The tunnel leading from the sanctuary beneath the library was a winding, claustrophobic passage that seemed to shift and breathe around them. Kaelen followed Roland's broad back, the former guard moving with practiced efficiency despite the uncertain terrain. The crystallized fragments in the pouch at Kaelen's hip pulsed with entropic energy, a constant reminder of the hunger that lurked within him, temporarily sated but never truly gone.
"How did you become an Anomaly?" Kaelen asked, breaking the tense silence that had accompanied them since leaving the others behind. The question had been gnawing at him, almost as persistent as the hunger itself. Understanding the others' transformations might provide insight into his own.
Roland didn't slow his pace or turn around. "Was part of the first response team," he said, his deep voice echoing in the narrow tunnel. "Not Mercer's squad. We were sent to evacuate civilians from the Old Quarter when the Tower first appeared." A tremor entered his voice, barely perceptible. "Saw things... changing. People dissolving. Buildings twisting into shapes that hurt to look at." He paused, ducking beneath a low-hanging pipe that dripped a viscous, iridescent fluid. "Then the hunger hit. Like being hollowed out from the inside. Most of my squad turned on each other, started... feeding. I ran. Found Thorne and Voss already holed up in the library. They'd been studying the phenomenon since before the military even acknowledged it."
"And Vex?" Kaelen pressed, sensing a deeper story there.
"Showed up later. Never talks about before." Roland's tone made it clear that line of questioning was closed. "We should conserve energy. The surface is... worse than when you last saw it."
They continued in silence, the tunnel gradually sloping upward. The air grew thinner, charged with a strange electricity that made the hairs on Kaelen's arms stand on end. The hunger stirred within him, responding to the proximity of entropic energy. He reached into the pouch, fingers closing around one of the crystallized fragments. The mere touch was enough to dull the craving, though he knew from Dr. Voss's instructions that he would need to consume it fully if the hunger became overwhelming.
After what felt like hours but could have been minutes—time was increasingly subjective in this unmade world—they reached a heavy metal door. Roland paused, his green eyes glowing more intensely in the darkness.
"Remember," he said, turning to face Kaelen for the first time since they'd entered the tunnel, "what you're about to see isn't reality as you knew it. The unmaking has accelerated. The laws of physics, of perception... they're suggestions at best out there now." His expression hardened, the glow in his eyes intensifying. "Trust nothing. Not your eyes, not your ears, not even your thoughts. The only constant is the hunger. Use it as an anchor if you must, but don't let it control you."
Kaelen nodded, tightening his grip on the revolver he'd recovered from the plaza. It felt inadequate against the horrors that awaited, but its weight was reassuring nonetheless.
Roland pushed open the door, and the crimson light of the alien moon flooded in, along with a cacophony of sounds that defied description—whispers that seemed to emanate from the air itself, the groaning of buildings as they twisted into impossible geometries, and underneath it all, a low, pulsing hum that Kaelen recognized as the Tower's heartbeat.
They emerged into what had once been an alleyway but was now a twisting corridor of melted brick and flowing stone. The buildings on either side had merged and transformed, their facades rippling like liquid, windows becoming eyes that blinked and tracked their movement. The sky above was a churning sea of crimson and black, the moon a bloated, watching presence that seemed to have grown larger since Kaelen had last seen it.
And there, dominating the horizon, was the Tower. It had changed too. No longer a simple obsidian silhouette, it now pulsed with veins of crimson light that ran up its surface like arteries, pumping some unknown substance into the sky. Its form seemed more organic now, less architectural, as if it were growing rather than built.
"It's evolving," Kaelen whispered, the scholar in him momentarily overriding his fear. "Adapting."
"Like us," Roland agreed grimly. "Come on. The museum is this way. Stay close. The twisted ones hunt in packs now."
They moved through the transformed cityscape, Roland leading them along what he called "stable paths"—routes where reality remained somewhat consistent, where the unmaking had settled into new, albeit alien, patterns. Kaelen's enhanced perception, further sharpened by his consumption of Marcus, allowed him to see these paths as faint, shimmering threads in the fabric of the distorted reality around them.
The journey was a nightmare of surreal horror. They passed a plaza where gravity had reversed, debris and the dissolved remains of citizens floating upward into the crimson sky. They skirted a building that had become a massive, pulsating organ, its windows transformed into mouths that whispered equations and theorems in languages Kaelen almost recognized. At one point, they were forced to cross a street where time itself had fractured, different segments moving at different speeds—Roland appeared to age decades and then revert to youth in the span of seconds as they sprinted across.
Throughout it all, the hunger within Kaelen grew stronger, more insistent. The crystallized fragments helped, but they were a poor substitute for the raw, chaotic energy that surrounded them. He found himself eyeing the pulsating veins of entropic power that ran through the transformed buildings, the shimmering motes of dissolved reality that drifted through the air like spores. Roland seemed to notice his distraction.
"Focus," the former guard growled. "We're getting close."
The museum loomed before them, a once-grand neoclassical structure that had been warped by the unmaking into something that defied architectural logic. Its columns had twisted into spirals that seemed to drill into the sky, its dome had inverted and now plunged into the building like a massive funnel. The stone itself had taken on a translucent quality, revealing shadowy movements within—whether artifacts coming to life or twisted ones seeking shelter, Kaelen couldn't tell.
"There's something you should know," Roland said as they crouched behind a fallen statue, studying the museum's entrance. "Thorne didn't tell you everything about this place."
Kaelen felt a chill that had nothing to do with the entropic energies swirling around them. "What do you mean?"
"The museum isn't just a repository of ancient texts. It was also the site of Thorne's early experiments. Before the Tower appeared." Roland's green eyes were hard, unreadable. "He was studying dimensional
boundaries, trying to pierce the veil between realities. Some of us think he might have succeeded. That he might have... invited something through."
The implication hung in the air between them, heavy with accusation. "You think Thorne caused this? The Tower? The unmaking?"
"I don't know," Roland admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But Vex believes it. That's why there's tension between them. Vex was... connected to someone who worked with Thorne. Someone who disappeared during one of the experiments."
Kaelen processed this, his scholar's mind racing. If Thorne had indeed pierced the dimensional boundary, if he had somehow facilitated the Tower's emergence... "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because you need to understand what you're walking into. The museum might contain answers, yes. But it might also contain evidence. And I'm not sure which Thorne wants more—understanding the Tower, or erasing his connection to its appearance." Roland checked his makeshift weapon, a metal pipe that had been sharpened to a wicked point. "Just keep your eyes open. And remember, Thorne might be an ally, but that doesn't make him a friend."
Before Kaelen could respond, a keening wail split the air—the hunting cry of the twisted ones. Roland tensed, his eyes scanning the distorted landscape. "They've caught our scent. We need to move. Now."
They abandoned their cover, sprinting toward the museum's entrance. The massive doors, once solid bronze, had melted and reformed into a pulsating membrane that rippled like water. Roland didn't hesitate, plunging through the surface with Kaelen close behind. The sensation was nauseating—like passing through warm, viscous liquid that clung to every inch of his body before releasing him.
They emerged into what had once been the museum's grand foyer. The space had been transformed beyond recognition. The floor undulated in gentle waves, as if they stood on the surface of a calm sea. The ceiling had dissolved entirely, opening to a void that was neither the crimson sky outside nor any recognizable space—a swirling abyss of colors and shapes that defied comprehension. Display cases lined the walls, their glass fronts intact but the contents within shifting and changing, artifacts transforming from one form to another in a continuous cycle of unmaking and remaking.
"The texts we need would be in the Pre-Imperial wing," Roland said, his voice hushed. "East side of the building. If it still exists."
They moved cautiously through the transformed museum, each gallery presenting new horrors and wonders. In one room, statues had come to life, locked in eternal, slow-motion combat, their stone limbs moving with glacial inevitability. In another, a collection of ancient weapons floated in the air, occasionally firing or swinging at invisible opponents. The hunger within Kaelen grew with each step, the entropic energies here more concentrated, more refined than in the chaotic streets outside.
"Roland," he said, his voice strained, "I need to... the hunger..."
The former guard glanced back, understanding in his green eyes. "Use a fragment. Quickly. We can't afford to have you lose control in here."
Kaelen fumbled with the pouch, extracting a crystallized fragment. Unlike the first time, when Dr. Voss had handed him one in the sanctuary, he now knew what to expect. He pressed the fragment against his palm, feeling the initial resistance before it dissolved into his being. The rush of entropic energy was immediate, a cool wave that temporarily quenched the burning hunger within. His perception
sharpened further, the patterns of unmaking and remaking around them becoming more distinct, more comprehensible.
"Better?" Roland asked.
Kaelen nodded, though "better" wasn't quite the right word. The fragment had sated the hunger, yes, but it had also heightened his awareness of the Tower's presence. He could feel it now, not just as a distant, watching entity, but as a pervasive consciousness that permeated every molecule of the unmade reality around them. And it was aware of him, too. Aware and... interested.
They continued through the transformed museum, following Roland's memory of the layout, though the unmaking had rendered much of it unrecognizable. Corridors twisted back on themselves, rooms expanded into impossible dimensions or contracted to claustrophobic proportions. Time seemed to stutter and jump, moments repeating or skipping entirely.
Finally, they reached what Roland identified as the Pre-Imperial wing. The transformation here was different, more controlled. The room had expanded into a vast, circular chamber that hadn't existed in the original museum. At its center stood a pedestal, and on that pedestal, a single artifact—a tablet of black stone, covered in glyphs that shifted and moved as if alive.
"That's it," Roland breathed. "The Entropic Codex. Thorne mentioned it, but I didn't think... I didn't think it would still be intact."
Kaelen approached the pedestal cautiously, drawn by an inexplicable familiarity. The glyphs on the tablet seemed to respond to his presence, their movements becoming more agitated, more purposeful. As he drew closer, he realized with a shock that he could read them. Not through any knowledge of ancient languages, but through a direct, intuitive understanding that bypassed conventional comprehension.
"It's a record," he said, his voice distant to his own ears. "A record of previous unmakings. Previous Towers. This has happened before. Many times."
Roland joined him at the pedestal, his expression wary. "What does it say? About how to stop it?"
Kaelen's fingers hovered over the tablet's surface, not quite touching. The glyphs rearranged themselves continuously, telling different parts of the same ancient story. "It says... the Tower is a bridge. A conduit between our reality and... something else. Something that exists in the spaces between universes. It calls it 'The Crimson Court.' A collective entity that feeds on dying realities."
"Feeds?" Roland's voice was tight. "Like we feed on entropic energy?"
"Yes. No. It's more complex." Kaelen struggled to translate the alien concepts. "The Court doesn't just consume. It... transforms. Elevates. It selects certain beings from the dying reality—Anomalies—to join its ranks. To become part of the Court."
"The becoming," Roland muttered. "That's what Vex keeps talking about."
Kaelen nodded, the pieces falling into place. "The hunger, the consumption... they're tests. Ways for the Court to identify suitable candidates. Those who can control the hunger, who can harness entropic energy without losing themselves entirely... they're offered ascension."
"And the rest?" Roland asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"Consumed. Along with the reality itself." Kaelen's fingers finally made contact with the tablet, and a jolt of energy surged through him. Images flooded his mind—other worlds, other Towers, other unmakings. And faces. Countless faces of beings who had stood where he now stood, reading the same record, making the same discovery. Some had accepted the Court's offer. Others had fought against it. All had been transformed, one way or another.
And then, cutting through the visions, a voice. Not spoken aloud, but resonating directly in his mind. A voice he recognized from the courtyard, from his dreams. The Tower's voice.
Harbinger. Seed of change. You walk the path of many before you. But your journey is unique. Your choice will reshape the Court itself.
Kaelen jerked his hand away from the tablet, gasping. Roland steadied him, concern evident in his green eyes.
"What happened? What did you see?"
Before Kaelen could answer, a new sound reached them—the wet, slithering movement of multiple bodies. The twisted ones had found them. Roland cursed, readying his weapon.
"We need to go. Now. Did you learn enough? Did it say how to stop the unmaking?"
Kaelen stared at the tablet, the glyphs still shifting, still telling their ancient story. "It doesn't work that way," he said slowly. "The unmaking can't be stopped. It can only be... directed. Shaped. Through the choices of the Anomalies. Through our choices."
The sounds of the twisted ones grew closer, their keening wails echoing through the transformed museum. Roland grabbed Kaelen's arm. "Philosophical debates later. Survival now. We need to get this information back to the others."
Kaelen nodded, but as they turned to flee, he hesitated. The tablet... he couldn't leave it. Not when it contained so much knowledge, so many answers. Without conscious thought, his hand reached out again, touching the black stone. And this time, something impossible happened. The tablet dissolved, not into the multi-colored particles of the unmaking, but into a stream of dark energy that flowed directly into Kaelen's palm, absorbed into his being just as he had absorbed Marcus's essence.
Roland stared in shock. "What did you just do?"
Kaelen looked at his hand, feeling the tablet's knowledge integrating with his consciousness, becoming part of him. "I don't know. I just... needed it. And it responded."
The former guard's expression hardened. "We definitely need to get you back to Thorne and the others now. Come on."
They turned to leave, but the exit was blocked. A figure stood in the doorway, tall and imposing in the tattered remains of a military uniform. His face was partially dissolved, revealing a skull-like visage with eyes that burned with crimson fire. Behind him, more twisted ones gathered, their forms shifting and pulsing with entropic energy.
"Captain Mercer," Roland whispered, recognition and horror mingling in his voice.
The figure tilted its head, studying them with predatory focus. When it spoke, its voice was a rasping, multi-toned abomination. "Roland. You abandoned your post. Your duty." Its gaze shifted to Kaelen. "And you. The harbinger. The Tower has marked you. The Court watches."
Kaelen felt the hunger surge within him, responding to the presence of this powerful Anomaly. But there was something else too—a recognition. The tablet's knowledge, now part of him, identified Mercer not just as a twisted one, but as something more. A failed candidate for ascension, now serving as a hunter for the Court.
"We need to get past him," Roland muttered, his weapon ready. "Any ideas?"
Kaelen assessed their options. The chamber had only one entrance, now blocked by Mercer and his twisted followers. Fighting seemed inevitable. But perhaps there was another way.
"Captain Mercer," he said, stepping forward. "The Court has chosen me. I seek audience with the Tower."
Mercer's burning eyes narrowed. "Many claim to be chosen. Few are worthy." He extended a hand, fingers elongated into claw-like appendages. "Prove your worth, harbinger. Consume or be consumed."
The challenge was clear. Kaelen felt the hunger roar within him, eager for the confrontation. The tablet's knowledge whispered strategies, patterns of consumption that might work against this powerful adversary. But there was risk. Mercer was no ordinary twisted one. He had been a military commander, a leader. His essence would be potent, complex... potentially overwhelming.
"Kaelen," Roland warned, "don't do it. We can fight our way out."
But Kaelen knew better. The twisted ones outnumbered them. And Mercer... Mercer was too powerful for conventional combat. This was a test. The Court's test. And he had to pass it.
"Stay back," he told Roland. "Whatever happens, don't interfere."
He stepped forward, meeting Mercer's burning gaze. The hunger within him surged, no longer a void to be filled but a weapon to be wielded. The tablet's knowledge guided him, showing him patterns of entropic energy, weaknesses in Mercer's transformed being.
"I accept your challenge, Captain," Kaelen said, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him. "But know this—I am not like the others you've hunted. I am the harbinger. And I will not be consumed."
Mercer's lipless mouth twisted into a grotesque smile. "We shall see."
The twisted captain lunged with inhuman speed, claws extended. Kaelen didn't dodge. Instead, he reached out, his own hands glowing with a cold, blue light—a manifestation of the void within him, the stillness that had saved him from the initial unmaking.
Their hands met in a clash of entropic energies. Crimson fire against cold, blue void. The contact sent a shockwave through the chamber, knocking the other twisted ones back. Roland braced himself against the pedestal, watching in awe and horror.
Kaelen felt Mercer's essence—powerful, chaotic, corrupted by the Court's influence. But the tablet's knowledge guided him, showing him how to counter the captain's entropic signature with his own. This wasn't just consumption; it was a battle of wills, of patterns, of entropic mastery.
For a moment, they were locked in stalemate, neither able to consume the other. Then Kaelen found it—a flaw in Mercer's pattern, a remnant of his human self that had never fully integrated with the Court's influence. He focused his will on that point, his cold void expanding, encircling Mercer's crimson fire.
The captain's eyes widened in shock as he felt himself being consumed. "Impossible," he rasped. "You cannot... you are not..."
"I am the harbinger," Kaelen said, his voice resonating with power he didn't fully understand. "And you will serve a greater purpose than mere hunting."
With a final surge of will, Kaelen completed the consumption. Mercer's form dissolved, not into the chaotic particles of the unmaking, but into a stream of crimson energy that flowed into Kaelen's being. The knowledge, the power, the memories—all became part of him, integrated into the void within.
The other twisted ones recoiled, their keening wails now tinged with fear. They scattered, fleeing from the chamber, from the being who had consumed their leader.
Kaelen staggered, overwhelmed by the influx of new power, new knowledge. Mercer's memories flooded his consciousness—the military response to the Tower's appearance, the failed assault, the captain's transformation and subsequent service to the Court. And with those memories came understanding—of the Court's hierarchy, of the Tower's purpose, of the true nature of the unmaking.
Roland approached cautiously, his weapon still ready. "Kaelen? Are you... still you?"
Kaelen turned to him, aware that his eyes now glowed with a mixture of blue and crimson light. "Yes," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "But I'm also... more. I understand now. I know what the Tower wants. What the Court is planning."
"Then we definitely need to get back to the others," Roland said. "Can you travel?"
Kaelen nodded, feeling a new strength flowing through him. Mercer's essence had been powerful, but unlike Marcus, it hadn't threatened to overwhelm his identity. The tablet's knowledge had guided him, shown him how to integrate the captain's power without losing himself.
"The path is clear now," he said, seeing the stable routes through the chaos with newfound clarity. "I can lead us back."
They left the chamber, moving through the transformed museum with renewed purpose. The twisted ones avoided them now, sensing the power Kaelen radiated after consuming their leader. The journey back through the unmade city was easier, faster, as if the entropic energies themselves were parting before them.
As they approached the hidden entrance to the sanctuary, Kaelen felt a growing unease. The tablet's knowledge, combined with Mercer's memories, painted a disturbing picture of Thorne's involvement with the Tower's appearance. And now he was returning with that knowledge, with power that might threaten the professor's plans.
"Roland," he said as they paused before the final approach, "if what I learned is true, if Thorne did somehow facilitate the Tower's emergence..."
"Then we deal with it," the former guard said grimly. "Together. But first, we need to hear his side. There may be more to this than even the tablet showed you."
Kaelen nodded, though the hunger within him—now a controlled, purposeful force rather than a desperate craving—whispered caution. The becoming had accelerated with his consumption of Mercer. He was changing, evolving into something beyond a mere Anomaly. And with that evolution came
responsibility—to understand the truth, to make choices that would shape not just his own fate, but the fate of this reality and perhaps the Court itself.
As they descended into the tunnels beneath the library, the Tower's presence remained with him, a constant, watching awareness. It had called him harbinger, seed of change. Now he needed to understand why, and what role he was meant to play in the cosmic drama unfolding around them.
The becoming had only just begun.