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The Weight of Unrest
🕑 Added 2025-03-30 03:30:02 +0000 UTCThe engine hold was quiet, save for the faint hum of machinery and the soft whir of the ship’s ancient systems. Cassian stood at the threshold, watching Magos Farren work. The Tech-Priest moved with mechanical precision, mechadendrites gliding across control panels, his hunched form half-merged with the mass of cables and conduits. The cold lumen glow painted his metallic body in shades of steel and shadow.
Cassian stepped inside. “Magos.”
Farren’s head turned with a quiet hiss of servos, the crimson glow of his eye settling on Cassian. “Initiate Vail,” Farren rasped, voice flat, synthetic. “Your presence is unanticipated.”
“I needed to talk.” Cassian’s voice was steady, but the weight behind it was undeniable.
Farren regarded him for a moment before turning back to his work. “Proceed.”
Cassian leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed. “Something’s wrong.” He glanced around the chamber, as if the walls themselves could hear him. “The ship. The crew. This planet. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”
Farren’s movements paused for a fraction of a second — almost imperceptible. “Clarify.”
Cassian exhaled slowly. “People forgetting things. Arguments over conversations they don’t remember. Supplies vanishing. Schedules lost. It’s not just coincidence. Something’s… off.” He hesitated, then added, “It feels like the world’s unraveling.”
Farren’s red lens flickered. “Biological minds are prone to error. Memory degradation is common.”
Cassian pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “This isn’t simple forgetfulness.” His voice lowered. “It’s too familiar.”
The Magos turned fully, mechadendrites curling slightly. “You refer to the events of your previous world.”
Cassian’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”
There was a beat of silence, filled only by the low hum of the ship’s core. Farren’s gaze didn’t waver. “Survivor’s bias. Psychological trauma. Familiarity breeds patterns, even where none exist.”
Cassian shook his head. “I know what I felt.” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t seem concerned.”
Farren tilted his head. “Concern is inefficient.” A mechanical limb clicked softly against the console. “Observation. Analysis. Action. Emotion is irrelevant.”
Cassian studied him, the flickering light casting deep shadows across the Magos’s augmetic features. “You don’t feel it, do you?” His voice was quiet. “That’s why you’re so calm. You’ve replaced everything that could sense it.”
Farren was silent.
Cassian looked away. “Maybe I should envy that.”
The hum of the machinery filled the void between them. After a moment, Farren spoke. “The ship’s machine spirit is restless.” His voice was even, but there was something beneath it. “There are… inconsistencies. Minor. Not statistically significant.” He paused. “Yet.”
Cassian closed his eyes for a moment. Even the Tech-Priest noticed. That wasn’t comforting.
Farren’s lens focused on him once more. “You are fatigued.”
“No kidding.” Cassian’s tone was dry.
“Rest is advisable. Cognitive function degrades without proper maintenance.”
Cassian exhaled through his nose. “I’ll manage.”
Farren regarded him in silence. Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, “Do not die.”
Cassian blinked. “That’s… unexpectedly considerate.”
Farren’s mechadendrites twitched. “You possess data of some value. Your loss would be… inconvenient.”
Cassian pushed off the bulkhead, shaking his head faintly. “Good to know.”
As he walked back into the corridor, the cold hum of the ship followed him into the dark.
—-
Cassian stepped off the ship, the heavy air of the city settling over him like a shroud. The ship’s hull loomed behind him, cold and lifeless, but the city stretched out ahead — crooked buildings and dim lights casting long shadows in the streets. The ground felt wrong beneath his boots. Too still. Too quiet. Even the hum of distant machinery seemed muted, like the world was holding its breath.
He pushed forward, his mind already reaching out, feeling the edges of his telepathy scrape against the surface thoughts of those around him. It was easier now, almost instinctual, but that wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed to dig deeper. Cassian closed his eyes, steadying his breath, and pushed his will outward.
The world darkened.
His mind dove inward, a twisting descent into his own memories. Flashes of his past flickered before him — the hive city, the Scriptorum, the blood, the screams. Each memory sharpened under his scrutiny, details unraveling, as if seen through a lens that stripped away all illusion. He pressed further, combing through his thoughts with a ruthless focus. He wasn’t just remembering; he was reliving. Every decision, every step that led him here, scrutinized in perfect clarity.
Not enough.
Cassian pushed harder, the Warp answering his call. Power surged through his veins, cold and burning all at once. His perception widened, stretching past the walls of his mind, slipping into the thoughts of the ship’s crew. The first minds he touched were shallow, surface thoughts flickering like candle flames — duty, hunger, fear. He slipped deeper, threading his awareness through their subconscious, chasing fragmented memories.
Faces blurred. Names forgotten. Something was missing.
Cassian’s grip tightened. The air thickened. Sweat beaded down his forehead. His pulse hammered in his ears as he pushed further. He needed to see. He had to see.
The city unfolded around him, a thousand thoughts blooming in his mind like a cacophony of whispers. The people — their memories — they were wrong. Gaps where there should be recollection. Whole days missing. Names evaporating mid-thought. It was like staring into a mirror only to find a stranger staring back. Cassian clenched his jaw, pressing deeper, his vision darkening as he touched the very edges of their minds.
Then he saw it.
A flicker. A glimpse.
The veil parted, and reality shifted. The city twisted, its true form bleeding through the cracks of perception. The buildings stretched unnaturally, their angles wrong, as if space itself was warping. Colors bled into each other, hues his mind couldn’t comprehend. The sky darkened, swirling with shadows that moved with purpose. The air grew colder, heavier. The streets writhed, flesh and stone merging into impossible shapes.
And the people… the people weren’t people anymore.
They stood frozen, their eyes hollow, their bodies shifting under his gaze — flickering between human forms and twisted mockeries of flesh and metal. Limbs elongated. Faces melted into masks of bone and shadow. The whispers grew louder, curling around his mind like tendrils, each voice promising secrets, knowledge, power.
Cassian staggered, clutching his head. The Warp pressed against him, a tide of madness threatening to pull him under. He felt them now — daemons. Shadows coiling at the edges of reality, pushing against the thin veil. They felt him too. Hungry. Watching. Waiting.
No.
Cassian grit his teeth and shoved back. His will surged, raw and desperate, slamming the door shut on the horrors clawing at his mind. The world snapped back into focus — the twisted city gone, the people once again dull and lifeless. The whispers faded, leaving only silence.
Agony ripped through him. His nose bled freely, crimson dripping onto the cold ground. His head throbbed, each heartbeat a spike of pain. He gasped, barely holding himself upright as the backlash rolled over him. The Warp receded, but its mark lingered — a cold weight in his chest, a whisper at the back of his mind.
He stumbled forward, his vision swimming. The city looked the same, but it wasn’t. He’d seen the truth. Beneath the facade, beneath the normalcy, this place was already lost. The planet was a daemon world. A world of changer of ways.
Cassian steadied himself, wiping the blood from his face. His breathing slowed. His hands trembled, but his mind… his mind was clear. The game had changed. He wasn’t just fighting to survive anymore.
He was already in the eye of the storm.
---
Cassian’s breathing was ragged. His hands trembled, fingers curling and uncurling as if trying to claw the memory out of his mind. The Warp… the daemon world… the twisted, maddening truth of this planet — it gnawed at him. Even now, shadows slithered at the edge of his vision, a lingering echo of what he’d seen. His head throbbed violently. Every pulse of pain was like a white-hot nail driven into his skull.
But he pushed forward. One step after another. The metallic corridors blurred past him, and his legs felt leaden, every movement an effort. His mind strained under the weight of the psychic backlash. That… thing had seen him. He could still feel its gaze, as if unseen talons were gently pressing against his soul, testing for cracks.
He needed answers. And there was only one person who might have them.
The doors to Magos Farren’s quarters hissed open.
The Tech-Priest was where Cassian expected him — hunched over a cogitator, mechadendrites slithering over rows of glowing data-slates. The dim red glow of his optics turned towards Cassian. The faint hum of servo-motors accompanied his movements, mechanical fingers tapping out inscrutable calculations.
“Magos,” Cassian’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I need to know the state of the ship.”
Farren’s movements paused for a moment before resuming. “You are distressed.” The voice was flat, the metallic rasp of his vox-grill void of empathy.
“Of course I’m damned distressed.” Cassian rubbed his face, forcing himself to breathe. “The world outside isn’t real. It’s… it’s wrong. And the crew… they don’t even realize it.” He took a step closer. “I need to know. Is the ship operational? Can we leave?”
Farren tilted his head, his optics flickering. Then, with the soft whir of servos, he gestured to a nearby console. A holo-display flickered to life, casting eerie shadows against the bulkhead. Cassian squinted at the data scrolling past. At first, it made little sense — lines of binharic script and technical readouts flashing in rapid succession. Then the pieces fell into place.
“No…” Cassian whispered.
“Departure is impossible,” Farren stated calmly. “The ship is… compromised.”
Cassian stared at the readout. Systems failing one by one. Corrupted data streams. Bio-readings fluctuating unnaturally. The ship’s Machine Spirit itself — twisted.
“What do you mean, ‘compromised’?” Cassian forced the words out.
Farren regarded him for a long moment. “The ship is transforming.”
Cassian felt his stomach drop. “Transforming into what?”
“The term ‘daemonic engine’ would be the closest approximation.” Farren’s tone remained neutral, as if discussing routine maintenance. “Infection is subtle. Progressive. The Machine Spirit is… no longer what it once was.” His optics flickered. “I did not disclose this earlier because I calculated the psychological toll it would take. You seemed… hopeful.”
Cassian nearly laughed. Hopeful. Right. His hands balled into fists, nails biting into his palms. “And you? You’re just standing here, watching everything unravel, and you’re calm?”
Farren tilted his head again. “Emotion is inefficient. I have shed most of it. What remains is… manageable.”
Cassian stared at him, trying to comprehend that level of detachment. A part of him almost envied it. Another part wanted to scream. Instead, he just closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He couldn’t think. The pounding in his skull wouldn’t stop. Every muscle in his body felt like it was trying to tear itself apart. Even standing upright was a struggle.
“…I need to rest.” The words felt foreign on his tongue, but he could barely keep his eyes open. His mind felt like it had been wrung dry. “We’ll talk later.”
Farren didn’t respond. Cassian turned and left.
The walk back to his quarters was a blur. His body moved on instinct, each step heavier than the last. By the time he reached his cot, his legs gave out. He collapsed onto the thin mattress, his breath shallow. The darkness swallowed him whole before his head even hit the pillow.
And for a while, there was silence.
—-
Word count: 1923
Comments
Silim
I guess the only option right now is to do a desperate warp jump with this ship and then quickly find a lost vessel that doesn't have a corrupted Machine Spirit. Or some other risky action. Yeah, Cassian is fucked alright
Rowan
Holy fuck thats not good. More ^,..,^
Kratos5628
I mean he strained his powers too much. His mind and body are both aching. He just doesn't has enough faculty to ask his armour.
Darth Bane
Can't wait to see how gets out of this.
Rokyes_Lt
If Cassian knows that the world is corrupted why didn't he ask Farren for his power armour back? In his place I would feel naked without it right about now
