Reeling from the fight with the Chaos psyker, Elias begins to feel the cost of his evolving powers — the mental static, the burning fatigue, the dissonance of using something that wasn't meant for this universe. As he drags the wounded trooper to safety, memories start bleeding through… memories that don't belong to anyone born in the Imperium.
-----
Elias couldn't feel his fingers.
That was the first thing he noticed as he stood again — not pain, not trauma, but disconnect. Like his body had stopped reporting back after everything he just forced it to do.
He wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his wrist. It smeared across his cheek, already crusting black. His ears rang from the psychic backlash, and his legs felt like they were being held together by spit and prayer.
The trooper with the rebreather was still breathing. Barely. His gloves had melted, skin fused to the weapon. His armor was cracked, but intact. His eyes fluttered under a cracked lens.
Elias knelt beside him and did something he hadn't done since arriving in this world.
He breathed.
Not shallow. Not battle-short. A real, deep breath.
Then another.
And finally, he reached out with something that wasn't quite muscle, wasn't quite mind — a sense that had no name in this universe.
Chakra.
He focused it into his palms.
Not to attack. Not to strike.
To hold.
To stabilize.
The System buzzed weakly in his skull:
> Chakra Transfer Attempted
> Healing Skill Not Unlocked
> Energy Control: ACCEPTABLE
> Transfer Efficiency: 12%
> Vital Signs: Stabilizing (Temporary)
The trooper's breathing leveled out — shallow but consistent. His heartbeat slowed.
Elias felt the chakra drain from his body like a plug had been pulled.
He staggered back and sat hard against the wall.
And that's when the memories hit.
Not his.
Not someone else's, either.
They came like snapshots:
A spinning leaf.
A hand held out in rain.
A kunai knife in a hand that wasn't his, slicing air so fast it sang.
A voice — feminine, laughing: "You'll never catch me, slowpoke!"
A red scarf fluttering through a forest of concrete trees.
Then… a scream.
Then silence.
Elias grabbed his head and clenched his teeth.
The world around him twisted — but not from the Warp.
From inside.
He knew this feeling.
Integration.
Not a memory from this life, or his old one.
A piece of something else. Another path. Another world.
The System didn't just grant power.
It carried ghosts.
And now they were bleeding into him.
He vomited against the wall.
Acid. Blood. Bits of ash.
The trooper groaned behind him. Still alive.
The psyker's body was gone — dissolved into a wet smear of dark matter and psychic soot.
The fog was thinning.
The shadows were pulling back.
But Elias didn't feel victorious.
He felt fractured.
The System chimed again, this time slower, like a machine slurring its words after overload:
> Chakra Reserve: 0.1 / 2.2
> Recovery Advised
> Memory Imprint Detected: [Unknown — Fragmented Source]
> Integration Level: 4%
> Side Effect: Emotional Dislocation / Identity Drift
> Status: MANAGEABLE
Identity drift.
His laugh came out hollow.
He was bleeding, exhausted, covered in the psychic entrails of a monster, and now the universe was telling him he might stop recognizing his own reflection.
"Great," he muttered, wiping his mouth. "Really just… top marks for the afterlife experience."
The wounded soldier stirred.
Elias looked down at him.
"You're going to make it," he said, more to himself than the man. "We both are."
He stood — slow, deliberate, one hand on the wall — and activated his vox.
Static.
Then, finally:
"Sub-Sector Nine — patrol report. Priority channel."
"One survivor, one wounded. Anomaly neutralized. Requesting evac."
"Repeat — Mercer requesting evac."
Silence.
Then a cold voice answered:
"Acknowledged."
Back at base, Commissar Vael was already preparing the next step.
Because Elias Mercer had done what he was supposed to do:
He had not died.
Which meant the real test could begin.
[END OF PART 4]