Darius woke with a pounding headache and the distinct feeling that something was wrong. Very wrong.

  Sunlight filtered through his tent, already high enough to suggest he'd overslept. He reached for his phone and winced as pain shot through his wrist—the same wrist that had been scratched yesterday at the crater.

  "What the hell?" he muttered.

  The scratch had transformed overnight. Dark, branching lines radiated outward like tiny rivers flowing along his veins. The skin felt hot and slightly raised beneath his fingertips. He touched the pattern gingerly, then jerked his hand away when the lines seemed to pulse in response.

  He sat up quickly—too quickly. The world tilted sideways, and he squeezed his eyes shut against a wave of nausea. When he opened them again, the dark tendrils had definitely shifted, spreading outward another quarter-inch while he watched.

  "Not good," he whispered to the empty tent. "Some kind of toxic reaction? Bacterial infection?"

  His scientist's mind began categorizing possibilities even as panic cwed at his chest. He fumbled through his first-aid kit for antibiotic cream, squeezing far too much onto the affected area. It probably wouldn't help, but he needed to do something.

  After forcing down a grano bar and half a bottle of water, Darius decided to break camp. The mysterious crater and its crystalline fragments would have to wait. Whatever was happening demanded medical attention.

  As he rolled his sleeping bag, strange images fshed behind his eyes—unfamiliar ndscapes, towering structures with impossible geometry, faces with features that weren't quite human. He dropped the sleeping bag and pressed his palms against his temples.

  "Just the fever," he told himself, though the rational part of his brain wasn't buying it. "Some kind of infection causing hallucinations."

  By the time he started hiking toward the forest access road, the dark tracery had crept past his elbow. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool morning air. The visions came more frequently now, more vivid.

  A boratory complex sprawling beneath crystalline domes, equipment pulsing with energy...

  Darius stumbled, throwing out a hand to catch himself against a pine trunk.

  Towers that seemed to grow rather than be built, reaching toward a violet sky that trembled as the ground began to crack...

  "Stop it," he growled through clenched teeth. "Not real. Just walk. One foot, then the other."

  A parasite, engineered molecule by molecule, designed to preserve consciousness through the void between stars...

  The forest path rippled like water. For a heartbeat, it wasn't a path at all but a corridor in some vast alien structure. Darius blinked hard, and reality reasserted itself, but the message was clear—this was getting worse by the minute.

  He reached his car after what felt like an eternity. Each step had become a battle against not just the growing physical discomfort but the disorienting intrusion of thoughts and images that couldn't possibly be his own. By the time he slid behind the wheel, the dark patterns had spread across his chest and were creeping up his neck.

  The logical move would be to drive straight to the emergency room, but something deeper—a voice that didn't feel entirely like his own—urged him to return to his cabin instead. The thought of doctors discovering something beyond their understanding filled him with a dread that felt imposed rather than genuine.

  The drive was a blur of concentration punctuated by hallucinations. Twice he had to pull over as visions overwhelmed him—once of a spacecraft tumbling through endless darkness, once of microscopic machines rebuilding cellur structures from the inside out.

  By te afternoon, Darius stumbled through his cabin door, colpsed onto the couch, and surrendered to the fever dreams that had been cwing at his consciousness all day.

  In the darkness of Darius's unconscious mind, something waited. Patient. Ancient. Weakened by its journey but still driven by indomitable purpose.

  Krell had anticipated initial confusion during integration. The parasite organism was designed to establish itself within a host's neural network gradually, slipping past immune defenses before initiating full consciousness transfer. But this alien biology was proving unexpectedly resilient, and the parasite's systems had degraded during millions of years of dormancy.

  Still, progress continued. The host's visual cortex now allowed for the introduction of memories disguised as hallucinations. Motor control remained challenging—neural pathways simir yet fundamentally different from Xorilian physiology.

  Most crucially, the host was isoted. Privacy would allow for accelerated integration without interference. Soon, the merger of minds would begin in earnest, and Krell would exist again—albeit in a foreign body on a world unimaginably distant from his own.

  The host consciousness intrigued him. Curious, analytical, with an unexpected affinity for biological systems. This could ease the transition. Perhaps aspects of this "Darius" might be preserved as reference points for navigating this new existence.

  But there could be no true partnership. Krell hadn't survived the death of his civilization and eons of void-sleep to share control with a primitive life form. The host would be consumed, its memories absorbed, its body repurposed.

  This was the natural order. The strong survived by adapting and consuming the weak. Xorilian philosophy had been unambiguous on this point, and millions of years adrift had only crystallized this truth in what remained of Krell's fragmented self.

  The integration proceeded, fiment by microscopic fiment, through the host's nervous system.

  The persistent beeping of his phone arm dragged Darius back to consciousness. Disoriented, he reached to silence it, then froze at the sight of his arm. The dark patterns now covered his entire limb, forming intricate geometries that seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat.

  "What's happening to me?" he whispered, voice cracking.

  You are being improved, came a response that formed directly in his mind—not voiced aloud, but present nonetheless.

  Darius jerked upright, scanning the empty room. "Who said that? Who's there?"

  I am here. Within you. We are becoming integrated.

  The voice had no audible quality. It was more like a thought appearing fully-formed in his consciousness, carrying with it an unmistakable alienness.

  "I'm hallucinating," Darius insisted. "Part of whatever infection I picked up."

  This is not infection. This is evolution. Advancement. You have been chosen.

  He staggered to the bathroom, desperate to see what was happening to his body. The mirror confirmed his fears—the patterns had spread across his chest, up his neck, along his jawline. His eyes, normally hazel, now contained flecks of iridescent blue around the pupils.

  "What are you?" he demanded, addressing the presence watching through his own eyes.

  I am Krell, st survivor of Xorilia, architect of the Continuance Protocol. I have traversed space and time to preserve my existence. Your body will serve as my vessel.

  Darius gripped the edges of the sink until his knuckles whitened. "The hell it will. Get out of my head!"

  Resistance is understandable but meaningless. Integration is already well advanced. Soon your consciousness will be absorbed, and only I will remain.

  A memory—not his memory—fshed through Darius's mind: a boratory filled with containment vessels, each holding a different iteration of the parasite organism. Krell's memory, from before the catastrophe.

  "You're the thing from the crater," Darius realized, horror constricting his throat. "Some kind of alien parasite."

  A simplistic description, but essentially correct. I engineered this vessel to preserve my consciousness when my world was destroyed. Your discovery of the hibernation pod was... fortunate for me.

  Darius spshed cold water on his face, trying to clear his thoughts. Despite his fear, his scientific training asserted itself, analyzing the situation methodically. "You're some kind of neural parasite integrating with my nervous system. That's how you're communicating—through my own brain."

  Your understanding of biology is primitive but not entirely incorrect. The process involves quantum neural entanglement far beyond your science, but the principle is simir.

  Another wave of dizziness hit him. Darius slid down against the bathroom wall, sitting on the cool tile as his vision swam. More alien memories flooded in—complex equations, biological engineering principles, the sensation of consciousness transferring into an engineered organism.

  "You're trying to take over my body," he said, fighting to maintain his sense of self. "Repce me."

  I offer transcendence. Your consciousness will become part of something greater. Your knowledge and experiences preserved within my expanded awareness.

  "That's not transcendence," Darius countered, anger cutting through his fear. "That's extinction. You're trying to erase me."

  A matter of perspective. Individual identity is an illusion, an evolutionary adaptation for primitive minds. True consciousness exists beyond such limitations.

  Darius pulled himself to his feet, determination hardening within him. "This is my body. My life. I won't let you take it."

  Your resistance is futile but... interesting. Most species offer less cognitive opposition during integration. Perhaps this will be more challenging than anticipated.

  A pn formed in Darius's mind. If this thing invaded his nervous system, perhaps he could fight it through biochemistry. He stumbled to his research area where he kept botanical samples and extracts from his fieldwork. Many pnts produced compounds affecting neural function—perhaps something here could slow the parasite while he searched for a permanent solution.

  As he rifled through samples, Darius felt the parasite's presence more distinctly now, like a shadow moving behind his thoughts. Observing. Analyzing. And... concerned?

  Those compounds will not harm me, Krell communicated. My design incorporates extensive chemical defenses.

  "We'll see about that," Darius muttered, selecting a vial containing extract from a rare fungus with powerful psychoactive properties.

  Before he could open it, a spasm shot through his arm. The vial slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor, its contents soaking uselessly into the wood.

  I cannot allow damage to this body. It is now essential to my survival.

  "IT'S MY BODY!" Darius shouted, rage giving him momentary crity. In that burst of fury, he felt the parasite's control weaken slightly, as though strong emotion disrupted its hold.

  Interesting. Emotion seemed to strengthen his resistance.

  Your emotional responses are biochemically disruptive but temporary, Krell observed, confirming Darius's theory. Integration will adjust to compensate.

  Darius colpsed into his desk chair, exhausted from the constant mental battle. He needed to think, to understand what he was dealing with. "Tell me about yourself," he said finally. "About Xorilia. About how you ended up in that pod."

  Maybe if he kept the thing talking, he could find a weakness, some way to fight back. And if not... at least he'd understand what was happening to him.

  A strategy to gain time, Krell noted with something like amusement. But I will indulge your curiosity. Knowledge is valuable, even to the consumed.

  And so, as the patterns continued their slow, inexorable spread across his skin, Darius listened to the story of a world dead for millions of years, a civilization that had reached technological heights humanity could barely imagine, and one scientist's desperate bid for immortality as everything he knew was destroyed.

  Night had fallen by the time Krell finished his tale. Darius sat in darkness, his mind reeling. The parasite—Krell—wasn't simply an organism but a repository of knowledge and technology from an advanced civilization. Under different circumstances, this first contact might have been humanity's greatest discovery.

  Instead, it would probably cost him his life. Or worse, his self.

  "So you were some hotshot bio-engineer on your world," Darius summarized, struggling to keep his thoughts coherent. "And when you realized your pnet was doomed, you created this parasite to preserve your consciousness, unched yourself into space, and ended up here after millions of years."

  A simplification, but essentially correct.

  "And now you're going to erase me and take over my body so you can... what? Start over? Recreate your technology? Build a new civilization?"

  Initially, survival is the priority. Then adaptation to this world. Eventually, advancement beyond the limitations of your species.

  A bitter ugh escaped Darius. "Pretty ambitious for someone who's been asleep for millions of years."

  Time is a construct of limited relevance to my existence now.

  The casual arrogance infuriated him. This thing saw him as nothing more than raw material, a vessel to be hollowed out and repurposed. But anger wouldn't save him—he needed a pn.

  "You keep talking about my consciousness being absorbed, not destroyed," Darius said slowly, an idea forming. "What exactly does that mean? Would I still exist in some form within you?"

  Your memories, knowledge, and certain cognitive patterns would be preserved. But your sense of individual identity would dissolve. You would become part of my expanded consciousness.

  "So you'd have access to everything I know? My memories, skills, knowledge?"

  Correct. That is the efficiency of the process—nothing of value is lost.

  Darius nodded, scientific curiosity temporarily overriding his fear. "And this process—how does it work? If you're going to erase me anyway, at least satisfy my curiosity about the mechanism."

  He sensed Krell's hesitation, a flicker of suspicion quickly suppressed by intellectual pride. The alien consciousness apparently couldn't resist demonstrating its superior knowledge.

  The process involves quantum entanglement at the neural level. My consciousness creates a tempte that gradually overwrites your neural patterns, absorbing useful information while repcing your cognitive framework with my own.

  "Like a computer virus overwriting an operating system while saving certain files," Darius suggested.

  A primitive analogy, but not entirely inaccurate.

  "And this tempte—it's based on your original neural patterns from before your world was destroyed? Patterns that are millions of years old?"

  My consciousness has been preserved in stasis, unaffected by the passage of time.

  Darius leaned forward, excitement cutting through his exhaustion. "But that's just it—you've been in stasis. Meanwhile, my brain has been shaped by evolution and experience to function in this world, with this body. Your tempte is designed for a completely different species from a completely different environment."

  He could feel Krell processing this argument, considering its implications.

  "You need my knowledge to survive here," Darius pressed. "My understanding of this world, this body. If you simply overwrite me, you lose the very adaptations that make this body functional in this environment."

  An interesting perspective, Krell acknowledged. But ultimately irrelevant. I will preserve all necessary functional knowledge.

  "Will you? Can you even tell which parts of my cognition are essential for basic functioning in this environment and which aren't? The integration you're attempting is unprecedented—you're trying to map an alien consciousness onto a completely different neural structure."

  For the first time, Darius sensed uncertainty from the parasite. He pushed harder.

  "What if you get it wrong? What if, in erasing me, you damage something essential to your own survival? You've been dormant for millions of years, your systems are compromised, and you're working with unfamiliar biology. One mistake, and you could end up trapped in a non-functional body."

  Your argument has... merit. The admission seemed reluctant. The integration is indeed proceeding with greater difficulty than anticipated.

  Darius sensed an opening and took it. "Then maybe total repcement isn't the answer. Maybe a more... colborative approach would be more effective."

  Colboration? You propose coexistence?

  "I propose a mutual exchange. You have knowledge spanning millions of years, technologies beyond human comprehension. I have intimate understanding of this world, this body, the social structures you'll need to navigate to survive here."

  He could feel Krell's consciousness churning, calcuting, reassessing. The parasite hadn't anticipated this level of resistance or this line of reasoning.

  What you suggest is unprecedented. The Continuance Protocol was designed for complete transference.

  "Then modify it. You're the great bio-engineer, aren't you? Adapt. Isn't that what survival is all about?"

  Dawn light crept through the cabin windows, casting the room in soft gray. Darius realized he'd been battling the parasite for nearly twenty-four hours. His body was exhausted, but his mind felt oddly clear. The constant pressure of Krell's consciousness had receded slightly, as though the parasite was withdrawing to reconsider its approach.

  I will... consider your proposal, Krell finally communicated. A period of assessment may be beneficial before proceeding further with integration.

  It wasn't victory, not really. But it was a reprieve, and right now, that was all Darius could hope for. He had bought himself time—time to learn more about his adversary, time to devise a more permanent solution.

  Or, perhaps, time to discover if coexistence was truly possible with the st survivor of a dead world.

  As Darius finally allowed himself to colpse onto his bed, the patterns on his skin seemed to pulse with a different rhythm, less invasive, more synchronized with his own heartbeat. Whether this represented a true change in the parasite's approach or simply a tactical retreat remained to be seen.

  One thing was certain: the battle for Darius Bloom's mind and body had only just begun.