At that sight, the Soldier paused, perplexed, his breath catching for an instant. It was as if, looking at it, time had frozen, a moment of unreal calm enveloping him, a silence that weighed like an omen. But that quiet vanished in a flash, shattered by a horror that overwhelmed him without warning. Suddenly, the inside of the cockpit was covered in living red flesh, an infection of Chaos spreading like a wave, pulsating with a grotesque vitality. "Damn it!" the Soldier yelled, panic gripping his chest, his voice breaking into a scream of pure terror.
From the flesh emerged a distorted voice, a sound that seemed to come from a distant abyss, and with it Jessie's face materialized, a battered image, warped by the disease that had consumed him. "You won't stop me, Soldier!" he roared, his voice a scream echoing through the sheets of flesh spreading inside the cockpit, wrapping every surface with their living, hungry presence. "I'M SO CLOSE!" Jessie's face, now a tangle of flesh and madness, seemed to stare at him with desperate obsession, an echo of the Chaos that had claimed him.
"Avion, ejection!" the Soldier shouted, his heart exploding in his chest, his voice a mix of panic and determination.
The computer responded with an error signal: "Violent removal will create irreversible damage to your brain. Are you sure you want to proceed?" But the Soldier did not hesitate. "Go, Avion, activate ejection!"
The seat was violently ejected, the cockpit opening in an explosion of metal. The Soldier was launched several feet away, pain washing over him like a wave. His lungs filled with blood, his breath turning into a choked rattle, his legs paralyzed by neurological damage. He lay on the ground, his body shaking with convulsions, and for the first time, terror crossed his face, a humanity he had never shown.
Behind him, the Avion warped, Chaos consuming it, transforming it into a monster. Jessie's voice exploded in a cry of joy. "Finally! I did it!" he screamed, the liquid flesh approaching the Soldier, ready to absorb him. "But fear not, Soldier! You will not die! Your strength will become mine!"
The Soldier, in a panic, felt the Chaos infection mutating him, his body contorting as the red liquid enveloped him. But in that moment, a new feeling emerged, a cry that was not his own, a famished, bestial howl, calling him from the abyss. Everything went dark. An obscurity outlined by a silvery, circular line that tightened around him. In the center, the Soldier, his heartbeat thundering like thunder, terror growing. Then, a blurred face, blonde hair, small hands embracing him, a warmth that enveloped him for an instant, before the void claimed him.
The darkness vanished abruptly, a return to reality marked by a dull sound, like an impact. The Soldier reopened his eyes, his gaze vacant, his body still trembling. The infected Avion, Jessie, the mad Imprint—everything was gone. The only trace of that tangle of madness was the vial, still in the pocket of his suit. He could still feel that presence that Chaos was seeking, an energy pulsing beyond the Gate, but he was not fully conscious.
Semiconsicous, he stood up, the suit's gravity stabilizer anchoring him to the floor, and with a slow gesture he removed his helmet, letting it drop to the ground with a dull thud. He stood bareheaded, his face marked by blood and suffering, his curly blonde hair drenched in sweat, and advanced on foot towards the Gate, without wondering why he could breathe, why the neurological damage no longer blocked him, or why a bluish light illuminated the inside of the ship, filtering through the holes in the perimeter.
The Gate opened with a metallic lament, and from it, figures slowly emerged. People of various races, malnourished, thin, their bodies marked by suffering, advanced with difficulty, their faces frightened. There were young women holding children, boys with empty eyes, wounded men leaning on one another. The Soldier walked among them, his black suit making him an imposing figure, a shadow amidst that broken crowd. At first, they shrank back, their looks filled with fear, but little by little, as he passed among them, something changed. Their eyes filled with hope, a silent admiration for the man who, unknowingly, had become their savior. One by one, they began to touch his arm, a gentle touch, a silent thank you that accompanied him on his path.
A slender, human boy with black hair quickly approached, noticing the Soldier's stagger. With a swift gesture, he supported him, helping him sit on the ground. The Soldier, his breathing still ragged, stared at the floor, blood dripping from his face, his body trembling from the effort. A gentle voice, which seemed to calm the tumult inside him with an unnatural serenity, broke the silence. "What is your name?" the boy asked, his tone full of a sweetness that contrasted with the horror surrounding them.
The Soldier looked up, staring at a vacant spot in front of him, his face etched with blood and suffering. "My name?" he murmured with difficulty, his voice breaking. "I... I really don't know." He felt that presence again, an energy calling to him, and his eyes widened, his body freezing. With the last of his remaining strength, he looked up at the boy, his breathing stopping. "You... who are you?" he whispered.
But in that moment, like a bolt of lightning striking him, he saw only darkness. Two luminous red eyes stared at him from the shadows, an darkness enveloping him. Before fainting, he heard one last sentence, an echo that made him shudder. "Who am I? My name is... Rales."
In the boundless void of space, planets are born from the aggregation of dust and gas, a chaotic embrace that tightens around a star, a nucleus of fire and light. Once formed, they bow to their destiny, condemned to revolve around it, bound to it in an eternal cycle, an orbit that confines them for their entire existence. No matter what happens, what storms shake them, what cataclysms touch them: as long as they exist, they will follow that predetermined path, a perpetual motion that knows no rest, no rebellion.
I, too, am trapped in a cycle, an orbit that binds me like an invisible chain. Mission after mission, I receive an order, and I execute it. There is no room for satisfaction, nor for discouragement. I just do it. Without a purpose, without a question, without warmth. It is a mechanical action, a lifeless reflex, like a planet revolving around its star. I remember nothing of myself, as if my memory is a black abyss, a void that swallows me. Yet, it is as if I myself close my eyes, refusing to see. I do not want to see, and so I lie to myself, building a prison of lies that protects me from the truth. I do not want to see, and so I forget, letting the past vanish like ashes in space. I do not want to see, and so I run, fleeing from what I might discover if I only stopped to look.
But am I also condemned to this cycle for the rest of my existence, an endless orbit, a destiny that binds me like the planets to their star? Is it from this same cycle that even you,...? What was your name? What was your face? I... I don't remember. Why did I forget you?
It is said that the merchant ship, mysteriously vanished in a vortex of darkness, reappeared out of nowhere in the skies of Parvati, the capital planet of the Venasians, in a system light years away from the Papacy's domain. But not all civilians survived that dark period. Many died of starvation, their bodies reduced to empty shells, consumed by isolation and despair. Others, driven mad, killed each other, their minds shattered by a strange red liquid that had infected them—or so they said, a veil of madness that had dragged them into the abyss. Those who survived reported not knowing what had happened, their memories a tangle of fear and bewilderment. Yet, they spoke of a shadow with red eyes, a presence that had protected them from that scarlet liquid, an entity they described as a mirage, an illusion perhaps, born from the madness that had touched them.
They attributed the credit for that rescue to a man whose name remained unknown, a figure shrouded in mystery who called himself the Lone Soldier. But his final statements regarding that mission left doubts that weighed like an omen. His mind, marked by deep traumas, seemed to have erased fragments of truth: he remembered that Chaos had killed the rest of the Vienne's crew, a massacre that haunted his dreams, but never, in his words, did the name Jessie or his Avion emerge, as if that chapter had been ripped from his memory. Instead, he spoke of a strange figure, a symbol etched on the Gate of the merchant ship's residential sector, a deformed humanoid shape with red eyes that had stared at him, an image that obsessed him. But that symbol was never found again, vanished like an echo in the void, leaving behind only questions, an enigma intertwined with the mystery of Rales and the fate of the Vienne.