The hum of the Nexus had grown stranger here.

  Not louder, not quieter—just... wrong. Its familiar resonance, always faint and ever-present, now carried an irregularity, a faint distortion that set Servius’s teeth on edge. It wasn’t chaotic, but it wasn’t orderly either, as though something had broken the rhythm and left it limping along, unsure of itself.

  He pressed forward, his steps slower now, his sharp eyes scanning the twisting streets around him. The buildings here felt... unfinished. Their surfaces rippled like molten glass, their edges dissolving into faint, wavering outlines that flickered in and out of existence. Veins of light pulsed faintly within them, but they seemed sluggish, dim—like the lifeblood of this place had been thinned.

  The denizens were nowhere to be seen. No Watchers standing silent at the edges, no Architects weaving their strange constructs. Only the hum remained, vibrating faintly in the air and under his feet, as though the Nexus itself were holding its breath. Servius’s tail flicked sharply behind him, his claws flexing absently as he reached back to adjust the rifle strap digging into his shoulder.

  Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw movement.

  His head snapped toward it, but the street was empty. The flicker was gone. Just the faint shimmer of the Nexus rippling at the edges of his vision. He frowned, his sharp eyes narrowing as he scanned the shadows ahead. The hum shifted again—just slightly, a faint hitch in the rhythm—and he knew he wasn’t alone.

  They emerged slowly, drifting into view from the edges of the street like shadows peeling themselves free from the walls. Their forms were faint and flickering, their edges trembling as though caught in an unseen wind. They didn’t walk. They didn’t even float, not exactly. They just... lingered, their movements sluggish and directionless, as though they were barely tethered to existence.

  Drifters.

  Servius had seen them before, always at the periphery, always avoiding the denizens and anyone who walked the streets of the Nexus. They never interfered, rarely approached. Just remnants of something—or someone—reduced to fragments that couldn’t hold themselves together. He’d never given them much thought. They were pitiful things, echoes of a purpose long since eroded.

  But here, there were more of them than he’d ever seen. Dozens, maybe more, clinging to the edges of the street, their fractured forms trembling like moths too afraid to touch the light. Some flickered violently, their shapes unraveling and reforming in jagged bursts, while others simply lingered, their hollow faces tilted downward as though staring at something only they could see.

  Servius stopped, his claws flexing at his sides as his sharp eyes scanned the eerie scene. The Drifters didn’t react to him—not directly. But as he moved closer, some of them recoiled slightly, their trembling forms retreating into the deeper shadows. Others turned their hollow, featureless faces toward him, and though they had no eyes, he felt the weight of their gaze—or the absence of it—pressing against his chest.

  The hum shifted again, a faint, discordant note cutting through its rhythm, and one of the Drifters moved closer. Its form flickered violently, its edges blurring and fraying as though it were barely holding itself together. It stopped a few paces away, trembling faintly, its head tilted upward toward him.

  Servius stared at it, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What are you?” he muttered under his breath. The Drifter didn’t respond—not with words, at least. It just stood there, its hollow face fixed on him, trembling as though the act of existing were a battle it was losing.

  And then it whispered.

  “...tried... failed...”

  The words were faint and broken, barely audible over the hum of the Nexus, but they froze him in place. His tail flicked sharply behind him, his claws flexing as he took a cautious step back. The Drifter’s head tilted further, its fragmented form trembling more violently now, as though it were trying to hold itself together for just a moment longer.

  “...control... shattered... lost...”

  The words were clearer this time, though still fragmented, their tone filled with a quiet despair that made the fur along the back of Servius’s neck bristle. He didn’t know what this thing was—or what it had been—but its words carried a weight that dug into his chest like a blade.

  And then, before he could say or do anything, the Drifter dissolved. Its trembling form unraveled into a cloud of ash and light, scattering into the air like dust caught in a gust of wind. The hum of the Nexus grew louder for a brief moment, almost mournful, before settling back into its distorted rhythm.

  Servius exhaled sharply, his breath visible in the cool, warped air. His sharp eyes scanned the street ahead, but the other Drifters kept their distance, their fragmented forms lingering at the edges of his vision. Whatever that one had been—whatever it had tried to tell him—it was gone now. But the weight of its words lingered.

  The distorted hum of the Nexus grew louder as Servius ventured deeper into the shadowed streets. The Drifters were thicker here, their fragmented forms clustering together in uneasy, trembling groups. It was like walking through a fog made of broken things—each one incomplete, each one wrong in a way he couldn’t quite describe. Their presence pressed against him, not physically, but in the way they hovered at the edge of perception, never fully solid yet undeniably there.

  Servius tightened his grip on his bolt pistol. The weight of it in his hand was grounding, a comforting reminder of his ability to act, to fight, even in a place that seemed designed to strip him of agency. Not that a weapon would likely help against these... things. The Drifters didn’t seem like the kind of threat you could kill. They were something else—something worse. A reminder of what the Nexus could do to those who failed to understand its rules.

  “...broken... lost...” one of the Drifters whispered as he passed, its voice like a frayed thread unraveling in the wind.

  Servius didn’t stop. He didn’t even look at it. The Drifter’s words brushed against his mind like the whispering fog he had encountered before—fleeting, fragmented, invasive. He clenched his jaw and pressed on, his sharp eyes scanning the path ahead. The Drifters didn’t move to block his way, but their presence was suffocating, a silent chorus of despair that seemed to grow louder the further he walked.

  And then he saw it.

  At the center of a narrow plaza, surrounded by the trembling forms of countless Drifters, was something... different. A figure, taller and more defined than the others, stood at the heart of the gathering. Its form was jagged, its edges sharp and angular, like shattered glass fused into a crude, humanoid shape. Unlike the Drifters, it didn’t flicker or tremble. It stood motionless, its hollow face turned upward toward the sky, as though it were staring into the swirling void above.

  The Drifters clustered around it like moths to a flame, their fragmented forms pressing close but never quite touching. Servius slowed his pace, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the scene. The jagged figure didn’t move, didn’t react to the trembling mass of Drifters around it. But there was something about it—something in the way it stood, in the weight of its presence—that made his fur bristle.

  He stopped at the edge of the plaza, his claws flexing absently at his sides. The Drifters didn’t turn to face him, but he felt their attention shift, their presence pressing against him like the weight of an unseen tide. The jagged figure remained still, its face tilted skyward, its sharp, angular edges catching the faint light of the Nexus like fractured crystal.

  Servius exhaled sharply, his breath visible in the cool air. “Alright,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low but steady. “Let’s see what you are.”

  He stepped into the plaza, his movements deliberate, his sharp eyes never leaving the jagged figure at its center. The Drifters parted slightly as he approached, their fragmented forms trembling more violently now, as though his presence was disturbing whatever tenuous balance held them together. Their whispers grew louder, overlapping in a chaotic chorus that pressed against his thoughts like a wave.

  “...control... shattered... consumed...”

  “...paths... broken... threads... lost...”

  “...failure... failure... failure...”

  Servius gritted his teeth, forcing himself to ignore the whispers. They weren’t real—not in the way he understood reality. They were echoes, fragments, nothing more. He kept his focus on the jagged figure, his claws flexing around the grip of his bolt pistol as he closed the distance.

  The figure didn’t move. It didn’t even seem to acknowledge his presence. But as Servius drew closer, he felt something—a faint pull, like the gravity of a dying star, dragging him toward the center of the plaza. The air around the figure was heavier, denser, vibrating with a low, resonant hum that was distinct from the Nexus’s usual rhythm. It wasn’t just watching him. It was waiting for him.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  He stopped a few paces away, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the figure. Its jagged, crystalline form was unlike anything he had seen in the Nexus. It wasn’t smooth or liquid-like, like the Speakers or the Architects. It was harsh, sharp, unfinished. Its surface glinted faintly with a sickly, golden light that seemed to pulse in time with the distorted hum of the Nexus.

  “What are you?” Servius muttered, his voice low and edged with tension. The figure didn’t respond. It didn’t move. But the pull grew stronger, the weight of its presence pressing against his chest like a physical force.

  And then, slowly, it lowered its head.

  The motion was deliberate, almost agonizingly slow, as though the act of moving was a burden it could barely bear. Its hollow face tilted downward, and though it had no eyes, Servius felt its gaze lock onto him. The air grew heavier, the whispers of the Drifters rising into a frantic crescendo that made his ears twitch.

  “...why...?”

  The word cut through the whispers like a blade, sharp and clear, resonating in the space between them. It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

  Servius’s claws flexed against the grip of his bolt pistol, his tail lashing sharply behind him. “Why what?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “Why am I here? Why are you here? You’re the one who’s supposed to answer that.”

  The figure’s jagged edges trembled faintly, its sharp, angular limbs shifting slightly as though struggling to hold themselves together. The golden light pulsing within it dimmed for a moment, then flared brighter, casting fractured shadows across the plaza.

  “...failed...” it whispered, its voice layered and resonant, like the sound of glass shattering in slow motion. “...control... shattered... consumed...”

  Servius’s sharp eyes narrowed. “You tried to control the Nexus,” he said, his voice steady but cold. “Didn’t go so well, did it?”

  The figure didn’t respond, but its trembling grew more violent, its jagged form flickering like a dying flame. The Drifters around it pressed closer, their whispers growing louder, more frantic, as though feeding off its unraveling presence.

  And then, without warning, the figure lunged.

  It wasn’t a physical motion—not exactly. Its form fractured, shards of dark light breaking away and rushing toward Servius like a wave. He tensed, his claws flexing as he prepared to move, but the light didn’t strike him. It passed through him, sinking into his chest like a breath held too long.

  The weight of it knocked him back a step, his breath catching in his throat as the whispers of the Drifters surged into a deafening roar. Images flashed through his mind—broken fragments of something he couldn’t quite grasp. A towering figure in crimson armor, its face obscured by a jagged helm. Words spoken in a language he didn’t understand. And then... darkness.

  When he opened his eyes, the jagged figure was gone. The Drifters had scattered, their fragmented forms retreating into the shadows. The plaza was empty now, silent save for the faint hum of the Nexus.

  Servius exhaled sharply, his claws flexing at his sides as he steadied himself. His sharp eyes scanned the empty plaza, but there was no sign of the figure—or the pull that had drawn him to it.

  But the weight in his chest remained, a faint, lingering pressure that he couldn’t shake.

  “Control,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. “That’s what you wanted. That’s what broke you.”

  And somewhere deep within the Nexus, the hum shifted, its rhythm carrying a faint, mournful note.

  Servius stood motionless in the empty plaza, his sharp eyes fixed on the spot where the jagged figure had stood. The weight in his chest lingered, faint but insistent, as though the echo of that shattered presence refused to fully fade. He exhaled slowly, his claws flexing at his sides, trying to steady himself. The Drifters had scattered, their fragmented whispers retreating into the shadows, but the plaza didn’t feel empty. If anything, it felt heavier, like the air was holding its breath.

  “Control,” he muttered again, his voice low and edged with disdain. “That’s what broke you.”

  But control of what? The Nexus? The Warp itself? He didn’t have the answer yet, but the images that had flashed through his mind—the towering figure in crimson armor, the jagged helm, the words spoken in a guttural, alien tongue—hinted at a story he wasn’t sure he wanted to uncover. The jagged figure hadn’t been some random fragment of the Nexus. It had been... something. Someone.

  And whoever—or whatever—it had been, it had tried to control this place. To dominate it. And it had failed.

  The hum of the Nexus shifted again, its rhythm slower now, deeper, carrying that same faint, mournful tone. Servius adjusted the rifle on his back, his tail flicking sharply behind him as he turned and walked away from the plaza. The Drifters hadn’t vanished entirely. He could still see them at the edges of his vision, their trembling forms clinging to the shadows like ghosts too afraid to step into the light. But they didn’t approach him. Not anymore.

  The street narrowed as Servius pressed on, the buildings on either side leaning closer together like the ribs of some great, unseen beast. The light of the Nexus dimmed here, the swirling colors in the sky above bleeding into deeper, murkier shades. The air felt heavier, thicker, and the whispers of the Drifters grew louder, brushing against his mind like cold fingers. They weren’t words anymore—just fragmented sounds, broken and incoherent, the echoes of voices long silenced.

  But then, as he rounded a corner, the whispers changed.

  They weren’t random now. They weren’t fragmented. They were... chanting.

  Servius stopped, his sharp ears twitching as the sound grew clearer. It was low and guttural, a rhythmic cadence that sent a chill down his spine. The words were in a language he didn’t understand, but the tone was unmistakable. It was a prayer. A plea. A demand.

  He followed the sound, his steps cautious but deliberate. The street twisted and turned, narrowing further until it felt more like a tunnel than an open path. The chanting grew louder, the words reverberating off the warped walls, their cadence rising and falling like the breath of a dying beast. And then, the tunnel opened into another plaza—a smaller, darker one, its edges shrouded in shadow.

  At the center of the plaza was a figure.

  It was the same jagged, angular form he had encountered before, but now it was clearer, more solid. The dark light that pulsed within it was stronger, casting fractured shadows across the plaza that twisted and danced like living things. But the figure wasn’t alone. Surrounding it were more Drifters than Servius had ever seen, their fragmented forms pressed close together, their trembling hands reaching toward the jagged figure as though drawn to it by some unseen force.

  And the figure... it was kneeling.

  The jagged form knelt at the center of the plaza, its angular limbs stretched outward in a gesture that might have been supplication—or despair. The chanting emanated from it, the guttural, alien words spilling from its jagged, crystalline edges like a broken vox transmission. Servius’s fur bristled as he stepped closer, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the scene. The Drifters didn’t react to him. They were entirely focused on the kneeling figure, their fragmented forms trembling violently as they pressed closer.

  And then, he saw it.

  Carved into the ground beneath the jagged figure was a symbol—a crude, angular mark that radiated a faint, sickly light. It was a rune, etched deeply into the pulsating surface of the Nexus, its jagged lines twisting and intersecting in ways that made Servius’s head ache if he stared at it for too long. He didn’t recognize it, but he knew what it was. He had seen similar marks before, scrawled on the armor of Chaos worshippers and burned into the flesh of their slaves. It was a symbol of the Ruinous Powers.

  “Of course,” Servius muttered under his breath, his tone laced with dry disdain. “Why wouldn’t there be one of you here?”

  The figure’s chanting faltered for a moment, its jagged edges trembling as though in response to his words. The dark light within it flared, and for the first time, the jagged helm of its face turned toward him. Its hollow eyes glowed faintly, their light pulsing in time with the rune carved into the ground.

  “...why...?” the figure whispered, its voice fractured and broken. “Why does it not answer...?”

  Servius stopped a few paces away, his claws flexing absently at his sides. “Why does what not answer?” he asked, his voice low and edged with curiosity.

  The figure’s angular limbs trembled, its jagged edges shifting as though struggling to hold themselves together. “The gods...” it whispered, its voice cracking like splintering glass. “Their voices... silent. Their power... empty. Why...?”

  Servius’s sharp eyes narrowed, his tail flicking sharply behind him. “You came here for them,” he said, his tone cold and even. “You tried to bring their influence into this place. Tried to bend the Nexus to their will.”

  The figure’s jagged form trembled violently, the golden light within it flickering like a dying flame. “Tried...” it echoed, its voice barely audible. “Failed. The Nexus... resists. It devours. It... consumes.”

  The Drifters pressed closer, their fragmented forms trembling as though feeding off the figure’s unraveling presence. Servius could feel the weight of the plaza pressing down on him, the hum of the Nexus vibrating through his bones with a low, mournful resonance.

  “You tried to control the Nexus,” Servius said, his voice steady but sharp. “You tried to break it. And it broke you.”

  The jagged figure’s hollow eyes flared briefly, the golden light within them casting jagged shadows across the plaza. “Broken...” it whispered, its voice trailing off into a faint, shuddering sigh. “Shattered... forgotten...”

  And then, the figure collapsed.

  Its jagged form crumbled inward, shards of golden light breaking away and dissolving into the air like ash. The rune etched into the ground flickered briefly, its sickly light fading into nothingness. The Drifters recoiled, their fragmented forms scattering like leaves caught in a storm, retreating into the shadows with faint, mournful whispers.

  Servius stood alone in the empty plaza, the weight in his chest heavier than ever. The echoes of the jagged figure’s final words lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of what the Nexus could do to those who underestimated it.

  “Shattered and forgotten,” he muttered under his breath, his sharp eyes scanning the now-empty plaza. “Let’s hope I don’t end up the same.”

  And with that, he turned and walked away, the streets of the Nexus shifting subtly around him as he moved deeper into its labyrinthine heart. The hum of the Nexus was quieter now, but its rhythm had changed, carrying a faint, mournful note that lingered in his thoughts long after he had left the plaza behind.