Corwin awoke to the sound of metal groaning.
His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he didn't know where he was. The ceiling above him was wrong. It shifted — not physically, but wrong in the way a familiar face feels unsettling after a long absence. He blinked. The dim amber glow of a lumen strip buzzed overhead. The crew quarters. His quarters.
He sat up slowly, joints aching. His uniform was rumpled, the fabric stiff with sweat. The chrono on the wall blinked erratically. Had it always been broken? He rubbed his eyes, trying to remember. What day was it?
The memory slipped through his fingers like smoke.
Corwin pushed off the cot, his boots hitting the cold metal floor with a dull thud. He dressed quickly, movements almost mechanical, and stepped out into the corridor. The ship was silent. Too silent.
He walked. The corridors stretched endlessly before him, each junction identical to the last. The ship's hum felt… different. Quieter. As if the Machine Spirit was holding its breath. Corwin frowned. The Imperium Bellum had always been loud — the gentle thrum of engines, the hiss of steam, the constant background chatter of servitors. But now?
Nothing.
He rounded a corner and stopped.
The corridor was empty. No crew. No noise. Just him and the flickering lumen strips overhead. He turned back. Walked the way he came. Turned another corner. Stopped.
Same corridor. Same flickering lights. Same empty silence.
Corwin's hand drifted to his sidearm. The grip felt cold. Wrong. He glanced down and saw his holster was empty. Had he forgotten it? No. He never forgot his weapon. He glanced back up and—
A man stood at the end of the corridor.
Corwin froze. The man was too far to make out details, but he stood motionless, watching. Corwin's heart pounded. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came. He blinked.
The man was gone.
Corwin swallowed. His throat felt dry. He pressed on, boots echoing against the metal floor. His footsteps felt… distant. Like they belonged to someone else. He passed another junction. And another. He turned a corner, and—
He was back where he started.
Panic crept into his mind. He clenched his fists. "Get a hold of yourself, Corwin," he muttered. His voice sounded strange. Thin. He kept walking.
Another corridor. Another junction. Another corner. He kept walking. The ship stretched endlessly in every direction. He glanced at the walls. They looked… different. Were the bulkheads always so narrow? Had the lumen strips always flickered in that pattern? He just didn't remember. He could hear something now. Soft. Distant. Like whispering.
He turned a corner and stopped dead.
A crewman stood before him.
The man's back was to him, head tilted slightly to the side. Corwin took a step forward. "Jason." His voice barely carried. The man didn't move. Corwin stepped closer.
"Jason."
The man turned.
Corwin staggered back. The crewman's face was… wrong. His features shifted, blurring and twisting like oil on water. His eyes were hollow, empty voids. His mouth opened — too wide — and a soft, wet gurgle escaped. Corwin turned and ran.
His boots pounded against the deck. He sprinted through the corridors, turning corners at random, lungs burning, heart racing. He could hear footsteps behind him. Soft at first. Then louder. Closer. He didn't dare look back. He turned another corner and—
The corridor ended.
A dead end.
He spun around. The corridor was empty. No footsteps. No whispers. Just silence. He slumped against the wall, gasping for breath. His head pounded. His vision swam. He squeezed his eyes shut.
When he opened them, he wasn't in the ship anymore.
The city stretched out before him.
Corwin blinked. He stood in the middle of a massive, twisting labyrinth of stone and metal. The sky was dark, choked with smog. Towers loomed overhead, their spires vanishing into the darkness. The streets stretched endlessly in every direction. The shadows shifted unnaturally.
He turned. The ship was gone.
"No…" Corwin whispered. "No, no, no."
He stumbled forward, boots scraping against the cracked pavement. He needed to find Someone. He wandered through the streets, each corner identical to the last. He saw people now — shadows flickering at the edges of his vision. Whenever he turned to look, they were gone.
Time passed. Or maybe it didn't. Corwin couldn't tell anymore. His throat burned with thirst. His legs ached. His thoughts felt sluggish. He kept walking. Kept searching. The shadows grew darker. The whispers grew louder.
He turned a corner and saw a child.
The boy stood alone in the middle of the street. He looked up at Corwin with wide, empty eyes. Corwin stepped forward.
The boy smiled. His mouth stretched too wide. Far too wide. His eyes darkened, black voids consuming his face. Corwin stumbled back, heart hammering in his chest. The boy whispered something. Soft. Gentle. Almost kind.
"Lost."
Corwin screamed.
He ran. The city twisted around him, the streets shifting and warping with every step. He turned corner after corner, but there was no escape. The shadows closed in. The whispers grew deafening. His vision blurred. His mind fractured.
Finally, he collapsed to his knees. The darkness pressed in. The whispers grew quiet. He looked up and saw a single lumen flickering in the distance. A figure stood beneath it. Small. Familiar.
The figure didn't move.
Corwin reached out, fingers trembling. His vision darkened. The last thing he heard was a soft, gentle whisper.
"Lost."
—-
Corwin ran.
His boots pounded against the cracked stone, breath ragged, chest heaving. The city stretched endlessly before him — labyrinthine streets winding in impossible patterns, shadows clinging to the walls like living things. The sky overhead churned, sickly green and black, swirling like smoke in a closed room. The air felt thick. Heavy. Each breath tasted wrong.
Keep moving. Don't stop. Find Someone sane.
He turned another corner and found himself in the same street. The same broken lamp flickered overhead, its lumen barely piercing the gloom. He stopped, chest rising and falling with ragged gasps, and looked around.
It was the same. Always the same.
He turned again and found himself back where he started.
"No," Corwin whispered. "No, no, no, no—" He pressed his hands against his temples. His head throbbed, pain stabbing behind his eyes. "This isn't real. It's not real."
But it felt real. The cold of the stone beneath his feet. The weight of the air. The whispers at the edge of his hearing, just soft enough that he couldn't make out the words.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Think. Think, damn you.
Something brushed against his hand.
His eyes snapped open.
A child stood before him. Pale. Thin. Hollow eyes stared up at him from a face that barely looked human anymore. The boy's skin was pulled tight over sharp bones, mouth slightly open as if trying to speak but forgetting how.
"Hello?" Corwin whispered.
The boy didn't move.
He took a step forward, hand reaching out — and the boy twitched. Sudden. Violent. His head snapped to the side with a wet crack, eyes rolling back into his skull. His mouth opened, wide, impossibly wide, and a soft, wet gurgle escaped.
Corwin stumbled back, heart hammering in his chest. The boy twitched again, limbs jerking at odd angles. His body convulsed, skin shifting, bubbling — and then he collapsed.
Silence.
Corwin didn't move.
And then the boy laughed.
A dry, rasping sound that scraped against Corwin's nerves like rusted metal. The boy's body jerked again, and slowly, painfully, he began to rise. Not onto his feet, but onto his hands and knees. His head lolled to the side, eyes rolled back, mouth gaping. Fingers lengthened. Bones cracked. Skin split and reformed.
Corwin turned and ran.
The streets twisted around him, shifting with every step. He sprinted through narrow alleys, vaulted over debris, his heart pounding in his ears. He turned corner after corner, but the city never changed. No matter which path he took, he always ended up in the same street, beneath the same flickering lamp.
The whispers grew louder.
He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. His hands shook. His vision blurred. He looked down at his palms — they were slick with sweat, but the sweat was dark. Too dark. He raised his hand to the light and saw black veins crawling beneath his skin.
"No…" He squeezed his eyes shut. "No, not me. Not me."
His body felt heavy. Wrong. His fingers twitched, curling unnaturally. His joints ached. The shadows pressed in, darker than before. He could feel something watching. Waiting.
The whispers grew louder.
Corwin pressed his hands over his ears, but it didn't help. The whispers weren't coming from outside. They were inside his head. Soft voices, gentle and cold. Promises of power. Of release.
He stumbled to his feet and kept moving. His legs felt weak. His muscles burned. His body… it felt distant, as if it didn't belong to him anymore. Every step was a struggle. Every breath felt heavier. The shadows stretched around him, warping and twisting. The buildings loomed higher, pressing inward, crowding him.
And then he heard something.
Wet. Heavy. The sound of something dragging itself along the ground.
He turned slowly.
A shape emerged from the darkness.
It crawled toward him on too many limbs, bones cracking and resetting with each movement. Its skin was slick, glistening in the dim light. Its head lolled to the side, jaw hanging open. Eyes — too many eyes — blinked lazily, watching him.
Corwin took a step back. The thing followed.
He turned and ran.
The whispers turned to screams.
His body burned. His skin itched. Every muscle ached. He could feel it now — something crawling beneath his flesh, twisting his bones, warping his organs. His fingers curled into claws, nails splitting as they elongated. His vision blurred, colors bleeding together. His heart raced. His breath came in ragged gasps.
He collapsed to the ground, coughing. Black fluid splattered onto the stone. His veins bulged, dark and twisted, writhing beneath his skin like living things. His hands trembled. His body convulsed.
He screamed.
His flesh bubbled, muscles twisting, bones cracking. His mouth stretched wide, teeth sharpening into jagged points. His eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the whites. His mind fractured. The whispers became roars, deafening, relentless.
Let go.
Become.
His body twisted. Limbs lengthened, contorting into unnatural shapes. Skin split and reformed. Eyes opened along his arms, blinking lazily. His spine arched, bones grinding against one another. His hands curled into claws, fingers elongating. His mouth split wide, a wet, rasping laugh escaping his throat.
The last thing Corwin felt was the cold embrace of the Warp.
The last thing Corwin heard was the sound of his own laughter, echoing through the empty streets.
The last thing Corwin saw was darkness.
And then, he was gone.
The creature that rose in his place was no longer Corwin. It was something else.
Something endless.
—-
Word count: 1836
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