The lab was quiet, almost oppressively so—silence not just of sound but of air, as if the room itself held its breath. Fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead, a sterile glow spilling across the stainless-steel counters. Kahn's hands hovered over the table, fingers trembling just above the fragment of the Aberrant organ. The thing pulsed faintly beneath his skin, a vein of alien rhythm threading into his nerves.
The corners of the room seemed to twitch, shadows rippling as though they were not attached to any true shape. They bent like paper in invisible currents, reacting to something only he could feel.
And beneath that—whispers. Not words, not quite. Fragments of suggestion curling at the edge of his consciousness like smoke under a door. They brushed against his thoughts, velvet and cold, tempting him with ideas he hadn't yet formed: use me… bend it… let go…
Selene stood nearby, arms crossed, her posture as still and deliberate as a blade in its sheath. Her eyes were black and depthless, unblinking, reflecting the faint tremor of the fragment's light."You know the rules," she said softly. "Test small. Observe. Control. This is not a game."
Kahn swallowed, the weight of the seed inside him pressing at the edges of his mind like a swelling tide. His heartbeat felt off—like two pulses out of phase. He forced his focus outward. A glass beaker on the table trembled. Its shape blurred, straight lines bending, angles collapsing inward. The sound of the distortion was subtle, yet obscene—like paper tearing behind his eyes. The whispers surged as he worked: Push harder. Make it yours. Break it to see its inside.
He flinched but didn't let go. The beaker reformed into an impossible, skewed geometry, balanced only by his attention. The whispers hissed their approval, retreating just as quickly.
Kahn sat back across from Selene. The sterile white room hummed faintly with machinery, but beneath it all was the softer, lower sound of the fragment—an alien heartbeat buried under his skin, whispering, testing, probing.
Selene's obsidian eyes met his. "Kahn, what you carry is not just power—it is a concept. As you push it, you evolve, but each step carries risk. Your body, your mind, even your sense of self will shift. You are not just using strength; you are bending reality itself."
He heard the fragment echo her words inside his skull: Bend. Break. Unmake.
Selene gestured to the console where a display illuminated a six-tier chart, glowing faintly like a warning sigil.
"These are the stages of your evolution," she said.
Shiver – The first spark of distortion. Minor effects, subtle shifts in perception and matter. Tremors ripple through the air or objects; small experiments will teach you control. The whispers are faint, background static.
Warp – Distortions grow larger. Space, rules, and perception begin to bend noticeably. Overuse risks physical strain and hallucinations. Whispers thread into dreams.
Fracture – Reality splinters. Patterns break; zones of impossible angles and impossible outcomes appear. The whispers become voices—guiding, tempting, challenging.
Rupture – Your sense of self blurs. Distortions affect multiple layers: space, perception, even probability. Mental strain escalates. Hesitation may have consequences.
Entropy – Acceleration of evolution. Your body and mind slowly shed human limitations. The fragment's voice is clear; it influences your thoughts, shaping impulses.
Oblivion – The final transcendence. Your concept becomes absolute; human comprehension cannot contain you. Reality reacts to your presence. Appearance, thought, and perception become something unthinkable—a living embodiment of Asymmetry and Distortion.
Kahn swallowed, feeling the fragment's pulse resonate with each stage, like a heartbeat echoing through his veins. Each word Selene spoke seemed mirrored by a whisper behind his eyes: Shiver… Warp… Fracture… Oblivion…
"And… if I push too fast?" he asked.
Selene's lips tightened. "Then your mind or body may break. Repeated extreme use can accelerate growth, but it can also consume you. The key is control. You will hear whispers, visions, impulses—but you must learn to temper them. Only then can you survive beyond Fracture, beyond Rupture. Only then can Entropy become mastery rather than annihilation."
The fragment stirred eagerly inside him. Faster. More. Take what is yours, the whisper coiled.
Kahn clenched his fists, feeling the chaotic pulse press against his mind like a predator testing a cage. "And each stage," he asked, voice tight, "I change? I… become less human?"
Selene nodded, expression unreadable. "Gradually. But that is the nature of your choice. You sought Asymmetry. You will bear its consequences. Your humanity is the price of evolution—your discipline, the safeguard. Ignore it, and Oblivion may come sooner than you expect."
Kahn hesitated, curiosity cutting through fear. "What… what about you? Your concept—what is it?"
Selene's gaze darkened slightly, almost imperceptibly, but her voice remained calm. "Blood."
Kahn blinked. "Blood? Why… why that?"
"It was a choice made for me, but not by me," she admitted, her obsidian eyes cold and unreadable. "An Aberrant—long gone now—had a concept of blood. When it was destroyed, part of its obsession was transferred into me. My survival demanded integration. Its essence lingers, guiding my instincts, feeding my discipline, sharpening my perception."
The whispers hissed at the back of Kahn's skull: Take hers. Take all. Blood. Distortion. All can be yours. He shuddered, pressing a hand to his temple.
"Wait… it was… an evil thing?" he asked.
Selene's jaw tightened. "Yes. The Aberrant consumed an entire city, extracting and manipulating blood from thousands of humans. Some of that essence… became part of me. It is why I can sense certain Aberrants with uncanny accuracy. But I am not yet divine. That state—Oblivion—is beyond me, beyond any living human. My concept is a tool, a lens. I wield it carefully."
Kahn's mind raced. "And the others? The agents—what do they carry?"
Selene allowed herself a small, measured smile. "Each of us carries a fragment of power, a concept we integrate from either survival or exposure. Some are born with it; some take it from Aberrants. One agent's concept is Light—they manipulate reflection, perception, and awareness. Another's is Stone—immovable, steadfast, and enduring. Some choose fragments of chaos like you; others align with order or precision. Each path shapes the user differently, defines what they can do, and warns of what they might become."
Kahn's eyes flicked to the fragment under his skin. The whispering pulse thrummed louder, aware of his curiosity. Take more. Grow. Break. Become.
"So… all of this," he said slowly, "it's a game of… survival and growth. But the more I use it, the more I… change?"
Selene's voice was firm, calm, yet held an unshakable weight. "Exactly. You may bend reality, distort the rules, and defy perception. But repeated use, extreme exposure, or overreach can warp the body, unbalance the mind, and even strip away your humanity. Your challenge is not only mastering the fragment, but mastering yourself. Every stage you advance—Shiver, Warp, Fracture, Rupture, Entropy, Oblivion—is a step into something greater. And a step further from who you once were."
The fragment pulsed again, harder this time, and Kahn felt the chaotic whisper pressing like cold fingers at the edges of his mind: Let go. Stop resisting. You could end this place in an instant.
As he flexed his hands, he imagined the possibilities: distortion as a weapon, a shield, a lens through which reality itself could bend. The whispers curled tighter: Power without limit. Freedom without cost. He almost believed them—almost.
And he understood Selene's warning clearly: mastery demanded discipline, or it would consume him.
"You will train, experiment, and learn," Selene said, rising. Her shadow stretched unnaturally long across the wall for a heartbeat, then snapped back, unnoticed by her. "And Kahn… remember this: every Aberrant you encounter, every fragment you absorb, will push you closer to your concept. It is seductive, intoxicating. Do not fall to it blindly."
Kahn swallowed, gripping the edges of the chair. The path of Distortion had begun, and now he had a glimpse of the others who walked similar roads—each bearing a fragment, each shadowed by their concept, each teetering on the edge of something… beyond human comprehension.
The whispers retreated, but not completely. In the quiet of the lab, they left an echo like a promise: Soon.