10 YEARS AGO
Vylaas sat rigid in the chair as the sterile antiseptic air clawed at his senses. His breath hitched, muffled by the metallic hum of the laboratory. He wasn't entirely sure how he got here. Memories of the hallways behind him came easily enough—the echo of his boots against white tiles, silent guards flanking him like ghosts. But the moment he stepped into this room, everything blurred into a quiet dread.
The containment tank loomed before him, ten feet high, its fluid a churning nightmare of chaos. It hissed occasionally, disturbed by bubbles of ether as the contents shifted within. Shapes merged and peeled apart like the fingers of some nameless god, alien and unnatural. Synthetic fibers shimmered, weaving into bloodied tissue before unraveling again. The thing seemed alive. Hungry. Waiting.
He swallowed hard.
An overly bright hololight reflected off the tank's obsidian steel frame. The stark glow only amplified the display of flesh and synthetic materials twisting in the fluid—an ever-changing amalgamation of sinew, bone plating, and carbon lattices. It wasn’t just a weapon. The Chimera wasn’t a tool or a machine. It breathed in that tank, exhaling malevolence in ripples across Vylaas’s consciousness.
Vylaas clenched the armrests of his chair, the cool surface biting into his palms as if to anchor him in the moment. His breath came shallow, uneven—a sharp contrast to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat thrumming against the base of his throat.
Across the room, separated by reinforced plasglass and elevated just enough to lord over the room, his father's silhouette stood still. The King. Watching. Always watching.
The King's shadow stretched across the observation booth, his arms locked behind his back in a military rest. Through the distorted glass, his downturned face warped into something inhuman. The harsh overhead lights carved valleys into his features, aging him into a stone idol that bore down on Vylaas. The King made no motion of acknowledgment toward his son. No nod. No smile of reassurance—cold and depersonalized even from this distance.
For the King, today wasn't about his son at all.
There were other shadows in the booth. Was one of them Kaelen? Did Vylaas dare hope that his brother still cared enough to be there?
He wasn’t given time to figure it out.
“Prince Vylaas, look forward.”
The curt, automaton-like voice of the technician snapped him out of his tunneled focus. Vylaas blinked, briefly disoriented by the flooded glow of hololights. He obeyed mechanically, back straight against the synthetic padding of the chair, his head adjusting to its restrictive brace. The command robbed him of the distraction of looking back to his father—or witnessing how the King dispassionately turned away from the unfolding events.
Focused now on the humming, living thing writhing in the containment tank before him, Vylaas's breath hitched again.
The Chimera.
The tank hissed, its shadow stretching over Vylaas like a predator's approach. They were wheeling it closer. Much, much closer. Mechanical arms extended, their movements precise yet eerily fluid, and manipulated several thick, transparent tubes. The IV lines, filled with a swirling, opalescent fluid, snaked outwards toward the prince.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of bone. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn't think. The room’s sterile white walls that seemed to press to him closer.
Just breathe, he told himself, a faint whisper against the rising tide of panic.
He couldn't.
The masked technicians secured each line with mechanical precision, their eyes blank mirrors above surgical masks. The ports along his forearms, installed the previous week, accepted the tubes with a soft click. Cold spread through his veins, an icy violation that burrowed into his bones. The fluid inside glowed with an ethereal pulse, as if they'd siphoned light from distant stars and sealed it in glass.
"Integration commencing in T-minus thirty seconds," a voice announced, flat and devoid of inflection.
Thirty seconds.
Vylaas's mind was a whirlwind of fragmented thoughts and terrifying images.
Thirty seconds until what?
Thirty seconds until his body, his very being, was no longer his own. Until this thing—this abomination of flesh and metal—became a part of him.
Twenty seconds.
He tried to pull away, to resist, but the restraints held him fast. His muscles screamed in protest, but he couldn't break free. Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down his temples to mix with the cool metal of the chair. His breath came in ragged gasps, hyperventilating.
Just breathe, Vylaas—but he couldn't recall how.
Fifteen seconds.
The fluid in the IV lines pulsed faster, the light within them intensifying as the liquid was undergoing a super-saturation of mana. Even collared he could feel the energy rolling off the assembly like a form of heat.
Ten seconds.
His vision blurred. The edges of the room seemed to soften, to dissolve into a swirling vortex of colors and shadows. The hum of the machinery became a deafening roar, vibrating through his bones.
Five seconds.
The technician closest to him reached for the collar at his throat—the device that had, for six long years, choked his mana, sealed away a fundamental part of his being. Vylaas squeezed his eyes shut, bracing.
A soft click.
Zero.
The collar released, the sudden absence of pressure almost as shocking as the device's constant presence had been. A wave of energy, raw and untamed, surged through him, a dam bursting within his core. His mana, stifled for so long, roared back to life, filling him with a power he'd almost forgotten.
Pure, untainted sensation crashed through his senses. He was dimly aware of crying out.
Simultaneously, a different kind of flood began.
The fluid in the IV lines changed, darkening from opalescent white to a cloudy, oily black. Like ink injected into his veins, it flowed with terrifying speed, propelled by some unseen pressure. The leading edge of that oily substance touched something deep within him.
Vylaas gasped; his spine arched, every muscle clenched in shock and involuntary resistance against this invasion. It was a violation so profound it defied words.
Something alien was pushing its way into his mind, his body, his spirit. A presence vast and cold, yet... not entirely hostile. It was curious, probing, assessing. It felt, in its own way, more alive than anything Vylaas had ever encountered.
He tried to fight it, to push it back, to erect mental barriers against the intrusion. But his will was like a flickering candle against a hurricane. The presence brushed his resistance aside, not with malice, but with the effortless certainty of a tide consuming a sandcastle.
Images flashed through his mind: fragmented, distorted, alien—a kaleidoscope of sensations that defied understanding. Twisted landscapes of metal and flesh. Visions of stars and worlds unlike any he'd ever known. The sensation of soaring, unfettered, through the void.
Along with these foreign sensations, he felt a different type of presence, one that was more... immediate. Small. Curious.
It was the Chimera.
Afraid? The inquiry was not in words, but in a raw, emotional pulse that resonated within his very being. He could feel its fear, its uncertainty, mirrored and amplified by his own.
"I... I don't want this," he choked out, though he didn't know if the words were spoken aloud or merely thought.
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
Need. The response came as simple, pure emotion—a deep, primal craving for... connection? Survival? Vylaas couldn't decipher.
He felt it sifting and shifting, reshaping the very foundations of his being. It was weaving itself into his flesh, his nervous system, his very mana. Bone and muscle rearranged themselves to accommodate new pathways; neural networks rerouted, expanding, and connecting in ways that defied Tylwyth biology. Vylaas was certain the pain should have driven him beyond madness, but whatever drugs the technicians had deigned to inject alongside the symbiote kept him numb and detached from the horrors wracking his body.
The symbiote churned through his essence, yet his mind stayed his own. No corruption. No conquest. The creature threading through his veins sought partnership rather than control—though Vylaas felt its lethal potential pulse with each heartbeat. A single hostile thought would end him. Still, it waited, patient, almost gentle in its restraint.
Purpose, another emotional pulse, less certain. Together?
Vylaas struggled to understand. The alien presence didn’t feel malicious. It felt... curious. Driven. It sought not to dominate him but to merge—to become whole.
The blackness retreated from the IV lines, leaving the tank drained, but Vylaas felt the Chimera's changes surge deeper. It coursed through his blood, his bones, his very essence, driven by its hunger to unite. His own desperation to end this fed its spread, letting the creature burrow further with each passing moment.
A technician's voice cut through the silence. "Subject integration proceeding. Physiological adaptation: nominal. Mana resonance: nominal. Neurological synchronization: nominal."
Their clinical detachment scraped against Vylaas's nerves, reducing him to variables in their equations while his body burned from within. One of the techs stepped closer and made eye contact with Vylaas. For the first time Vylaas saw emotion there: alarm.
"Subject is conscious, despite medication," She said, slightly panicked. "It's possible that the bonding process has somehow kept them alert."
The lead technician's hands tightened on her datapad. "We can't stop now. The symbiote's already integrated."
"The prince is conscious. We don't know what level of actual awareness he has, or how much pain he feels." The younger tech's voice cracked.
"We MUST proceed, that is not in question." The lead tech's tone left no room for debate. "Next are the ocular replacements, which are essential for full integration."
Vylaas tried to scream, to beg them to stop, but his jaw wouldn't move.
"Prep the array." The lead tech adjusted the settings on the medical console. "Standard procedure. Let's make this as fast as possible."
A mechanical arm swung into view, bearing needle-thin instruments aimed at Vylaas's eyes. He strained against the restraints, muscles burning with the effort, but achieved nothing more than a slight tremor.
Sleep, Vylaas felt, not as word but as imperative. The Chimera felt his struggle, so painful, and offered oblivion.
He wanted to protest and fight, but even the will to resist was fading fast. The room was blurring as if fading into a dream. He felt warm hands guiding him back against the chair.
The last thing he heard was the hiss of a pneumatic injector and the soft, almost apologetic mental whisper: Better. Then everything went black.
Vylaas didn't dream. When he swam back towards awareness, it happened in a rush. One moment he was not, and in the next he was. He flailed until he realized that his body had been set flat on a firm surface, likely a bed of some sort. His eyes blinked against bright light, and his mind…
…was a storm.
[ Gnosis Matrix initializing... ]
[ Ascension Engine: Core systems online. Awaiting user calibration. ]
[ Logos System beginning user inference... ]
[ Celestial Codex: Beginning archive scan. ]
[ Aeon Interface establishing regional link... ]
[ Enlightenment Grid: Mapping current knowledge base. ]
The barrage of information slammed into him like a physical force, overwhelming. He jerked back, throwing his hands up to cover his face, as if that would block the onslaught. The messages scrolled through the world, visible even though his eyes were no longer open. In fact, he might actually be seeing the information clearer now.
Demiurge, he realized, his mind catching up with the situation. He was a couple of years late for his awakening, but every child of the Empire knew the ins and outs of the System. He watched the holographic messages appear and vanish as he acknowledged them one-by-one. Finally. Classes and professions of my own.
> Welcome, Path Seeker.
>
> Demiurge Systems Initialized.
>
> Identifying Biometric Signature...
>
> Tylwyth Physiology Detected.
>
> Mana Core: Active (Untyped, Untapped Affinities)
[ Nascent CoreBinding detected ]
> Assessing…
>
> Assessing…
>
>
>
> Proteonite Axiomorph identified;
> Clade: Nephilim;
> Nearest matches: Polychimera, Leviathan;
>
>
>
> Organism Self-Designation: Chimera 003
>
>
>
> CoreBinding Symbiotic Organism...
>
> Integration Status: 98.7%...
> Integration Complete.
[ Custom OS "Chimera" Installed ]
> Establishing Neural Link...
>
> Synchronization Successful.
[ Vylaas, Scion of House Orestes, welcome to Demiurge. Your path opens before you. Seek. Learn. Ascend. ]
It would take a little getting used to, but the golden glow of the final message filled him with warmth. Still, the torrent of system messages wasn't the most abnormal aspect of the experience.
It was the presence.
The Chimera. It was there, nestled within his mind, no longer an invader but... a part of him. He could feel its childlike curiosity, its wonder at the sudden influx of data. He could also feel its... satisfaction.
Good? the pulse-feeling inquired timidly, a whisper in the back of his consciousness.
"What…" he started to say, his voice rough and unfamiliar, and the words trailed off.
Us, the Chimera pulsed, and this time understanding came clearer.
Two.
The word, spoken in perfect Imperial Standard, resonated in tandem with the Chimera’s emotional pulse. It was his voice, yet not entirely. The cadence, the tone, was subtly altered. He had said the first half, while she completed it.
He could feel its presence alongside his own. It was the sense of having two hearts beating within one chest, of two minds sharing the same skull, their thoughts flowing in an uneasy but present tandem. No, that wasn't quite right. More like overlapping, like his brain was a Venn diagram where 90% remained his and another 90% was her.
Friend?
Vylaas hesitated. He didn't trust it—her. How could he? It had invaded him, changed him, without his consent. But he couldn't deny the reality of their bond, either. The thing inside him didn't feel like the super-weapon that had been advertised, but something more akin to a... lonely child.
Vylaas’s gaze drifted upward, drawn to the darkened observation booth where he'd last seen his father. The glass was reflective now, a black mirror in the sterile brightness of the recovery room. Empty.
The realization landed with a dull thud, a familiar ache in his chest. He should be used to it by now, this casual abandonment. Years of carefully constructed indifference should have insulated him against the sting. His father had always been a distant figure, a king first and a parent a very distant second. Yet, the rawness of this latest dismissal… it still managed to cut through his defenses.
He could feel the Chimera stir within him, a ripple of confusion and… was that sadness? It resonated with his own emotions, a mirror reflecting his own sense of loss. He focused inward, attempting to isolate the sensation—to understand. The symbiote’s emotions were rudimentary, childlike, but undeniably present. It felt… adrift. Unmoored.
Alone? The query was a wisp, barely there, but it carried an undercurrent of profound loneliness.
Vylaas understood that feeling. He knew it intimately. The palace, for all its grandeur and bustling activity, had always been a lonely place for him. His father’s coldness, Kaelen’s increasing distance, the constant pressure to conform to a mold that didn’t fit… the weight of the expectations had crushed.
The Chimera’s presence, though alien, was at least honest. It was a life raft with razor edges—not ideal, to be certain, but the cold indifference in his father's withdrawal offered neither aid nor comfort. There was a form of connection to the child-like creature, for sure. A shared vulnerability, a mutual need for… something. He didn’t have a word for it.
Two. It pulsed the dual-word again—reached for him again, a tentative probe of his thoughts, and he found himself not recoiling.
He hadn't asked for this. He was not, nor would he ever be, keen on it. But the bond was there, undeniable and irreversible. He could feel it in his bones, in his blood, in the very fabric of his being. And perhaps... perhaps there was a way to make it work.