The deceitful Slyfthys wasted no time. He had planned this out, using one of the abandoned warehouses as a crude sort of operating room. He had a table assembled of metal sheaths in the center of the dimly-lit room, uneven on its footing and hardly sterile on its surface. But, then again, he had no concern that the patient would still be alive once it was all over. His metal eyes glinted with greed as he looked the unconscious Klexian over. Cybernetics had become a sort of drug to Vhaso, and he was in the deepest throes of addiction. He simply couldn't resist a prize like Skry.

One piece, in particular, was the most intriguing to him. The regulator in Skry's abdomen, perhaps the most advanced piece of equipment on his body. A power source in itself, and bitingly cold to the touch. It took a colossal amount of energy to keep it that way, and enough was spare to fuel the entire suit. Vhaso eyed it hungrily, placing protective gloves over his clever digits to protect him from the temperature.

He worked quickly, unsure of how much time he had before the Klexian awoke. With a fine, slicing blow-torch and knife he worked his way around the frame to loosen it. The hum of the blowtorch cut out as Vhaso completed the circle. He reached for it greedily and began to remove it. He took no care in how fast he did so, and a long trail of wires and veins came with it. They dripped with liquid methane, which vaporized instantly as it touched the outside world.

The Klexian was still unconscious, and yet he was reacting to what was happening. His hearts raced and his breathing turned rapid. His body was panicking at the regulator's removal-something which had remained in place and a part of him since his birth. Finally the Slyfthys cut the connection, slicing through circuits and flesh alike. Skry's eyes sparked open and a hand shot up weakly from the table. The pained reflex was powerful enough to overcome the drug, and yet all he managed to do was gasp weakly before his eyes shut once more and his body went into a violent seizure. Cardiac arrest, organ failure, anoxia, every manner of deadly results of being torn away from something so vital. The Klexian was dying.

Triumphant, Vhaso clutched his freezing prize close and started giggling. It was really happening; he really and truly had it. He held it reverently, as though afraid it would somehow die on him as easily as his 'friend' on the table. Overjoyed he began prancing giddily around the table like a kid in a candy store, ignoring completely the swiftly dying Klexian, and began singing a discordant song of jumbled words and nonsense.

On the table all Skry could do was grasp feebly at nothing. His hands contracted fitfully; his muscles spasmed. Every breath sent scorching air down his lungs, every moment bringing with it fiery new agony. He didn't have minutes, he had seconds. Seconds that hissed away into nothingness as quickly as his liquid methane blood. There was no time for anything save action. Words took too long. Questions had no time to be answered.

Skasheel was frightened once again. So quickly, he was dying. Like the pirate before, she was facing death head on once again. And it scared her like nothing ever scared her before. But she couldn't sit back and watch, not this time. She'd take the blunt of Skry's angry blame later. Without thinking she slid free from the icy confines of his exoskeleton and made contact with his body, flesh and blood as it was.

Vhaso continued to sing, absorbed by his trophy. Blind to the world.

Skry's death seizures stopped just as suddenly as they started, only to be replaced with the sporadic twitching and flailing of the Ing exerting her dark control. Quickly she stabilized his temperature, stitched up his wounds. Closed the gaping hole in his stomach almost as easily as the deranged Slyfthys had opened it. Made full contact with his mind and pushed it aside all too easily, making room for her anger. Underneath the now defunct exosuit, the Klexian's pale, sun starved skin darkened to harsh, harsh black and amid it all Skasheel let out a laugh. As Vhaso had gained his, she finally had her prize, as well.

Skry was no longer dying; far from it. The Ing was the only thing keeping him alive at this point in time. As his mechanical core had day after day, she took up its purpose through and through. And, excising control over his entire being to the point that it might as well have been hers, she turned to watch the prancing alien.

"Vhaso, you'll have to try harder next time," she hissed, savoring her new spoken voice again. The Slyfthys stopped his inane dancing and stared hard, confused.

"But you're dead," he said quietly. "I killed you."

"You can't kill me, I'm not alive," she retorted sardonically, sitting upright. The Klexian's wings had become menacing, steely-spiked and blackened, and thick spines protruded from between his shoulder blades, glowing hot purple at the base. Laughing she slid from the table and stood, staring through burning orange eyes.

"You're dead," was all Vhaso could say. He held the stolen core close, protectively, ignoring the frostbite it gave his deadened skin.

"I'm going crazy, that's it, just crazy," Vhaso stuttered. What other explanation could there be for the mutatious monster that had taken the place of the dead Klexian? Disbelief soon turned to confused anger, and he pointed accusingly at the Ing-turned monster. "You should be dead!" he cried. Terrified, he clutched his prize and ran, out of the warehouse, into the deserted streets, seeking escape.

Skry's own mind resurfaced and he found himself staring through new eyes. Everything felt so.. foreign and strange, as though he were a visitor in his own body. He realized in horror that he had no control, over anything. Over his movements, his breathing, even his own memories, which all had seemed to have thrown up a barrier to him. He was powerless, in the truest sense of the word. All he could do was watch, passively, and wail piteously in his head that the parasite should've simply let him die than do this.

But Skry refused to go out without a fight. With every fiber of his will he fought back against her, pushing back as he had been, trying desperately to tear down the barrier between his own mind and body.

"But I granted you LIFE!" Skasheel screamed, furious with everything. Angry at Vhaso for what he had done, at Skry for not appreciating her gift to him, and angry at the sudden push he was exerting against her control. She tried to walk, to move; to give chase to the deceitful alien who was probably long gone by now. But Skry pushed back with seemingly no care, and she found her entire body locking up.

"I can kill him, for you," the Ing pleaded, her mind a confusing muddle of emotion. "Why won't you let me?"

Unable to go forwards or back, unable to destroy the maniac who had wrought so much harm with so little care, she found herself falling to her knees. Was this how it felt, she thought suddenly? Was this how Skry felt when she had first possessed his armour, or how the pirate had felt so very long ago? It was a sickening feeling.

"Don't you want to kill him?" she whispered, motionless on the floor. "Look what he did to you."

"Yes I want to kill him!" he cried angrily, speaking with his own voice, barging past the parasite and regaining some control. "I want to kill him, with my ownwill, not yours," he snarled.

She was too overcome with emotion to think rationally.

"But he hurt you," she sobbed, slowly releasing her hold. "He… He hurt us…"

Skry's eyes regained their subtle green and he stared down in disbelief; his body had become his own again.

"No, he only hurt me," he growled. "You were just an unlucky bystander." He rose from the floor, tottering for a moment on unfamiliar legs before running out the door in furious pursuit.

He was angry now, angrier than he had ever been, and he wanted Vhaso dead. For what he had tried to do to him, and even more so what the ultimate result had been. Instead of dying he had to be saved by the parasite, and even now he could feel her mind creeping in on his own, invading his thoughts. She knew he was disgusted, she knew he was angry. She knew everything about him and his life and his aspirations. But it didn't matter. Not now. All that mattered was retrieving his core and murdering the sniveling bastard who had stolen from him.

Skry felt strong, dangerous, augmented beyond his wildest dreams. Another side effect of the infestation, and one in which he relished. Strength was good, no matter what the source; it only served to fuel his bloodlust.

He caught up with Vhaso easily, rounded back for a leap and pounced on him, violet talons digging like daggers into his weak, pale skin. The Skyfthys held the regulator pathetically to his head, as though to use it as a shield. Skry knocked it from his grasp and gave a vicious roar straight into his face. He found the action perplexing, as the voice that resonated from within him was anything but his own. Klexians did not roar.

He drew his blade, black as midnight and ablaze with violet smoke, and he locked his vicious eyes onto Vhaso own, terrified pair.

It was both Skry and Skasheel at once that delivered the killing blow, the blade driven by both their furies. Skasheel didn't stop to wonder if she was merely feeding on his anger in place of her own, or if she honestly was feeling righteous rage at Vhaso's wrong doings. She was far too confused and distraught.

Maybe the close, close call with death had traumatized her deeply without her even noticing. The Ing didn't remember ever feeling so confused and frightenedbefore. But now that Vhaso's head was lying neatly on the ground, no longer attached to his body, she felt some of the confusion lessen. The disembodied head was even smiling. He must have really loved that core.

"Is this how I'll live," she said quietly, not talking to Skry in particular as much as she was giving voice to her thoughts. She felt out of it, and speaking in his head, rather than aloud, seemed her best course of action. "Never get to walk. Never get to speak. Never get to live. My sole purpose will be to keep you alive. And you won't care. Because I'm just a parasite.

I'm only half a life."

She really had grown soft. On Dark Aether she'd be fighting her war, killing Luminoth, delighting in the kills. Here she was instead, crying over the reality of her existence to someone who had made it clear time and time again that he hated everything about her. She considered leaving him right then and there, killing both of them at once.

But why, when it was obviously she who was unwanted. So instead she became quiet and resolved herself to live as nothing more than a living power core.

Skry rose from the bloodied ground and let his blade melt away. In that instant he felt a pang of remorse for all he had said to the creature. Perhaps it was fate that she happened along. After all, if he had come here alone he would be dead. He shook his head; he didn't have time to ponder such trivial things.

Skry's anger had dissipated with the satisfying conclusion that was Vhaso's death. Even though at one point he had been his friend, no amount of memory could absolve what he'd done.

He heard the parasite. Resolute and resigned to remain and support him. A nice sentiment, perhaps. "Don't get any ideas that you're staying in there," he said simply, calmly. He walked over and retrieved the regulator from the ground. Despite the insanity of the thief, it was still in good condition. Skry, however, had no idea how to repair himself.

He turned it over in his hand and sighed. "The only ones who know how to fix me... are Klexian."

"I really don't know if these emotions are mine," Skasheel started quietly, speaking mainly for the sake of speaking. "But I… I just want to help."

There was a curious silence, between the two. Skasheel knew all about the Klexians just by having possessed one. The race was scattered and rare, just like her. Finding another, and a surgeoun at that, was a daunting task. It could be done, of course. It would probably take a while and the Ing doubted they would magically run into another Klexian anytime soon. Considering how she had never seen one before last night, there probably weren't anymore Klexians on this planet save for Skry.

She watched him stare despondently at the regulator. How strange it must have been for him to see the one thing that had allowed him to live all of his life, now held in his hand like a plaything. Its importance seemed greatly diminished.

"My name is Skasheel, by the way," she blurted suddenly, surprising herself. She had never divulged her name to anyone and she didn't know why she was doing it now.

"Well I guess I don't have much choice other than to let you, now do I?" he said sarcastically.

"My name is Skasheel, by the way."

He snorted. The thing has a name?he thought. Never once had he even stopped to consider that a parasite would have such a need for something as personal and individually expressive as a name.

She could hear him. His condescension, his hate. He knew it. And yet she was able to keep her own thoughts hidden away despite her complete invasion of his. He didn't like it one bit, but as long as she was keeping him alive he didn't really have much right to object, but that didn't change the way he felt.

"I would exchange introductions, but I'm sure you've already torn that information from me anyways."

She took his hostile rebuttal with a grain of salt and tried not to let it bother her too too much. His exceedingly harsh personality was proving hard to get used to; she was used to the calm reserved mind of her old pirate friend but he was long since dead. With Skry she felt a confusing mixture of anger and sadness all at once. She knew she could so easily take his mind and break it but that seemed a far too immoral a thing to do.

"You have a vehicle, right?" she suggested, trying to brighten the dismal mood by changing the topic. "There's lots of hospitals around the less… Repugnant, parts of the city. It doesn't hurt to start looking right now."

She paused for a moment.

"That is… Unless you'd prefer to drown your sorrows in the drink again…?"

The remark had been meant purely as a joke.

Skry laughed. "Ha, no, no more. It just seems to get me into trouble." He paused for a moment. "But I wonder now if it would get you drunk too. Now that, I'd like to see," he smiled wryly. He was joking, of course, he had no plans to touch the stuff for a while now, but he was, all the same, genuinely curious.

"I was born on this planet decades ago, and I'm not sure anyone will have Klexian accommodations anymore but... I suppose you're right I should start looking."

So not hesitating to argue he headed back to the city, back to the bar, where he had left his motorcycle.

"I do not have any wish to be… Compromised," the Ing hissed, firmly against the adverse effects liquid nitrogen had on her vessel yet, at the same time, almost morbidly curious, herself.

"And no I'm not curious, either," she snapped before Skry had any chance to interject. "I just… Prefer to have my wits about me."

If she had a body of her own, she would have turned her nose in the air and sniffed patronizingly, having all the air of a dignified member of royalty.

"Pride from a parasite, huh," Skry scoffed. "I have no plans now but, I may just have to test it out later." The thought of getting Skasheel tipsy was all too tempting and he delighted in the idea of knocking her back. Perhaps it would even loosen her hold on him. Skry wanted desperately to have the privacy of his mind back. He had always been reserved and reclusive with his emotions, and now he was being forced to share everything he thought and felt. He made his discomfort known. If the parasite was so keen to invade on his thoughts then she too would have to share the burden of his negative feelings.

Finally he made it back. He was surprised he had no trouble remembering where he had parked. His ride was there, just as he had left it, visored helmet in place atop the handlebars. He placed it on his head, feathered frills sticking from the back, and took his place atop the cycle. Despite the changes to his biology it still recognized him, and he was able to start it up and ride off.

"Pride is all I have left," she snapped bitterly, her tone a little harsher than she would have liked. It seemed one moment Skry was pushing her buttons and the next he simply didn't care and it was pissing her off.

"I'm half tempted to show you my mind, as well. But I doubt you would enjoy it."

"Nope, I really wouldn't. Keep that shit to yourself," he snapped back. He said nothing more and merely tried to focus on driving. He didn't have much of a plan besides simply finding the nearest hospital and asking around about Klexian medical care. Surely someone, somewhere, had what he needed.

"You arrogant asshole!" she yelled suddenly, having reached her breaking point. His infuriating nature and absolute disdain for her existence, despite the respect she was trying to show him by not completely possessing him earlier and saving his life was too much for her to handle.

Before he had any time to react, she took hold of his entire body and swung the motorcycle into the oncoming lane of traffick, dodging oncoming vehicles despite their honks of startled protest. She left only his face untouched by her insidious control, so that she could speak to him and him to her with their one voice.

"How can you live with so little respect for anyone else?" she growled lowly. In the confined space of his helmet, the warped, hollow undertones she gave unto his voice sounded all the more sinister. "I'd hate to see how you treat others with such adegradingmindset."

A rumbling, slow moving semi-truck just barely clipped them but the Ing managed to keep the motorcycle from spinning out of control.

With a spark of remarkable will, Skry slammed down on the brakes and tore into a 180, cycling around the front wheel and digging his talons into the steely street to stop himself. He had maneuvered them to the side of the road and out of harm's way. He was angry now, and he made no effort to hide it. After all, nothing was hidden from her.

"I respect those who deserve it. You see my memories, you see my nature. I can love, I can care, I can respect. This hatred is reserved for you. I don't care what you've done to help me, and I don't care how much supposed restraint you're trying to show with this. My body and life are mine alone, and you invadedthem, and I will hate you until the day you die."

Furious, she gripped down on the accelerator hard, causing the back wheel to spin wildly out of control against the cold hard concrete. Black smoke billowed up, choking the lungs of passersby and burning their eyes.

"You hate me because of what I am," she hissed back. The strange duality of this dark alien speaking to himself on a revving motorcycle was a sight many of the passing civilians had never seen, and presently Skasheel had gained them a small crowd. "You hate me for something I had no say in. For god's sake, you twit, it's like hating a thief because he needs to steal to eat, because he inconveniences you. You're hating me solely based on my race."

Her words struck him hard and for a moment he didn't know how to respond. His eyes widened and he looked around him. People were watching him, and, suddenly self conscious, he bit down with all his willpower and rode away, away from their prying eyes. He didn't need their accusing stares reminding him of his impending insanity.

He rode, no longer with a destination. He was simply running away, figuratively, as though the speed of his motorcycle had any effect on escaping the parasite, on escaping the dreadful, evil, and yet guilt-inducing voice in his head. For all his hatred he knew she was right, and asking her to leave was asking her to die.

Finally he stopped. The streets were empty, and there were only a few straggling people in this less populous area of the city. The motor rumbled as it stalled, impatient to his indecision.

"You're a parasite..." he said softly. "Such a damn shame you're also sentient."

With the retreat of the city throng, she felt her anger abate just a little. Out here, in the outskirts, amid the abandoned buildings and unchecked vegetation growing wild, she felt a little more at ease. Maybe it was the close proximity of so many other people that was getting to her, she didn't know. Ing usually were loners solely by nature.

"You're a parasite..." she heard him mutter softly. "Such a damn shame you're also sentient."

"Why?" she spat back bitterly. "Can't accept the fact that other creatures live differently than you? Or maybe you have a hard time thinking of anything other than yourself and your putrid kind as 'alive'."

Her anger left a bad taste in her stolen mouth, like pennies and blood.

"You only call me a parasite because you have no idea what my race is like. Maybe if you were displaced to another dimension, where the very light was lethal, and you were forced to live in the bodies of others because reality burns, then you'd understand. Until then, don't you fucking darecall me a parasite when you have no bloody CLUE what it's like to be one."

It was true; he didn't. Skry looked out on the city and removed his helmet. His eyes were half closed and he seemed contemplative. His anger was gone, replaced by guilt and indecision, questions and moral dilemmas. A sharp, low cooing echoed from his throat, a quiet, sad sound like pan flutes and birds. The sound of Klexian sorrow. For the first time he could remember, he felt guilty enough to express it.

"To die, or infest another's mind... seems like an impossible choice," his gaze remained fixed and unfaltering, staring into the landscape. "But that doesn't make either choice any more justified."

"It wasn't a hard choice to make at all," Skasheel admitted, feeling shame for her past deeds. "The Horde went to war… So we did, too. It was what we did. Infect and infest, and turn the races of the light against themselves. I never questioned my superiors, for we were Ing, and it was what we did.

"But nowI don't even know. They lied to us, the Emperor and his council. The Ing Horde. There was so much war and all we did was fight and even then I remember wanting it to end. So when my home was destroyed I saw no harm in doing what I always did and stealing what wasn't mine."

She trailed off for a moment, became suddenly quiet.

"I was… Wrong, to do what I did to you. And you have all the right to hate me for it. But please stop calling me a parasite. I don't think you realize how much it stings to be reduced to something so insignificant when I used to be something much more."

Skry sighed. "Look, I... damn, I don't even know anymore," he rested his head on his helmet and closed his eyes in bitter confusion. His tail and wings twitched in annoyance, and the tiny reflexes made him realize that the creature had given him full control once more. He opened his eyes and blinked, his voice stronger now. "I don't blame you for what you did. I can't say I would've done the same if I were you but... I don't really know what that's like so I'll steer clear of comparing."

Skry looked into the shiny glass of his helmet's visor and grimaced. The twisted face that returned his gaze made him realize just how much the symbiote had affected him. He glanced down at his regulator, attached firmly to a magnetic clamp. "I don't like what I've become, I.. don't like what you've made of me, so please," he said, raising his head, "I just want to get back to normal, and, I'll help you find a way to live. I swear."

She listened carefully not to his words, but to his meaning. And his meaning was pure, indeed. Skry was tired from the burden of everything that had been thrown on him in the span of a day and she felt immense guilt for having forced it all upon him.

"That's the most wonderful thing you've said yet," she said quietly. "In return, I will help you, to the end."

"Heh," he muttered. A mix of exasperation, conclusion, and the simple fact that he felt too dignified to return her touchy-feely response. Even so, he was grateful that at last the two beings had made peace. The confident flare had returned to his eyes. He replaced his helmet.

"Just.. be at most a backseatdriver this time. Alright?" he said before at last speeding back into the city.

She met his good natured remark with a quiet chuckle of her own, followed by, "No driver's seat at all…?"

He deigned to respond and she watched the city flash by in all its bright lights and colours. The constant itching burn of the light in her eyes was something she could never get used to and she was glad Skry had saw fit to wear his tinted helmet.

The nearest hospital came quick; a rather sad looking building near the empty part of town they had just left. Though despite its ramshackle demeanour there was life, inside. People going in and out, ambulances lined up like red and white sentries, doctors on break, watching the sky. They came to a stop across the street and stared at it for a moment. A good a place to start as any. Skasheel doubted they would find any leads but there was certainly no harm in trying.

Skry dismounted and removed his helmet. He felt comfortable enough to face public places again, now that he wasn't screaming at himself. He made his way into the hospital, an unfamiliar and almost daunting place. Truth be told he'd never been inside one since his birth, and he doubted they'd have the means to treat him, especially without damaging his exosuit.

He walked right up to the receptionist and hesitated before speaking. Asking for obscure information came as unnatural and awkward to the mercenary, especially when the person he asking was so mundane and minuscule.

"Uh, hi," he began awkwardly. Shaking off the discomfort he tried to grin. "I'm uh, looking for any information regarding Klexian medical care. Do you have any information that might be useful? Anyone in the district who knows about that sort of thing?"

The receptionist recoiled, momentarily taken aback by his off-putting voice and piercing orange eyes. His failed attempt at a smile disturbed her the most.

"I, uh…" she started, averting her attention to the seemingly endless number of pocket books, ledgers, and scattered papers that lined her desk. She picked through them quickly, nervously, but it was more than obvious by her actions that anything regarding to Klexians was not housed here.

"No, sir," she said after a moment, daring herself to meet his gaze again. "Nothing of the sort here. But… If you check out the other side of town, you might find something down there. I hear tell there's a new doctor working out there… Don't know anything about him, though."

Quickly she looked down again and resumed the frantic scribbling in a rather big account book that had occupied her before Skry's arrival.

"Other side of town..." he repeated, rubbing the back of his head. It was a huge city and that was a long way to go for so vague a league. "Thanks," he said shyly, slightly taken aback by how frightened she had seemed at him.

He trudged back to his motorcycle and stood for a moment, looking up at the stars. Night had fallen in the short day that took place on this world and the darkness was comforting, to the creature within him and by extension him. Night was good, it made him happy, a strange sort of emotion that he knew was not his own, and the strangeness of it startled him, making him feel almost guilty from taking pleasure in it. He shook his head, trying to shake off the feeling. He blinked, thinking, collecting his thoughts.

"The hospitals can wait," he decided. There were bars near here, after all.

Skasheel felt a very familiar weight in the pit of her stomach.

"What… NO," she said, quite loudly, adamant to not go to anymore bars tonight. Or at all. "NO. You keep away, you hear me. I will notget drunk with you."

She resisted as best she could without totally overstepping her boundaries as she knew the Klexian hated. She tried locking his legs in place but his annoyed growls put her off. She tried whining and pleading in the back of his head but he was adamant. She tried getting him to turn around right then and there but her own morbid curiousity and his unyielding focus eventually found them both in a bar again.

Annoyed she settled on grumbling angrily as he ordered his beloved liquid nitrogen, hoping that maybe, just maybe, by bitching at him he'd get the message and turn around and leave.

"Just be quiet already," he growled. He was impatient and bored and didn't want to put up with her pleadings. The barkeeper placed two shot glasses in front of him.

"One for you, and one for me," he grinned. "And if it doesn't work that way, I'll just get a double shot, so everyone wins." He wasted no time and picked up both glasses in one claw. "Cheers."

She protested admirably but he had downed them so fast that she couldn't do anything about it.

"There are you happy?" she snapped, not relishing the feeling that would hit him when the cold, cold liquid met his equally cold, cold veins. "Now let's leave, you insufferable twit. I don't like being here."

"Not yet," he smiled, placing the shotglasses down. "Juust give it time." He closed his eyes and sighed, fiddling with the glasses and waiting for that satisfying rush of cold when the stuff finally hit his blood.

It took about fifteen minutes, during which time they both sat there, her fidgeting and him trying to ignore her. Then it hit her, gradually. A slow, cold suffusion that spread outwards from his hearts and into the rest of his body, flooding him with a curious sense of well-being, like nothing mattered.

She shivered. The sensation was eerie at best, offering her little comfort.

"Okay there you're drunk let's go."

She could feel the miasma take gentle hold of his mind and turn his thoughts soft, like gentle bubbling mud. And, by proxy, it slowly affected her, as well. Nervous she tried to get Skry to stand and leave. Her anxiety manifested in his two hearts beating more rapidly than normal, and she was finding the simple act of speaking increasingly difficult.

"Skry I…" she lost her train of thought almost as quickly as she thought of it. "I mean I… What was… Who are you?"

Thinking rationally had suddenly become a chore and she could vaguely feel the mirth he was feeling at her drunken stupor. The drink itself hadn't affected her; it was him. His drunkenness was sent to her twinfold, and she felt what he did only to a higher degree.

If she were sober she wouldn't have liked it. As she was now, all she could do was babble incoherently, confused.

"Hahahaa..." he laughed, almost giddy with the effect it had had on her. He wasn't even drunk and already she couldn't speak. It seemed to have had an even greater impact on her than it did on him and it made him smirk in satisfaction. He could feel her losing her hold on her coherency, even though he hadn't had enough to severely affect his own sobriety.

"Well, that's all I wanted to see," he said, getting up from the counter. They could resume their search tomorrow. Once again, he was exhausted and now that Skasheel's will had slackened, Skry figured it would be all the easier to find peaceful sleep. He headed home.

The drive home was nothing but a blur of sound and light that the Ing couldn't make heads nor tails of, and the constant rev of the engine sent spikes of pain through her mind. Everything was too loud and too bright and just generally too much for her to bear. She couldn't speak properly and every time she tried to exert her control over Skry it just weakened and fell away.

It came as a blessed relief when they left the monster that was his motorcycle outside and a moment later took up residence in his darkened apartment. She didn't know quite what Skry had planned; probably just sleep. How he enjoyed his sleep, while all she could do was rest. Ing didn't sleep, it was a fact that for some reason was starting to bother her. She wanted to dream, too.

"You know," she started, speaking with more of an open mind then she ever had. She didn't notice it, but the drunkenness had stripped her bare of inhibitions. "Skry, you're… A reeeal good dude, yeah? I…" She trailed off, distracted for a moment by a mirror on the other side of the room.

"I mean if it weren't for you, I'd be dead…"

Her words came out slurred and forced and she tried to keep her mind from spinning too out of control. Without her usual calm logic she could feel her subconscious bubbling up, and feelings she never really knew she could even feel made themselves more known.

"And we both know how much I… I'm… Scared."

"Wow, you're really hammered, aren't you?" he laughed. "This is hilarious. I'm feeling a little buzzedmyself but you're just... heheh," he trailed off into quiet laughter. He was in a decisively good mood, satisfied that in a way, he had beaten her, as if it were a competition. He calmed down, laughter fading. "Anyways, I'm tired." he said simply, making a sloppy beeline for the couch and falling flat on it. He stretched, feeling the lengths of his modified body and exosuit. Strange though they were, he had gotten used to them, and considering the state of the symbiote who had changed them, they were hardly anything to fear anymore.

Though he had collapsed face first onto the bed, he had not gone out yet. He lay there, quiet, feeling his happy thoughts. Content he was in the assumption that she could do nothing to him, and free was she, with her logic and rationalizations cast carelessly to the side.

It was a bad mix, but neither he nor she realized it. In her drunkenness, she fell back on happier, more comforting thoughts, and realized without fully realizing it that she had gained new emotions pertaining to the Klexian she was part of. Without really meaning to, and he didn't fully notice, either, she found herself looking in on his thoughts. His memories. His dreams and ambitions. His lifelong goals that he always kept buried so deep, for fear he would never attain them.

Despite his hostile personality, this alien was capable of such things as love. And despite her malevolent background and upbringing, so too was she. Her thoughts softened. Her mind became lenient.

"I think I love you," she whispered, finding strange assurance in uttering the word she had never really understood before now.

Skry's eyes bolted upon. That was the first coherent sentence he'd heard since the bar and it shocked him. He jerked upwards and practically screamed. "What?!" he cried, twisting his face into one of abject disgust and confusion. "Fuck! I'm sorry I ever thought it was a good idea to get you drunk, don't say things like that..." he shook his head.

The feeling was anything but mutual and Skry did his best to push her away, to put her thoroughly disturbing words out of his mind. She was drunk, after all, she couldn't do much but prattle aimlessly in his head, he thought. Though even that had become extremely unsettling.

Hurt, she pulled back, away from him. But didn't he feel the same way? He yelled at her a lot. He called her names. He insulted her. But she had saved his life, and he had saved hers. She was confused. Anger did not flare, only indignant hurt. There was no logic to fall back to, only more wild emotion.

"But I… And you. Don't you…"

There must have been a way to show him how much he meant to her. Maybe if she… Just so carefully took hold of the straggling edges of his mind and tweaked them just right, then she could show him. And maybe if he saw, then he wouldn't yell at her so much. That would be nice, she decided. For him to not yell at her so much.

"What about… Now?" she asked tentatively, trying to make him feel her love, so that he in turn would understand.

Skry flinched visibly at the unfamiliar flood of emotion in his mind. A warm, creeping sensation entered his freezing body and the edges of his beak blushed dull violet.

He let out a short and cut-out gasp, as though he were trying to say something but couldn't. The feeling shocked and dazed him, not simply because it was forced and unnatural but because it was pleasant. Pausing for a moment to absorb it all he shut his eyes, shook his head, clutched it in his claws in denial.

"Stop, please stop it..." he cried quietly. Even though his rationale and intelligence were having a hard time combating the forced emotions.

Resolute she pressed on, altering his vision into something that wasn't there… Another Klexian. Lithe, able bodied. A warm smile on her face.

"I love you," she spoke softly, her voice ethereal and indulgent, like an aurora on a cold winter night. In the back of her mind Skasheel wished she could actually be the female Klexian that she had conjured, that only Skry could see. Maybe, then, he wouldn't hate her as much. If she were one of his own kind, instead of the monstrous being from a dead dimension that she truly was.

Lost in her own fantasy, she lived as the non-existent avatar, and smiled at him.

"Don't you love me too?"

Skry looked up from his meek pleading and was completely lost for words. She was like a creature from a fairy tale, and he struggled to believe what he was seeing. In the back of his mind he knew it was too good to be true. In the back of his mind he knew this was all horribly wrong. That he had never met another Klexian since he was a child, let alone the fela he had hoped to one day share his life with. But those feelings of rationale had been pushed aside. By fake, forced feelings, by the beautiful Klexian whom he had only dreamed of finding, and by the Ing's relentless drive to manipulate him into creating the romance that she wanted to feel.

"I..."

He sat there, stunned, unable to move. Unable to speak. Unable to object. She had pulled the very dream from his mind and manipulated his sight and senses into believing it was real. Quietly she approached him, the sound of her light footfalls perfectly in tune with the illusion of her gait. She sat beside him and without waiting for his answer, wrapped her arms around him and met his beak with hers.

Undetectably, the symbiote manipulated his mind to feel every intricate detail of the kiss, and he returned it. Skry's eyes glazed over and finally closed, unable to hold himself back from the fantasy so perfectly created for him. He returned her tight embrace, his wings vibrating in a pleasant rythym that sent out a peaceful sort of natural music. He had abandoned himself completely.

Finally they parted, eyes still closed, resting the crest of their foreheads against one another's.

"I love you too..." Skry's voice echoed. Instantly his eyes flared open, wide with realization. His face twisted to one of anguish and he rose angrily from his seat and shook his head, eyes clamped shut. For it was not he who said those words, but Skasheel. So desperate was she to hear those words from him that she went as far as to take control and make him. He had felt her control, and it snapped him back to reality and forced him to realize the atrocity of what she had just done to him.

He turned back to the apparition on the couch, his expression one of pure, lamenting anger. He screamed in rage and thrust a claw directly into her, and she faded to blurs just as soon as he did. He screamed again with such emotional agony that he felt he would burst. Instead he took out his anger on the walls, throwing painful, massive blows across them, defiling the apartment with vicious claw-marks. Icy liquid filled the brims of his eyes as he screamed, filled with pain and fury.

At last he calmed down, his breathing heavy, exhausted, his apartment severely damaged and disheveled from his outrage.

"How can you do this," he cried, voice cracking. "How can you taunt me like this, treat me like your plaything. You sick, vile creature, I wish you were DEAD!"

Hurt flooded through her mind and snapped her out of her drunken daze, back to reality. She didn't even realize what she had done, but the very real agony in Skry's voice was enough to bring her to tears. She glanced around. The walls were ruined. The furniture was torn. The entire apartment looked like a tornado had raged through.

The fading whisp of a female Klexian caught her attention but it was gone just as quick as it appeared, and suddenly, among the confusion, she remembered. She had done something horrible, something without moral. She had stolen and twisted his memories and didn't even realize what she had done, for she had been far too out of it to stop herself.

The fantasy had been beautiful. And she could not say no.

"You sick, vile creature, I wish you were DEAD!"

His words cut her deeper than anything had before. Deeper than the sharpened claws of other Ing at the Proving Grounds on Dark Aether, or the monumental destruction of her home. Deeper even than Skry's own blade, when he had sliced the throat of her pirate host. It felt as though a piece of her had been shattered, torn forcefully from her body.

She felt abysmal, horrid, and suddenly very incomplete. This was the final line. She had exposed herself for what she truly was; a parasitic monstrosity with no hope for redemption. All along Skry had been right: the universe would be better off without her disgusting kind spoiling it.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped, feeling his cold tears run down his face. "I… You're right."

Though she no longer suffered the ill effects of the Klexian's drunkenness, she still wasn't running on logic. Now, hot emotions. Emotions she couldn't ignore, that peppered her like stinging rays of light. She was an abomination and, as she finally understood love, so too did she understand how unnatural she was.

Killing herself was the only answer. Suicide was the best way. Without thinking she slowly began to detach her essence from his, one strand of darkness at a time. Without her, he would die, too. But then so would she. And she had made up her mind.

She did not deserve to live.

No sooner had she begun to detach herself that Skry felt the instant pain of the outside world. Fiery and molten, it was unbearable, and instantly he realized his mistake, before it was too late.

"No, no, stop," he murmured, his voice still clouded and hoarse. "Come back... my body won't survive without you." Momentarily the burning pain stopped advancing as the creature hesitated. "As much as I hateyou I need you," he cracked. So much in that moment did he wish the parasite would simmer away to nothingness. But if she did, then so would he.

The decision was just as mind jarringly painful as his words. She really did love the Klexian, she realized that now. It was a sudden shock, to come to such a conclusion, and it only made her feel worse. She wasn't meant to feel love. She did not deserve these emotions. It felt like she had been granted them, only to have them waved tauntingly in her face, insulting her from afar.

Maybe that's why we go to war, she thought slowly. Because Ing are not meant to feel anything other than hate. Look what it brought me. More pain.

But the happiness she gleaned just from seeing Skry smile was more than the new sorrow she gained from existing. And with a heavy heart she reclaimed her place inside his body, shutting down all of her conscious wills and desires so that none of them would touch him. And by proxy, she no longer saw nor heard anything he said or did or thought.

Ing didn't slumber, but right then and there, she did.

And so she went to sleep with no intent to wake up.

The burning stopped entirely and the creature retreated back inside him. So far, in fact, that the malevolent violet that had claimed his body now faded back to its original blue. The parasite invaded him no longer. It merely rested its energy form within his core, pulsing power and life to his entire body. Skry no longer felt a second sentient creature. Skasheel no longer saw, heard, felt, no longer stole any form of conscious observation from him.

The weight of his whole situation bared down on him and it took all the strength he could muster not to have a breakdown again. He pushed away the remorse, pushed away the anguish, and allowed himself to feel only anger. For with anger in place of lament, he still had his dignity.

The windows were shattered and glass littered the street two floors below. Skry saw them as a sort of violent escape from the disheveled confines of his living space, and so without thinking, leap out and down the nearest one. The Klexian landed gracefully on his feet, his long, hocked legs bending to adjust for the impact.

With a scowl firmly etched across his face he walked, with no destination in mind but the journey.

For the first time in her life, she dreamed.

She didn't understand, because she had never dreampt before. It was an alien concept, to her. The images that flashed inside her sleeping mind were dazzling and colourful, and with the mere touch of a sub-conscious thought, they changed.

She was no longer an Ing. She was a Klexian, like him. In her dream it was reality, and it filled her with so much happiness that she thought she would surely die. But death was an unknown in her fantasy, and together they walked across lakes of liquid methane, in bliss.

Her dream changed. She was no longer a Klexian. She was a Space Pirate, fighting against a warrior clad in orange. Every shot she fired missed, every spoken word she roared was not understood. The Hunter was fast and proud and had no remorse when she killed. In her dream, Skasheel was terrified. The phazon bubbled behind her. Above the sky writhed with distorted purple clouds. And underneath her feet the ground was cracked and contaminated, the blue mutagen spreading across the ground like broken lightning.

There was an explosion. It rocked the entire dimension, and she cowered in fear. The Hunter was gone, but so too, was her home. Like a lost child, she had ran.

In reality she was nothing more than the tiniest blob of darkest midnight. She shivered in her sleep, her mind afire with rapidly changing dreams. Delicate tendrils of herself extended into the labyrinth of wires and veins that made up Skry's internal network, the only thing really keeping him alive. She uttered tiny little squeaks and twitched automatically, but did not awaken.

Skry very much liked that she was no longer bothering him and kept up his brisk pace in the cold night air. It was a very pleasant relief when the light no longer hurt his eyes or burned his skin and he took that moment to enjoy it. The darkness was no longer eerily comfortable. There were no more unnatural urges in his mind, to hide himself away in the shadows. He was himself.

It was invigorating, and despite his anger, he continued to walk without aim, without purpose. Wherever his feet took him, so long as he didn't have to think about her.

Hatred. Vile, pure, and black it writhed in his head distorting all other thoughts. Skry couldn't remember a time when he had felt such sickening hatred for anyone. And despite her efforts to obscure herself he knew she was still there. Supporting him, keeping him alive with every fibre of her putrid being. He didn't want to need her but he did, and it sickened him.

As soon as it was possible, he was going to tear that vile creature out of his body and starve it of darkness until it withered and died. For a moment he wished she could still hear his thoughts, just so she could know what he planned for her. He sneered.

Without realizing it, Skry had ended up at the hospital across town, where the incompetent receptionist had directed him earlier. Deciding that the convenience merited it a look, he stepped inside.

It was a passing doctor who caught sight of the Klexian first, and with an air of professionalism about him approached the alien.

"Anything you're looking for, sir?" he asked, curious as to Skry's reasoning for coming here. The hospital had been especially busy the last few days, ever since their best surgeoun had left for a seminar in another solar system. The doctor eyed the Klexian for a few seconds, seemingly intrigued to see him.

"If I may…" he asked, his tone curious. "Are you… A Klexian?"

Skry looked to the alien who had questioned him. Wirey and small, with dark skin and a head topped with short, black fur. A human. Skry's scowled lessened and his mind returned to a far calmer state at the first sign of someone trying to help him. In truth, he appreciated it. He simply nodded in agreement. "I am. Why?"

"Doctor Vixel just left for another planet," the doctor explained politely. "I haven't met her, as I just transferred in myself, but I do know she's an expert on Klexian biology and cybernetics. If you had been here a day earlier, you would have caught her."

The human dug in the pocket of his lab coat, producing an old, worn pamphlet, and handed it to Skry.

"I know how… Hard it is, for your species to find adequate medical care. That has directions to the planet and hospital she's currently stationed on. It's a short ride by hyperjump away. You might be able to catch her there before she leaves for an even further planet. She's quite the busy one."

"Thank you," Skry responded. He gave a curt bow of the head and left. He looked the pamphlet over. It had the names of a few reputable surgeons and their whereabouts. Apparently their celebrity merited such advertisement. Snorting a bit in bemusement, he relished in the fact that he had found the person he was looking for.

Going off-world was not an experience he looked forward to. He had never felt the need to leave and the thought of it was a bit discomforting. Nevertheless he resolved himself to do it. Promptly he took only his regulator, secured on the outside of his suit. He was a low maintenance person. He made the necessary preparations to take a public transport to the planetary body known as Y'vaa.

The jump through hyperspace left Skry with a sour taste in his mouth and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. His twin hearts pumped fitfully. He didn't particularly like space travel, it always made him nervous and twitchy. It wasn't that he was afraid of the ship spontaneously exploding, or anything bad like that, he just honestly did not enjoy space travel.

So it came as a very welcome sigh of relief when the planet Y'vaa suddenly filled the portholes, and the swiftly moving stars suddenly stopped and became static against a backdrop of blackest black.

It was cold, the Klexian could tell from here. What little clouds there were swirled white above shelves of frozen water, and great seas lapped complacently at the edges of the almost permanently frozen continents. It was almost refreshing, seeing such a cold world. Nowhere near as cold as his lost homeworld was told to be, but still a nice change from the heat of the universe.

He smiled, his feathers ruffling, as the ship descended through the light atmosphere and down onto the cold surface of Y'vaa.

And all along, the Ing continued to sleep, oblivious to anything save her hectic dreams.

Skry made his way off the transport and onto the planet's surface. Instantly he relished in the cold around him. His exosuit didn't need to expend as much energy as it usually did. It was not cold enough that a Klexian could survive, but it was a comfort nonetheless. Other aliens walked about through the crowded metal city in coats and protective armor, trying to keep the freezing cold from touching their warm bodies. Skry felt almost sorry for them. For them, the planet's temperature was anything but comfortable.

Remembering the address of the hospital he was looking for, he set out into the city, trying, if futilely, to make sense of the maps inlaid throughout the streets. He was having a hard time navigating this strange place and it left him frustrated.

The main city was far too big for comfort. Due to the temperatures and the tendency of sentient races to lean towards the warm side of the spectrum, it was one of only three major super cities that dotted the planet. The only other outposts were small habitats created by the locals, way out in the freezing windswept plains of ice.

Skry was used to the small city he had called home for so very long. The largeness of this place was off putting and he found himself walking in what he hoped was the right direction, tracing a confused finger over the intricate pathways of the map. He asked a few passing people for directions but he was always met with blank stares and a shrug.

The general populous seemed not to even notice her existence. Maybe it was only the medical community, and the scant few interested passerby, who knew. Let alone cared.

Distraught he stopped in the middle of the street and turned his attention up to the tall, tall buildings that towered above him. In the gray and white of the atmosphere, they were colourless, melting into the sky as though both the structures and the heavens were the same thing. Skry felt very, very lost, and the largeness of everything wasn't helping.

Someone bumped into him and he stumbled, tearing his gaze away from the sky.

"Sorry!" exclaimed the newcomer.

"Watch where you're going..." Skry mumbled, inaudibly, brushing himself down. He met the alien's gaze and spoke more clearly. "It's alright." The alien looked at him quizzically.

"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked, her voice musical. Her six eyes sparkled in a benevolent smile, her expressionless face unable to pull such intricate emotions.

"No… No I'm not," he agreed, finally turning his attention to the tall, insectoid alien who stood before him. "Is it that obvious?"

"Judging by the way you're staring at the buildings, then yes. It is obvious. What are you here for?"

"Looking for…" Tiredly, he flipped open the pamphlet and scanned through, looking for her name. "Doctor… Doctor Vixel. Do you know of her?"

Skry half expected her to shrug and turn away, as all the others had. But that was not the case. Instead she turned and scanned the buildings, the streets, pointing with a long double jointed arm over to a dark building, much shorter than the others.

"Doctor Vixel is an expert in Klexian biology," the alien sang. "You'll find her in the hospital over there, on the third floor. She's holding a special seminar and will only be here for the next day or so. Good luck."

Skry felt a sudden surge of relief and laughed out loud. Finally the whole nightmare would end and he would be rid of the possessive monstrosity that was the only thing keeping him alive. He nodded his thanks towards the tall alien and set off towards the short, dark building.

It was all going to end, at long last. He would be free. She would be dead, he did not care anymore. And he could go home. And be normal once more.

Cyra Vixel was a woman of idealism and dedication. One of the few to devote any portion of her research to a near-extinct race; the Klexians. Though it merited little benefit in her field she felt it important to learn nonetheless, almost like studying a dead language for its relic value. She had come to Y'vaa's reputable hospital to give a lecture on her research to fellow scientists. Her research concerned exosuit technology, how the Klexian design could be adapted to other species, and different, compact methods of powering the suit. It attracted moderate interest, though she believed it deserved more recognition than it had.

Skry was unable to catch the lecture, arriving late and instead being locked outside. He growled and protested, considering for a moment starting a brawl with the usher, but in the end decided against it.

Instead he waited, arms folded, leaning against the wall, ignoring the obstinate usher who tried to strike up a conversation now and again. Finally when it was over, a small crowd exited the room. He didn't even know what Dr. Vixel looked like and for a moment he assumed he had merely lost her in the crowd. But she was the last to exit, and he knew who she was as soon as he saw her.

Now he realized it. The familiar sound of what he had thought was an alien name, the queer interest the surgeon had in Klexian biology. It all made sense now. Cyra Vixel was a Klexian.

Throughout everything Skasheel remained steadfastly asleep, her dreams her only companions. In her mind she felt shame and regret and hatred towards herself, and she held onto them tightly, because what else could they be than true?

Cyra Vixel was, for lack of a better term, completely and utterly surprised. Not only had she never seen another Klexian in far too long for her to remember, but here one was standing before her, and he didn't seem to have an internal regulator. By all accounts he should have been dead, his body overcome by the unbearable heat of the universe.

She was shocked, surprised, intrigued, and a million other emotions all at once. She dropped her professional façade to the cavalcade of emotions that had grabbed her mind.

"You're a…" she stuttered, shaking her head as though seeing a walking illusion. "You're Klexian! But how are you…"

Without waiting for his permission she promptly kneeled down and inspected the jagged, corrupted black hole where his temperature regulator had used to reside. Fascinating, she thought, her eyes wide. Gently she caressed his abdomen, oblivious to the show of confused discomfort Skry was showing.

"You should be dead," she whispered, her tone almost reverent. "By all means, you should be dead."

Skry laughed shakily. "Yeah, I get that a lot." He was utterly shocked to meet another Klexian and for a moment he wondered if it was another sick mind trick. But no, the parasite was no longer in his head, and the fela was as real as he was. It was almost too much for him to handle considering the previous ruse that had been played on him, and he was decisively nervous.

What made it worse was the fela's obvious lack of concern for his personal space. It made him viciously uncomfortable and yet he found himself blushing and embarrassed. She hadn't even left time for introductions. "Uh, could you ..uh stop that, please?" He backed away jerkily and shook his head. "My name is Skry. Skry Hark."

Surprised she straightened. All the time she spent with her work left little time for social interaction, and Cyra found it awkward in situations like this. He was blushing dark violet and she felt a cold spread across her beak as well. Suddenly very self-conscious she turned her face down and giggled. How bad she must have looked, to him. She hadn't taken very good care of her appearance lately, for in her line of work such things didn't matter. Now she was beginning to regret that mistake.

"I'm Cyra. Cyra Vixel," she responded quietly. "I'm a, um. Surgeoun. I really didn't expect to ever see another of our kind, especially one like you…"

She glanced down at his missing regulator, captivated. How he was still walking and speaking to her was mind blowing and she was having a hard time combatting the sudden influx of confused emotions and her usual scientific mindset. She wanted so dearly to find out why he was still alive. Maybe if she found out, it would mean a new hope for her entire race.

The thought made her giddy with excitement and she blushed even harder.

"How can I help you?" she asked quietly, having a hard time controlling herself. She wanted to laugh and cry and jump for joy all at the same time. Instead she stood quietly and composed herself. There was no use scaring the poor guy off, she decided. Not yet, anyway.

"Nice to meet you, then, Cyra," he responded. "And I was... uh, wondering if you could... well," Skry was finding it hard to get the words out, whether it was because he was nervous or because the nature of his question was so strange. "Fix me," he finally blurted out. "My regulator's been removed and I haven't a clue how to fix it."

She grabbed him by the hand and began to lead him to the back of the hospital, determined to help him.

"I'll only be here for another day," she explained, her tone hurried, as though she wanted to tell him everything ever but didn't have enough time. "All my best equipment is out back, in my ship. There wasn't enough time to unpack it all if I was just going to pack it up again, right? So I left it out there."

They emerged from a back door out into a private landing strip lined with various spaceships, all different, all unique. She led him resolutely to a rather small, dark gray ship, sitting all by its lonesome closest to the hospital. A cold gust of wind blew, stirring up the snow that had gathered on the cold, cold concrete, and Cyra found herself shivering in excitement.

They both entered the ship and the door closed behind them with a resounding clang, where she proceeded to take them to a small, sterile, clean room. She set him down on an operating table and pulled up a stool, taking a seat in front of him.

She stared, for a moment. She had never seen a male of her species before. He had wings and feathers and bright, bright colours and it astounded her, that he was so vibrant. Cyra knew of her species males but she had never seenone before, and a million questions raced through her mind. But she ignored them, and asked the one that burned the most.

"How are you alive?"

"Long story," he laughed. He sat with his back arched, hands between his legs, looking at the floor as if to avoid her gaze. "There's this... fuck, I don't even know what it's called. It's some sort of alien bug that got inside my suit. Nasty little fucker," he sneered, his eyes cringing as he described it. "But it's apparently a powerful, malleable energy source too, and took the place of my regulator when it got removed. Gross, honestly, and I want my regulator back."

Cyra leaned forwards and gave the strange Klexian a good hard look, seeing the strange black corruption around his abdomen in a new and disturbing light.

"Can you tell me what it looks like?" she asked quietly. "Where did you find it? Did it… Did it look like someone else, before it intruded upon you?"

She had a vague inkling she knew what had happened, but she wanted to hear it from Skry's mouth before she made any wild assumptions.

Skry gave Cyra a quizzical expression. It seemed she knew more about his situation than she was letting on and it intrigued him. So he told her all he knew.

"What it looks like? Don't really know," he admitted. "But before it infested me it was in a pirate. Jumped into my body and just stayed there," he paused, thinking. "Do you know anything about what it is?"

The surgeoun let out a nervous little laugh.

"Not… Exactly," she admitted. "But I found one earlier, myself. It was living in the body of one of my patients. When he died on the operating table, a black thing came out, and if it weren't for the quick actions of my team, it would have stolen one of us."

Silence between the two.

"Would you like to see it?" she asked suddenly, a wry grin on her face. "I managed to construct a holding cell for it. For some reason they seem to really hate the light… But in the cell, it doesn't bother them as much."

The fact that there were more of these things made Skry flinch slightly in disgust.

"Guess I'm not the only victim, huh," he said. Honestly he wasn't too keen to see her specimen. He'd had enough experience with these dark little monsters and he really didn't care to see another. Not wanting to offend Cyra, however, he nodded. She led him to a small section of the ship used for biocontaiment, and carefully she proceeded to show him her prisoner.

This part of the ship was gloomy, the lights kept to a gentle dim so as not to aggravate its dark passengers. Skry squinted in the gloom, his eyes falling on three large containment pods inset into the far wall. There were thick black blinders between them, so the occupants could see nothing other than what was directly in front.

"It was angry," he heard Cyra explain, a hint of sadness in her voice. "We don't know why. Maybe they're all angry. But they can't live here, in the light. It kills them. So I kept it here. They're so intelligent… But so vicious."

She approached the closest pod and laid a hand on the thick, heavy glass. The being within turned

o look at them, its cluster of glowing eyes eerie in the pitch black of the cell.

"I have no idea where they come from or what they want, but I think they may be the last of their kind."

In the tube the confined Ing stared back angrily, one of its razor sharp claws tapping on the floor in what could only be described as a bored motion. If it weren't for the glass separating them, it would have killed them all and stolen the body of its captor as its prize. Instead it was kept as nothing more than a specimen. And it only made it angrier.

"Damn, they get big," Skry said. Seeing the thing was a bit unnerving, he had to admit, but seeing it held captive gave him a certain, taunting pleasure. "How the hell did she even fit inside me..." he wondered. Seeing how massive and powerful the creature actually was made it easier to imagine how the energy being was able to power his suit.

"That's cool and all," Skry continued, impatient. "So do you think you could add mine to your collection?" he said, tapping the black hole where his regulator had once been.

The female Klexian stared, momentarily surprised. She was a compassionate being, and even in the face of so monstrous a creature as the captured Ing she felt pity for it. She had, for a moment, forgotten about Skry's presence and found herself blushing again. Klexian males showed their virility by their resplendent feathers and wings, and having never seen one before now, she found him very handsome, indeed.

It was an odd feeling, an annoying feeling, and she pushed it to the back of her head. The thought of fixing him and adding another specimen to her small collection at the same time was too much to resist, and with a smile she led him back to another room.

"I can try," she replied. Honestly she had never performed such a procedure. The operating room she had led him to had an airlock that kept it cool and isolated. "A Klexian med bay," she said. "I didn't ever think I'd ever get to use it." The room was kept at a freezing temperature just slightly above the liquifying point of methane, and the air inside was of the modified chemistry of their lost homeworld. In here Skry would be able to live without a regulator, without an exosuit at all. An obvious need since for a few minutes he would be without one.

"Lie down," she instructed, already pulling on a pair of sterile gloves. She took the regulator from him and set it down beside her tools, and took a moment to compose herself. This was no place for any emotion other than determination, so she wiped the hormone driven thoughts from her mind and got herself ready.

"It shouldn't take too long," she explained, readying a canister full of airborne anesthetic. "But I'll have to put you out for the duration of it. Are you alright with that?"

She held the respirator mask up and awaited his answer.

"Actually no, I'm not. I can endure. Sure I can't be awake?" Skry asked. He was sick of being knocked out. By Vhaso, by the parasite. Being put asleep was being subdued and no matter who did it to him it made him feel humiliated. "Besides, I want to see it..." he sneered, remembering the trauma the thing had caused him and how desperately he wanted to see her die. He didn't want to be asleep for that.

Skasheel's formless dreams were interrupted by bright, screaming pain. There was light, and it burned every iota of her being. In her pain she struggled, seeing the world with half a mind. She struggled and cried out but just as quickly found herself contained in something far too small. She reverted to a gaseous state, catching sight of Skry and another Klexian in the process.

Help me, she tried to yell, but she could not form words without a host. I am dying.

In her container, she saw Skry. He was wide awake, his face in a grimace of pain from the surgery. He had finally done it, she realized. He found another of his kind, and she was helping him. His regulator was back in place and he didn't need her anymore. And he looked very satisfied to see her gone. She was no longer with him, but she could feel his scathing hatred even from this distance, inside her thick glass container.

A moment later she was whisked away, to a place where the light didn't hurt as much, and before she could understand what was happening there was a tumble and a fall and suddenly, nothing hurt anymore. Tentatively she changed her form, turning from gas into liquid. She huddled against a wall, terrified, fully expecting a new onslaught of pain at any moment.

But no more pain came. She was deathly afraid. No pain? But she didn't have a host. Was she in the dark dimension? Was she home, again? The thought, for a moment, invigorated her, and for the first time in far, far too long, she allowed herself to retain her natural form.

The hope was quickly shattered. She wasn't home, she was in a holding cell, watching the world through thick, thick glass. Dismayed she put a claw up to the glass, but it was far too strong to break out of. And why would she want to? The atmosphere would surely kill her, despite the low, low lighting.

She curled up into a ball and tucked her legs underneath her. She had finally attained her natural form and she was in no danger of dying anytime soon. But at the price of her freedom.

Good, she thought sadly. I deserve no less.

Skry's face twisted in pain as Cyra worked fast and precisely, realigning every circuit, wire, and vein. It took all his composure to keep from screaming. But finally it was done. He was back to normal. The despicable thing that had resided in him was finally purged and he could live his life again.

Cyra led him out of the frigid, comfortable room and back into the biocontainment lab. Once out, Skry found he could breath, he could feel his exosuit pulsing and sustaining him once again, with no symbiotic help. He smiled. He watched as Cyra placed the parasite into a dark holding cell. It liquified, spewing around in its tiny new home before coalescing into a five-legged beast like the one beside it.

"So that's what you look like, huh," he said quietly, even though he doubted she could hear him. "You're even more disgusting to look at," he finished with a quick smirk. He approached the cell and looked in, observing. He gave her a cold, cold look with his fierce green eyes. An expression that was a mix of hatred, disgust, and plain indifference. Here she would be held for the rest of her life, imprisoned and helpless. Good, he decided. Death was a way out. Lifelong imprisonment would give the parasite a lifetime to wallow in her pitiful existence.

Turning from the tube after a long stare he looked to Cyra, smiling. "Thank you," he bowed his head.

She heard every word he said and turned away, wholly ashamed of everything she had ever done. As far as she was concerned she had moved on to her own private hell and death wasn't an absolute, it was a privilege that she wouldn't attain for a long, long time.

But in the cell next to her, the other Ing had gone from simmering anger to absolute rage. He saw with his fiery eyes the newcomer to his neighbouring cell and it filled him with burning indignation. To finally see another of his kind, only to have her locked up in much the same way he had been: it seemed a travesty that his entire race had been reduced to something so abysmally pathetic.

Angry, he lashed out at the glass wall, but it held fast, having been built to survive such abuse. He attacked and pounded and hit at the glass but only succeeded in leaving shallow scratch marks along its otherwise perfect surface.

This would not do, he decided angrily. That female Klexian had gone too far and he was determined to escape, even while the Ing next to him seemed to have already given up.

He scratched around at the perimeter, where the glass met the steel, until he found the smallest of cracks, and resolute, began to pick at it furiously.

It was all over. Finally, he was free, and at last he had found another Klexian. Briefly Skry wondered if he ever would have ever found Cyra if it weren't for Skasheel, but thinking he had anythingto be grateful for from that creature was vomit-inducing.

So, putting it all behind him, he put his back to the creatures for good and locked his eyes with Cyra's.

"So..." he started, thinking. "This isn't the part where doctor and patient part ways, is it? That would be a shame."

She blushed and looked away quickly, feeling that surge of unfamiliar emotion again. It wasn't professional to do what she wanted to do with him. He was a patient, she the doctor. They had to part ways, it was what they did. But he was also another Klexian, and she had been alone for a very long time.

"Mr. Hark," she started, her tone mocking severity. "I do believe that after all is said and done, the patient is supposed to leave. You don't want to keep me from my… Work. Would you?"

"Oh, I'd never keep you from your work," Skry replied. "But, maybe you could find a job for me, and we could work together. I'm no doctor but I'm sure you can find something I can do," he said smoothly, his wings vibrating subtly in a show of colour.

Cyra Vixel found herself giggling uncontrollably, distracted by the colourful buzz of his wings and the deep green of his eyes.

"I suppose I dohave a job for you," she purred, taking him gently by the hand and pulling him from the darkened room and the Ing who continued to pick obstinately at his cell. She led him to a rather modest couch and sat, staring at him nervously. Timidly she patted the seat beside him, urging him to sit, too.

He sat down beside her, but turned away, remembering all too painfully the artifice the parasite had cast that bore so much resemblance to the scene. But Cyra was real, and she had helped him. She was a Klexian just like him and looked so different from what he had always imagined felas to look like. She was far more beautiful. From the slender shape of her waist to her smooth, wingless back and soft facial features. He felt that his life was all that much better for just having seen one, and, relishing in the moment, he was withdrawn, patient. Much in contrast to his usual attitude. He wasn't going to let the starvation for his own species impair his judgement.

He wanted to know her, where she came from, about her life and her research. So he inquired, and a conversation ensued wherein he learned everything about her. She was remarkable, intelligent, devoted to her work that aimed to help so many people, and Skry felt embarrassed about his own life. He admitted to her his work as a mercenary, killing war criminals, instigating coups. He wasn't proud of being a government-hired killer but Cyra didn't seem to judge him. Life was hard and he did whatever he could to make a living, even if it wasn't as glamorous as hers.

There was nothing more than a soft cuddle. There was no kissing, neither was there anything else. They just sat, together, glad for the other's company in ways that only they could understand. And in the bliss of the moment, enjoying each other's body cold, Cyra realized she couldn't prolong this as she wanted to.

With a sigh she pulled away from Skry.

"I have to go," she said quietly. "I didn't expect any of this to happen. I have to be on a completely different planet in only a few hours. I'm sorry…"

She stood, hesitantly. He was so perfect. Everything about him made her shy blush that much deeper and she hated that she had to go.

"But maybe… When I'm back home. When I'm back on Saigen, we can see each other again."

She smiled warmly, feeling much closer to Skry already than most of the people she had met in the entirety of her life, and turned away without another word. It wasn't that she was giving him the cold shoulder. It was that she had much work yet to do, before she left. And she had already wasted more time than she would have liked to admit simply by being with Skry.

No, she reminded herself. Not time wasted. Time spent well. As Skry left, she set to busying herself about her ship, cleaning up here and there. Getting everything ready for her departure. And trying to ignore the empty hole that had already appeared in her heart simply by his leaving.

For the first time Skry could remember, he was really and truly happy. Cyra was the first woman he had ever truly felt this way for. His feelings for her transcended everything physical and hers was the first relationship that seemed to fill that lonely void in his life. He didn't know when he would see her again, but just having met her gave him enough happiness to avoid every opportunity for a drink that night.

Skry must have looked pretty strange, he realized, walking stark and carefree through the streets full of aliens in warm, heavy clothing with an inexplicable smile on his he missed her, but it didn't matter. He would see her again. That much they were both sure of. And for Cyra, he was willing to be patient. For as long as it took.

The hours passed quickly, without notice. She had run back and forth, from the hospital to her ship, packing all her equipment and readying herself for the long trip ahead, to the next planet. She was determined to spread her knowledge as much as she could, before her eventual return to Saigen, where she would sit back and relax. And be with Skry.

But everything seemed to be in order, and with a triumphant nod she turned her attention to the biocontainment room and the two specimens held within. Earlier in the day, after Skry had left, she had separated the two Ing, so that they were in different rooms. It freed up more space for her equipment; space that she sorely needed. But she was curious as to her newest specimen's well-being, the one who had resided inside Skry. Something about that one in particular intrigued her and she came to a stop in front of its cell. The space where the other tubes used to be were disturbingly empty, full now with medial equipment, but she paid them no heed.

She peered within, at the dark creature that lay still on the no doubt cold floor. There was no aggression. No anger. Just emotionless cold sorrow. The Klexian put her hand to the glass and peered closer.

"Why aren't you angry?" she asked quietly. The Ing stirred slightly but paid her little heed. "You seem so sad. What happened? What did you do?"

There was no response, of course. The creatures were incapable of spoken words, needing a vessel to communicate. Cyra frowned and pulled back, sighed once. So much studying she would have to do, in order to learn. She turned and left the room, to the next room over and the angrier of the two that it held. She wanted to check up on him, too. Before she left. While the previous Ing seemed to pose no threat, the aggression of the other was worrying at best.

She peered into the glass and immediately her hearts sank. The cell was empty, devoid of the parasitic lifeform within. Hearts suddenly racing she straightened up, catching sight of a hole in the side of the glass, where the glass met with the steel frame. She started back and looked around frantically, and the other Ing, having noticed her panicked state, took notice.

"Where did it go?" she whispered, short of breath. Something in the furthest, blackest corner hissed and terrified she turned her full attention towards it. A living shadow, a piece of blackest night, staring back at her with eyes of flame.

Cyra screamed and ran out, closing shut the door behind her. She made a beeline straight for her intercom and hastily made a call for Skry, flinching at the loud shrieks of rage from the adjoining containment bay. The call went through. She wasted no time.

"Skry get back here quick," she yelled, close to tears. Another crash from the room, another savage roar. "There's been a breach. It's-"

The door broke open and in her panic all she could do was scream as the dimensional parasite with its razor claws descended upon her.

"Cyra?" Skry called, screaming futilely at the hologram on his wrist. The communication cut out, and the last thing he heard was Cyra's beautiful voice twisted into a terrified scream. "Fuck!" Quickly he realized the parasite must have escaped and gone after her. Possessed her...

"No, no. NO!" he screamed. Anger boiling in his mind. Fear. He was furious at the parasite for laying its putrid claws on Cyra, and he was furious at himself for leaving her there, trusting that the creatures could not escape. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, hearts racing as they pulsed with terror and fear. He had to find his way back, he had to save her from suffering the same way he had.

Cyra screamed in pain at the horrific feeling of her own body twisting against her. The Ing had made sure to make the possession as brutally painful as he possibly could; his sadistic mind reveling in the torture he was finally able to bestow upon his infuriating captor.

He had brief contact with her pitiful mind, and stamped it out of existence. He had no need for such trivial, useless emotions, and it gave him great pleasure to hear her screams suddenly cut short. But she was still alive, in there, and while she had no control to speak of, he also made sure she could feel everything he did. Feel as he took her skin and broke through it, replacing it with hardened spines and shiny black carapace. As he made her stand, shakily, her tail whipping the floor like a live wire.

And forced her to watch Skry come running in as fast as he could, his eyes blazing green anger. She protested but he only grinned, and spoke broken words through her twisted mouth.

"How do you like your precious female now?" he hissed. "I made her beautiful, just for you."

The laugh he produced was chilling at best, and it filled the ship with its dark resonance.

Skry's face turned into one of utter shock and horror, before twisting to one of hatred. The voice that resonated from Cyra's corrupted throat was deeper, hoarser than Skasheel's, and so he realized the creature that had infected her was not the same as his.

Her flawless, cyan suit had been putrified, black as pitch. Sharp, violet spines drove from her back and tail. And her beautiful features had turned sharp and menacing. She was nearly unrecognizable, and Skry tried to control his anger from getting the best of him and driving him to slash the monster's throat right then and there. But that would kill her, as well, and probably ultimately culminate in him being possessed once again. He remembered the pirate, and how the only way out for him had been death. Would he be forced to make the choice between Cyra's freedom and his own? The thought of extinguishing her distraught him. Skry had no idea what to do and merely stood there, indecisive and in in terror.

"How dare you touch her..." he sneered, anger boiling. "You vile demon. I'LL KILL YOU!"

"Oh, but how would you really? After all your helpless fela is trapped inside and as long as she's breathing, so will I," he laughed, warping her voice into his own to create a horrid, dual-tone noise, like a mix of music and poison.

Angry as he was, Skry knew the words were true. And in honesty he could not bring himself to hurt her, mutated though she was. The creature did not wait for an answer, and launched itself at him. Skry was forced to defend himself, watching with dismay as the face he had loved now writhed with mutatious anger and sought to kill him. The Ing clawed at him, trying to tear through his throat. Skry met each blow, knocking it away and refusing to take any offensive measure himself. To always be on the defensive was a losing battle. Slowly but surely, he was becoming exhausted, yet the Ing still had plenty of energy to spare. He landed a few, vicious strikes across Skry's chest, puncturing the exosuit just slightly and letting in pinpricks of molten air. They were enough to burn the flesh beneath, but the durable armor held.

"Tired already? How sad for you," it cackled, rearing up another strike.

Skry breathed rapidly, out of breath, frosty air billowing from his lungs in his exhaustion. The creature lunged at him, throwing him to the ground. It shrieked and hissed its bloodlust and tore at Skry's throat. He held Cyra's arms back and struggled to push the thing off him. In a final expenditure of precious energy he kicked her square in the abdomen, sending the Ing-possessed Klexian across the ship. The move only exhausted Skry further and he used the last of his waning energy to flee, into the biocontainment lab, securing the door and locking it behind him.

He leaned against the closed door and panted, fatigued. Almost immediately he felt a pounding from the other side as the creature fought to get in and finish what it had started. His body thumped up and down with each attempt and Skry could feel dents being formed in the armored door. He didn't have much time, and he was trapped.

Suddenly hopeless, he closed his eyes and whimpered pitifully, shaking his head as he struggled to think of something to do. He heard a low, scritching squeal come from the one remaining containment pod and he looked up. Skasheel looked at him with her amorphic, emotionless eye, and for all the hatred he felt for her, he knew there was only one possible way he could save Cyra. Desperate and resolute, he approached the containment pod and looked at her. He paused for a moment, clearly reluctant, but he knew he was out of options. The symbiosis would grant him new strength and energy which he so desperately needed.

"I need your help," was all he said. He clicked in the code on the keypad nearby and watched as the walls of her cell rose up and away, leaving her free.

Just as he was reluctant, so too was she, the memories of the things she had done having seared themselves like vibrant scars into her brain. But she could hear the sounds of the other Klexian from outside, and right away knew what had happened. The other Ing, that she hadn't even noticed, had taken for itself a host.

Time was fleeting at best and with a sad skree she changed her chemical makeup, reverting from a solid to a gas and descending on Skry in the space of a second.

Skasheel was not like him, the one who banged so mercilessly on the door, who took the precious minds of his hosts and twisted them into monsters. She knew that now. Spending time with Skry and her pirate friend had taught her that life was precious and not something to manipulate. So when she possessed Skry, willingly, she did it as painlessly as she possibly could, his well-being very important to her.

There was pain, of course. How could there not be? She invaded his entire being like the parasite she was and that in itself was a painful process. She made hesitant contact with his mind as she augmented his limbs, turning fingers into claws and wings into razors. He was angry. She did not blame him. But his anger at the other Ing was far, far greater and she took hold of that. It would benefit them both greatly, because they both agreed on that anger.

If Cyra was in pain, if she was hurt, Skry would never recover. And if Skasheel could somehow stop that, then maybe she'd feel a little happier.

The door could not withstand any more punishment and slammed open on broken hinges. The Ing came through, his face warped into rage, but when he saw Skasheel he instantly softened, looked, for a moment, friendly.

"You've taken him, I see," the Ing purred, smiling wide. He pulled a curt bow and offered his stolen hand. "Come with me. We're free."

All Skasheel did was snarl.

"Let her go."

The Ing was rightfully surprised and his smile vanished in place of a curious frown.

"Why?"

"Because she means the world to me," Skry interjected, and with him and Skasheel talking as one continued, "If you hurt her, you will die."

The Ing straightened and cast his burning glance around, very confused.

"You would side with the pitiful scum of the light?"

"Yes."

No more words were spoken. Sides had been claimed. The Ing, with his twisted mutated body, attacked, and Skry, with his lithe, darkened form, easily dodged. His senses had heightened dramatically, his reflexes now more automatic than anything. He easily dodged Cyra's blackened claws, and in turn, the bitter Ing easily ducked under a violent kick. They were matched in terms of strength and cunning, and one could not outdo the other. So they continued to fight, both sides driven purely by anger.

Neither Skry nor Skasheel were in control: they bothwere. They both had the same goal, the same outcome in mind. To save Cyra. But mindless fighting wasn't getting them anywhere. Skasheel and Skry fought with the intent to save, while the Ing drove on relentlessly with the intent to kill.

Just as before, it was a losing battle. And Skasheel didn't know what to do.

Despite the fact that he had evened the odds, Skry still had no idea how to purge Cyra of the Ing. It seemed the only way they could be taken from their host was by their will, and he knew there was no way in hell the parasite would go willingly. Desperate for answers, still relentlessly fighting the other infested monster, he spoke to Skasheel in his head.

"You're like him, isn't there any way to get him out?" he begged her. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"I don't know I-"

The idea hit her without warning and she gasped. Why hadn't she thought of it before? Dual possession was something generally frowned upon by the Ing Horde. While possible, it was usually only enacted by Ing jealous of another's host, wanting to taste it for themselves. It was something she had never done before, but it was the only thing that would work. If she could drive the hostile Ing outside, the floodlights would vapourize him instantly. She didn't stop to think that it would also vapourize her.

"Get him against a wall," Skasheel ordered, and Skry obeyed without question, fighting the bloodthirsty creature with all he had, wincing when he accidentally drew blood on the twisted female Klexian. The Ing roared through his stolen bear trap mouth and fought back with all he had, swishing his claws through the air with seemingly no care as to where they landed.

With a surge of strength, Skasheel helped. She buffed his muscles, darkening Skry's entire countenance in the process, and they both pushed back as one. Their anger had given way to a fierce determination, and every forward push only made them stronger. With a final lash and a rush of raw strength their claws made contact with Cyra's blackened throat and they heaved her into the air. Her back crashed against the wall and her tail lashed angrily.

"So you've caught me," the Ing laughed in his double voice. "What are you going to do now, slit her throat? Then what? I'll just take over you. You can't kill me."

"Shut up!" Skry yelled, his claws tightening around her throat. For a moment her angry countenance fell, and like a sadistic puppet master, the Ing let her speak of her own free will.

"Skry," she sobbed. Cold tears leaked from the corners of her burning eyes. "Help me, please."

"You monster," Skry sobbed, conflicted in a million different ways. The Ing laughed and reclaimed his prize.

"You're so pathetic, both of you. I hope you both burn."

Skasheel pushed their face close to his and spat in his eye.

"Go fuck yourself. The only monster here is you."

With the Ing possessed Cyra held firmly against the wall, Skasheel depossessed Skry and took hold of the Klexian, returning to Skry his freedom. He held tight, not about to let the Ing go just yet, and watched with narrowed eyes as Skasheel disappeared inside the only person to give him happiness.

Almost instantly Skasheel was overcome with a seething torrent of pure anger. He was angry, this Ing. He had seen the destruction of his home as well, but where Skasheel felt sorrow, it had only served to fuel his hatred. He snapped at her, wrapping his hatred around her mind, hoping to push her free. She responded with her own anger, and in his overconfidence took control of Cyra's limbs before he could react.

"Get out," the dark creature bellowed, deigning to speak to her through their minds, instead filling the ship with pure loathing.

"Take us outside," Skasheel whispered, and Skry did not object. Cyra's entire body was wracked by spastic shivers as the two beings of pure darkness fought vehemently for control. One moment the sharp spines on her back withered and faded away and the next her hands erupted into massive claws of flesh and bone. When she cried out in pain it was with her own voice, and Skry thought he would die. Her pain alone was almost too much for him to handle but diligently he managed to get her outside.

Then he understood. The shipyard was illuminated brightly with huge floodlights, designed to keep would be thieves away. He led her out to the center of the light and held her close, looking up. Even without the symbiote in his veins it was still blinding, and he cringed. Her shudders died down but the smallest iota, and he cried.

Inside, Skasheel was pushing with all her might. It was a mental game as much as it was a physical one. Slowly she would gain the upper hand, only to be pushed down and thrown away, his anger much too strong. For a moment she doubted she could beat him. He was far, far stronger than her. He must have been exceptionally strong on the battlefield, and that frightened her.

A soft, lilting voice touched her mind, and hesitantly, she touched back, afraid of what she would find. She found… Resolve. It was weak. Much weaker than her own, but it was heartfelt, and with Cyra's help she took hold of it. And together, they pressed back against the relentless onslaught of anger.

A moment later, he broke free, billowing from her body like black velvet. The malignance his presence exuded was sickening, like a miasma of sticking oil tar, and Skry gagged from the sheer power of it. Without a voice, he screamed, the light burning into his essence. There was a sound of tearing paper, a smell like burnt almonds and lightning, and the darkness burnt away.

Cyra fell to her knees. She fell to her knees and started crying and all Skry could do was hold her.

She sobbed into his shoulder, her own will the only thing driving her. Skasheel had won, and no sooner had she done so that she retreated, allowing the Klexian full command of her body and mind. She healed her wounds and strived to repair the damage the other Ing had done to her. Of course she could do nothing to cure the trauma and terror she felt.

In the back of her mind Skasheel realized she had what she wanted. She had the body of a female Klexian, and she in turn had gained Skry's affection. It was like a dream come true, and even now she could feel her host's body embraced by the creature of the light she herself had come to love. But despite the temptation she knew it was wrong. She knew that no matter how desperately she longed for it, she could not stay.

Skry knew it too, and as Cyra's sobbing finally subsided she looked at him, eyes ablaze with that hideous, symbiotic orange. He looked at her piteously, conflicted. After all the symbiote had done to help him, to save Cyra, how could he ask her to leave. Where would she go?

"…She's done bad things, Skry," Cyra said quietly, listening to the Ing speak to her inside her own mind. "She doesn't want to die…"

"But I have to."

Skasheel had finished the sentence somberly and took a moment to feel the well-being between them. The hatred had gone. In its place, almost hesitant friendship. She wanted to sit here and enjoy it forever, but not if it meant stealing the life of another.

"I've lived my life for long enough," she continued, unabated. "I think it's time I faced my fears and just… Left."

The finality of her own words were almost too much to bear, and while Cyra had stopped crying, the tears that now flowed from her eyes belonged only to the parasite. The Klexian willingly took the backseat in order to let the Ing find her closure.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, clutching ineffectually at Skry's armoured chest. "I really am. I didn't mean to do what I did to you I just…. I was desperate.

"And I've never felt love before; I didn't know what to do. I'm so sorry, I broke you."

She wiped the tears from her stolen face and pulled away from Skry, looking up at him.

"I love you," was the last thing she said, before tenuously letting go of her vessel. The light burnt off the first bits of herself, of her dark being. She hissed but pressed on, exposing ever more of herself to the light. She cried, of course. She was ending it, finally. For a moment she desperately wanted to crawl back into Cyra and make the pain go away, but that would only delay the inevitable.

She depossessed Cyra and for a moment floated there, a ghostly flicker of living shadow. Before the night stole her away, and she forever became a part of the darkness. The last thing to go through her mind was how happy Skry looked with Cyra, and the last emotion she felt was happiness.

Skry watched as Skasheel faded away into nothingness. Despite all the resentment he had had, all the hatred and harsh feelings, even he felt a twinge of regret as he watched her die. He took no satisfaction in it, only sorrow, and for the first time he saw her for what she truly had been. Not a parasite, but a sentient being who had the misfortune of being born to the wrong species. No one had control over who they were, but because she was a victim of circumstance she had been forced to fight, to possess, to control, and finally forced to die.

Silence followed in her passing, and both Cyra and Skry merely bowed their heads in respect.

Skry was the first to stand, and offered Cyra his hand. The two walked away, back into the ship together, keeping a silent vigil in respect for all that had transpired.

She stared with forlorn eyes out the porthole at the passing stars and surpassed a sigh. Space was too black; the stars, too bright. The duality of it was making her head hurt and she had to turn away.

"Are you alright?" Skry asked, holding her close. The coldness of his body was comforting and she curled up against him, closing her eyes.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"…Everything."

Hours earlier she had been a surgeoun, off in her own little world. Her aim had been to spread her knowledge to others who would need it, and it was driven, in part, by her desire to meet another of her species. She had succeeded on that front, only to be tempered with new knowledge she was having a hard time coming to terms with.

It troubled her.

But Cyra Vixel tried not to let such thoughts worm their way too deeply into her mind, and instead set her mind to the future. Here she was with Skry. A wonderful, beautiful person who had done so much to see to her safety when he barely even knew her. Here she was with knowledge, of a parasitic life form from another dimension who had saved her life, at the expense of herself and, by proxy, her entire species.

Here she was with a future that actually meant something. Her experiences had become valuable tools to fall back on, and she wouldn't change any of it for the world. If Skasheel hadn't found Skry, then he wouldn't've found her, and she would have been possessed by the Ing or worse. She shuddered thinking of all the what ifs. As a doctor and a scientist, the reality of all the little things that could have gone differently frightened her.

"Everything," she repeated, this time with a smile. She had set her ship to autopilot, back to Saigen. The other planets could wait. Her work could wait. She was taking a well-earned vacation on her home, with Skry.

"I love you," was all she said. He kissed her on top of the head and smiled as well.

"I love you too."