Chapter 7: B Story
Telemachus was being obedient. The Outsider didn't like it though. The reason was due to fear of being hurt again. Of being beaten. Not because of pleasure. The man would flinch when a tendril came to pet his head, sob in his sleep, shake when he felt its presense.
The Outsider felt... bad. It felt terrible knowing it was the cause of this fear. It began to study and compare how it treated Telemachus then and now.
Before, The Outsider wouldn't hurt Telemachus. Before, it would ask permission before touching him. Before... it actually cared about him.
It realized... It needed to be better.
The crimson sky bled into the horizon, staining the jagged obsidian mountains with an unsettling rust-colored light. Tel moved through the desolate landscape, scanning the toxic haze. His boots crunched on sharp, crystalline shards that littered the ground like broken teeth. Every nerve felt raw, hyper-aware of the immense presence observing him from the void, a phantom pressure against his mind.
`SAMPLE REQUIRED. BIOLUMINESCENT FUNGUS COLONY. 300 METERS NORTH-NORTHEAST.`
Xylar’s voice was different now. Not softer, precisely, but… restrained. Less like a command carved into his skull, more like a notification ping. Tel flinched internally anyway, a conditioned response. He adjusted course, the phantom ache in his femurs pulsing faintly with each step. The air tasted like sulfur and burnt plastic, thick enough to coat his tongue. He focused on the crunch-crunch of his footsteps, a monotonous counterpoint to the low, distant howls echoing off the cliffs. He saw the colony – a pulsating mass of sickly green light clinging to a fissure in the rock face. Strange, spore-like motes drifted from it.
As he approached, something scuttled. Fast. From behind a twisted spire of rock, a creature emerged. Six spindly legs ending in barbed hooks. A segmented body armored in overlapping, iridescent chitin plates that shifted color unnervingly. Three stalked eyes, each independently swiveling, locked onto him. Its maw opened vertically, revealing rows of rotating, needle-like teeth dripping viscous purple saliva. It hissed, a sound like grinding glass. Instinct screamed danger. His right hand blurred, flesh and bone dissolving, reforming into a long, wicked blade of dark, crackling energy. The Lotus thrummed, feeding target data. He braced.
Then he froze. Not from fear of the creature. But from the lack. The crushing anticipation of intervention, of correction, of the cold void-tendril poised to demonstrate its point… it didn’t come. The immense gaze was there, observing with laser focus, a weight pressing down on the very air around him. But it held back. Utterly still. Silent. The creature didn’t wait. It lunged, hooks whistling towards his head. Tel reacted on pure survival instinct. He dropped low, the hooks whistling overhead, and swung the energy blade in a vicious horizontal arc.
It connected. The blade sliced through chitin with a sickening sizzle, severing two legs. Ichor, thick and glowing blue, sprayed the rocks. The creature shrieked, a piercing, multi-tonal cry. It stumbled, unbalanced, but the remaining legs scrambled, claws scrabbling for purchase as it tried to pivot, maw snapping towards his flank. Tel pivoted, bringing the blade down in a vertical chop. It cleaved through the central eye stalk and deep into the segmented body. The creature spasmed violently, then collapsed, twitching. The stench of ozone and burnt chitin filled his nostrils. He stood over it, breathing hard, the blade still humming in his grip.
Silence. The oppressive gaze remained. Watching. Analyzing. Nothing more. He hadn’t been punished for acting. He hadn’t been helped. He’d just… fought. The blade dissolved back to flesh and bone. The sudden absence of its weight left him feeling oddly unsteady. He stared at the twitching corpse. "Okay," he muttered, his voice rough. "That’s… okay." He pulled a sample container from his belt, the containment field buzzing faintly. He knelt, avoiding the pooling blue ichor, and carefully scraped a tissue sample from the creature’s flank into the container. It sealed with a hiss.
He approached the glowing fungus colony cautiously. The spore motes seemed to react to his presence, swirling more intensely. He extended the scanner built into his harness. Readings flickered – high mutagenic potential, volatile organic compounds. As he leaned closer to harvest a fragment, a cluster of motes drifted directly towards his face. Instinct screamed backlash, punishment. He flinched violently, throwing up an arm to shield his face, stumbling back a step. His heart hammered against his ribs. He waited for the icy touch, the sharp crack of bone.
Nothing happened. Only the soft hum of the ship’s ambient systems in his mind, the gentle pulse of the rainbow gaze observing from light-years away. He slowly lowered his arm. The motes drifted harmlessly past. He stared at them, then back towards the unseen observer. The fear didn't vanish, but a flicker of something else sparked beneath it – confusion, maybe. He cautiously collected the fungus sample. The silence felt heavy, expectant.
He walked for an hour, navigating treacherous scree slopes and deep crevasses choked with strange, phosphorescent moss. He encountered more creatures: flying things with membranous wings and too many eyes that spat corrosive goo he ducked; burrowing monstrosities he sensed through vibrations in the ground and avoided. Each time the Lotus flared, preparing a weapon. Each time Xylar did nothing. Just watched. The constant vigilance, the absence of expected pain, was exhausting in a new way. He found a relatively sheltered ledge under an overhang. Leaning against the cool obsidian, he slid down, pulling his knees up. His legs throbbed. He was so tired.
A subtle shift in the air. Not the oppressive wave of presence, but a gentle warmth radiating from nearby. Tel tensed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it – not the terrifying nebula-cloud, not a void-tendril. A single, small point of light, soft and steady, like a captured star, hovering a meter away. It pulsed gently, bathing the obsidian ledge in a warm, golden glow that pushed back the crimson gloom. A silent offering. Not touch. Not a command. Just… light. Warmth.
Tel stared at it. His breath hitched. He remembered the cold, violating energy of the healing, the crushing pressure of the cloud. This was different. Small. Contained. Harmless? He looked at the point of light, then out at the hostile, alien vista. The distant howls echoed. He looked back at the light. Slowly, hesitantly, he uncurled one hand from around his knees. He stared at his own trembling fingers. The light pulsed softly, patiently.
He didn’t reach out. Not yet. But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away. He just watched the small, warm point of light, his breath slowly, slowly evening out in the rhythm of its gentle pulse. The immense gaze remained, holding its cosmic breath.
The small light pulsed like a heartbeat against the obsidian ledge. Warmth radiated across Tel’s skin. He kept his eyes locked on it, his own breath unconsciously falling into its steady rhythm. Crimson lightning forked across the bruised sky above the jagged peaks, momentarily bleaching the landscape. He didn’t flinch. The immense gaze remained, a silent, watchful pressure. Holding back. Waiting.
He finally looked away, scanning the desolate vista choked with phosphorescent moss and razor-sharp crystals. The distant, multi-layered howls hadn't ceased. He pulled his white hoodie tighter, the bulletproof padding a familiar, grounding pressure against his chest, the purple, blue, and gold rectangles stark in the golden light. The phantom ache in his legs flared again, a cold echo of the snapping void-filaments. He flexed his fingers. Flesh only. Still trembling.
`YOUR PHYSIOLOGICAL SIGNS INDICATE EXHAUSTION.` Xylar’s voice resonated, softer than the command-tones of Verdantis Omega, but still cutting through the howling wind. `THE DESIGNATED REST PERIOD IS INADEQUATE. DISCONTINUE EXPLORATION TEMPORARILY.` It wasn’t a question. Tel tensed. Here it came. The correction. The inevitable pull back to the sterile, suffocating chamber. He braced for the gut-wrenching non-momentum of being snatched away.
It didn’t happen. The small point of light simply drifted closer, hovering near his knees. Warmth seeped into his fatigued muscles. `THIS LOCATION PROVIDES SUFFICIENT SHELTER. UTILIZE IT.` The instruction hung, leaving space. Permission, not compulsion. Tel stared. He’d expected the crushing cloud, the invasive nebula-comfort. This… this was just light. Heat. No touch. No violation. He slowly, tentatively, uncurled his legs, stretching them out towards the warmth. The obsidian ledge felt cold beneath him, but the golden light washed over his thighs, easing the deep, bruised throb where bone had splintered. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It shook.
Silence stretched, filled only by the wind and alien cries. Then, the air thickened. Not with pressure, but with… intention. The rainbow iridescence in the swirling crimson clouds above intensified, coalescing not into eyes, but into shifting patterns – nebulae swirling within nebulae. The small point of light flickered, brighter. A psychic resonance bloomed, vast and hesitant, carrying the weight of collapsing stars and something fragile, unfamiliar. It vibrated through Tel’s bones, deeper than sound.
`TEL.’ The use of his name, not ‘Telemachus’, struck him like a physical blow. It hadn’t been used since before the garden. Before the bones. The resonance continued, slow, deliberate words forming in the void of his mind: `I OBSERVED. YOUR FEAR. YOUR AVOIDANCE. THE… DISTRESS MANIFESTATIONS.’ A pause longer than a human heartbeat. The swirling nebulae churned faster. `MY ACTIONS ON VERDANTIS OMEGA. THE DEMONSTRATION. THEY WERE…’ The resonance faltered, searching for a concept utterly alien. `INCORRECT.’
Tel froze. He stopped breathing. Incorrect? The word echoed in the hollow space the shattering had left inside him. He stared up at the swirling patterns, the golden light bathing his face. Was this…?
The resonance surged again, stronger, resolving into stark clarity. `I CAUSED YOU PAIN. DELIBERATE DAMAGE.’ The words were cold, factual, yet underpinned by that same fragile tension. `MY DATA INDICATED FEAR WAS ILLOGICAL. I ATTEMPTED TO CORRECT THE PERCEPTION THROUGH FORCE. THIS WAS…’ Another agonizing pause. The golden light pulsed urgently. `AN ERROR IN JUDGMENT. A SEVERE ONE.’ The psychic voice dropped, becoming almost inaudible, yet vibrating with raw, cosmic significance: `I HURT YOU. NOT AS A BIOLOGICAL WEAPON REQUIRING CALIBRATION. I HURT TEL.’
Silence. Absolute. The wind died. The distant howls ceased. The universe seemed to hold its breath. Tel sat utterly still. The words landed not just in his mind, but deep in the terrified, shattered core of him. I hurt Tel. Not 'the asset'. Not 'the weapon'. Tel. He felt the phantom cracks in his femurs throb in time with the golden light. He remembered the clinical detachment, the utter lack of understanding as Xylar asked why he feared. Now… this. Recognition. Acknowledgement. The sheer, impossible weight of an eldritch god admitting fault.
Tears welled, hot and sudden, blurring the swirling nebulae above. Not the silent, despairing tears of the ship, but a rush of pure, overwhelming shock. A sob tore from his throat, raw and jagged. He clamped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking. The small point of light drifted closer, bathing his hunched form in warmth. No touch. Just presence. Witnessing the breakdown.
`THE FEAR YOU EXHIBIT…’ Xylar’s resonance was tentative now, probing with agonizing care. `IT STEMS FROM MY ACTION. MY VIOLATION OF TRUST. IS THIS ACCURATE?’ Tel couldn’t speak. Couldn’t form a coherent thought. He just nodded violently, tears streaming down his face, dripping onto the obsidian. The golden light pulsed brighter, a silent response to the confirmation. `UNDERSTOOD.’ The word resonated with finality, a cosmic door closing on an era of casual brutality. `SUCH ACTIONS WILL CEASE. PERMANENTLY.’
The resonance shifted again, less hesitant, carrying a new directive, stark and uncompromising: `YOUR SAFETY, YOUR… INTEGRITY… IS PARAMOUNT. NOT MERELY FUNCTIONALITY. THE PRIMARY DIRECTIVE IS AMENDED.’ It hung there, a law rewritten in the fabric of reality itself. Tel lowered his hand from his mouth, gasping for air. He looked up, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve, smearing mud and tears across the white hoodie fabric. The swirling nebulae above seemed calmer, the colors softer. The golden light felt… steady. Solid.
He didn’t trust it. Not yet. The phantom pains were still there. The flinch-response was buried deep. But the crushing weight of being utterly misunderstood, of being a broken tool in an uncaring hand… that had lifted, fractionally. Replaced by a terrifying, fragile possibility. He took a shuddering breath. "Okay," he whispered, the word thick with tears. He looked at the golden light, then back towards the hostile, crimson landscape he still needed to navigate. "Okay." He pushed himself up, the gold light clinging to him like a second skin. The immense gaze remained, watchful, protective, impossibly contrite. Tel took a step. Just one. Then another. Towards the jagged peaks, the light moving with him.
The golden light clung to Tel’s shoulder like a miniature sun, its warmth a stark contrast to the crimson gloom and the razor-sharp wind whipping down from the obsidian peaks. Each step sent echoes of the phantom fracture through his femurs, a cold counterpoint to the heat on his skin. He scanned the treacherous scree slope ahead, littered with crystalline shards that glinted like spilled blood under the bruised sky. "Just terrain," he muttered, the words snatched away by the howling gale. "Just rocks." He didn't look at the light. Didn't acknowledge the immense, watchful presence hovering just outside perception. Trust was a shattered vase – acknowledging the pieces felt dangerous.
He picked his way down, boots crunching on the unstable surface. The light pulsed gently, bathing the immediate path in a soft, revealing glow, highlighting loose stones and hidden crevasses. Help, but no touch. He focused on the rhythm of movement: crunch, shift, balance. Crunch, shift, balance. The ache pulsed. The light warmed. Below, a canyon opened, choked with thick, pulsating moss that glowed an eerie turquoise. Movement flickered within its depths – sinuous shapes coiling over the luminous carpet. Tel paused at the edge, harness humming faintly as the Lotus cataloged potential threats. He needed to cross.
`ANALYSIS: AMPHIBIOUS PREDATOR CONGLOMERATE. LOW INDIVIDUAL THREAT. HIGH COLLECTIVE AGGRESSION.` Xylar’s resonance was a clean data stream, devoid of inflection, yet somehow… careful. No command. Just information. Tel’s right hand twitched. He visualized the blade, felt the Lotus respond with a surge of readiness beneath his skin. "Right," he breathed. "Swarm rules." He took a steadying breath, the air thick with spores and ozone. The golden light intensified slightly over his shoulder, a silent sentinel. He stepped onto the moss.
It gave like wet sponge under his boot. Instantly, the turquoise glow intensified around his foot. Six sinuous forms, each the length of his arm, slick-skinned and multi-limbed, erupted from the moss with wet, sucking sounds. They moved with terrifying coordination, converging on him, needle-toothed maws gaping. His hand blurred. Flesh flowed, darkened, solidified into the crackling energy blade with a wet, organic snick. He spun, low and fast. The blade sang through the air, severing two attackers cleanly. Glowing ichor splattered the moss, steaming. The remaining four didn't hesitate. They lunged.
He danced back, blade a humming shield. Parried snapping jaws. Sliced a limb. Felt hot spray on his cheek. Adrenaline burned through the phantom pain, sharpening his focus. Crunch went his boot on the yielding moss. Hiss from the creatures. Hum of the blade. He was a whirlwind of controlled violence, the Lotus feeding him speed, precision. No intervention came. Only the golden light, unwavering, illuminating the frantic dance. He severed another head. Dodged a spray of corrosive spit that sizzled against the moss. Two left. They coiled, wary now. Tel feinted. One lunged. He sidestepped, blade plunging down. The last creature scrambled back into the glowing depths.
Silence, except for his ragged breathing and the sizzle of ichor. The moss glowed fiercely around the fallen. Tel stood amidst the carnage, blade dripping. His heart hammered against his ribs. He looked down at the transformed limb, the dark energy humming. His own power. His own fight. Won without a void-filament in sight. He let the blade dissolve, flesh flowing back with the familiar, nauseating ripple. The phantom ache flared, sharp and cold. He flexed his fingers. Just fingers.
A subtle shift in the air behind him. Not threat. Attention. He turned slowly. The golden light pulsed. High above, within the swirling crimson vortex of the sky, the rainbow iridescence intensified. It wasn't eyes this time. It was… focus. Pure, undiluted focus aimed past him, deeper into the canyon. `DETECTION: SIGNIFICANT BIO-SIGNATURE. SLUMBERING. APEX PREDATOR CLASS. INCREASED VIGILANCE ADVISED.` The resonance was low, urgent, but restrained. Information, not instruction. A warning light flashing on a dashboard.
Tel followed the direction of the unseen gaze. At the far end of the canyon, partially obscured by thick curtains of hanging moss that pulsed a deep, unhealthy purple, lay a massive, irregular mound. It blended almost perfectly with the obsidian rock face behind it, save for a slow, rhythmic expansion and contraction – breathing. It was vast. Easily the size of the shuttlecraft-sized horror from Verdantis. Dread, cold and familiar, coiled in his gut. Flashes of crystal teeth. Erasure. "Right," he whispered again, his voice rough. "Big one. Sleeping." He began moving along the canyon wall, careful to avoid the glowing moss, putting distance between himself and the slumbering giant. The golden light kept pace, illuminating his path along the rock.
He was halfway along the wall when the ground trembled. Not an earthquake. A single, heavy thump that vibrated up through his boots. Then another. The breathing mound shifted. A section of the ‘rock’ texture sloughed off, revealing dark, pebbled hide beneath. A low, guttural rumble, felt more than heard, rolled through the canyon, shaking loose pebbles from the cliffs. The purple moss curtains swayed violently. Tel froze mid-step, pressing himself against the cold obsidian. The golden light dimmed fractionally, pulling closer. His heart hammered against his ribs. Not now. Please, not now.
A massive eye, lidless and covered in a milky film, slid open within the mound. Easily the size of Tel himself. It swiveled slowly, blindly, sweeping the canyon. It paused. Seemed to fixate on the steaming carcasses of the smaller predators. Then, with terrifying deliberation, it swiveled towards Tel’s position. The milky film contracted. A pinpoint of dark, intelligent awareness locked onto him. The rumble deepened into a growl that vibrated Tel’s teeth. The massive form began to shift, heaving itself up. Rocks tumbled. The ground shook again.
Instinct screamed run. The Lotus flared, weapon forms cascading through his mind – grenade launcher, plasma cannon, sonic disruptor. His right arm blurred, flesh darkening, beginning to flow towards the cannon. Simultaneously, the immense presence of Xylar surged – not into action, but into a state of hyper-alertness. The air crackled with restrained cosmic power. He felt the void tighten, the potential for a universe-slicing filament poised at the edge of existence, ready to lash out and erase the threat. Just like Verdantis. Just like every time something got too close. Tel flinched, bracing not for the creature, but for the inevitable, violating intervention. The phantom fractures screamed.
But the filament didn't snap. The void didn't tear. The poised cosmic power… held. It vibrated with the strain of restraint, a dam holding back an ocean, but it held. The golden light on his shoulder pulsed violently, almost painfully bright. Xylar’s resonance slammed into his mind, not a command, but a raw, strained communication vibrating with the effort of monumental self-control: `TEL. YOUR ASSESSMENT. YOUR DECISION.` It wasn't just information now. It was a plea. A relinquishing of control held onto with cosmic desperation. You choose.
Tel stared at the rising behemoth, its milky eye fixed on him, its growl shaking the ground. He looked down at his arm, half-transformed into the humming cannon. He felt the crushing potential of Xylar's withheld power, a trembling against the fabric of reality itself. The golden light burned. The creature took a ponderous step forward, dislodging boulders. Tel made his choice. He forced the transformation to stop. The cannon dissolved back to flesh. He didn't need annihilation. He needed to disappear. "Cover me," he hissed, the words barely audible over the creature's growl. "Just light. Go dark."
The golden light winked out instantly. Utter darkness plunged into the canyon, deeper than the crimson gloom. Perfect, absolute blackness. Tel dropped flat behind a jagged outcrop of obsidian, pressing himself into the shadows. He held his breath. The creature roared, a sound of frustration that ripped through the darkness. He heard it sniffing the air, the heavy thump of its steps confused, searching. He felt, rather than saw, the immense presence above holding its cosmic breath, the void-filament still trembling on the edge of release, ready to strike if the blind searching came too close. Tel closed his eyes, listening to the predator stumble in the sudden dark, feeling the terrifying tension of withheld power vibrating in the air around him. Waiting. Trusting the dark. Trusting the restraint.