Voidborn - A Sci-fi LitRPG

It was an embarrassingly short period of time that Malan managed to maintain his positive feelings about any kind of heroic sacrifice. Exactly twelve steps from the bottom of the exit ramp, plus another six before he heard that same ramp snap shut behind him, and along with it any hope of him escaping with his life.

The moment he heard that noise, muffled and distant in the thin atmosphere of this planet’s moon, he legs nearly gave way beneath him, fear pulsing through his body like arctic tides. Every nerve was alight with a single, unifying desire: run. Get away. Anywhere. Whatever it took. It was only Talia’s firm had upon his shoulder that kept him walking, along with the pistol she held in her other hand.

She still wore a soft, peaceful smile, and that terrified Malan more than the pistol in her hands. After all, how could somebody smile like that, when walking in the very vision of Hell itself?

The moon itself was entirely uninteresting. Pale rock and jet black skies pockmarked with stars and the few distant planets close enough to see. But the rift had finally stopped spewing its denizens forth, and they crawled and flew and slithered before them in a great tide of flesh and claw.

He knew them. Had watched creatures just like these tear through the halls of the Jauda tearing the steel walls and infrastructure apart as easily as they did the meat and bone of the people living and working there. But, in truth, his memory had not done them justice. Night after night of nightmares so horrific he’d grown fearful of sleep itself hadn’t been able to reforge the true horror of the Abyss.

There were some recognisable shapes. Twisted, malformed bats with great leathery wings and long beak-like snouts ridged with rows of serrated teeth. Reptilian beings with plated scales and rounded claws, each bearing great crests around their necks, spike-tipped and smothered in a confusing mash of colour that never seemed to stay the same tone long enough for the eye to recognise which colour it had just seen.

That was as far as familiarity stretched. Sweat rolled down Malan’s face as Talia marched through the seething mass, barely able to breathe for the fear. Beings that defied logic parted for them with a reverence that made the hair on his arms stand on end.

Human-like creatures that scrambled on all fours with tentacles that bloomed and writhed where their necks should have been. Insectoid creatures like millipedes that stood upright, whose upper torsos split and bloomed into flower-like arms lined with a mass of serrated needle-like teeth.

Every possible warping and combination of natural life appeared present among them, with some even that seemed to be seething masses of flesh given form. These creatures shifted and changed from moment to moment, their half-melted forms sprouting seeping, bulbous eyes and circular mouths anywhere there was space, and in amounts that could only have been random.

For him, the worst could be found when he looked down. The floor was coated in a tide of skin and bone—floods of tiny, gibbering creatures that surged between legs and spiked tails. He consciously had to watch his footing not to step on them, a precaution none of the other creatures seemed willing to take. All too often he caught glimpses of a shift of movement, then an explosion of offal lifted into the low-gravity air of the moon, suspended at knee height.

Looking between them, searching for reason or logic—some sign of the laws of nature and evolution at play—to soothe his scientific mind, only pushed him further into the same pit of madness that surely must have spawned these creatures when he found none.

Aboard the Jauda, his encounter with the Abyss had been a brief, desperate affair. Breathless sprinting towards safety, punctuated by moments of indescribable horror that had stained his psyche forever.

There was no running here. No way to avoid the insanity inherent in these creature’s existence. He’d received Talia’s statements of an Elder One—Old Gods from beyond—with all the scepticism of a humanity that had conquered the stars and found no sign of any God at all. A cult, surely. Some kind of brainwashing, perhaps. Rational explanations.

He believed her fully, now. He didn’t know about the Elder Ones being deities, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt, as he walked amongst its spawn, that it was as real as any force science had discovered amongst the stars.

The creatures continued to part, and Malan had to fight to keep his any of his attention upon the direction they were walking. Unbelievably, they had only been walking for a few minutes, the Sparrow still incredibly close behind them, when a black shadow, triangular and looming, seemed to fade into view at the edges of his vision.

The image of it shimmered, difficult to focus on fully, until he took a few more steps and it solidified out of nowhere.

A pyramid, constructed from a gleaming white stone like marble towered in front of them. Malan blinked, trying to focus on the building. It appeared simultaneously gargantuan in size and yet no larger than a small house, changing between the two every time he looked.

“Finally,” Talia breathed. “Our true calling can begin. Everything changes from this day, Malan. And it’s all thanks to you.”

She hissed again, and before Malan could speak he felt something thick and impossibly strong latch onto his left leg. He stumbled, and instinctively kicked out to fight, only for a mass of black to reach up from the floor and latch on to his right wrist. With a start, he realised the mass of small creatures had coalesced, conjoining into one being.

His other limbs were taken before he could do anything else to fight, and he was hoisted up painfully, his face still level with Talia’s. She placed a hand, ever so gently, upon the glass of his mask.

“For what it’s worth, I am truly sorry. You will give our Master the galaxy—you do not deserve how much this is going to hurt.”

The appendages bearing him aloft lurched, and turned him to face the pyramid, before slowly inching him towards it, arms spread wide in a cross pose. He had no time to think on the symbolism, or on what Talia had said. A small vibration had started to reverberate through the fleshy arms holding him, one that grew louder and more aggressive the closer they moved toward the strange building.

Malan frowned, despite the horrific circumstances. A few minutes ago, the walls of the pyramid had been flawlessly smooth, as though it had been carved in one, single and impossibly perfect piece. Now, the lines of the brickwork were clearly visible and….growing.

Sure enough, with each step, the black lines separating each stone block grew, and, a few metres from being able to touch it were he free, they began to slide away. The entire pyramid folded back on itself in a cacophony of grinding stone and shaking earth. If Malan paused to think, this was equally as unnatural and otherworldly as any of the monsters at his back. But, as the pyramid slid away, he felt oddly at peace.

His heart slowed, and he rediscovered his ability to breathe at a regular pace. This was right. This was meant to be.

But of course, Voidborn. The stories always told of the best partnerships being forged in the fires of adversity. Oh, how we shall forge them this day. But fate balances upon the edge of a blade. I am sorry, Voidborn, but you must make ready. He comes.

The voice didn’t even register as unusual. His eyes held their focus, locked upon the rapidly unveiling central area of the pyramid. Malan felt himself gasp soundlessly as enough stones finally shifted aside to reveal a metallic sphere, hovering in space at the exact centre point of the pyramid.

His mouth worked as he tried to find the words to express what he was feeling as he looked at the glimmering orb just large enough for a man to step inside. It spun slowly on its axis, its silver surface reflecting the madness and horror arrayed before it as perfectly as the mirror-sheen surface of a placid lake.

Confusion warred with recognition within him. He'd never seen anything like the pyramid before, but this? He knew exactly what this was. After all, he'd spent most of his life working to get himself standing before one. Despite himself, Malan felt the tiniest ember of hope kindle within him.

It was surely a trap. A part of whatever twisted plan Talia was helping the Abyss to complete. But that didn't matter. They had brought him right to a weapon that could turn the odds in his favour. They had accounted for that, surely. But, as he glanced behind him and watched the Sparrow—the only thing keeping him compliant—begin the rise off of the moon's surface in the distance, he couldn't help but wonder: Had they accounted for him?