Chapter 16

Mile after mile of Strain twisted landscape rolled by below the flier.

In the month since that embarrassing ceremony, things had gotten serious. Both the dominion and the exiles had progressed north up the Isegrol continent and were both making scouting missions into the Defile. Neither had succeeded in reaching the Lightspire due to a massive infestation of the strain sieging it. They couldn't break through the exanite walls surrounding the plain of crystals making an almost perfectly circular base for the tower, and the sole passageway into that plain was through a valley filled with some of the toughest Strain encountered on Nexus. Even air travel had been impossible due to the presence of Strain dragons.

So, now I was on my way to western Grimvault with my newly assigned team, for once doing an officially assigned mission related to Drusera. Our scouts had found an unusually devastated exo-lab called the Terminus Complex.

Drusera had told us this was the location of the Primal Disintegrator—the weapon the Eldan designed in a final attempt to destroy the Entity.

And ground zero for the event that triggered the end of the Eldan.

Drusera wouldn't talk about what had actually happened, she just said it was the last place she had ever seen a living Eldan.

Judging by the bitterness in her voice, it was a terrible memory.

And one she hadn't forgiven them for.

Arwick hadn't pried. He'd seen how hard it was for Drusera to share what little she had. But that didn't stop him from sending me to find out anything that might be useful.

This time, I wasn't going in alone. He'd assigned me two companions—Blok and Lucy.

Blok was our tech support. A veteran engineer and walking wall of granite, it was his job to handle any Eldan tech we stumbled across and haul back whatever might help us fight the Entity. And he and his bots could lay down one hell of a lot of firepower.

Lucy had been added to the team at her father's insistence. As one of the top medtechs on Nexus—and Victor Lazarian's daughter—she had the brains and credentials to match. I had no doubt Victor hoped she'd find something that could help the Mordesh. But I trusted her to keep us alive, even if that meant putting science second.

And me? Even Arwick had to admit—grudgingly, of course—that when it came to Drusera, I was the most qualified person on the planet.

We were en route to the Arborian Camp, one of the forward bases the Exiles had clawed out of the grim, corrupted wasteland of Grimvault. The camp overlooked the remains of a massive Eldan complex—once a shining data hub and research nexus, now little more than a half corrupted monument to hubris and horror. It had been one of the Eldan's primary facilities before everything went sideways.

Apparently, someone had stumbled across a teleporter leading into the Terminus Complex, buried somewhere deep beneath Grimvault. The first team sent in had failed to reboot the Caretaker or disable the security systems—so now it was our turn to pick up where they left off.

Drusera watched curiously as Blok and Lucy checked over their gear. Blok's bots had turned their attention to her, lenses whirring softly as they tracked her movements like a pair of overly polite stalkers. One of them beeped uncertainly and backed away when she tilted her head at it.

Lucy was calibrating her diagnostic scanner, fingers moving with practiced precision. The resonators hummed to life—and incidentally, so did her attempt at a bio-scan.

Drusera blinked and looked down at the device.

"That will not work," she said softly.

Lucy glanced up. "Worth a shot. I've never seen a lifeform register as 'ambient goo' before."

Drusera gave her a serene smile. "My form is composed of stabilized protoplasm, but it is only a projection of my true body. I am sorry if that complicates your data."

Blok snorted. "Lady, you are the data." One of his bots chirped in agreement.

Drusera tilted her head at it and whispered, "You are very polite for a machine." The bot spun in place like it had just been complimented.

I grinned. "Careful, hun. You keep charming the tech, and Blok's going to start charging them rent."

"I find it fascinating how much freewill your robotic companions have, the Eldan would never have allowed it,"

Blok grunted, not looking up from his toolset. "Yeah, well, we don't build bots to be slaves. We build 'em to do the job—and sometimes that means lettin' 'em figure it out their own way."

One of his bots beeped again, this time in what I could swear was smug agreement.

Drusera turned her attention back to the little machine, her expression soft. "Then they are truly alive in their own way. That is… beautiful."

Lucy raised an eyebrow, half-distracted by her scanning equipment. "You say that like it's a new concept."

"It is," Drusera said quietly. "The Eldan valued control above all else. They would never have allowed a construct to act beyond its protocols. Anything that did… was erased." There was a beat of silence.

"Charming bunch," Blok muttered.

Drusera nodded slowly. "They were brilliant. But they mistook brilliance for infallibility. That was their first mistake."

I slipped an arm around her waist, grounding her. "And their last?"

Her circuits flickered softly. "Yes."

Blok gave us a sidelong glance and thumbed his blaster's power core into place. "Right. So let's not repeat their mistakes, huh?"

"Agreed," Drusera said. Then to the bot, "You may remain close. I feel safer when you are watching."

The bot beeped and spun in place again. This time, I was sure it was flirting.

I gave it the evil eye. "You. Keep your manipulators off my girlfriend."

Blok chortled. "Don't worry, Bunny. It doesn't have the right drivers for seduction."

Lucy didn't even look up. "I'd bet money it's already trying to download them."

Drusera tilted her head at the bot, expression as serene as ever. "If it were to succeed… would that make me polyamorous?"

I sputtered. "Okay, first, you're already polyamorous. Second, I'm not losing you to a glorified coffee maker on spider legs."

The bot emitted a suspiciously innocent chime and casually rotated its manipulator arm in a decidedly sassy twirl.

Blok sighed. "They warned me not to give them personality modules. But did I listen?"

Drusera gently squeezed my hand. "Do not worry, Valya. You are my preferred interface." I blushed so hard I swear the air shimmered.

Lucy groaned. "If this turns into a court-martial for flirting with military hardware, I'm writing you both out of my will."

I smirked. "Relax. The bot doesn't have a tail. It doesn't stand a chance."

The bot's charging cable shot out.

Drusera blinked, then covered her mouth with both hands in an entirely too innocent gesture.

Blok just stared. "Did it just present a charging cable?!"

Lucy didn't miss a beat. "Yup. Definitely downloading those seduction protocols."

I threw my hands in the air. "That's it. I'm declaring this mission emotionally compromised."

Drusera was laughing now—actual giggles, warm and breathy. "Perhaps… we should disconnect it. Before it gets any more ideas."

The bot beeped plaintively, its cable still extended like it was waiting for a first date handshake.

Blok groaned. "I'm gonna have to factory reset it again, aren't I?"

"You better," I said, pointing sternly. "Or next time it tries anything, I'm melting it down and turning it into a foot massager."

Drusera leaned into me with a sparkle in her circuits. "You are very protective of me, Valya."

"Damn right I am," I muttered. "I will not be out-romanced by a toaster with legs."

The bot let out a series of beeps that I swear was wheedling.

Drusera smiled. "I am afraid I don't need a pet."

The bot slumped slightly—actually slumped—its little antenna drooping like a rejected suitor.

Blok sighed. "Great. You broke its heart. Now I gotta deal with a love-struck bot and a goddess with groupies."

Lucy deadpanned, not looking up from her scanner, "Better the bot than half the science corps."

I patted the poor thing on its dome. "Sorry, buddy. She's taken. And also kind of… divine."

It gave a mournful chirp and slowly scuttled back toward Blok, casting one last wistful beep over its shoulder.

Drusera watched it go, head tilted. "That was… oddly sweet."

"Don't encourage it," I said. "We'll come back from this mission and find it's written you poetry in binary."

Drusera looked delighted. "Oh, I would very much like to read that." Blok left a dent in the wall with his forehead.

Lucy didn't even flinch. "That's the fifth dent this week. They're gonna start charging you repair fees."

Blok groaned. "At this rate, I'm gonna need a restraining order for my own bots."

I patted him on the back. "Welcome to Team Drusera. Sanity not included."

Drusera gave him her most innocent smile. "I do not understand why he is so distressed. I am quite fond of poetry."

Blok pointed at her, then at the bot. "He writes haikus about power coupling alignment. Power coupling. That's not romantic, that's diagnostics!"

Drusera's eyes sparkled. "Perhaps I can teach him metaphor."

Lucy muttered under her breath, "This is how cults start."

I grinned. "Nah. This is how legends start. Dumb Bunny, Chaos Goddess, and a lovestruck robot. What could possibly go wrong?"

Lucy gave me a long look. "Oh, only EVERYTHING."

Blok threw his hands in the air. "I already regret saying yes to this mission."

I patted his arm. "Too late now, Sergeant. You're in it for the long haul."

Drusera tilted her head. "I do not believe he is actually regretful. His biosigns indicate only mild exasperation and a trace of amusement."

Blok blinked. "She just mood-scanned me?" "She does that," I said cheerfully.

Lucy sighed. "Of course she does. Great. So now we've got emotional surveillance too."

Drusera looked genuinely puzzled. "Would you prefer I not monitor your emotional state? I only wish to ensure my companions' well-being."

Lucy blinked. "…Okay, that's actually kind of sweet."

Drusera smiled. "Then I shall continue."

Blok facepalmed again. "It's too early in the mission for this much weird."

I twined my tail with Drusera's and smirked. "Weird is just the baseline, Blok. Welcome to the bunny side."

He gave me an evil eye. "I ain't chasing you down no rabbit holes, bunny."

I grinned. "Too late. You already fell in."

Drusera, ever helpful, added, "This journey may in fact be metaphorically described as a rabbit hole, given the unpredictable nature of our objectives and the potential for existential revelations."

Blok stared at her, then back at me. "You turned a world-ending threat into a philosophy class."

I shrugged. "You knew what you were signing up for."

Lucy muttered, "I really didn't."

Drusera beamed. "This is going to be fun!"

"We are so screwed," Blok groaned.

I looked out the flier window as the Strain-warped terrain twisted below us, ugly and waiting.

"Yeah," I said. "But we're going in anyway.

The base commander was waiting when we landed. Without much preamble, he led us to a nearby holotable and activated the map of the zone. A flickering overlay of terrain lit up, the jagged contours of Grimvault glowing in pale blue. He pointed to a spot about a klick away. "This is the teleporter pad," he said. "Leads straight into the complex—some lab buried in the cliff wall overlooking the Defile and the Lightspire."

His finger tapped the map again, zooming in. "That puts it right on the edge of the Lightspire's crystalline basin. Practically touching the exanite field."

I sighed. "Let me guess—crawling with Strain, isn't it?"

The commander gave a grim nod. "Affirmative. The entry point's clear, but the rest? Heavily infested."

He tapped the holomap again. "Security systems are still functional, which is probably the only reason the Strain haven't overrun the place. The Caretaker's still active… technically. But he's non-responsive. Red-code level threat, but he hasn't attacked anyone. Yet."

I frowned. "So he's glitched."

"Or conflicted," Lucy muttered, arms crossed. "Depends on how much autonomy he's retained."

Drusera floated closer, studying the holomap. "The Caretaker here is... damaged. I felt him, faintly, like a flicker of static. He may recognize me. Or... he may not."

Blok grunted. "So, security's alive, the AI's brain-fried, and the place is crawling with meat monsters. Great. Just like home."

"There are signs of extensive explosive damage deeper in the complex," the commander continued. "But the power's still on, somehow. The tech crew thinks it should be possible to reboot the Caretaker—at least enough to restore minimal functionality."

He zoomed in on the map, highlighting several flickering zones. "If you can get him running, there's a chance the main database is still intact. If so, there might be valuable intel buried in there—logs, records, maybe even pre-fall contingency data."

Lucy perked up slightly. "Assuming it hasn't all been corrupted by Strain influence or blown to bits."

Drusera's expression was unreadable. "That facility holds many truths," she said softly. "But not all of them will be kind."

Her eyes closed, circuits dimming. "This is where the Entity first fully manifested—where his slaughter of the Eldan began."

She took a breath she didn't need. "By the time I regained consciousness… they were already gone."

My hand found hers, fingers lacing tight. She didn't pull away—just closed her eyes and leaned ever so slightly into the contact. Her circuits dimmed for a moment, as if gathering strength.

The commander gave a solemn nod, then waved over a five-man squad in reinforced armor. "This is your insertion team. They'll get you to the teleporter and extract you once the mission's done."

He paused, letting that settle. "Inside, you're on your own."

Blok grunted. "Ain't that always the way."

Lucy checked her medscanner and sighed. "Remind me again why we're walking into the place where a god lost his mind and murdered everyone?"

"Because," I said, squeezing Drusera's hand, "we need to understand what happened. Before it happens again."

No one argued.

Drusera's voice was quiet. "I will not let it happen again."

I hoped she was right.

The insertion team was efficient and well-practiced. They moved like a single organism— silent, focused, deadly. The few Strain that lunged out of the shadows were dealt with quickly and cleanly, reduced to twitching goo without a word wasted. These soldiers had seen it all before—and probably worse.

Blok watched their formation with professional approval. "Nice to see a squad that doesn't panic when the meat walls start screaming."

One of the troopers snorted behind their helmet. "Seen worse in Galeras." "Yeah? You ever see a Strain wolf spit a gravity bomb?" Blok asked.

"…Okay, point."

Drusera hovered just above the ground beside me, eerily silent, her expression unreadable. She closer we got to the teleporter, the more withdrawn she became. Her circuits were dim, her eyes distant.

Lucy gave her a sidelong glance, voice low. "How bad is it going to be, really?" Drusera didn't answer. She didn't need to.

The trooper at point held up a fist and the team halted. Just ahead, nestled between two jagged, half-collapsed pylons, was the pad—an ancient, cracked platform half-choked with Strain growth and flickering with faint blue light. The air around it shimmered, reality slightly bent at the edges.

"This is it," the squad leader said. "Pad's stable. Doesn't show signs of tampering. If the Eldan wanted this locked up, they didn't do a great job."

"They weren't expecting anyone to still be around to use it," I said.

Drusera's voice was barely above a whisper. "They were wrong." We stepped onto the platform.

And vanished.

teleportation pad into a larger chamber that looked like the main control center. The air was thick with the ozone tang of dormant tech and old violence.

The remains of several shattered security bots lay scattered across the floor, scorched and twisted—proof the scout team had made it this far. Blok stepped over a broken limb, muttering something unrepeatable about poor maintenance.

On the far side of the chamber hovered the Caretaker's holopodium. The familiar red tinged hologram above it flickered faintly but remained motionless, its expression blank. The crimson glow cast long shadows across the consoles and walls, lending the whole room a haunted air.

Blok's bots split up, their scanning beams sweeping the chamber in practiced arcs. After a full circuit, they returned to him, letting out a series of chirps.

"No threats," he said, glancing at us. "Room's clear. For now."

Drusera drifted to the center of the room, her eyes locked on the Caretaker. "He is dormant, but... I can feel the resonance. His core still functions."

"Then let's wake him up," I said quietly, though a knot was already forming in my stomach. I didn't know what the Caretaker remembered—but this place wasn't going to be kind to anyone.

Blok and I spent over an hour poking at ancient consoles, bypassing fried circuits, and deciphering Eldan interface logic that seemed specifically designed to make engineers cry.

Finally, after a particularly tense moment involving a miswired power conduit and some very creative swearing, we got the central computer core to restart.

The lights brightened. Consoles flickered back to life.

Lucy, monitoring from a raised platform, called out, "He disappeared—just for a second— but he's back! And… green this time."

We all turned to look. The Caretaker's hologram now pulsed with a soft emerald glow, his formerly vacant eyes refocusing as if waking from a long, grim sleep.

Blok wiped sweat off his brow. "Well, that's either a good sign or the start of a very bad one."

"Ah! Much better. How may I aid you?" The Caretaker's voice had that familiar cheery cadence again—like a kindly librarian who just remembered where they shelved the apocalypse.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "We need to know if there's anything in your databanks that can help us against the Entity."

The Caretaker's expression flickered, his form stuttering for a fraction of a second before stabilizing. His eyes dimmed slightly.

"A dangerous query," he said at last. "Accessing information on the Genesis Prime and the corrupted derivative subroutine designated 'The Entity'… please stand by."

His projection dimmed as if thinking deeply. I glanced at Drusera, who was watching him with a haunted expression.

Then the Caretaker spoke again, voice low and far more serious.

"The damage to my databanks is extensive. To access them, some repairs will be necessary."

A projection shimmered into existence over the holotable—an overhead map of the room and surrounding systems, flashing red in several key locations.

"Restoration of data pathways will require manual reactivation of local subsystems," the Caretaker continued. "Warning: residual security protocols may still be active."

Blok groaned. "Right. I'm on it." He was already unpacking his toolkit, his bots fanning out like eager puppies on a scavenger hunt.

Lucy tapped her scanner. "I'll monitor the local environmental fields. Last thing we need is a data conduit frying your eyebrows off."

I twirled one of my blasters. "Guess I'll handle pest control."

Drusera looked faintly concerned. "I will remain close. Some of these systems may still recognize me as Administrator." She glanced at the flickering hologram. "Though whether that will help… or provoke them… is uncertain."

Blok muttered, "Great. So we've got ancient, possibly homicidal server racks to negotiate with."

"Welcome to Eldan tech," I said with a grin. "It's not a dungeon crawl unless the computers hate us too."

Five hours later, Blok slammed the last wiring panel closed with a grunt of finality, his gloves scorched and his patience long since dead. Sparks flew, but the system hummed to life.

"Done. If this doesn't work, I'm reprogramming the Caretaker to recite poetry instead of giving error codes."

Across the room, Lucy laid her cards down with a smirk. "Full house. Pay up."

I groaned and handed over the last of my snack rations. "I demand a rematch once we're not sitting on an ancient deathtrap."

Drusera, perched serenely nearby, tilted her head. "I do not understand this game. Why is it considered entertaining to deceive others for points?"

"It's called bluffing," I said, sighing. "It's like diplomacy but with snacks."

She nodded, though her circuits flickered with amusement. "I am beginning to see the appeal."

The Caretaker flickered violently for a moment—then stabilized, his projection pulsing steady green. His tone was crisp and clear now.

"Subsystems restored. Accessing historical data… Priority files unlocked. Please stand by." We all froze.

"Here we go," Blok muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

A new holographic panel shimmered into view—this one marked Project Genesis Prime: Incident Reports.

Drusera's expression dimmed instantly. "These are the records I feared."

I reached for her hand. "We're here now. Whatever's in there… we face it together."

The Caretaker hesitated, flipping through his book before raising his head to look Drusera in the eyes

"There are records. But I must caution you: what you seek lies at the core of the Eldan's greatest mistake… and Drusera's deepest wound."

Drusera nodded once, steeling herself as the first entry loaded.

"It is done. With the help of my knowledgeable ally, I have made the necessary adjustments to the Protoplasmic Resonator. I have been assured that Vorion will not notice until after the process is complete—and by then, of course, it will no longer matter.

…Will the others understand? To be honest, I couldn't possibly care less. The stakes of this game were too high. Did anyone truly expect me to sit back and play by the rules?" —Nazrek, Order of the Progenitors

My hands clenched. I knew that voice all too well.

Drusera flinched, her glow dimming. "Nazrek…"

I glanced at her. "He was one of your…?"

She nodded slowly. "One of the six who became the vessels used to create me. The Order of the Progenitors specialized in manipulating the fundamental structure of life. Nazrek was their finest—ruthless, brilliant, arrogant beyond imagining."

Blok crossed his arms, brow furrowed. "So, he sabotaged the project that made you?"

"Not just sabotaged," Lucy said, scanning the transcript. "He altered the Protoplasmic Resonator itself. That's probably what made the Entity."

Drusera said nothing. Her eyes were closed. Her form flickered faintly.

"He wanted this," I said quietly, bitterly. "He wanted to twist the outcome. Didn't care what it cost."

Drusera's voice was a whisper. "I was never meant to be broken. I was meant to be whole. He took that from me."

The next datacube shimmered to life, and another voice began—calmer, more analytical.

"My analysis of the scientific data collected during the creation of the Genesis Prime has brought to light a number of inconsistencies—subtle, but disturbing.

Although Drusera herself appears without obvious flaw, the data indicates that certain design parameters were adjusted without my knowledge, just before activation of the Protoplasmic Resonator.

I am attempting to ascertain the ramifications of this alteration, but the variables are… prohibitively complex. I can only hope this development does not carry unforeseen consequences." —Vorion, Order of the Makers

The Caretaker's voice returned, solemn and grave.

"There is a final record within my databanks. However, Strain organisms have breached the Central Archive and are attempting to destroy all records concerning the Entity. Eliminate them, and I will begin restoration."

A final data cube flickered in the holodisplay.

"The day has finally come.

As my mentor Maker Vorion will be otherwise engaged in monitoring the termination protocols, I have been entrusted with the initiation of the Primal Disintegrator.

Vorion calls this an honor.

I… am not so certain.

The subject has grown increasingly unstable. Recent attempts to control her have failed in unpredictable ways.

Still, I will do my duty." —Xarophet, Order of the Makers

The screen dimmed and winked out as the Caretaker gestured toward a nearby teleport pad. It flared to life with a soft hum.

"This will transport you past the collapsed sectors to the observation control room above the Archive," the Caretaker said. "From there, you may activate internal security systems to assist in clearing the Strain infestation."

I nodded and turned to Blok.

He stepped over and scanned the pad, giving it a quick once-over. "Seems functional. Should be safe."

The control room on the other side had that strangely pristine look you only ever saw in still functioning Exo-labs—dustless, untouched, like time itself had politely decided to pass it by.

I looked down into the lab below. The Archive.

Dozens of xenobite Strain crawled over the floor, chewing through ancient Eldan computer systems like rats through cables. It made my fur itch just watching them. Fragments of shattered datacubes littered the floor—hollow casings torn open like candy wrappers.

"Maybe the shells are just the housing," I muttered. "If we recover enough pieces, the Caretaker might still be able to reconstruct the data."

Blok grunted, already prepping a grenade just in case.

Lucy, ever the overachiever, found the security console first. "Found it!" She hit the activation key.

There was a rising whine of energy as glowing circles flared to life on the floor below. In rapid succession, over a dozen security drones shimmered into existence—sleek, angular constructs with glowing lenses and energy weapons. A second later, three much larger security constructs materialized with the unmistakable bassy thunk of active threat protocols going live.

I leaned over the rail. "Well… that oughta clear the room."

Drusera appeared beside me, circuits glowing faintly. "They will not be enough."

I glanced at her. "Yeah, I didn't think they'd go down quietly."

We found the lift tucked in a side alcove—still miraculously functional—and rode it down into the belly of the Archive.

The moment the doors slid open, the smell hit us. Rot, ozone, and something wet and wrong. Strain.

I spun my pistols, grinning like an idiot. "Time to kick some Strain ass."

Blok racked his launcher with a grin. "I thought you'd never say it."

Lucy sighed, drawing her medscanner. "Let's just try not to need triage in the first five minutes."

Drusera hovered beside me, her circuits pulsing like a heartbeat. "They will not surrender. They cannot."

"Then we don't give them the chance," I said, stepping off the lift.

The Strain saw us—and screamed.

We charged.

The fight was fast and brutal.

I darted between cover points, twin pistols blazing, picking off xenobites mid-leap. Lucy stayed just behind us, directing pinpoint pulses from her resonators—causing Strain to rupture in wet, purple blasts of corrupted flesh and crystal. Blok, all grim focus, waded into the thick of them with his bots at his heels, flamethrowers turning twisted abominations into ash and slag.

They may have been hell on computers, but against experienced killers?

They didn't stand a chance.

Then she appeared

We were just starting to regroup, weapons cooling and the last embers of the Strain Blok's bots had killed still hissing on the scorched floor, when I felt it. That faint pressure in the air. The kind that makes your fur stand on end.

Then she stepped out from the shadows—same height, same ears, same infuriating swagger.

My clone.

She smiled at me with my mouth, but it twisted just a little too wide. Her eyes shimmered with that sickly green of the Strain, and her tail twitched with malicious amusement.

"Hello, Valya," she purred, drawing a copy of my pistols and spinning them with flair. "Miss me?"

She was like a ghost out of my worst nightmares.

Same figure. Same smirk. Same pistols.

Only the glow in her eyes was wrong—sickly green and dripping with malice, Strain corruption webbing her skin like it was trying to rewrite me from memory alone.

"Miss you? Not at all."

My clone tilted her head, tail flicking like a predator about to pounce.

"Funny," she said, voice syrupy with venom. "I always wondered how much less dumb bunny I'd be if I just stopped trying to impress everyone."

I raised my pistols automatically. "I already hate you."

She laughed. Gods, my laugh—but twisted, hollow. Overlaid with faint traces of the Entities hateful voice.

Drusera materialized at my side in a shimmer of pale blue fury, circuits blazing. "This is an abomination. She is not you."

"She's close enough," Blok muttered, lining up his blaster. "What the hell is she even made of?"

Lucy ran a scan and hissed through her teeth. "Strain-grown protoplasm over a fully replicated primal matrix. She's not just mimicking Valya. She is Valya. Down to the instincts."

"Bullshit," I snarled. "I don't strut like that."

Clone-Val twirled my pistols in her hands and opened fire—no warning, no banter. Just a barrage of crimson beams that forced us into cover, detonating consoles and punching holes in the already ragged lab walls.

Drusera raised a shield just in time to deflect the next volley. "She has your skills."

"No," I growled, heart thundering. "She thinks she does."

I leapt the barrier and dove into the open, twin spellslinger pistols spinning to life in my hands. My shots met hers midair, sparks and primal energy bursting between us like fireworks gone feral.

"Blok, flank left!" I shouted.

"I'm on it!"

"Lucy, watch for Strain spores! They will try to join the party!"

She was already setting up a pulse field, eyes locked on my clone. "Get her talking, Val! Make her slip!"

"Oh, I'll make her bleed first."

Clone-me met my charge head-on. We clashed in a blaze of spellfire, kinetic shields rippling as our pistols screamed in perfect sync. Every dodge, every feint—I knew her moves because they were my moves. Except where I danced, she hunted. No flair. No flourish. Just lethal, focused aggression.

She was faster than me.

Stronger than me.

But she wasn't me.

Not in the ways that mattered.

"You're just a puppet," I hissed, ducking under a blast and planting a boot into her gut, sending her skidding across the floor.

She laughed as she rose, wiping green ichor from her lips. "Puppet? I'm the improved model. No distractions. No weaknesses. No idiotic crush on a rejected god."

Drusera's circuits flared like sunfire. "You dare—!"

"She's mine," I snapped, slamming a charged shot straight into clone-me's chest and sending her crashing into a bulkhead.

The moment she hit, the Strain pulsed around her, walls oozing like they liked her pain. She staggered up, coughing green mist.

"Cute," she spat. "But you're still just the dumb bunny."

"You're damn right I am," I said, leaping into the air, both pistols charging to max. "And this bunny bites."

I pulled the triggers.

Twin beams of searing primal energy lanced forward, slamming into her hard enough to burn away her shielding. The air smelled like burnt fur and ozone.

The clone screamed—my voice warped in horror—and collapsed into bubbling protoplasm, the Strain hissing and recoiling from her corpse like it had lost control.

A beat of silence followed.

Then Lucy, ever pragmatic: "…Well. That was horrifying."

Blok grunted. "That was you on Strain. Damn."

Drusera moved to my side, brushing her fingers through my hair, gentle even as her eyes still shimmered with rage. "She was not you. Not truly. She lacked your heart."

I holstered my pistols, hands still trembling. "She was me, Drusera. Just… everything I refuse to be anymore. Cold. Ruthless. Alone. The person I was when Myala first found me."

"And you defeated her," Drusera said, softly. "Because you are more than your pain."

I sagged against her, exhaustion finally hitting me like a railgun slug. "Next time I fight myself, I'm picking the version in comfy pajamas and a good mood."

Blok snorted. "We are never speaking of this again."

"Oh, we absolutely are," Lucy said. "I'm writing a paper titled 'Narcissistic Combat in a Post-Strain Environment.' You're going to be famous."

"Again?" I groaned.

Drusera twined her tail with mine, warmth flooding back into me.

"You are already a legend, my love," she whispered.

I smiled, bitter and tired. "Then let's go make some history."

Warily, I got to my feet and joined the others, collecting the scattered datacube fragments. We fed them into the device the Caretaker indicated, and it began the reconstruction process. About five minutes later, he reported partial success and displayed the first recovered record:

Drusera's training is proceeding incredibly well, and she has already grasped the most advanced disciplines in evocations seemingly without effort. It is almost as if she were born with the inherent knowledge, as if The Six were somehow instructing her subconsciously. Of course, Vorion has told me that this is impossible, given the technicalities of her creation. But still, I feel as if... something unusual is happening within her mind.

For my part, I find myself becoming increasingly fond of her, despite the constant reminder she is of Aviel. She confronts her new existence with a sense of expectation and wonder, despite the oppressive surroundings of this facility. I can find no flaw in her, no malice, or pettiness. She is indeed perfect in every way.

~ Elyona: Order of the Evokers

Then a second one played.

Against my objections, the decision has been made to terminate Drusera. I could not meet her eyes as I gave her the sedatives.

Do I feel more guilt, or relief? Drusera is very sweet, and so terribly innocent that I feel guilt at having to lie to her about the procedure. She believes it will sever her ties to the Entity and desires to cooperate fully. Xarophet promises she will feel no pain.

I think I hate myself for being glad I will no longer be tormented by Aviel's memory… ~ Elyona: Order of the Evokers

The silence stretched for a long minute before I drew my pistols and shot down the remaining security constructs.

"They were going to kill you... in hopes it would stop the Entity from controlling you?"

My pistols clicked uselessly as they ran out of ammo, but I couldn't make myself stop. I kept squeezing the triggers like it would somehow undo what I'd just heard. Like maybe if I fired enough shots into the air, I could shoot the past.

Drusera didn't move. Her glow had dimmed, soft and muted like moonlight behind thick clouds.

"They told me it was a healing procedure," she said quietly. "That it would sever the Entity's influence."

Her voice cracked on the last word.

"They lied," I whispered.

She nodded, eyes fixed on the broken datacube fragments. "Elyona… couldn't even look at me."

I holstered my pistols with shaking hands and stepped forward. "You were never a mistake. You were never something to be erased."

Drusera turned to me, and for the first time in a long time, her composure slipped. Not into anger. Not into fear. Just… sorrow. A thousand years of betrayal written in the lines of her glowing circuits.

"They called me perfect," she said. "Then they tried to destroy me."

The Caretakers voice broke the silence. "Final file reconstructed." I looked up at the screen.

Although Vorion recommended against it, I recently had a discussion with the Genesis Prime, I mean Drusera, about the upcoming procedure and my fears about its chances for failure. She told us that she was well-aware of the dangers that the Entity represented, and that she would do everything in her power to ensure our success. Despite the circumstances, I could not help but take comfort in her well-meaning words - but they will not make my task any less difficult. ~ Xarophet: Order of the Makers

Drusera didn't speak. She didn't need to.

Her silence was heavy enough.

I stepped closer and slipped my hand into hers. Her fingers felt like soft crystal, warm with buried grief.

"They all knew," I whispered. "And they still did it anyway."

She nodded once. "They feared what I might become more than they believed in who I already was."

Lucy muttered under her breath. "Cowards."

Blok didn't say anything, but he stood straighter, eyes hard, jaw clenched.

"I don't understand," I said. "You warned them. You helped them. And they still—"

"I was not a person to them," Drusera said softly. "I was the final experiment."

Her circuits shimmered with dim gold. Not bright enough to blind. Just enough to break your heart.

"And when the data didn't fit their expectations," she added, "they tried to erase it."

My grip tightened. "They failed."

She looked at me, a flicker of something stronger passing through her—grief, yes, but also… defiance.

"They did," she agreed. "And now I will ensure they never succeed again."

The Caretaker chimed in, his voice back to its usual helpful tone—like he hadn't just guided us through the remains of a god's broken childhood.

"Reconstruction complete. Would you like to proceed to the inner archive?"

Blok cracked his knuckles. "Yeah. Let's finish this."

Lucy holstered her tools. "Just say the word."

I glanced at Drusera. She was already moving toward the next door, her circuits flaring brighter with every step.

No hesitation.

No fear.

Just resolve.

"Let's go," I said, falling in beside her. "Time to make their last mistake count for something."

Drusera moved with purpose into the next corridor, her expression distant but focused. We followed in silence, the weight of what we'd just learned still pressing down on all of us.

Midway through the passage, a collapsed support beam blocked the way. Twisted metal and scorched plating filled the hall like a scar. Drusera didn't hesitate. She raised her hand—and the wreckage screamed as it folded in on itself, crushed into the wall with the sound of grinding steel.

"Remind me not to piss her off," Blok muttered.

Beyond the wreckage, the corridor opened into a vertical shaft—massive, cracked, and warped from the blast that had rocked this place so long ago. The air smelled faintly of scorched ozone and ancient failure.

Drusera looked up.

Far above, a broken door spilled pale white light into the shaft like moonlight through a fracture.

She didn't ask. She just lifted off the ground, graceful as a wisp of smoke.

Lucy gasped as the rest of us began to float after her. Blok only widened his eyes for a second before muttering, "Well. This is new." His bots, however, were not built for altitude.

They beeped in alarm as the floor dropped away beneath them, stubby legs flailing until their grav stabilizers finally kicked in. One did a full loop-the-loop before leveling out with a startled whine.

"They'll adjust," Blok said, trying not to look concerned as the other one spun in a slow corkscrew past his head.

Drusera glanced down at them with gentle amusement. "They are braver than they look."

"Great," Blok grumbled. "Now they're gonna have egos."

We rose together, higher and higher toward the fractured door and whatever waited beyond it—past the old wounds of this place, toward the truth buried in the shadows.

As we landed on the ledge beside the fractured doorway, Drusera raised her hand toward it, her expression grim.

"The next room houses the weapon the Eldan created to destroy the Entity," she said softly. "I fear, however, that the Strain have beaten us here. I sense the presence of a Phagelord."

Blok cocked the biggest gun he was carrying—one that looked like it had opinions about architecture.

"Then let's rock," he growled.

The door sealed behind us with a low chime, and a hum filled the chamber as a containment shield shimmered into place. No way back.

The room ahead was massive—circular, clearly built around a central dais with six reactor towers fanned out evenly along the perimeter. Ancient consoles flickered to life as we stepped in, their Eldan interfaces reacting to our presence. And at the far end, rising from the Strain-slicked floor like some decayed nightmare, stood a misshapen figure with a hammer bigger than I was.

He turned toward us slowly. His face—what was left of it—cracked in a twisted parody of a grin.

"Hello, Drusera. It's been centuries."

Drusera stopped short. Her glow flickered. "Xarophet."

The thing laughed. "So you do remember."

Her voice was soft, but it rang with steel. "You were the one chosen to fire the weapon. The one who promised I would not feel pain."

"And you were the one who locked us away in a tomb of light," he snarled, taking a step forward, hammer dragging behind him. "You killed us all."

"I wanted to save you from him," she snapped. "You chose to kill me."

He bellowed and charged.

I grabbed Drusera's hand and yanked her aside as the floor shook. Blok dove behind a console, Lucy already pulling resonators from her medpack.

"We can't fight him head-on," I shouted. "Drusera, what can we use?!"

She pointed to the reactors. "The Disintegrator must be powered manually. I will begin creating the exanite fuel rods. You must load them."

"Load them how?"

"Trust your instincts, beloved." Great.

Blok laid down cover fire while one of his bots skittered to grab the first rod. I sprinted for the nearest reactor, dodging the shockwaves from Xarophet's hammer strikes. Lucy detonated a resonator under his feet, throwing him off balance long enough for me to slot the rod into place.

One reactor online.

"Five more!"

Drusera was glowing brighter, forming each rod with rapid precision. Xarophet was furious now, roaring, swinging his hammer with enough force to shatter the flooring. But we were faster.

Two rods.

Three.

He caught Blok with a glancing blow, sending him sprawling.

Four rods.

Lucy pulled him to cover with a grunt. "You okay?"

"I've had worse hangovers."

Five.

"Last one!" I shouted, jamming it into place. The floor beneath the dais rumbled, ancient machinery whirring to life. A column of light shot upward, touching the ceiling.

Drusera's voice rang out, clear and cold: "Valya, now!"

I whistled. "Hey, Xarophet! Your fashion sense still sucks!" He turned toward me, furious.

"Come and get me, traitor."

He lunged.

I rolled aside at the last second as the beam fired. A flash of searing white light engulfed him, and for a moment, I swore I saw something human in his face.

Then he screamed.

The sound tore through the chamber as the light pierced him, peeling away the Strain layer by layer. What remained dissolved into dust, carried off on a current of resonant energy.

Silence.

The hum of the Disintegrator faded.

Drusera sank to her knees.

I ran to her. "You okay?"

She didn't answer for a long moment. Then: "He was the last. The last who remembered what I was meant to be."

I held her close.

"You are what you were meant to be," I whispered. "You just needed the chance to be it."

She leaned against me, her glow soft. "Thank you. For giving me that chance."

Behind us, the reactors powered down one by one. Whatever came next, the truth was clear:

This was no longer the Eldan's world.

It was ours now.

Drusera stood in the soft glow of the Primal Disintegrator, her form wreathed in ribbons of light and shadow. The battle was over—Xarophet lay dissolved into ash and echo, the last betrayal consumed by the very weapon he'd once wielded.

I stood beside her, smoke curling off my pistols, heart pounding in my chest. Blok's bots hummed in standby. Lucy leaned against a pillar, scanning the aftermath for any signs of lingering corruption. But the silence that followed was whole, clean—final.

Drusera didn't move. Her gaze stayed fixed on the scorched imprint where Xarophet had fallen. I reached for her hand, twining my fingers with hers. She didn't look at me—but her fingers tightened.

And then came the Caretaker's voice, crisp and almost... cheerful.

"Strain infestation terminated." He actually sounded gleeful.

Drusera let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

I gave the air a sarcastic salute. "You're welcome."

Blok grunted. "We just saved the archives of a dead empire from a nightmare made of meat and spite. You'd think we'd get more than one line of canned gratitude."

"I thought it was charming," Drusera said softly. "It means the facility is no longer compromised. That... that matters."

Lucy lowered her scanner. "So. We good?"

I looked around the room. The lights of the Primal Disintegrator were dimming, the reactors cooling. Drusera's glow remained.

"We're good," I said. "For now."

And silently, I added: He won't get her. Not this time. Not ever again.

A gleaming data cube caught my eye, half hidden behind the disintegrator. I staggered over to it and scanned it.

Subject has been sedated. Vital signs are stable. Prepare for termination protocols.

Initiating Primal Disintegrator in three, two, one. What? Oh no! Subject has broken loose!

Defense perimeter breached! Arrrggghh! No, please! Nooooo! ~ Xarophet: Order of the Makers

It was probably petty of me, but I grinned.

Drusera stepped up beside me as I straightened, still holding the data cube. She didn't ask what it said—she already knew. Her circuits pulsed faintly, gold flickering through the pale blues of her form. Calm. Steady.

"His final moment," I said, "was realizing they attacked the wrong target."

Her voice was quiet as she nodded. "At the very time they sought to erase me, the Entity attacked. By the time I awoke, everything was as you see it now."

Blok wandered over, looking at the scorch marks and the shattered residue of what had once been a Eldan. "So… that's what poetic justice looks like."

Lucy gave a humorless chuckle from across the room. "I could bottle the irony in here and sell it to philosophers."

I tapped the side of the data cube, still grinning. "They tried to create a god. And then got surprised when something else was born with her."

Drusera's glow warmed. "And now?"

I met her eyes. "Now? You're not alone. You've got backup."

Her smile was soft. "Thank you."

I slipped the cube into my pack. "Let's get out of here. We've got a universe to un-break." She nodded, her hand finding mine again.

And this time, as we walked out of that cursed place, it wasn't just a goddess escaping the wreckage of her past.

It was all of us—striding forward, together.

As we reached the shaft, Drusera looked up. "There is one last thing I desire to show you, please?"

I nodded, followed by Blok and Lucy. Then we floated a little further up the shaft to another door. As Drusera approached, it slid aside with a groan of corroded metal, revealing what I took to be sunlight.

Then we stepped outside, and I realized I was wrong.

It stood nearly a thousand feet high, a massive column of Exanite that glowed so strongly even the air around it was golden. And like Drusera herself, it floated.

Serenely, it hovered a hundred feet above the massive crystal field.

I could see why they called it the Lightspire.

But even that view—glorious, impossible—paled in comparison to what I felt from the very top of that spire.

Her.

Her presence hit me like a freight train. Not just energy. Not just power. Her.

She overwhelmed my senses. I could smell her, taste her, breathe her.

All these miles away, and she still had this effect on me.

Hell, I wanted to bow down and worship at her altar for eternity.

The feeling of her hand in mine was electric.

"Drusera."

"Yes, Valya?"

"I'm breaking you out of there."

"I don't care about the odds."

"I don't care about the danger."

"I. Am. Going. To. Free. You."

It glowed like it was holy, but I couldn't see it that way.

It was a prison.

And it was long past time for a jailbreak.

Nobody said a word as I turned my back on that beautiful darkness and led the way back to our extraction team.