Lyara stared at the horror as it descended from above. What was once the ship's head surgeon suspended itself from the ceiling, its mismatched limbs ending in various surgical tools—forceps, scalpels, scissors, clamps, and needles—poised to strike. The once-human creature hung like a grotesque chandelier above the terrified medical staff.
Its three mouths moved in unison, sickly smiles revealing needle-like teeth that glistened red in the flashing emergency lights. Black saliva dripped to the floor, eating away at the metal surface with a soft, insidious hiss.
Lyara's hand found Mercy's Edge, drawing it in one fluid motion. The sword hummed to life, its soft blue luminescence reflecting off the polished steel instruments that had become grotesque extensions of the surgeon's limbs. Behind her, metallic clanking echoed through the room as Maris unfurled Mercy's Teeth, the segmented whip uncoiling like a spine preparing to strike.
"Get the patients to the back of the bay!" Lyara commanded the frozen staff. When they hesitated, rooted by terror, her voice hardened: "MOVE! NOW!"
The corrupted surgeon lowered itself further into the bay, its utensils moving toward the nearest patients. A scalpel-tipped tendril arced through the air, leaving a trail of suspended black crystals in its wake.
"Fascinating specimens," the creature spoke, three different voices overlapping in eerie harmony. "So many wonderful... improvements to be made."
Lyara lunged forward, Mercy's Edge slicing through the air. The blade connected with the extended tendril, cutting through corruption as if it were merely water. Black crystals fractured and evaporated like frost under sudden heat. Human hands, still clutching the scalpel, went limp, dropping to the floor with a metallic clatter as Lyara reset her stance.
The creature recoiled momentarily, then displayed a grotesque smile across all three mouths. "What an elegant instrument, too, but its wielder is so unrefined. Allow me to demonstrate proper surgical technique."
It released its grip on the ceiling, descending fully into the room. Its legs bent backward at impossible angles, two arms serving as front limbs. It moved with preternatural speed toward the nearest gurney.
"No!" Lyara shouted, launching herself to intercept, but arrived too late.
The arsenal of tools descended on the patient, sickening sounds of punctured flesh and splintering bone filling the room. Lyara positioned herself between the surgeon and its next victims, engaging in a deadly dance. The surgeon's many arms moved with calculated precision—some blocked by her blade, others slipping past her defenses.
Two of its mouths spoke in unsettling chorus while the third unhinged like a snake preparing to swallow something whole. "This one requires immediate attention. Such potential for metamorphosis."
As limbs reached toward more patients, the air split with a sharp crack. Mercy's Teeth wrapped around the appendages Lyara couldn't block, barbs sinking deep into corrupted flesh. Black ichor sprayed from fractured tendrils as Maris pulled the whip back, straining to redirect the creature's attention away from the vulnerable patients.
The monster, already moving unnaturally fast, somehow accelerated. "Proper medicine requires proper procedure." Limbs coiled around Mercy's Teeth and yanked Maris forward, toward its waiting maw.
Maris stumbled, losing balance and tumbling to the floor. Four limbs, each ending in a different surgical tool, struck toward vital points on her body with clinical precision.
A brilliant shawl wove itself into existence around Lyara's shoulders, composed of what appeared to be threads of light. The Guardian's Mantle unfurled like liquid starlight, a cascade of luminescence unlike anything Maris had ever witnessed.
Lyara extended her hand; the Mantle responded instantly. Just as the surgical instruments would have pierced Maris's flesh, a barrier of light materialized, deflecting the strikes with resonant clangs.
The tools scraped against the barrier like nails on a chalkboard. Though the shield held, Lyara winced as each impact transferred a dull ache through her body. The Guardian's Mantle protected at a cost—dispersing damage among all within its range, with Lyara bearing the greater burden.
The surgeon reared up, revealing a grotesque secondary torso fused to its lower half—another victim partially consumed by the malignant infection. This new addition featured arms ending in bone saws, now spinning with an ominous mechanical whir.
"This procedure may cause some... discomfort," the three voices reverberated throughout the bay. "But I assure you, the transformation will be most enlightening."
As the situation grew dire, the radio crackled to life with Etta's voice—never more welcome than now: "We have disabled the ventilation system. Your five minutes start now, Lyara."
The surgeon turned toward the sound, momentarily distracted. Lyara seized the opportunity.
"Maris, get everyone moving through the ventilation system, NOW!" The Guardian's Mantle expanded, enveloping the entire group and the path to the vents. Maris rose to her feet and, with a flick of her wrist that seemed to surprise even her, retracted Mercy's Teeth, slicing through the tangled tendrils.
The surgeon's screeching filled the room—three voices wailing in discordant agony, the sound shattering glass throughout the medical bay.
"Move, move, move!" Maris urged as the medical staff scrambled toward the vents.
The surgeon battered against the luminous barrier, each impact sending ripples of pain through those it protected. Lyara bore the brunt of it, sweat beading on her brow as sharp pain lanced through her body. Only the distributed burden made it endurable at all.
"Come on," Maris urged the broken Chosen One huddled against the wall. "We have to go, now!"
"It's too late for me." The woman looked up, her eyes suddenly lucid. "The voices have shown me what waits on the other side of this hell. I choose... a different path."
Before anyone could intervene, she darted from the group's protection, running directly into the creature's waiting limbs. Surgical tools pierced her flesh as blackness flowed from the monster into her veins.
"A willing subject," the surgeon purred, its voices harmonizing perfectly for the first time. "How... refreshing!" Its inhuman laughter followed the retreating group.
Lyara felt the loss physically, like a blow to her chest. Another Chosen One consumed by the Maw, another life extinguished before its trials could be completed.
I thought I could keep everyone alive. I was supposed to keep everyone alive. A different kind of pain suffused her—the ache of failure, sharper than any physical wound.
"Lyara, we need to go!" Maris called, helping the final patient through the ventilation shaft.
Maintaining the Mantle's barrier, Lyara backed toward the opening. The surgeon made no move to pursue, too engrossed in its newest "patient." The last thing Lyara saw before entering the shaft was the broken girl's face, expression serene as black veins spread beneath her pale skin.
The ventilation shaft enclosed them in cramped darkness, illuminated only by Mercy's Edge's gentle glow. Labored breathing echoed around her, accompanied by the scent of fear and desperation.
"How many did we get out?" Lyara asked, voice low.
"Twenty-three, including us," Maris replied grimly. "We lost five to the surgeon, including the girl who'd lost her mind."
The ship shuddered violently. Metal groaned as another section separated from the vessel, plunging into the endless depths below.
"We need to move faster," Lyara urged. "The scuttling sequence is accelerating."
Through the walls came distant explosions as parts of the Heraclea were systematically jettisoned. Each detonation sent tremors through the remaining structure, dislodging panels and raining dust upon them.
"If all has gone according to plan, we should meet Keldric and his group at the next junction," Lyara said, navigating to the front of their procession.
Maris moved alongside her. "Lyara, do you hear that?"
Lyara halted, raising her hand for silence. As the group went still, a faint, rhythmic tapping emerged from the darkness—three short taps, three long, three short again.
"What is that?" Maris asked, brow furrowed.
"Morse Code. My family has preserved it for generations—a communication method from the Old World. That pattern is an SOS. Someone's trapped."
"We need to find them," Maris insisted with unexpected urgency.
Lyara raised an eyebrow. "Any particular reason?"
"I feel it—the same pull I felt before finding Mercy's Teeth. My second artifact is calling."
"That makes this simple, then. I thought I'd have to convince you." Lyara's lips curled in a slight smile. She turned to address the others: "Everyone, wait here. We'll locate the survivor and return shortly."
They followed the rhythmic tapping down a narrowing passage, eventually forced to crawl on hands and knees. The air thinned noticeably as life support systems diverted oxygen to critical areas. Their heads swam with each breath.
The tapping grew louder, more desperate. Through a side grate, Lyara spotted a young woman in a communications officer's uniform, clinging to the ceiling as water rose beneath her.
"Help!" she called upon seeing them. "The bulkhead sealed me in—I can't get out!"
"Stand back!" Lyara awkwardly maneuvered Mercy's Edge in the confined space. While the blade couldn't harm flesh, it made short work of the metal grate. She kicked it free and reached down to pull the woman to safety.
The officer scrambled through the opening. "Thank you! I'm Reeves, communications division."
"Introductions later. We need to move." Lyara glanced at Maris. "Where's the pull coming from?"
Maris pointed to a headset hanging from Reeves' belt. "There. That's it."
Confusion crossed Reeves' face as Lyara explained: "We're not from your world. That headset is a special artifact she needs. Would you part with it?"
Without hesitation, Reeves unclipped the device and handed it to Maris. Upon touching her fingers, it disintegrated into threads of light that wove themselves into an intricate circlet. The luminous strands settled around her head, solidifying into an elegant crown of intertwined silver and gold.
"Thought Weave," Maris whispered reverently. "It connects people—their thoughts, their emotions."
"We need to rejoin the others," Lyara said, already turning back.
They returned to the waiting group and pressed on toward the rendezvous point. As they neared their destination, the Captain's calm voice echoed through the ship's intercom: "The self-destruct sequence has been accelerated; five minutes remain."
Time was running short.