Resonant memory lines the material of this armor. Imprinted within the folds of forged protection lies the flayed origin of the Dread.

Veskith stands within the Great Machine. Closer than any Kell. He would be the spark that burned this traitor-god from within. The Witness would give them the strength to strike back.

A specter of Torment moves ahead from behind him to a pyramid-fashioned sarcophagus, which opens at its touch. The thing looms, waiting over the opening, dimming the ambient shine within the Pale Heart.

He was promised a shape of vengeance. As Eramis before him, he would take the power he was owed.

Veskith descends.

Enveloped…

Veskith remembers how the Archons commanded Stasis through grounding themselves. Vesk… Ves… Ve—

A Voice pierces the Darkness…

"The Gardener has given you only pain. We offer a knife with which to return it."

The Voice offers Salvation, stripped from resonant pain… You accept.

He does. The thought washes away, overcome.

"Your definition subsumed." The Voice resounds in the Deep, ringing like metal. Sharp. "Peeled away… and carved anew." The Voice's words run like razors across his carapace, slicing his mind into slivers.

Ve… sk—Identity seeps into oceanic Darkness—ithhhhhhhhhhh…

The Voice cuts deep, and life runs thick; each yet unrefined motion marked in muted wails.

It is exploration as much as intention. A learning canvas with which to train the manipulation of the Light. Less gentle than ceremony. More rabid than want.

As the nameless flesh trembles, splayed out before the Voice, it speaks purpose into being.

"Your shape is to be a vessel." A cut against the foundation of bone is delivered. "A nest that within burrows spite."

The words wear away living strata. Their deterioration hollows. Memories unravel into noise. The pain of their absence honing the edge of this newly carved implement.

A bladed engine lurched into being, driven by the Voice's intent. Hollow spite spindles around the undulating mortal coil within: a final remnant of the violated, left hewn, infiltrated, and bare.

***

The bladed engine that houses Veskith crouches atop a high stone perch overlooking an arid wasteland. They guard a dormant Tormentor, awaiting its commands. They have remained motionless since the Tormentor led them here, though they do not know why. They are never told why. Commands are given and followed with unflinching obedience.

The portal dominates the sky over them.

A distant monolith splits the horizon.

Brief lucidity—Veskith sees Eliksni of his House around him. They patrol, but he does not remember when they began. He asks them how they got here, how long it has been, but they do not respond. His eyes burn—the final remnant of Veskith gazes blankly from within a catatonic fog, unaware of the reality beyond his cage.

The unchanging image of the portal burns into his retinas, as their body ignores twitching nerves pleading to blink.