“Experimental Log 81.8.2. Year 3979, June 11th.

Theodore Penance arrived today with a delightful offering for his mounting medical bills. The poor man looked distraught, grieving over his son’s recent disappearance. Death, likely. Humans—always so sentimental. Hypocritical. If I had to guess, he cared more for Judas than the other one. Still, this is a fascinating opportunity! The endless possibilities of human anatomy excite me. Particularly the way I can integrate it into my Biotics... Ah, the joy!

Curious, though—how does Theodore manage to get himself hurt so often? No matter. Time to indulge in the real fun.

I think I’ll begin with the bastard’s eyes. I wish he had been the one to die, though. It would have been fascinating to work on a Seer’s child.

* The log of an eccentric doctor on Crislend.

With methodical precision, Dante utilized the last hours of his Nullify dose. As he often boasted, not a second of the drug went to waste—every millisecond bent toward a singular purpose. This time around, that purpose...

Dante concentrated thoroughly on infiltrating Lightjar, the most secure prison on Crislend. Lightjar wasn’t just for the mundane criminals. It was a holding ground for Seafarers, Tidewalkers, Windbreakers, Psions and all those who had dared to venture too far into the unknown. Most were weak, the kind he’d have hunted in the past. Although not all the prisoners were.

As Nullify wore off, Dante stepped back from his creation, feeling his sentiments and fatigue crashing through, causing tears to well up in his eyes. While grinding his teeth, the human endured the pain so that it would return another day. He had too many things to consider.

Some rumors he picked up told that Lightjar harbored an Anomaly, too. Whether that was true, Dante had no idea, and he wasn’t planning on finding out its authenticity. That Designation was too unpredictable for practical use.

A petite woman sauntered past the device, her hands planted firmly on her hips as she took it in. It seemed she had regained her energy now that some time had passed. Disbelief colored her tone as she stared right at Dante, asking, “You built this? Out of scrap? Where did you learn to make bombs from random store junk?”

Dante only shrugged, his fingers wrapping around the miniature explosive. A small, intricate device the size of a the latter half of a finger, wired to a timer which was linked to the button tucked in his pocket. He wasn’t about to offer explanations, and no amount of torture could drag his past out of him. Not that it mattered. In his mind, it wasn’t impressive. He knew a kid who could build double with only dumpster finds.

Thankfully, Rejo changed the subject with a yawn, “No one ‘nows where he learned that. He was like this when I ‘et him. Anyway, I’m 'ired. Are we ‘etting a hotel, or am I ‘eading back to those awful bed frames?”

A round of nods sealed the decision. All three of them preferred solid ground to the Starsinger’s shifting floors. It wasn’t that the ship was uncomfortable—it just wasn’t home. Well, it was to Dante, but he needed off the damned ship where he nearly lost his life.

They eventually found a cheap hotel, nothing special, with a suspicious lack of locked doors, but it would do for the night. Of course, Dante insisted they all share one room, his paranoia after the attack refusing to allow anything else. Rejo didn’t argue, and Sonna gave up after a few futile minutes of debate.

“At least give me a curtain or something. I don’t know how you humans do it, but we, Weren, need our privacy,” Sonna grumbled, crossing her legs as she perched on her chosen bed.

With neither a word nor hesitation, Dante humbly lowered himself to the floor between the two beds, his head bowed as if silently apologizing. The other two exchanged puzzled glances, but as usual, he ignored them.

None really knew how long it had been since they last slept—not even Dante, who usually tracked the minutes obsessively, just like his father.

Dante didn’t care, however, not this time. A hardwood floor was nothing compared to the places he’d slept before. His quarters on the Starsinger didn’t have a bed. Instead of a mattress, there was an armory. He’d rather sleep in a bag than waste the precious space.

It also made it less predictable for assassins. He saved himself in the past by sleeping in a corner or an odd location.

This? Between two beds on stiff wood? This was better than spikes. Better than heated coals. Better than freezing winds on an ice planet or the suffocating burns of a desert world with sand that stripped skin. He’d slept on hundreds of worlds in his short, brutal life.

Here, he could sleep easily, even peacefully.

Here, he slept hastily and luxuriously, like none other.

For a while, at least.

As Dante slipped into unconsciousness, he hoped for the usual—a simple, dreamless slumber. It was one of the few sanctuaries left to him, a fleeting peace, especially after the clarity Nullify granted him. The voices returning were always unwelcome, not to mention the guilt that soaked into his core.

Instead of the peace he had anticipated, he encountered a void where he stood face-to-face with a mirror image of his younger brother, only aged up to match him. He was exactly what Dante imagined him to be. They looked similar, barring the deep, jagged cut across Dante’s nose that raced across his eye, the permanent reminder of his father’s twisted love. The memory of how he earned that scar flickered in his mind, but the copy’s sinister snicker snapped him back into the present.

The clone circled him, its eyes gleaming with an eerie, unsettling void. Inside those pupil-less orbs, Dante found nothing. Not a soul. Not a life. Simply... nothing.

Whatever emotions lay beneath that gaze were illegible, far beyond anything human, if they existed at all. Dante opened his mouth to speak, to demand answers, but no sound came. He couldn’t speak.

The copy had no such restraint.

“You thought you could contain me? With that pathetic mind?” it taunted, its voice dripping with malice.

A bloodcurdling chuckle forced Dante to squint in discomfort as it pierced through the dream and into his ears. Then, that laugh shifted and said, “Ohoho... This is only the beginning, Donny-boy. Only the beginning. You think you can wield my power? Abuse it as you see fit? Perhaps if I was some lowly Dirge. Perhaps. Rest assured, Donny, this power is mine and I will reclaim it."

The threat lingered, thick and suffocating, as the copy stepped closer. Dante’s heart pounded in his chest, fear clawing at him as the realization sank in. This wasn’t just a dream.

This thing hadn’t died when he took it into himself. It was supposed to work like eating living-food. Except... Sonna had been wrong. This meal was still alive in his guts.

All Seafarers and their ilk had to face their inner demons to grow, but this...

This wasn’t normal.

They didn’t speak. Not yet, and not like this.

“You can call me Judas,” the clone sneered, “as I will stab you in the back, my little unfaithful Christian, just when you least expect it.”

The name struck Dante like a physical blow, and he could feel the hate spreading outward and into his everything.

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That name. Judas. It had been a long time since he heard it. Or said it. This thing had no right to say it, either. It shouldn’t know the name, anyway.

The little boy it once belonged to was nothing like the beast before him. Judas was a kind child, utterly unlike Dante and his violent nature. He was... better. Furthermore, this being's form was purposeful, built to match the name and erode Dante's will.

As if feeding on the darkness within Dante’s soul, the surrounding void constricted, tightening with each word Judas spoke. Dante’s mind raced for a way out, but he found himself trapped. Utterly powerless against the manifestation of his worst nightmare.

This was his inner demon. His Qualae. His enemy. It wasn’t a standard Qualae, obviously with that thing that had spoken to him.

How foolish he had been to think he had overcome it, to believe he had truly earned the powers of a Seafarer. Nothing is ever that simple. Power always comes with a price, whether a buy-in or a sacrifice.

Dante was wise enough to never wager on his own luck. He only gambled on others or when he had rigged the game. Here... he was well aware. It was rigged against him.

Judas raised a hand, interrupting Dante’s spiraling thoughts. Icy fingers curled around his throat, squeezing with a sadistic grin. A shudder rippled through Dante’s soul, the air vanishing from his lungs as darkness crept in. While his life was being choked out of him, Dante suddenly felt a wave of clarity.

It was in that moment that the true Dante emerged—the one his father had crafted, the one who thrived in the cold void Nullify left behind.

His eyes snapped open, locking onto Judas’s unblinking, depthless gaze. This was his body. His mind. He had a plan—one that didn’t stop with Judas. There were more steps and more dominoes to fall. With the end of it, there would be no Gods left. No kings. No monsters. Only Dante.

He didn’t pray. Not anymore. The last time he had whispered a prayer was with the real Judas, just before the little one died. It was before he ran off to join mercenaries—to escape his father’s madness. He wouldn’t start praying again now, but something inside him stirred.

Simply seeing that face and hearing that name...

It lit a fire he thought long extinguished.

A long, long time ago, Dante and Judas had dreamt of an adventurous life, sailing through the sea of stars together. They’d gain abilities from the fabled hidden dimensions, gather a crew, and fight against the lurking horrors. They’d be a team.

Yet that was before their father’s enemies stabbed, shot, and beat the younger one to death.

Things had since changed.

Here, in his own mind, hidden from all other forces but his worst enemy, he made a decree to none but himself, looking the phantom in the eye and saying, “Fuck you. I will kill you for tainting his memory. Then, I’ll find whatever shithead made you and kill them, too.”

Judas chuckled, a cold, mocking sound as he stated, “And so? What is the point? Where does this drive even come from? It would mean your death in the end, too.”

In spite, Dante grinned, unshaken and agreeing, “So be it. I’ve been ready to die since I was a child. What is there to life, if not an impossible task to seize? I’ve always felt lost, wandering these lightless seas without a torch to guide me. Now... I have one. I can sense the enormity of the Lightsea—and I want to climb it.”

For a split second, Judas’s grin faltered, his form flickering in the strange, shifting space. Something in the being's confidence wavered. This pitiful human was getting under its skin. Dante sensed something between the two of them, a fleeting, shimmering sensation of connection that vanished before he could grasp it.

Judas recovered quickly, and before he disappeared, he left Dante with one preeminent insult by adding, “A worm like you could never kill me. You will die on this crusade of yours. The best part? I’ll be there to laugh at your corpse."

With that, the void began to crumble around Dante, reality creeping back in. He could feel the insensitive weight of his body returning—his fingers, his toes, all under his control once more.

The darkness lingered, but Dante didn’t mind. For better or worse, this silence was a rare gift. Here, the endless noise of the waking world didn’t assault his senses. It let him breathe, with a profound peace. Dante could adapt and settle into the planet’s clangor. He had been trained for it.

But he didn’t like it. Not that he liked much of anything.

People had called him an android and accused him of being too controlled, too detached. It was an insult worse than any other to a person; the history with ‘Breathing-Metals’ was too deep. These people wished he’d disappear like the thinking machines of old. None of them knew the real him. Not even close.

The real Dante Penance wasn’t the controlled, unsympathetic figure others saw. He was a man barely holding himself together, waging war within his mind and soul with every breath.

He had a bottomless pit of hatred and loathing that he held for a scarce few. Those emotions were what had kept Dante alive for such a long time. He had been kidnapped, drug halfway across a Sector, and teeth ripped from him for his captor’s fun. It was that hatred that let him tear the rope and kill his way off that starship.

A deep inhale filled his chest, calm washing over Dante like a wave even as he recalled his past. He knew the battle would solely deteriorate. He prepared himself, ready for whatever might come. Nothing would be easy.

He doubted most of his companions would make it to the end of the journey.

They rarely did. Most quit or died. Or betrayed.

Rejo was his oldest ‘friend’ so far. Barely over one year of working together. It hurt to think about it, but Dante hesitated to believe the Araki would see the finale.

The darkness lifted in an instant as Dante bolted upright, sweat clinging to every inch of his body. His crew lay sound asleep, oblivious to his sudden alarm. Like a panther from his ancestors’ home world, he stood and studied the two resting forms in silence.

Sonna... she’s a terrible spy. She broke so easily on the Starsinger.

The thought drifted into his mind as he scrutinized her further.

Why was she sent on that mission? Was it to die? The idea gnawed at him. Internal politics? No... it doesn’t track. It must be something else. Family, maybe. She’s tied to someone powerful. Someone important. Maybe even a Seafarer. That would explain everything.

Four hours of sleep brought a sharpness to Dante’s mind, revealing details he hadn’t seen before. Despite his thoughts drifting to Rejo, he endeavored to set aside the burgeoning sense of attachment.

He’s useful. A decent weapon. Not a bad drinking partner, either. Funny. Too unserious, though. I'll have to be careful with him.

Dante allowed himself the agonizing thought, knowing full well what came next.

It would be a shame if he died. He might. Like the others.

A sigh escaped him as he realized there was no way to remove that attachment. Rejo hadn’t betrayed him. That meant more than anything else the Araki had ever done.

Can someone really refuse hundreds of thousands of credits? A chance at the supernatural? For what? Dante? Some detached human? No matter how Dante thought about it, he couldn’t figure out why Rejo chose what he had. Dante had few friends. So few. Just about all who had ever saddled up with him were dead and buried. As such, the crimson face of the Araki settled into his mind. The human was incapable of betraying Rejo.

I’ll... do what I can so that doesn’t happen. He... believes in me too much, and I like that. I like that a lot. Still, he signed up for this. There’s nothing more I can do but try to keep him alive. Here’s hoping his Qualae isn’t as vicious as mine. Thankfully, it already seems so. I would have caught him whispering to himself or dozing off. He's too simple for anything else.

Dante turned from the sleeping forms, slipping his coat on as the rhythm of rain thumped against the windows. With one last glance over his shoulder, he headed for the door, determined to return before they awoke.

It had been years since he’d last set foot on this cursed planet. She was here, after all, one of the few nightmares that still haunted him from his childhood.

His boots splashed through the rain-soaked streets as he walked, eyes drawn to the towering neon lights of the sleepless megacity. The last visit here, six out of ten of his crew had died.

This time, no one would die.

He would make sure of it—whatever it took.

Dante had his bomb, a backup plan to blast through the several-foot-thick prison walls in case things went sideways. However, he still needed a way to get in. For that, there was only one person he could trust. She was not as crucial to the grand plan as Archimedes, but still essential.

Though trust was a strong word. Dante held near-zero faith in this individual’s personality, but he was utterly confident in their skills. Additionally, with the dream he just had...

She was the sole figure he could rely on to do what was necessary should the evils in his mind emerge.

The human wound his way through the twisting streets, constantly glancing over his shoulder, alert for any sign of trouble. He didn’t know where the alleyway was located. Despite that fact, Dante still knew where to look. Skinwalker always left subtle clues—one just had to be observant enough to spot them.

Dante gripped the curved steel bar embedded in the wall and tugged. The metal gave way with a wet sound, like skin being peeled back, revealing a hidden entrance. Rainwater trickled along the edges, glistening under the faint glow of nearby lights, just enough to show what lay beyond.

A dark, narrow corridor spiraling down into the depths of the planet.

Joan always had a flair for secrecy.

Beside the corridor was a thin vent, scarcely the size of a rat. Dante noted the possible exit for the ‘doctor’ and prepared himself. She only mastered those Biotics from studying his genome. Dante descended into the depths, welcoming the embrace of darkness. With a quick tap on the module on his wrist, a light flickered to life, casting sharp beams across the corridor’s walls. Bloodstains and grime streaked the metal, and as his nose wrinkled, he knew the blood was fresh.

Too fresh.

His mind whirred with the implications, but instinct had already taken over. His hand found his revolver, pulling it free from its holster. The weapon trembled in the human’s grip, not merely from fear but from withdrawal, too. He stared at the shaking gun for a moment, silently commanding it to still.

It didn’t. Here was where nightmares haunted him. The blood on the walls only made it worse. Dante had to do this. He needed her help, and he knew she would provide.

Dante pressed on, exhaling gradually. It always started with the hands. The tremors were just the beginning—next would come the sweats, the panic, the breakdowns. To his dual dismay and bliss, there was no time. Something nagged at him to hurry.

A scream echoed from deep within the base, sharp and gut-wrenching. The voice was familiar—and unpleasant. Dante didn’t hesitate anymore, despite the shakes. He sprinted forward, down the twisting stairs, until he stumbled into a large hallway.

The sight stopped him in his tracks.

Corpses lined the walls, their entrails spilled across the floor in a grotesque display of carnage. Blood pooled beneath the bodies, seeping into the cracks of the floor. Before he could fully take in the horror, another scream pierced the air, sending a chill down his spine.

Instinct kicked in. Without a second thought, Dante dove behind an overturned medical bed, disappearing into the shadows without a sound.

As if drawn to his presence, the creature responsible for the massacre lumbered toward him from the far end of the hallway. Its heavy footfalls crushed the corpses beneath it, each step accompanied by a sickening squelch. The sound reverberated through the hall, burrowing into Dante’s skull.

He couldn’t identify the thing, but he knew it wasn’t a Seafarer—not even a Lightlost or a Dirge. This wasn’t just madness.

This was something far worse. Monstrous. Again, Dante had to curse his luck. It indeed was something awful.

What the hell have you been experimenting with, Joan? Why the Depths did I have to walk in on it?

As the monster closed in, Dante’s gaze flickered to the green-skinned figure drenched in blood beside him, unable to intervene.

The Reiki was as good as dead with the gaping hole in its chest, for no help was coming.

Desperation clawed at his mind, but his thoughts spiraled in a whirlwind of conflicting voices. One urged him to run, telling him he didn’t need Joan or her expertise. Another screamed that he should fight—he was a Seafarer now, wasn’t he? Even if newly bonded with his Qualae and unable to summon a Tide, he had a Stigmata.

With each thundering step taken by the monster, another thought formed. Nevertheless, Dante couldn’t focus on a single one.

Dante damned the absence of Nullify, the chem that silenced the chaos in his mind. Without it, he was left alone with his fractured thoughts—plans already warped by the drug’s lingering effects. He’d only used it twice. Twice, and already it had started to erode him again.

It transcended the body, reaching the mind. His Stigmata only did so much to the cravings.

The creature loomed nearer, its grotesque body casting a massive shadow over the overturned bed. Dante could feel the heat of its presence, the stench of decay flooding his senses.

Just then, a whisper cut through the tension, “Dante Penance? What in the Lights are you doing here?”

He glanced up, spotting a pair of cowered antennae peeking from behind the corner, eyes swiveling to meet his. Joan.

Before he could react, she slipped out of sight, leaving him alone with the approaching horror. His unexpected appearance left Joan Rafe, a notorious opponent of Sentient Rights, utterly dumbfounded as she hid herself. On the contrary, Dante expected to find her here. He would have scoffed at her reaction, except for one thing.

The creature was almost upon him.