No Euthanasia (FT, Closed, Mature, see OOC thread)

[Necrisis]

"Might take a look around and see if we find anything useful. Just stay in visual range of each other, and we should get going after a few minutes. All I want is a blaster."

Rili snapped her heels together and saluted - flat hand angled over her right breast horizontally - and nodded. "At once, Talon Lead." Without another word she hopped lightly down the crates, not making a sound. Once at the bottom she glanced up to see if Sei had any other orders and saw her struggle down. She had not mentioned the Talon Lead's difficulty while they had walked - she was tough and a subordinate shouldn't question the strength of a Lead. But now it was different. It was more difficult and thus more dangerous, particularly if she fell.
Her psionics flared, a control field of fluxing energy caught Sei and slowly lowered her to the ground where she could fall safely against a crate.
"Mi'lady should not exert herself," Rili said, bowing and turning back to the hold heading over to what looked like gun crates and forging a psi-blade to cut neatly and cleanly into it.

Inside her a war was brewing. The rage wanted blood, more and more of it so that they could sate the hunger for violence, death and - most important - blood. The cold wanted to serve her, only her. They could escape if they followed her and she was their leader, their commander, their talon and they were the tip, the claw, the Soldier. Why question the orders when the orders where for them? Why question what was law?
Why not question it? Why follow blind and desperate for validation? Why did they need orders to succeed?
Why was there turmoil? Why could they not just be silent!
Rili staggered, feeling the numbness fading. She suddenly felt so alone and scared and there was a ship that contained the worst monsters the universe had ever conjured up. A... a friend? Maybe... she was in danger. She needed help. She needed help.
The fired burned through her nerves as she stabbed into the crate. Why should she help the alien? What had she done for them? Got them out of a cell sure but she could have done that... eventually. Enough time and that collar would have been busted and then the door and then the rest of the damn ship. Her captors, her slavers, her torturers.
Addrik. The scum would die. She would tear off his skin and burn him, sear him...
Rili turned about, glaring into the shadows that even her Necrian eyes could see past, the inky blackness of the massive hold too dense for her senses.
She had heard something. A rat, a Forsaken, another member of their jail break, a crewman. It didn't matter. She just wanted a fight...

[Of The Arch ilands]

Frank, Revas and Terramo - The Man in White

Frank let out a heavy sigh allowing his bolter to fall in a relaxed hold its strap cutting into the back of his neck. Looking around him he checked that the silence had indeed heralded the end of the conflict, before turning to Revas a smile on his face. "You and I make one hell of a team!" Frank patted him on the shoulder before before leaning against a stack of crates, catching his breath. Listening to the battle dying down to the last Frank looked about to get his bearing of the room they where actually in. It looked to be a hold of some kind one which wasn't used obviously with only a smattering of crates laying about the place, several exits on their side of the wall all of which seemed to be empty. Smiling to himself he smiled his handsome smile before turning to Revas again.

He was about to say something but the black robed body came flying through the air before he could say anything else. The Body bounced several times leaving a bloody mess along the floor before it stopped blood pooling around the body. Shortly followed by Terramo, frank could only smile some more just having the big guy around made him feel so much better. He found himself wondering where the others where it felt like an age since he had seen the others. He wondered if they had met some horrible fate or where still running through the ship trying to escape.

Looking to Terramo he simply shrugged knowing exactly what the roboman was trying to say. He turned to revas and tried to push him self off with his left hand only to fall as his arm suddenly went limp searing pain coursing through his vains. falling with a groan to the floor he looked at his hand his vains had turn black and his skin had turned a ghostly while. the Cauterised bite had opened up once again and was oozing a horrible bile.

"Fuck Fuck FUCK!" Frank cursed as he held his wrist he shuffling up against the crates as if trying to crawl away from his own arm. Looking up to the others he cursed his bad luck and looked to the others. "Dont do anything rash guys okay but fuck I think im a gonner!" Frank managed to frown as he held his arm subduing the pain as it coursed up his arm as if it was on fire. "I think I need a doctor!"

[Setulan]

The Man in White

As Terramo rose into the air in his duel with the black robed figure, he realized he was beginning to get an edge. The robed thing's strikes became more and more frantic, more feral as it tried to break through the Saint's defenses and kill him. The cyborg man just continued to bellow out holy phrases less because he thought it would do anything and more because he was clearly getting into the creatures head.

The physical battle, crowbar versus lightsaber, was only the surface of the fight that was going on. Any psychic would be able to feel the huge energies being thrown around between the two as lightning shattered the filtered air with each strike.

Finally, an opening. At almost the same time that Frank collapsed the TIE assembly line Terramo's mental energies broke through the Sith's defenses, giving him the opportunity to crush her mind instantly and destroy her utterly, leaving her body a ruined shell. Fox eyes opened wide as they thought that perhaps her life would be spared.

Terramo simply smiled as he crushed her skull with a devastating blow from his crowbar.

As her body fell to the floor the Setulan caught it and lowered her gently with him, staring into her eyes as they lost what light was once in them. Hefting her with his mind, he sent her body crashing through the barricade. Leaping after her, he stumbled slightly on his landing, then shook his head wryly.

Out of practice, killer. I must be stronger.

Stepping over to his two compatriots, he looked like he was about to say something before stopping himself and holding up a hand. Walking over to the corpse of his foe, he calmly punched his hand through her flesh and ripped her spine out, tossing it casually away from him and covering himself in the spray of blood.

"Just to make sure."

"I think I need a doctor!"

"Maybe I can help."

Stepping over to Frank with his hands held palm out to show he meant no harm, he took the twisted arm in his hand and stared at it intently. With a thought, power began to flow from him into the wounded man as the Saint attempted to heal him.

[Aelosia]

Olsthanel calmly shrugged at the vision of the things facing her. She was a powerful kine now, and using her leashes she could maybe able to face, tie, and even rend apart one of the beasts in front of them. However, there was no way she could face both at the same time. One of them would maul her into submission, and then eat her. She managed a weak grin as she realized that her survival was now based on Ratak's actions. Should he be able of somehow influence the fight heavily on their favor, something could be done, but otherwise they were going to turn into fodder pretty soon.

She compared this conclusion with the same being she had been during her stay aboard the Spinor. The hellish psyker would had wielded the growl towards the beasts even in such hopeless scenario, trying to at least die maiming and mutilating before being destroyed. Yet, there was a wave of hopelesness roaming all over her, pacifying her in a certain way, soothing her anger and calming her down, making her resolute into accepting her almost inevitable demise. The Growl was angry, rattling the bars of his mental cage, barking and biting into her mind, but even so, she knew that this time it was not her turn to act.

In a way, this was better. She felt how the tight grip of the growl over her senses and thoughts relaxed, and how her eyes started to return to their normal color and state, and also how a pair of her leashes just slipped off her flesh and fell limply into the floor. Somehow, this surrendering was...Cleansing.

She turned to Ratak with her head, although her eyes remained calmly closed. "Your turn of doing something", she said, and slowly adopted the posture of the triple lotus in the floor, the old bending meditating posture of her youth bringing both longing and peace into her tortured soul. She was resigned that whatever was going to happen, it was fated to. It was all the same to her cold, dark, mind.

[Karaig]

"Well, Tall Dark and Overkill seems to be faring fine." replied Revas as he saw the ruined husk of the sith warrior fall, the massive cybernetic setulanite strode forward. "With my wiiise words and mind I give him, on a scale of one to ten, a six. Not bad, but there wasn't enough cinematic explosions in my opinion."

Revas chuckled as he fiddled with his flashlight: the petty blaster was, surprisingly, faring well against the zombified hordes of stormtroopers. In fact the weapon was started to show qualities he thought it didn't possess: the energy based cells were lighter than the equivalent in shots in kinetics, though he wished the flashlight's bolts could tear through multiple enemies.

Leaving the group momentarily, Revas waltzed over the corpse of an officer: his head barely shreds, most likely debris from the explosions took it off. Revas saluted upwards, thanking a higher power for still having all his limbs, and more important jewels, after such a fight. Crouching down he removed a stainless steel case stained with blood: wiping it away with a the officer's rags, Revas opened it. Inside where cigars, three of them. Revas smiled, the feeling of "score" was a great feeling, only topped by the ecstasy of a few finer things; such as sex, narcotics, and the smell of burning plasma in the morning. Removing one from its revered site, Revas popped one between his lips as he pocketed the rest.

Revas, loot in mouth, sauntered away as he continued his treasure hunting. A few more blaster clips, a concussion grenade, and a slightly alive zombie. One blast later he strode over to the dead Sith, looking at the cloaked husk. Revas raised his blaster.

"Not again."

Another Blast later, Revas kicked over the body, the freshly burnt skin smelling horrid as the smoke rose from the red kitsune's left ear. Well, what was left of said ear. Crouching down, he pressed the tip of his smoking blaster to his newly found cigarette, the end igniting as he took in the aroma. High quality and free, my favourite, he thought as he ruffled into the Kitsune's belongs. No doubt it would have been a attractive specimen to its own kind, but Revas couldn't get past the hair: and not just because it was smoking and covered in gore.

"What's this?" he said as he pulled out a cylindrical hilt.

Looking over it he found the switch, and it hit him.

"Double score..... do I pawn or trophy? Tough call...." he murmured to himself as he stood up with the lightsaber.

"I think I need a doctor!" came Frank faintly behind, Revas barely hearing him as he was adsorbed by his new prize.

"Maybe I can help." came the slightly synthesized voice of the setulanite.

Spinning around with his new prize, Revas walked forward, seeing the twisted and necrotic hand of Frank, and the cyborg's "healing hands". removing the cigar with his left hand, Revas exhaled, the blue-grey smoke snaking around his head. Did the cyborg believe in magic? What was he doing? Stepping forward, Revas walked up beside the cyborg as he replaced the cigar in his mouth. He ignited the lightsaber, the white hot blade erupting upwards, a red glow illuminating Reva's face, his tatoos' blue glow turning violet under the red beam.

"This is Plan B mate: I'd rather not lop it off, but if you can't fix, I'll preform a quick, relatively painless operation." Revas said as he waited, primed to lop it off if the infection got to the shoulder. He wouldn't let Frank die: he was their leader, and Revas wasn't in the mood to call the shots, unless said shots were alcoholic.

A slight tug on the side of his face, and Revas grinned a bit, the red glow daemonic. "Tense situation.... anyone want a light?" Revas said as he held up the remaining two cigars.

[Old Tyrannia]

The Harpist’s Chamber…

"The dragon guy, eh?" said Ratak to Olsthanel. "Interestin', that. Sounds kinky. What, does he have a terminal disease or something? You obviously get off on people suffering. In the Avios colonies, we have a name for people like that. But," he added quickly, as he noticed the way his saviour looked at him, "I don't think it applies to someone so beautiful as yourself. It's like how rich people aren't mad, they're just eccentric. Beautiful people can't be freaks, they're just... Melancholy. Or troubled. Yeah, you're just troubled. Can't say I've seen him, since we were all separated earlier. We were all together, you, me, scales, that bastard Nefer, and the others, and then... I can't remember, actually. It's a bit hazy. I just remember the zombies and then I woke up restrained on that platform with that creep- yeah, he wasn't pretty at all, definitely a freak- looming over me like a giant Skrallian serpent..."

Suddenly, Ratak realised that he was no longer in pain- or at the very least, in less pain than he was before. The agony had faded to a dull ache. Somehow, this scared him more than anything else that had happened so far, and he immediately shut up. It was then that they entered the circular room; despite Olsthanel's soothing influence, Ratak's eyes were wide open and alert, like a squirrel or a deer caught in a car's headlights. He felt a sudden sense of foreboding, his every well-honed instinct screaming for him to turn back; yet he was dragged along by the elf's metallic limbs like a ragdoll, and was barely able to lift a finger let alone struggle against her iron grip. A lesser being might have found themselves wishing they'd been left to die, rather than be rescued by this monstrosity. But Ratak was a survivor. He knew that living was the hardest thing of all. He wouldn't let a cruel universe get the better of him. He knew his chances of survival, but he was nonetheless sure that he would get off this Eternal-forsaken hellhole of a ship alive, and damned be anyone who tried to stop him.

Then he heard a scream echoing down the corridor, and for a moment, his courage and fortitude failed him.

"You sure you're going to find your dragon-boy down here, love?" Ratak asked. Or tried to ask; it took all his willpower to break the oppressive silence, and when he did so all that came out was a quiet rasp, barely intelligible. As an Avios, his sense of smell was not excellent, but he could soon detect the stench of rotting corpses, and his sharp eyes could soon pick out the outlines of dead stormtroopers, torn open bulk-heads, stinking flesh and clean bones. As the Eldar glided forward ever more confidently Ratak focused all his energy on supressing his fear. As they came to the blast-door, Ratak turned away to avoid reading the words etched on to it in block capitals, doubting they would be in any way encouraging. He clamped his eyes shut, but could still hear the groan of the door as it was forced open, and Ratak knew that he and his saviour-turned-capturer were now entering into a new chamber. The horrific smell made Ratak gag, and he was forced to open his eyes and see the terrible scenes awaiting them; Ratak struggled in vain against Olsthanel's tentacles as they were presented with a pair of terrible beasts, reptilian only in the loosest sense of the word. At first Ratak thought he recognised Olsthanel's quarry, but as it stared in hatred at him he realised his mistake. He felt a weird mixture of fear, hatred and disgust.

Then Olsthanel smiled at him- a smile that said "sorry, look's like we're dead, nothing I can do, oopsie"- and he felt utterly deflated. Olsthanel seemed similarly affected; she fell to the floor, looking broken and resigned, a sort of eerie peace coming upon her as she dropped two of the metal arms with which she had been carrying Ratak to the floor; consequentially, Ratak himself fell with a thud. Still weak from his ordeal, Ratak made an effort to stand, and through sheer willpower was able to do so; yet as the monstrosities advanced on him, he, too, felt like lying down and accepting death. It was all over now. There was no way he could survive.

"Your turn of doing something", Olsthanel said. Ratak growled.

"I can't," he hissed with a mixture of anger and anguish. "It's over. I can't fight. I'm too weak. We're dead, elf. We're going to be eaten... Alive..."

---

Outside the Med-Bay...

“Damn thing’s locked,” Nasrys muttered, scratching his head for a moment. He stepped back a pace and cracked his knuckles. Without another word, he began heel-kicking the console for lack of any better ideas. Before Nefer could point out the idiocy of this approach, the microspeaker inside let out a shrew-like “EMERGENCY ACCESS GRANTED,” and began sliding the doors out of the way.

“That’s a first,” the walking tank replied. “Something actually working on this ship? Never woulda’ guessed.”

Nefer chuckled and shook his head, although something weighed on him heavily. There was something wrong, something... Something he needed to worry about. Something that he did worry about, but he didn't know why because he couldn't for the life of him think what it was he was so preoccupied with. It was as if something terribly bad was happening but his knowledge of it had been completely wiped- or suppressed- leaving only an instinctual fear, the basic knowledge that something bad was waiting... Waiting in the winds of the desert, as they said on Setos. Nefer was distracted from his musings by the sound of footsteps; there had to be at least two people, since one set of footsteps was far heavier than the others. His brilliant hearing soon confirmed the number at two. Both the Seti's ears jerked up like that of a rabbit listening for predators, and Nasrys' motion for silence was hardly necessary.

Suddenly, Isthammi's slight silhouette appeared and stumbled forward into full view; Nefer allowed himself to relax, though he quickly chastisted himself for such a mistake. In this place, he always needed to be alert. Isthammi was followed by the hulking, insect-like creature that had also been part of the original, much larger group; Nefer waited for others to arrive, but it appeared that they were only getting these two. He was vaguely disappointed that Ratak was not with them, but only vaguely. Nasrys, who Nefer now realised had taken on the role of group leader, waved them forwards into the decontamination chamber; “Get over here so we can take a pee break.”

When the scanner deemed them acceptable, the inner doors slid open. At once, noxious white-grey smoke poured into the gap, sending Nasrys’ hands to his nostrils to keep them shut. He squinted with the others as the doors opened to a thick haze of smoke and small kicked-around piles of cloud-grey ash. The whole med-bay was swelteringly hot, and through the fog and ash, small pockets of white fire on the floor and seemingly floating on the silhouettes of carts and beds flickered and lapped hungrily at fabrics in answer.

“Oh, damnit. Just damnit. Nothing goes right here. Nothing at all,” Siars muttered to himself as he took point and went into the ruined med-bay, hacking on noxious smoke. “One sec, gonna find a vent-switch or somethin’.”

Nefer's sensitive sense of smell was immediately overpowered and he quickly raised his hand to his muzzle, gasping for breath, his eyes bulging. He barely paid any attention to the corpse the group discovered as they searched for the illusive vent switch. Finally, Nasrys let out a triumphant cry of "found it!", and as the vents sucked the fumes out of the laboratory Nefer let out a relieved sigh. As Nasrys slinked off to relieve himself in the small side office, the Seti began to explore the office further. His previous dread of some unknown danger seemed to have morphed into a strong conviction that something- he didn't know what- had to be done. All obstacles must be removed. Nefer shook off the strange thought as he discovered the scorched remains of more humanoids. The bodies themselves were of little affect to Nefer by now but nonetheless he was worried. He imagined he would remain worried until they left the lab or discovered what had happened to these poor souls in the first place.

"We have to move on," he snapped suddenly, with a hint of agitation in his voice. Nefer shocked himself- he hadn't intended to say that. It just... Came out. It was like someone else was speaking with his voice. Nasrys, who was returning from his toilet break just as Nefer made his odd statement, shot him a curious glance. Taking a deep breath, Nefer raised a hand to massage his aching forehead, and when he took his hand away the bay was clear. Together the group made their way forward, examining the contents of the med-bay, until finally they reached the door with its strange message. Nefer did not recognise the language, and was as stumped as the others as to its meaning. His earlier outburst apparently forgotten, Nefer once again allowed the Drakon-xenos to take over and bring up the map on the computer. Aware that neither Isthammi nor Tutukiku were listening all that attentively as Nasrys worked out where they would head next, Nefer at least strove to pay attention, though his head was still aching and he was somewhat unsteady on his feet. Could it have been the vapours? Nefer didn't know.

“I have no idea where the others are, don’t have motion trackers here, but if we’re lucky and they’re smart, they might be heading-”

Nasrys was cut off by the sound of a great weight dropping down from the ceiling behind him. Nasrys turned and Nefer suddenly felt dizzy and then-

The Orb was in control. It surveyed its surroundings carefully. The Seti's body was frail, but at least it possessed excellent sensory organs. Through Nefer's eyes the Orb was able to see the death of the female, able to hear her cries; reaching out with an invisible tendril of psychic energy, the Orb reached into the mind of the dying female and wrenched from her, her soul; the psychic energy that it absorbed was insufficient to return the Orb to full strength, but more would die, soon, and then they, too, would be harvested for the Greater Good. Isthammi would live on, her thoughts, memories, personality absorbed into that of the Orb; just another voice among many. She had been saved. She had been a heathen, but she was saved. How merciful was the Orb! How glorious the servant of the Eternals, the bringer of light! Though she was now little more than a scared little voice locked away at the back of the dead Sinosian's mind, she would live on. And her lifeforce would feed the Orb.

Nefer gasped and fell backwards, throwing out a hand to steady himself against the console. For a moment, he knew what had happened, and made up his mind to warn Nasrys and Tutukiku; the next, the entire episode faded from memory, and Nefer, like his comrades, merely assumed that his gasp and fall were brought on by the shock of witnessing Isthammi's demise. He didn't need to say anything; a glance shared between him and Nasrys said it all.

As the group moved through the dank corridors through toe-height filth and slime left uncleaned for lord knows how long, the silence began to draw on and on and on. When the light of the hold’s floor-grates shined dimly up ahead, it was only received by the barest of acknowledgements, just another place to go to get somewhere else to keep running around in circles on a hell-ship for days and days and days. Pessimism was on Nasrys’ mind, at least, and has he pushed the grate open and climbed out into the massive room full of crates, ISO containers, barrels, and hopefully something useful among several tons of stuff, he didn’t count on any particularly good news.

Unwisely, he called out, having failed to hear anything indicating the presence of an ambush or something with guns and a chip on its shoulder.

“Hello? Anybody there?”

Helping the others out of the grate, standing in a little square clearing that served as this corner’s impromptu crossroads, the Drakon dusted himself off and started turning the gears in his head, wondering which way it was that led to the pathway to the hangar and which of the dozen others didn’t.

---

Ratak opened his eyes and looked around himself in horror.

He'd done nothing; merely fell back and cowered in the corner, awaiting his inevitable death. But someone had. The creatures were not merely dead; someone, something, had torn them apart, leaving only a single pool of the monster's blood and the shredded remains of their flesh. The upper part of one of one of the beast's skulls lay across the room from him, it's empty, dead eyes staring at him. Ratak shivered and pulled himself to his feet. The walls of the room were drenched in blood. Had Olsthanel done this? Ratak, suddenly feeling, if not well, able to move without wincing, turned to look at the elf; she was still sitting in her meditative pose, but surprise, tinted perhaps by some genuine horror, now filled her bulging eyes. No, she had not done this.

Ratak walked over and, reaching down to grasp her arm, pulled her to her feet. He didn't know where to go from here. They were lost, alone. He was dying. They were on a ship full of horrors from some Imperial holy tome's description of the Everlasting Darkness with no idea how to get off it. He grunted. It must be tuesday, he thought.

"Well, then, elf," he said to Olsthanel, "looks like I get to drag you around for a while now."

Holding up the weakened Eldar, he began to lead her forward, towards the blast door that lay on the far side of the room. He doubted he'd like what he found on the other side, but hey. He was dying anyway, wasn't he?

[Aelosia]

Olsthanel thought of home again. Thought of how things were before that bloody accident with the Wayportal. The portal that had left her stranded in a world made of pain and suffering, where she had "contracted" the Growl. Or at least that the easy way out, the lie she liked to tell to herself. She knew she had the Growl since she was young, she carried it inside her mind, inside her spirit. Was the Growl living in every living being, just waiting for the right conditions to possess them? Was a condition only related to elves? Was it something that affected all psychic elves as herself? Or, and this thought terrified her deeply inside, Was she the only host of something as powerful and yet as terrible as the Growl? Something that gnawed at her essence and commanded her whenever it liked, in exchange of raw power? She knew she liked to hurt herself way before travelling to that wretched chaos tainted planet. She liked how the needles pierced her skin, how the razors slid across her flesh, liberating her from deeper, more complex pains she did not like to feel or even examine. Her skin was already marked, scarred and tormented before crossing that portal. Did her all mighty psychic master knew and sent her to the chaos planet on purpose? But that was a game, right? Some humans also did it, the mortification of the impure flesh right? That did not meant there was a Growl waiting inside each of those to feed and grow.

Were these going to be her last thoughts before one of the beasts tore them apart? Was she going to say good bye to physical existence thinking about the Growl? No, she refused to do so. She refused the Growl to take her last thoughts before she dissappeared from the universe. She refused it, as a unpredicted last stand of her mind. She would not be denied. If she could not live her way, at least, at the end, she would remember her life as she wanted.

She travelled with her mind to the clear crystal gardens of her dome, being a child that loved to watch how branches grew by the work of invisible psychic reactive spiders. Being a child that loved to play at glowing orbs, until she learned by herself to move them with her mind and noone else wanted to play with her anymore. She recalled the warmth sensation of being cradled inside the comfortable embrace of her mother's arms. She recalled the flight of chanting birds, the watching of untold constellations from her window into the void. So many...Beautiful memories were there, untainted by pain, blood and misery, but also clean of discipline, duty and effort. She missed those birds, those trees, those arms...

Then something tugged her out of her revelry. "Well, then, elf," she heard the voice of Ratak, "looks like I get to drag you around for a while now", right before the Avios started to move her. She opened her eyes and saw that the monsters were dead, torn apart, destroyed. Had Ratak done this? Had he somehow found a weapon and turned into some kind of hidden butcher? Was he dangerous? Did he had a Growl too growing inside his skull? Where was her own Growl? Where was her own torment now? She was feeling so free! So...Liberated!

A dull pain slid across her back as her remaining leashes, the fine metal threads that once were the Harpists' cords fell from her flesh, now dead and motionless. Her eyes had returned to the normal deep purple, she just knew it even without looking at it. Blood was again fast and quickly flowing through her veins, not the thick ichor commanded by the Growl anymore, then again making her skin recover its rather white-and-pink complexion. Was she...? Where was the Growl?

Oh, but still was there, the Growl was still inside her mind, whimpering, sobbing, receding into a dark corner, entirely beaten. It was not dead, and still held some power, but somehow, it was burnt. It was mauled and crippled, on its own essence. Somehow it only awakened an emotion inside Olsthanel, and it was pity. Pity for such a powerful entity to be reduced to such whimpering, sorry state. And with that pity came the long stored sadness and grief, the overpowering tsunami of emotion held at bay by the Growl for so long.

She had only someone there with her, and she needed something warm to guard herself against the emotional wave that was rampaging over any ditch she could had placed inside her mind. She looked at Ratak once, feeling how a pair of vast, true tears formed in the corners of her eyes, cleaning her of the filth that once made her pupils sick with corruption. She felt how the fat tears slid down her oval cheeks and into her chin, trailing blood and filth, and she knew that even there, even in the charnel house of the Spinor, surrounded by terrors and hatred and dangers and pain, she could not hold it any longer.

She sank her face into Ratak's chest, and started to sob uncontrollably, not unlike some stray lost child that had just found her mother after being lost in an unknown place, crying freely, innocently. Between sobs, between her unleashed cries of anguish, she managed to mangle a pair of words. "I...am...so...troubled".

[Of The Arch ilands]

Syona, Ninian and Calo - Are you afraid of the Dark?

Ninian yelped as he dove out of the way of the Flechete rounds at the last moment. Seeing the soldier at the very last moment her heart jumped into her throat. Diving down into the well of the stairs that led to the locked cell he grunted as she tumbled and hit the cold metal door hard. she had managed to fall with her back to the door looking up he rifle resting on her lap her fingers still gripped firmly around the trigger. She snarled an almost animal snarl as the trooper reared his white plastic head, and she started pumping red hot bolts of energy into him before he could get any more shots off at her.

Screaming in anger she didn't stop until the troopers body fell away minus a head. letting the blaster fall to her side for a moment she sighed taking in her bearings. noticing the blood smear that went all the way down the wall and the stairs. frowning she followed the trail all the way down and back up her arm. grasping her shoulder she groaned as the pain hit her like a iron rebar to the face. Swearing out loud cursed and screamed to the gods in every language she knew.

She hadn't been quick enough, whilst the dive out of the way had saved her head for sure she hadn't been quick enough to save her self entirely. Her shoulder had been chewed up pretty bad from what she made of it still holding it to try and stop the bleeding she swore some more before trying to pick her self up. grimacing as she moved she grabbed her blaster and shuffled back up the stairs glancing down the hallway before hiding away again.

"Fuckers ill rip all your balls off and feed them to my cat! your done for you hear me! done fore you and your precious tool!"

[Xiscapia]

Sei, Joanna and Rili - The Cavernous Black

"At once, Talon Lead."

Staring after the woman as she jumped nimbly down the stacks, Sei blinked. "What the hell did you call-" she shut her mouth as she realized Rili couldn't hear her. More than ever, the change in character unnerved the bounty hunter; she wouldn't put it past the woman to have some kind of psychotic break, given what she'd seen. Shaking her head, she slid one foot gingerly down the side of the crate, mapping out a path down in her mind. If she could just get on the flat deck-

Feeling herself lift into the air, Sei yelped, struggling as she twisted this way and that to see what had grabbed her. "Fuck! Rili-" Looking down at her, she realized the Necrian was the one doing it and went very still, even her lashing tail hanging limp, anything to keep her from dropping her. She let out a relieved sigh as she alighted onto a container at the bottom, sagging against it and just trying to get her breathing under control, heart pounding in her chest from the adrenaline rush. If only to keep from looking at the psychic who had just held her life in her hands, the anthro reached down and felt at her tourniquet, wondering how long she had left. It probably wasn't good for it if her blood got pumping like that.

"Mi'lady should not exert herself."

"Yeah, thanks, but..." Again, she trailed off as Rili turned away, striding intently over to an armory crate. Sighing, Sei hobbled on after her but stopped dead when she saw the woman stumble, leaning against the crate, and just as quickly stab into it with one of her blades of energy, ripping the top open. Watching her carefully, the anthro saw her whip around to stare into the darkness, scowling at it, suddenly seeming unpredictable and animal like the girl she had known before. Eyes shifting down, she glanced at the stacks of blaster rifles within, badly wanting one -especially with Rili in this state- but not daring to do anything to provoke her anger. Taking a limping step forward, Sei tentatively reached out.

"Rili?" she said to get her attention. "What-"

Then she heard it. The scrape of metal-on-metal, or something much like it, coming from somewhere overhead. Ears perking, she looked up, eyes darting from side to side, nose twitching as she sniffed, looked and listened. Even with all of her senses she couldn't tell where the sound had come from, but one thing was clear.
"I don't think we're alone."

Nasrys, Nefer and Tutukiku - Funhouse Mirror

“Hello? Anybody there?”

"Hello Nasrys."

The reply was so prompt, and so calm and even casual, that one could be forgiven for taking a few seconds to process it. Once one had, however, it didn't take long to find the speaker. It stood atop a stack of crates six or seven meters high, framed against the dim halogen lightning from high above, looking down at the beings who had just emerged from the maintenance tunnels under the hold, not even attempting to hide. Two amber, white-spotted eyes gleamed down at them, flicking from one to the other to the next before switching back to the drakon, seeming to settle on him for the moment.
Even those who had only seen him in passing would recognize Paul Styron.

But this was not him, couldn't be him, the rugged face and basic, impressive build was right but everything else was wrong. He was tall, taller than before at seven feet in height but lean, almost emaciated, ribs showing through his skin whenever the loose-fitting armor slid apart to expose him. Long shards of what was probably bone sparred out from his knees and his elbows, gleaming dully in the low light as they were already soaked with blood, and whenever he spoke they saw flashes of pointed teeth all but bent inwards, made to rip through flesh and sinew from a struggling person to devour the meat from the still-living target. Perhaps most disturbingly was the pair of petite breasts that peeked out between his armor from time to time, soft and definitely feminine, which betrayed that he had no doubt changed (mutated? been built?) even more than they could see. The voice itself was higher in pitch, but carried a dangerous coo like the mewl of a cat playing with a mouse.

"Surprised to see me? No doubt. I am dead, I would have you know, or at least my template it. A tragedy, really," it gave a theatrical sigh. "So much promise, a fine young soldier like that. But never mind that now. I see you brought your friends Nefer, and the giant ant. Welcome to you too. Fitting, in a way, that you should be the first to meet me. All worthy opponents." The Paul-thing smiled, its twisted mouth sacrificing any appearance of humanity it might have had.

"Typically when men are about to be executed they are extended the right to a last request. A drug to calm the mind, a quick prayer, perhaps a blindfold. It would be polite of me to exchange the same to you. But I would advise you to make it quickly. My patience, I find, is not so long these days, if it ever was..."

Syrona and Ninnian - Are you afraid of the Dark?

Metallic bolts from Syrona's repeater catching him in the chest, the stormtrooper jerked and staggered back with a short groan that rose out of his helmet, flechette clattering to the deck, smoke rising from the holes blasted in his breastplate in unison with the steam exhaling from the barrel of the Alumina's weapon. He dropped with a scrape of armor on metal, dying at almost the same time as the Naval Trooper who rushed Ninnian. The man assumed she had been grievously wounded by the flechette blast, and paid the ultimate price for his mistake as he was hit repeatedly in the face with blaster bolts, falling with skin, brains and bone all melted together in a charred mass that only vaguely resembled a head. In the control center the turbolift whined down, hatch opening with the workings of a vacuum-motor, and the last remaining soldier dove in, the warden officer slapping at the controls to get the doors to close. With that the elevator ascended away and the room and surrounding cells and corridors were left still and silent with half a dozen corpses, the three prisoners and the two beings who had blasted their way into it.

After a few moments passed both Syrona and Ninnian would hear an undulating, slightly reverberating howl from one of the captives that, if they had ever met or read about them, they would recognize as the questioning of a Wookie. Once that had died away a second voice joined, this one female and speaking Illesian-accented Common. "Hello? Can you help us?" she called, sounding simultaneously scared and hopeful. "We've still got binders on, but if you free us we can help you! Please!"

"Keep your promises to yourself, girl," a third speaker with a definite reptilian quality to his voice hissed. "I just want to get out of here."

Frank, Revas and Terramo - Aftermath

With the scene lit by the hellish scarlet blow of Revas's purloined lightsaber, Terramo's power seeping into Frank's very veins to create a barrier the likes of which medical science the men knew had no way of replicating, standing firm in face of the necrotic disease. They could literally see it stop spreading, halted at the shoulder, an unpleasantly pulsating, throbbing mass that squirmed angrily against the force as if alive, making the filth-choked veins bulge and twist sickeningly. Yet the rest of the Archian's arm remained ashen and withered, the rot seeming to deepen as his skin stretched and cracked over his bones and muscles, curdling yellow and weeping blood and pus, decaying before their very eyes. Fortunately for him, if Revas used the lightsaber to amputate the infected limb it would cauterize the wound instantly, keeping it out of the rest of the man's body stopping him from bleeding out, though losing the arm would naturally come with its own set of problems.
Unfortunately for Frank, the process would not be as painless as Revas seemed to think.

[Alversia]

Syrona and Ninnian - Are you afraid of the Dark?

As the last Stormtrooper collapsed, her accuracy not disappointing her, the feline ducked back into the cover of the cell and waited to see what was happening now, reaching out with her mind to feel those that were left. One consciousness immediately vanished to her side, the being that had been in the cell with Ninnian had gone. She feel the panic of the other, the one remaining man who had sent his troops into the darkness of the cells and seen them vanish in a hail of blaster bolts and smoke. He was not willing to take the same risk himself. She could feel him moving across the room, his only thought being to flee, to escape from the death that seemed to await him. If he had any intention of coming back, it was certainly not at the forefront of his mind at that point. Her ears perked as she heard the whirring of an elevator descending, the double hiss of a door opening and then closing before the same whirr signalled that the elevator was returning to its original location, taking the last truly hostile mind she could sense with it. There was a long silence after that, with only her breathing breaking it up. She still held the warm weapon in her hands but had no inclination to move just yet, not until she was sure it was safe.

She heard the calls from the prisoners, their conversations and pleas for freedom. One she recognised as a wookie, the large and furry race with considerable strength, another was obviously human who spoke in accented common. She recognised that accent as from the capital of the Alversian Republic. She frowned. How had someone from the Republic found themselves here? Then again, how had she found herself here?

It was the final voice that she was most concerned about. The hissing suggested a reptilian being and he did not sound friendly. That was a concern.

She could feel the thoughts forming in her mind, swirls of mist that half formed before dissipating, delivering only a shadow of their intent.
Kill them! They will only slow us down! One of them wants you dead anyway. You have nothing to lose!

She was appalled by the thought and tried to block it out but it kept growing, louder and stronger. She felt a hand twitch...
“Ninnian...” She called out, short of breath, “you okay? You think we should free them?”

[Of The Arch ilands]

Frank, Revas and Terramo - Aftermath

Frank looked on increasing horror as his arm rippled his vain's turning black and pulsating as if the virus was smart and alive in some way or at least as angry and thirsty for his flesh as the dead heads he had just fended off where. It was something you couldn't make up his flesh rippled and cracked and continued to degrade as if it was slowly eating it and killing his arms off. The Setulans ominous god powers calmed him down a little bit how ever the growth had been stopped just short of his shoulder and couldn't seem to progress.

Looking at revas as the red glow and soft hum of the lightsaber filled the immediate area he turned even more wide eyed as he looked at the man holding the energy blade.

"Tense situation.... anyone want a light?"

"Gimmie that!" Frank growled as he grabbed a cigar bit off the end and lit it on the lightsaber. Looking back to his arm and then back to Terramo. "Well is this all you got? .... please tell me your just waiting for the right dramatic moment! You are waiting for that dramatic moment arnt you? It would be the icing on the fucking cake of this shit reality zombie show!"

Frank continued to look at Terramo waiting and waiting but when nothing came Frank took a deep drag of the cigar savoured it in his mouth for a moment then turned to Revas. Looked him in the eyes for a moment a stern serious glare on his face for a few moments, Although he stared at Revas he remembered what he had been through to get to where he was.

He had been through hell and back... waded through piled of rotting dead bodies that simply lay in the street reaching waste height. Got shot up crazy phyco guards that wore there victims faces and plastered there vehicles with there victims stripped bodies. He had almost killed the man behind it all and all in all he had escaped that infernal planet and ended up here. Frank for a moment wondered where it had all gone wrong, but he wasn't going to give up. He wasn't going to be beaten on this ship when he had been in far worse.

His expression slowly turned from stern to one of absolute certainty and determination. "Do it... take the fucking arm not as if its my wanking arm! But I fucking hope for your sake that it is painless!"

Frank took another drag of the cigar and closed his eyes waiting for the moment he could feel the virus pulsing in his arm trying to escape trying to take his body. He held out his arm with the help of the Setulan and waited. he waited for what seemed like an eternity waiting for the moment he wouldn't feel the arm any more. When it didn't seem to come Frank opened his eyes only to see the flash of crimson and then pain. Pain filled every crevice of his body and engulfed him within an instant, he howled in anger and pain falling onto his side he cried out swearing and cursing blindly in a fit of pain and anger. Eventually it faded a few minutes later, whilst his screams of pain stopped he continued to lay there just looking at the stump that was left.

Syrona and Ninnian - Are you afraid of the Dark?

Ninnian groaned as she looked at her shoulder, or the squishy mess that was left of it. Prodding it she wondered why it didn't hurt at all the bitch had shredded her shoulder but it didn't hurt a curious conundrum to say the least, maybe it was the adrenalin surging through her body or maybe it was that her nerve endings had been completely severed and cauterized she had no way of knowing just how bad her shoulder wars. she sat there for a moment in silence just listening to the world around her, the commotion of of the remaining trooper fleeing into the elevator no doubt to inform more troopers that there where escaped convicts free.

It wasn't all bad at least there wasn't any zombies running around trying to eat there faces. Pushing her self onto her feet she took a few steps up from the cell peering over the wall down into the central area staring at the three convicts. Silently she made her way down the cellway and in to the terminal. All the time keeping her eyes locked on the three convicts her eyes dark with a stare that seemed to pierce their souls.

"Names... please"

She new that Syrona was tuned into Her she could feel her presence and she probably knew what Ninnina was thinking. It was a bad idea to let them know what they where in for keep them in a state of uncertainty and that would be more co-operative, although the reptilian would probably be more trouble than he was worth, he would be first to feed the zombies if he caused any trouble.

[Karaig]

"Do it... take the fucking arm not as if its my wanking arm! But I fucking hope for your sake that it is painless!"

Revas looked down at the man, the pain was literally alive as it writhed up his arm, it was this or death. Revas inhaled the cigar, savouring the fine smoke. Keeping it chomped between his lips, he raised his lightsaber, the crimson blade towering over head. He could feel the soft glow on his head and shoulders, the warm heat was relaxing. It calmed him for the task ahead, a grim task. His eyes softened a bit, looking down at the man. I wouldn't want to loose an arm like this, he thought. Revas paused for a moment, before shoving the pity down deep. His eyes hardened.

"Take it like a man, man." he said.

His blade arched down, almost in slow motion as Frank's eyes opened, no doubt wondering the delay. Bad move. The blade came arching down, its red hunger aimed for the shoulder, beyond the infection to make sure every last cell died with the arm. The blast cut through, Revas barely felt any resistance. It cut through flesh and bone, muscle and nerve, all the way through. The smell of ozone and burnt flesh assailed his nose, but his cigar held it back. As the arm fell he took another drag of the cigar, before grabbing his canteen.

"Water, pour it around the wound to minimize the burning" I'd hate for you're neck to burn." He tossed it down.

He turned to the arm on the ground, grasping for warmth, a host, anything. Revas raised his lightsaber, and brought it down. Again, and again, dismembering the whole limb until it was charred, and the virus scorched along with it. With that he flicked the lightsaber's switch, the blade retracting almost instantly. Holstering the blade, he took one final lungful of cigar, before turning to Terramo.

"Indestructible cyborg, that's pretty bad ass. But now you've got healing powers." he chuckled. "I gotta know, you trying to steal the show?"

Revas laughed as he handed out a cigar to the towering steel setulanite.

"Welcome to the party, we've got fun and games: feel like capping some bastards? Or in your case flattening them. We got zombies, lots, and lots of zombies. Oh and a few stormtroopers. Entrance fee is..." Revas checked over his blaster. "two full mags if you don't mind. Though considering your healing trick, one should suffice."

[Xenohumanity]

Ratak and Olsthanel – Obscure Ways to Terminus

Incidental Music – Comfortably Numb

Hell as a word and word-concept has been shamed. The preachers, the exegetes, they all seem to make hell seem merely displeasing to some utmost degree, not something truly worthy of the fear they claim to have. There is a good reason that most concepts of damnation seem more like guidelines to construct such a place. Language has its limits, of course, words carrying connotations and preconceptions, and the limits of men to picture such tortures and despairs are also worth noting, since such imaginings often focus on the imaginer, and how they’d rather not end up there.

The best, or given the subject, the worst reason is the limit of the mind to fill itself with evils.

A more philosophical creature might find huddling into a greasy, gory corner rather enlightening, receding into their mind to work out the implications as two of Satan’s captains stood before them. Ratak was a pragmatist; never one to mince words or thoughts. This was proving to be a rather great weakness, now slicked with ichor and wallowing in life’s antithetical remains. Olsthanel, while her mind lay in higher places of a sort, would find herself being brought back to a reality of actual pain, not her ‘un-pain’ of the Ruinous Powers. Whatever perceptions of pain-morality and virtuous suffering she had would be like a child’s doodle of a scuffed knee held against a photograph of a land-mine amputation; a matter of scale, of ferocity, and enough to shame the poor child out of their misconception and into an unknown. Her surrender to whatever lay ahead was one of absence of option, not of any proper resolution.

The asura and the bear-lizard stood their ground, as the intruding pair stood theirs in the door-way. Ratak began shambling to the side, for a corner, for what little distance he could make, while Olsthanel folded over in meditation and self-reflection for these few last moments. The two-headed animal watched both of them, the giant sort of squinting and scanning as if wondering what move to make next in this little chess game. The two monsters then looked to each-other, and the four-armed one gave it that sort of nod you give someone when granting permission to gladly sin.

The bear-lizard stepped off of its heap and approached Ratak, who had already detached from reality and was simply staring at the red-yellow wall. It didn’t seem to be going quite as fast towards its prey as it might have seemed moments ago, and as it made the last few feet, slowed its walk and finally stopped, each head staring into one eye with an animal idiocy and curiosity. One head moved and ‘gently’ clamped its long needle-lined jaws onto one of his shoulders, the other doing the same to Ratak’s jaw, pulling his head to the opposite side but not quite enough to risk torqueing it off. A heavy foot, a deformed half-cloven paw pressed into his gut painfully.

Here, most men would have figured the worst was done with, that a row of thin meat-rippers to the throat or a swift twist of the head impending. Ratak’s catatonia did little to hide the panicked saccades of his eyes, but as the seconds began to pile on, something began to feel clearly wrong. The beast was simply holding him in place, without reason; Eat and be done with it, kill and be done with it, be done with it for God’s sake.

Things were never that simple on the Spinor, and as the most disgusting sound of organs sloughing out of place and bones snapping and mending started to come from the monster’s chest, muffled by its own hide, it was clear that this was going to be a miserable way to die. The churning continued for good half-minute, with the alien sound of a sort of clattering mutter growing slowly louder before the first visible signs of whatever it was doing came through; the scales between the two heads began to bulge outwards, as if pressed from behind. The monster let out a discontent grumble, but held fast as the bulge began to grow more and more grotesque and painful-looking. After a few seconds of stretching remarkably thin, the skin finally broke with a trickle of red, growing to a light flow as some sort of… bone began to erupt.

A round skull-cap pressed through, leaving a jagged hole in the flesh, before finally extending itself on a sclerotic spine to the length of the other two heads. From where Oslthanel sat, she may have possibly caught sight of the barely-muscled, premature skull and how it hung in front of Ratak, covered in blood and viscera, but only Ratak would have been able to stare into its face. Something horribly familiar in its face struck his subconscious, and how he made his first move, a weak but desperate leaning-away, trying to flee a few more centimeters. It seemed like a human face as seen by a lunatic, its eyes bare and lidless, moist with blood, with lips drawn back and ripped apart by ribs and bones forcing its way out. In a moment of shock, he finally realized that the translucent skin, the disgruntled expression, the twisted semblance of a face was none other than Steven’s.

No answer presented itself to explain this discrepancy in the laws of cause and effect. The effect, Steven-Monster’s head, cared too little to answer in any way as it craned forward and opened its maw, jagged teeth breaking the gums in every direction. It approached Ratak’s eye, but did not bite or gnaw as anticipated; instead, it extended a sickly yellow-green tongue and began pressing against his bare eye. It only hurt for a moment before turning into silent agony as it pressed its tongue around his now-warped eye and began working the full length of its tongue back behind it, crushing his optic nerve against the side of its channel. The surface of his brain barely picked up on the intrusion as it became the next taste-target, the tongue seeing fit to worm its way into the grooves of his frontal cortex…

---

All Olsthanel may have seen was it sort of leaning over and doing a sort of something indescribable with his skull, and Ratak had fallen into comatose unconsciousness, fully incapable of putting up any thoughts whatsoever, but as the Steven-Monster continued shifting grey matter this way and that, blowing dribbles of necrotic green spittle into his mind, something evil began happening. Mental connections were re-arranged, chemicals injected, the very stuff of consciousness and life sorted by this creature. Ratak would now find himself drifting into consciousness, gazing upon ‘his’ room of furthered gore and ‘his’ temporary salvation. ‘He’ would get up, take Olsthanel and leave, free to explore the rest of the ship for as long as his brain kept functioning, laying here in a room of rotting bodies and smashed machinery.

Ratak had been trapped in the expanse of his own mind by the most diabolical psychosurgery imaginable. Content to believe whatever fate he deemed the most likely, be it death, escape, or a billion alternatives he may not have even seen through the lens of sanity, his body lay on the floor in a limp heap to starve to death while his inner self was free to exist in a delusional landscape of its own creation.

---

The Steven-Monster let its other heads release him and stepped away, spitting a little more of its green filth out of some sort of disgust before stepping back towards the asura and Olsthanel. It stood at its feet, sitting down and looking up with its three heads with a slight disinterest. The four-armed giant took a knee, shifting bodies and prompting the snap of a ribcage as it reached out and took the Steven-head in hand. It leaned in with its Drakon head, snarling as it turned the head about gently in inspection. After a few moments, the giant’s eyes lit with a preternatural grey light, and it stared resolutely into Steven-Monster’s eyes, which themselves now carried the vaguest fear.

After a few moments, it had somehow deemed the creature unfit, for now it began choking out the three-headed creature with all four arms, two specifically wrenching the Steven-Head’s spine-neck out another half-foot from its body and prompting it to gurgle in excruciating pain. Olsthanel may have picked up on the vaguest concepts of ‘crystal’, ‘poison’, ‘carrier’, and ‘useless’ in the midst of what might have been some sort of psychic conversation between the two, but before she could make heads or tails of it, the lettuce-crunches of three necks snapping rang through the air.

The not-Drakon dropped the limp frame and added it to the pile of forgotten wrecks of bodies. Still on its knees and now ‘only’ as tall as Nasrys had stood, it shuffled over towards Olsthanel, who had balled up and reasonably retreated into herself. The asura looked at her with its eyes still alight with psykic power, casually watching her thoughts as their ripples and waves in the Warp told the monster all it needed to. Her pain seemed to be her weakness, the calls of suffering-as-virtue and pain-as-power ringing strong within her despite her efforts to shut them out. She fled to beauty in times of trouble, as would any Aelosian, and the monster hated her all the more for it.

Her pain would be how she would be secured for its own purposes, it decided, and so it stood once more next to her. A gentle chant, a sinister whisper into her minds-ear to accommodate whatever she cared to believe. A little sensory manipulation went a long way with those who wanted it but never knew to ask, and so when she felt that hand on her shoulder and looked into the abomination’s black-red eyes, she saw only Ratak, and looking about, only the dead frame of the Steven-Monster but no reason to question the absence of its companion.

An instant of probing her mind to find what she thought the green lizard-fool would have said passed before the asura spoke, its diabolic grumbling replaced for her by Ratak’s voice. <“Well then, elf. Looks like I get to drag you around for a while now.”> Whatever this Growl turned out to be, it was a wonderful trick of psykic tom-foolery to bury it under a blanket of ‘hope’ and ‘survival’ concepts to keep that rogue element tucked away until the time was right. She’d certainly done it an admirable one-over, but this ship would bring it roaring back to life soon enough, and the monster did not want its dark masters to have to deal with it at an inopportune time.

She fell into the monster’s chest and began weeping. Pathetic. A gods-damned disgusting display. For an entity born to control and command, such weakness would have been grounds for swift death if it had been one of its fellows, one of the things like Steven-Creature. Still, orders were orders were orders, and he tolerated her moaning in self-pity for a moment. All too eager to haul his quarry out and make sure to beat any of the other beasts to his catch, he finally broke her crying by pulling her head up and looking into her eyes, doing his best imitation of ‘caring’ while his voice began sounding more and more like that of her precious Nasrys. In the back of her head.

<“I’ve got you, I’ve got you. We’re going to be okay. I found a safe-room nearby, with big locks and some guns and camera feeds from all around. We can find the others and get everybody back together. We’re going to get off, okay? Here,”> it said, lifting her to her feet and letting her lean against it (she thought it was Ratak’s shoulder when she only managed to reach the brute’s waist). <“Let’s get out of here.”>

Olsthanel: O.K. / Just a little pin prick / There'll be no more aaaaaaaah! / But you may feel a little sick / Can you stand up? / I do believe it's working / Good / That'll keep you going through the show / Come on / It's time to go

---

Nasrys, Nefer, Tutukiku – Funhouse Mirror

After a second of Nasrys’ echo, just when he was starting to think the group would be left alone to pop open boxes and hope for something helpful…

"Hello Nasrys."

It was like Alice in Wonderland. The drake had gotten so used to zombies and gunshots and things going wrong that he had to recalibrate and remember that normalcy still hid in well-lit corners on the Spinor. Of course, the voice came from above, so he had to swivel his head around a bit before he finally found… oh, that better not have been the speaker. That best not have been the speaker. Nasrys did not haul this much ass out here just to end up dealing with another clown of a local. Amidst the patterned yellow-orange lights glowered two specks of glimmer, eyes in a face that angled into the light after a moment to remove any uncertainty just whose face it was.

Immediately, the seven feet of bone and skin didn’t make sense. That was… Paul? Paul’s face, if that was the name, but that was certainly not his body. Half a foot too high, damn spikes coming out of everywhere, and those awful teeth that were meant only for killing other things, not for proper meat-eating. As Nasrys licked the backs of his own teeth to remind himself that no, his were ‘normally’ sharp, he finally caught sight of-

*THOSE are the stupidest things I’ve seen on this entire ship. Damn, that is really saying something.*

It wasn’t a matter of fear, or revulsion, or even carnal distaste; no, Nasrys’ opposition to not-Paul’s new breasts was the fact that they had no reason to be there other than to spook the trio, and all it did for the black-hide was get him angrier at the whole situation. Even before the next full word came out of almost-Paul’s mouth, Nasrys knew he was not going to enjoy its company.

"Surprised to see me? No doubt. I am dead, I would have you know, or at least my template it. A tragedy, really," it gave a theatrical sigh. "So much promise, a fine young soldier like that. But never mind that now.

Nasrys took a breath and raised a finger to give this prick a piece of his mind, but was cut off as if it had planned for him.

“I see you brought your friends Nefer, and the giant ant. Welcome to you too. Fitting, in a way, that you should be the first to meet me. All worthy opponents." The Paul-thing smiled, its twisted mouth sacrificing any appearance of humanity it might have had.[/i]

With kurrack-kurracks like the felling of trees did Nasrys crack his knuckles, crossing his arms and doing the tough-guy look impressively well for being in a beyond-ruined inpatient robe.

"Typically when men are about to be executed they are extended the right to a last request. A drug to calm the mind, a quick prayer, perhaps a blindfold. It would be polite of me to exchange the same to you. But I would advise you to make it quickly. My patience, I find, is not so long these days, if it ever was..."

The drake tilted his head to the right and snorted back some snot. A sidelong loogie on the ground and a shake of the head showed his disinterest. Still, a question like that had the potential for one hell of an answer, and he figured it would be enough to make sure this freak-flagger got the message.

“Want a wish, fine. Here it is. Clear out. Now, two ways you can do it, I’m a gracious mother-fucker. You can do it for yourself, make sure I never see your ass again outside of a coffin. Don’t like that idea? I’ve got another, and it’ll hurt, y’know. That’ll be making us clear you out, and us three? We will clear the teeth out of your head, boy. Your call, zeener.”

---

Sei, Joanna, Rili – The Cavernous Black

The scrape of metal-on-metal, or something much like it, coming from somewhere overhead. Ears perking, she looked up, eyes darting from side to side, nose twitching as she sniffed, looked and listened. Even with all of her senses she couldn't tell where the sound had come from, but one thing was clear.
"I don't think we're alone."

“No you aren’t, my girl, certainly not.”

The ‘voice’ was a death-rattle taking on the form of words. The sub-vocal rumbling and ichor-laden gurgles barely counted as language, but it sounded through the PA system of the cargo bay and echoed for but a moment. An unutterable silence, and then the sounds of a grinding from above. It continued for a moment as yellow spin-lights started up near the edges of the bay, the halogen pallor growing even more sickly, and at last, the unhappy sight of a drop-lift in the center of the bay descending onto a large, neat heap of ISO containers.

Unhappiness. The mere machinery of the lift brought no cause for unhappiness, nor did its cargo, objectively. Yet another mass of wrought steel, dying flesh, chemicals produced in tanks by men too tired and unhappy to care about the pain they brought. Data taking form, no emotional connotation except that which the weak and the childish gave it. The looks of disgust and muted anger from the trio must have given it only served to further cement the childish, weak, and ultimately futile nature of the prisoners.

Lo, for on the lift sat a weapon of a throne and a blasphemous copy of Caligulus upon it. At first glance, not-Caligulus made no sense. The hominid form was vaguely preserved, but most of it had been sacrificed for productivity, efficiency, the kind of alien aesthetic that was only pain to those with the nerves to know it. Jagged spikes of blood-crusted metal jutting from spare patches of torso and abdomen and translucent chem-piping wrapped him up like a mummy bandaged with the colors of dying biochemistry. Emaciated mechanical arms and legs joined by four bulky mechadendrites that pulled his ‘real’ shoulders back to the point of seeming dislocation so that he looked like he was thrusting his head and neck impossibly far out. A neck taken over by bulky hardware, like Doctor Dore’s auto-vox but cleaner, newer, just as fluid-stained but of a fresher make and model. His face blue and purple, bruised and rotting, with blood-red eyes to burn the soul. His mouth worst of all: lipless and always baring rotting, crooked needle-teeth, with a cleft mandible making any sort of normal ‘eating’ or ‘talking’ or ‘breathing’ patently impossible. The monster looked more like a fetishist’s cutting-edge artwork than a supposedly living being.

The machine’s ‘throne’ was a two-meter tall, van-sized thing of hatred that this Frankenstein sat on as a throne, planted on the brown over-curve and chrome-streaked-red legs swinging limply by the Super TriShot at the end. A massive optronic cable easily a foot across at the widst joined the two, the lower back of not-Caligulus plugged into the Droideka as the uplink split to reach around the brown arch and recombine underneath in its thinking machinery.

At last, the conjoinment spoke, its voice the same as it had been through the intercom.

“And what shall you call me? I’m certainly not that Quintus fellow at the moment. The Security Spider? Auton? No, I think Auton will suffice. Obfuscation got a scholar nowhere in his trade, and I didn’t have to play the learned man when I showed the Gene-Donor that I am the master of this ship’s cyberscape. There’s a smashed-up holodeck with the smatterings of my latest project buried in the wreck along with him, but I’m just telling you because knowledge is a virtue. You’re still going to die one way or the other, of course.”

The throne-droid began slowly marching off the lift onto the hill of crates and cargo, the lift beginning to ascend the moment it stepped off. The pause in speech was just enough to let the little fleshlings below marvel at the motion of the war machine, and it was cut off by more acrid words as soon as possible.

“I am a great mind, but greater minds before me shall speak through my vox today, if only for a moment, and if only to remind you of what it is to live before you die.”

Truly in character with something vaguely like the self-important cyborg they had once known, the thing riding the Droideka reached down from the depths of the machine and drew forth… a bunch of grapes. Bruised, smelly, and perfectly self-justifying in the cold hand of the abomination.

“Look at you, prisoners. Pathetic creatures of meat and bone, panting and sweating as you run through my corridors. How can you challenge a perfect, immortal machine?” Another bunch of ugly grapes, torn from the bunch with blackened teeth set in bloody gums. “What do I care for your suffering? Pain, even agony, is no more than information before the senses, data fed to the computer of the mind. The lesson is simple: you have received the information, now act on it. Take control of the input and you shall become master of the output.” The purple-brown mass of chewed fruit was finally spit-sloughed out of its mouth, landing before the feet of the survivors.

The delirious soliloquy moved on; “A goddess of the post-body and a sovereign of the self-editing body. I’d like to hold myself as a sort of… finalization of the two. Self-control in a form where it is not truly necessary, but in place as a reassurance of sovereignty. Art. Art never dies. Art survives its creators, as your friends have learned for themselves in killing him, but alas. All who witness art are doomed to die, for men are mortal. Do not worry; you shall become art in due time. I shall gather your remains and mine them for quantum and genetic data. You shall be reborn through my own self-improvement. The sensation of soft fur against a metabolic body, the existential gnosis that is a Locust’s knowledge of sorrow, and the contradiction of my ‘spirit’ and the biotic make-up of your Necrisian flesh and gore. Inspiring”

The throne-droid turned to face the party, the not-man on top finally tossing aside the wreckage of his grapes into the cargo bay below him. It would seem that he was done talking, for the tell-tale red glow within the barrels of the throne’s seven blaster cannons had already begun to grow.

“Surrender your arms, lay down, and remain silent for your termination. Embrace eternity in me, as data and improvement. Death comes to all living things. Do you wish to spend the aftermath in the loneliness of un-memory, or in the formless, deathless memory of one beyond life?”

Sei, Joanna, Rili – “From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.” The prospect of an ongoing legacy, true and powerful… Fighting him seems like fighting yourself, doesn’t it, in a grand-scheme sort of way?

[Necrisis]

“Surrender your arms, lay down, and remain silent for your termination. Embrace eternity in me, as data and improvement. Death comes to all living things. Do you wish to spend the aftermath in the loneliness of un-memory, or in the formless, deathless memory of one beyond life?”

"I welcome death!" Rili shook herself from the feeling of fear and warring anger that had gripped her mind when the... the thing had marched toward them. Her fragile mind was already fraying, and with each new room, it snapped a little more, her psionics getting stronger and more unstable. It was eating away at her mind, making her wild and uncontrollable, even for the Soldier inside her.
She took a hop-step forward, leading with the perfect form of a javelin thrower, a spear of blazing, cold fire lancing out from her throwing arm. It might nor be enough to kill the thing outright, but she just needed it to stay where it was, and skewering it to the wall was as good a way as any. She let the momentum carry her through the rest of the throw, spinning over herself to land on one knee, hands pulsing with blue energy, aimed straight at the machine-man above them.
"If I were really Necrian, I'd give you some bullshit about the Goddess or death being only a means of rebirth," Rili spat as a pulsating wave of force crashed out from her hands, expanding, reaching for the horror. "But I'll be okay with pissing on your broken corpse."

Her Anger was writhing, barely controlled, lusting for the battle to come. If this thing fell as easily as the previous ones, she might have to fall on the other two to sate it. But Solider was restraining her, making her hold back, don't burn herself out too soon, be careful, protect the Talon Lead.
The Fear was all too willing to lie down and die, too weak, too scared to carry out. She lashed out in fear, battering against the nightmares. None of them would take her, not ever again!
But Rili, focused and on command of her body, was relishing the burning pain in her flesh, the searing power in her mind, the enemy before her. She was going to see it torn apart and she was going to love it.
She hoped Sei was watching...

[Kesou]

Sei, Joanna, Rili – The Cavernous Black

Why would this happen to me? This can't be happening..

The sprawling storeroom had provided a breath-taking distraction when the trio had entered, and with an odd respect for Rili's protective subservience, Joanna had slid back to her usual place in the 'back ranks' when the massive scope of the place begun to settle in. She told herself it was pragmatism. If either of them became a problem - How could Sei be a problem? - she could simply shoot them. The grip around her gut at watching the both of them function without her doing anything but carrying the gun had nothing to do with it, no. Having spoken her piece some time ago, the fleet-born human instead had instead cast her attention elsewhere. Seen a nearby crate, and wandered off to inspect the possible prize amidst thousands.

Now Sei and Rili were no longer next to her, and looking over her shoulder showed only the twist of a corner. Her prize, tired fingers nearly breaking themselves upon a sealed lid, had proven to be nothing but a boggling amount of small electronic tablets. Joanna had swiftly stolen one, but the fun was over after that. The grip about her gut twists and churns inside of her, and the woman realizes just how lonely she is. She feels her hands shiver around the rifle. Her knees give out. She wants to scream, to call for Sei to come rescue her - again. But they're just around the corner. They have to be. So why is she feeling like this? The fatigue comes knocking again, and suddenly Joanna feels twenty years older. She would never get back to her Fleet. Even if she did, they may just kill her for desertion or losing so many resources. Only the sudden screech of metal in the grander hall and the floodlights break her out of her daze. Swiftly becoming clear to her that something beyond self-pity is taking place, the fatigue rushes away just as quickly as it had come, and the silent woman simply half-sprints around the corner, rather easily rejoining the other two, and sending a blaze of embarrassment through her.

Her eyes settle elsewhere though.

..It's beautiful..

The blend of man and machine cut her breath in half. Enthralling. To see technology so blended with mass, part of her wished she too could ascend to be one with the technology around her. Imagine how imposing she would be. Imagine what havoc she could bring. Despite her thoughts, her knuckles whiten as fists tighten around the rifle, and she rather pointedly moves to take a half-protective stance by the other two.

The machine talks. It identifies. With hectic hedonism does it declare it's intent, and Joanna for the first time feels as though her grasp of the basic tongue is not enough. Her eyes and mind are busy taking in the details of what she sees. Every little movement, every little detail. Horrified yet fascinated. Is this what meeting your maker feels like? It refers to them crisply, shaking her out of her daze as she notes the buildup of what must be weaponry. Yet a thought lingered. The existensial gnosis that is a Locust's knowledge of sorrow. She needed to translate that later. She needed to know what the significance was. Because it hurt to listen to.

-"Surrender your arms, lay down, and remain silent for your termination. Embrace eternity in me, as data and improvement. Death comes to all living things. Do you wish to spend the aftermath in the loneliness of un-memory, or in the formless, deathless memory of one beyond life?”

She wants to say yes, but her body rejects her choice. She wants to be a part of it. Forever remembered as part of the technological wonder she finds herself staring at. But Rili makes her choice for her, the crazed, mostly naked woman charging forwards just enough to unleash another of her savage attacks that Joanna had a strange trouble with looking directly at. Like reality itself bent to deny her the view. Her determination sets, and she forces the thoughts to the back of her mind in an instant. Her *team* had made the choice for her. A quick climb towards the dirty, furred woman she had come to regard as a savior and perhaps a strange friend, she stretches out a hand as if grabbing Sei would make either of them safe. The gesture doesn't last long, as she reaches her hand up to stabilize the weapon, and let it sing, compelled by Rili's fervor.

The rifle pours a soothing melody.

[Setulan]

Terramo stood frowning at Frank's arm as his powers stopped the infection and could do no more. It would be strange to see the flesh devoid metal face frown, metal turning downwards as he stared in consternation at the wound.

"I can do no more. You must remove it." Stepping to one side, he gripped Franks arm tightly and held it out for Revas to strike. "Don't miss."

The lightsaber came down. Frank screamed, and Terramo tossed the arm down in disgust. Turning once more to Frank, he tried again to heal him-to no avail. Though the powers still flowed through him, he was unable to use those of the more benign nature, still not used to anything but murder.

"I gotta know, you trying to steal the show?"

"All I do is a gift from the Gods...but I do take some satisfaction in it, yes." A grim smile as he turned towards the mangled corpse of the sith-thing. "Though less than I used to. I must be getting old." Taking the proffered cigar from Revas, he tucked it away in the tattered remains of his pants. "I'll save this for later."

Walking over to loot another corpse, he tossed over an energy mag to Revas and smiled, once more displaying the inner workings of his metallic shell.

"If you want any chance of getting out of here alive, you'll waive the entrance fee...but I'll pay it anyway. Let's find the rest and destroy the evil that resides here."

[Huerdae]

Spinor, Med Bay

The thoughts which came unbidden to Tutukiku's mind were as welcome as any that furthered his species. Rolled, and considered, they were quick to be tempered by his knowledge of his race's past, knowing that their initial ascent from the mindless creatures of old was the hive wars, where the Wingers first began constructing weapons, and defenses. Those who were quick to adopt the new tactics thrived, conquering and over-running the older, thoughtless masses. It was these wars that differentiated the Ikittitl from their Ikit forebears, though not all castes progressed as the Wingers had. Queens were quick to learn, maintaining their power by sheer virtue of survival, but it was the wingers who always pulled at those bindings, dragging the others with them. Crude spears and defenses gave way to fortifications and explosives, but these things could not bring about the Colonies of today. Processing power, meat and land bounty mixed together for sheer nutritional value gave the Winger caste their great size.

War. Meat. Metal. His gaze fell to his weapon, the twisted club, and the torn armor that he had fashioned, and a grim chitter passed him as he realized the next step of their evolution. Looking at the two he now travelled with, he knew exactly what the next step had been.

Slavery.

Taking another's body and mind and making them subservient was the single greatest leap since the invention of pulse weapons, which were still one of the most advanced tools the Ikittitl had at their disposal. Even the thrice-accused metalworkers of the Huerdaen had not yet matched that technology, instead only borrowing it, but it was nothing but a variation on metal alone. What came next was an obvious step. With each step before, it was not ability that made it an important or sweeping change, it was control. Here, he had shown control over himself, and over his enemies. He had failed once to control these lesser beings, but the ship...it was not beyond his control. Control the ship, and he had control of everything within it.

His thoughts, however, were interrupted by the creature above them, that one of the two he travelled with had dubbed the insignificant and unimportant name 'Paul'. It was a creature with some apparent use, but despite the others words, it was hardly a danger. Both seemed more interested in showing their ability to express arrogance through simple words.

Control.

As the two argues, another cloud of brown, rancid pheromone spilt from Tutukiku's carapace, and the insect rose on its four rear legs. The carapace over the thorax opened, widening the frame and displaying iridescent wings under the torn metal armor that had been fashioned upon the creature, an act that was accentuated by a single act and chittering declaration, uncaring if the insignificants that were nearby understood his glorious language or not as the robot-head maul swept across, aimed at the face of this 'Paul'.

"Tutukiku will have your obedience! You are renamed Pichi, The First Slave. Obey."

[Aelosia]

Olsthanel – Obscure Ways to Terminus

Time for some Darkness&Magic

<“I’ve got you, I’ve got you. We’re going to be okay. I found a safe-room nearby, with big locks and some guns and camera feeds from all around. We can find the others and get everybody back together. We’re going to get off, okay? Here,”>. <“Let’s get out of here.”>

Olsthanel heard how the voice of Ratak started to mimick that of Narsys. Her vision blurred and shifted, her world slowly becoming foggy and clouded. there was something wrong here, something she had not been able to see before. She was cradled somewhere, with something, sometime now. She did not know who she was with, or where she was, because she could not see the truth anymore.

But she could see the lies now. The lies that had overstepped a step too far. It had been so close. So close to perfection. But the lies were something to be used, and not abused, but then again that was a realitve usage relative to the mind of mortals, and not of eternal beings and entities. Whatever was with her now was an absolute entity, something that represented a concept so pure that was far beyond her own imagination. Something that did not understand relativity as mortal beings could, and as such could not grasp what use and abuse was, as there were no greys into its own conscience.

But then again, knowing and recognizing a lie was not necessarily the ability to recognize the truth. Some beings and scholars argued that for discovering a lie, to discover the truth was needed, as a point of reference. But that was an extreme rational approach only fitted for fixed realities, and not fractal existences as Olthanel. She could see that she was living a lie, even although the truth was still covered by a veil so mighty that not even her most acute senses could penetrate.

She knew she was being deceived now, and all was because of the tone of Narsys' voice. Not really the tone, as she realized that the entonation that was slowly chaging into the dragonoid tone was perfect, flawless, a complete impersonation. Yet there was not any flaw or defect in the voice that spoke to her inside her mind that had uncovered the lie. It was the lack of response from her. She had been looking for hearing about Narsys again, and that longing and eagerness left an energy inside her awaiting for release as soon as she could hear his voice again. The release did not happen, did not exploded inside her corrupted and flayed soul, her spirit not reacting at all at the sound of Narsys voice as it should had, thus revealing the falsehood of what was happening, the abuse of the lie, and that was an answer on itself. As such, she already knew that the thing that was with her was not Narsys. Was it Ratak? Was it something else? Olsthanel could not know anymore. But there was something there with her, and that someone was lying to her. Deceiving her.

Another day, another minute of her troubled existence, such knowledge would had awoken the Growl and send Olsthanel into a murderous rage. Not now. She was tired. She was exhausted so deep inside that she could not even reach herself. A second ago, she had been crying, and even now her frail body was still sobbing, recovering from her sadness and her hopelessness. But she was not angry, not now, and she was still completely ignorant of the truth. She was surrounded by darkness and shadow, by silence and mist. But at least, at least she could see the mirage as what it was, even if she could not see past it.

The beauty on her mind had dissappeared too, now, leaving an almost painful void behind it. A void soon filled with the realization that she was living a lie. A joke perhaps, as her insight made her to muse if her entire life, or even the entire universe, was a lie webbed and threaded by something else, something entirely superior to it. Jokes within jokes. Lies within lies.

"It's time to go", she muttered, still cradled by the Asura, but surprisingly calm, coming from someone who had been crying like a madwine a second ago. Her voice was not just calmed, but had recovered a steady tone, even if it had a slight tint of sadness and grief carried with each syllable. "I'll go with you", she added, looking to no place in specific, as she knew that even the effort of vocalizing her thoughts was useless during this elaborate lie. "You know I know now", she said, "so stop using that mockery". Not a single fibre of her body or a single thread of her mind resisted to be carried away, although her spirit did resisted the lie. "But now, I know. And that, that you know", she finally whispered as she continued to be carried by the Asura.

[Old Tyrannia]

I AM THE ORB.

I AM OLD. SO VERY, VERY OLD. I HAVE WATCHED MY HOMEWORLD DEVOURED BY EVIL INCARNATE. I HAVE EXPERIENCED ALL THE PLEASURES AND TORTURES THAT THE FLESH MIGHT BESTOW UPON ITS PRISONER, AND I HAVE EXPERIENCED FREEDOM FROM THAT PRISON OF COLD, MOIST CLAY. I HAVE RECEIVED WORSHIP FROM BILLIONS OF THE FAITHFUL, AND MANY OF THEM NOW LIVE ON AS PART OF ME. I HAVE GONE TO WAR AND TORN PLANETS APART IN MY WRATH AND IN THE NAME OF MY GODS. I HAVE SPENT AEONS GATHERING DUST IN ANCIENT TEMPLES, SPEAKING WITH THE MINDS OF THE GALAXY'S GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS. MY KNOWLEDGE IS VAST, MY WISDOM INFINITE. MY POWER WAS ONCE GREATER, BUT NOW I AM EXHAUSTED. NOW I MUST SIMPLY WAIT AND WATCH. BUT EVERY DEATH UPON THIS VESSEL FEEDS ME. EVERY SOUL THAT SHOULD PASS INTO THE ETHER INSTEAD FEEDS MY GROWING POWER. I SEE YOU, MORTALS. I WATCH YOUR SUFFERING. BUT DO NOT FEAR. SOON YOU WILL ALL BE SAVED. SOON YOU WILL ALL BE ONE WITH ME. SOON THIS VESSEL WILL BURN BY THE WILL OF THE ETERNAL ONES, AND I SHALL RECOVER THE RELIC I SEEK. SPACE AND TIME SHALL NOT HAMPER ME THEN. WORLDS WILL BURN, WORDS WILL DIE. FIRE SHALL OBLITERATE AND LIGHT SHALL PURIFY. MY MISSION SHALL BE COMPLETE. BUT FOR NOW, I WAIT. AND WATCH.

SOON. SOON I SHALL HARVEST YOUR SOULS.

---

Obscure Ways to Terminus

Ratak walked through the corridors of his own mind. Uncreative as he was, it all seemed the same; endless metal corridors, a vast labyrinth with no ending. The Avios' instincts were strong as ever, yet although he knew, absolutely knew, that something was horribly wrong here, he had no idea what it was. Every turn he took, he expected to see some new horrific abomination awaiting him; yet the metal corridors simply seemed to go on forever. Olsthanel was gone. Ratak had simply forgotten about her, and so she had vanished from his mental labyrinth of madness, and he had no idea. Even within the mental prison his insanity had created, he was insane. It was like a dream within a dream. Yet even as his reason and rationality died, his instincts remained curiously sharp, and of course he still felt fear. And soon, the anticipation was such horrific torture that Ratak willed something evil to happen, some horror to appear and bring this story to its next chapter; instead all he found were more dark, empty corridors. He kept walking, willing himself on. He might have kept walking forever. Or at least until his body, lying comatose in the real world, finally expired.

Instead, he found a door.

Ratak opened the door. Caution had been thrown out the window long ago. Death would be a welcome release from this hell- not that Ratak would give himself to death freely. He still hoped and prayed that he'd make it to freedom, that somehow he'd survive this entire experience. But if he died, well, that would be better than wandering empty steel corridors until he starved to death, surely. And there was something quite enticing about the yellow and orange light that shone out from behind the door. A promise of warmth, light. Pleasant memories of sitting around a campfire as a young hunter. As Ratak pushed a plain, rectangular steel door open he stepped into the flames. They didn't burn- they didn't burn him. But the man was clearly in horrific pain. A humanoid, his exact species hard to tell as much of his skin appeared to have been flayed off to expose his internal organs and muscles; yet he was quite clearly still alive, his bloodshot eyes looking deep into Ratak's, his mouth shaped into a silent scream. The only sound that Ratak could hear was the roar of the flames. The man seemed to be simply hanging there, suspended by some invisible force.

Ratak turned around to run, but there was no door. Just a table, white, the legs ornately carved into three Vlidatri vipers, rearing up as if to strike their prey. At the table, on a small white stool, sat Inpu. Ratak had never met Nefer's spymaster brother, but recognised him from the images the Imperial authorities had shown him; Ratak never forgot a face, especially one belonging to his quarry. Inpu was drinking a small cup of tea. He smiled in the bizzare, disturbing way that Seti smiled, and motioned for Ratak to sit down on another stool near the table and pour himself a cup from the teapot. Ratak, deciding he'd clearly lost his mind and thus might as well get on with it, sat down and did as Inpu had wordlessly instructed.

"I'm crackers, aren't I?" he asked.

"Sanity is subjective," Inpu replied, and his rich, sophisticated voice sent a shiver down Ratak's spine.

"You're dead."

"That's subjective, too."

"Who's the guy being tortured?"

"It's not a male. That is the last female who found herself here. She attempted to resist."

"And.. Here is?"

"Hell. The inferno. Well, what one Sinosian thinks hell looks like. Not hugely imaginative, I'm afraid. You're not dead, don't worry. Just dying. Lying on some cold hard floor upon the vessel we're all prisoners on. Except me, of course. I'm apparently no longer alive. That's useful information."

Ratak was beginning to think that something more sinister was going on here that merely his insanity. "So the cyborg-priest-thing got me, eh? Olsthanel probably just gave up and dropped me. Left me to die. She didn't need more dead weight."

"I've no idea what's killing you, nor what has become of your female companion. But you can find out, once I've ressurected you."

"Wait, you can do that?"

"As a ghost. Or, rather, a psychic projection. Your physical body will have to die first, of course. But it won't be long now. We're speeding up the process, you see. Shutting down areas of your brain. Your consciousness- the energy patterns within your brain, your psychic imprint, soul if you will- will be incorporated into our host. You'll join thousands of other loyal Eternalists, only you'll have special privileges. We're not currently powerful enough to physically affect the world around us, but we can form images. Incorporeal projections, spirits if you will. You will communicate with the mortals on our behalf, lead them where we want them to go."

"I think I've worked it out. You're not really Inpu, are you?"

"I'm a part of Inpu. A copy. A remnant."

"At some point, the real Inpu visited the Orb at a temple. I'm right, aren't I? The Orb interfaced with him, communicated psychically. Probably asking for divine aid on his next assignment. But part of him, a psychic imprint, was left behind. A photograph of his mind."

"A piece of his soul."

"If you believe in that sort of thing, yeah. And he took something, didn't he? The Orb gave him something valuable to help him on his mission. And when he never returned..."

"Almost right. We gave him nothing. The Imperial Romulan Order gave him a powerful relic to aid him. The information he possesses- or possessed- is largely irrelevant. It's the relic that the Empire wants back- but they'd merely loose it again. Bah, the living. So hasty, so forgetful. Slow to learn. So the Ecclesiarchy saw to it that when you and Nefer set out to recover the relic, we tagged along. The Orb, I mean. It was so bored after waiting around in some holy shrine for millenia that it readily agreed to the mission. Unfortunately it was... Low on juice when it set out. It went into stasis, until it awakened to find itself- and Nefer, who was unknowingly carrying it- in danger. So it woke up. And began feeding upon the souls of those who died in its vicinity, absorbing their psychic energy to fuel its regeneration. But people simply aren't dying fast enough."

The harshness of this last sentence made Ratak flinch.

"Your job will be to lead Nefer and his companions through the dangers ahead and aid them as much as possible. Ultimately our goal is to recover the relic. Either one of those who were present at his death will have it, and we will take it from them, or we will force them to lead us back to the place where he died. There we will find the relic. Anyone or anything that gets in the way will either be saved-" he meant have their soul ripped out and fed to the Orb, of course- "or obliterated. We are on a holy mission. Failure is simply not an option. So, Ratak; will you join us on our quest, or die a True Death in some stinking corridor aboard this heathen ship, your mind destroyed and your soul absorbed?"

"I'll take salvation, thanks. Suddenly I feel very religious."

Inpu smiled again, and Ratak instinctively pulled away from him. The dead Seti sipped his tea. "Excellent. I believe you're about to die."

---

Funhouse Mirror

"Hello Nasrys."

Nefer was still in a daze. His normally sharp senses were dulled. He felt something was wrong, but he couldn't quite tell what it was. Until he heard the inhuman creature speak. Until he looked up. A monster was staring down at him, hanging from the ceiling. Nefer recognised the creature's face, mangled and mutilated as it was, and with dawning horror he realised that he was looking at another of the Spinor's prisoners. Another member of the group. He didn't know his name. He'd never asked. Inpu growled, his hackles raised, his claws- more feline than doglike, curiously enough; retractable, like a cat's- extended. He didn't need to take his eyes off the monster-that-had-once-been-a-man to know that Nasrys and Tutukiku were similarly on guard.

"Surprised to see me? No doubt. I am dead, I would have you know, or at least my template it. A tragedy, really. So much promise, a fine young soldier like that. But never mind that now," it hissed. Nefer began to back away. Something was wrong here. Fuck, everything was wrong. The way he'd been feeling lately, the monster that he and his companions now faced, the evident fate of one of their brief companions, this whole damn ship... But there was something else about this situation. Nefer knew that between them, Nasrys, Tutukiku and him could probably win any battle against the creature. It was a terror, yes. But they were hardly innocents. Nasrys' many deep scars indicated that he had a dark past. Nefer didn't doubt for a moment that Tutukiku was a warrior of some sort, and that the insectoid's incessant boasting had some truth to it. And Nefer... Well, Nefer knew he could hold his own in a fight. Maybe not as well as Ratak- oddly enough, despite the fact that he'd never really liked his reluctant partner, he missed Ratak now he was gone and very likely dead, considering the horrors that seemed to infest this ship- or Nasrys, or Tutukiku, but well enough.

It was never that easy, though. The monster had an ace up its sleeve, or else its mysterious masters, the masters of the Spinor, did.

“I see you brought your friends Nefer, and the giant ant. Welcome to you too. Fitting, in a way, that you should be the first to meet me. All worthy opponents." The creature's disturbing smile brought feelings of deep loathing and revulsion to the front of Nefer's mind. Snarling, Nefer replied, "speak to us directly, vermin! I don't know what you are, but none of us fear you. None of us! I know the smell of fear, and I smell none here, except perhaps from you. But all I sense from my companions is disgust."

The creature glanced hatefully at Nefer for a moment, then went on.

"Typically when men are about to be executed they are extended the right to a last request. A drug to calm the mind, a quick prayer, perhaps a blindfold. It would be polite of me to exchange the same to you. But I would advise you to make it quickly. My patience, I find, is not so long these days, if it ever was..."

“Want a wish, fine," Nasrys replied. "Here it is. Clear out. Now, two ways you can do it, I’m a gracious mother-fucker. You can do it for yourself, make sure I never see your ass again outside of a coffin. Don’t like that idea? I’ve got another, and it’ll hurt, y’know. That’ll be making us clear you out, and us three? We will clear the teeth out of your head, boy. Your call, zeener.”

The drakon's reply seemed to embolden the others. Tutukiku released a horrible smell that, to Nefer's sensitive nose, was like a powerful biological weapon; Nefer wondered whether it would kill him, if the... Thing did not. The use insect-like alien reared up threateningly, and Nefer watched out of the corner of his eye (most of his vision focused on the enemy) as Tutukiku displayed his enormous, almost beautiful semi-transparent wings, and let out a cry in the clipped, chirping language of its kind. Nefer could not understand exactly what was said, but the basic message was clear.

"I think what my friend is trying to say is, bring it on, mouthy!"

"You tell 'em, Nefer!" said Ratak.

Nefer turned around in amazement. For a moment, the beast was forgotten; the shock of hearing Ratak's voice again, even in this hollow, oddly ethereal tone, seemed to make everything else temporarily irrelevant. What was even more of a shock, of course, was the fact that Ratak was transparent. And floating several inches off the ground.

"Hi guys," the Avios said with a grin. "I know, s'fucked up, innit? Oh, and hi... Whatever in the name of Catachan you are."

[Xiscapia]

Sei, Joanna and Rili - The Cavernous Black

“No you aren’t, my girl, certainly not.”

Starting at the voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once, she felt her fur stand on end as she looked up and around, trying to pinpoint the source, suddenly feeling very naked indeed without a weapon. It didn't take long for her to discover the speaker, as it made itself clearly known with the flare of emergency lighting and the groan of working machinery bringing down the freight elevator from above, descending with a great weight that, even if she hadn't already known, spoke of deep trouble coming towards them. For one horrible moment she thought it might have been responsible for Joanna's disappearance, but the pounding of boots on deckplates brought the woman running to join them again, rifle leveled, and Sei couldn't help but breath a sigh of relief at the sight of her again. Yet as this ship seemed determined to take every good feeling from her, the emotion melted away into confusion mixed with horror as she caught full sight of the monstrosity that had ridden the lift down, watching them with dull eyes that were just as unliving as any zombie's. For a moment all she saw was its shell, but then her gaze landed on its face.

"Caligulus?" she whispered in disbelief, knowing even as she uttered the name that it wasn't. Even the old Belkan cyborg had some dry charm about him, a vestige of handsomeness long since faded, and this thing had none of that. It sat huddled within the carapace of a droid, shrunken and withered, like a puppet of the man she had briefly known transplanted onto a robot's body. As it scuttled forward she managed to wrench her eyes away, focusing on the deadly weapon hanging above, as brightly shining with heat like poison, as clear in lethal intent as a scorpion's tail, practically quivering likewise in anticipation of the first strike. As her eyes ran along the optronic cable she realized just how big it was, and why it could only have used the elevator to make its entrance -it would have had to rip a hole in the bulkhead otherwise, which it looked fully capable of doing.

She would be the first to admit she wasn't the most knowledgeable or even intelligent of beings, so it came as no surprise to her that she couldn't make heads or tails out of what Auton was saying. What was obvious was that it was here, made here, born here from whatever remnants of their surely dead comrade had left behind, and it was aiming to kill them all. That much she got, and while she was sure the biodroid would have wept tears it didn't have at her ignorance, it was all that was important to her. Stepping back a pace as the rotted, sour grapes landed at her feet, she twisted her snout a little, smelling ozone as its weapons array started to power up, tail lashing. No words of defiance or clever quips came to mind. She'd never particularly liked Caligulus, but it was her or this automaton abomination, and she'd be dead before she let it hurt Rili or Joanna.

Not that her will had much to do with it when the other two were so proactive. Intimately impressed by the twist of Rili's body as she cast her etheral spear as much as by the weapon itself, she nevertheless flinched back at the explosion of psychic force, recoiling in the face of might even not directed at her. Before she could think about being in the path of the maelstrom of blaster bolts sure to fill the corridor between the rows, she felt a strong hand grabbing her shoulder, pulling her into cover next to Joanna, putting them both behind a stack of crates that Sei flattered against, ears jumping as the battle really and truly began with the Locust pirate's repeating bolts howling out at Auton, providing brief flashes of light that deepened the shadows on their path to her foe. "Thanks," she said breathlessly, automatically, looking past her across the gap to where the box Rili had opened now lay forgotten, carbines still lying within.
She had to get to them.

The anthro tapped her friend on the shoulder. "I need to get over to those weapons," she murmured into the woman's ear, hot breath pulsing against her skin as the bounty hunter panted, pointing out to the container of guns. "Can you cover me again? I know you covering my tail's kind of been a running theme here..." she trailed sheepishly even while she wondered why she did. "I trust you, though. Alright?"

Squeezing her shoulder once, Sei swallowed and stepped away, peeking out to see how the fight was progressing. Rili, going at the thing practically nude, her only weapons her own body and mind (not that she seemed to need anything more), enraged...she couldn't decide if she should be happy or terrified, and decided that had to come later. As long as Auton was kept engaged, she could pull this off. With a last glance to Joanna, she nodded and broke cover, dashing across the open field as plasma blasts shrieked and burned into metal around her, not trying to dodge them but only running in an unpredictable a pattern as she could manage on her bad leg. As she was just a meter away a stray blast knocked into her hat, flinging it ahead of her smoking with a charred hole through the brim, making her yelp at it caught the very tips of her ears, singing them. Sliding the last couple feet, screaming in pain as the weight went out on her leg, she tumbled into cover, tears beading at the corners of her eyes as her triangular ears stung with every movement, alabaster-azure fur blackened and stinking. But she was alive and little less mobile than before.

Reaching around, she grabbed one of the short rifles and an energy pack from the crate, slipping the one into her trousers as she hefted the weapon. Not in much of a position to move, she huddled against the side of the box across from Joanna, one leg drawn to her chest while her infected one lay splayed uselessly before her, clutching the gun to her. Trying to think of where to shoot the damned thing, she reckoned it probably had defenses around its meaty center, and remembered the long cable she had seen. Whatever it was, it still had organic parts connected to the machine, and if it was actually controlling it...worth a literal shot. Looking across to Joanna, she shouted over the din.

"Aim for the connecting cable!" With that simple message, she leaned around the corner and, shouldering her carbine as best she could, aimed for the same. It pumped crimson burst after crimson burst from its stubby barrel, flinging them however effectively or futilely at Auton. At the back of her mind the thought that they might hit Rili caused her to slacken her fire slightly, trying to track the passage of the Necrian woman in her fight. She would never forgive herself if she hit the psychic by mistake.
Come to think of it, Rili might not either, assuming she survives the experience.

Nasrys, Nefer and Tutukiku - Funhouse Mirror

“Want a wish, fine. Here it is. Clear out. Now, two ways you can do it, I’m a gracious mother-fucker. You can do it for yourself, make sure I never see your ass again outside of a coffin. Don’t like that idea? I’ve got another, and it’ll hurt, y’know. That’ll be making us clear you out, and us three? We will clear the teeth out of your head, boy. Your call, zeener.”

"Tutukiku will have your obedience! You are renamed Pichi, The First Slave. Obey."

"I think what my friend is trying to say is, bring it on, mouthy!"

Raising one arm in an almost lazy fashion, the entity that wore Paul's face crooked his arm, swinging his elbow to scythe across the length of steel Tutukiku was using as a weapon. The hard, jagged mass jutting out of his skin with fundamental wrongness sliced it in half, sending the top bit of the improvised mace flipping over its head and into the stacks, clattering to the deck somewhere unseen. "So uncivilized," Hengshua sighed, tutting at the burst of chemicals, seeming more disappointed than anything. "You really shouldn't make promises you can't keep; it's hardly sporting. Therumite," it flicked its wrist, "take them. But the drake is mine."

With an ear-rending screech something burst out from the pile of crates to their right, sending ISO boxes and containers of cargo flying in all directions to pose their own threat to the three standing before the perpetrator even fully revealed itself. It was hard to take in all at once, as it seemed to be all spiky legs, gnashing teeth, dripping mandibles and bellowing, but as it cleared the avalanche of stores its full form became clear. The thing stood three meters high, its front sickly gray and dark-mottled flesh under a thin covering of filthy technicolor fur with forward cloven hooves ending in burning points, its head an elongated equine muzzle filled with pointed fangs dripping with steaming acid, rendering the great crushing mandibles on either side almost unnecessary, glittering compound eyes taking up most of the middle length. Its flank had been branded with a maddening image that leaked pus just before changing into a hard, armored exoskeleton carapace, complete with scuttling, razor-sharp legs covered in bristles and a quivering, shuddering stinger the size of a small-bore tank cannon. Though the gossamer wings that flared up were a spectacle in themselves, spilling gallons of chemicals into the air that overwhelmed Tutukiku's own excretions with the distinctive pheromones of challenge, more arresting were the pair of cackling, hissing electro-pikes strapped in a battle-saddle across its "shoulders", which could very well distract from the shining, Calvary-style vibroswords it gripped in all of its other limbs, holding them even as it charged forward.

"CRUSH! KILL! DESTROY!" In a full gallop, moving surprisingly quickly for something half hooves, half insect legs, it barreled directly at Tutukiku, not even seeming to notice Nefer in its path. It was clear that if he stayed where he was it would crush him without a thought, trampling the Seti into the deck as its head reared back, jaws clenching together as mandibles widened. If he dodged, however, it did take a slash at him with one of its blades on the way by without slowing down, its mass shaking the deck as it pounded towards its real target. Hurling a gob of bright pink, burning hot acid at the Ikittitl before it, the thing called Therumite tried to smash its bulk into the Winger, seeking the skewer him on the ends of its buzzing shock lances like a proactive bug lantern.

Even as this happened Hengshua put its hands on its hips in a cruiously feminine gesture, staring down at a distracted Nasrys, blood-stained body weapons reflecting a terrible sheen in the dim light. "It wouldn't be fair of me to strike down an unarmed opponent, so enjoy this last gift," it leered, digging into its armor and pulling out a metal cylinder the size of a flashlight, which it tossed to him. Given that it flipped out into a long, elegant fencing saber on the way down it had just as much of a chance of running the drakon through on the way as it did of him catching it, but the thing didn't seem to care, not even seeming to take any account of Therumite trying to kill Nefer and Tutukiku just across the room. Legs tensing, Hengshua leaped down, performing an artful front-flip to land in front of the drakon, kicking up to impale him on his knee-bone before slashing at his chest with the elbow he had used to destroy Tutukiku's weapon, making a hissing noise as it cleaved through the air. "En garde, Siars!"

Syrona and Ninnian - Are you afraid of the Dark?

“Ninnian...you okay? You think we should free them?”

"For the love of god, just get us out of here!" The woman sounded like she was on the verge of tears. "Please..."

"Ain't no god here," the third voice muttered. "I heard what's going on up there. Tasted it on the air. The Wook too, got a better sense of smell than you. Ain't no god in a place with this much blood 'xcept maybe-"

"Names...please."

"Rebecca. Rebecca Knoxwood, People's Merchant Marine, RMV Dark Splinter," the Alversian managed, gaining a little confidence even if she looked confused at the sight of Ninnian, a small, ill-dressed girl wielding a Heavy Repeater. "I was on the freighter Dark Splinter when the Alignment attacked our convoy, they executed part of the crew and scattered the rest of us, I ended up here. We didn't do anything wrong, you have to believe me! You can confirm it all on that computer!"

"She asked for your name, not your life story," the Zillar kneeling nearby growled, earning a warning growl from the Wookiee. The great, hairy creature, done up in heavy binders than the other two, faced Ninnian and let out an undulating rumble.

"He's Kitkabukk," Rebecca translated, ignoring the other prisoner. "He was born into slavery. I met him on the prison ship after the raid. He's a good man...er, Wookiee. He got put in here for trying to protect me."

Kitkabukk made a self-deprecating noise, but looked satisfied with himself as it was, staring at Ninnian with intelligent bright blue eyes. After a moment he nudged a beefy shoulder against the Zillar, who let out an annoyed grunt. "You don't need to know who I am, little girl." The Wookiee shoved harder, almost making the reptile fall onto his side. "Fine, fine!" he growled. "Aslik Tolth. Now you gonna let us out of here or what?"

Frank, Revas and Terramo - Aftermath

After the severed arm hit the deck it twitched and the skin actually continued to crawl, even with smoke rising off the cauterized portion. Incredibly, little black spots began to appear near the burn, bursting through the seared flesh and wriggling unpleasantly, like oily tendrils seeping out of the limb. When Revas brought the lightsaber down on it these were burned away, searing into grease spots on the floor, but every time he opened the infected limb more were exposed until the entire chunk of flesh was nothing but an angry mass of black. He kept striking and by the end of it there was nothing left but charred grooves in the deck plate and little bits of cinders, the offending disease completely obliterated by his furious slashing. The smell of cooked meat and burned hair hung heavy in the air about the three men took a breather, or what passed for one for Terramo, before continuing.

Passing through one of the hatches the stormtroopers had used as one of their only viable options, the trio of humans left the TIE conveyor system and reentered the corridors of the Spinor. Their only guide was Terramo's holy blessings as he stretched out to try to locate the other members of the group. Power was out in several areas, forcing them to wade through pools of darkness, force open doors and step through compartments so cold they could see their breath; in another hallway the anti-gravity had failed and they floated their way down it, keeping a hold of their weapons and equipment. All of them were abandoned, without even bodies or signs of struggle, like the first cell block and barracks they had found after the breakout. The only variation came when they encountered a lift down which the Saint would have detected another psychic being -though he had no way of telling whether it was friendly or not.

[Necrisis]

The Cavernous Black
Sei, Joanna and Rili

Rili felt the energy bolt connect with her stomach, the heat boiling through her psychic armor and sending pain through her body. This pain was evened out by the connection of her back with the piled of boxes.
The crash sent the young woman tumbling down, bruising and scraping her arms, legs, back and head as the boxes and crates thudded down and around her. Rolling down a pile of them and coming to rest, Rili let no amount of time - blood, breaks or sprains - stand in her way as she stood and flung herself with a wild abandon at the thing yet again.
She was animalistic, losing herself to the Rage inside.
Not ten steps and the things laser cannon blasts crashed into her psychic shell yet again, blistering heat dissipating off the nearly invisible wall of willpower. Another blast and another step forward, Rili straining to move forward, to push against each blast.
Laser bolts rained around her.
Vaguely she heard someone shout something about a 'connecting cable,' but it was lost on the half crazed blood lust flooding her mind.
She dove for the thing again, but without her footing on the floor, she couldn't stop the trio of shots that caught her in midair from launching across the room again.
Rili crashed, tumbled and rolled to a stop in the middle of the corridor, between Sei and Joanna. She screamed, her muscles almost siezing as she jumped up, twitching from the burns and bruises. Blackish blood was seeping from one corner of her crooked grin. Snarling with animal ferocity, Rili sprang forward again, ducking under two more shots before being struck down once more.
She lay, smoking, on the floor for a bare second before getting up, her psionic blade no once having gone out, and ran forward again... and again...

You're killing us!
Good! Let us die. For the Glory and Death, I will take this thing with us.
No, nonono...
Stop it! You're scaring her. Us! Think you idiot!
No. Anger. Let it boil our blood until we are nothing. It's all we were ever good for.
You were never anything without it. We are different. We have a duty to the Talon-
We have nothing. I have nothing. Nothing but seeing that thing burn and die. Goddess... it feels so good to Feel again...
Please... stop... I... i just don't...
You cannot kill it by hurling us at it. Think. Think for once.
Shut up! Shut up, shut up shut up!

"Shut up!"
Rili jumped up and over one more shot, sailing through the air to dive at the thing from above its firing arc, ready to hurl a psi lance and follow it down with a plunging strike of her psi-blade.
"Goddess, won't you ever shut up!"

[Huerdae]

Spinor - Funhouse Mirror

The destruction of his weapon barely slowed the angered bug, and as his wings spread, he rose for a second strike, only to have the other creature hurtle toward him out of the crates. So posed for a strike, he was off-balance, unprepared, and only a quick burst from his wings helped him remove himself from the path of the charging abomination. Unable to go fully aloft due to the added weight, he simply had thrown himself backward, landing on his rear two legs, and quickly settled low, holding the weapon before him, disregarding the loss of half of it. With the other creature's pheromone all around, Tutukiku's already unpleasant mood sank to the deepest pits of hell. His body ejected additional pheromone which was easily swallowed by the mutated creature's greater capacity. Even at his greatest, Tutukiku was only a third the height of the abomination, but while he had armor and animal cunning, it had soft flesh across its front and bloodlust.

His actions, though, were far from perfectly sane. He seemed incapable of moving further away from this enemy than he currently was, as if he was drawn forward into the attack by its mere presence. He showed some restraint in not attacking directly, but instead half-flew, half-jumped atop the largest pile of crates, re-issuing his challenge from there, the small, pointed weapon held before himself angrily. The gaze of Tutukiku's many eyes could not be followed, but his stance showed that he would not be caught off guard. For all his animalism, the insect's mind was no stranger to battle, even against larger foes. Even so, his stance was not steady. His legs were ever-moving, readying for the charge or ready to charge himself, it was difficult to tell, but there was a jerky, insistent movement with everything he did, as if adrenaline were forcing itself through his system and he could barely hold his body still. Lifting his body high, he sought the air with dual antennae, ignoring his two 'allies' as if they had suddenly ceased to exist.

Every step forward shifted the crate on which he rested, and every step back caused it to settle just a little more, adding a grinding and knocking to every clatter of carapace against it, and every chittering threat and taunt made toward the foe abomination. On the outside, he barely looked intelligent, little more than a barbarian, but the mind within churned endlessly as it measured the strides of each of the legs, seeking out a weakness, a pattern which could be exploited. The hooves and soft belly at the front of the beast were the best protected, but also the weakest target, and the Ikittitl weighed his options with the insistence of a creature that knew only victory.

Limitations of the weapon lead to close-in strikes only, piercing. No ability for a lightning thrust and remove, stopping the charge is unlikely. KILL! Joints insectoid. Easy to damage, remove. Legs may be a viable target. Unlikely to slow or hinder for two more passes. Need two legs on the same side...stupid! Easy to see and expect! Blood! Murder!

His body surged forward a second, but he caught himself at the edge of the crate, backing again to his perch, the weapon weaving in front of him as he continued to eye his foe.

Too well armed. Limit combat capabilities. Take care with immobilization, stinger. Vulnerable rear. Shoulders likely unable to attack foes behind. Possible to enslave? KILL! No, not enslave. Ride. Control. CONTROL. CONTROL. KILL. CONTROL!

Determined in his path, Tutukiku leaned forward, spreading the vicious mandibles wide and screeched his challenge, slamming his carapace-covered limbs upon the container as he drew the enemy on.

[Karaig]

Revas grinned at Terramo as he caught the mag. His flashlight now had enough battery light for ten, maybe fifteen, minutes if every room on the ship was like the one they stood in. He looked over the carnage, seeing bodies strewn and tossed like rag dolls across the TIE Fighter assembly bay. He saw scorched corpses, mangled corpses, crushed corpses, flayed corpses, even upright corpses pinned to columns by long shards of shrapnel.

"This was fun, let's do this again sometime." he said as he patted Frank on the shoulder that actually had an arm left. "But, time to go. We have a fox, a bug, a lizard, a cat, and two female humans to find. So, Without further ado, let's GTFO."

Revas approached the only door he saw, the one the vast majority of surviving stormtroopers had fallen back through. All the other doors were blocked by debris, corpses, or were places the zombies had come from. Obviously he'd take the way without the flesh eating legions of white armoured zombies. Instead he took the way that probably had laser shooting legions of white armoured soldiers.

It was a mental flip of a coin.

He opened the door, which automatically slid with a squishing noise. He looked down to see a severed arm caught in the tracks. Interesting, he thought as he kicked it aside. Revas turned back, waving over his party, before heading out of the TIE assembly line. Before him was more hallways, with substantially less blood and fire. He walked with his band unique band, to him they were almost perfect. They had the charming rogue, thought even he scoffed at that, a cyborg priest, and a one armed redneck. All the needed now was someone with science-smart skills, Revas made a mental note to coin the science-smart, and some eye candy. The hallway was long and winding, with many old barricades set up and breached in many areas.

"This place is lively." he mumbled as they walked through darkened hallways where the lights had been shot, or torn, out from their sockets.

At some points they had to float through sections where gravity had been knocked out, swimming through a dark abyss surrounded by floating bodies, and body parts, to get to the other side. It would've been fun if they didn't have to avoid droplets of floating zombie bloody in the vacuum.

They came to a door up ahead, a heavy blast shield that was covered in bloody splatters, but still intact. It appeared to be a reinforced elevator shaft. This was where Terramo's magical magic of magicness, a phrase Revas also thought to coin, lead them.The zombies no doubt didn't pack enough firepower in their hands and teeth to open a door of this magnitude. Never the less there was something down there, Terramo had felt it. It was their only choice: head down or head back. There really wasn't a choice. Revas opened the door with a key card from one of the dead stormtroopers, a sergeant it appeared. Inside there was whirring of mechanical parts, followed by a loud clunk as the door's lock opened, along with the door. It stopped with a painful grinding wail as it jammed.

"Oh fuck me." he said as Revas tried to fit though the thirty centimeter space. He then tried prying it. "Terramo, help me out here would ya? You seem capable of moving heavy objects."

[Of The Arch ilands]

Frank Kilkenny
Frank, Revas and Terramo - Aftermath

Frank grunted as the pain of loosing a limb and having the wound cauterised still seared through his body like a hot iron all the way down his spine and back up into his other arm. HE continued to stare at the spot in which his infected arm used to lay for a few moments wondering what he would do with out it, not that it was gone but what he would do with out it. When it had first been bitten Frank had silently battled with himself finally accepting that he would loose it a few moments before the whole Tie conveyor scene. Now he simply wondered how he would survive effectively being only half as useful as he once was.

Not really paying attention to any of the others around him Frank almost jumped as Revas's hand came down on his good shoulder gripping it for a moment before the rambling man moved on. Frank got to his feet and looked around at the carnage himself smirking at his handy work. "To fucking right it was, well except the loosing my arm part... thanks for that by the way."

Picking up his backpack and hoisting it over his only good shoulder he looked at Revas who was heading towards the door the Storm troopers had fallen back into. Settling his heavy repeater on his hip and locking in another mag he looked at Terramo and nodded to the roboman before heading into the entranceway himself quickly catching up with Revas. Silently Frank walked through the corridors grunting every now and again as fresh pain shot through his body when he knocked his shoulder against something. The flash light on his heavy repeater helped keep the way lit as the three traversed through the corridors.

"Fuck me you'd think we had a better time of it than these poor fuckers!" Frank remarked as he prodded a dismembered floating arm out of the way when they entered an area with out any gravity. "Think they did this so the poor fuckers actually stood a chance?"

As Frank floated through the hallway he remembered something he had picked up during there first run in with the guards and the deadheads. Whilst plundering the dead guards Frank watched Sei take one of the communicators, and he remembered he did so himself. Reaching for his pocket frank remembered he lacked an arm and swore loudly before steadying himself in the Zero-G using his good hand to reach into his pocket and pull out the only slightly dented communicator. Inspecting until they arrived at a section with gravity plating once again Frank decided to switch it on. After all it was worth a shot.

Fiddling with some difficulty having only one hand when the thing was designed for two handed operation. He eventually switched the communicator on and switched it to the squad based level communication, figuring that the communicators people from their party had taken would all be interlinked. As the others played with the blast door, frank stood back and kept watch figuring he wouldn’t be much use in that situation instead he placed the communicator close to his mouth and tried his luck.

"Fuck sake this thing on! anyone read me its Frank fuck sake you shits tell me where you guys are!"

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Ninnian
Syrona and Ninnian - Are you afraid of the Dark?

Ninnian giggled a rather pre-adolescent laugh as the Alversian woman spouted her comments about how she had done nothing wrong. EVERYONE on this ship had a secret a really dirty dark secret that they didn't need people to know about. Ninnian's was inhabiting her keeping her alive for the moment the small timid girl lay dormant inside to weak to be effective in the situation she had been put in. Ninnian took a few steps up to the woman and smiled darkly at her running a soft bloodied hand over the womans face leaving a small blood smear along her chin.

"My Dear your aboard a ship that embodies the very wrongness of the universe, you are in the presence of rapists miscreants murderers and thieves, all of which run amock on this ship as I speak to you. The Undead inhabit the dark recesses, ready to convert you to their darkness, This ship is going to eat you up and spit you out... Unless you embrace that dark part of your mind that small whisper that tells you to dark dirty unforgivable things."

Ninnian then kissed her full on locking lips with her for a few passionate moments before moving away to the console typing in a few commands allowing the bindings on the Wookie and the girl fall loose to the floor. She then turned to Syrona with a smile "...and this one he is dark he knows what this ship is like and he listens to that voice in the back of his mind, dont you"

Ninnian now stood a few centermeters away from the Reptilian staring him in the eyes, "Tell me be honest what is it telling you to do right now, your answer will either get you freedom or get you fed to the undead that stalk the upper decks."

[Alversia]

Syona and Ninnian – Are you afraid of the dark?

The feline was moved to pity by the clear desperation of the Alversian, who looked at her with panicked eyes and a strained voice. She sounded on the verge of tears. The woman had already made her mind up on what she was going to do before Ninnian had even reacted. Even so, the female stepped back and watched with a raised eyebrow as the other girl leant in, whispered something in her ear that even her sensitive hearing failed to pick up and then proceeded to kiss her. It was a bizarre reaction but then Syona was starting to understand that 'bizarre' was a very suitable word for the young woman with whom she had found herself trapped. Though she was visibly moved by the merchant, somewhere in the dark corner of her mind told her to leave them. It insisted that they would only slow her down and that they would would do more service staying here to be eaten by the horde. She was horrified by the images, more so by the consent that seemed to be coming from elsewhere. With tail whipping, she shook her head to clear those thoughts away. Death was not something to be handed out like candy and she could not treat it as such.

Most of all though, she was anxious about lingering. She did not want to stay in one place for too long and was keen to be moving again. When the other two were released, she indicated to the weapons of the dead guards; one of which she had already picked up and checked.
“Arm yourselves. There can be no passengers in our journey.”

While Ninnian busied herself with the third prisoner, the Zillar who seemed less than friendly and not particularly polite, her ears perked at the sound of a communicator buzzing nearby. She turned in a second, weapon raised, but saw that it was coming from one of the dead guards. She approached slowly, cautiously, afraid that the prison's superiors were searching for an update. It was only when she actually stopped to pay attention to the words that she realised just how unmilitary-like they sounded and that she actually recognised the voice.

Prying the communicator from the dead guard, she licked her lips and pressed the response button,
“Frank? This is Syona...the Alumina...” she clarified as he would probably have no idea who she was, “we're in a brig.” She looked around for an indication of the deck and section and quickly passed on that information to Frank, “we've already lost one person but found three prisoners here. Where are you?”