The Hollow Nexus stirred with a purpose Servius had never felt before. The air, always thick with the hum of energy and potential, now pulsed with something deeper—a resonance that seemed to call out to him specifically. The streets, once content to twist and shift aimlessly, now moved with a deliberate intent, guiding him like a current funneling toward the ocean’s maw. Servius didn’t fight it. He knew where it was taking him.

  The Spire had returned.

  He had seen it in flashes as he navigated the Nexus after the Drifter’s trial—a towering, pulsating monument looming faintly at the edge of his vision, no matter where he turned. Now, its pull was undeniable. Every step he took felt heavier, like the weight of the Nexus itself was pressing down on him, urging him forward.

  The streets grew narrower as he walked, the buildings leaning inward as if to corral him toward his destination. Their surfaces shimmered with faint patterns of light and shadow, the shapes writhing and shifting in ways that felt... different. Not chaotic, but deliberate. He caught glimpses of symbols he didn’t recognize—geometric patterns that seemed to hum faintly when his eyes lingered on them too long.

  The denizens of the Nexus were more present than ever, though none approached him. Watchers stood silent at the edges of the streets, their void-like faces tilting subtly as he passed. Architects worked tirelessly on their constructs, weaving shimmering threads into structures that pulsed faintly with life. Even the Drifters seemed to gather more closely, their fragmented forms trembling as they lingered in the distance, watching him with fractured, hollow gazes.

  Servius felt their eyes—or whatever served as their eyes—burning into him, but he ignored them. He had no time for them now. The pull of the Spire was relentless, its hum growing louder in his chest with every step. It wasn’t just sound—it was a vibration, a resonance that seemed to sync with his heartbeat, or perhaps his very soul.

  As he rounded a final corner, the Spire came into full view. It loomed impossibly high, its surface alive with shifting patterns of light and shadow. The resonance emanating from it was almost deafening now, a deep, throbbing hum that vibrated through the very fabric of the Nexus. It was the same as before, yet different. This time, the Spire felt more alive, more aware, as though it had been waiting for him specifically.

  And at its base stood the Harbinger.

  The Harbinger’s form was more imposing than ever. Its obsidian mask gleamed faintly in the light of the Spire, its featureless surface reflecting the shifting patterns around it. Its robe-like body seemed to drink in the light, creating an aura of darkness that rippled like a shadow cast in water. It stood perfectly still, its presence a silent command that Servius approach.

  He hesitated for only a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the figure. There was no malice in its stance, but there was power—an overwhelming, suffocating power that pressed against his instincts like the edge of a blade. Servius exhaled sharply, adjusting the strap of his rifle as he took a step forward.

  “Of course you’re here,” he muttered under his breath, his voice dry but laced with tension. “Wouldn’t be the Nexus without you showing up to make things cryptic.”

  The Harbinger didn’t respond immediately. It remained motionless, its obsidian mask fixed on him, its presence as heavy and unyielding as the Spire itself. When it finally spoke, its voice was the same as before—deep, resonant, and layered, as though countless voices spoke in unison.

  “You return to the heart of the Nexus,” it said, its tone carrying a weight that seemed to vibrate through the air. “The threads of possibility converge here, and you stand at their center.”

  Servius stopped a few paces away, his tail flicking sharply behind him as he met the Harbinger’s gaze—or at least, the void where its gaze should have been. “That’s one way to put it,” he said, his voice steady despite the pressure building in the air around him. “I didn’t exactly have a choice, did I? The streets practically shoved me here.”

  The Harbinger tilted its head slightly, the motion slow and deliberate. “The Nexus does not force,” it said. “It reflects. It reveals. You came because you were called, wanderer.”

  Servius’s claws flexed absently at his sides, the faint ache in his fingertips flaring briefly before fading again. He didn’t like the way the Harbinger spoke—like it already knew the answers to questions he hadn’t even asked yet. But he didn’t let his frustration show. Not here. Not in front of this thing.

  “Alright,” he said, his tone sharp but controlled. “I’m here. So let’s skip the riddles. What do you want from me?”

  The Harbinger was silent for a moment, its presence pressing down on him like a physical weight. When it finally spoke, its voice was quieter, almost reverent. “It is not what we want from you,” it said. “It is what you seek to take.”

  The words hit harder than he expected. Servius frowned, his sharp eyes narrowing as he processed them. “Take?” he echoed. “What the hell am I taking? I didn’t ask for any of this.”

  The Harbinger’s form flickered faintly, its edges bleeding into the air around it before solidifying again. “Knowledge,” it said simply. “Power. The threads of the Nexus weave themselves into you, as you weave yourself into them. But nothing is given without cost.”

  Servius’s tail lashed once behind him, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Of course there’s a cost,” he muttered. “There always is.”

  The Harbinger stepped forward, its movements smooth and deliberate, as though it were gliding across the ground rather than walking. The air between them seemed to warp, bending inward under the weight of its presence. “You have already begun to pay,” it said, its voice resonating with a finality that made Servius’s fur bristle. “The threads of the Nexus take as they give. You are no longer whole, wanderer.”

  The words sent a chill down Servius’s spine. He clenched his fists, his claws digging into his palms as he fought to steady himself. “What the hell does that mean?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

  The Harbinger stopped, its obsidian mask tilting downward slightly, as though studying him. “You feel it,” it said. “The ache. The weight. The hum that vibrates through your soul. Pieces of you have been drawn into the Nexus, scattered among its denizens, its threads. You are fragmented, wanderer. And you will never be whole again.”

  Servius’s jaw tightened, his sharp eyes burning into the Harbinger’s void-like mask. “And what if I say I don’t care?” he said coldly. “What if I take what I need and deal with the cost later?”

  The Harbinger tilted its head again, its voice carrying a faint note of something—amusement? Pity? “That is the choice you must make,” it said. “To take, to give, to endure. But understand this: the Nexus does not forget. Every step you take ripples outward, shaping not only the Warp but yourself. Choose carefully, wanderer.”

  The Spire’s hum grew louder, the air around them vibrating with a resonance that seemed to penetrate Servius’s very bones. The Harbinger stepped aside, gesturing toward the Spire with one long, skeletal hand. “Enter, if you dare,” it said. “The Nexus awaits you.”

  Servius stared at the Spire, his sharp claws flexing at his sides. He could feel the weight of the Harbinger’s words pressing down on him, the truth of them sinking in like a blade. He wasn’t ready for this. But he’d come this far. There was no turning back now.

  With a sharp exhale, he adjusted the strap of his rifle and stepped forward, the Spire’s light growing brighter as he approached.

  And the Nexus watched.

  The light from the Spire grew brighter with every step, not harsh or blinding, but encompassing, swallowing everything else until there was nothing but its glow. The world of the Nexus fell away—the twisting streets, the endless denizens, even the oppressive hum that had been its constant rhythm. All of it was gone. There was only the Spire, and him.

  The air grew thick as Servius pressed onward, his claws clicking faintly against the ground. Or at least, what he thought was the ground. He glanced down and found no surface beneath him—just the endless light of the Spire stretching outward in every direction, shimmering like a liquid horizon. His reflection stared back at him, rippling faintly as though caught in a breeze, but this time, it wasn’t distorted.

  For a moment, he hesitated, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the image of himself. It was too still. Too perfect. Servius tightened his grip on his rifle, his tail flicking sharply behind him.

  “Not this again,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cutting into the heavy silence. “If you’ve got something to show me, then show it already.”

  The Spire answered.

  The light shifted, folding inward and collapsing into itself. The reflection beneath him shattered into fragments, each piece spinning outward before dissolving into the void. In its place, images began to form—faint at first, like echoes of a dream, but growing clearer with every passing moment.

  Servius found himself standing amidst a battlefield. Not one he recognized, but one that felt painfully familiar. The ground beneath him was scorched and cracked, the air thick with the acrid stench of burnt flesh and blood. Figures moved in the distance—soldiers in the armor of the Imperial Guard, their forms flickering like dying embers.

  He took a step forward, his sharp claws clicking faintly against the broken earth. The scene felt... wrong. Not just because it wasn’t real, but because it was incomplete. The soldiers moved without purpose, their faces blurred, their weapons hanging limply at their sides. It was like watching shadows cast by a flame that had long since died.

  And then he saw it—the shadow.

  At the edge of the battlefield, standing amidst the broken bodies and shattered vehicles, was a figure. It was taller than any man, its armor blackened and scarred, its silhouette bristling with cruel, jagged edges. The symbols of the Chaos Gods were etched into its form, glowing faintly with a sickly light that made Servius’s stomach churn.

  A Word Bearer.

  The traitor marine turned slowly, its molten eyes fixing on him. Servius tensed, his sharp ears flattening against his skull as his hand instinctively went to his rifle. But the marine didn’t move to attack. Instead, it raised one gauntleted hand, pointing at him with an accusing finger.

  “You,” it said, its voice a guttural snarl that echoed across the battlefield. “You walk where gods fear to tread.”

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  Servius’s tail lashed sharply behind him, his claws flexing at his sides. “And you’re one to talk,” he shot back, his voice cold. “Didn’t work out so well for you, did it?”

  The Word Bearer’s lips curled into a sneer, its jagged teeth glinting faintly in the sickly light. “You think yourself above it all,” it said. “But you are no different from us. You seek to shape what cannot be shaped. To control what cannot be controlled.”

  “I’m not like you,” Servius growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t serve anyone, and I sure as hell don’t bow to your gods.”

  The marine’s laugh was a harsh, broken sound, like metal scraping against stone. “Fool,” it said. “You already serve. The Nexus claims you, piece by piece. It feeds on you as it fed on me. And when it is done, there will be nothing left of you but a shadow.”

  Servius took a step forward, his sharp eyes burning into the marine’s molten gaze. “You’re wrong,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m not going to end up like you. You let yourself be consumed. You gave in. I’m not going to.”

  The Word Bearer tilted its head, its sneer fading into something colder. “And yet here you are,” it said. “Walking the same path. Making the same mistakes. The Nexus takes what it is owed, wanderer. No more, no less.”

  Before Servius could respond, the marine’s form began to dissolve, its jagged edges melting into the void like wax beneath a flame. The battlefield around him crumbled, the scorched earth fracturing into a thousand pieces that fell into the endless light below.

  And then, the Spire spoke.

  The voice was not like the Harbinger’s or the Speaker’s. It wasn’t layered or melodic. It was vast, a deep resonance that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It vibrated through Servius’s very bones, making his claws clench involuntarily.

  “The Warp is not chaos,” it said, its voice rippling through the Spire’s resonance. “It is creation unbound—a sea where all possibilities converge. And you, fragment of the mortal plane, tread upon its deepest, untouched currents.”

  Servius exhaled sharply, his breath fogging the shimmering air. “If you’re going to monologue, at least cut to the part where you tell me why I’m here,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual edge. The weight of the Spire’s presence dulled his sarcasm, leaving behind only a simmering frustration.

  The Spire pulsed faintly, its light bending the air around it. “The Nexus is not a place,” it said. “It is the reflection of what lies beneath—the foundation of the Sea of Souls. You walk within it, but you are not part of it.”

  Servius’s frown deepened, his sharp ears twitching. The cryptic words gnawed at him, like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit together. “Then why drag me into this... this reflection?” he demanded, his voice edged with both anger and desperation. “If I don’t belong, why am I here?”

  The Spire’s light shifted, growing more complex, shapes flickering within the glow. At first, they were abstract, but then they coalesced into images that struck Servius silent. He saw towering beings of impossible grandeur—the Old Ones. Their forms were wreathed in light, their elongated limbs weaving threads of power into a vast, glowing tapestry. He watched as they shaped the Warp itself, a boundless ocean of energy, alive with infinite potential.

  “The Warp was born as a vessel for possibility,” the Spire said, its voice soft but resonant, like a chime reverberating through hollow stone. “The Old Ones, masters of the immaterial, wove the Sea of Souls to cradle creation itself. But even their mastery could not contain what they had unleashed.”

  The images shifted, darkening. The birth of the Chaos Gods unfolded before Servius’s eyes, raw and visceral. He saw the first stirrings of Khorne, rising like a crimson storm from the unchecked fury of countless battles. He saw Tzeentch’s kaleidoscopic form coalesce from the ambitions and schemes of mortal minds. Nurgle bloomed from despair, Slaanesh from the unbridled indulgence of the senses. The Sea of Souls twisted and boiled as these titanic forces took root, their influence warping the currents into something darker, something cruel.

  “And so the Warp became fractured,” the Spire continued, its resonance heavy with what almost felt like sorrow. “Its currents polluted by the will of gods and mortals alike. Creation, unbound and infinite, became a mirror to desire, to rage, to ruin. Yet beneath this corruption lies the first reflection—the untouched foundation.”

  Servius’s claws flexed absently, the images burning into his mind. He struggled to process the scale of what he was seeing, what he was being told. “The Hollow Nexus,” he said quietly. “It’s a window... into what the Warp used to be. A place outside the gods’ grasp. Untouched.”

  The Spire’s light dimmed slightly, as if acknowledging his words. “The Nexus is a fragment of the primordial sea,” it said. “A reflection untainted by the currents of Chaos. Here, the Warp is what it was meant to be—possibility without masters. But this reflection exists at great cost.”

  The light surged again, and Servius felt something twist deep in his chest. The ache he had ignored for so long flared sharply, radiating outward like the tightening of a vice. He staggered back a step, his tail lashing sharply behind him as he clenched his fists. “What—what’s happening?” he growled through gritted teeth.

  The Spire’s resonance grew quieter, almost mournful. “But even purity comes with a price,” it said. “To understand, to wield, to endure—you have already begun to pay. Your soul is no longer whole, wanderer. The threads of the Nexus bind you, and through them, you are changed.”

  Servius clenched his fists, his claws digging into his palms. He didn’t need the Spire to tell him that. He had felt it. The ache, the weight, the hum that vibrated through his very being. Pieces of him were missing, scattered among the denizens and threads of the Nexus.

  And yet, he was still here. Still standing.

  The Spire’s light flared once more, its resonance rising to a crescendo. “You are a fragment of the mortal plane, wanderer,” it said. “But you have stepped beyond its bounds. The Nexus watches, and the Warp listens. What you do next will shape more than yourself.”

  The light began to fade, the world around Servius dissolving into darkness. But even as the Spire’s presence faded, its final words lingered in his mind, echoing like the toll of a distant bell.

  “The Nexus does not forget.”

  When the light receded, Servius found himself standing once more at the base of the Spire. The towering structure loomed above him, its jagged form pulsating with a faint, rhythmic glow, but the surroundings had changed. The streets of the Hollow Nexus were gone, replaced by a vast expanse of smooth, reflective ground that stretched endlessly in all directions. Above, the churning sky of the Nexus had gone utterly still, its swirling colors frozen in place like a canvas painted in chaos and left unfinished.

  Servius flexed his claws absently, the familiar ache in his fingertips returning, sharper now, as though the Spire had left its mark more deeply than before. He glanced around, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon, but there was nothing—no denizens, no structures, no shifting streets. Just the Spire and the silence.

  And then the silence broke.

  A voice echoed from the Spire, deep and resonant, carrying the weight of inevitability. “You should not be here.”

  Servius turned sharply, his tail flicking behind him as he scanned the empty expanse. The voice didn’t come from any specific direction; it came from everywhere, vibrating through the ground beneath his feet and the air around him.

  “I keep hearing that,” he said dryly, his voice cutting through the stillness. “And yet, here I am. Funny how that works.”

  The air in front of him rippled, and the Harbinger appeared. Its obsidian mask gleamed faintly in the pale light of the Spire, its flowing, blackened robe shifting as though caught in an unseen wind. The ground beneath its feet didn’t ripple or react to its presence—it remained perfectly still, as though even the Nexus feared to disturb it.

  “You persist,” the Harbinger said, its voice the same as before—deep, deliberate, and carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. “You tread upon threads not meant for mortal feet.”

  Servius crossed his arms, his sharp eyes narrowing as he stared at the Harbinger. “Yeah, I’ve been told. Maybe you should put up a sign,” he said, his sarcasm masking the tension coiled in his chest. “No trespassing, danger ahead, that sort of thing.”

  The Harbinger tilted its head slightly, its motion slow and deliberate. “You mock what you do not understand,” it said. “But the Nexus is no place for jest. It is not a battlefield to conquer, nor a labyrinth to escape. It is a mirror. And you are breaking it.”

  Servius’s tail flicked sharply, his claws tapping faintly against his sides as he resisted the urge to snap back. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, you’ll have to try harder,” he said, his voice cold. “I didn’t come here to break anything. I came here to survive.”

  The Harbinger’s mask glinted faintly, its smooth, featureless surface somehow conveying the weight of its gaze. “And yet, survival has a cost,” it said. “Do you feel it, wanderer? The cracks within you? The threads you have left behind?”

  Servius’s jaw tightened. He did feel it. He had felt it for a long time now. The ache in his fingertips, the weight in his chest, the faint hum that vibrated through his very bones—it was all connected. Pieces of him were missing, scattered throughout the Nexus like fragments of a broken mirror.

  “What did you do to me?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

  The Harbinger’s robe shifted, its edges rippling like liquid shadow. “We did nothing,” it said. “The Nexus takes what is offered. You entered it, unknowing, unprepared, and it has taken its due. You are no longer whole, wanderer. Your soul is a thread, and the Nexus has woven it into its fabric.”

  Servius’s claws flexed, his tail lashing behind him as anger bubbled beneath the surface. “And what happens if I leave?” he asked, his voice sharp. “Do I get my soul back? Or am I just... a shadow from now on?”

  The Harbinger was silent for a moment, the weight of its presence pressing against him like a physical force. “You cannot unweave what has been woven,” it said finally. “But neither are you bound. The Nexus has claimed parts of you, yes. But it has also given you something in return.”

  Servius’s sharp eyes narrowed. “And what exactly did it give me?”

  The Harbinger raised one long, skeletal hand, pointing toward the Spire. The light within it pulsed faintly, a rhythm that matched the ache in Servius’s chest. “It has given you the thread of possibility,” it said. “A connection to the fabric of the Warp itself. You are no longer merely mortal, wanderer. You are an agent of the Nexus, whether you wish it or not.”

  Servius’s claws dug into his palms as he clenched his fists. “I didn’t ask for this,” he growled, his voice low and bitter.

  “Few do,” the Harbinger said, its voice carrying no malice, only inevitability. “But the Nexus does not choose. It reflects. What it has taken from you, it will never return. And what it has given you, it cannot take back.”

  The air around them rippled faintly, the Spire’s light growing brighter as the Harbinger continued. “But know this: the power you wield is not without cost. The more you draw upon it, the more the Nexus will take from you. Your soul is already dimmed, wanderer. To continue on this path is to embrace that dimming, to allow the Nexus to weave what remains of you into its threads.”

  Servius exhaled sharply, his claws flexing as he processed the Harbinger’s words. “And what happens if I don’t?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady.

  The Harbinger’s mask tilted downward, as though studying him. “Then you will remain fractured,” it said. “A shadow of what you were, caught between the threads of the Nexus and the currents of the mortal plane. But even shadows have their purpose.”

  Servius’s tail flicked sharply, his sharp eyes narrowing as he stared at the Harbinger. “So that’s it, then,” he said, his voice cold. “I’m just... a piece of this place now. Another tool for the Nexus to use.”

  The Harbinger was silent for a long moment. When it finally spoke, its voice was softer, almost mournful. “You are more than a tool, wanderer. You are a thread. A fragment of the greater weave. What you do next is not for the Nexus to decide. It is for you.”

  The Spire’s light flared, and the Harbinger’s form began to dissolve, its edges unraveling like threads caught in the wind. “But know this,” it said, its voice echoing faintly as it faded into the light. “The Nexus does not forget. And neither should you.”

  And then it was gone, leaving Servius alone at the base of the Spire. The light of the Nexus pulsed faintly, matching the rhythm of the ache in his chest. He stood there for a long moment, his claws flexing absently at his sides as he stared into the endless expanse of the Spire’s glow.

  He wasn’t whole anymore. He didn’t know if he ever would be again. But he was still here. Still standing. And for now, that was enough.