Sable Kiss hummed as it protruded from Captain Markov's chest, the red jewel in its pommel pulsating with sickening delight as it fed on her essence. Blood blossomed across her uniform, startlingly vibrant against the white fabric. Her eyes, newly cleared of corruption, widened with shocked betrayal as she stared at her killer.
Elias stood across the room, the golden glow of Guardian's Mantle still covering him from head to toe. His expression was cold and calculating as Sable Kiss drank deeply. His wounds were completely closed now, his fatigue virtually vanishing in a moment as the blade absorbed the captain's life force.
As the blade consumed her, his vision flashed white, reality dissolving around him.
He was no longer on the bridge. Instead, he found himself in Markov's memories, experiencing fragments of her last days through disjointed images:
The first crystalline samples were being brought aboard, sealed in containment units that now seemed woefully inadequate. Markov was the first one exposed to the corruption's influence.
This is why she was the anchor. The first exposed and the rest grew from her.
Markov alone in her quarters, recording a message: "There is something going on with me, my mind is experiencing flashes of memories that are not mine. Thoughts that I don't understand. I feel a coldness in the core of my being, something foreign flowing through my veins."
A torn page from her private journal, partially burned: "...told us this was a routine oceanographic mission. But the coordinates were too precise. Someone knew exactly what we would find here."
The captain stared at star charts that Elias couldn't comprehend, plotting a course to a location marked simply with a symbol that resembled the Maw.
Black veins stretching from the core of her being outward, energy surging from her to other places. She was feeling the presence of the corruption throughout the ship with startling clarity.
She still looked like herself from the outside; the darkness was hidden by her uniform from the others. She still felt like herself, acted like herself, held the same convictions, and cared for her crew. A dark truth was dawning on her with inevitable clarity; her body was being used by the corrupted evil that was taking over the ship.
She had considered taking her own life, even attempted it once, but she could not. Whatever this infection was, it had enough of a say in her actions to keep her from killing herself or exposing the truth to others.
She was trapped, forced to watch death march across the ship layer by layer, and do what little she could to save the lives of her crew and companions. Her last act of defiance before losing to the corruption was evacuating the bridge and staying behind.
The vision fragmented, images and sensations overwhelming Elias's consciousness until a single, crystal-clear thought cut through the chaos:
It knows what it's looking for. And it's been looking for a very, very long time.
A new memory came into view. Elias was no longer experiencing Markov's point of view. His vision soared from the Heraclea across the ocean as the sun rose and set over, and over, and over.
A sprawling metropolis from a time before the Fall stretched before him, its towers gleaming in sunlight. This was Azimuth at its height—humanity's crowning achievement. Within a massive laboratory complex at the heart of the city, scientists in pristine white coats clustered around a containment chamber.
Inside the chamber, a small crystalline formation pulsed with unnatural energy, its surface constantly shifting between solid and liquid states. The first corruption sample, freshly retrieved from the ocean depths.
"The molecular structure defies conventional physics," a scientist said, examining readings on a display. "It seems to be learning from each test we conduct."
Another scientist approached – a man whose face remained in shadow, his presence commanding the room's attention. "It's not just learning. It's communicating."
"With what?" said another.
"With the rest of itself," the shadowed man replied. "This sample isn't the entire entity. It's merely a fragment. It's alive and malevolent, but we noticed it too late. We can't stop it at this point, but we can try and contain it."
The scene shifted. The same laboratory, but changed. The containment field had grown larger, housing a more substantial mass of corruption. Scientists lay dead on the floor, black veins visible beneath their skin. Only the shadowed man remained standing.
"The Gateway," the shadowed man said, speaking into the darkness. "We can still use the Gateway."
"No," the man said firmly, his voice changed and distinct as if he was more than one person in the same body. "The Gateway was designed as a last resort, but using it now would only give the corruption access to something worse."
"What could be worse than this?" said the first voice.
"The Forgotten World isn't trying to destroy us," came the second voice. "It's trying to reclaim us. We were once part of it, separated long ago. The Gateway was built to keep worlds apart, but the separation was never meant to be permanent."
The man approached a strange device that pulsed with energy. A third voice: "We need to divide ourselves. Three aspects, three paths. When the time comes, they will need to be reunited in a vessel that can withstand both corruption and purity."
Elias returned to the present with a violent jolt, the stunned silence on the bridge broken only by Lyara's anguished cry.
"What have you done?!" Her voice broke, the Guardian's Mantle finally releasing from around Elias as her concentration wavered. "I was saving her!"
The countdown continued its merciless progression.
0:00:01
Around them, the corruption thrashed violently as if in pain, the organized patterns dissolving into chaotic frenzy. The tendrils whipped through the air with decreasing coordination, some withering entirely, others lashing out randomly. The surgeon's remains collapsed into a puddle of ichor that sizzled against the metal floor.
The smell of death and decay began to fade away, giving way to crisp fresh air. The freezing cold that chilled their bones and frosted the walls thawed to the warmth of a fresh spring day.
Then, inexplicably, the countdown froze. The self-destruct sequence halted at the final second, the ship's systems suddenly going quiet. Captain Markov's body slumped forward as Sable Kiss dissolved into smoke and returned to Elias's hand, her lifeless form collapsing to the floor with a dull thud that echoed through the now-silent bridge.
All eyes were on Elias, a myriad of emotions relayed through their faces.
Elias let out a heavy sigh, "She was the anchor point, everything was originating from her," he stated flatly. "Cut off the head, kill the body."
Keldric advanced on him, Oathkeeper blazing with righteous fury. "You murdered her when she was returning to herself! When we could have saved her!"
"No," Elias countered, his tone devoid of remorse. "The corruption was using her as its nexus point. I saw it in the pattern of attacks—everything radiating from her, returning to her. The trial wasn't going to end until she died."
The others looked at him with varying degrees of horror and disgust. Only Maren's expression held a hint of analytical understanding, as if she'd observed the same pattern but hadn't reached the same brutal conclusion.
As if responding to Elias's words, the bridge began to dissolve around them. Reality thinned like fabric stretched beyond its limit, the walls becoming translucent, then transparent. Through the fading structure of the Heraclea, they could see not the ocean depths but a void of swirling darkness punctuated by distant points of light.
The Judge materialized before them, its features shifting constantly as it surveyed the survivors.
"The first phase is complete," it announced, its voice bypassing their ears to resonate directly in their minds. "You have survived the historical crucible."
"Did we pass?" Etta asked, her fingers still wrapped around the pocket watch, its face now showing all four seasons simultaneously.
"Passing implies a binary outcome," the Judge replied. "You have completed the phase—some with greater understanding than others." Its gaze lingered on Elias.
The Judge moved among them, counting with deliberate motions. "Eight remain of the twelve who entered. An acceptable ratio." It gestured to each survivor in turn. "Elias of the Outer Slums. Lyara of the Knowledge Keepers. Keldric of the Sentinels. Maren and Nira of the Scholars. Maris of House Rayburn. Etta of the Agricultural Zones. Darius of the Noble Houses."
The last of these had returned to his normal self, his transformation released.
"Each of you has found both artifacts meant for you," the Judge continued. "These tools and weapons resonate with your essential nature. They will evolve as you evolve, grow as you grow, revealing more of their potential as you discover more of yours."
The Judge moved with eerie grace, as if floating on air instead of walking. "The Maw amplified your artifacts due to the unique nature of your trial and the Forgotten World's interference. However, that state cannot be maintained; the Maw does not have the energy to sustain their heightened states. Each of your artifacts will become as they were meant to be at the beginning of your journey."
Every survivor of the trial felt a fundamental shift in the depth of their connection with their artifacts. They felt closer to mundane tools, with a hint of mythical energy instead of something linked to their psyche.
The Judge approached Elias, hovering uncomfortably close. "Your artifacts are particularly interesting—opposing forces that battle within you even now. Destruction and healing. Taking and giving. A rare and volatile combination."
The Judge moved away, addressing them collectively. "The artifacts you have claimed belonged to historical figures from humanity's first encounter with corruption. Each pair represents a different approach to fighting the darkness—some through force, others through understanding, still others through sacrifice or preservation."
The environment continued to shift around them, the Heraclea fading entirely. In its place, glimpses of a magnificent coastal metropolis began to appear—towering spires of gleaming white stone, sprawling districts of architectural wonder, ships with billowing sails docked in a vast harbor.
"Phase Two begins now," the Judge announced. "Azimuth awaits—the pinnacle of human achievement before the Fall. There, you will discover the culmination of humanity's journey with corruption, and the final truths of your trial."
The glimpses solidified, becoming more substantial with each passing moment. The survivors felt themselves being pulled toward this new reality, the historical scenario giving way to something equally foreign yet more permanent.
"Remember," the Judge's voice began to fade as its form dispersed, "in Azimuth, the shadows have eyes, and the Phantom Citizens remember what came before. Listen to them, learn from them, but never trust them completely."
Before the final transition, Elias caught Lyara's gaze. Her eyes reflected disappointment and something deeper—a recognition that his actions, while effective, had cost him something essential. She shook her head slightly, a silent communication that promised reckoning later.
Keldric's expression was more direct—a warrior's promise of consequences for dishonorable acts.
Elias looked at them defiantly and, with a calm, cold voice, declared. "It's thanks to me that you live."
The world dissolved into blinding white light. When vision returned, the eight survivors stood at the harbor district of Azimuth, the salt breeze carrying the scent of a city at its zenith. Before them stretched wide boulevards lined with buildings of impossible beauty and complexity. And in the distance, dominating the skyline, the Central Spire rose like a monument to human ingenuity—their destination in this second phase of the Maw's trial.
Elias adjusted his grip on Sable Kiss, feeling Mourning Coil pulse against his wrist. Whatever awaited them in this phantom city, he would survive it—no matter the cost.