The Stellar Nymph plummeted.
The impact was less a landing and more a violent argument with reality. Metal screamed. Glass shattered. Jimmy leaned over Vex'alia instinctively, his body hardening as his enhanced density kicked in. The floor beneath them gave way entirely, and the ship punched through layers of ruin before crashing into blinding white.
Silence followed.
Smoke hissed. Systems crackled.
Jimmy peeled himself off the console, groaning. His suit was torn at the shoulder, revealing bruised skin already knitting itself back together.
"Everyone intact?" Vex'alia asked quietly.
She looked up—and froze.
Jimmy was still hovering inches from her, breath ragged, eyes glowing faintly. For a moment, neither of them moved. His vision flickered again—dual hearts racing, tattoos pulsing faint indigo.
"You're staring," she said softly.
"I'm checking for internal bleeding," Jimmy blurted, stumbling back. "Very scientific. Extremely professional."
Sparky hovered upright. "If you're done, we're not in a ruin. We're in a Syndicate research facility."
Jimmy looked out.
Polished floors. Stasis tubes. Surgical arms.
His stomach growled—deep and hungry.
And in the center of the lab, glowing like a forbidden dessert, sat a canister of pulsing, iridescent slurry.
Jimmy swallowed.
"Oh," he said quietly. "That's definitely food."
And everything in him agreed.
Jimmy didn't move toward the slurry.
That was the important part. He stood very still, hands clenched at his sides, jaw tight, like a man resisting the gravitational pull of a very rude moon.
The canister pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
His stomach answered with another low, traitorous growl.
"Okay," Jimmy said carefully, eyes fixed forward. "We're not doing that again. Last time I ate mystery goo I turned into a multi-tool and almost redecorated a lab with living murder-dogs."
Vex'alia stepped up beside him, close enough that he could feel the heat rolling off her skin. Her tattoos glowed low and steady now—not alarm-bright, but alert. Controlled. Dangerous.
"You don't have to eat it," she said. "You want to."
Jimmy swallowed. "Yeah. That's… worse."
She glanced at him sideways. "Can you resist it?"
He hesitated half a second too long.
"That's a no," Sparky supplied helpfully from above. "His pupils are dilated, his bio-readings are spiking, and he's sweating like a sinner in a confessional. Textbook craving response."
"Traitor," Jimmy muttered.
Vex'alia stepped directly in front of him.
That was a mistake. Or a calculated risk. Possibly both.
Up close, she was overwhelming—not just visually, but energetically. His Mauler-eye tried to engage again, his vision flickering at the edges, desperate to peel back layers. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Hey," she said quietly.
He opened them despite himself.
Her face was inches from his. Calm. Focused. Her glowing tattoos traced down her collarbones and disappeared beneath her armor, pulsing faintly with her breath.
"Look at me, not it," she said.
Jimmy's voice came out hoarse. "You're… statistically worse for my concentration."
A corner of her mouth lifted. "I'll take that as a compliment."
She reached out—not touching him yet—just close enough that he felt the promise of it. His nerves lit up anyway, his body reacting like it couldn't tell the difference.
"You're spiraling," she said. "Your power spikes when you're hungry, reckless, or emotionally compromised."
"Wow," Jimmy said weakly. "All my best qualities."
Her eyes softened, just a fraction. "You don't have to prove anything right now."
Something in his chest twisted at that.
Before he could respond, the facility answered them.
A deep, resonant thrum rolled through the floor. Lights flickered to life along the walls, shifting from sterile white to a warning crimson.
Sparky rotated midair. "Update: security grid just woke up. And not gently. I'm detecting multiple energy signatures converging on our location."
Jimmy exhaled sharply. "Leash-holders?"
"Oh yes," Sparky said. "And they sound cranky."
The ground trembled again—closer this time.
Vex'alia didn't step away from Jimmy immediately. Instead, she placed one hand flat against his chest.
He froze.
Her palm was warm. Steady. Grounding in a way nothing else had been since he'd eaten the eye, the slurry, the stars themselves.
"Breathe," she said. "With me."
He did. Somehow.
His glow dimmed. The itch in his veins eased, just a little.
"There," she said. "See? You're still you. Not a weapon. Not a generator."
Jimmy met her gaze. "You're really bad at personal space."
"I'm excellent at it," she replied. "I just choose when to violate it."
Then she stepped back, drew her blasters, and the moment snapped like a pulled wire.
The blast doors at the far end of the lab slammed open.
Not Hounds.
Worse.
Three figures strode in, tall and broad, armored in matte gray exo-suits etched with Syndicate sigils. Unlike the Hounds, these moved like professionals—measured, confident. Each carried a weapon that hummed with restrained violence.
At their center walked a man without a helmet.
Pale. Bald. Smiling.
"Vex'alia of Xylos," he said pleasantly. "Still running. Still difficult."
Her posture went razor-straight. "Kerrik."
Jimmy leaned toward Sparky. "Do I know him?"
"No," Sparky whispered. "But I already hate his face."
Kerrik's eyes slid to Jimmy, lingering on the torn suit, the faint glow beneath his skin.
"And you must be the anomaly," Kerrik said. "The eater."
Jimmy waved awkwardly. "I prefer 'selective omnivore.'"
Kerrik chuckled. "Charming. Do you know how much you're worth?"
Jimmy blinked. "Like… emotionally or—"
Vex'alia fired.
The lab erupted into chaos.
Energy bolts screamed past Jimmy's head as he dove for cover, instincts flaring. He felt the grid again—the building's power humming, begging to be used. His hands trembled.
He could end this fast.
He glanced at the slurry.
Then at Vex'alia—spinning, firing, tattoos blazing bright white as she moved with lethal grace.
A shot clipped her shoulder.
She staggered.
Something inside Jimmy snapped.
The hunger didn't rise this time.
The rage did.
He stepped forward, glow intensifying, eyes burning.
"No," he said softly. "That's not allowed."
The air around him distorted.
Kerrik's smile faltered.
Jimmy felt the facility's power surge into him—not ripping, not wild. Focused. Directed.
Vex'alia looked at him over her shoulder, breathless. "Jimmy—don't lose yourself."
He met her eyes.
"I won't," he said. "I promise."
And then he moved.
Not as a weapon.
Not as prey.