After some time drifting in the haze of waking, I heard the screech of heavy doors grinding open.
A sound—one I couldn't yet identify—made itself known to me.
Screams.
Screams of all kinds.
Terror gripped me, a darkness second only to the one that had swallowed me in the void.
Then came a voice—a murmuring that chilled me to my core.
Cruelty and madness pulsed through every syllable.
"Dead again. Weak," the voice growled, irritation dripping from its tone—as if death was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
Another voice followed, trembling and fearful.
It belonged to someone who sounded terrified, like a servant trying not to displease a monster.
"W-We have found one, Master Moulder Skrull. A strong one... for you."
Silence. A long, dreadful silence.
Then the mad voice—the one called Skrull—hissed.
"Chief Vruk..."
The name was spoken with layered emotion: anger, disdain, perhaps even hunger. But most of all—impatience.
Vruk squeaked, nearly dropping the bundle in his claws.
"Y-yes-yes, Glorious Master Skrull!" he chattered, tail flicking nervously. "I bring gift-gift! New subject, fresh-fresh! Not like dead-thing trash-rot, no-no! This one has flesh—warm, twitching, still alive! Perfect for your work, yes-yes!"
A pause followed—deep and heavy. The air crackled with tension. Claws scraped against something metal.
Skrull's voice slithered through the dark.
"You bring filth-flesh again, Vruk? Waste my time like mewling fool?"
"N-no! Never, Master of Flesh-Craft!" Vruk whimpered. "This one is good! Strong meat-flesh, intact bones, still breathing, yes! Could be use-useful for your great designs, yes-yes! You see-see!"
A low, clicking growl echoed from the shadows.
Then—silence.
The only sound left was the pounding of my own heart—and the terrified wheezing of Vruk, who stood trembling as if ice was crawling up his back.
"Give flesh-thing here, fool! Fool!"
I felt Skrull grab me roughly from Vruk's arms.
A yelp left my lips as Skrull's claws dug into my flesh.
The next moment, the smell of blood—and what could only be rotten flesh—hit me like a two-ton truck, and I recoiled.
"Good, good. Nice! Big! Big!"
I could not see him, yet I could feel his gaze dissect me with the eagerness of a child who has found his new favorite toy.
"Good, good. It seems you—you will not be following your predecessor."
A cruel, joyful cackle filled the room like the shadow of an unspoken threat—and a terrible fate avoided.
Yet the cruel laughter was disturbed by the sound of footsteps growing louder.
"Great master, I bring news."
"WHAT IS IT!?"
"Forgive me, great and wise Lord Moulder…"
I heard the new voice trying to backtrack, whimpering all the way.
"Shut up, fool-fool! Tell me what you came here for, before I skin-skin you alive!"
"Yes, great lord—lord! Five of our patrols were found—found dead-dead near the border, tunnel with Clan—Clan Dregg!"