The physical world came into focus with agonizing slowness. My mind thrummed weakly, its usual vibrancy replaced by a strained, uneven pulse.

Every fragment of my awareness screamed fatigue, and the once strong connection to my swarm felt like grasping at threads in a storm.

The whispers of the etheric plane still reverberated in my mind as I returned to the physical plane.

My consciousness hung precariously, fragmented by the strain of the battle, yet stubbornly held together and tethered to the etheric plane.

My surface scouts reported intermittent bursts of activity as the enemy presence remained their focus now shifted to excavation.

Their machines clawed relentlessly at the moon’s surface, tearing away layers of dust and metal-rich rock, exposing the first layer of collapsed tunnels, their progress was slow and cautious.

I forced my faltering mind to extend its influence, touching the fragmented consciousness of my swarm. Each variant received its orders.

The command surged through the hive, and the drones responded. Combat variants halted their digging efforts returning to the mid-levels to wait for any breach, leaving only the heavily armoured ones to guard the lower mid-tunnels, forming a defensive bulwark.

The few remaining bio-fabricators redirected their efforts, churning out the second generation of burrowers.

Meanwhile, architects poured through the tunnels, mending fractures and reinforcing the tunnels with fortifications.

Explosives were meticulously embedded into every accessible crevice, calibrated to funnel collapses and trigger devastating cave-ins with surgical precision.

I placed the surviving suicide drones on standby, their dwindling numbers a stark reminder of the orbital bombardments that had culled them en masse.

I felt the shift within the etheric plane. The storm's raw, chaotic energy had begun to subside, giving way to a growing sense of stability as the currents slowly settled.

A deep, instinctual pull tugged at the edges of my fractured mind as an unrelenting force tied to the ebbing chaos within the etheric plane.

The once roaring tempest had stilled, its ferocity dulled to faint murmurs as stability slowly seeped back into the realm. The shift was subtle yet undeniable, like the tide turning, drawing me closer, coaxing me with its steady rhythm.

I felt the primal side of my consciousness stir, a raw and unrefined part of me that thrived on instinct over reason. It whispered to me, urging me to return, to anchor myself within the etheric currents where thought shaped reality. I knew I wasn’t ready not yet.

My mind was fractured and weakened by the battle, and my connection to the plane was tenuous at best. But the pull was relentless, an ache that could not be ignored.

I tried to resist, to wrest control back from the gnawing urge, but my will faltered. My reserves were depleted, and my mental defences barely held against the strain. There was no strength left to defy the primal instincts that now guided me.

The rational part of my mind, a flickering light amidst the darkness, warned me of the risks. Yet, I was too weak to heed it, too drained to hold back the inexorable tide.

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The etheric plane called to me, its promise of stability a cruel temptation. I felt my awareness slipping, surrendering to the pull as it guided me forward, deeper into the unknown.

I couldn’t tell if it was the plane that demanded my return or some forgotten part of myself that longed to reconnect with its boundless energy. Perhaps it was both, intertwined in a way I could no longer discern.

As I succumbed, the remnants of my shattered consciousness gave way to a dim, hazy resolve. I was too weak to fight, but the instinctual pull was a reminder of something greater, a chance to recover and possibly evolve, and to rise stronger than before.

When I surrendered, the transition was immediate. The physical world dissolved into a void of shifting energy and alien geometry. The etheric plane welcomed me with a world deathly quiet, its currents stale and predictable.

I could feel them now, more of them, closer than before. Without the chaos of the etheric plane clouding my senses or the constant strain of dividing my mind among my drones, their presence was unmistakable.

Their thoughts and intentions pressed faintly against the edges of my awareness, a growing pressure that warned of their advance.

Yet even as the clarity sharpened my resolve, they withdrew, I could feel their fear. Fear had its uses, a sharp, fleeting edge that spurred action, but it could not be my foundation.

The enemy's response would come, swift and unrelenting, and I had to be ready. Anticipation coursed through me, a steady current, as I shifted my focus to quickly heal myself.

The damage to my mental psyche was starkly visible here. My psyche, once a vibrant nexus of interconnected thoughts, was now a broken landscape.

Shattered spires of psychic energy jutted from the ground, and jagged fissures split the horizon, spilling fragmented parts of my psyche into the void.

I drifted, my presence a faint echo of what it should have been. The plane resisted me, its chaotic flows tugging at my weakened mind, threatening to scatter me entirely. But this was my only chance. I had to heal, to evolve.

With what strength remained, I began instinctively weaving a cocoon.

The process started slowly. Tendrils of psionic energy coalesced around me, forming a thin membrane. It pulsed faintly, drawing energy from the surrounding plane.

The cocoon thickened, layer by layer, its surface shifting with iridescent colours. It encased my essence, isolating me from the deathly stillness of the etheric plane.

Inside, the silence was a comforting presence helping to sort my thoughts.

I turned inward, examining the fractures that ran through my mind. Each crack was a reminder of the battle I had barely survived. Each shard of thought was jagged and raw, cutting into my awareness like glass.

Piece by piece, I began to rebuild.

I gathered the fragments of my mind, binding them with threads of psionic energy. The process was excruciating, every connection forming with a jolt of pain. The fractured fragments resisted, their chaotic edges refusing to fit together. But I persisted, weaving the shattered pieces into a lattice of thought and purpose.

Time became meaningless within the cocoon. The etheric plane’s currents slowed, bending to my will as the cocoon absorbed its energy.

As I delved deeper into my reconstruction, a series of new thoughts and strategies began to take shape, halting my progress. I realized I held all the fractured pieces of my psyche within reach broken, scattered, yet full of potential. The idea was bold, but the necessity of survival demanded boldness.

I could reform myself, not into the exact construct I had once been, but into something more efficient, something better adapted to bear the mental strain. The ever-growing swarm, driven by escalating drone production, placed an unsustainable burden on my mind. If I continued down this path, the cracks would widen, and I would lose control, not just of my drones but of myself.

The solution was obvious but fraught with risk. If I could create a sub-mind a fragment of myself capable of independent thought yet loyal to my will it could shoulder part of the weight.

My greatest drone numbers came from the burrowers, tirelessly digging, expanding the tunnels, and reinforcing my sanctuary. These drones required constant micromanagement, a drain on my focus I could no longer afford. A dedicated mind, forged to oversee and command them, could change everything.

Gathering a few fractured pieces of my psyche, I began the delicate work of shaping them. The etheric plane responded to my efforts, its malleable nature bending to my will as I constructed the framework of the sub-mind. It would not be a simple copy of myself, nor a fully autonomous entity. Instead, it would act as an extension of my consciousness