The rhythmic thrum of the Nest deepened into a low, pulsating heartbeat, resonating through the bio-metal beneath their boots. Every step Linnea and Amelle took sent faint ripples along the floor, like walking on the stretched, damp skin of something impossibly vast and alive. The tunnels twisted like intestines, narrowing and expanding erratically, sometimes forcing them to squeeze through tight, fleshy passages, other times opening into dizzying voids. Faint green bioluminescent veins pulsed in the walls, casting a sickly phosphorescent glow that made every shadow writhe and every corner seem to conceal hidden horrors.
A warm, oppressive mist clung to the air, heavy with the scent of rot and something metallic, like blood left exposed too long, mingled with a cloying sweetness that made Linnea's synthetic nose twitch in revulsion. Overhead, distant groans and clicks echoed, amplified by the confined spaces. Were they hybrids, or simply the Nest breathing, its immense organs at work? It was hard to tell; the boundaries between life and structure blurred into a single, terrifying entity.
"This is deeper than I'd thought it would be," Amelle whispered, her voice thin, ears twitching nervously as her golden eyes strained to pierce the gloom. "Feels like the walls are watching us. And breathing."
Linnea paused, pressing a gloved hand against the organic, fibrous wall. It twitched under her palm, a subtle ripple, like muscle reacting to touch. "They might be."
"That's not funny." Amelle's voice was sharp, edged with fear.
"I'm not joking." Linnea's tone was flat, but inside, she registered the raw terror emanating from Amelle. A strange wave of empathy, unfamiliar yet potent, washed over her. This is not just data. This is real fear. And I feel it too.
A thick silence fell, heavy with unspoken thoughts and the Nest's omnipresent thrum. Amelle exhaled slowly, breath shaky. "It's heavier down here. Like the air's pressing on my chest. Hard to breathe."
Linnea nodded. Her systems confirmed Amelle's senses. "Atmospheric pressure is up by twelve percent. Bio-matter density too. We're in a new layer, a primary processing zone." The data was precise yet utterly inadequate to describe the creeping horror.
"You say that like it's just a maintenance level," Amelle said bitterly. "Sounds more like the place where nightmares ferment. Where things go to die, then become... something else."
Linnea's optics scanned ahead, data scrolling quietly across her HUD, translating alien architecture. "Could be. These tunnels are different. Denser, more organically integrated. It's not just walls anymore. It's functional. Every component serves a purpose." She didn't say what she was really thinking—that the layout resembled neural pathways, a monstrous brain made manifest, or how every step felt like venturing deeper into a conscious, malevolent mind. It is digestive system, circulatory system, brain. All twisted into one abhorrent whole.
"I hate how warm it is," Amelle muttered, brushing moisture from her brow, fur damp. "And wet. Like the Nest is sweating."
"It's metabolizing," Linnea replied. "Generating bio-etheric energy. Everything we see is part of a living system. Including us. We are being processed." The thought was clinical but chilling, carrying a primal understanding of being prey.
Amelle stared, golden eyes wide in the eerie glow. "You think it knows we're here? Truly knows?"
Linnea hesitated, processors calculating probabilities. "I think it's deciding what to do about it. It observes. It adapts. And now, it anticipates."
They rounded a sharp bend, entering a vast chamber. The ceiling was lost in shadows, lit only by dozens of enormous, twitching sacks suspended like diseased fruit. Each tethered by thick, sinewy cords glowing green. The sacs varied wildly, some no bigger than a Beastkin torso, others nearly as large as a grown hybrid. A few hung lifeless, empty husks; others pulsed with slow, rhythmic motion, as if something inside was breathing or dreaming a nightmare.
The air was warmer, damper, almost suffocating, thick with sickly sweet odor that made Linnea's synthetic nose twitch in discomfort. Each step made a low, wet squelch on the slick, uneven floor covered in fibrous tissue that recoiled slightly underfoot. It felt like walking on a raw, exposed organ. A gentle hiss escaped a larger sack nearby, followed by a sluggish shudder. The translucent membrane stretched, revealing the vague silhouette of something curled inside, limbs folded, spine arched, unmoving yet visibly growing.
Amelle stopped dead, breath caught. "That one moved," she whispered, voice barely audible over the chamber's hum. Her gaze held a mix of horror and morbid fascination.
"I know," Linnea murmured, sensors fixed on the sight. "They're incubators. Nurturing something." She swept the chamber quickly, readings flickering life signatures, erratic but present. Electrical impulses faint but unmistakable.
"This place isn't abandoned," she said, voice heavy with dread. "It's a nursery. A breeding ground."
Amelle tightened her grip on her weapon, knuckles white. Trembling, but not just from fear. Her eyes locked on the pods like they were personal. The implications, for her brother, crushed her. "A nursery for what? More monsters?"
One large sack convulsed violently, then stilled; its surface bulged briefly before settling. Above, a thick support tendril quivered, slowly lowering a new sack like a macabre fruit dropping from a tree. Fluid dripped, pooling softly around Linnea's boots.
"This is where they grow," Amelle whispered rawly. "Where hybrids get made. Where things get changed." Her gaze lingered on the largest new sac, a silent, agonizing question in her eyes.
Linnea looked up at the dripping sac, then back to Amelle's haunted face. She's barely holding it together. How much has she lost? How much survived? The questions struck a deep, unfamiliar pang. Maybe not just hybrids, Linnea murmured softly. Maybe something worse. Something intended.
Amelle's grip tightened, desperate and feral. "Should we destroy them? Burn it all now, while we can? Before they hatch?"
Linnea didn't answer immediately. Another sack twitched, bulging briefly again. The primal urge to eliminate the threat burned within her, battling cold logic and a growing unease.
She stepped in front of Amelle, raising a hand gently. "Look at me."
Amelle's golden eyes flicked to hers, burning with unresolved pain, a plea for vengeance and understanding.
"I get it," Linnea said, voice steady and calm, an anchor in the suffocating chamber. "You want to wipe this out. So do I. But if we attack now, we'll light up every signal in this stratum. We won't make it out."
Amelle swallowed hard, jaw tight. "They already know we're here. The walls told us."
"They know we're here," Linnea clarified. "But not exactly where. We're deep, and their main forces aren't here yet. We're not strong enough to survive a swarm this far in, not against their full might."
She stepped closer, voice dropping, holding Amelle's gaze. "We'll come back. With the right weapons. With backup. We'll make sure nothing like this grows again. But for now, survival. For both of us. And for Ohnoki. Lets head to the core where he's at."
Amelle nodded stiffly, lowering her weapon, though her eyes lingered on the grotesque sacks. A silent vow passed between her and the horrors. The grief on her face was a new, disturbing input for Linnea—a pain defying logic.
Linnea scanned the chamber once more before moving on, the scent of rot and corrupted growth clinging like a second skin.
One day, we'll burn it all. But today… we walk.
The tunnel narrowed again, walls pressing close, forcing single file. Linnea took the lead, hand brushing rough organic strands veining the passage. The texture was warm, faintly pulsing beneath her fingertips, like muscle beneath skin, but stiff and brittle where metal pierced through. Her sensors flickered warnings. Not just heat or movement. Something living. Powerful. Watching.
She froze. The air thickened, heavy with metallic tang that clung to the tongue. No twitching pods, no scuttling echoes, no distant groans. Just silence. The silence of a predator, perfectly still, perfectly aware.
Linnea stopped abruptly, hand outstretched behind her to halt Amelle. She pressed them both into a jagged crevice, its rough surface surprisingly cool. With swift motion, she clamped the younger girl's mouth, urging absolute silence.
They crouched motionless, barely daring to breathe, Linnea's systems screaming.
THREAT DETECTED: HYBRID: GORILLAX (CLASS JUGGERNAUT).
THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME.
COMBAT ENGAGEMENT: NOT RECOMMENDED.
TERMINATION PROBABILITY: HIGH.
Heavy, irregular footsteps echoed ahead, sending sickening tremors through the ground, vibrating through their rock cover. Then it emerged, lumbering into view with slow, deliberate menace. Massive, grotesque, vaguely gorilla-like, but far beyond that. Jet-black skin plated in jagged, steel-like organic armor, rippling with inhuman strength. Tubes jutted from its back, pulsing with green fluid that hissed faintly each breath, feeding its monstrous bulk. Its eyes glowed faintly beneath a heavy brow, not mindless aggression, but chilling, predatory focus.
Large, twisted fangs jutted from its face, slick with the same strange green secretion dripping to the floor with a soft, acidic hiss. This was no mutated animal or failed experiment. It was designed. Perfected.
A single sweatdrop slid down Linnea's cheek, artificial nerves twitching beneath synthetic skin, a physiological anomaly speaking volumes of her turmoil. Her body remained still, systems humming silently, screaming alert.
If I fight that head-on, I won't walk out alive. The thought was cold, sharp, absolute. This was no ordinary hybrid. It was a different level.