I wake to the sound of my own voice, hollow and haunted.
"It's my fault she's dead, it's all my fault."
The words hang in the air like a confession, though I don't remember beginning to speak them. I'm standing—not lying in a medical bed as I'd expect given my last memories of being torn apart by the Void Crawler. My body feels wrong. Whole. Unbroken. The hellfire inside me burns at a steady, controlled rate beneath the collar's containment.
Where am I? The room is sparse and clinical, white walls that seem to absorb sound rather than reflect it. No windows except for one—a large observation panel where several figures stand watching me. I recognize Dr. Vex's geometric patterns swirling beneath their skin, along with other Guild personnel in lab coats, their expressions a mixture of clinical interest and concern.
My mind struggles to piece together the fragments. The goblin camp. The Pit Fiends. The Void Crawler crushing Kira beneath its massive foot while I watched, helpless and broken. Kira activating the extraction beacon as darkness claimed me.
Kira. Dead because of me. Because I wasn't strong enough.
"It's my fault she's dead," I repeat, the words tasting like ash. "It's all my fault."
The door behind me opens with a soft hiss. I don't turn, lost in the spiral of guilt and fragmented memories. Then a hand touches my shoulder—warm, solid, familiar.
"Who's dead?" asks a voice I know too well. A voice that shouldn't exist anymore.
I scream—a high-pitched, undignified sound that tears from my throat before I can stop it. I spin around so fast I nearly fall, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
Kira stands there, very much alive, her eyes wide with surprise at my reaction. She looks completely unharmed—no trace of the devastating injuries I watched her suffer. Her hand hovers in the air where my shoulder was a moment ago.
"What the fuck?" I manage, backing away until I hit the wall. "You... you were... the Crawler crushed you! I watched you die!"
Confusion crosses her face. "Kamen, I wasn't anywhere near the Crawler. You kept it occupied while I got the prisoners to safety, remember? You're the one who nearly died."
My mind reels, trying to reconcile her words with the vivid memories burned into my consciousness. "But I saw it... the pincer through your shoulder... your bones breaking when it threw you down..."
Understanding dawns in her eyes. She exchanges a glance with Dr. Vex through the observation window before turning back to me.
"That didn't happen," she says gently. "The Crawler never touched me. You fought it alone while I handled the Pit Fiends and evacuated the prisoners."
"But it was so real." My voice sounds small, uncertain. "I can still hear the sound your bones made when it..."
I trail off, noticing for the first time that my hands are trembling. The hellfire pulses erratically in response to my confusion, pushing against the collar's containment with uncertain pressure.
Dr. Vex's voice comes through a speaker in the ceiling. "Memory displacement is a common side effect of dimensional trauma. Especially when the third lock activates under extreme duress."
The third lock. The words hit me like a physical blow. "I didn't... I didn't release the third lock. I remember considering it, but..."
"You did," Kira confirms, her expression softening. "After the Crawler nearly killed you. The medical team said your injuries should have been fatal—crushed ribcage, punctured lungs, severe internal bleeding. The third lock's power kept you alive until we could get you back to the Guild."
I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor, trying to process this information. The memories I have—of Kira dying, of my desperate last stand—feel completely real. Yet here she stands, unharmed, telling me a different version of events.
"How long was I out?" I ask, suddenly aware that I have no sense of how much time has passed.
"Three days," she replies, crouching down to my level. "You've been in and out of consciousness. This is the first time you've been fully coherent, though."
Three days. Three days of my mind apparently constructing elaborate false memories while my body healed from injuries that should have killed me. The thought is deeply unsettling.
"The prisoners?" I ask, grasping for something concrete to focus on.
"Safe. Recovering. The patrol captain asked me to convey her personal thanks when you woke up." Kira offers a small smile. "Apparently watching you take on a Void Crawler single-handedly made quite an impression."
Dr. Vex speaks through the intercom again. "The dimensional disruption from the third lock's activation likely affected your perception of events. Your mind constructed a narrative to fill the gaps—one where you failed to save your partner, triggering a guilt response that manifested in your first conscious words."
"It felt so real," I repeat, running a hand through hair that still feels strange against my fingers—human rather than metallic, thanks to the collar's containment. "I can still see it happening."
Kira sits beside me, her shoulder brushing mine in a gesture that feels deliberately grounding. "The mind does strange things to protect itself. Especially minds that have spent millennia in Hell."
I look at her—really look at her—searching for any sign that this is another illusion, another trick of my traumatized consciousness. But she seems solid, real, her dimensional signature exactly as I remember it.
"I thought I'd failed," I admit quietly. "That I wasn't strong enough to protect you, just like I wasn't strong enough to save Caleif."
The confession slips out before I can stop it, raw and honest in a way I haven't allowed myself to be since arriving in this realm. Kira's expression shifts, compassion replacing clinical concern.
"You didn't fail," she says firmly. "You took on a Void Crawler—a being that shouldn't even be able to manifest in this realm—and you survived. The prisoners survived. I survived. By any measure, that's a success."
Logic tells me she's right, but the vivid memory of her broken body beneath the Crawler's foot refuses to fade completely. It lingers like a ghost at the edges of my consciousness, a reminder of what could have happened—what my mind clearly feared had happened.
"The third lock," I say, changing the subject slightly. "Is it... did they reset it?"
Dr. Vex answers through the speaker. "Yes. The containment field reestablished itself once your condition stabilized. Though I should note that subsequent releases may come more easily now that the pathway has been established."
Great. One more thing to worry about—my power becoming progressively harder to contain with each emergency release. Just what I needed.
"How do you feel?" Kira asks, her eyes searching mine with genuine concern.
"Physically? Better than I should, given what you've told me." I flex my hands, noting the absence of pain or stiffness. "Mentally? Confused as hell. I have two sets of memories fighting for space in my head, and I'm not sure which ones to trust."
"Trust this," she says, taking my hand and placing it against her very solid, very alive shoulder. "I'm here. You're here. We completed the mission. Everything else is just details we can sort through later."
The simple contact grounds me in a way that logical explanations couldn't. Whatever my mind constructed during those three days of healing, this is real—her hand on mine, the steady pulse of her dimensional signature, the fact that we both survived what should have been a suicide mission.
"I should probably stand up," I say after a moment, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I must look—the big bad hellfire-forged weapon sitting on the floor having an existential crisis.
Kira rises first, offering her hand. I take it, allowing her to help me to my feet despite not needing the assistance. The contact feels important somehow, a tangible reminder that she's alive, that my worst fears didn't come to pass.
Dr. Vex and the other observers enter the room now, apparently satisfied that I'm not going to have another meltdown. The geometric patterns beneath Dr. Vex's skin shift to brighter colors as they approach—their version of a relieved smile, I'm learning to recognize.
"Welcome back to the land of the coherent, Mr. Driscol," they say, checking readings on a device that somehow measures my dimensional stability. "You gave our medical team quite the challenge. Hellfire-accelerated healing doesn't always play nicely with conventional treatments."
"Sorry about that," I reply automatically, though I'm not sure what I'm apologizing for. Surviving, probably.
"On the contrary—your case has provided valuable data on dimensional trauma recovery. The Guild's records on third-lock containment breaches are woefully incomplete." They sound positively delighted by this fact. "And the Void Crawler remains you brought back are the first intact specimens we've been able to study in decades."
I blink, trying to process this. "Remains? I brought back... parts of that thing?"
Kira nods. "When the extraction beacon activated, it pulled you—and everything in immediate physical contact with you—back to the Guild's dimensional anchor chamber. Including about thirty pounds of Void Crawler you'd managed to tear off during the fight."
The idea that pieces of that monstrosity came back with me is deeply unsettling. "Please tell me those parts are securely contained."
"Of course," Dr. Vex assures me. "Though they began to deteriorate almost immediately upon arrival. Void entities aren't meant to exist in this dimension for extended periods."
A thought occurs to me. "The camp—the goblins, the remaining Pit Fiends. What happened to them?"
"The Guild sent a specialized containment team after we returned," Kira explains. "They found the camp abandoned. Whatever was coordinating the operation apparently decided to cut its losses after losing the Crawler."
"Coordinating?" I focus on her choice of words. "You think someone was directing them?"
"Goblins don't ally with Pit Fiends naturally," she points out. "And Void Crawlers don't just show up in this realm without being summoned. Someone or something was pulling the strings."
Dr. Vex's patterns shift to darker colors, their version of a frown. "Which is precisely why your recovery is so important, Mr. Driscol. The Guild Council has questions about what you encountered—questions only you can answer, given your unique perspective on the situation."
I suppress a groan. Political complications are the last thing I need right now, when I'm still sorting through which of my memories are real and which are trauma-induced fabrications.
"How soon do they want to debrief me?" I ask, resigned to the inevitable.
"Tomorrow, if you feel up to it," Dr. Vex replies. "Today is for rest and reorientation. Your mind needs time to reconcile the dimensional disruptions it experienced."
Rest sounds appealing, but the thought of being left alone with my confused memories is less so. As if reading my thoughts, Kira speaks up.
"I can stay, if you want. Help you sort through what happened versus what your mind constructed."
The offer catches me off guard. After five millennia of isolation in Hell, the idea of someone voluntarily spending time with me—especially when I'm at my most vulnerable—feels strange. But not unwelcome.
"I'd appreciate that," I admit, surprising myself.
Dr. Vex's patterns shift to a softer blue as they nod. "We'll leave you two alone then. The recovery chamber is equipped with everything you might need." They gesture to panels in the wall that presumably conceal food, water, and other necessities. "The monitoring systems will remain active, but we'll respect your privacy."
After they leave, an awkward silence fills the room. Kira sits beside me on the edge of the bed that I apparently spent three days lying in, though I have no memory of it.
"So," she says finally. "Where do you want to start?"
I take a deep breath, considering the question. My mind still swirls with two sets of competing memories - what actually happened and what my brain fabricated while I was unconscious. The image of Kira being crushed by the Crawler refuses to fade completely, hovering at the edges of my consciousness like a persistent nightmare.
"I think..." I begin, then pause, reconsidering my words. "I need to let go of these false memories. They're not helping me."
Kira nods encouragingly. "That's a good place to start. The medical team said focusing on concrete details might help separate reality from the constructs."
I look down at my hands - human-appearing thanks to the collar's containment field. "I've been dwelling too much on the past," I say slowly, realizing the truth of it as the words form. "Not just what happened with the Crawler, but everything before."
"You mean your time in..." Kira starts, but I shake my head, cutting her off.
"I don't want to talk about that place anymore," I say firmly. "I don't want to think about it. Five thousand years of my life were stolen there, and I'm giving it more power every time I bring it up."
Something shifts inside me as I make this declaration - not the burning sensation I've grown accustomed to, but something lighter, clearer. The burning energy inside me is still there, contained by the collar, but thinking of it as simply "my power" rather than a product of that place feels like reclaiming something important.
"I'm here now," I continue, conviction growing with each word. "In this realm, with these challenges. Looking backward isn't helping me move forward."
Kira's expression softens with understanding. "That's... actually really healthy, Kamen. Most beings take decades to reach that kind of perspective after trauma."
I almost laugh. "Well, I've had plenty of time to think about it."
Catching myself, I shake my head. "See? Even that reference. I'm done counting those years. They don't define me anymore."
Standing up, I walk to the observation window, looking at my reflection in the glass. The face looking back is human - a disguise provided by advanced technology, yes, but also a symbol of possibility. Of what I might reclaim, or perhaps build anew.
"Tomorrow I meet with the Guild Council," I say, turning back to Kira. "They'll want details about the mission, about the Crawler and who might be controlling it."
"Are you ready for that?" she asks.
"I think so. But first, I need rest. Real rest, not trauma-induced unconsciousness." I gesture to the bed. "And maybe some actual food? I'm assuming I haven't eaten in three days."
Kira smiles, rising to her feet. "Now that sounds like a plan I can fully support. The cafeteria here actually makes decent food, believe it or not."
As she moves toward the door panel to order our meal, I feel a strange sense of peace settling over me. The false memories haven't disappeared entirely - they may never completely fade - but I've made a choice not to let them dominate my thinking. Not to let my past dictate my future.
The burning power inside me pulses once, almost like approval, then settles into a steady, controlled flow. For the first time since arriving in this realm, I feel like I might actually belong here. Not as a weapon, not as a catastrophe waiting to happen, but as someone who can make choices, forge connections, and maybe even do some good.
"Any preferences?" Kira asks, hand hovering over the food selection panel.
"Surprise me," I reply with a genuine smile. "I'm open to new experiences."
After we eat - a surprisingly delicious meal of something Kira calls "dimensional fusion cuisine" that tastes like nothing I've ever experienced before - we spend hours talking. Not about the mission or my past, but about this realm, the Guild, the strange beings that populate the Citadel. Kira tells me about her favorite places in the city, promising to show me once the Council gives me clearance to move freely.
"There's this market in the Liminal District," she says, eyes brightening with enthusiasm, "where they sell fruits that change flavor depending on who's eating them. And a bookshop run by a being who can find exactly the book you need, even if you don't know you need it."
Her descriptions paint pictures of a world so much richer than the clinical Guild spaces and chaotic festival streets I've experienced so far. A world I might actually enjoy exploring, once I'm not constantly worried about accidentally destroying it.
As night falls - or what passes for night in this windowless recovery chamber - fatigue begins to catch up with me. Despite having been unconscious for three days, my body apparently still needs proper sleep to finish healing.
"I should go," Kira says, noticing my increasingly frequent yawns. "You need rest before facing the Council tomorrow."
"Thank you," I say, the words feeling inadequate for what she's given me today - not just companionship, but a glimpse of what life in this realm could be like if I stop defining myself by my past.
She pauses at the door. "For what it's worth, Kamen, I think you're going to impress them tomorrow. Not many beings could have done what you did against that Crawler."
After she leaves, I settle onto the bed, dimming the room's lights with a thought. The collar around my neck hums softly, maintaining the containment field that gives me this human appearance. But for the first time, it doesn't feel like a leash or a prison. It feels like a tool - one that might help me build something new from the ruins of what I was.
Sleep comes easily, and for once, my dreams aren't filled with memories of torment or false visions of Kira's death. Instead, I dream of the Citadel's impossible architecture, of markets filled with dimensional curiosities, of a future where my power serves a purpose beyond destruction.
I wake feeling genuinely rested, my mind clearer than it's been since arriving in this realm. The false memories haven't disappeared, but they've settled into a separate category in my mind, clearly labeled as constructs rather than reality.
Dr. Vex arrives shortly after I finish breakfast, their geometric patterns swirling with what I'm learning to recognize as pleased excitement.
"The Council is ready whenever you are," they inform me, handing over a set of clothes that look far more formal than anything I've worn since arriving. "These should fit your current form."
I examine the outfit - a deep blue tunic with silver accents, trousers of a material that seems to shift slightly under direct observation, and boots that look sturdier than they feel when I lift them.
"Guild formal wear," Dr. Vex explains, noting my curious examination. "Designed to adapt to various body types and dimensional signatures. Should you need to access more of your power during the meeting, the fabric will accommodate the changes."
"Is that likely?" I ask, suddenly concerned. "Am I expecting trouble at this meeting?"
Their patterns shift to a reassuring configuration. "Not at all. Standard precaution for beings with variable forms. The Council chamber is one of the most secure locations in the Citadel."
As I dress, I consider what I'll say to the Council. They'll want details about the Crawler, about the coordinated attack, about the use of my third lock. I'll need to be precise without dwelling on aspects of my power that might make them nervous.
Dr. Vex leads me through corridors I haven't seen before, deeper into the Guild complex. The architecture grows increasingly impossible as we progress, with hallways that curve in directions that shouldn't exist and doorways that open onto spaces much larger than they appear from outside.
"The Council chamber exists partially outside conventional space-time," they explain as we approach a massive door inscribed with symbols that hurt my eyes to look at directly. "It allows beings from various dimensional planes to interact without the usual compatibility issues."
"How many Council members are there?" I ask, adjusting my tunic nervously.
"Seven primary members, representing the major dimensional confluences," Dr. Vex replies. "Though today, given the nature of your report, we may have additional observers."
Great. No pressure.
The doors swing open silently, revealing a chamber that defies easy description. The space seems to expand in all directions simultaneously, with sections that clearly exist in different dimensional phases. The lighting comes from nowhere and everywhere, illuminating a central platform surrounded by elevated seats arranged in a perfect circle.
Several of these seats are already occupied by beings of various forms - some humanoid, others decidedly not. I recognize Dr. Thess's starlight eyes watching me from one position, their expression unreadable at this distance.
"Approach the central platform," Dr. Vex murmurs, giving me a gentle nudge forward. "Address the Council as a collective unless specifically questioned by an individual member."
I step onto the platform, feeling a subtle shift as dimensional energies adjust around me. The collar around my neck hums in response, maintaining its containment field despite the unusual pressures.
"Kamen Driscol," a voice announces - not from any particular Council member, but seemingly from the chamber itself. "We welcome your testimony regarding the incident at the eastern borderlands."
I take a deep breath, centering myself. This is it. My chance to prove I'm more than just a weapon, more than just my past.
"Thank you for seeing me," I begin, my voice steady despite the nervous energy coursing through me. "I'm ready to share what I observed during our mission."