Gunfire ripped in the corridor, muzzle flashes popping like fireworks in a trash fire. Marines poured in shoulder-to-shoulder, rifles up, all discipline and barked orders.
"MOVE! MOVE! STACK UP!"
"TARGET IN THE OPEN! LIGHT HIM UP!"
"FIRE!"
And he saw it.
Behind the rage. Behind the drill-sergeant posture. Fear.
'They are scared of me. …Why?'
He created a barrier to block the bullets. Ripped one bastard off his feet, flicked him into the ceiling. His neck snapped on impact, body bouncing down in a limp heap. Another screamed as his rifle bent in my grip — not just bent, *olded, the barrel curling around his own wrists like a bear trap. His screams got higher when I squeezed.
"IS THIS YOUR PLAN? SHOOT THE GUY WHO JUST TURNED THE RAIDERS INTO A FUCKING KEBAB? GENIUS STRATEGY, BOYS!"
They were not scared like you're scared of bullets. Not scared like scared of bad odds.
'Scared of me.'
Orders barked through the haze:
"KEEP FIRING!"
"DON'T LET HIM BREATHE!"
And that's when it hit.
To them he was not a soldier anymore. Never was a hero. Maybe to them he is not even human anymore. Just a freak. A monster in their squad photo. Alien. Like the turians on Shanxi, except worse — because he is one of their own — was one of their own.
And finally, his own reflection cracked. His perception of himself — shattered.
No, it wasn't shattering. He was just finally accepting the truth. He was just… accepting what he really was. What he always had been.
"TWIST! STAND DOWN! SURRENDER AND YOU WON'T BE HURT!"
He actually stopped mid-step, blinked at him. Then he burst out laughing.
"SURRENDER? TO YOU LITTLE SHITS? AFTER ALL THIS?!"
He hurled a push, slammed the whole fireteam down the corridor like bowling pins. Their screams clipped out on impact.
"FUCK YOUR ORDERS! FUCK YOUR MERCY! AND FUCK YOUR MOTHER WHILE WE'RE AT IT!"
He thought he wanted recognition. Thought he wanted the medal, the salute, the poster with his name on it. Thought he wanted people to look up to him.
'But that was a lie.'
What he wanted was the power that came with it. Status. Influence. To walk into a room and feel every pair of eyes drop. To command, not obey.
And he didn't get it. Even after all this, after saving their asses, after showing them what he was — they didn't look up. Didn't kneel. Didn't commend.
'The fucking Commander still tried to order me.'
Old Caden might've folded. Might've said yes, sir, just one more leash, maybe next time I'll get the glory.
'But not me. Not anymore.'
Something had changed inside him when he touched that artifact. When the void told him to kneel and he said fuck you. Something primal burned the word "order" out of his blood. Burned the word "follow." Burned the word "obey."
Another squad stacked up, charging in tight formation. Brave but stupid. He curled a barrier bubble around four of them at once and squeezed until armor squealed, blood misted through the cracks, and the screams went from human to animal to silence. The fifth man dropped his rifle and bolted, screaming, "MONSTER! HE'S A FUCKING MONSTER!"
He wasn't wrong.
'Why be a hero… when I can be a ruler?'
They'd never follow him. Never kneel. Not after this shit he pulled.
So, what the fuck was he still doing here?
His grin sharpened.
"Yeah. Nah. I'm done."
He let the guy squad crumple to the floor, turned his back on the chaos, and started walking.
He bent down, ripped the helmet and tank off a groaning marine, and snapped them into place like it was just another part of suiting up. Oxygen hissed into his lungs, cool and sharp against the sulfur stink.
Then he hit the airlock and stepped out.
The airlock hissed and spat him out into the open.
Heat slammed against him first, thick as a wall. The helmet seal held, the stolen oxygen hissing cool into his lungs, sharp and clean against the sulfur stink. He walked slow across the black basalt, boots crunching grit loud in the silence. Out beyond the walls, rivers of lava pulsed through cracks in the earth like veins under rotten skin, their glow painting the haze in angry reds and oranges. The whole planet felt alive, like it was breathing fire under his feet.
For a minute, it was just him and the horizon.
Then—footsteps. Dozens. Boots hammering metal, rattling through the haze, spreading into a wide semicircle behind him.
A voice barked, flat and amplified through a megaphone, cutting through the crackle of static:
"PRIVATE TWIST! STAND DOWN!"
He stopped mid-step. Blinked once.
"SERIOUSLY? AFTER ALL THAT? WHAT PART OF INVINCIBLE SPACE WIZARD DIDN'T YOU GET?"
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
The Makos fired, shells chewing gouges out of the ridge, explosions coughing black smoke into the sky. The concussions echoed sharp across the basin, making the lava river ripple like water under a storm. But every slug broke harmless against his barriers, the air popping and shrieking where the shields caught them.
Caden's grin sharpened. He flicked a hand and twisted one cannon aside like a toy. Armor groaned, steel shrieked, the whole Mako heaved sideways off its treads, folding in on itself with a scream before he shoved it into a glowing fissure. The lava hissed when it swallowed the machine whole, the last thing anyone heard from it the squeal of metal buckling under the heat.
"YEAH! HOW'D THAT WORK OUT FOR YOU?"
For a second, nobody moved. Rifles dipped. Visors all locked on the glowing fissure where a thirty-ton tank had just died like a toy.
"…Holy shit," someone muttered, voice small over comms.
Silence hung, thick and jagged. The kind where even the gunfire forgot to keep going.
Then a different voice cut sharp, desperate, trying to stitch their courage back together.
"KEEP SHOOTING! HE'S GOTTA BE TIRED BY NOW!"
It didn't sound like confidence though. More like prayer.
The second Mako - its turret was still tracked, but the engine note shifted, whining sharp, backing away into the haze.
"YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT — MOONWALK YOUR ASS OUTTA HERE."
The retreating tank disappeared into the haze, engines fading, leaving infantry alone in the open.
The soldiers were still pressing like fanatics, but he could feel it — their line wasn't advancing, it was holding, barely. Too scared to break, too scared to run.
He loved it.
With the lava roaring behind him, they could only come from the front. A firing line against a storm.
His glow bled brighter, arcs of blue distortion humming around him, tearing the line apart piece by piece.
And then it happened.
The sniper's crack split the air from his right. Half a heartbeat later, the Mako from rolled back out of the haze and roared, autocannon belching fire.
Caden whipped his hand wide, dragging the barrier out in a rush. Blue shimmer snapped into existence, expanding fast, racing outward to seal him in a full circle—
Too late.
The round hit first.
Any other day? That shot would've been nothing. He would've caught it, bent it, shoved it straight back down their throats.
But this wasn't any other day.
That round wasn't just tungsten and propellant. It wasn't just a slug.
That shot was a canon event.
The shell slammed into the barrier. For a fraction, it held, whining under the force—then it shattered like glass. The shockwave ripped through the ridge, through the air, through him.
It lifted him clean off his feet, the impact ringing in his armor, a gut-punch so loud it drowned everything else.
His laugh was still echoing when the blast hurled him backward—off the ridge, over the edge—
And into the lava river.
The world flared white-orange, sparks spraying high. The surface swallowed him in a single boiling hiss.
One second, he was there. The next, gone.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
The river boiled where he went under, sparks and molten spray hissing up into the haze. Then it calmed. Just glow and bubbles.
For a long second, nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
A couple rifles stayed locked on the surface, barrels trembling like they were waiting for him to climb back out. He didn't.
Finally, one marine edged closer, boots grinding black rock. He crept up to the ridge, leaned just far enough to look down into the glow. The lava licked the air, hissing and snapping, heat hammering up against his visor.
He swallowed, the sound loud in his mic.
"…There's no way he's surviving that, right?"
The words hung. Faint mutters followed.
"Surely….Nobody walks out of that…."
Voices repeating each other, like they were trying to convince themselves.
The comms crackled sharp, cutting through the half-belief. The Commander's voice, clipped and demanding:
"Alpha actual, report status. What's the situation with Twist?"
Eyes turned. No one wanted to say it. Finally, the edge scout forced the words out.
"Subject… neutralized." He paused, swallowing again. "Repeat: Private Twist terminated."
That was it. Saying it out loud.
A shaky laugh bubbled from the back of the line. Someone let their rifle slip from numb hands, clattering against the basalt with a hollow echo. A few more exhaled all at once, the kind of breath you didn't know you'd been holding until it left.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
The world slowed down.
He saw the ridge tilt away above him, jagged black teeth against a burning sky.
He saw shards of his own shattered barrier still drifting in the air — blue splinters catching the light before dissolving into nothing.
He saw rifles still raised in the haze, muzzles flashing slower than camera shutters, sparks blooming one by one.
He felt the weightlessness take him, armor plates rattling loose as gravity reclaimed him.
He felt the heat climbing already. He felt the shockwave still chasing him down, pressing into his back like invisible hands trying to shove him faster toward the glow.
He turned in the air, slow, deliberate. Saw the river below.
Not a river. Not really. More like an open wound in the planet, molten blood boiling, spitting sparks that floated upward as though the world itself was bleeding fire.
'Oh fuck me…..'
His teeth clenched. His fingers curled. Instinct screamed louder than thought.
The field snapped around him.
Blue distortion spread, rushing around him a perfect sphere, lines bending and folding until the world outside warped like glass under water.
The first touch came fast — molten spray slapping the bubble. It lit the field up white, a flash so bright it cut across his visor.
"…Let's hope this doesn't hurt too much."
The sphere hit the river like a glass marble dropped in a vat of syrup.
For a split second, the lava splashed up around him like it was just water — thicker, heavier, glowing. Orange-white arcs of molten liquid curled skyward before folding back into the river, rippling out in slow waves.
Then he sank. Fast.
Through the forcefield, everything outside was nothing but light. Not flame, not detail — just pure white glow that pressed in from every angle. Only when he glanced down at his own armor did he catch it: a faint orange tint clinging to the outline of his body, like the heat was trying to paint him.
He looked for the edge of the sphere, the glow of his own barrier. Nothing. The outside glare swallowed it whole. From his side of the glass, it felt like floating inside a bulb — a clear bubble adrift in a sea of blinding white.
But he felt it. The barrier was airtight. Solid. Heat pressed in, but it didn't touch him. The only warmth was what the light carried through his visor.
Caden let out a long breath, oxygen tank hissing steady into his helmet. Relief cut through him sharp, cool. Hours left in the tank, easy. Plenty.
He leaned back against nothing, floating in his own sphere, and smirked.
"Alright!"
Them bitches never would've guessed he had fire res.
Up there? They were probably high-fiving, calling it in like good little soldiers. Meanwhile he was sitting in a lava bath like it was a hot tub with bad mood lighting.
"Joke's on you, assholes. I ain't even sweating."
Then he caught it — that glow on his arm. Not lava. The omni-tool, still pulsing Alliance blue. Icons flickering, comm channels dead quiet. Still tethered. Still tagged.
"...Ah, fuck that."
He yanked it off, plates snapping in his grip, then crushed it with a lazy flick of force. The whole thing crumpled like a beer can. Orange shards bounced off the inside of the barrier before sinking to the floor, dead. No glow. No leash.
He exhaled through his teeth, grin spreading. "Yeah. I quit."
Now came the real problem though.
He tilted his head back toward the surface, nothing but blinding white above him. Couldn't even see the bubble's edge. Just light, heavy and endless.
"How the fuck do I get outta here…"
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Halvorsen's office was cramped with bodies — Velez at the table, Drake leaning against the wall, two marines still dust-streaked from the ridge. Nobody rushed to start. The air was heavy, stale.
One of the marines finally cleared his throat. "He went over the edge. Autocannon hit threw him into the lava. We waited a few minutes… nothing came back up."
The second marine nodded, voice low. "…There's no way anyone survives that."
Drake shifted, arms crossed tight. "But you just said he shrugged off multiple autocannon shots earlier. Blocked them like nothing. And now one knocks him clean in?"
Silence answered him. The marines glanced at each other, no words, no confidence left.
Velez broke it at last, voice even but strained. "…Maybe he was finally exhausted."
The first marine added quick, like he wanted the point nailed down. "We checked his omni-tool after. Signal's gone. Probably slagged in the river."
That earned a few exchanged glances. Velez let out a slow breath. "Odds are it burned with him."
"Or he tore it off," Drake muttered. "You all saw what he did. You think a little lava's gonna—"
"Enough." Halvorsen's voice snapped like a whip. The room stilled. He reached for his datapad, thumbed the record, and spoke flat into the log.
"Report. Subject: Private Caden Twist. During the Therum engagement, Twist demonstrated uncontrolled psionic activity. He turned on friendly forces, killed multiple marines and personnel in the colony. Behavior was hostile, erratic, lethal. Attempts to contain him failed."
His tone didn't change. Just rolled forward, clipped and cold.
"During pursuit outside the colony perimeter, Twist engaged additional Alliance forces. Heavy casualties inflicted. A Mako autocannon struck him at close range, impact throwing Twist into a lava river. Visual confirmation: subject submerged. No re-emergence after extended observation. Omni-tool signal terminated on impact."
Halvorsen's jaw flexed once before the close.
"Conclusion. Private Caden Twist: Killed in Action. Cause of death — hostile psionic outbreak, neutralized by autocannon strike, final confirmation by submersion in lava."
He tapped the pad. The record light winked out.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Halvorsen looked up, voice softer but still sharp around the edges.
"Forward it to Arcturus."
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
An hour later.
Caden stood motionless in the sphere, eyes shut, breathing deep. Each inhale rasped steady through the mask, each exhale fogged faint against the visor before vanishing in the white glare. He looked almost calm, like he was meditating in the middle of hell.
Then his eyes snapped open, glow bright enough to punch through the haze.
"…Alright. Let's try this."
He raised his arms out to either side, palms open. Fingers spread. Muscles locked tight, every tendon straining as if he were trying to press back two collapsing walls.
The forcefield groaned. A faint ripple skittered across its surface. Then it started to expand.
Slow. Painfully slow.
The lava didn't splash away — it yielded, thick and stubborn, dragging itself back as the sphere pushed outward. It clung like glue, every inch a fight. The sound was low and ugly, like wet stone grinding against steel.
Caden grit his teeth, kept the pressure on. The bubble widened another meter, then another, molten rock sliding down its sides in sluggish streams.
For a moment, it felt endless — nothing above but blinding white, no sense of up or out. His arms trembled. His jaw set.
Then he saw it.
A flicker in the glare. The faint ripple of a surface bending. He wasn't far. The sky was close.
The thought hit like oxygen in his blood. His grin bared sharp through clenched teeth. He dug deeper, pushed harder.
The sphere swelled faster now, a dome breaching the surface. Lava cascaded down its curve, steaming and snapping where it met cooler air. For the first time since the fall, Caden felt open sky above him.
He held the barrier steady, panting once, then opened a neat circle at the very top. Just enough for air.
Cool sulfur wind hissed in. The haze above shimmered in sickly light.
"Here goes nothing." He paused, smirk curling. "Round two. Don't fuckin' blink." He crouched, coiled tight — then slammed a kinetic pulse beneath his boots and jumped.
He launched straight up through the opening, a streak of blue tearing out of the lava like a bullet.
Zwooopp.
Mid-air, he twisted, every nerve on fire, and shoved a second pulse backward with both arms.
BANG.
The blast ripped the haze apart, kicking him forward in a violent arc. He streaked over the river like a comet, blue glow trailing against orange sky.
Then gravity remembered him.
He plummeted fast in a long arc. The ground rushed up, black rock gleaming with a thin skin of dust.
At the last heartbeat, Caden shoved a barrier into place — a pane of blue force hanging vertical in front of him.
He slammed into it hard. The impact rattled his teeth and thudded through his armor, but the impact rolled off him instead of breaking him. The barrier buckled, cracked with light, then blew apart under the force, dumping him into the dirt.
Still better than armor-on-rock. That would've mangled half his kit.
The basalt cracked anyway, dust pluming in a rough circle.
Caden lay there a moment, visor tilted up at the sulfur sky. Breathing. Grinning.
"…Stuck the landing…" he huffed "…And the crowd goes wild…" - or they would if they weren't dead.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Therum was a tidally locked planet. Alliance scientists were baffled when they realized Therum's tidal lock was geologically recent — less than 50,000 years. That shouldn't happen naturally.
As a result though, the only habitable zone on the planet was the horizon.
One side of the world was swallowed in eternal night — jagged black rock and ice under a sky of stars that never moved. The other was a burning cauldron — a boiling red ocean that lit the clouds from below, rolling waves glowing like molten glass. And in between stretched the horizon: a bruised twilight strip where storm-winds howled, ash clouds swirled, and the sky shimmered with strange auroras.
Somewhere on the planet's horizon, a bunch of raiders were gearing up repairs on their ship.
Their ship sat like a wounded animal on the rock, hull dented in some places and torn open in others. Sparks leapt from the welders patching plates of scavenged metal over blackened scars. The smell of molten steel carried on the sulfur wind.
Above it all, Garrad paced — four eyes narrowed, jaw tight. His boots crunched over black gravel as he barked orders sharp enough to cut.
"Faster! Seal it shut before the storms hit again! And get those engines hot, damn you!"
Closer to the ramp, two men sorted through a pile of looted crates — food, stimulants, salvage. They muttered curses back and forth, tossing worthless junk into the dust, setting aside whatever still had trade value.
A few others lingered by the perimeter, rifles slung, pretending to keep watch though their eyes drifted often toward the dark sky.
A lookout sat on a crate by the fire, a Krogan dragging on a stim cigarette, the orange glow smearing across his face. Every exhale was swallowed by the wind, ripped away toward the night.
Their ship was heavily damaged by a monster of a biotic. Even more unbelievably — that biotic was a human. Garrad knew for a fact that humans were not yet biotics. There were rumors of them experimenting with crude biotic implants, but no experimental implant could make you as strong as that freak of a human. Even the oldest Asari matriarchs weren't that powerful.
Garrad slammed a fist into a bulkhead.
Just then, a voice cut the air. Too loud. Too smug.
"...WELL, IF IT ISN'T MY LUCKY DAY!!"
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
When Caden clawed his way out of the lava pool, crash-landing hard enough to rattle his armor, he staggered up and realized something was off.
He was somewhere else.
Gone were the charred marines he'd torn apart. Okay, maybe they'd picked up the bodies, but no way in hell they cleaned it up that fast — it hadn't even been twenty minutes. And when he searched around, the Mako he had folded in half and shoved into a fissure was gone too.
In fact, there were no signs of a fight at all. No scorch marks, no broken stone, no wreckage.
He turned in a slow circle, frowning under his visor. Then his gaze landed on the lava river, rolling thick and slow like glowing tar. And it clicked. He must've been carried downstream while he was inside it. All he'd seen in there was blinding white heat — no wonder he'd lost track.
That was bad news. Really, really bad news.
His whole escape plan hinged on hitting the Alliance hangar, stealing a ship, and blasting off. Now he didn't even know where the fuck he was. He checked his HUD — oxygen: less than two hours left.
"Great," he muttered, throwing up his arms. He raged, he paced, he cursed at the sky. But frustration didn't change the math. Desperate, he finally picked a random direction and started walking, letting fate roll the dice.
Turns out fate was a real bro today.
After about half an hour of trudging through ash and gravel, he caught the faint sound of shouting — metal on metal, the hiss of welders, voices carried by the wind. He crept up a ledge, crouched, and peered down.
There it was. The raider ship he'd trashed earlier, still sitting like a wounded beast on the rock. Crew crawling all over it, welding, patching, arguing.
Caden grinned inside his helmet.
"...WELL, IF IT ISN'T MY LUCKY DAY!!"
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
When Caden was out of the lava pool, crash-landing hard enough to rattle his armor, he staggered up and realized something was off.
He was somewhere else.
Gone were the marines he'd torn apart. Okay, maybe they'd picked up the bodies, but no way in hell they cleaned it up that fast — it hadn't even been even thirty minutes. And when he searched around, the Mako he had casually folded in half and shoved into a fissure was gone too.
In fact, there were no signs of a fight at all. No scorch marks, no broken stone, no wreckage.
He turned in a slow circle, frowning under his visor. Then his gaze landed on the lava river, rolling like glowing syrup. And it clicked. He must've been carried downstream while he was inside it. All he'd seen in there was blinding white heat — no wonder he'd lost track.
That was bad news. Really, really bad news.
His whole escape plan hinged on hitting the Alliance hangar, stealing a ship, and blasting off. Now he didn't even know where the fuck he was. He checked his HUD — oxygen: less than two hours left.
"Great," he muttered, throwing up his arms. He raged, he paced, he cursed at the sky. But frustration didn't change the math. Desperate, he finally picked a random direction and started walking, letting fate roll the dice.
Turns out fate was a real bro today.
After about half an hour of trudging through ash and gravel, he caught the faint sound of shouting — metal on metal, the hiss of welders, voices carried by the wind. He crept up a ledge, crouched, and peered down.
There it was. The raider ship he'd trashed earlier, still sitting like a wounded beast on the rock. Crew crawling all over it, welding, patching, arguing.
Caden grinned.
"...WELL, IF IT ISN'T MY LUCKY DAY!!"
A good twenty minutes of psionic flexing later, Caden stood in front of the raider ship with a Volus hanging in the air like a toy, levitating helplessly in his grip. The little bastard's limbs twitched, his whole squat body trembling as his suit hissed with every panicked breath.
All around them lay the aftermath. Bodies twisted and contorted at wrong angles and in the wrong places that looked disturbing to look at. Limbs torn free and thrown across the rocks. A few were nothing but smears where he'd splattered them against the cliffside. The ground was slick with blood, oil, and whatever fluids leaked from raider gear.
The only things moving were the Volus in the air and a Krogan slumped on the gravel, struggling weakly. Caden had crushed him in from all sides, bones cracking under psionic pressure, but that stubborn regeneration was keeping him barely clinging on.
Caden's boots crunched as he walked closer to the floating Volus.
"pssss… Please… psss… Please…"
Caden tilted his head. "Should've thought about that before attacking me."
"psss… W-wait! Don't! psss… I'm not a fighter, I'm the navigator!"
"Oh yeah?" Caden smirked. "Congratulations.…And that's supposed to keep me from snapping you in half?"
"psss… I-I know where their other bases are! psss… Every route, every hideout!"
Caden paused mid-step. The Volus perked up, desperate.
"psss… You were sent from Therum, weren't you? psss… To strike back? psss… I—I can help you wipe them out!"
Caden barked a laugh, shaking his head. "Therum's dead to me. Don't give a shit about your other bases."
The Volus panicked, voice breaking. "psss… I can fly this ship! psss… I know jumps! psss… I chart bases! —just don't kill me!"
Caden grimaced. "Can you not do that?! It's fucking annoying!"
The Volus froze at the outbrust. Like his brain just blue-screened. For a few seconds, all Caden got back was wide-eyed disbelief through that fogged visor.
But surrounded by corpses, the Volus clearly didn't want to sass the monster holding him up… but he had to say something.
"psss… It's not something I control. psss… It's my suit. Pressure valves, atmosphere cycling. psss… I breathe ammonia, under far heavier pressure than you. psss… Without the hiss, the mix destabilizes, psss… my blood boils, my organs rupture, and I… psss…explode."
(A/N:- If I had to write all those psss… y'all are gon read em!)
Caden just stared at him. Then grinned.
"So basically, you're a soda can that hisses every time it wants to talk. Shake you hard enough, and you pop all over the place." He started laughing. "That's hilarious."
The Volus blinked, stunned. That wasn't the reaction he expected. Not mercy. Not rage. Just this… idiot laughing about him blowing up like a cheap drink. For a second, he almost wished Caden had just killed him.
But then Caden snapped his fingers. "So, Sodacan. A navigator, huh? Yeah, that I can use. You're gonna fly me somewhere worth my time. And if you get clever? Well…" His grin sharpened. "I'll just shake the can and see how fast you pop. Do we have a deal?"
"psss… Y-yes! Yes! Just… psss… tell me where you want to go!