Joy Pursuit: Steel Dragon [Sci-Fi Fantasy | Horror | Action]

Morray climbed the long steps up to the 298th floor, the bygone echo of Fenroy nothing more than a hum against the ear-piercing wail of the hive. His breath was long and drawn, the strain of the bullet wound needling into his bones in searing waves. Morray wobbled, falling against the wall, the viscous flesh wrapping around his shoulders.

"Damn it…" he grumbled, pushing himself off with a painful grunt and deeper into the darkness. Steps unsteady, his bullet wound reopened, the uncomfortable sickly warmth of blood oozing down his chest.

His eyes fell on his motion detector. Close… Just beyond a dull set of double doors was something: rippling, festering, shuddering in a monotonous, almost mechanical motion. His hand brushed against his chest; his visor's recording software refreshed just in case.

He made his way down the hallway.

A deep breath and a hard push were all it took to cross the threshold into‌ what could've once been a large event hall. It was cavernous and dark, with flesh coating the floor, spiraling from a collection of white curtains, and a white light that held all his attention.

Morray froze in place, his eyes drawn to the symmetry in the growths. It was tamed, managed, organized—it was beyond unnatural. The other set of doors he could see were also untouched. He narrowed his gaze, focusing on the lit centerpiece.

Silhouetted against the curtains were the sharp contours of what appeared to be some kind of equipment. With careful steps, he crossed the large room that, though coated in flesh, had nothing else growing within.

He stopped just short of the white curtains. His own breath felt overbearing as his hand hovered over the white material. Déjà vu. A familiar sense of undesirable emotions flooded Morray. The hive's distant screeching slowed to a murmur. He leaned forward, his eyes wide, as something suffered beyond the veil.

Liquids rose again. Black fluid that had once been alive scaled up his visor. With an unsteady hand, tensing every muscle in his hand, he pulled the curtain.

"Eugh…" Morray snapped away, gagging, tears swelling in his eyes. His guts lurched inside him, his hand pressed hard against his stomach.

Morray stumbled back, his eyes drawn to the fluttering curtain, taunting him as it swayed, revealing glimpses of familiar depravity.

Morray swallowed hard, trembling in memory of the flesh that suffered—that wretched mass that abhorred the sanctity of the self. He struggled to his feet, sticky blood sloshing under his uniform.

Black streaks climbed up the curtain and into the surrounding void. Morray could only stare, his boots deep in the flesh, the ringing pain pleading with him to leave. But he had a job to do. If not for him, for the unfortunate thing beyond the curtain.

With sickly dread, he grabbed onto the curtain—and pulled it open.

Beyond there was a collection of strange equipment and bloodstained metal tables. All organized in a ritualistic circle around it. Floating in the air above a crude hole was a mass of bulbous flesh. It was almost spherical, though it could've been described in a million other ways.

Morray looked down at the ground, his eyes glued to anything but the mass. His breathing had become increasingly erratic; he could feel it. His own blood rising in his uniform. Morray's face scrunched up in anguish, his eyes slowly rising with the fluids.

His lungs flared, guts spiraling like the tendrils.

There—

Sagging from the mess of flesh was a womb of sorts, and inside was a familiar form, its spidery maw pressed against the thing's translucent skin. It twitched, its body incomplete in the surgical white light.

Morray's eyes grew wide with realization, the pit inside him growing deeper. His gaze continued to rise with the black fluid that contoured the unfortunate thing. Its spine curved at an acute angle, forcing this conflux of flesh into a fetal form. Morray's lips quivered, his face coated in streaks of his own blood.

Pressed against the translucent womb was a figure, a human body fused to the massive sack, its eyes clamped shut as it—no… she whimpered.

There was no solace for Morray or the girl; only the results of an unfortunate tale could be told by the equipment and the remains of others that still lingered on the metal tables behind the unfortunate her. Guts splayed open, spiraling tendrils reaching high to the ceiling. Eyes bleached white, empty orbs that failed to betray their humanity. Trapped in a deadlock of life and death. A torment forced upon them by some mechanical unknown.

Siegwick's disheveled face appeared in his mind. Morray's hands glided down to his belt. His fingers held onto a small container—a sampling kit. He held the small ‌kit. Muscles so tight they threatened the delicate instruments with his misery. His eyes stared at the tools presented—the incisors, the vials. He looked at the unfortunate soul that once was—he prepped the kit. The pained breaths of the grafted victim raked down his spine, picking at his nerves.

With all the resolve he could muster, approached the figure.

The Harvester within twitched, its glassy eyes perceiving him through the fragile skin. Morray tenderly put the scalpel against the beastly section, and with a shaky motion sheared tissue off with brief struggle. He struggled with the vial, his body the epicenter of personal tremors.

The flesh slid in, and the vial sealed. His gaze fell upon her.

His scalpel wobbled in hand. His eyes lost in her face. Who had she been? What was her name? Why her? Did she know what had happened? Could anything be done? Her whimpers tinged his ears; the mix of euphoric moans and pained groans made his skin writhe.

Hovering over her skin, he lingered—his bullet wound the only thing grounding him enough to touch her frail skin.

Her eyes shot open. Pale gray, they stared into his, her flushed face twisting in an incoherent expression, that allowed her a few pained words.

"Please… kill me…"

Morray began to tear up, the scalpel's blade digging into her skin, causing her to tear up. Morray, though numbed by the vile pink tablets, sobbed. His hands moving on their own, shoving the sample into the vial.

He put a tender hand on her head. "It'll be over soon…" he mustered, his other hand pulling out his M.K. Blade. Kyyr surged through him, the fiery blaze compressing into a single flaming saber.

She mustered a weak smile against the glow.

His silhouette against the white curtain. The blade rising above his head.

The room was swallowed by the visceral screams of Morray and the Hive.

And not too far, climbing Cetarro, Draell shuddered, a chill crawling up his spine. He glanced over his shoulder, the rising rain gliding smoothly past him, up, up and into the sky. His eyes followed the rising rain up and to the looming figure of Curvadoss.

"It's rising!" he shouted against the wind, his words lost to the surging sea breeze that swept skies with the promise of the approaching dawn. His chains rattled with his brief delight before a powerful gust forced him to press himself against his dangerous skybound hold. His eyes fell back onto the tower's apex, where a bloodthirsty wave of Kyyr had begun to needle at his senses. Narrowing his gaze, he reached up to the next safest spot to hold on, his now impossibly long chain clattering against the stone. I wonder wha—

"Woah!" he felt Cetarro suddenly shift, his guts dragging against the sudden upward jolt of the tower. "We're going up too!" The wind roared, the stone cut walls cutting against the air with a surprisingly loud hiss.

The perturbing aura above dissolved into the howling wind as Draell hauled himself through a window and onto the wet floor. He lay there for a second catching his breath, his eyes lost in the ceiling. "I wonder who's up there…"

Climbing up dozens of floors, nearing the apex of Cetarro, within the glowing chamber of the ENN.core nexus, a mechanoid stood still, its serpentine frame mangled, its joints bulging with frozen wires.Water dripped down icy growths that erupted from its metal spine. Its claws outstretched in a painfully kept moment, reaching for something or someone. Its ivory carapace dusted in the low icy glow of an iridescent mist that hung around its remains.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

A ranger stumbled backwards, tripping on the mechanoid's remains. A wild look stretched thin across his face. His helmet cracked, letting the cold air bite at his skin. He raised his hands in surrender, his face twisting into bewildered rage. "Wh-wha the hell are you—AGH." Ice speckled in blood erupted from his mouth.

Hgshhhh…

A figure shrouded in shimmering steam quietly walked past the last ranger that had been aiding the mechanoid. Their silver eyes resting on the ENN.core deep under the liquid helium. They smirked, their lips curling with a devious satisfaction. They stretched their arms, before undoing a ponytail that held their long flowing black hair. It unfurled gracefully, the black melting into a milky white gradient that shone in the glow of the tanks.

The figure dragged their hand along the remains of the frozen mechanoid. Fingers gliding down its ivory cortex and onto one of its appendages still tied to the ENN.cores interface. Tenderly they pried at the joint using hissing Kyyr to create a small incision into the tendril. With expert motion, they attached a small device to the arm, revealing a small screen. After a few seconds of tampering with the appendage, all the windows around the room began to open, letting the red light bleed through the towers and tanks.

A manic, almost deranged look filled their face as they excitedly ran to the windows, pressing themselves against the light. Their silhouette showered in the shattered glow, revealing their fanatic excitement, eyes wide, breathing heavily as they stared down into the mist below where an unseen battle in the mixing gray and bleeding pink rumbled against the firmament.

Kyyr spiraled in the mist above the Vivathecca. Rising rain strayed from its alien trajectory and spiraled around the confluence of calamity.

The figure squirmed with excitement, wrapping their arms around their barely clothed body, their eyes lost in the vista. Their hands slid up their chest, pressing against a communication device built into a black earring.

"Ohh Calligari~ how are things on your end?" Vidrago asked with a flirtatious tinge.

A second passed before a skittish voice answered, "It's done… I dealt with the Cobra… nnnnngh, you should've called me earlier before they started the hive!" Calligari complained. "That poor girl…" he muttered.

"Ah… Shame… I managed to kill Simon before he could get things started here—that aberrant abyssal ended up being the perfect excuse to delay things."

Calligari let out a long, exasperated sigh. "All this killing is making me feel all queasy… You should probably call Harker—I'm pretty sure Seward was aboard Curvadoss, who knows what that creep's done already."

Vidrago narrowed their eyes on Curvadoss. "Mmm~ Looks to me like the tower's rising. My, how efficient of him! I'll give sweet Harker a ring in a sweet second here."

"R-right…" Calligari swallowed hard, "I'm really really hoping Ghast won't have us killed for this."

"We'll be fine~!" Vidrago's eyes stared down at the swirling mist below. "Just trust little old me—cause I found us some wonderful insurance."

The mist below spiraled, darkness spilling into alien darkness as a vortex of Kyyr and water began to form above the Vivathecca.

Spiraling upward, the mist unfurled, its wisps stretching wide as though to caress the night sky below Cetarro. Its grasp lingered, folding over the living and the dead alike, wrapping them in a tense fog of wonder. And within that fog—subtle at first, then vivid—shapes began to surface. Long-bygone memories shimmered across an unseen screen: smiles, dull days, lonely nights, the taste of meals shared, the sting of arguments. Fragments from here and there, from every corner of his life, flickered into being before him. It became a theater of vapor, each recollection weightless as air, yet stretched into eternity—forever long, forever short. He watched as the display grew sharper, harsher, until it consumed him in its warm, smothering embrace.

"Did I die?" Serfet whispered, the words bleeding into the endless void as every single thing that made him—him, faded.

His instincts reversed, the cold forcing him to embrace what little of himself remained. Yet his touch was cold, his grip wet, his senses drowned, but there was something more. A feeling so warm slowly filled his very soul. He reached out for that sickly delight until he was overcome by a warm breeze, and the sweet scent of a home he'd never see again. A young woman patted his head, her crimson eyes resting lovingly on him.

Opening his weary eyes, all the dread in the world left him. "M-mom?"

The woman smiled dearly. "Mom!" he reached out to grab her hand, but his fingers only disturbed the warmth. "Mom!" he tried again. Unseen tears began to fall. "I-I missed you so much. I never thought I'd… Mom…. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If I wasn't so pathetic, maybe I…" ghostly tears fell. "I'm so sorry. I should've tried harder. All the time I wasted… the time I didn't get to share with you. With everyone."

The woman remained silent, but she knelt down and hugged him, steady and warm. She tilted her chin and gestured forward. Guiding his eyes to the great display of memory. The bygone smiles and faces of those who'd remember him. The places and faces that gave him sweet purpose flashed by so fast that by the time he'd arrived at that final day he could do nothing but cry as he felt the waiting chill of the Inverse Sea.

"Mom… I—" he turned back to the woman, but she was gone, her warmth lingering. "Wait! Mom?" he looked around frantically. "MOM!? DON'T LEAVE ME! PLEASE DON'T GO!"

"Serfet…"

"Mom?!" he turned to face the voice. But it was the screen. There a teary-eyed woman not too dissimilar cried over him. "Sis…" His eyes stared into hers. "You're okay." he smiled.

The warmth faded. As he pressed a hand against the screen, the vision swallowed him into an uncomfortable cold. Xizu's eyes grew wide on the screen, her tears stopping for a second, her hand holding.

His.

"SERFET!" Xizu cried out, bringing him into a tight embrace.

Serfet took in a deep painful breath, his eyes blurry with crystalline memories of here and then. He let out a pained cough, water spilling from his mouth. His breaths ragged, tinged with pain. "Xi…zu…" he muttered, her embrace so tight it hurt.

Next to them, Mera began to cry, her emotions spilling over as the tower began to rise. "It worked… Mr. Gira it worked! He's alive!"

Lisk'Ha watched in shock. He was dead for over an hour… Just how—how is he alive? He should be brain dead by now… she let out a nervous smile. Vilebloods never fail to surprise me…

Not far, a couple of floors down, Sey and Lucien perked up at the sound of the sobs.

"People." Sey whispered to Lucien.

"A-are you sure?!" Lucien asked.

"Yeah. It sounds like crying?" she stepped over some black flesh. "Maybe we should ask if they need help."

"W-wait! Wh-what if it's that thing again just mimicking people!" Lucien hissed his hands tight on his M.K. Blade."

Sey thought for a second. "Could be… but we should check on the source regardless."

Lucien shuddered. "But why? Aren't you scared after everything that's happened?"

Sey awkwardly chuckled. "Like hell I'm not scared…or sad—but, what if those people need help?" she said with such an earnest tone that Lucien physically recoiled.

"Are you kidding?"

"Nope." she said, with a smile. "And unless you want to wander around all alone I suggest you follow."

"Ugh!" Lucien whined, nodding along reluctantly. "Fine, let's go…"

With that both rangers continued to scour the battered remains of the atrium, the insides mangled and torn by the alien tide, leaving behind a wet mangle of crumbling remains. But though the terror of the abyss had faded from the rising towers, down below it was another story.

Gore's Vivathecca drowned in a veil of abyssal condensation. A spiraling black vortex slowly sucked air down into a suffocating tempest that concealed something in its hollowed eye.

Berserkrios howled within the storm. The glassy surface rumbled. His claws crashed into the glass, his ivory tearing through hordes of Caused that blindly crashed into his massive frame. His jaws split open, tearing into the Caused as if they were snowflakes in a blizzard. Their blood and bodies being whipped around by the surging winds and rain.

The Coarseblood thundered through the storm, following the ghostly reek of a devil in the fog. Caused broke against him like waves—bodies split, blood spilled, meat devoured—each kill vanishing into the gnawing void of his relentless hunger. His Kyyr receptors twitched, bony armor flaring. He forced his way through a dense wall of wet mist. The storm peeled back. Beneath his claws, the Vivathecca's bioluminescence surged upward, light crawling over his ivory plates. Above, the crimson shattered sky rained a glow upon him. The Coarseblood stood in the eye of the storm. Crashing water surged around, uncanny in its defiance. His pale frame hissed against the spiraling abyss.

His visage cracked, his senses focusing on two figures at the threshold of the storm. Piercing red eyes, cloaks waving in the churning tempest. Berserkrios's skull turned, curiosity mixing with his relentless hunger.

Three figures emerged from between the piercing red eyes.

The Cerberus.

Their forms now rearranged, all three now equally massive, their jaws open beyond their limit, long tongues spiraling like a vortex in reverence of a deep god. Their jaws tore wider, cheeks splitting at the seams. The churning mist grew thicker, the rain coalescing into a spiraling vortex of crashing water. Black waves consumed their surroundings in dense watery walls. The currents roared, the Spiraling Sea trapping the beasts, entwining their fates into a final deathmatch.

The crimson eyes dimmed, sinking into the darkness.

Berserkrios braced himself as the Vai'tolant below smashed into the esoteric glass that separated the twin faux seas. The impact reverberated upward, causing the blue glow of the bioluminescent life to bleed its soft hue, twisting into a deep magenta that entwined with the crimson sheen, bathing the beasts in deep blood red.

The M and S Cerberus receded into the waters, dissolving into the murk, leaving only the L. Cerberus looming in the shattered glow. Its maws hung broken, sparking with an abyssal crackle.

Opposing Kyyr collided—an unseen clash of egos. In that instant, Berserkrios felt it: Cerberus's pleading terror, a plea for liberating mercy, reverberating against his own fury. Like a puppet, the Cerberus slumped forward before the spiraling tongues straightened, ripping through its own skull as the beast let out a shrill screech.

Berserkrios rose onto his hind legs, and answered with a thunderous howl, armor clattering as the waves roared back in kind.

Parabellum Onryō!