Locked Away With No Key

[Ultimatedaywriter]

The dull hum of the engine vibrated through the old sedan as Red drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. His phone screen lit up in the passenger seat, displaying another message from Jake. "Yo, Red, are you coming or what? We're wasted, man. Touka is here; don't you want to see her?"

Red sighed, glancing at the rearview mirror. He didn't want to go to this party. Hell, he never wanted to go to any of Jake's parties. But somehow, every time, he found himself roped in—usually as the designated driver. And tonight was no different. His friends had gone too far again, getting plastered at some college party in the middle of nowhere, and here he was, on cleanup duty.

"This is the last time," Red said for the thousandth time, turning the car onto the narrow street leading to the house. The distant thrum of bass from the party speakers reverberated through the air as he approached. Even from here, he could see the glow of flashing lights and the silhouette of people spilling into the front yard. It was one of those nights. Fortunately, the cops weren't called yet.

As he pulled up, parking his car behind a line of others, Red could already tell this would be worse than usual. A couple of guys were yelling at each other near the porch, clearly drunk out of their minds. Broken bottles littered the grass, and people were stumbling through the front yard with that glazed, stupid look that only came with way too much alcohol.

Red stepped out of the car and walked toward the house. The smell of cheap beer and sweat hit him like a wave. He wrinkled his nose but pushed forward, scanning the crowd for his friends. He spotted them near the front porch—Jake, Ryan, and Ethan—leaning against the railing, drinks in hand. But it wasn't his friends that caught his eye. Ethan was once a good Christian boy; his father was a preacher.

It was Touka.

She stood near them, looking uncomfortable. Her dark hair covered her eye before she brushed it aside as she shifted nervously. Her sharp, angular features—so different from anyone else he knew—were framed by the dim glow of the porch light. She had transferred in from Japan that semester, and ever since Red had laid eyes on her, she'd occupied a space in his mind.

Maybe he was being a creep.

He couldn't hear what they were saying over the blaring music, but it was clear from their expressions that something was going down. Before Red could get closer, a guy stumbled out of the house, swaggering with the unmistakable bravado of someone who'd had too much to drink. His eyes zeroed in on Red.

"You!" the guy slurred, a crooked smile before it spread across his face into a malicious grin. His voice was loud, brash. He had a 40 in one hand and what looked like a red solo cup in the other. "You're just in time for the real party, man."

Red stopped, confused. "I'm just here to pick up my friends."

But the guy was already closing in, reeking of alcohol. Without warning, he raised the cup and chucked it directly at Red's chest. The warm splash hit Red like a slap, soaking his shirt. It wasn't beer. The sharp, acrid smell hit him immediately.

"Really?" Red demanded, ripping the buttons and tearing off his piss-soaked shirt, anger boiling up inside him. The crowd around them erupted in laughter.

"Yo, Red!" Jake called out, stumbling toward him. "Oh shit, what happened to you?"

Before Red could answer, Touka stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she approached the guy who had thrown the cup. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded, her voice firm despite her small frame. "That's disgusting."

The guy, grinning, looked her up and down with a leering smile. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Can't handle a little fun?"

Red's pulse quickened. He could feel the rage bubbling up, threatening to boil over. His fists clenched as he stepped forward, trying to keep his cool. "Apologize," Red growled through gritted teeth, staring the guy down.

The drunk guy just laughed. "Or what, you gonna hit me?"

That's when something in Red snapped. He lunged forward, his fist connecting with the guy's jaw before realizing he'd thrown the punch. The guy staggered back, collapsing onto the grass, clutching his face in shock. The laughter around them stopped abruptly as people realized what had happened.'

Touka stepped away from him and moved to the guy's side.

"Shit!" someone yelled. "Call the cops!"

Red froze, adrenaline coursing through him as he looked around. Jake rushed up to him, grabbing his arm. "Dude, we gotta go. Now." Jake said.

"We're leaving," Red muttered, still shaking from the punch. He glanced at Touka, who tried to get the guy back on his feet. It hurt, but what did he expect? He didn't even know her.

He grabbed his keys from his pocket and rushed toward his car, with Jake, Ryan, and Ethan stumbling behind him. The house was in chaos now, people scattering as someone in the distance yelled, "Police are on the way!"

Red didn't need to be told twice. He jumped into the driver's seat, his friends barely managing to pile into the car as he slammed the door shut and started the engine. He threw the car into reverse and peeled out of the driveway, tires screeching as they sped down the narrow street.

Red ran a stop sign, and red and blue lights flashed in his rearview mirror, a siren cutting through the night air. Red's heart sank. "Shit…"

Jake groaned from the back seat, slurring his words. "We're so fucked, man."

Red pulled over, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as the police car stopped behind them. Two officers got out, approaching the car with flashlights in hand.

"You boys having a good night?" one of them asked as he reached the driver's window, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Red swallowed hard. "Look, officer, we were just leaving the party—"

"You know someone called in an assault, right?" the officer cut him off, shining his flashlight directly into Red's eyes. "You want to explain what happened back there?"

Before Red could answer, the second officer opened the passenger side door, yanking Ryan out of the car. "All of you, out. Now."

The next few minutes were a blur of flashing lights and angry voices. Red and his friends were handcuffed and pushed into the back of the squad car. They hadn't even made it two miles from the party.





---





The cold, damp air of the holding cell gnawed at Red's skin as he leaned against the concrete wall, his thoughts racing. He wasn't alone—beside him, Jake, Ryan, Ethan, and several other men from the party sat in various states of discomfort, resting for whatever fate awaited them. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered sporadically, casting a sickly glow over the room.

Red's mind kept replaying the moment he punched that guy. He knew it had been a mistake. But something about that smug look on the guy's face, the way he'd thrown that cup of piss like it was nothing—it had pushed Red over the edge. He clenched his fists, his knuckles still sore from the impact. Then there was Touka defending him.

Maybe that asshole was her boyfriend. What does it matter? Red was living paycheck to paycheck, working a dead-end service job. He couldn't afford bail. Jake's parents weren't going to help him after he got their son arrested.

Across the room, the door to the holding area creaked open, and two more men were shoved inside, looking just as disheveled as the rest of them. One of them, an older guy with a salt-and-pepper beard, muttered something under his breath before collapsing onto one of the metal benches.

Red barely paid attention. His mind was elsewhere—on the party, Touka, and the mess he'd just entered. He didn't notice when the air around him shifted, a low hum filling the room. At first, he thought it was just his imagination, a trick of the mind after the night's chaos. But then the lights flickered again, this time more violently, and the hum grew louder.

"What the hell?" Jake muttered, looking around.

Before anyone could react, the room was bathed in an unnatural light—bright and blinding, searing through the air with an electric intensity. Red barely had time to shield his eyes before a wave of energy rippled through the cell, shaking the walls and rattling the bars. The hum grew into a deafening roar, and then, without warning, everything went dark.





---





Red's eyes snapped open, his body heavy and sluggish. The hard, cold ground beneath him felt nothing like the concrete of the holding cell. He groaned, pushing himself up on shaky arms, his head pounding from the sudden shift.

"What…where are we?" Jake's voice, groggy and confused, came from somewhere nearby. He felt weird, like he was charged with static.

Red blinked, trying to focus. The world around him was not the one he knew. Instead of the familiar gray walls of the holding cell, they were surrounded by towering trees, strange and ancient, their bark glowing faintly with an otherworldly light. The air smelled different—cleaner, sharper, like the scent of rain after a storm.

Panic surged through him as he looked around. Ryan, Ethan, Jake—they were all there, along with several other men in the holding cell. Even the police officers, still in their uniforms, were sprawled out on the ground, slowly coming to.

Zack looked up at the night sky and saw the lights of cities covering the moon.

This wasn't Earth. This was somewhere else.

Red's breath caught in his throat as he realized the truth. They had been transported. To where or why, he had no idea. But one thing was clear.

They weren't in the holding cell anymore.

And whatever had brought them here…had to have a reason.

Red's pulse pounded in his ears as he pushed himself to his feet, the soft earth unfamiliar under his boots. The strange forest loomed around them, its trees radiating an eerie glow. He stumbled forward, grabbing Jake's arm as the others began to stir.

"Jake," Red hissed, his voice low but urgent, "wake up. We have to figure out what the hell just happened. Before you say anything, look at the moon." Something glowed high overhead before crashing nearby in a fiery explosion. It was close enough to feel the heat on his face from nearly a mile away.

Jake blinked up at him, disoriented, then looked around, his face twisting into a mask of confusion. "What the…? Where are we?" He rubbed his head and stood, eyes wide, as he took in their surroundings. "This can't be real. We were just in lockup. What is this place?"

Red scanned the faces of the other men. Ryan and Ethan were awake now, too, their expressions mirroring Jake's confusion. Some of the other men were still lying on the ground, groaning, while the two police officers—Detective Morrow and Officer Daniels—were already up, their hands instinctively going to their belts, where their guns and batons were still present.

Daniels looked down at his empty holster, cursing under his breath. "Stay together."

Detective Morrow turned toward the group, his expression grim. He was the older of the two, a grizzled veteran with a thick mustache and a demeanor that didn't tolerate nonsense. "All right, everyone stays calm," he said, his voice loud and authoritative. "We need to figure out what just happened. No one goes off on their own. We stick together until we have a plan."

Red gripped his temple. The buzz had moved to his head; it felt like his brain was on fire. The world tinged violate for a moment before he blinked, returning it to its proper color. It was weird. Was he coming down with something?

"Red, you're bleeding," He wiped his nose, and blood came back on his hand.

Someone ran for it. The forest itself seemed alive, buzzing with a strange energy that was hard to ignore. Red could feel a low hum in his bones, almost like static, running under the surface of everything.

"I don't like this," Ryan muttered, rubbing his arms. "This place feels…wrong."

"It's like we're in a video game or something," Ethan said, still trying to process the scene. "You guys seeing this glow? What is this, radiation?"

"No way this is radiation," Red muttered, scanning the forest again. His instincts were screaming at him to move, to run, but there was nowhere to go. They were in the middle of an alien landscape with no idea how they had gotten there.

Detective Morrow cleared his throat, trying to get everyone's attention. "We'll figure this out, but first—"

A rustling in the trees cut him off. Red's heart skipped a beat, his eyes darting toward the sound. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but unmistakably there. Something—or someone—was moving through the underbrush, the glow of the trees casting shadows that twisted and shifted unnervingly.

"Who's there?" Morrow barked, stepping forward, his hand reaching instinctively for his missing gun.

No one answered, but the rustling grew louder and closer. The group instinctively backed away, forming a loose circle.


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[Ultimatedaywriter]

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[Ultimatedaywriter]

Red's mind was drowning in sensations. The static buzz became a roar in his skull, a crackling hum that grew louder with each passing second. It wasn't just in his head anymore; he could feel it coursing through his veins, an alien pulse riding just beneath his skin. His body ached as though every cell was under attack from within. The nausea, the chills—he felt like he was coming down with the flu, but this was something far worse. Something was changing inside him, and he didn't know how to stop it.


Around him, the others stirred, confused and disoriented, struggling to make sense of their situation. They had woken up in a forest that seemed more dream than reality. The towering trees shimmered with an eerie glow, their bark radiating a soft blue light that illuminated the alien landscape in reds and violets. The air was thick and humid, laced with the scent of vegetation that Red couldn't identify—sharp, almost metallic.


But what caught his attention were the figures stepping out from the trees. Pointy-eared, silver, blue, and forest green-haired Elves. Real, living elves, dressed not in the flowing robes or ethereal garments of fantasy but in something disturbingly familiar: military-style uniforms reminiscent of World War II officers. They moved with precision, their expressions cold, calculating. Some wore the symbols of rank, and others carried the tools of research—clipboards covered in glowing symbols changing as the elves manipulated them and strange floating drones. These weren't fantasy creatures; they were here to study.


Red glanced at Detective Morrow and Officer Daniels, who instinctively reached for their guns. The weight of the situation pressed down on them. This wasn't Earth. These weren't ordinary men.


Morrow stepped forward, barking, "Who are you? What the hell is going on here?"


The elves, silent and unmoving, exchanged glances. There was a clear language barrier, but more than that, the air between the two groups was crackling with tension. The lead elf, taller than the rest, stepped forward, raising his hand, displaying an emblem that made Red's skin crawl: three triangles converging into one—a symbol Red had never seen but somehow recognized—the Triad.


How did he know that name? Where did it come from? The symbol looked like a cheap copy of the Zelda triforce; each triangle was a different primary color.


Before Morrow could react, one of the younger men from the group, already on edge, snapped. His breath came in ragged gasps as the static in his mind reached a fever pitch. Red saw the fear in his eyes just before it happened.


"No!" the man screamed, throwing his hands out to ward off the symbol. "Stay away!"


Red saw an outline of something, and then it hit like a tidal wave, crashing into the lead elf. For a moment, Red saw the elf's defense flare and try to resist the force. Like sandcastles before high tide, they were washed away. The body was already moving as if hit by a car. Red barely registered what had happened before the elf was thrown back, his body flung into the air like a ragdoll. The elf landed hard against one of the glowing trees, his neck twisting at an unnatural angle and his eyes wide open with shock.


The other elves froze, their faces filled with shock and horror. Red didn't know it, but a significant taboo the elves shared with ancient humans had been committed. Messengers were sacred and protected by the gods. To them, the humans had given up any respect or protections they might have enjoyed.


"Jesus," Ethan whispered beside Red, staring at the lifeless body of the elf. "What the hell just happened?"


Red's head throbbed, his vision blurring as the static buzzed louder, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He wasn't alone. He saw it in the others—their flushed skin, bloodshot eyes, and how they were gripping their heads as if trying to keep them from splitting apart. The virus—whatever it was—was working its way through them, amplifying something inside. Something that felt like it had been waiting to be unleashed.


Red wiped his nose and saw more blood smeared across his hand. "We're sick," he muttered, knowing it was more than that. They weren't just sick. They were changing.


High above them, the remains of a fleet burned through the atmosphere, leaving streaks of fire in the violet sky. It was a bad omen, illuminating the alien world they had been thrust into. Red glanced at the sky, feeling an odd connection to those burning wrecks as if something from them was fueling the static inside him.


Was it some radiation? He hoped not.


The elves recovered quickly, their faces hardening. The one in charge—a man with silver hair cut short—gave a curt nod, and in unison, the elves raised rifles, pointing them directly at the humans. The air became thick with tension, but no one moved.


Officer Daniels, however, wasn't about to let that slide. "No!" he shouted, pulling his gun in a flash and firing at the nearest elf. The crack of the gunshot echoed through the forest, but the bullet bounced off a shimmering barrier surrounding the elf, sparking as it deflected harmlessly into the air. A personal ward like magic, Red realized, his thoughts slow, muddled by the gathering pressure in his skull.


"Don't shoot!" Red shouted, but it was too late. The elves responded immediately, their rifles letting out short bursts that whizzed through the air. Red felt a sharp sting in his shoulder, and before he could react, the world tilted sideways.


The last thing Red saw before the darkness took him was the silver-haired elf staring down at him, his cold blue eyes filled with something that might have been pity—or something far worse.





…





Red's body may have been unconscious, but his mind was awake, and he lived in the static as his will merged with the roaring force. He was aware of the static more than before, swirling in the back of his mind like a living thing, a force that demanded control. As he drifted deeper into the void of his subconscious, he shaped the static into something familiar.


He didn't know what he was doing, but the laws of the dream seemed to tell him what was and wasn't possible.


As he strained, he put together a tiny room granting laws like gravity, continuity, and time. It was hard to go from the physical world to a world so valuable.


Another mind joined him, a stranger at first until they started working together, transforming the space with only a few laws into something more livable.


When they finished, he was in a familiar place: a bar. It was a mix of a hunting lodge with a moose mounted on a wall overlooking the top-shelf drinks. It was a dream, and if he focused too much on the detail, the matter began to fall apart into the static it was made from. It was like he was in a dream with PS1-level graphics focused solely on a single room. The air was still buzzed with energy, the walls of the dream trembling as if barely containing the force surging through two different minds working together.


When they stopped, Zack took a spot behind the counter. "I like the moose, though I remember seeing something like that in the outback steakhouse, not any bar. My name is Zack, in case you didn't get it while we were busy." Zack said.


"How long before the others find their way here, or do you think they will?" Red asked.


"I screwed up, man. It's my fault we're in this situation," Zack said while knocking back shots of whisky.


Red rolled his eyes at the man. "What did you see that made you freak out?"


Zack didn't speak for a few minutes and only rolled the whisky in his shot. "It called itself the one, or that's what I think it is. The one wants our bodies. It can't be whole without a body that can sustain it. But it promised if one of us volunteered, it would tell its followers to let the rest of us go." Zack said.


After building a bar with the man, Red better understands him. "We have to kill it," Red said.


His new friend coughed, choking on his liquor. Red shrugged.


A form took place, revealing a massive creature of screaming darkness and terror. It reached out from a cloak with gnarled tree roots instead of hands. Black tendrils rose out of it, searching for any entry. Its face was elvish by its angular nature. On its wrist, a flaming sword emerged roaring with the wrath of a thousand screaming souls, and on its left was a gun cold as the grave.


"Do you think you can kill this? Don't think for a second that this is as bad as the real thing. It's much worse in person," Zack said.


Red tossed a shot over his shoulder instead of drinking it. He didn't drink. Maybe that's why he wasn't invited to parties. Zack certainly had a vested interest in drinking.


He thrust his hand out, and the image of the one shattered into motes of light. "That attack of yours was interesting. Mind if I steal it."


"Be my guest," Zack shook his head. "We should invite the others here."


Red nodded his accent and called to Jake, Ethan, and Ryan. They back away from his mind at first, like they were strangers. Each of them felt rather weak. Maybe the virus worked through their system differently. Red could still feel his body and how full of the static his mind was, pushing a little of that static out into his body. The energy rolled through him, and his cells seemed stronger. They seemed more saturated and full of energy. His mind continued pulling in the lion's share of the static.


Zack was there, leaning against the bar, his expression focused. Around them, the bar was filled with faces—some familiar, others not—all human, all trapped, just like him. The static rippled through them all, like a thread connecting their minds in the dreamscape.


"I saw it," Red said, more to himself than anyone else. "I felt the power. It's real."


Zack looked up, his face grim but determined. "We're changing, man. Whatever this is, it's inside all of us. We're not going back to the way things were."


Red clenched his fists, feeling the static thrum through his veins, and focused. His cells responded, vibrating with the psionic energy growing within him since their arrival. He could feel it now—the potential to turn his body into something more than it was—a vessel for this power, a receptor.


"We have to learn to control it," Red said, his voice hard. "Do you think this was planned? Did they mean to capture us, or were they expecting something else? What were those ships overhead?."


Zack nodded, his gaze distant as he considered Red's words. "We'll find answers. But first, we need to figure out what they're planning. We can't just sit here waiting to die. We're aliens, and what does the government do to aliens in the movies."





"I doubt they'll do it to all of us, but one of us will be vivisected by them. They will want to know how we work, what poisons us, and what they need to keep us healthy.


"Agreed," Red muttered, his mind sharpening. He looked around at the other humans in the bar, each immersed in their struggles. They were all on the brink of something, but whether it would be their salvation or destruction was still unclear.


Zack's eyes flickered toward the dreamscape's door, and he smirked. "Is it me, or is the door further away than it was a second ago?"


Red glanced at the door, feeling the pull of the dreamscape shifting around them. "It's getting bigger," Red said.


Zack's smirk grew wider. "Well, maybe we won't be limited to a cramped bar forever. Did you have to make the moose head so large?"


"I thought it gave the bar some character," Red said.


They were left in the dark bar to drink and experiment with the powers trapped in their bodies.





Unlock the Secrets of a Dark Fantasy World!


Step into a universe where psionic humans, magic-wielding elves, and ancient Illithid invaders collide in a struggle for survival.


What's waiting for you?

• Exclusive chapters of a gripping, mind-bending dark fantasy story
• Early access to story updates before anyone else
• Personalized shoutouts and special dedications in the story!

👁 Ready to dive deeper?
Your support fuels the creation of a world filled with mad science, psychic warfare, and cosmic mysteries. Every tier brings you closer to the heart of the conflict—and gives you exclusive content that's only for the boldest explorers.


Join the adventure today! Become a patron and experience the story that's unfolding across worlds!


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[Ultimatedaywriter]

Date: October 25, 2034

Earth
Location: Touka's Apartment, 3:12 AM

Touka lay in bed, the soft hum of the fan the only sound in the room as she nestled against her boyfriend, Paul. His arms wrapped around her in a loose embrace, their breathing in sync in the dark of the night. Outside, the sleepy college town slept, the streets empty except for the occasional car passing.

The young woman didn't give Red a second thought other than outrage at his attack on Pual. Yeah, the prank was really gross, but attacking Paul was unacceptable. She was going to press charges. Her Uncle was a lawyer in New York. She was sure if she asked his help, they could increase the price of the bail to make it unaffordable. It was Friday night, and Monday was a holiday, so that would leave him in holding until Tuesday morning, which would be revenge enough for hitting Paul. Touka decided that she would leave it there unless he tried to escalate.

The Japanese girl yawned and rolled over.

She wasn't sure why she couldn't sleep, a strange unease bubbling under her skin. It was almost as if something was wrong, just out of reach. She glanced at the clock—3:12 AM—far too early to be awake, yet she was wide-eyed and restless.

Just as she shifted under the covers, the bed vibrated slightly beneath her, almost as if the earth had shuddered. She sat up abruptly, her heart hammering in her chest at a sudden sense of unease like a premonition.

"Paul, we need to leave," she whispered, gently shaking him. "Did you feel that? Something is very wrong."

Before he could respond, the world outside their window exploded into chaos. A loud, metallic hum echoed through the sky, unlike anything she had ever heard. It was deep and resonant, vibrating through her bones, making her stomach churn.

"What the hell?" Paul muttered, rubbing his eyes as he sat up, squinting toward the window. But before either of them could move, a shadow passed over their room, blotting out the moonlight and plunging them into darkness.

Touka's breath hitched as she looked out the window, her heart freezing. Massive ships—alien ships—hovered above the town, casting long, dark shadows over the streets. She had never seen anything like them before, and her mind struggled to comprehend what was happening.

Before she could say a word, she felt the ground rumble before booms echoed through the town. It was terrible luck a towering troop carrier touched down in front of their apartment, releasing a swarm of creatures—thralls, mindless beings who poured out of the vessels and began marching through the quiet streets.

How did she know what they were called?

"Paul…" she whispered, panic creeping into her voice. "Something's happening. We need to go. Now."

But their apartment door was kicked open with a loud crash before they could even move. The door splintered, and a group of thralls stepped in, their eyes vacant, their bodies moving with mechanical precision. They grabbed Paul first, wrenching him out of bed before turning to Touka.

"No! Let go of him!" she screamed, thrashing as they pulled her from the bed, her mind reeling in terror. But the thralls didn't respond—they couldn't. They dragged her and Paul down the stairs through the wreckage of the apartment. She heard screaming and saw more of the creatures dragging people out into the streets, where chaos reigned.

…

Date: October 25, 2034
Location: Illithid Flagship, 4:05 AM

The next thing she knew, she was on one of the massive Illithid ships, her wrists bound in cold, metallic restraints. The world around her was a blur of screams and alien noises. Her head spun as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

Paul was beside her, his face pale and bloodied but still alive. The room they were in was dark and cramped, filled with the sound of low, guttural breathing. Around them, other captives huddled in fear young women, most of them no older than Touka, all wide-eyed and terrified. Paul was an outlier.

She didn't know how much time had passed since they had been taken. Hours? Minutes? It all blended in a haze of fear and confusion.

"What… what do they want with us?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Paul didn't answer. He was staring at something—someone—at the far end of the cell. A tall, gaunt Illithid guard stood by the door, its long, tentacle-like mouth twitching as it surveyed the captives. Its black eyes gleamed with a cold, predatory hunger that made Touka's skin crawl.

Suddenly, the guard moved, reaching out and grabbing Paul by the collar.

"No!" Touka screamed, lunging forward, but her restraints held her back. Somehow, she knew if he left with that thing, she would never see him alive again. "Let him go!"

The guard ignored her, dragging Paul toward the door.

"Paul!" she screamed again, tears streaming down her face as she watched them disappear through the doorway. She tugged at her restraints, her heart hammering in her chest, but there was nothing she could do.

Minutes passed—agonizing, endless minutes—before the door opened again, and the guard returned. It wasn't until then that she realized it was holding something.

Her breath caught in her throat as she saw it—a brain, Paul's brain, still glistening with blood.

The guard raised the brain to its mouth, its tentacles wrapping around it as it began to feed. Its sharp, gnashing beak tore into the soft tissue.

Touka screamed, the sound raw and primal, but no one could help her. The others in the cell watched in horror, their faces pale with terror, but they said nothing.

She felt her world crumble around her as she stared at the guard, her mind struggling to process what she saw. This couldn't be real. It couldn't be happening.

But it was.

…

Date: October 25, 2034
Location: Illithid Flagship, Holding Cell, 5:20 AM

Hours passed—each one feeling like a lifetime. Touka sat in the corner of the cell, her body shaking uncontrollably. She was cold, the fear seeping into her bones like ice. Around her, the other captives huddled together, some crying softly, others too numb to react.

At some point, they were joined by a large man, his face a mask of anger and pain. He had been thrown into the cell unceremoniously, landing in a heap beside Touka. He wasn't bound like the rest of them.

"Hey ladies, my name is John. I'm going to take care of you." He looked to see one of the guards watching as he pulled down some poor girl's pants and had his way with her. Touka looked up with pleading eyes, but the guard nodded and moved on. The blood of her boyfriend's brain was still on his tentacles.

She didn't know his name or who he was, but she could sense the same fear in him that she felt in herself.

"What… what are they going to do to us?" one of the girls whispered, her voice barely audible.

No one answered. All they could hear was the squelching of sex in the background.

Touka stared at the floor, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of the nightmare she was living. Her body felt like it didn't belong to her anymore—numb, disconnected from the horror that surrounded her.

Her thoughts drifted back to Paul when the guard had taken him. She had wanted to scream, to fight, to do something, but there was nothing she could do. Nothing any of them could do.

And now she was trapped, her mind teetering on the edge of sanity as she waited for whatever horrors the Illithids had planned for her.

They were all trapped. And there was no way out.



…



Date: October 26, 2034
Location: Elven Research Facility, Commander's Quarters

Enarion Arleth stood in front of the altar in his quarters, the cool flicker of candlelight casting long shadows on the ancient carvings of the Triad. His mind was a storm, his thoughts circling the same dark point: his brother's death. The image was burned into his memory—the lifeless body of Eldrin, his neck twisted, his body flung like a ragdoll by the senseless power of a human psionic.

His hands trembled slightly as he knelt before the altar, his head bowed in silent prayer. The room smelled of incense, sharp and earthy, grounding him in the moment even as his heart surged with grief and fury. The Triad—Malcanis, Velthariel, and Drethalor—watched over him, their forms etched in stone above the altar. They were eternal, their influence stretching across time and battle, yet they felt distant at this moment.

"Malcanis, guide my blade. Velthariel, sharpen my mind. Drethalor, shield my soul." His voice was low and measured, but the bitterness in his words was unmistakable. "Give me the strength to contain these… creatures. To bring order where they have only brought chaos."

He felt the familiar weight of his sword at his side, the cold steel a comforting reminder of his duty. His resolve had never wavered before, not in all his years of service, but now, in the wake of Eldrin's death, it felt different. There was a wound in his heart that no prayer could heal, a rage that no calm reasoning could temper.

Eldrin had been a good elf. A diplomat, trained in the subtle art of communication, chose to make first contact with the humans—those psionic monsters who had appeared in their world like a blight. He had gone to them unarmed, his only weapons his words and his wits, and they had killed him, blasted him apart without reason, without understanding.

Enarion's fists clenched as the memories surged. Eldrin had been his younger brother, always more diplomatic, more patient. Where Enarion had chosen the sword's path, Eldrin had chosen words. But in the end, neither had been enough to protect him from the madness of psionics.

The bitter taste filled Enarion's mouth as he rose from the altar, his prayer finished. He did not need divine intervention to know what had to be done. These humans, these… abominations, needed to be contained, no matter the cost.



…



The command center hummed with quiet activity as Enarion entered. Technicians monitored the humans' vitals on glowing screens while a few of his men stood at attention, their faces tense with the weight of the situation. The air was thick with tension, and for good reason—the humans were becoming more dangerous by the hour.

As he approached the central table, the facility manager, Vaelir Thalorn, looked up from a data pad, his expression troubled. He was an older elf, his silver hair tied back in a tight braid, his uniform immaculate. Vaelir had always been calm and pragmatic, but today, there was a shadow of uncertainty in his eyes.

"Enarion," Vaelir began, his voice low but steady. "I need your thoughts on the current situation. Humans are becoming more dangerous, and they have begun to dream together. The psionics are growing stronger, and… there's talk among the researchers of altering our purpose. Biotic experts have been brought on, and they believe the humans can be used to create a new soldier to fight in our stead."

Enarion didn't flinch, didn't hesitate. His grief had already hardened into something sharper—determination. "Alter our purpose. These creatures aren't subjects to be studied—they are a threat. A threat that has already taken a life unprovoked." His voice was cold, devoid of emotion, but the brutality of his words was evident. He wanted them controlled. Contained.

Vaelir's brow furrowed. "We are containing them, Enarion. We have called for Intoners in the wards. There are siphons under construction—"

"They aren't ready yet, but we're vulnerable," Enarion interrupted, his eyes flashing with barely restrained anger. "You think your machines and your magic can hold them forever? You don't understand what we're dealing with. They killed Eldrin and Vaelir. He was your diplomat, your voice of reason, and they slaughtered him without a thought."

The facility manager looked down, the weight of the truth pressing on him. Eldrin's death had shaken them all, but for Enarion, it had become the catalyst for a cold, unyielding resolve.

"I am aware of our loss," Vaelir said quietly. "But these are not mere beasts. They are intelligent beings, and we must understand them before we—"

"Before what? Before they tear this facility apart from the inside?" Enarion's voice cut through the air like a blade. "Look at what they're already capable of. Psionics that can kill with a thought tear through our defenses as if they were nothing. And you want to study them? No, Vaelir. We need to control them. Keep them locked down. If that means harsher measures, then so be it."

Vaelir hesitated, clearly torn. He respected Enarion and knew the strength of his conviction, but there were political ramifications to consider. The humans were valuable as subjects and potential tools against the Illithid threat. The decision wasn't so simple.

After a long moment, Valerie nodded. "I will consider your recommendations. But know this, Enarion—this facility must remain intact. We cannot afford to lose control, but we cannot afford reckless action. We are balancing on a blade's edge."

Enarion's lips tightened into a thin line, but he said nothing more. He had given his opinion, and it was clear where he stood. He would do whatever it took to keep these humans contained—even if it meant going beyond what Vaelir considered "acceptable."



…



Location: Elven Research Facility, Security Wing

Enarion stood before his assembled guards, the men under his command standing tall, their eyes focused on him with unwavering attention. They were a mix of seasoned veterans and younger recruits, all chosen for their skill and loyalty. Today, more than ever, he needed them alert.

"We are in a dangerous situation," he began, his voice steady but commanding. "These humans—these psionics—are growing stronger by the day. The death of my brother was not an isolated incident. It was a sign of what they were capable of. They will tear this facility apart if we do not keep them contained."

The soldiers saluted, their faces hard to understand. They had all heard the rumors of the humans' power, of the strange, boundless psionic energy that seemed to surge through their bodies.

"I want every shift doubled," Enarion continued. "No gaps. No mistakes. The psionics are to be monitored at all times. If there is even a hint of instability, you report it immediately. No one acts without my direct order."

One of the younger guards, a young man raised his hand. "What about the researchers, sir? They seem… hesitant to increase containment measures."

Enarion's eyes hardened. "The researchers do not command this facility's defenses. I do. If they protest, remind them we keep them safe from the psionics. And if they don't listen… remind them what happened to Eldrin."

There was a murmur of agreement from the soldiers. Eldrin's death had shaken them all, a stark reminder that the humans were not to be underestimated.

"Do not falter," Enarion said, his voice growing colder. "Do not waver. These creatures are dangerous and unpredictable. If we are to protect ourselves, we must be vigilant. Relentless."

He stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over his men. "Do your duty, and we will not fail."

Enarion felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle onto his shoulders as he dismissed the group. He had a duty to his people, to his brother. He would not allow these humans to take another life. No matter the cost, he would keep them contained. No matter what.

With a final glance at the wards surrounding the containment cells, Enarion turned and walked away, his mind already planning the next step in securing the facility. The humans might have their psionics, but they would never escape.

Not while he still drew breath.

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[Ultimatedaywriter]

October 27, 2034


Elven Research Facility, Surgery Room 13





The room was bathed in cold, sterile light. Its walls were lined with instruments of both magic and science, their metal gleaming with anticipation. The scent of herbs mingled with the sharp tang of chemicals, filling the air with an oddly soothing aroma. Vaelin Tharos, the lead researcher, hovered over the human subject on the table before him. His eyes gleamed excitedly, an almost manic curiosity shining through as he studied the strange creature's exposed organs.


"Yes, yes… so alien, yet…" Vaelin trailed off, his gloved fingers delicately tracing the veins of the human's heart. The organ thumped weakly, kept alive by a mixture of potions and spells, and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "So familiar."


Beside him, his assistant Kaelen, a younger researcher, peered over his shoulder, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I've never seen anything quite like them," Kaelen murmured, his tone reverent. "It's as though they were built from the same design as us… yet the details are all wrong."


Vaelin grinned, the corners of his mouth twitching with glee. "Indeed! Their bones and muscles remind me of the creatures we've encountered on the distant shores beyond the Sea of Scillia. You know the ones I speak of, don't you, Kaelen?"


Kaelen nodded slowly, his gaze flicking down to the exposed ribcage of the human beneath them. "The amphibious beasts. The ones that walk on two legs but swim like fish."


"Exactly!" Vaelin's eyes sparkled. "We've seen this design before in the Scillian territories—creatures that appear so alien and bizarre yet still follow the same natural laws that govern us. This human—this magnificent specimen—may be a product of a distant world, but its flesh, its organs, are tied to the same rhythms as life across our lands. It's the divergence that fascinates me." He excitedly raised his hands, gesturing at the human's exposed chest. "Look at this heart! It pumps blood, like ours, like the Scillians'… but see how its chambers are arranged. Different, but still functional. Adapted for… what? A different atmosphere? A different gravity?"


Kaelen leaned closer, narrowing his eyes at the still-beating organ. "It's as though the gods themselves recycled the design," he muttered. "As if life itself has a template, and the details are just… variations."


Vaelin laughed, a sharp, joyous sound. "Precisely! A variation on a theme. But here's the true question, Kaelen—how does it adapt? How does a creature like this come to wield psionic power? Such capabilities don't belong to mere flesh. That level of power—no, that belongs to something… divine."


Kaelen frowned, his fingers brushing the human's skull, feeling the contours beneath the skin. "I wonder… is it the flesh that grants the power, or is it the mind? Could these beings have been… given psionics? Enhanced by some higher force, perhaps?"


Vaelin's eyes flashed with excitement as he pondered Kaelen's question. "Ah, now that is the question. Did they evolve naturally into these powerful psionics, or did something intervene? Something… darker, more sinister."


His fingers danced along the human's exposed nerves, tracing the lines leading to the brain. He picked up a scalpel and made a careful incision along the skull, peeling back the skin to expose the grey matter beneath. The brain pulsed faintly, alive with the energy of the enchantments, keeping the human conscious but paralyzed.


"Look at this," Vaelin whispered, his voice filled with awe. "It's not so different from our own, yet… it's more robust. Almost as though it were designed to withstand the strain of psionics."


Kaelen nodded, his eyes wide with wonder. "It's remarkable. But what if… what if these beings are not so different from the creatures beyond the sea? The Scillians have animals that can manipulate water, command the tides, and even cause storms. Perhaps psionics are just another… adaptation. Like a claw or a fin."


Vaelin chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming. "Or like the bioluminescence of the deep-sea creatures! An evolution to survive in an environment that would crush most beings. These humans are no different. They've adapted in ways we can barely comprehend."


He paused, his gaze drifting over the human's body. "But it's not enough to simply observe these similarities. We must understand them. Dissect them, experiment with them until we find the source of this power."


Kaelen shifted uneasily beside him. "What are you suggesting, Vaelin?"


Vaelin smiled a sharp, predatory grin. "I'm suggesting that we take this further. We need to push the boundaries of what we've been doing. If these humans can be manipulated, if their psionics can be harnessed, think of what we could accomplish. We could wield powers beyond anything the Triad ever gifted us. We could become gods among elves."


Kaelen swallowed hard, his eyes flicking nervously to the human on the table. "Is that… wise?"


"Wise?" Vaelin scoffed. "This is beyond wisdom, Kaelen. This is evolution. This is what we were born to do."


He turned back to the human, his scalpel gleaming in the cold light. "We're not just dissecting them, Kaelen. We're unlocking the future."


And with that, he made another incision, his hands steady as his mind raced with excitement. The human body was just the beginning—a key to a door Vaelin was determined to open.


…











The room flickered in and out of focus, a swirling dream of sterile surfaces and dim lights. Red wasn't here in body, but his sharp and aware mind inhabited the space, piecing together what was happening to him. The elves were vivisecting one of his own—another human strapped down on the table, pale skin illuminated by violet crystals that pulsed and twisted under his flesh. These weren't natural—no, something was happening. Something that the elves seemed ecstatic about.


Red's eyes darted to the tools the researchers were using, a strange mix of arcane instruments and high-tech devices that vibrated with power. Every so often, one of the researchers leaned over a microscope-like apparatus, their hands trembling with excitement as they studied the cells under its enchanted lens.


"What's going on here?" Red muttered to himself, though his voice didn't echo in the dreamscape. He felt the static in his head buzz stronger now, an irritating hum that pulsed in sync with the strange crystals growing on the body beneath him.


Then, Red had an idea.


He focused, pulling at the static swirling in the back of his mind ever since they'd been transported here. It was a mutation; he realized an adaptation. Whatever was happening to their bodies, the virus or the psionic energy was mutating them. And it wasn't just happening to him but to everyone. The others could feel it, too, even if they didn't fully understand it.


Red watched the cells under the microscope. They were changing—incorporating the violet crystals into their structure. Some cells burst, unable to handle the transformation, while others adapted, the crystals fusing with the nuclei, strengthening them. The elves practically vibrated with excitement, exchanging rapid-fire words in their language. But Red didn't need to understand the words to know what was happening. This mutation was giving them an edge.


Red could feel it in his own body, too. Every muscle ached, and the cell felt like it was on fire, but power was beneath the pain. He just needed to figure out how to tap into it—how to spread the adaptation faster, strengthen it before the elves did something to stop them.





Date: October 30, 2034
Location: Elven Research Facility, Dreamscape


Three days had passed since the vivisection—three days since Red had witnessed the horrifying and exhilarating discovery of the mutation within his cells. He'd seen it up close, through the elves' magical tools, the way the violet crystals merged with human tissue, transforming them, strengthening them. Now, Red could feel those same changes in his body, humming with power, but he struggled to control it.


He sat at the bar, the dreamscape humming around him, a familiar space where he could think. The bar had become their gathering point in this strange realm, a place for planning and rest, but lately, Red had been using it as a training ground. The others hadn't seen him here much—he preferred to work in isolation, figuring things out at his own pace. Today, though, he had a specific goal: to align his dream self with his physical body.


Red left the bar for a room of his own. It wasn't a mix of his thoughts, and Zack's format was almost like a PS-1 game's graphics. In comparison, Red's world appeared retro, like a Super Nintendo game. He had a ground that looked brownish and trees made of pixels that blinked out when he gave too little attention to them. The more minds worked together to create a room, the more accurate it appeared.


He kicked the ground and scattered some pixel rocks. Red felt a pain in his toe like he had kicked some rocks in the real world. It was slow going. His body reacted like it was his pre-transfer body. He needed to change his dream body to synergize with his physical body.


Looking at himself, he was like a photo cropped into a retro game background. It felt strange, but at least he could feel something. Red jumped but couldn't fly the room he was in while physical laws like the real world bound retro.


The dreamscape allowed them to bend the rules of reality, but Red knew that if he wanted to test his limits and get a fundamental understanding of what his body was capable of in the real world, he needed to make the dream mirror reality. He went over the steps in his mind, visualizing creating a room, a mental space that could replicate his physical body's exact state.


He needed a process to streamline the creation of rooms. He clearly had the power to create a room, but he didn't have the knowledge to make one appear real.


He visualized his body as in the real world—stronger now but burdened with the static that crackled through his veins. The mutation was natural; he could feel the power coursing through him. He just needed to control it.


"Start small," Red muttered, trying to ground his thoughts.


He focused on a small pebble on the bar floor beneath one of the stools. It was tiny, insignificant, and perfect for what he had in mind. Red extended his hand, his eyes narrowing as he reached out with his telekinesis. The static in his mind buzzed, responding to his will, and he could feel the pebble shift slightly. He pulled at it, imagining the force he wanted to exert, the way the energy would flow from his mind to the object.


The pebble lifted, hovering a few inches off the ground.


A smirk tugged at Red's lips. This was easy, simpler than he expected. But just as the thought crossed his mind, the static flared. The power surged through his body, lighting up the mutated cells like electricity. The pebble shot forward faster than he intended, and with a loud crack, it blasted through the ground, leaving a jagged hole where it had once been.


Red cursed, clenching his fists as he felt the energy in his body spiral out of control. His muscles tensed, the static buzzing louder, filling his mind with the overwhelming rush of power. He took a deep breath, trying to rein it in, but it was like holding back a flood with a handful of sand.


"Damn it," he muttered, shaking his head as the energy finally subsided.


He'd felt the connection between his body and the power surging through his veins. The mutation wasn't just some passive change; it was alive and responded to his emotions and focus. Red could see now why the elves were so excited. This wasn't just a weapon. It was something far more dangerous.


He just had to learn how to use it.


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[Ultimatedaywriter]

Date: November 2nd, 2034
Location: Elven Research Facility, Laboratory 13


The sterile, cold light bathed the walls of Laboratory 13, casting an almost clinical glow over the various arcane instruments that lined the counters and tables. The mixture of alchemical tools and enchanted apparatuses created an eerie harmony—technology and magic blended in a way that felt both advanced and deeply unnatural. The air smelled of chemicals and herbs, an unsettling fusion of the scientific and the arcane.


Vaelin Tharos, the head researcher, stood at the center of the room, his back straight, hands clasped behind him. His sharp eyes, gleaming with the familiar hunger for discovery, darted across the various specimen reports and studies spread across the table before him. Today, however, there was something darker in his expression.


Kaelen, his younger assistant, stood nearby, clearly uneasy. The experiments they conducted on the human subjects had reached a tipping point. Each day, they grew closer to understanding the psionic mutations that had taken hold of the prisoners. But they had also hit a wall, and Vaelin's restless mind was already seeking more extreme solutions.


"Vaelin," Kaelen began hesitantly, his voice trembling slightly, "you wanted to speak about… other methods?"


Vaelin turned slowly, his lips curling into a thin smile. "Yes, Kaelen. We're at a crossroads. While informative, our current methods are inadequate to fully grasp the potential of the mutation." He stepped closer to the younger elf, his eyes narrowing. "We need to take bolder steps."


Kaelen swallowed, his gaze shifting to the vivisection table where the body of a human subject lay motionless, still alive thanks to a combination of potions and enchantments. The violet crystals embedded in the subject's body pulsed faintly, a physical manifestation of the psionic mutation they had been studying for weeks.


"We've dissected some of them, even removed organs, but our sensors report brain activity in the dream mimicking theirs," Vaelin continued, his voice growing quieter, more dangerous. "We've tested their limits. But we are still missing something fundamental. Something that would allow our future soldier to cut through Illithid psionics, to harness their psionics in ways that would go beyond anything we've achieved so far."


Vaelin could already see it and the accolades his research would afford him. You neophytes would be forced to memorize his name for generations. He would be remembered as one of the key figures in ending the war.


Kaelen nodded, his discomfort palpable. He had worked with Vaelin for years now, but even he was beginning to see the darker turns their experiments were taking. It wasn't just the vivisections or the invasive magical probes—the conversations that had started to surface. Conversations about more… forbidden methods.


"Are you suggesting," Kaelen began carefully, "that we turn to one of the more… dangerous options?"


Vaelin's smile grew sharper, more predatory. "Precisely."


He moved toward a hefty tome on the far end of the table, its cover worn and ancient, bound in leather that had seen centuries of use. The symbols etched into the cover were unfamiliar to Kaelen, and he felt a cold shiver run down his spine as Vaelin ran his fingers over the runes.


"This," Vaelin said, barely above a whisper, "is the Codex of Nyrax. One of the oldest collections of forbidden magic known to our kind."


Kaelen's eyes widened in alarm. "Vaelin, you can't be serious. The Codex… it's illegal even to possess a copy of it, let alone use its contents."


Vaelin's gaze hardened, and for a moment, Kaelen saw the depth of his mentor's obsession. "Morality is a luxury we no longer have, Kaelen. We are on the verge of something extraordinary. If we succeed, we will reshape our understanding of magic and psionics. We will wield powers that could rival the Triad itself. Do you understand what that means?"


Kaelen hesitated. "You're talking about summoning a creature from beyond the dream—something from the realm of nightmares."


"Exactly," Vaelin replied, his voice filled with excitement. "The mutation these humans undergo is powerful but still contained within the physical realm. Psionics are impressive, but imagine if we could tap into something more—something that transcends the dreamscape."


Kaelen felt a knot forming in his stomach. "You're talking about calling upon creatures from nightmares—things that even our kind has long feared. If we fail to control it—"


"We won't fail," Vaelin interrupted, his voice sharp. "Not if we prepare properly. The Codex outlines the rituals, the protections, and most importantly, the methods of binding these entities to our will."


Kaelen stared at the tome in Vaelin's hands, his mind racing. The forbidden enchantments of the Codex of Nyrax were notorious among the elves. Stories had been told for centuries of those who had dared to use them, only to meet horrific ends when the creatures they summoned tore free of their control. These beings were not just dreamers; they were nightmares made flesh, entities from a realm of chaos and madness.


"But Vaelin," Kaelen said, his voice strained, "even if we perform the ritual, even if we succeed in calling something forth… how do we control it? These creatures don't follow our laws. They don't operate on the same principles as life here."


Vaelin's eyes gleamed with a fevered intensity. "That is why we will start small. We'll choose one of the less interesting subjects, one whose mutation has not yet fully manifested. We'll bind the entity to them, use them as a vessel."


Kaelen's breath caught. "You want to use a human as the conduit."


"Of course," Vaelin said, his voice filled with cold pragmatism. "They're already undergoing mutations beyond anything we've seen before. Their bodies are adapting to psionics. Who's to say they cannot also adapt to something… more?"


Kaelen shook his head, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "And if they can't? If the creature breaks free?"


Vaelin's smile returned, sharper than ever. "Then we'll learn from the failure and move on. But if it works… we'll have a weapon unlike anything the world has ever seen."


The room was silent for a long moment, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Kaelen glanced toward the vivisection table, where the human subject lay, unconscious and unaware of the fate that might soon befall them. The violet crystals pulsed faintly beneath their skin, a reminder of the power already building within them.


"I don't know if this is wise," Kaelen said, his voice barely audible. "We're playing with forces we barely understand."


"Isn't that what science is?" Vaelin replied, his tone almost dismissive. "We push the boundaries of what we know. We take risks. And if we succeed, the rewards are beyond imagining."


Kaelen bit his lip, his mind swirling with doubt. He had always admired Vaelin's brilliance and relentless pursuit of knowledge. But this… this felt different. This felt wrong.


Still, the promise of what they might discover was tantalizing. The power to control not just psionics but the very fabric of nightmares themselves—such a thing could change everything. It could elevate them beyond the Triad's reach and allow them to reshape the world as they saw fit.


Kaelen's hands trembled as he reached for the tome, his fingers brushing the ancient leather cover. The runes etched into the surface seemed to pulse with dark energy, as though the Codex was alive, waiting to be opened.


"Will you help me, Kaelen?" Vaelin asked quietly. "Together, we could unlock something greater than the elves have ever known. Or we could sit back, continue our slow, methodical dissections, and let this opportunity slip through our fingers."


Kaelen hesitated, his mind torn between fear and ambition. Vaelin's visions of power were seductive, pulling at him with the promise of immortality and knowledge beyond comprehension. But the risks… they were staggering.


Finally, Kaelen exhaled, and his decision was made. "What do we need to do?"


Vaelin's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "We'll need a few key components to perform the ritual. First, we'll need a subject—someone whose mutation hasn't fully progressed but who shows potential. Someone expendable."


Kaelen nodded, his thoughts already racing through the list of human prisoners. A few fit the description—those with unstable mutations but not yet developed enough to make them interesting.


"And we'll need dream crystals," Vaelin continued, his tone growing more focused. "They will anchor the creature in the dreamscape and allow us to control its presence in the physical world. Without them, the entity could slip free, which would be… unfortunate."


Kaelen grimaced, but he understood the necessity. Dreamcrystals were volatile, powerful tools that could bridge the gap between the dreamscape and reality. But they were dangerous, especially in a ritual of this magnitude.


"What else?" Kaelen asked, steeling himself for the next step.


"We'll need a place to conduct the ritual," Vaelin said thoughtfully. "Somewhere isolated, where we won't be disturbed. The laboratory will suffice for now, but we may need to move to a more secure location if the summoning proves difficult to contain."


Kaelen's heart pounded in his chest. The enormity of what they were about to attempt weighed on him, but there was no turning back now. He had made his choice.


"Vaelin," Kaelen said, his voice steadying, "are you sure we can control it?"


Vaelin's expression darkened slightly, but his confidence didn't waver. "We are the team entrusted to save the Freehold by the high council. There is no way we can control it; our brothers on the battlefield depend on it," Vaelin said.





…


Date: November 7th, 2034
Location: Elven Research Facility Dreamscape


Red stood at the edge of the dreamscape, his body tense with an energy that pulsed through him like a caged storm. Cracks appeared even in his dream form, healing slowly as if by magic. He pressed against the slowly expanding edge of the dreamscape but couldn't move past it. Symbols etched into the sky like the laws of heaven stopped him. They were an impenetrable wall to his dream body, and even knowing that and sensing it for himself didn't stop him from trying. It was impossible if he gave up; quitting was the only thing that would beat him. His breath came out ragged, his muscles straining as he pushed himself far beyond the limits he'd known just a few months before. He was no longer the man who had been captured. The mutation coursing through his veins had made sure of that.


But he didn't have the power to use force to escape. Not yet.


Red was in his training room, his place, and at the edge of his control over the dreamscape. At the edge, physical laws mattered more. Others moved their rooms closer to the center of their dreamscape, granting them almost god-like control.


He was fired up and liked the feeling of using his muscles, even if he used his psionics to stimulate them to keep up with his training if the others continued to drift further afield, how would they cope with their atrophied, weak bodies? What if they were trapped here for decades? Did no one think of that? He was unsure Red hadn't talked with anyone since Brandon died.


The rocks he used for training hovered in the air around him, beginning to tremble, wobbling under the pressure of his psionics. Red clenched his fists, pouring every ounce of his will into controlling them. Sweat dripped down his brow, and his muscles screamed for relief, but he didn't let up. He couldn't. More of his body had changed, guided by his actions. The harder he worked, the faster he changed and the smoother it seemed.


He made the rocks intentionally fragile to increase his difficulty. Power wasn't hard to get with the mutations running rampant through his body, but control was worth its weight in gold. He had leaped and frogged ahead of the rest with his tactics.


If the elves happened to grow consciousness and release them, Red would be ready to walk out on his own two feet.


Just a little longer, he thought, his mind racing. If he could hold them up just a few minutes more, he would have broken another personal record—a victory, however small, in the face of an impossible situation.


But then, a sharp crack echoed through the dreamscape as one of the rocks shot upward, shattering against the invisible ceiling that marked the boundaries of his created world. The rest fell unceremoniously, and Red cursed under his breath.


His strength was growing exponentially, but so was the chaos that came with it. The power slipped away like sand through his fingers whenever he thought he had control. It wasn't enough to get stronger—he needed control. Without it, this mutation would tear him apart. Worse, it might destroy his only chance of getting out of this place alive.


The mutation had made him less human, according to some of the others, but it also had woven itself into the fabric of his being, turning his body into a psionic conduit. His muscles ached from the raw power surging through them. He felt the static buzzing in his veins, alive and uncontrollable.


Red would control the chaos, but it wouldn't control him.


He wiped his forehead, trying to focus. There was no room for doubt, no time for weakness. His eyes narrowed as he glanced toward the far edge of the dreamscape, where the elves no doubt continued their experiments on his people, on his kind.


The psionic yelled into the wall, "We aren't yours to control," Red said. He had to be better, to push harder.


But the harder he pushed, the more the question gnawed at him: What's the price?


There was no denying the power he had now, but the mutations...they came with a price. He could feel it creeping up on him, the weight of something alien inside his body, something changing him into what? He didn't have the answer, and the elves were silent. If they could communicate after weeks, they chose not to.


But they were interested. The vivisections, the experiments, the mutilations—they had a goal, but he had no idea what made their bodies adapt to whatever sickness changed them. The elves might know or not, but they have a goal. The massive cascade of ignorance was impossible to bridge.


Red paced the room he had constructed, a mental space that mimicked the real world in some ways but with enough flexibility to allow him to push himself to his limits. He had trained here daily, honing his skills and tempering his body to match the new strength the mutation had brought. But his body wasn't enough—his mind had to be stronger, sharper.


He wanted to fly like Superman and shoot lasers like him. In some ways, this power was a dream come true, too bad it was almost impossible to control. Red was almost grateful for the isolation for the time he needed to get control of the static running through him.


The psionics coursing through him wasn't just a tool but wild power. And if he would escape this place, he had to master it completely. The elves were watching, always watching, probing their every move, manipulating them like lab rats.


Machines pumped fluids and some slurry down his throat to keep him alive. Sometimes, he could almost feel his body, but nothing he did allowed him to twitch a finger.


Red stopped in his tracks, his mind racing as he turned over an idea that had been lurking in the back of his thoughts for days now. He could feel them—the elves—probing, observing, and learning from every experiment. They were taking samples and leaving with them; he could feel those cells even far removed from his body.


Some were mostly emptied and turned into an ovum, and then the bastards inseminated them with elven seed. It was horrible, along with the eternal multiplying and alien sensations as injections poured into them. He could feel them like a phantom limb. They weren't a part of him. He was only aware enough to collect information. Cells with violet crystals were great for transmitting and receiving information even through all the defenses the elves had in place.


The human psionic couldn't do anything with the information, but it was functional. It fit somewhere in a great big puzzle about how to wake up and escape from this place. Some of what he knew was either guessed by the others or transmitted from his harvested cells through trauma from various experiments.


But what if I could learn from them instead?


The thought hit him like a jolt of lightning, and for a moment, he stood frozen, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He had never considered spying on the elves—not directly. It was dangerous, reckless even. If they detected his psionic thread, they would know. And then, whatever fragile advantage he still held would be lost.


But the temptation gnawed at him. He was desperate for answers. They were too close to something—something that could give him a way out or something that could end it all.


His mind whirled with possibilities, doubts, and fears, but in the end, only one voice mattered—his own. He was a leader, a fighter. He had survived this long by trusting his instincts, pushing beyond his limits, setting impossible standards, and crushing them underfoot.


"Do it," he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with barely contained fury.


He knelt, closed his eyes, and reached out with his mind. The static surged again, the energy buzzing and crackling through his veins as he extended a single, thin thread of psionic energy outward, weaving it through the dreamscape. It snaked through the walls, beyond the confines of his created space, slipping through the cracks of reality until it brushed against the edge of the elven minds.


Red's heart pounded in his chest as he held the thread steady, his breath shallow. He had never done this before or reached out to them in this way. But there was no turning back now. He needed to know what they were planning, what they were hiding.


As the thread made contact, he felt a rush of foreign thoughts—alien, cold, and calculating. The elves' minds were sharp, disciplined, and shielded by layers of magic and training. The thread was thin enough that even the heavy shielding wasn't enough to stop him.


He probed carefully, cautiously, listening to their thoughts. They were entirely alien and undesirable. Worse, through such a small connection, very little information could travel back to him at a time. By the time he heard something, a hundred other conversations had already taken place.


His jaw clenched. It was another dead end. He couldn't get anything but surface thoughts in the elf's strange language.


It was better to focus on something that would get results for the foreseeable future. Or perhaps he was going about it all wrong. Maybe what he needed to do was create a copy of an elf and learn from them. That was his only chance to get a handle on their language. But who should he choose?


They didn't seem able to detect such a small thread of psionic energy so maybe he should multiply his efforts. More threads could help him collect the data he needed into a singular form. How would he even begin copying someone into existence in the dream?


Red would need to consult Zack and the others and see if he could figure something out.


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