The archway opened into a sphere of impossible scale. Anastasya Orlova stepped through, her energy rifle held low, and the sterile, recycled air of the precursor corridors gave way to something else. It was an atmosphere thick with the scent of wet stone, dormant life, and a low, resonant hum that vibrated in her bones. They had reached the heart of the Progenitor’s Cradle. At the center of the vast, spherical chamber, suspended in a web of shimmering, crystalline conduits, was the Sunken Song. It was not a machine as she understood it. It was a hybrid, a pulsating core of dormant, glowing microbiome fused with the cold, precise geometry of precursor technology.
— It’s waiting, — Jukka Anttila, the old shaman, whispered from behind her. His voice was a dry rustle in the humming silence.
Lauri Vatanen moved past her, his steps silent on the grated metal floor. The terrible clarity in his eyes was unnerving. He was no longer the shaking wreck she had captured, but a tool honed to a single, terrifying point. He walked toward the core, his purpose clear. Mikhail Kuznetsov, the guilt-ridden engineer, stayed near the entrance, his eyes scanning the chamber, cross-referencing its impossible architecture with the partial schematics on his data-slate.
Then, a sound from behind them. A sharp crack of displaced air and the grinding shriek of metal being torn apart. Anastasya spun, raising her rifle. The archway they had entered through was blasted open, its edges peeled back like a wound. Silhouetted against the harsh light of the outer corridor stood ten figures. At their head was Justicar Gerasim Frolov, his black crystalline armor seeming to drink the chamber’s soft light, his Judgement Rod held loosely in one hand.
— You consort with chaos to unleash greater chaos, — Gerasim’s voice boomed, the chamber’s acoustics amplifying his gravelly monotone into an overwhelming presence. His single, multifaceted crystal eye glowed, analyzing them, judging them. The intricate, repeating pattern of the Weft of Vigil, the symbol of Regalis order, was etched into his breastplate, a declaration of his unbending purpose.
— This place will be sanctified by Order, — the Justicar declared. His intent was clear. He was not here to seize the Sunken Song. He was here to sterilize it, to erase this chaotic, unpredictable variable from the world.
The battle erupted without another word. Gerasim’s elite guards advanced in a perfect, rigid formation, their movements synchronized, their energy rifles firing in controlled volleys. Anastasya reacted instantly, her voice cutting through the chaos.
— Mikhail, the conduits! Can you overload them? — she barked.
— Jukka, biotic interference! Blind them!
— Lauri, get to the interface!
It was a duel of doctrines. Gerasim’s forces were a hammer, designed to smash opposition with overwhelming, disciplined force. Her small, fractured team was a collection of mismatched parts, forced to be flexible. Mikhail scrambled to a nearby terminal, his fingers flying across its surface as he tried to manipulate the chamber’s ancient power systems. Jukka began a low, discordant chant, and the air shimmered, the biotic noise disrupting the Regalis targeting sensors. Their shots began to go wide.
Anastasya laid down suppressing fire, her shots precise, aimed at joints and weapon emitters. She moved from one piece of precursor machinery to another, using the environment as cover, her tactics fluid where Gerasim’s were static. Lauri, shielded by the chaos, was sprinting toward the main control interface at the base of the Sunken Song’s core.
Gerasim saw it. His crystal eye focused on Lauri, identifying the Silvanus warden as the heretic key, the biological component needed to activate this machine of chaos. The Justicar ignored Anastasya, his objective singular. He lunged, moving with a speed that defied his bulk, his arm pulling back, not with the Judgement Rod, but with a long spear of raw, sharpened crystal he drew from his back. He was aiming past her guard, directly at Lauri.
Anastasya saw the trajectory. She saw Lauri, his back turned, fumbling with the alien controls. She saw Gerasim’s absolute, murderous intent. There was no time for a warning. No time for a tactical shift. There was only time for a choice. She chose to maintain the integrity of the mission. The price was her own body.
She threw herself into the path of the attack.
The world became a single point of white-hot agony. The crystal spear, meant for Lauri’s heart, punched through the Crystalline Myxoid plate on her shoulder and buried itself deep in her flesh. The impact threw her back against a console, the sound of her own armor cracking lost in the roar of the battle. She slid to the floor, her rifle clattering from numb fingers.
Her vision tunneled. The vibrant, pulsating light of the chamber faded to a dull grey. She could feel the hot wetness of her own blood soaking her tunic, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile crystal piercing her. She was out of the fight. Incapacitated. A failure.
Then, a different sensation. A faint warmth spreading from her chest. From a small pouch on her belt, a soft green light pulsed. It was the small, healthy Photosynthetic Myxoid she had carried since leaving the outpost, a living reminder of the world she was fighting for. The tiny creature was clinging to the edges of the wound, pouring its meager life force into her, a desperate, symbiotic attempt to keep her alive. It was not enough to heal her, but it was enough to keep the darkness at bay for a few moments longer.
Through the haze of pain, she saw the battle shift. With her command gone, her team’s coordinated defense was faltering. Gerasim, seeing her fall, did not press the attack on Lauri. He had a more important objective. He gestured to one of his men, a technician carrying a data-slate.
— The schema! Now! — Gerasim commanded.
While his guards pinned down Jukka and Mikhail, the technician sprinted to a secondary terminal near the chamber’s wall. He slammed his slate against its surface. Lines of precursor code began to scroll across his screen. He was copying the control schema, the operating blueprint for the Sunken Song.
Anastasya’s blood ran cold, a chill that had nothing to do with her wound. Gerasim didn’t just want to destroy this machine. He wanted to build his own. A version of it that would be pure, orderly, and utterly under his control. He was stealing the fire of creation itself.
She tried to raise her rifle, but her arm wouldn’t respond. She was bleeding out on the floor of a precursor tomb, watching the man who embodied the tyranny she had fled secure the means to perfect it. They had lost.
She turned her head, her vision swimming. She saw Lauri, standing before the main console, his face a mask of grim resolve. He looked at her, at her wound, at the technician stealing the data, at Gerasim turning back toward him, Judgement Rod now raised. All other options were gone. He was the only one left.
