You narrow your eyes, suspicious, but compliant, and step closer.
The control panel flickers faintly, its surface etched with swirling patterns of green light which seems to shift and pulse in sync with the hum of the facility. Cautiously, you extend your clawed hand, pressing it against the cool surface.
As your scaled, latex-coated palm makes contact, the panel reacts instantly. A web of code flashes across its screen, lines of alien text and symbols streaming in rapid succession. The device emits a low hum, and for a moment, you feel a faint, tingling warmth radiating through your arm, as though the machine is probing something deeper than just your physical form.
The monolithic doors respond with a deep, resonant groan, the sound vibrating through the metal walls. Mechanical whirs and clicks echo in the corridor as the gates begin to shift, massive gears grinding into motion. The glowing symbols adorning the doors flare brighter, their eerie light spilling into the dark hallway.
Then, slowly, the doors part... revealing a narrow passage bathed in an unnatural blue glow that seems to creep along the edges of the darkness like mist.
Damian exhales sharply, as if he’d been holding his breath, and motions for you to follow.
You trail him in silence, the oppressive hum of the Blackstone growing louder with every step. The walls of the passage are lined with strange machinery, their surfaces pitted and warped as if burned by some corrosive force.
As the corridor opens into a vast chamber, you stop, your eyes narrowing as you take in the sight before you.
At the center of the room, bathed in the pulsating glow of its own energy, stands... the Blackstone?
The artifact is... monolithic, jagged and unnatural, its surface gleaming with an oily, black sheen. Tendrils of dark energy seem to writhe just beneath its surface, pulsating in time with the rhythmic hum that fills the air. Around it, vats of colorless latex are arranged in a perfect circle, their contents rippling and churning as if alive. They seem to react to the Blackstone’s energy, their movements synchronized with the artifact’s pulses.
Damian steps forward, his flashlight no longer necessary as the chamber is illuminated by the Blackstone’s eerie glow.
“This is it,” he says, his voice low and reverent, “this is the Blackstone. The nexus of everything that’s happened here—the transformations, the corruption, the madness. It’s all because of this.”
He gestures toward the vats encircling the platform. “Those… they’re the containment systems. Or at least, they were. Designed to stabilize its energy, to keep it from spreading. But it’s too powerful, too volatile. The containment broke down, and now…”
He trails off, his eyes fixed on the artifact. His expression is no longer one of fear, but something else—fascination. Awe.
You hiss softly, your gaze fixed on the artifact, unblinking. The Blackstone’s presence is overwhelming, a weight pressing down on your very being. Its pulses seem to resonate with your own body, a faint, rhythmic tug that feels startlingly familiar.
Damian steps closer, the glow of the monolith, reflecting in his pale blue eyes, making them glimmer with an unsettling, almost unnatural intensity. His lips curl into a faint smile as he turns to face you, his voice gaining a certain weight—a confidence that wasn’t there before.
“You know,” he begins, almost conversationally, “the S.R.I.'s founder, Albertus Morgenstern... he was no ordinary scientist. He wasn’t content with simply pushing the boundaries of human knowledge. He wanted to break them entirely. He dreamed of unlocking humanity’s potential, of bending the laws of nature to our will. And... for a time, I believed in him. I admired him.”
Damian—or rather, the man you’re beginning to suspect is much more than he appears—pauses, letting the hum of the chamber fill the silence. “But... behind closed doors, when the moment of truth arrived, he faltered. Oh, he found this artifact, this… nexus of infinite potential. He was the first to stand before it—but when the time came to harness it, to take the leap—he hesitated. He clung to his meticulous studies, his models, his endless caution. Fear. That’s all it was. He was terrified of the unknown. Terrified of what this power could do. And so, he did nothing.”
He shifts—expression a mixture of bitterness and triumph. “But.. a dream deferred doesn’t die. No. A dream unfulfilled by the father becomes the burden—and the destiny—of the son. Albertus Morgenstern couldn’t take the leap. He couldn’t finish what he started. So, I did.”
He chuckles softly, the sound echoing in the cavernous chamber.
“Damian Solace, senior research manager… it’s a convenient name, isn’t it? Just another mask, another role to play.”
The smile fades from his lips, replaced by a steely, almost predatory focus. You blink, confused. The fear and uncertainty that had defined his every action until now melting away, replaced by a calm, measured tone.
“My true name is Orion Morgenstern, Albertus was my father... but, I am not bound by his fear; I see the Blackstone for what it truly is. Not a threat, not an anomaly to be contained, but a gift. A gateway to evolution. A chance for humanity to ascend beyond its frail, biological shell and become something more. Something greater.”
Orion Morgenstern, so he is named, steps even closer, his presence almost overwhelming as he looks directly into your eyes. His dull blue irises, gleaming eerily in the artifact’s glow, piercing through you.
“My father’s cowardice is a stain on the legacy of this institute. He wanted to understand the Blackstone, but I want to use it. To reshape the world. To fulfill the promise of progress that he was too weak to realize... and Curtis Irving… a brilliant man, yes, but a fool all the same. He was given a glimpse of this power—transformed by it—and what did he do? He rejected it. He wanted to destroy it, to erase what he didn’t understand, just like my father. Both of them too small-minded, too afraid to see the truth: humanity’s salvation lies not in resisting change but in embracing it.”
He finally halts, his demeanor shedding the veneer of desperation and fragility. His shoulders square, his posture exuding a confidence, and his voice grows deeper, resonant with cruel authority.
“And you... Did you think I didn’t know what you are, serpent?” he whispers, his eyes narrowing. “Did you think your defectiveness—the anomaly in your design—would go unnoticed? That you could hide from me? No, I knew. That’s why I guided you here. I couldn’t risk leaving loose threads."
The faint, blue light of the Blackstone casts jagged shadows across Orion's angular face, his lips curling into a smirk.
In an instant, his left hand rises, fingers flexing unnaturally. With a sickening sound like tearing fabric, the sleeve of his coat, and the “skin” of his arm splits apart, revealing a black, glistening surface beneath—shining latex, alive with a faint, pulsing energy--patches of his flesh ripple, peeling away like old paint.
And... silent in stupor, during all this, it clicks into place in an instant—the pieces Curtis had tried to warn you about. The monstrous, scaled, lab-coated beastman you had fought mere minutes ago. The truth now stands before you, undeniable and grotesque.
Oh for FUCK’S sake—
The thought barely flashes through your mind before Orion’s hand surges forward, a torrent of liquid latex erupting from his palm like an unholy geyser. The substance moves with terrifying precision, wrapping around your arms and legs, pinning your serpentine body in place. It spreads rapidly, coiling around your torso and tail, tightening with every passing second.
“Did you really think,” Orion sneers, his tone dripping with derision, “that I—a god in the making—would seek to undo my own perfection, and those of my subjects? This body, this form… it is no curse; it is a gift.”
You thrash against the bindings, your latex-coated muscles straining, but the black substance clings like a vice, pulsing with its own unnatural strength.
“This... vessel," he continues, flexing his transformed arm, “is beyond human frailty. Beyond mortality. It is the key to what lies ahead—to evolution, to ascension. And you, poor fool, walked willingly into my sanctum. Did you think you could resist? Did you think you had a choice?”
He stops mere inches from your immobilized form, his eyes locking onto yours, a cruel grin spreading across his still-human face. The Blackstone’s pulsating light bathes his figure in an eerie glow, making him appear more monster than man.
“You were so eager to play the hero,” Orion mocks, leaning down to look you in the eye, “but heroes don’t exist in this story. Only survivors. And you… you’re just another piece of clay for the Blackstone to mold. A raw material to shape into perfection.”
The bindings tighten further, the black latex creeping up the scales of your neck.
“Now... bear witness to the future you could have been a part of—and the perfection you’ll never achieve. For this is my domain, and you… are nothing more than a stepping stone on my path to divinity.”
The Blackstone pulses once more, its light growing brighter, as if responding to Orion’s presence. The room hums with energy, the oppressive sound of power building, drowning out even your own labored breaths.
He raises his arms wide, silhouetted against the Blackstone. The artifact’s rhythmic glow intensifies, bathing the chamber in a sickly blue light.
Then it happens—a single, thunderous boom emanates from the monolith, rippling outward in a wave of raw, oppressive gravity. The floor beneath you trembles violently, and the air itself grows impossibly heavy, pressing down like an invisible vice.
You strain against the bindings holding you in place, every breath a struggle as the overwhelming force grinds against your chest. Even the reinforced walls of the chamber groan under the immense pressure, the very structure of the room seeming to bow to the will of the Blackstone. But amidst the chaos, Orion Morgenstern remains standing, unaffected, his form exuding a calm, terrifying authority.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says, his voice smooth and resonant, carrying effortlessly over the roar of the Blackstone’s energy. “The weight of destiny, bearing down upon all who would oppose it. Yet I… I stand untouched, chosen by the stone itself to wield its boundless power.”
As if to punctuate his words, the vats encircling the Blackstone begin to tremble violently. The colorless latex within them seethes and churns, responding to the artifact’s pulse. With a wet, nauseating splurch, the liquid surges upward, spilling over the edges of the vats and slithering toward Orion in thick, writhing tendrils, taking on distinct, obsidian hues.
The black latex rises higher and higher, coiling around his feet before climbing his legs, enveloping his body in a grotesque, sinuous dance. Orion lets out a low, guttural moan as the latex engulfs him, his voice thick with a disturbing blend of glee and lust.
The sound echoes through the chamber, sending a shiver down your spine as you watch the scene unfold, powerless to intervene…
As before your very eyes, the form of Orion Morgenstern, heir to the Solarus Research Institute, warps and changes.