Disclaimer: Mass Effect is the property of Bioware, Microsoft Game Studios, and Electronic Arts. I am none of these, and as such make no money from this venture.
Word count: 500
He sees it coming, darkening the skies across hundreds of worlds. He sees it coming and they do not believe him. They lock him away, tell him they are listening to his warnings but he can hear them laugh outside his door. Telling themselves he is crazy.
Perhaps he is.
But he knows. It knows he knows. It is coming for him.
It gets closer and he can feel its satisfaction. He can feel the dark glee curling inside him and he screams to let it out. He thrashes in the prison of white and cold that they have given him, sending them flying when they arrive to calm his frenzy. When one of them finally manages to get a sedative into him, he pins them with haunted eyes even as his body falls slack. Each of them present shivers at the look of desperate fear.
Only one sees the look of knowing pity.
That one comes to him later, when they have strapped him down and left to shake their heads at his madness. That one comes and asks what he knows. He does not tell, at first. They have never believed him before. Let them burn in ignorance. But that one comes again and again and finally he tells it all.
It is as calm as he's been since they put him in this place.
When that one leaves, his story of death and destruction emptied from him like so much bile, he feels a spark of something - swiftly crushed - that perhaps they will begin to listen before it is too late.
They do not.
He hears more than they think, sees more than they want him to, and he knows what that one has done. His rage flares as he becomes aware of his warnings being passed off as fiction. Turned into a hero story with that one as victor over the darkness.
He laughs at that one's arrogance. Laughs and laughs until his throat is raw and he can no longer make the sounds. Still, his head is thrown back, mouth open as he cackles soundlessly. Endlessly.
He is still laughing when it arrives.
They do not question him any longer. A few even huddle in his room as the madness they once mocked him for rages outside their walls. Those walls come down, crumbling like sand castles before the inexorable tide and he sees it for the first time outside of his mind.
There is only one of them alive to see it take him. He knows which one it is. He made sure of it.
He revels in the pain of the joining, the agony as he breaks himself to become what it wants him to be. It cries its dark joy across the ruined surface of reality when he enters it, and from his new vantage he can see that one give a last, shuddering gasp. He grins.
He was made for this.
They were not.
It is time to Reap.