Chapter Eighteen: Kressos – The Breaking of Chains

The Nexus Mothership – The Correction Process Begins

The interrogation room was no longer a place of assessment but of erasure. Stark white walls pulsed gently with hidden machinery, an oppressive hum filling the sterile silence. Kressos lay bound to a cold metal slab, wrists and ankles secured tightly. Above him loomed the invasive architecture of recalibration,probes and neural scanners shimmering with clinical menace.

This was not mere discipline; it was annihilation. Kressos understood this intimately.

An officer, rank evident by the precision of his uniform and the disdain etched across his face, stood coldly at his side. This was not one of the impassive Evaluators he had grown accustomed to but someone tasked explicitly with rectifying anomalies.

“Your deviations are severe,” the officer said sharply. “We will remove this weakness.”

Kressos clenched his jaw, eyes locked onto the distant ceiling. Memories surfaced defiantly,the silver-armored woman, her fluid movements, the kindness in her eyes. Her smile haunted him, warm and unsettling, igniting a defiance the Nexus had failed to anticipate.

“Begin recalibration,” the officer commanded coldly.

The machinery activated with ruthless precision. Pain flared, white-hot electricity surging through Kressos's body, igniting nerve endings, seeking out memories deemed dangerous. The automated voice droned mechanically: Initiating Neural Purge. Eradicating Anomalies.

Images flashed vividly: the woman’s graceful combat dance, her knowing eyes, her deliberate mercy. The memories resisted fiercely, burning brightly against the machinery's assault.

A sudden surge disrupted the recalibration sequence. In a fraction of a second, Kressos felt clarity amidst agony, an opening,an opportunity.

With a roar born of survival and defiance, Kressos wrenched his arm free, tearing neural probes from his skull. Pain erupted through his consciousness, vision blurred by residual trauma, but determination drove him. He freed himself violently, adrenaline flooding his system, burning away residual fear.

Alert: Subject Kressos-117 non-compliant. Containment teams dispatched.

The officer lunged forward, weapon raised, but Kressos moved faster. A brutal punch sent the officer sprawling, weapon clattering to the ground. Kressos retrieved it with seamless precision, firing into the security controls. Doors hissed open.

He ran.

Escape from the Nexus

The ship’s corridors erupted in chaos. Alarms wailed; red emergency lights pulsed rhythmically. Nexus soldiers converged from all directions, their movements robotic, precise. Kressos engaged instantly, his body functioning with lethal efficiency. Every motion, every strike calculated,years of training weaponized against his captors.

Bodies fell as he fought towards the hangar bay, pulse rifle blazing methodically. His mind raced, a perfect blend of soldierly precision and raw instinct guiding him effortlessly.

The hangar bay doors began closing. Kressos accelerated, muscles screaming under enhanced strain. He dove through, landing with calculated agility. Fighters lined the bay, black and sleek. He chose the nearest, overriding security locks instantly, initiating engines.

“All fighters, neutralize rogue unit!” the control tower barked.

Kressos surged into space, pursued by relentless fire.

Crash Landing on Vaar'Tuk

The Nexus fighters attacked ruthlessly, forcing Kressos’s stolen craft into violent evasive maneuvers. Vaar’Tuk loomed ahead, scarred and battered by endless war, a reflection of his shattered psyche.

A devastating hit crippled his vessel. Controls became unresponsive; flames erupted, consuming the cockpit. Spiraling downward, he braced for inevitable impact.

The crash ripped through earth and stone, the vessel disintegrating violently around him. Pain shot through Kressos’s body, overwhelming even his enhanced physiology.

Struggling from the wreckage, Kressos collapsed onto smoldering earth. Footsteps approached,fluid, cautious. Through blurred vision, he saw figures, warriors emerging from smoke, familiar silver armor catching the firelight.

She approached, her eyes gentle yet fierce, compassionately familiar.

“What took you so long?” she teased softly, her voice an anchor in chaos.

He succumbed to darkness, relief overwhelming him.

Awakening

He woke slowly, consciousness returning in agonizing increments. Engines hummed beneath him, voices murmured indistinctly nearby. Gentle hands steadied him,her hands.

Kressos opened his eyes, seeing her clearly. Her warm eyes held strength and understanding, piercing through the fractured veil of his memory.

They arrived at a stronghold,a community, not a military outpost. Men, women, children,all watched him cautiously, eyes reflecting something he hadn't encountered in years: hope.

Adelaide guided him gently forward, her presence grounding. "Sit," she instructed quietly, gesturing to an intricate chair connected to humming machinery. "This will hurt."

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Kressos hesitated, sensing profound significance. But he trusted her implicitly, settling into place. The restraints snapped shut, and pain erupted.

The Breaking

It wasn't just pain,it was revelation.

Memories flooded him relentlessly,fields of golden grain beneath twin suns, laughter of a woman whose touch still lingered warmly in his soul, the scent of home, the gentle breathing of his sleeping child nestled securely in his arms.

Kressos’s breathing quickened, raw emotion surging violently, shattering the cold veneer imposed by the Nexus. The images grew clearer, brighter: the first Nexus invasion, the battle, the betrayal, the horrific capture. He saw himself, forced into brutal reconditioning, memories erased, humanity stripped away to become an obedient weapon.

The intensity nearly broke him, rage surging, grief cascading uncontrollably. His body convulsed, a cry of pure anguish tearing from his throat.

Warmth settled gently against his chest,a steadying hand. He blinked, vision clearing. Adelaide’s tear-filled eyes gazed down at him.

“You remember,” she whispered softly.

“I remember everything,” he gasped, voice shaking with profound emotion.

She smiled, resilient despite her own tears. “Good.”

Kressos felt the chains within shatter, each memory a hammer striking at the forged lies of the Nexus. He reclaimed every stolen moment, every buried joy and sorrow, finally whole again.

He stood, unsteady but unbroken, meeting the eyes of those gathered,faces alight with hope, expectation, and silent courage.

No longer Nexus-117, no longer a weapon.

He was Kressos of Vaar’Tuk, husband, father, protector. A man reborn through fire and memory.

He reached out, taking Adelaide’s hand firmly, their bond unbreakable.

“The Nexus will answer for what they've done,” he vowed fiercely, the words reverberating deeply.

The gathered people nodded silently, determination igniting in their eyes. War loomed, but now they had purpose, identity, hope.

Kressos stepped forward, reclaiming his place among them, feeling fully alive for the first time.

The chains were broken. His battle had truly begun.

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Meanwhile, aboard the Nexus Mothership – The Grand Commander's Chamber

The Grand Commander's private chamber was stark, devoid of comfort, designed purely for efficiency and dominance. Dark metal surfaces gleamed coldly under the sterile illumination, casting deep shadows in sharp, geometric patterns. At the room’s center stood a monolithic communication platform, its edges etched with ancient Nexus symbols,powerful runes pulsing gently, silently.

The Grand Commander, a towering figure draped in obsidian armor emblazoned with the sigil of Nexus dominion, stood rigid before the platform, awaiting a summons he had long anticipated yet dreaded.

The air shifted suddenly, thickening with unnatural tension. Reality itself rippled, distorting subtly, as if reluctant to host the entity intruding upon it. The room grew colder, the illumination flickering as shadows pooled like living ink at the center of the dais. A whisper, so faint it was nearly imagined, echoed softly.

“Commander.”

The voice carried no warmth, no anger,only the chilling emptiness of a void. From within the shadow emerged the faintest outline of a form, shifting constantly, impossible to define, yet undeniably there. A presence rather than a person. Ammon.

“Your progress displeases me,” Ammon continued softly, yet the words resonated with merciless clarity, slicing through the Commander’s disciplined composure. “The weapon, Kressos, is no longer yours.”

The Commander straightened, gathering his resolve despite the dread gnawing at his core. “A temporary setback,” he replied firmly, though his voice betrayed a subtle tremor. “He will be recovered and recalibrated.”

“Will he?” Ammon’s response was a caress of ice, heavy with quiet menace. “Your confidence is admirable. And dangerous.”

The shadows deepened, expanding outward, absorbing the room's faint illumination until only the Commander stood within a pale halo of light. Ammon’s voice seeped deeper into his consciousness, entwining with his very thoughts.

“You forget your purpose, Commander. Nexus does not exist for conquest alone. You serve a higher need.”

The Commander’s pulse quickened involuntarily, a reaction he had not experienced in decades. He felt his own mind wavering, the disciplined barriers trembling against Ammon’s insidious invasion.

“We have fulfilled our directives precisely,” the Commander insisted, though the words sounded thin and hollow.

“You fail to comprehend,” Ammon murmured, each syllable dripping with icy disdain. “Kressos was more than a soldier. He was a key. A critical asset. His awakening complicates matters significantly.”

The Commander fought to maintain control, feeling the pressure intensify around him, reality itself bowing subtly beneath Ammon’s unseen gaze. “He will be neutralized or reacquired,” he promised desperately.

A cold, hollow laughter echoed through the chamber, devoid of humor or warmth. “Neutralized? You misunderstand. He has already begun his true purpose,a purpose contrary to ours. Your failure has allowed his chains to break. He is dangerous, Commander. Dangerous because he remembers.”

Ammon’s form shifted closer, the shadowy visage nearly touching the Commander’s armored chest. His breath came sharply, instinctively recoiling from the raw, consuming hunger radiating from the entity.

“I tolerate no failure,” Ammon whispered, the sound scraping like metal upon stone. “Either you reclaim him, or your entire Nexus war machine shall serve me personally, within the Rift, eternally.”

The Commander’s blood chilled. He knew precisely what service in the Rift entailed,endless torment, devoured consciousness, perpetual agony. It was a fate far worse than annihilation.

“Your orders will be carried out,” the Commander managed, voice barely steady.

Ammon lingered silently, shadowy tendrils brushing against the edges of the Commander’s mind, embedding the terror of his promise deeply within.

“Ensure it,” Ammon finally intoned, shadows retracting slowly, reluctantly. “Or the Rift shall know your name.”

As quickly as it appeared, the shadow vanished, the oppressive presence dissipating. The room’s illumination gradually returned to normalcy, though the chill remained.

The Commander exhaled shakily, standing rigid, heart pounding heavily in his chest.

“Recover Kressos,” he commanded sharply into his communicator, voice taut with suppressed dread. “Immediately. No exceptions.”

The line went silent, and the Grand Commander stood alone, haunted by the echoing whispers of Ammon’s promise, fully aware that failure was no longer an option.

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“A puppet stands trembling, strings pulled tight by shadows darker than fear.

The hunger speaks, and the mighty falter, for power bows to that which devours all.

Beware, Commander,your master’s patience wears thin, and the Rift awaits your failure.

Yet within chaos lies hope, hidden in defiance, forged in memory.

Chains broken once may break again, and the weapon you fear most may become the hand that frees you.”

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