In the brief second I had before everything went to hell, staring at the descending darkness, my mind couldn''t quite make sense of it. It was too large to comprehend, a mass of black that spanned the entire ceiling, plunging like a headsman''s axe.

    Then it hit.

    The impact slammed me against the stone ground, hard enough to knock the wind out of my lungs. There was an unquenchable reflex to gasp, but from the way the black ichor plied at my mouth, my nose, a single breath would be my last.

    I fought the urge, writhing beneath the endless mass until there was enough room to rotate off my back and onto my stomach. Palms flat against the slick stone I pushed, trying to get enough momentum to "swim" upward, but the ichor pressed down on the back of my neck, growing taut, attempting to keep me from rising.

    My skin burned, stinging and searing.

    It was a clever gambit. But an arrogant one. Subtlety had failed and now the thing was trying for brute force. The problem with that plan was that it was effectively putting its entire form—or at least, a significant portion of it—at risk, trying to snuff out its invaders all at once.

    Yet a submerged flame did not carry the same properties as an open one. Perhaps it was aware. Maybe the wretch believed that anyone it ensconced would be too concerned with self-preservation, considering the immediate and scalding consequences of super-heating a substance they were currently immersed in.

    It was wrong.

    I flooded mana through my chitinous arm, kept it low, away from the direction of the surface, called the spark, and boiled it.

    Surging stinging bubbles sizzled from beneath my hand. The arm alone was protected as the scalding ichor ravaged my shoulder and neck, the darkness recoiling in a movement that seemed very much like panic. The crushing weight on me lightened but held, refusing to release.

    I sent four more sparks out forming a tight, rectangular box around me, avoiding anywhere there was movement—likely a member of my regiment—and increasing their temperature gradually. Pouring everything I had into them would likely mean cooking myself alive, so in a way, this was a game of hubris. A question of who would break first.

    It spoke to me again, in its stolen voice.

    "This opposition is pointless. It will bring your end and little else. Is killing yourself truly preferable to living out the meticulous fantasy I crafted for you?"

    I fed more mana to the sparks, raising the temperature. My skin felt painfully astrictive, inflexible.

    Yes.

    The ichor pressed down harder on my back, attempting to force me down, break my concentration.

    "Why?"

    The spasms in my lungs grew more severe, tightening, even as I fought to suppress the urges. It wouldn''t be long now. I forced more mana through the weave, raising the temperature of the spark in my hand simultaneously, preparing to bring all five to the highest temperature I could manage. It would likely be the end.

    Because I wish to live. Freely. This umbra of guilt and regret has haunted my footsteps for too long. It is done. I failed to save Lillian Gray. I was irresponsible, nai?ve, and reckless. But the hands that killed her were never mine. The time for grief is over. And I refuse to fail the living on account of the dead.

    Kneeling there, with my eyes closed tightly, I prepared for the end.

    "It''s easy to break the parasite''s connection before it fully sinks its fangs in." Maya looked down towards the recovered soldiers, still keeping the ichor at bay. She squinted in worry. "Mari was not so easy. And she was only out slightly longer than the men we just freed."

    I frowned, filling in the rest. Sevran and Zin were in the Lithid''s clutches since it first had me. And from its movements, it was clearly prioritizing them. "Doesn''t matter how long it takes. I''ll buy you time."

    "That''s not it." Maya grimaced. "Accessing another''s mind is delicate work. It must be done correctly to avoid leaving lasting mental injury, and doing it correctly is..."

    It snapped into place. The bags under her eyes, and the dip in her shoulders. She''d dipped into her mana pool aggressively, and now, it was taking its toll.

    "Exhausting." I filled in.

    She nodded unhappily.

    With the way things had shaken out, Maya was our point of vulnerability. If she fell, we all fell. I fished through my satchel, hastily going through the airtight apothecary compartment, fishing out a wad of vurseng. Maya took it and bit down, chewing aggressively, flagging slightly from the effort. I feared it wouldn''t be enough.

    "Is there anything I can do to help?"

    "No." She stopped, thought about it. "Maybe. I can open a connection to their minds easily enough. It is the traversal that is difficult."

    A possibility occurred. A fraction of a hope. "Can you hold the gate open and allow another to pass in your stead?"

    Maya weighed that idea, her face a flurry of expression as she worked it out. "Never tried. But, it''s possible. Opening the connection is the easiest part. That might be the only way we can save them both. It''s getting harder and harder to keep my eyes open."

    "Do it."

    "This will be difficult. It''s untested, and there''s danger to everyone involved."

    "We''re past that point. For that matter, you''ve never let me down before." I smiled, showing a brave face, even as the fear encroached.

    Maya barked a laugh. "No pressure."

    "None at all."

    "Very well."

    Maya placed a palm just above the bridge of Sevran''s nose, her eyes closed, focused. The verdant light intensified, growing brighter in the gloom, taking on a bluish, wispy hue. Her other hand, possessed with the same unfamiliar light, reached towards me slowly, the light within her palm almost blinding before her fingers stroked my forehead.

    The darkness took me.