The announcement hung in the air of the dormitory, thick and suffocating as the bland recycled air. 'Tested.' The word echoed in Hart's mind, stripped of any academic connotation. This wasn't about recalling alien customs or demonstrating energy manipulation.
This felt like a prelude to something far more brutal. The faces around him mirrored his own apprehension. As a girl with blue skin seemed to have lost some of its vibrant luminescence. And a guy with dark eyes were narrowed slits, his quiet observation moments replaced by a tense alertness. Even the blob of a creature seemed to coalesce into a denser, more agitated form.
He's finally managed to convince them that he'll cooperate. He was led into the dormitory, where he has met these three. The last days and nights where spent with them. Eating and doing training exercises.
The next cycle brought a flurry of activity. Zatherians, their serene facades replaced by a brisk efficiency, herded them into another chamber. This one was lined with metallic lockers, each containing a suit of what Hart could only describe as glorified, ill-fitting armor. His was a dull grey, made of a segmented material that felt stiff and restrictive. It covered his sheeny-lavender skin from neck to ankles, leaving only his face and hands exposed.
Patches of glowing circuitry pulsed faintly across the surface, and a tight-fitting helmet with a transparent visor completed the ensemble. It felt less like protection and more like a uniform for the slaughter. As they were being clumsily suited up, the Zatherians offered minimal explanation.
"Environmental protection," one stated flatly, adjusting a strap on Hart's chest plate. "Arcane dampening."
Arcane dampening? The term sent a shiver of unease down his spine. It sounded like they were trying to make him less of whatever he was now. Once they were all encased in their restrictive gear, they were led to a vast platform that shimmered with a nauseatingly familiar blue light. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through Hart's feigned cooperation. This wasn't a test in a controlled environment. This felt like a one-way trip. The platform hummed, and the world dissolved into that sickening swirl of colors again. When it reformed, the sterile light of the Celestial Spire was gone, replaced by a sky the color of bruised plums, heavy with ash and choked with the stench of decay.
The air that seeped into his helmet was acrid, burning his nostrils and tasting of dust and something else… something rotten. He stood on cracked, barren earth, the ground littered with the skeletal remains of what might have once been buildings. Twisted metal reached towards the oppressive sky like skeletal fingers. The silence that had greeted him in the cryo-chamber was a distant memory, replaced by a low, guttural moaning that seemed to emanate from the very ground.
Around him, the other three Seeds materialized, their armored forms looking equally lost and terrified in this desolate landscape. The girl gasped, her blue eyes wide with horror. The guy's hand instinctively went to his side, as if searching for a weapon that wasn't there. The blobby-sandy form rippled and churned, a silent expression of distress. Then he saw them. They shambled in the distance, grotesque figures with decaying flesh and vacant eyes, their movements jerky and unnatural. But it was the creatures closer to them that sent a primal wave of terror crashing through Hart. They were hunched, monstrous shapes with razor-sharp claws and teeth that glinted in the dim light. Their eyes burned with a malevolent hunger, fixed on the newcomers.
"Crop," a voice crackled in Hart's helmet, cold and devoid of emotion. It was one of the Atherians. "Your objective is survival. The arcane sustains you. They will seek it."
Crop. That's what they called them. Not Seeds. Crop.
Something to be harvested. The moaning of the shamblers intensified, and the monstrous figures began to move, their hunger palpable. He turned towards the three, "I'm Hart," He extends a hand towards the girl first. Maybe it's best to know the ones he's going to be dying with.
"Lyran," the girl said gripping his in her gloved hand.
"I thought we will never know each others names, before we're slaughtered. I'm Mark, ,and she's Zephyr." The guy says, a small smile on his face, his eyes on the advancing nightmares coming for them.
Hart's survival instincts kicked in, a detached part of his mind tries to recalls the forms, the energy manipulation exercises, he wished he had paid more attention to it, he thought it was all crap, regret slash into him and he swallows it. The sterile arena of the Celestial Spire was a world away from this apocalyptic nightmare. This was real. This was death.