The rangers made their way into the lobby of Trant Station, their wounded slung over their shoulders, boots sticking to the floor where a dark, wet trail of blood snaked its way across the room. Each step felt heavier as they trudged through the uneasy mess, the air thick with tension.

Moving in silence, they edged down a narrow corridor, past the break room, where an overturned chair lay abandoned. The faint stench of decay grew stronger. When they stepped into the next area, they shuddered in disgust.

There, pinned grotesquely to the wall, was what was left of the split-jawed Rak’da. Its flesh had been savagely torn away, leaving only jagged wrists hanging limply, streaks of blood marking where something had torn through not only its flesh but the wall behind. The only intact remains were its wrist-bound claws swaying weakly in putrid air. Bone shards littered the floor like discarded scraps, the creature’s fate painted in gruesome detail.

“By all the gods, did that red beasty get to this guy?” Morotov exclaimed, stepping forward to inspect the remains.

Will scowled at the display in disgust, looking around the room, when he spotted a familiar face sitting in a coroner. “Shan?!”

The group scanned the room, their eyes landing on Shan crumpled up in a fetal position in the corner of the room.

“A-are you okay?” Calli’s voice called out from under Serfet’s arms.

Shan had taken her helmet off, her disheveled orange hair loosely tied in a low ponytail. Her wide eyes stared blankly past the crew, focused instead on the plain, lifeless white wallpaper behind them.

"She must be in shock," Serfet muttered, his eyes studying the pale, ghost-like girl. “The medwing is nearby. Let’s tell the nurses about her so they can properly help her.” He then turned to Morotov. "Morotov, can you keep an eye on her for a second?”

"Aye, pretty boy.” He replied, walking over to the ghostly Shan. e glanced down into her puke-filled helmet and grimaced. “Ewww.”

“Be nice!” Zoya snapped.

“Aye aye, miss,” Morotov replied with a smirk, his oddly casual demeanor causing Zoya to shake her head.

They moved forward, only to find another horrifying sight—the eviscerated body of Saul. His torso had been torn apart like a bag of candy, revealing his crimson-red insides.

Calli gagged, her eyes filling with tears as she quickly looked away from poor Saul’s mutilated form.

“What did this?” Zoya muttered.

Will hobbled over, wincing. “Let’s hope that crimson-jawed kid didn’t have a hand in this.”

“Don’t puke in your helmet, Rowan!” Carmela called out, glancing at the dazed ranger stumbling around with the unconscious Ribbon in his arms.

Rowan gulped down the desire to puke and chose to face away from the gore. Sey wasn’t faring much better, her face paling as she and Calli struggled to maneuver past Saul’s mangled corpse while supporting the weakened Serfet.

“Hold on, you two,” Serfet said, his voice strained. “I think I can manage the rest of the way to the medwing. Just… please, no puking in your helmets. That thought alone is enough to make me queasy.” He gently pushed himself off the two girls and leaned against the wall for support, slowly edging past Saul's remains. The girls followed closely, squeezing past Serfet and waiting anxiously on the other side.

“We can still help!” Sey called, deliberately keeping her eyes away from Saul's body.

“Thank you…” Serfet answered happy they were still willing to help.

Carmela shook her head, her tone firm but laced with compassion. “I know it’s hard to look, but let’s show some respect for the dead.”

“Yes, ma’am.” "Y-yes, ma’am," Calli and Sey responded in unison, carefully helping Serfet off the wall once more.

As they approached the medwing, the sight of blood pooling around the entrance made everyone pause. Will carefully peered inside, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What in the world happened here?"

His voice roused Denver, who had been sitting slumped against a dividing curtain that hid someone from view. “Will!” Denver called out, standing quickly. Are you alright?”

“No, we’re actually pretty roughed up.” Will said, stepping aside to reveal the unconscious Ribbon and Radomir being carried in.

“Watch the blood!” Denver warned, eyes widening as he motioned toward the slick floor.

Mika and Molt emerged from behind the curtain, rushing over to assist in moving the wounded to the back, where they carefully placed them onto beds. As they worked, Carmela’s voice carried through, laced with concern.

“Oh, can you two go and help Shan? She’s having a panic attack down the hall.”

“I’ll check on her,” Denver replied, already heading toward the exit as he left the medwing.

From behind one of the curtains, Lena stepped out, her eyes puffy and tinged with red. “Is it over?” she asked, her tone dreary as she mustered a weak smile.

Will looked past her, catching a glance of someone with an oxygen mask behind her. “I’m… not sure,” he admitted, looking towards the crimson blood on the cracked tile floor.

“Oh…” Lena’s response was a quiet, somber sigh. After a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “Did you guys see a crimson-scaled creature out there?”

“We—” Will began, but Morotov, blunt as ever, cut in.

“Yes, my friend!”

"SHHHHHH!” they all hushed Morotov in unison.

“OH—sorry, “ Morotov whispered, still excited. “But yes, the crimson devil came to our aid and slaughtered the enemy.” He used his hands like puppets to reenact what he’d seen.

“The red beast slayed the Rak’a Primer/R/ and engaged in mortal combat with your estranged infected ex-pet.”

“So he helped…” Lena whispered, her body relaxing in response.

“You know the beast?” Morotov asked, his curiosity piqued.

Lena nodded. “Not exactly, but he is the one who saved my brother's life.” She gestured behind her.

"Ah, the beast has a heart of gold. Ey!” Morotov smiled while nodding vehemently. His demeanor was exceedingly passionate in comparison to everyone else in the room.

Lena smiled back. “I’m glad you’re in high spirits, Morotov.”

“Thank you, Miss Lena. I hope my meager joys can aide your weary heart.” Morotov answered with his own smile.

Suddenly, the medwing’s door squeaked, followed by heavy footsteps that splashed against the blood in the room. Standing tall in the doorway was Siegwick, with his helmet at his side.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“M-MR. Siegwick?! Are you okay?” Calli called from behind Morotov and Lena.

Siegwick cracked his back as he passed the bloody floor, the surface freezing as he approached the group before he quietly grumbled, “Please don’t shout in here, Miss Calli.”

Cali covered and mumbled through it, "Sorry, sir.”

Lena pushed past Morotov. “Is it over, sir?” she asked.

Siegwick cracked his neck. “I’m not sure, but the Anomaly and the infected Pelamüs were eaten alive.”

“Eaten?” Carmella’s voice broke in as she appeared from behind a curtain, eyes wide with concern. She rushed over, quickly starting to disinfect Siegwick’s wounds. “These injuries—” His skin was covered in deep blue bruises that congealed the blood into pockets of black.

“Thanks.” Siegwick said as he moved over to an available chair so she could dress his wounds. “But yeah, that Coarseblood reminded me why the spawn of the God of Body and Mind are so damn terrifying. With the low Kyyr here, I was deadlocked with the Anomaly. That thing would heal no matter how many times I’d smash or cut its head. It was maddening.” He massaged his own forehead and temple.

Will wobbled out from behind his curtained cubicle, “So that thing ate them?” His voice was tinged with disgust.

“Correct.” Siegwick answered his old tired eyes, meeting his. “That thing is a Coarseblood, Mr. Will. They’re an extinct subspecies of humans. Yet—clearly one is running around now. I was unnerved by its sudden appearance. They’re a bad omen, but this particular specimen…” He paused. Letting the silence stretch. “It seems like a non-hostile juvenile. Where it came from and why it’s helping us, is rather perplexing.”

A soft, broken voice came from behind the curtain in front of Siegwick. “H-he’s… f-f—”

Lena spun around, her heart in her throat. Her eyes widened as she yanked the curtain back. There, lying pale and frail beneath a tangle of tubes and an oxygen mask, was Lucas. His eyes barely fluttered open, struggling to focus on the group gathered near his bed.

“Lucas!” Lena shrieked with tears rolling down her cheek as she almost went in for a hug.

“LENA DON'T,” Denver shouted from the doorway. “He’s still in critical condition!”

Lena froze, her hands trembling as she pulled back, sobbing silently.

Siegwick walked over and crouched down by Lucas’s bed, his sharp gaze softening as he looked the boy in the eye. “What were you trying to say, son?” His voice dropped to a gentler tone.

Lucas blinked slowly, fighting to keep his eyes open. “H-he’s… my… f-friend,” he whispered, his breath hitching with the effort.

Siegwick closed his eyes, a deep exhale slipping past his lips. For a moment, his stern exterior faltered, and a small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He gave a short, dry laugh. “So, that brat didn’t go straight back to his room, huh? Well, your friend saved my life, son. For that, he has my gratitude.”

Lucas narrowed his already barely open eyes. “I’m glad...”

“Spawns of Calamity,” Siegwick began, his voice heavy, “have a tendency to fractalize—or in simpler terms, shatter. When young ones push their limits too far, they tend to shatter.” He glanced at Lucas, the gravity of his words settling over the room like a dark cloud. “His friend may have done more than he could handle.”

Will’s face twisted in confusion. “What’s exactly going to shatter?”

Siegwick’s eyes darkened as he responded, “His soul.”

Their eyes widened.

“But before you all panic,” Siegwick continued, his tone softening just slightly, “he didn’t show signs of awakening fractally. That suggests this isn’t his first time as a Calamity spawn.”

“Well—” Denver interrupted as he glanced at Lena. “Earlier tonight he came here to deliver Lucas… We didn’t know what he was and…” He de-transformed—pretty violently—right in front of us. That pool of blood on the floor? It’s his.” He pointed to the dark, congealed crimson puddle nearby, the sight sending a shiver down Lena’s spine. “When he looked at me… weakly smiling… I wish I could’ve helped him.”

"W-wait, who is this person?” Calli interjected.

Denver turned toward her, his gaze intense, but softened as he saw her struggling to piece it together. Her expression faltered, and she slowly cast her eyes down to the floor. “Was it the nice young man from before, Denver?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, your fort buddy,” he answered.

Calli felt conflicted; she’d only known him briefly but they had shared such a cozy little memory. “T-to think such a soul graced us.”

The moment of reflection was abruptly cut short as Siegwick’s stern voice sliced through the air. “You said he de-transformed?”

Denver blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Yes,” he answered, confusion creeping into his voice.

Siegwick's brow furrowed. “And he survived the process?”

Denver nodded slowly. “Barely… but yes.”

Siegwick’s gaze darkened further, as if piecing together a puzzle with sinister implications. “That… shouldn’t have been possible,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to the others. The room seemed to still, everyone hanging on his next words.

“Actually, how did he manage to turn in the first place? The boy didn’t have enough Kyyr when I met him.” Siegwick frowned in concern.

“Excuse me, sir,” Will interrupted. “ I’m pretty sure he used my Kyyr booster to transform.”

Siegwick’s frown deepened, but it was his next question that seemed to carry an unusual urgency. “Then what about the second time?” he asked with an unexpected level of emotion from the stern old man.

Lena, whose eyes were already swollen with tears, couldn’t hold back any longer. Her voice trembled as she spoke, “He… he took the booster from me... I didn’t even realize it until it was too late.”

Siegwick’s eyes turned cold and calculating. “What was the boy’s condition after that?”

Denver answered with a tremble in his voice, “He was pretty weak… but he urged us to help Lucas. I’m not sure how he got the booster off Lena, but he double-dosed boosters.”

Siegwick shook his head, disbelief flickering across his face.“That little maniac... his condition plus taking two boosters?” He trailed off, his voice laced with both admiration and sorrow.

Straightening his back, Siegwick made a swift decision. “I’ll go look for the boy before it’s too late.”

Before anyone could react, Calli, who had been silent for most of the conversation, stepped forward with surprising resolve. “C-can I go!” she surprisingly offered.

The group turned to her in surprise. Her usual quiet demeanor was now replaced with a fierce determination that none of them had seen before.

Morotov, ever the exuberant one, chimed in with enthusiasm. “Me too, comrade! Let me befriend the red beast!”

Siegwick cleared his throat. “Just so you know, we’re still under Purge orders. Unfortunately for us, this new abyssal infection seems to be a new form of Gray Blight. I was hoping we’d be able to snip it in the bud by killing the propagator, but the charred remains of the Rak’da haven’t died yet.”

“Oh right!” Denver remembered. “Before you leave, check this out, sir.” He carefully stepped around the bloodstains, leading them to a small lab space set up at the opposite end of the room, away from the beds. Crossing a doorway, Denver revealed the still-writhing head of the split jaw Rak’da. Somehow he’d managed to strap the grotesque thing to a metal cart.

“I’ve been running tests on its blood,” Denver said, turning on a small screen displaying the results. “Sir, this thing… it’s not infected with anything.”

“What?!” The collective gasp echoed through the room.

Denver’s confidence wavered for a moment. He glanced at Siegwick before continuing. “Rak’da blood is naturally high in sulfur, and their bodies are composed of Byzacyte instead of the standard cellular structure we have. They’ve always had a natural inclination towards abyssal condensation, unlike us.” He pointed to the screen, where vials of bright green Rak’da blood were displayed. “But if you’ve noticed, the Rak’da we encountered tonight had a strange dark purple, almost reddish hue to their skin.”

Siegwick leaned in closer, his brow furrowing with concern. “You’re saying they’re being genetically altered?”

Denver nodded. “Yes, sir. This isn’t the first time we’ve seen something like this—other abyssal diseases, like the Gray Blight, also modify the host. But unlike the Blight, there’s nothing in their blood that suggests infection—other than the abnormal color.” He paused and switched the slide to show a dissected spiral tongue. “Even these strange growths are entirely made of Rak’da tissue. It’s as if some outside force is warping them into the creatures we fought. An outside force is somehow warping these creatures into the monster we encountered tonight. Their undying nature seems to be tied to whatever this external factor is, may it be abyssal or eldritch; it's somehow keeping them alive against all odds.”

Siegwick’s frown deepened. His mind was already racing through possibilities. “Denver, we’ll need to take this Rak’da to Heilagjǫtunn for further testing. This is beyond what we can handle here.”

“Ugh…” Denver drooped his head.

Siegwick turned sharply to the others. “Calli, Morotov, Rowan, we’re going to find the kid before he turns into a puddle of blood.”

“Hmmm???” Rowan seemed surprised to hear his name. “Me too?” he asked.

Siegwick arched an eyebrow. “Don’t you have tracking abilities?”

Rowan hesitated, shifting awkwardly. “Yes, sir, but I—"

“But what?” Siegwick stepped closer, his voice low and insistent.

“I’ll… I’ll get ready,” Rowan stammered, quickly falling in line.

Siegwick’s stern gaze swept over the group. “Alright, squad, hydrate, grab fresh gear if you need it, and meet me at the entrance in five minutes!”

A chorus of responses followed in varying levels of enthusiasm. “Aye.” “Y-yes, sir!” “Yes, sir…”