Shane was a man possessed. He didn't feel the fear anymore, only a grim, cold determination. Commander Voss was gone, a casualty of a war he could never have won. Now, it was all on Shane. He was a scientist, a man of quiet contemplation, but he was all that was left to stand against a cosmic horror. The voice in his head, a constant, low thunder, was no longer just a sound. It was a part of him now, a presence he had to fight with every thought, every step.
He left the maintenance room and plunged back into the nightmare of the ship. He was no longer just running. He was on a mission. The ship's internal lighting was completely gone now, and the only light came from the throbbing, purplish growths on the walls, and the milky-white eyes of the corrupted crew. They were everywhere now, not just in the main corridors, but in every vent, every crawlspace. The Supreme was a hunting ground, and he was the prey.
He moved silently, a ghost in the machine's body. He used every bit of his knowledge of the ship's schematics, slipping through service shafts and maintenance tunnels, avoiding the main corridors. He saw more of the Void's gruesome handiwork. Crew members who had fused with the walls, their faces stretched in silent screams. Machinery that had twisted into grotesque, organic shapes, pulsing with light. The ship was no longer a machine; it was a living, breathing monster.
The journey to the neural hub was a descent into hell. The deeper he went, the more the ship changed. The air became thick with a terrible, sweet smell, and the walls pulsed with a rhythmic beat, like a giant, dying heart. He finally reached the main access shaft that led to the hub. It was a huge, vertical space that went down into the ship's core. He could see it, a pulsing, organic brain of light and wires, a monstrous fusion of technology and flesh. It was alive.
And it was singing.
Not with a human voice, but with a series of high-pitched, metallic tones that seemed to vibrate in his very bones. It was a beautiful, terrible sound, like the song of a dying star. It was the Void, a chorus of its thoughts, of its memories, of its plan to unmake everything.
He began his descent, climbing down a ladder that was now covered in a thick, pulsating growth. He could feel the Void's presence all around him, a pressure in his mind, a crushing weight that wanted to make him surrender.
"You are so close," the voice in his head said, a low, triumphant whisper. "To your doom. You have walked into our lair. Do you not feel us? We are a million voices. We are the universe's memory. We are the great unmaking."
Shane ignored it. He had a job to do. He reached a small platform and looked at the core's brain. He had to overload it. It was too big, too protected. He needed to find a weak point, a vulnerability. He looked at the vast network of wires and pulsating light, and he saw it. A single, thin, sparking cable, hanging by a thread. It was the main power conduit. It was a trap, a lure, but it was also his only way in.
"A simple trap for a simple mind," the voice in his head laughed. "Do you truly believe you can break what we have made?"
Shane took a deep breath and a massive gamble. He had to reach the cable. It was hanging from a height, swaying slightly. He had to jump. He backed up to the edge of the platform and jumped, his hands outstretched. He missed. He was falling.
A cold, mocking laugh echoed in his head, a sound of pure triumph. "Fool."
He was falling into the core, into the very heart of the Void's brain. The light from the pulsating organs was blinding, and the singing was a deafening roar. He closed his eyes, accepting his fate.
And then, a hand grabbed his arm. It was Lyra.
But it wasn't the Lyra he knew. Her eyes were still milky white, but they were no longer empty. There was a faint light, a glimmer of her old self, in them. Her face was a mask of pain, and her hand was a cold, hard thing, but she was there.
"You can't," she said, her voice a strange, echoing whisper, as if a million voices were speaking through her. "You can't die. He is pleased."
Shane stared at her, confused. "Lyra? Is that you?"
"I am... and I am not," she said, her eyes fixed on his. "He is within us. He has consumed us. But... a part of me... a small part... still holds on. We are a part of the memory, Shane. The memory of all that was. We can help you."
The voice in his head, the Void, roared in a soundless fury, a torrent of pure rage and confusion. "What is this? This... this anomaly! You are a part of us! You are not a separate mind!"
Lyra looked at Shane, a faint, sad smile on her lips. "I am a part of the memory. We all are. A million voices, a million lives. We can't fight him, but we can be a... a virus. We can overload the system. We can give you a window. He is a god of silence, Shane. He hates noise. We will make a sound he cannot ignore."
And then, she was gone. Her hand slipped away from his, and she was a ghost of light and sound. The voice in his head was a high-pitched shriek of panic and fury.
He was falling again, but this time, he wasn't alone. He could hear it now. A chorus of voices, a million whispers, a million memories, a million silent screams. They were a torrent of thoughts, of memories, of every life the Void had ever unmade. It was a wave of pure information, a noise that was so loud it was a silence.
It was the song of the dead. It was the last hope of a dying universe. And it was going to tear the Void's brain apart.