Date: October 25, 2034
Earth
Location: Touka’s Apartment, 3:12 AM
Touka lay in bed, the soft hum of the fan the only sound in the room as she nestled against her boyfriend, Paul. His arms wrapped around her in a loose embrace, their breathing in sync in the dark of the night. Outside, the sleepy college town slept, the streets empty except for the occasional car passing.
The young woman didn’t give Red a second thought other than outrage at his attack on Pual. Yeah, the prank was really gross, but attacking Paul was unacceptable. She was going to press charges. Her Uncle was a lawyer in New York. She was sure if she asked his help, they could increase the price of the bail to make it unaffordable. It was Friday night, and Monday was a holiday, so that would leave him in holding until Tuesday morning, which would be revenge enough for hitting Paul. Touka decided that she would leave it there unless he tried to escalate.
The Japanese girl yawned and rolled over.
She wasn’t sure why she couldn’t sleep, a strange unease bubbling under her skin. It was almost as if something was wrong, just out of reach. She glanced at the clock—3:12 AM—far too early to be awake, yet she was wide-eyed and restless.
Just as she shifted under the covers, the bed vibrated slightly beneath her, almost as if the earth had shuddered. She sat up abruptly, her heart hammering in her chest at a sudden sense of unease like a premonition.
“Paul, we need to leave,” she whispered, gently shaking him. “Did you feel that? Something is very wrong.”
Before he could respond, the world outside their window exploded into chaos. A loud, metallic hum echoed through the sky, unlike anything she had ever heard. It was deep and resonant, vibrating through her bones, making her stomach churn.
“What the hell?” Paul muttered, rubbing his eyes as he sat up, squinting toward the window. But before either of them could move, a shadow passed over their room, blotting out the moonlight and plunging them into darkness.
Touka’s breath hitched as she looked out the window, her heart freezing. Massive ships—alien ships—hovered above the town, casting long, dark shadows over the streets. She had never seen anything like them before, and her mind struggled to comprehend what was happening.
Before she could say a word, she felt the ground rumble before booms echoed through the town. It was terrible luck a towering troop carrier touched down in front of their apartment, releasing a swarm of creatures—thralls, mindless beings who poured out of the vessels and began marching through the quiet streets.
How did she know what they were called?
“Paul…” she whispered, panic creeping into her voice. “Something’s happening. We need to go. Now.”
But their apartment door was kicked open with a loud crash before they could even move. The door splintered, and a group of thralls stepped in, their eyes vacant, their bodies moving with mechanical precision. They grabbed Paul first, wrenching him out of bed before turning to Touka.
“No! Let go of him!” she screamed, thrashing as they pulled her from the bed, her mind reeling in terror. But the thralls didn’t respond—they couldn’t. They dragged her and Paul down the stairs through the wreckage of the apartment. She heard screaming and saw more of the creatures dragging people out into the streets, where chaos reigned.
…
Date: October 25, 2034
Location: Illithid Flagship, 4:05 AM
The next thing she knew, she was on one of the massive Illithid ships, her wrists bound in cold, metallic restraints. The world around her was a blur of screams and alien noises. Her head spun as she tried to make sense of what was happening.
Paul was beside her, his face pale and bloodied but still alive. The room they were in was dark and cramped, filled with the sound of low, guttural breathing. Around them, other captives huddled in fear young women, most of them no older than Touka, all wide-eyed and terrified. Paul was an outlier.
She didn’t know how much time had passed since they had been taken. Hours? Minutes? It all blended in a haze of fear and confusion.
“What… what do they want with us?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Paul didn’t answer. He was staring at something—someone—at the far end of the cell. A tall, gaunt Illithid guard stood by the door, its long, tentacle-like mouth twitching as it surveyed the captives. Its black eyes gleamed with a cold, predatory hunger that made Touka’s skin crawl.
Suddenly, the guard moved, reaching out and grabbing Paul by the collar.
“No!” Touka screamed, lunging forward, but her restraints held her back. Somehow, she knew if he left with that thing, she would never see him alive again. “Let him go!”
The guard ignored her, dragging Paul toward the door.
“Paul!” she screamed again, tears streaming down her face as she watched them disappear through the doorway. She tugged at her restraints, her heart hammering in her chest, but there was nothing she could do.
Minutes passed—agonizing, endless minutes—before the door opened again, and the guard returned. It wasn’t until then that she realized it was holding something.
Her breath caught in her throat as she saw it—a brain, Paul’s brain, still glistening with blood.
The guard raised the brain to its mouth, its tentacles wrapping around it as it began to feed. Its sharp, gnashing beak tore into the soft tissue.
Touka screamed, the sound raw and primal, but no one could help her. The others in the cell watched in horror, their faces pale with terror, but they said nothing.
She felt her world crumble around her as she stared at the guard, her mind struggling to process what she saw. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be happening.
But it was.
…
Date: October 25, 2034
Location: Illithid Flagship, Holding Cell, 5:20 AM
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Hours passed—each one feeling like a lifetime. Touka sat in the corner of the cell, her body shaking uncontrollably. She was cold, the fear seeping into her bones like ice. Around her, the other captives huddled together, some crying softly, others too numb to react.
At some point, they were joined by a large man, his face a mask of anger and pain. He had been thrown into the cell unceremoniously, landing in a heap beside Touka. He wasn’t bound like the rest of them.
“Hey ladies, my name is John. I’m going to take care of you.” He looked to see one of the guards watching as he pulled down some poor girl’s pants and had his way with her. Touka looked up with pleading eyes, but the guard nodded and moved on. The blood of her boyfriend’s brain was still on his tentacles.
She didn’t know his name or who he was, but she could sense the same fear in him that she felt in herself.
“What… what are they going to do to us?” one of the girls whispered, her voice barely audible.
No one answered. All they could hear was the squelching of sex in the background.
Touka stared at the floor, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of the nightmare she was living. Her body felt like it didn’t belong to her anymore—numb, disconnected from the horror that surrounded her.
Her thoughts drifted back to Paul when the guard had taken him. She had wanted to scream, to fight, to do something, but there was nothing she could do. Nothing any of them could do.
And now she was trapped, her mind teetering on the edge of sanity as she waited for whatever horrors the Illithids had planned for her.
They were all trapped. And there was no way out.
…
Date: October 26, 2034
Location: Elven Research Facility, Commander's Quarters
Enarion Arleth stood in front of the altar in his quarters, the cool flicker of candlelight casting long shadows on the ancient carvings of the Triad. His mind was a storm, his thoughts circling the same dark point: his brother’s death. The image was burned into his memory—the lifeless body of Eldrin, his neck twisted, his body flung like a ragdoll by the senseless power of a human psionic.
His hands trembled slightly as he knelt before the altar, his head bowed in silent prayer. The room smelled of incense, sharp and earthy, grounding him in the moment even as his heart surged with grief and fury. The Triad—Malcanis, Velthariel, and Drethalor—watched over him, their forms etched in stone above the altar. They were eternal, their influence stretching across time and battle, yet they felt distant at this moment.
"Malcanis, guide my blade. Velthariel, sharpen my mind. Drethalor, shield my soul." His voice was low and measured, but the bitterness in his words was unmistakable. "Give me the strength to contain these… creatures. To bring order where they have only brought chaos."
He felt the familiar weight of his sword at his side, the cold steel a comforting reminder of his duty. His resolve had never wavered before, not in all his years of service, but now, in the wake of Eldrin’s death, it felt different. There was a wound in his heart that no prayer could heal, a rage that no calm reasoning could temper.
Eldrin had been a good elf. A diplomat, trained in the subtle art of communication, chose to make first contact with the humans—those psionic monsters who had appeared in their world like a blight. He had gone to them unarmed, his only weapons his words and his wits, and they had killed him, blasted him apart without reason, without understanding.
Enarion’s fists clenched as the memories surged. Eldrin had been his younger brother, always more diplomatic, more patient. Where Enarion had chosen the sword's path, Eldrin had chosen words. But in the end, neither had been enough to protect him from the madness of psionics.
The bitter taste filled Enarion’s mouth as he rose from the altar, his prayer finished. He did not need divine intervention to know what had to be done. These humans, these… abominations, needed to be contained, no matter the cost.
…
The command center hummed with quiet activity as Enarion entered. Technicians monitored the humans’ vitals on glowing screens while a few of his men stood at attention, their faces tense with the weight of the situation. The air was thick with tension, and for good reason—the humans were becoming more dangerous by the hour.
As he approached the central table, the facility manager, Vaelir Thalorn, looked up from a data pad, his expression troubled. He was an older elf, his silver hair tied back in a tight braid, his uniform immaculate. Vaelir had always been calm and pragmatic, but today, there was a shadow of uncertainty in his eyes.
“Enarion,” Vaelir began, his voice low but steady. “I need your thoughts on the current situation. Humans are becoming more dangerous, and they have begun to dream together. The psionics are growing stronger, and… there’s talk among the researchers of altering our purpose. Biotic experts have been brought on, and they believe the humans can be used to create a new soldier to fight in our stead.”
Enarion didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. His grief had already hardened into something sharper—determination. "Alter our purpose. These creatures aren't subjects to be studied—they are a threat. A threat that has already taken a life unprovoked." His voice was cold, devoid of emotion, but the brutality of his words was evident. He wanted them controlled. Contained.
Vaelir’s brow furrowed. "We are containing them, Enarion. We have called for Intoners in the wards. There are siphons under construction—"
"They aren’t ready yet, but we’re vulnerable," Enarion interrupted, his eyes flashing with barely restrained anger. "You think your machines and your magic can hold them forever? You don’t understand what we’re dealing with. They killed Eldrin and Vaelir. He was your diplomat, your voice of reason, and they slaughtered him without a thought."
The facility manager looked down, the weight of the truth pressing on him. Eldrin’s death had shaken them all, but for Enarion, it had become the catalyst for a cold, unyielding resolve.
“I am aware of our loss,” Vaelir said quietly. “But these are not mere beasts. They are intelligent beings, and we must understand them before we—"
“Before what? Before they tear this facility apart from the inside?” Enarion’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Look at what they’re already capable of. Psionics that can kill with a thought tear through our defenses as if they were nothing. And you want to study them? No, Vaelir. We need to control them. Keep them locked down. If that means harsher measures, then so be it.”
Vaelir hesitated, clearly torn. He respected Enarion and knew the strength of his conviction, but there were political ramifications to consider. The humans were valuable as subjects and potential tools against the Illithid threat. The decision wasn’t so simple.
After a long moment, Valerie nodded. "I will consider your recommendations. But know this, Enarion—this facility must remain intact. We cannot afford to lose control, but we cannot afford reckless action. We are balancing on a blade’s edge."
Enarion's lips tightened into a thin line, but he said nothing more. He had given his opinion, and it was clear where he stood. He would do whatever it took to keep these humans contained—even if it meant going beyond what Vaelir considered "acceptable."
…
Location: Elven Research Facility, Security Wing
Enarion stood before his assembled guards, the men under his command standing tall, their eyes focused on him with unwavering attention. They were a mix of seasoned veterans and younger recruits, all chosen for their skill and loyalty. Today, more than ever, he needed them alert.
"We are in a dangerous situation," he began, his voice steady but commanding. "These humans—these psionics—are growing stronger by the day. The death of my brother was not an isolated incident. It was a sign of what they were capable of. They will tear this facility apart if we do not keep them contained."
The soldiers saluted, their faces hard to understand. They had all heard the rumors of the humans’ power, of the strange, boundless psionic energy that seemed to surge through their bodies.
"I want every shift doubled," Enarion continued. "No gaps. No mistakes. The psionics are to be monitored at all times. If there is even a hint of instability, you report it immediately. No one acts without my direct order."
One of the younger guards, a young man raised his hand. "What about the researchers, sir? They seem… hesitant to increase containment measures."
Enarion’s eyes hardened. "The researchers do not command this facility's defenses. I do. If they protest, remind them we keep them safe from the psionics. And if they don’t listen… remind them what happened to Eldrin."
There was a murmur of agreement from the soldiers. Eldrin’s death had shaken them all, a stark reminder that the humans were not to be underestimated.
“Do not falter,” Enarion said, his voice growing colder. “Do not waver. These creatures are dangerous and unpredictable. If we are to protect ourselves, we must be vigilant. Relentless.”
He stepped forward, his eyes sweeping over his men. “Do your duty, and we will not fail.”
Enarion felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle onto his shoulders as he dismissed the group. He had a duty to his people, to his brother. He would not allow these humans to take another life. No matter the cost, he would keep them contained. No matter what.
With a final glance at the wards surrounding the containment cells, Enarion turned and walked away, his mind already planning the next step in securing the facility. The humans might have their psionics, but they would never escape.
Not while he still drew breath.