The voice wasn't in the room; it was in Shane's head. It was a cold, silent whisper that echoed in his mind like a sound in a vast, empty canyon. It had no emotion, no tone, just an unfeeling presence that seemed to fill his skull. The shadow on the console rippled and shifted, and the single, milky-white eye blinked slowly, like a giant, uncaring star. The guard next to him was a frozen statue of terror, his weapon clutched uselessly in his shaking hand.
"You have a small mind," the voice in Shane's head said. "A little spark of life in a cosmic ocean. You call this place a 'ship'. We see it as a tomb."
Shane's breath hitched in his throat. He had to fight the urge to scream. "What do you want with us?" he thought back, hoping his mind was a private space.
The voice seemed to find the question amusing, a cosmic chuckle that felt like a cold draught in his bones. "We do not 'want'. That is a human concept. A craving for more. We are the opposite of that. We are the great unmaking. The return to the clean, quiet state."
Shane felt a horrifying vision flash in his mind. He saw a hundred other universes, a million other races. Civilisations of light, of sound, of pure energy. And he saw them all crumble, slowly at first, then all at once, as the Void spread, unmaking them like sandcastles in the tide. He saw the very laws of physics unravel, the fabric of reality fraying at the edges. The cosmic cycle wasn't a myth; it was a cold, hard truth.
"This one," the voice said, referring to the guard, "is breaking. The little mind cannot handle the truth. He will be unmade soon. Like the rest of you."
The guard began to shake uncontrollably, a high-pitched whimper escaping his lips. His eyes rolled back into his head, and a thin line of black, inky fluid started to ooze from his ears. He wasn't a soldier anymore; he was a toy being played with, a puppet on a string.
"Wait!" Shane thought, a desperate plea. "Why are you telling me this?"
"You struggle," the voice replied, its tone as flat and empty as a vacant house. "It is a novelty. The others simply succumbed. You have a resistance. A small, foolish thing you call 'hope'. We wish to understand it."
The corrupted guard let out a choked cry and dropped his weapon. He began to claw at his own face, his nails tearing deep gouges in his skin. The terrifying part was that he wasn't screaming. The sound was a soft, wet gurgle, as if his throat had been sealed.
Shane backed away from the guard, his eyes darting around the engineering bay. Everything was changing. The control panels were no longer sparking; they were melting, the plastic and metal flowing together like a twisted work of modern art. The immense engine core was now covered in pulsating, organic matter, and a deep, humming groan was coming from within it. The Void was no longer just a shadow; it was a physical presence, remaking the ship from the inside out.
He had to do something. He couldn't just stand there and be unmade. He looked at the main control console, the one with the glowing, shadowy eye on it. The Void was using it as a gateway, as a way to spread its influence. If he could break it, maybe he could slow it down. It was a long shot, but it was the only one he had.
The corrupted guard turned his attention to Shane. The guard's face was a mess of blood and torn flesh, and his eyes were now a solid, milky white, just like Lyra's. He moved forward, his movements jerky and fast, like a starving animal.
Shane dodged the guard, scrambling under a broken console table. He had to be smart. He was no match for the guard's twisted strength. He looked at the console's main power conduit, a thick cable running along the floor. He could sever it, but he had no tool. He looked for a loose piece of metal, a knife, anything. Nothing. He was trapped.
"Your struggle is commendable," the voice in his head said. "But it is useless. We are here. We are inside you. The end has already begun."
Shane felt a cold, deep sensation in his chest, as if a ghostly hand had reached inside and was squeezing his heart. He felt his mind flicker, a momentary emptiness, a brief loss of self. A flash of a memory that wasn't his—a vision of a different universe, a billion years ago, before it too was unmade.
He stumbled to his feet, fighting the mental assault. He had to think. He looked at the console again, at the shadow on the screen. It was not just an interface; it was a wound in reality. It was a portal. The Void was not just coming for them; it was entering them.
He saw the guard advancing, his limbs moving like a broken toy. Shane looked around one last time. He saw a small container of volatile plasma fluid for emergency repairs, sitting on a shelf. It was the last resort, a thing that could burn through steel. It was also incredibly unstable.
"Your last hope is to destroy yourself?" the voice asked, a cold curiosity in its tone. "A truly human act."
Shane didn't answer. He had a plan, a crazy one. He would take the plasma fluid and toss it at the conduit, creating a short, powerful surge. It would fry the console and maybe, just maybe, close the portal. It was a stupid plan, and he would probably be burned to death in the process, but it was better than being unmade.
He grabbed the container and pulled the pin, the fluid inside sloshing ominously. He took aim at the conduit, his hand shaking. The corrupted guard lunged at him, a silent, ravenous monster. Shane threw the container with all his might. It soared through the air and hit the thick cable with a wet thud. The container ruptured, and the liquid sprayed out, sizzling as it hit the wire.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a blinding blue flash of light filled the entire engineering bay. A high-pitched shriek, a sound that wasn't sound at all, ripped through the air, and Shane's vision went white. The last thing he heard was the voice in his head, a final whisper of cold rage.
"Fool."