Chapter 2: The Larval Stage
552 Words
"The current crop of subjects looks promising. Especially that boy from the Vane lineage. His genetic markers suggest a ninety percent compatibility rate. If he survives the Integration, he could be a Tier 4 asset within five years."
In the high command chamber of Moonblood Citadel, the voices of the Arch-Biologists buzzed like flies over a corpse.
The Citadel’s ruling council sat around a table made of living bone. Each Elder wore the distinct bio-augmentations of their faction—some had compound eyes, others had limbs replaced by chitinous weaponry.
"He is the last survivor of his bloodline," a rasping voice noted. "His parents died in the wasteland. If my faction takes him in, we can ensure his loyalty... with the right conditioning."
"Conditioning? Ha! You just want his genome," another Elder sneered. "But remember the Sector Warden’s warning. Competition is encouraged, but civil war is f*******n. We wait until the Integration Ritual tomorrow. Let the Symbiotes choose the host."
The Elders fell silent, exchanging glances that were sharp enough to cut glass. In this grim fortress, "talent" was just another word for "resource." And everyone was hungry.
...
Meanwhile, in a damp dormitory room on the lower levels.
Rain lashed against the iron shutters. Vane stood motionless by the window, staring at his reflection in the dark glass.
A young face. Pale skin. Eyes that were clear and bright, devoid of the madness and exhaustion that had plagued him for centuries.
He raised a hand, clenching it into a fist. No tremors. No nerve damage from overusing Ether. No phantom pains.
"Moonblood Citadel. The year 745 of the Union Calendar. Five hundred years ago..."
Vane took a deep breath. The air smelled of mildew and rust, not the sulfur and burning flesh of his "future."
"It worked. The Ouroboros Overture really worked."
He closed his eyes, focusing his consciousness inward, diving into the darkness of his own skull.
Deep within his pineal gland, a tiny, translucent grub lay curled in a dormant slumber. It looked like a piece of finely carved amber, motionless and weak.
The Rank 6 Ouroboros Symbiote. The creature that had cost him millions of lives and centuries of effort to cultivate. Now, it was starving, barely clinging to existence, dragged back through the currents of time by his final sacrifice.
"You are weak," Vane whispered to the creature inside his head. "And so am I."
He opened his eyes. The reflection in the glass smiled. It was a terrifyingly innocent smile.
"Five hundred years of pain. Five hundred years of struggling in the mud. It feels like a dream."
*But it wasn't a dream,* the cold logic in his brain reminded him. *The knowledge is here. The pain is here. The hatred is here.*
He turned away from the window, looking at the sleeping form of his twin brother, Zane, in the bunk opposite him.
Zane was sleeping soundly, mouth slightly open, drooling on his pillow. The "Genius" of the clan. The "Hope" of the future.
Vane’s eyes narrowed.
"In my past life, you and the clan squeezed every drop of value out of me. You took my blood, my dignity, and my life. But this time..."
He walked over to the mirror, adjusting his collar.
"This time, I am the one who will do the eating."
- Writer
