer vague. Another voice in his head, but now it boomed. No, more than that; it nearly crushed his psyche. To think his power armor actively filtered the lion’s share of the otherwise intolerable psionic impulse. He tried to frame a response. It voiced the phrase in a way that was insistent and rife with expectation, as if it sought to call to someone or guide him somewhere. [I] “Uh, hi. I’m Tristan. Just trying to get back home to Earth.” [/i] << [color=red][b][i]SOUNDER.[/i][/b][/color] >> He almost blacked out. [I] “I, eh, don’t understand. What is ‘Sounder’?” [/i] It then uttered what he assuredly believed to be both a name and an unholy rite. The very enunciation delved in and reordered the foundation of his otherworldly beliefs. Twenty-seven staccato syllables tore through him, beyond him, and plumbed places deeper than he, but still he felt from that chasm rise the tormented chorus of those scorched by Hellfire; brutal, yet melodic, as heavy in grief and sorrow as in desire. The canto of the damned crescendoed and Tristan, in its wake, was violated, his cheeks flushed and loins turgid. Inexplicable and insatiable lust lashed the primal places of his being where mind and spirit mated. Like a spoiled sacrament polluted by every vice imaginable, he felt himself, unwillingly, partake, and came. At the apex of his harrowing orgasm, his physical eyes rolled back and his mind’s eye, for the first time, opened. It beheld a universe splayed out. Suddenly, he was a conqueror who surveyed domain after felled domain and knew, intrinsically, he saw the product of his efforts. He set the villages on fire, crushed cities to rubble, and reveled in the gyre of carrion and taste of soot in the wind. He saw the City of Dis with its fiery towers, the dreamscape bathed hues unimaginable, the ephemeral realm of the psions, the weird green light of Sal’Chazzar specked with silhouettes of a dead civilization’s fleet, the eternal bioluminescent rains of Urum, a million worlds conquered, and ultimately he saw Earth. It wasn’t his, yet. Perspiration gathered on his brow. Of course it was his. In his chest, his heart beat heavy. He belonged to it. Then, between the beats, someplace deep inside him—deeper than any place could exist—an answer came. A dare defiant, it impugned the credibility of that which called its name and challenged it to succeed where others failed. It, within him, made Tristan more than he was, more than he understood or could possibly have comprehended. Electromagnetic fire poured through him—or perhaps from him. His mind flayed and was flayed by an equally violent psionic tumult. As a conduit, he could merely feel—while trying desperately not to feel—and watch the rapid, confused scroll of the datafeed within his HUD. Tristan shut his eyes as the intensity became too much. Finally, it stopped. He thought, perhaps, he blacked out, although it could only have been for a moment. He opened his eyes again and all was quiet—still. Space loomed large around his drifting frame. Stars winked in the distance. And there, in the corner of his vision, he saw Earth. > [i]Tristan, please acknowledge.[/i] [i]I’m here, Tethys. Is that really—what happened?[/i] > [i]A struggle for dominance. Temporary armistice. Yes, that’s Earth. Recommendation: avoid. Further decision-tree analysis required. Self-reconstruction ongoing. We are not alone. Massive power signatures present, both on Earth and in adjacent space. Your symbiote, present; origins assessed as demonic, infected with the Vesuvian Virus. Val’Gara entity, present.[/i] [i]That thing is still here?[/i] > [i]It is right behind you, Tristan.[/i] [i]You said other massive power signatures?[/i] > [i]Yes, one nearby linked to ops signature.[/i] [i]Open comm to that channel.[/i] > [i]Comm opened.[/i] << [i]Tristan Singh here. To whom am I addressing?[/i] >> << [i]Bullshit. Tristan is dead.[/i] >> the voice came over his comm crystal clear. More than that, it was strangely familiar. << [i]For a while, no doubt. Say, you aren’t—uh. Callsign ‘Lionheart’; right?[/i] >>