He switched off the light, letting darkness settle. In the black, faint luminescence pulsed far below. Soft, rhythmic, a heartbeat in the earth.

Jared exhaled slowly.

He flicked the light back on, checked his weapon, and moved deeper into the earth.

Jared moved deeper into the tunnel. The air pressed down, thickening with each step. His flashlight swept over the rough walls, gouged and torn. The marks were familiar. The creature had been here.

He killed the light. Darkness closed in, tight and unyielding. He waited, listening. The Dark seeped from him, slow and patient, filling every crack and hollow. It found a stagnant pool, water trickling from a broken pipe. The taste of minerals on his tongue. The air shifted, displaced by his presence.

The tunnel breathed, pulsing with the Dark. Residue clung to every surface his power touched. A heavy working, or many small ones layered over time. Another Shadow Kind had been here. Still was. The Dark was thick with their presence.

He drew the Dark back into himself and moved on. Slow. Careful. Body low. The earth pressed close, heavy with the scent of rot. It caught at the back of his tongue. He was deep now. No signal. Only static in his ear, the dead hush of his cybernetics. Forgotten. Did they even know where he’d gone?

A faint thrumming in his bones. The Dark, moving in waves, washing over him. Each pulse brought whispers, wandering through his mind. Like a friend returned, only to vanish again. An ache for something lost, or never found.

Anemoia. The longing of a fool.

He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs clinging to his mind.

He rounded a bend. Concrete walls, slick with condensation. The tunnel widened, opening into a chamber half-collapsed by time. He stepped over twisted rebar and old conduit. His light played over the ruined walls.

A sound from the dark. A muffled whimper. Jared held his breath. He swept the light in quick arcs. Huddled figures. Chains glinting. Bodies slumped against the wall. Twelve, maybe more. Bound. Motionless.

He swept the light over their faces. Civilians. Commuters. Torn office clothes, stained and filthy. A few blinked at the light, eyes fluttering. One stirred, muttering words he couldn't catch. Most stayed still. None looked at him.

He moved closer, gun drawn, body tight to the wall. The light swept the room, searching for movement. He crouched beside the nearest prisoner. The man's gaze rolled toward him, glassy and unfocused. Lips trembling.

“Department Seven,” Jared whispered. “Stay quiet. I’m getting you out.”

No response. The man's mouth opened, a hoarse sound scraping out. Half a word, half a sob. His eyes fixed on something far away. Jared was invisible to him.

Jared sent the Dark into the man's mind, searching for a thread. Nothing. Only the sound of waves crashing. A man alone on a rock, staring out at the endless ocean. Longing.

He looked at the others. Some empty, some worse. A woman's head sagged forward, the crown caved in, soft as clay. Not alive. His heart hammered. He tried to explain it. The accident, the crash. No. The wounds were too clean. Too precise.

Others were the same. One slumped at the end, chin to chest. The head hollowed out, a bowl of bone. Empty. The white gleamed in the weak light.

He covered his mouth, fighting the urge to vomit. If he started, he might never stop. The killer would find him here, retching among the dead. He stepped back, mouth dry. Eyes closed, he spun the Dark around himself, pushing back the tide pressing in.

The sound was quiet. A soft scrape of metal moving against metal. He lifted his pistol and flashlight, pointing them towards the source of the sound. There was a ladder in the corner. Rusted bars embedded in the concrete wall marched up towards the ceiling, where a metal hatch stood open. Just beyond the hatch, darkness stretched that his flashlight couldn't reach.

The Dark slammed into him. Pressure behind his eyes. Claws raking his mind. Static jittered through his cybernetics. The flashlight flickered. The abyss opened, hungry, calling him in.

Then it spoke to him. Directly into his mind like words written against the bone of his skull.

“Curious.”

The word pressed into him, heavy with intent. It threaded through his thoughts, weaving deeper, searching. Pain staggered him. He pressed his hand to his head, pistol still gripped tight. The pressure deepened, brushing the edge of the abyss inside. Vision bloomed. Impossible shapes, hidden equations, spiraling out of the Dark and coiling in his mind.

The flashlight beam swayed in front of him, catching a glimpse of a shape descending.

It wasn’t human.

It floated. Long body shrouded in robes. Skin pale. A bulbous head, four tentacles hanging where a mouth should be. The tentacles writhed, tasting the air. It searched for him. No sound as it drifted down. Graceful. Horrific.

He moaned and pointed his pistol at it. “Don’t move,” he said. His voice was steady despite his heart slamming in his chest.

Another wave crashed into his skull. He cried out, stumbling back. The world tilted, sound breaking into white noise. Static filled his vision. A silhouette crawled into the edge of his sight. The flashlight hit the floor, spinning. The creature lit up in pulses, then vanished into darkness.

The thing was coming closer.

It hovered above the ground, tentacles twitching. The nearest survivor flinched away, sensing it in the dark. The creature turned, watching. It regarded the human, head tilted, as if admiring its own work. Then it reached out, thin hand pressing to the man's face.

The man screamed. The creature leaned in, tentacles wrapping his head. A crack, then a wet sound. The creature pulled back. The man's skull was caved in. He slumped, silent, as it let him go.

Blood thickened the air.

Jared screamed and jerked the pistol up. He fired.

The bullet tore through its shoulder. Grey ichor sprayed the wall. It jerked, twisting, too fast. Jared fired again, but the shot went wild as another pulse hit him. He dropped to his knees. Blood trickled from his nose.

He dropped, rolling behind a broken slab of concrete. Breath ragged. Heart pounding in his ears. Thoughts surged. Angry whispers that were not his own.

Leave here.

The Dark unfolded inside him. The abyss stretched wider.

Kneel before your god.

Pressure behind his eyes. The Dark called. Long fingers, gentle, turning through the layers of his mind.

He bit his tongue. Copper flooded his mouth. Pain anchored him. He drew his second pistol.

He rose to fire. Another wave hit. The Dark slipped from his grasp, roiling out in a black tide. It struck the creature. Psychic static snapped, sharp as wire. The creature retreated, moving toward the ladder.

Jared lifted both his pistols and fired. Controlled bursts. Aiming center mass. The rounds struck it in the chest and stomach. It stumbled back against the wall and hissed at him. It wasn't a sound that he heard, but one that bled into his nerves.

Then it was gone.

Jared panted, leaning against the concrete. He stared at the ladder, then the hatch. Metal clanged shut above him.

He stood in the dark. Chest heaving. The flashlight caught the chained bodies. Were any of them still alive?

He wiped blood from his nose, breath shaking. The psychic hum faded from his thoughts. As it ebbed, the abyss closed. The Dark coiled back inside.

Whatever it was, it had nearly killed him. He couldn't let it go. It could be anywhere now. Another tunnel, another line. No way to know. As long as it was out there, it would hunt. It would kill.

He looked at the people chained and slumped in the beam of light.

He reloaded his pistols.

He walked toward the ladder and began to climb.

Rusted bars bit into his palms as he climbed. By the time he reached the top, his hands throbbed. Pulse hammering in his ears. He didn't want to see what waited above, but leaving wasn't an option. This was his job. To face whatever crawled out of the Rifts and threatened the people below.

He needed a new job.

The Dark was restless, spilling from him in thin threads that clung to his skin like hair. He couldn't pull it back in. He tried not to think about what that meant. The threads slid up the ladder ahead of him, probing the darkness, letting him sense it as if with new eyes.

He reached the top.

The hatch was closed. His hand trembled as he gripped it and pushed upward. Weak light spilled down, painting him in pale color. The Dark rushed out, filling the space ahead. He waited. Listening. Only the quiet hum of a machine. No movement.

He shoved it fully open, letting the metal hatch bang against the floor of the room above. He lifted himself into the room. He pulled out both his pistols as he stood up and took in the space around him.

A small space. Once a storage room, now a lair. Warm, thick with the stink of damp mold. Shelves pressed against every wall, each one heavy with books. Loose papers fluttered to the floor, disturbed by the hatch. In the corner, a desk. A laptop glowed, blue and fractured across its cracked screen.

A mattress on the floor, ringed by an odd collection of things. Cell phones. ID cards. Jewelry. Watches. The detritus of human lives, sifted into piles of evidence. On the wall above, symbols were scrawled in chalk. Equations, runes, sigils. They pulsed softly, still humming with spent Dark. The creature was trying to study it, to use it, the way science tried to grasp gravity.

A cable snaked across the floor, vanishing into a patch of darkness in the far corner. An old generator hummed. In the shadows, a long shape hunched over itself.

He leveled his pistols at it. The air thickened, pulsing around him. A gentle pressure brushed his mind. The Dark pushed back.

The shape moved. Unfolded itself from the shadows with deliberate grace. Everything about it was wrong, but there was a strange beauty in the way it moved. Long limbs. Pale skin. The folds of its robe whispered as it rose to its full height and turned. The computer's glow painted blue across its face. Pale head, slick and smooth. Writhing tentacles.

The creature's thoughts slid against his consciousness. It seemed careful now.

"Why do you come?"

He felt the words writing themselves behind his eyes, gentle caresses in the dark. Each one an invitation, seductive and cold. Each word left a residue of longing, sharp and empty.

Still pointing his pistol at it, he answered, “You killed them.” His voice was a rasp. “The people from the train. You fed on them.”

The tentacles twitched.

"They were useful."

The creature tilted its head to one side and blinked slowly.

"Like you, I must feed or die."

Bile rose in his throat. He swallowed hard.

"But we're intelligent. You could eat all kinds of things that aren't."

"It's the intellect that I devour. The experiences and emotions. Everything that makes you human is what sustains me."

Jared fired both pistols.

The shots caught it in the chest. Grey ichor splattered the wall. It didn't fall. It turned, tentacles writhing in agitation. Jared fired again. Again. Each shot found its mark. The air around the creature began to hum, thick with invisible pressure.

Pain slammed into his skull. Lanced through his mind. His vision fragmented, thin layers flaking apart like glass. He staggered back, screaming.

"You are open. You see too much."

The creature stepped forward. Its pale hand extended and long fingers reaching out towards him. Jared could feel it entering his mind. It brushed through the folds of his memories. Moments of his life were dragged up and played out.

Training rooms. Tessa's lifeless body lying in the street. The snowy night that he first summoned the Dark.

He tried to shove the memories back, but the fingers kept pulling, laying everything bare. The Dark writhed, chaotic and roiling, oozing from his skin. The creature caressed the edge of the abyss.

"You don't understand what you hold."

It dug its fingers in and pulled. The maw of the abyss tore open, screaming.

The creature was close now. It lay a hand against his face, just as Tessa had before their kiss. Tentacles crept around his neck and chest.

“Get out of my head,” he hissed.

"Your mind is loud."

The words cut into his thoughts. Tentacles tightened, pulling him closer.

The universe unfolded inside him. The ocean of Dark, ebbing within the abyss, surged through him and out into the room. The wave struck the creature. Books and papers flew from the shelves. The generator smoked, grinding to a halt. The creature's grip slipped away.

For the first time, he didn't fight the Dark. He let it fill him, let it pass through into the small room.

The world shattered into infinite reflection. He dissolved, skin, bone, thought, until there was nothing but the Dark, vast and tidal, rushing through him with the force of creation. Space folded and unfolded in his lungs. Each breath drew in galaxies, exhaled stars into ruin. He tasted the raw mathematics of existence, saw the latticework of reality as veins of light threading the black. Inside every atom, every silence between. The Dark was no longer a tool, no longer something to wield. It was awareness itself, eternal and wordless, whispering the true geometry of everything. The creature was no longer flesh, but a distortion. A wound in the cosmic weave. A scream given shape. The Dark surged toward it, a flood reclaiming lost ground. He drifted in its wake, unmade and remade in the same heartbeat.

As quickly as it came, it was gone. He felt whole. Vital. Everything in its place. Purpose thrumming beneath his skin. He had touched it.

He raised his pistols and fired. Light twisted, bending around the creature. Its outline shifted, melting from reality.

The pressure came again. A fist closing around his thoughts. Vision narrowed to a tunnel. The creature was trying to crush his mind. He felt the edges of himself coming undone. The Dark screamed inside him, reflecting everything he was. Terrified. Desperate.

He let it go.

Darkness poured from him in a black tide. It flooded the room, swallowing the pale light, filling every corner with living shadow. For a moment, nothing but that. Dark meeting mind, colliding, devouring. The creature shrieked, a noise that was not sound but pure thought, flaying the senses.

Shapes flickered in the dark. Impossible geometries. Flashes of alien hunger. He glimpsed the creature’s mind as their forces clashed. Vast caverns. Coldness. Emptiness. A pool of writhing worms. A network of thought. The creature tried to drown him in its history.

He fired blindly through the dark.

One bullet found its mark. The psychic pressure faltered. He surged forward, boots skidding on the slick floor, and emptied the last of his magazine into the creature’s chest. Each shot punctuated by a pulse of Dark, hitting like a hammer. Flesh tore. Robe shredded. The thing reeled back, clawing with invisible hands.

It tried to retreat, levitating toward the open shaft at the back of the chamber. He was faster. He snatched at the Dark swirling around him and hurled it. The makeshift spear pierced the creature’s abdomen, pinning it to the wall. It screamed. Not aloud, but through him, rattling every nerve.

He staggered closer. Blood, thick and gray, splattered across his coat and face. The creature’s limbs twitched. Tentacles curled weakly toward him, almost pleading. For a moment, he saw not a monster but something lost. Something that had built this nest out of desperation, clawing at understanding. An exile, studying its own damnation.

Then he pulled the trigger one last time.

The bullet struck the creature between its pale eyes. Its skull burst inward with a wet, dull sound. The tentacles spasmed once and then went still. The psychic hum in the air faded into nothing.

He stood there for a long time, chest heaving. The smell of burned ozone and blood clung to everything. The Dark settled slowly back into him, whispering as it coiled into the hollow spaces of his body.

He looked around the room. Walls pocked with bullet holes. Shelves overturned. The computer’s screen flickered once, then died. He could still feel the echo of its mind brushing against his. Fragmented images, equations, thoughts hanging in the air like ghosts.

He approached the desk. Notebooks lay scattered, filled with cramped, alien handwriting. Diagrams of circles within circles. Sketches of human faces beside dissected brains. He didn't touch them. He should take the evidence, but something in them radiated the same quiet malice that had filled the creature’s thoughts.

He holstered his weapons. The Dark hummed low in his chest.

The creature’s body sagged against the wall, blood pooling around the baseboards, steaming faintly in the cold air. He turned away, limping toward the ladder. The smell of blood and gunpowder followed him up into the silence of the tunnels below.