Mathew's breath fogged up the inside of his visor as he trudged through the rubble-strewn perimeter of the Nova-Ark crash site. The expedition team had pulled out after the initial sweep - something about anomalous radiation, dangerously fluctuating readings. But curiosity had dug its claws deep into him.
He had to see it again.
The Nova-Ark hadn't just crash-landed. It had fallen, like some dying god, cleaving through the Earth's crust with alien fury. Twisted metal and charred organic material—both clearly not human—still pulsed faintly under the dawn light. The air shimmered with heat, or maybe... resonance?
Mathew knelt beside a jagged piece of the Ark's core casing, his scanner flickering. The numbers jumped, then froze. A high-pitched whine echoed inside his skull, not from outside—internal. He gritted his teeth, blinking hard.
And then it hit.
A pulse—silent but concussive—rippled out from the shard. It didn’t throw him back. No. It pulled.
Mathew clutched his chest as pain lanced down his spine, fire threading through his muscles. He stumbled back, gasping, hands trembling. Beneath his thermal suit, his skin hitched—tightened. The pressure mounted with each heartbeat. He heard something pop at the seam of his shoulder, and then—
Riiiip.
The left sleeve of his jacket tore open like wet paper as his bicep surged outward, thick cords of muscle writhing beneath the skin. Mathew stared in stunned silence. That couldn’t be his arm. It looked… engineered. Denser. Veined with faint bioluminescent lines, pulsing in sync with the shard.
“What the hell…” he muttered, backing away. But the changes didn’t stop.
His legs buckled—not from weakness, but from the force erupting inside him. His thighs ballooned, splitting the seams of his cargo pants as the fabric failed spectacularly. Threads snapped, buttons launched off like shrapnel.
Craaaaack.
His spine popped audibly, stretching him taller. His chest swelled beneath the reinforced vest, which groaned as the zipper warped and finally failed, busting open to expose his heaving, newly broadened torso. His undershirt fared no better, tearing in two as slabs of pectoral muscle jutted outward like stone under skin.
He dropped to one knee, panting, a thick mist of sweat and vapor curling around his now monstrous form. His hands—larger, rougher, nails sharpening into something less human—dug into the soil. The shard beside him pulsed again, slower this time. Almost… satisfied.
Mathew’s mind reeled. “This isn’t happening,” he whispered, voice deeper. Heavier. His vocal cords must be transforming too.
From deep in the ruins, something echoed back—a voice? A signal? It didn’t matter. Something had recognized him.
And it had chosen him.
Still gasping, Mathew stood unsteadily. What remained of his clothing hung in ragged strips. He stared down at his transformed arms, chest, and legs. Half-human, half… something else. A storm was brewing inside him, one that had only just begun to awaken.