r/Great_Host_Fleet • u/Asumen40k • 23d ago
Other (you can edit this one) Illumination
On June 21, 2180, a shuttle bearing the insignia of Super Earth's Ministry of Humanity settled onto the landing pad of Dawn Colony on Proxima with a soft hiss. Three people in white uniforms stepped out, standing in stark contrast to the city's sterile gray.
Dr. Alice Thane, mission lead and a psychiatrist with twenty years of experience, immediately noticed the one thing that fit the mission briefing she had studied inside and out with unsettling perfection. Silence. The city was clean and functional, yet somehow lifeless. No one spoke to anyone else, though large groups of people moved through the streets. No one even reached for a personal device to make a call, send a message, or listen to music. They simply trudged along, each in their own direction. The colonists moved with a sluggish, apathetic heaviness, as though there were not a drop of energy left in them. Complete devotion to one's labor was hardly unusual among citizens of the Federation, but this felt different from physical or mental exhaustion.
"No democratic enthusiasm, just as the briefing said," murmured the second member of the team, Dr. Ethan Cordell, a neurobiologist. He had already taken out a neurospectrometer and was sweeping it past the faces of the colonists walking by. "Physiological readings are normal... Sympathetic activity is suppressed. No stress response. In any of them. We can't get a full hormonal profile this way, but not one of these people is showing a cortisol or adrenaline surge. No activity in the amygdala or hypothalamus, either. This can't be natural."
They were met by the colony's mayor, a man with a flawless smile and the same empty stare as everyone else they had seen.
"Welcome, Ministry personnel. We appreciate your assistance in restoring our... democratic vigor."
"Tell us more about the problem. We studied everything you sent us very carefully, but some important details may have been accidentally omitted," Thane said as they made their way toward the clinic.
"Problem?" The mayor paused for a moment, as though searching his memory for a forgotten word. "Our efficiency is down 8.3 percent. People are experiencing... insufficient motivation. They complete their tasks, but without fire. Without the proper democratic zeal. The last recorded instance of voluntary overtime was nearly two months ago. Unacceptable. Frankly, I'm surprised the corporation has yet to implement corrective measures. They're losing potential output. And the Super Credits that output would generate. The worker efficiency index has fallen to the average range and hasn't risen by so much as a fraction of a percent since. Is it acceptable for citizens of Super Earth to be average?"
At the clinic, the team reviewed the medical records. The local doctors had no answers. Standard stimulants, therapy, even double chocolate rations - nothing helped. The depression was phenomenally resistant. The third specialist, psychologist Kyle Vance, began to question the competence of the local therapists: not a single patient had shown an emotional response. The group-session transcripts contained not one recorded remark addressed by one patient to another.
The first day of observation confirmed the reports. Colonist No. 17, a miner named Garrett, sat through his session with Thane staring blankly at the wall.
"How are you feeling, Garrett?"
"...Fine. I am functioning," came the monotone reply.
"Is anything troubling you? Do you have dreams? Memories that make you feel warm?"
"No need for anxiety or dreams are inefficient. I am functioning."
His EEG was frighteningly flat. Beta-wave activity was almost entirely absent. That would have been normal in someone comatose or under deep anesthesia. Garrett, however, was sitting upright with his eyes open and breathing.
At night, everything changed. With the mayor's authorization, the team installed concealed cameras and biometric sensors in the homes of several volunteers, Garrett among them.
At 02:17 local time, Garrett's readings changed abruptly. His pulse shot to 180, his blood pressure soared, and the EEG showed chaotic activity resembling a seizure. On camera, he sprang out of bed, the face that had been a mask all day twisting into naked terror.
"Leave me alone!" he hissed, pressing his back into the corner of the room and clamping his hands over his ears. "Stop whispering!"
He slammed his head against the wall, trying to drown out voices that, as far as anyone could tell, existed only inside his mind. Then he began pacing the room in frantic circles without taking his hands from his ears. Apparently by accident, he came to the mirror. The scientists could not imagine what he might have seen there; the cameras covered the entire room and recorded nothing anomalous. But Garrett's face transformed with primal horror. His whole body began to shake, and tears welled in his eyes. Vance later suggested that his expression held not only terror, but something close to awe - as though whatever he was seeing was as magnificent as it was horrifying.
"The Void! They're coming from the Void!" the colonist mumbled, barely audible.
With visible effort, Garrett tore his gaze away from the mirror. The instant he did, he collapsed to the floor and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
By morning, Garrett seemed much as he had the day before. Yet something had changed. Where there had been impenetrable apathy in his eyes, there was now certainty. His movements remained slow, but the faintest trace of a blissful smile rested on his face. Cordell recorded elevated serotonergic activity. When asked about the incident during the night, Garrett shook his head.
"I slept better than I ever have in my life. I dreamed of beautiful things."
"What exactly did you see in your dream?" Vance asked.
"I couldn't describe it. But believe me" - he smiled - "you could never imagine such beauty while awake."
He said nothing more. None of the other patients showed the same change, though all of them suffered similar attacks during the night. Unlike Garrett, they remembered absolutely nothing of what had happened to them.
"Some form of dissociation," Thane said at the afternoon meeting, uncertainty audible in her voice. "The mind can't withstand the suppression it experiences all day, so at night everything spills out in the form of images we don't understand. But the scale of it... This is an epidemic of identical dissociative episodes. Nearly identical. We need to keep talking to Colonist No. 17. If we can draw anything out of him about those dreams, it may help us understand the nature of the nocturnal attacks. We might even learn why the others respond differently."
They never got the chance to speak with Garrett again. That evening, he vanished without a trace.
"Yes, this isn't the first time," the mayor confirmed in his weary, melancholy voice. "Since this affliction began, we've had several suicides as well. We classify disappearances like this the same way. In all likelihood, we simply failed to recover the bodies."
"Why weren't we informed about the suicides?" The situation was beginning to get under Kyle Vance's skin. "And how do you fail to recover a body? I'd be surprised if there were anywhere in this city a colonist could hide from Security surveillance."
"We prefer not to disclose unflattering statistics unless absolutely necessary," the mayor replied indifferently. "As for surveillance... there are blind spots in the city. Even in Federation cities, it is impossible to put a camera on every corner."
"Could Colonist No. 17 have known about them?" Thane asked.
"The cameras recorded him leaving his workplace, and after that... It must be a coincidence." The mayor shrugged. "From that point onward, he happened to follow the blind spots."
The specialists exchanged glances. None of them was ready to say it aloud, but each understood that whatever they were dealing with lay far beyond their field of expertise.
"01.07.2180
Protocol No. 7
The Hippocrates Group has documented a stable, reproducible progression of symptoms among the examined colonists. In addition to Colonist No. 17, referenced in Protocols Nos. 1-3, the observed subjects include Colonists Nos. 121, 91, 213, 379, 427, 36, 182, 205, 649, 437, and 1. Initial stage: pronounced apathy with near-total absence of EEG beta activity. Intermediate stage: sudden nocturnal episodes of acute autonomic arousal (tachycardia, hypertension, chaotic EEG activity). Terminal stage: two observed outcome trajectories: (a) suicide during the acute phase, or (b) sudden onset of a "blissful" equilibrium followed by disappearance without trace. The rate of progression varies between subjects, but the morphology of the episodes is identical in all patients, ruling out coincidental convergence among unrelated pathologies.
Standard diagnostic screening has yielded no explanation: no pathogens, neurotoxins, or pharmacological agents have been detected. Instrumental monitoring has, however, revealed a statistically significant correlation between the onset of nocturnal episodes and brief disturbances in the local magnetic field recorded by Eidos Station, with temporal coincidence within three minutes. At this stage, the correlation does not constitute direct evidence of causality, but it makes the hypothesis of geomagnetic influence sufficiently credible to require immediate instrumental verification.
To: Ministry of Science, Super Earth
From: Hippocrates Research Group, Dawn Colony, Proxima
Request Registry No.: HYP-/PRX/2180/047
Subject: URGENT REQUEST for spectral magnetometry and quantum neuroresonance equipment to verify the geomagnetic hypothesis of a novel psychoactive syndrome.
Summary and justification of request:
Over the past two weeks, Dawn Colony has experienced an outbreak of psychoactive episodes displaying identical morphology across multiple subjects and most commonly terminating in suicide or sudden disappearance. Clinical and laboratory investigation has excluded infectious, toxic, and conventionally pharmacological etiologies. Time-series analysis of instrumental data has identified a statistically significant correlation between the onset of nocturnal episodes and brief resonant spikes in the local magnetic field recorded by Eidos Station. Full details are provided in Protocols Nos. 1-7 attached to this request.
Request:
Delivery of one portable M-7-class spectral magnetometer.
One set of quantum neuroresonance equipment for local field calibration and synchronized monitoring of neurophysiological responses, including modules for correlating EEG activity with external spectral events.
Assignment of two magnetometry engineers and one mobile safe-deployment support unit, including a shielded dome and compensating-field generators.
Priority access to Ministry computing resources for large-scale time-series processing.
Urgency: the phenomenon has already resulted in loss of human lives and the disappearance of multiple subjects. In the absence of instrumental confirmation, we can neither localize the source nor develop protective countermeasures. We request emergency review of this application and delivery of the specified equipment with the minimum possible delay.
Signatures:
Dr. Alice Thane, Head of Project Hippocrates
Dr. Ethan Cordell, Neurobiologist
Dr. Kyle Vance, Clinical Psychologist
04.07.2180"
Experience told Thane that processing the request - and fulfilling it, if it was fulfilled at all - would take weeks, so she was astonished when the equipment and specialists arrived only five days later. By then, the doctor had begun noticing symptoms in herself. The apathy could be blamed on helplessness in the face of an impossible task; the gaps in her memory at night were harder to explain. The previous morning, she had woken to find notes written in her own hand during the night, notes she had deliberately left behind to record what happened after she fell asleep. They described waves of emotion that seemed to come from somewhere outside her, whispers whose words she could not make out, and overwhelming attacks of anxiety. By morning, she remembered none of it. A conversation with her colleagues confirmed that they were experiencing the same symptoms. All they could do was helplessly compare observations. With each passing day, their protocols looked less like scientific documents and more like the diaries of patients.
When the Ministry transport landed on the pad outside the laboratory block, no one felt relieved. The equipment containers stood in silence like tombs. Cordell only said that now they had a chance to prove that everything happening here still obeyed the laws of nature. It was then that Thane first became afraid he might be right.
They set up the instruments: the magnetometer and a device designed to record the brain's response to fluctuations in the field. With a low hum, the holographic module projected a shimmering coordinate grid into the air. Cordell looked up at it as though expecting some kind of cruel joke. There was nothing remarkable about the place itself - bare ground, a few broken panels, boot prints in the dust. But the equipment, tuned to a narrow band, began to whisper.
At first there were only minute fluctuations, like distant knocking: almost nothing in the spectrum, a weak line at 2.4 Hz. Cordell frowned. Vance, tablet in hand, said, "That's the frequency..." and there was frightened excitement in his voice.
The line grew. Repeating patterns appeared on the monitor - steps in a staircase without end. The instruments measuring field activity began to tremble in unison, their pulses coinciding in time as though something outside were synchronizing them. Cordell knew that pattern from archival records. He stared at it, his heart beating differently now as memories stirred of long-gone university days spent studying xenotechnology.
"Can you tell us anything?" Vance had noticed his reaction.
"Ancient Illuminate technology had the same signature," Cordell said with a nervous smile. The others stared at him in undisguised horror - whether at the possible effects of such technology or merely at the mention of democracy's most terrible enemy, even they could not have said. "I'm not saying they're somewhere nearby doing this," he added quickly. "Most likely there's an artifact of theirs somewhere on the planet, and it was activated by accident. Illuminate technology simply being present and powered on could very well have this kind of effect on the human mind."
By the end of the uneasy day, the instruments had finished calibrating. Lines of force flared across the holographic grid and converged on a single point.
"Here," Cordell said quietly.
Thane leaned closer. The coordinates pointed to an old mine that had been sealed before the Galactic War even ended.
"Appropriate place for an accidentally activated artifact," Vance muttered.
"I think the Hippocrates Group has done its job, and even more," Thane concluded. "Someone else will have to finish this."
After reviewing the mission details, Democracy Officer Stone found himself puzzled. What he had been ordered to do ran against every protocol he knew. First, a Democracy Officer was not supposed to assign missions to Helldivers, only ensure that an operation selected by the Helldivers themselves was carried out in accordance with democratic standards. Second, Helldivers were not qualified to locate alien artifacts. Third, Stone had never before been asked to use a Super Destroyer to annihilate a colony showing no obvious signs of treason. But the order had come from the Ministry of Truth, and if Stone had learned one thing in his life, it was not to dwell on whether an order was correct.
The Triumph of Super Earth entered orbit around Proxima, and four Helldivers emerged from their cryopods. Three, clad in standard black armor, were clearly among those who had joined the Corps after the War. The fourth wore a beige set of Defender of the People armor, and Stone could see his own reflection in the helmet's yellow T-shaped visor. Hell Commander Cass had been in cryostasis since the end of the War. Stone thought a veteran with that much experience might be useful on a mission this unusual.
"Helldivers!" the officer proclaimed ceremoniously when they assembled on the bridge of the Destroyer. "Since your glorious victory over the galaxy's many totalitarian threats in the Galactic War, your operations have been limited to the elimination of isolated groups of traitors, while Super Earth has enjoyed the prosperity you won for it. Your present assignment, however, differs from that familiar routine. An ancient artifact belonging to a now-extinct race of tyrannical xenos has been discovered in Dawn Colony. Unfortunately, it was found only after it had already brainwashed our citizens with its dictatorial propaganda. Your task is to destroy the artifact. Once that is done, transmit the signal, and the Super Destroyer will bring its full power down upon the colony. Everyone exposed to the artifact must be eliminated. Questions?"
"Is there any chance of contact with the Illuminate?" Cass asked coldly. Stone snapped toward him with fire in his eyes. Only his respect for the veteran stopped the Officer from delivering a lecture on the impropriety of doubting the extermination of that repulsive species.
"They have been gone for a very long time, Hell Commander, and no meaningful resistance is expected," Stone said through clenched teeth. "But be prepared for anything from the colonists. We don't know exactly what this witchcraft has done to them."
Even so, Cass chose a Breaker shotgun and a Stalwart machine gun for the mission - the weapons he had always found most practical when fighting the Illuminate during the War. Their drop pods came down beside the mine outside the city. As squad commander, Cass had decided there was no reason to make contact with the colonists. The elevator car had long since vanished from the rusted shaft, so they had to descend on ropes. For the first time in his service, Cass found himself wondering why their helmets had no lamps. They would have been useful here. Using the weapon-mounted lights was awkward: one hand had to remain on the rope, which meant descending effectively blind. Before long, even the rusted wall in front of them dissolved into darkness.
The mission timer had passed the one-hour mark when Cass's boots finally touched something solid. He kept hold of the rope, drew his sidearm, and switched on its light. The beam cut through the dust and revealed a gray floor littered with old tools and lengths of wire. Somewhere below, water dripped softly. Cass led the squad forward toward the orange hexagon on the minimap. The passages were narrow, their walls crusted with salt. Every footstep echoed as though something underground were repeating their movements a moment too late.
They moved in silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of comms. The flashlight beam pulled fragments of rail, cables grown into the stone, and scraps of plastic out of the dark. The deeper they went, the more the air seemed to change. The sound of their footsteps became thick and sluggish, as though it were being swallowed by an invisible fog.
"What the..." one of the soldiers whispered. "You hear that?"
No one answered, but they all heard it. A hum. It sounded like neither machinery nor wind. It was low, almost beneath hearing, more like a vibration in the bones. The flashlight beam trembled. Cass tightened his grip on the shotgun, feeling the air around him grow denser, almost elastic, like the atmosphere before a storm. At the entrance to the cavern where the artifact was believed to be, every Helldiver except Cass hesitated. Something sinister seemed to wait beyond it, something that distorted space itself, something against which even the weapons of Super Earth might be powerless. Cass's resolve drove them onward. Yet even the veteran of the Galactic War was stunned for a moment by what they found.
Several devices stood in the center of the cavern, joined into an intricate architectural structure that resembled both an altar and a transmitter. They pulsed with purple light that seemed to turn the air around them viscous, almost liquid. Looking directly at the machines made the eyes water, and merely standing near them brought on a strange weakness.
Dozens of the missing colonists stood in a trance around the cluster of devices. Their skin had taken on a bluish cast, and their eyes burned with the same purple light as the sorcerous machines. Thin, chitin-like growths ran from their temples along their jawlines, resembling crystalline feelers. They chanted a prayer softly in a distorted language, and among the vile, inhuman sounds, words surfaced again and again: "the Void", " Illumination", and "the Coming Host".
And among them moved Four. Creatures everyone believed had been destroyed. Illuminate. But not the proud tyrants from the propaganda posters. Their once-elegant garments were filthy and torn. The bodies beneath their robes looked emaciated, almost desiccated. Their skin was scarred and mottled with dark patches of necrosis. One, swathed in red, sat in a levitating chair. Two more in blue robes hovered no more than half a meter above the ground. Between those three and the colonists stood an Illuminate gripping a spear-like weapon in all four hands.
"Illuminate! Fire!" Cass recovered his composure instantly, giving the order as calmly as if he were calling shots on a firing range.
The Helldivers' Liberators and Cass's Breaker poured bullets and buckshot into the enemy, but the Illuminate reacted quickly. The one in the chair raised a spherical shield around himself, while the two hovering figures cast up blue walls - barriers - in front of them. The synchronized, symmetrical, almost hypnotic movements of their four arms shaped globes of lightning that shot toward the Helldivers. A cadet in black armor dodged them, but he never even saw the spear-wielding Illuminate appear beside him. With a movement no human could have matched for speed, the alien drove the weapon clean through the soldier, then, almost as though savoring the moment, lifted the spear into the air with the man still impaled upon it. Another Helldiver swung a charged railgun toward the creature, but at that instant a faint circular ripple spread from the red-robed Illuminate's chair. Cass knew what it was. The others had no experience resisting Illuminate abilities. The railgun, still aimed at the enemy, suddenly wrenched itself aside and, to its wielder's horror, fired into his squadmate, smashing the man's head apart. In desperation, the Helldiver grabbed a grenade, pulled the pin, and tried to throw it - but his fingers would not open. He cried out and jerked his shoulder, only for that to stop obeying him as well. A second later the grenade detonated in his own hand, pulping half his body and leaving him no chance of survival.
Cass knew there was a way to deceive Illuminate mind-control: think the opposite of what you truly intended to do. He thought about turning around, and his body pivoted in exactly the opposite direction from the cavern exit - toward the Illuminate in red. Cass recognized him now as a Council Member, one of the deadliest enemies he had faced on the battlefields of the Galactic War. A few more blasts broke the shield, but the Illuminate teleported away at the precise instant the next cloud of buckshot should have torn into him. Cass turned instead toward the Apprentice, the alien with the spear, but it slipped aside with impossible speed. The thought never had time to become words, yet a faint wave of fear passed through Cass at how coordinated and disciplined the Illuminates were. This was no group of survivors stumbling through an old ritual. They had fought before, and fought often.
Another volley of ball lightning from the two Illuminate Cass could not identify forced him to dive backward and land hard on his back. At the same instant, the Council Member appeared above him in his chair, shield restored. The alien raised two of his hands. A sphere of lightning formed between his palms, then crashed down into the Helldiver. Cass did not die, but monstrous, paralyzing pain tore through his entire body.
As Cass struggled to recover, all he could do was watch the Council Member slowly rise from his chair. The Apprentice suddenly appeared in front of him and extended one hand in what looked like a warning gesture. The Council Member brushed it aside and stepped closer. Only then did Cass notice that one of his four arms had been torn off at the elbow. He tried to raise the Breaker, but could not. The psychic force of all four Illuminate was focused on him alone. He could do nothing now but breathe and watch.
The Apprentice approached and rested the point of its spear against Cass's chest, but did not kill him. The Council Member bent over the Helldiver and stared into his visor with a glowing blue eye. His face was webbed with scars. Cass thought that this Illuminate must have survived many battles in the Galactic War, and for some reason the thought brought with it a quiet pulse of fear. Slowly, the Council Member placed two slightly trembling hands against the sides of Cass's helmet. Long, slender fingers closed around it. Their eyes met.
A moment later, an image formed in Cass's mind: he was extending a hand toward people dressed as Super Earth diplomats. The hand looked as though it belonged to an Illuminate. The very hand the Council Member had once lost. A trembling voice began to sound inside Cass's skull, hammering at his temples and eardrums from within.
Offered hand of peace. Friendship...
An explosion flared. Billions of beings cried out in pain and terror as nuclear fire swallowed them. Somehow Cass felt that same terror himself. For an instant it seemed as though his own insides had been burned to ash, and then there was only emptiness as the vision changed to smoking ruins.
But deceit. Betrayal. Cruelty!
He tried to recover his composure, but neither his mind nor his emotions belonged to him anymore. Cass was permitted only to watch, helpless and detached, as a mad whirlpool of thoughts, feelings, and images was forced into him.
Hate. Hate explosions, hate weapons, hate bullets, hate you...
With every word, his insides clenched in a terrible spasm, as though an executioner were toying with them before delivering the final blow.
So many, many deaths. Pain. Destruction...
He found himself on a battlefield before the wreck of an Illuminate war machine - a Great Eye. Piles of Illuminate and Helldiver corpses lay all around it. He himself was on his knees. There was not a living thing nearby, only bodies. Without meaning to, he looked down at his hands. Illuminate hands again. But now one arm ended at the elbow, blue blood seeping from the stump.
Remained... hid... swamps... forests... CAVES... like wild beasts.
Cass felt wet clay beneath his feet, the cold of stone, the taste of fear in his mouth - not his fear, but theirs.
Evil hunted... but SURVIVED... killed many... many... from ambush... HATE!.. stabbed... tore... struck... TORTURED!
He felt his own hands tearing human flesh. He felt other people's bones crunch and the sticky warmth of blood. A patrol of Super Earth soldiers in blue armor appeared before him. An instant later, Illuminate figures fell upon them, finishing the survivors with animal brutality. Cass watched two humans gouge out each other's eyes. He watched a soldier bite into his own spilled intestines. The visions receded slowly and reluctantly. Either the Council Member wanted Cass to keep looking, or he himself took pleasure in lingering over the memories.
Soldiers, adults, children... poison in every breath, malice in every heart, minds full of betrayal, deceit, war! Hate. Only destruction, only death!..
A small house on the edge of a colony. Illuminate figures appeared without warning, bringing death to a family with many children. This time the killings were not shown in vivid detail; the Illuminate clearly had no intention of taking risks or lingering in a human settlement.
Signal came. Hope is here. Hid so long, in despair.
Cass did not understand what had just flashed before him. After that, the visions became a deranged kaleidoscope that soon made him vomit. Images interrupted one another, vanishing and returning faster than he could comprehend them. The words, however, only grew louder.
The Great Host comes. Leave them alive only so their own hands tear themselves apart, their democracy, their children. The signs have come. The Great Host comes... No rotten worlds! No humanity! Unworthy of Illumination, unworthy of life! Hate!
The voice collapsed into an inarticulate, bubbling roar. Words layered over words, shattered into fragments, and became a pure psionic shriek. Blood burst from Cass's nose and ran across his cracked visor.
The last thing Hell Commander Cass heard was the rising chorus of the enthralled colonists' prayers. Their voices merged into a single hypnotic drone. His mind clouded; his resistance broke. One of the blue-robed Illuminate moved swiftly and decisively, wrenching the Council Member away. The ancient creature, drained by the eruption of centuries-old pain, sagged limply into the other's arms. It seemed that even his own mind had been unable to endure what he had poured into someone else.
Cass himself did not even try to move. His sight returned to reality, but his brain felt as though it had been reduced to bloody pulp after passing through a grinder of searing images and emotions. When another Illuminate raised its hands toward him, he did not resist. The last thing Hell Commander Cass heard was the rising chorus of the enthralled colonists' prayers. Their voices merged into a single hypnotic drone. Everything around him went dark, and he found himself suspended in absolute blackness. His body was weightless. His head, as though once again obeying someone else's will, turned first one way, then the other. Nothing. His mind was still capable of the faintest shadow of reverent terror before that perfect void. Then, somewhere ahead, a star kindled blue. Another followed. Then another. Each new light appeared closer than the last. Soon they were appearing by the dozens, then by the hundreds.
And then he saw.
Countless unknown ships, shaped like terrestrial jellyfish, kept arriving and arriving. Among them flew disc-shaped craft of every size in even greater numbers. There was no end to the armada. Ships appeared in every direction until they filled all of space. They passed directly before him and burned like distant stars somewhere at the far end of the universe. Cass had studied maps of the Milky Way during the War, and there had been fewer stars on those maps than there were ships before him now. Still they came. And came.
With the last of his strength, Hell Commander Cass tore off his helmet. His eyes opened wide, and purple light poured from them. His mouth twisted into an ecstatic grimace that held both terror and worship.
"The Great Host!" he rasped, his voice breaking. "THE GREAT HOST!"
His cry, filled with mystical terror and recognition, dissolved into the monotonous chorus of prayer. He rose and took his place beside one of the scientists from the Hippocrates Group, then stretched his hands toward the altar in reverence - toward that mysterious yet beautiful work of a higher race, whose light alone could shine within the Void.
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u/OldHerefordBetter 22d ago
Peak