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They hadn’t realized at the time, but the modified DNA had spliced seamlessly into their genetic code, creating changes so subtle they went unnoticed for generations.

The infected clan had returned to Lathar Prime, carrying the legion’s dormant DNA within them. Through marriages and births, the parasitic genes spread through the population, lying dormant until specific environmental triggers activated them. By the time the first cases of Blood Rage appeared, it was already too late. The infection had become part of their genetic heritage.

He stared at the genetic data scrolling across his holographic display, each strand of DNA telling a story of gradual mutation and adaptation. The legion infection’s progression through Latharian genetics fascinated him—how it had remained completely undetected for generations until the first cases of Blood Rage emerged.

His fingers traced the complex patterns in the historical data. The initial infection had been subtle, integrating so perfectly with Latharian DNA that it appeared natural. The modified genes had passed from parent to child, spreading through the population like ripples in still water. No one had suspected anything was wrong until the first warriors began losing control.

He pulled up his comparative analysis, showing the progression of genetic changes across multiple generations. The early signs had been dismissed as natural variations: slightly enhanced strength, quicker reflexes, heightened aggression responses. Nothing that would raise alarm in a warrior culture. By the time the Blood Rage manifested, the infection had become an integral part of the Latharian genetic makeup.

The first documented case of Blood Rage had occurred in a young warrior during a routine training exercise. The incidenthad been attributed to combat stress, the warrior’s loss of control seen as a personal failure rather than a symptom of something far more insidious. Similar cases followed, each dismissed or explained away until the pattern became impossible to ignore.

He accessed the secured files from the original genetic screening programs. The Latharian scientists had eventually identified the modified genes, but by then, the infection had spread too far to contain. Their solution had been to identify affected individuals early, segregating them into specialized warrior units. The Izaean berserkers were born from this crisis, their entire culture shaped by the need to control what they didn’t fully understand.

The data showed how the infection had evolved alongside its hosts. Each generation of Latharian children born with the modified genes showed slightly different expressions of the trait. Some developed Blood Rage early. Others remained dormant carriers their entire lives. The unpredictability had made it impossible to completely isolate affected bloodlines.

His own research had revealed something the original scientists had missed—the infection wasn’t just surviving in its hosts. It was actively adapting. Each new generation showed subtle improvements in how the parasitic DNA integrated with the host genome. The Blood Rage wasn’t a flaw in the system. It was the infection testing different expressions of its genetic modifications.

He moved to the clone maintenance section of his laboratory, the familiar hum of life support systems growing louder. The row of tanks stretched along the wall, each containing an exact replica of his current form. Bluish nutrient fluid cast an ethereal glow across the sterile surfaces as he approached the nearest active tank.

His fingers moved across the control panel with the ease of long practice, initiating the standard maintenance protocols. The computer began its analysis of the fluid composition, checking pH levels, nutrient ratios, and cellular stability. He’d perfected this formula over decades of trial and error… each failure had taught him something valuable about maintaining clone viability long term.

“Running degradation analysis,” the computer announced.

Sitting back, he watched the readings scroll across the screen. In the early days maintaining even a single clone had seemed an insurmountable challenge, but now he had the process down to an art form.

“No cellular degradation detected in current batch. All parameters within acceptable ranges.”

His lips compressed as he nodded. Good news, but he knew it was only temporary. Each successful transfer bought him more time, but eventually the cloning process would fail. Genetic material could only be copied so many times before errors began creeping in, subtle at first but ultimately fatal.

He glanced at the pile of bones near the door. However, genetic breakdown wasn’t the only danger here. Number fourteen had had a particularly unpleasant ending. Injured out in the forest, he’d miscalculated the time he’d needed to get back here with the blood loss he’d suffered, only just making it inside the door before he’d collapsed. By the time he’d emerged from the tank, his previous form had already decomposed beyond the matter reclamator’s ability to process. He’d left the bones as a reminder of the cost of carelessness.

Twenty-seven transfers so far, and each one felt like borrowing time he might not be able to repay. This body was holding up well, but he could feel the first subtle signs of cellular stress that preceded each necessary transfer. The computermight not detect degradation yet, but he knew his limits intimately by now.

He moved to the far end of the laboratory where the cryo-chamber stood, its surface frosted with centuries of accumulated ice. He’d seriously considered using it again before Dr. Godwin’s arrival. A few hundred years in suspension would have given the legion infection time to reveal more of its patterns, and he’d used this strategy before to reduce the frequency of necessary transfers.

But then the human doctor had actually communicated with a legion symbiont. The one within Banic. The implications were staggering. He’d spent centuries studying the infection’s progression through generations of Latharian hosts, watching it slowly perfect its integration into their genetic code. The Blood Rage had always been its tell, the point where the changes became too extensive to hide.

He’d never imagined it could achieve sentience, though. The doctor’s breakthrough had revealed aspects of the legion he hadn’t uncovered in all his years of research. She approached the problem from angles he hadn’t considered, asked questions he’d never thought to ask. Her fresh perspective might be exactly what he needed to understand the full scope of what he was dealing with.

His fingers traced over the surface of the chamber as he considered his options, staring blankly at the half-formed clone inside. Perhaps itwastime to stop working alone. She’d proven herself to be both capable and insightful, and the thought of finally sharing his research with someone who understood its importance was very tempting.

A shrill alarm pierced the air of the laboratory, its urgent tone cutting through his thoughts.

“Warning. Seismic activity detected,” the lab computer announced. “Magnitude seven point three earthquake approaching. Impact in six minutes.”

Draanth.Abandoning the cryo-chamber, he rushed to the main control console. His fingers flew across the holographic interface, pulling up detailed sensor readings. The approaching tremor’s epicenter aligned perfectly with the construction site—too perfectly to be natural.

“Initiate emergency lockdown protocol alpha,” he commanded, watching as blast doors began sealing off critical sections of the facility. “Secure all specimen containers and activate stasis fields on active experiments and clone tanks.”

The computer complied instantly, force fields shimming into existence around delicate equipment. The specimen and clone tanks locked down automatically, their contents protected by layers of redundant safety systems. He’d designed these protocols centuries ago, knowing that eventually something would threaten his research.

“Transfer all current data to secure storage,” he ordered, already moving toward the emergency exit. “Encrypt everything using protocol seven.”

“Data transfer initiated. Warning: Complete lockdown will prevent access for seventy-two hours once activated.”

He grabbed a small emergency pack from beneath his workstation—another lesson learned from centuries of close calls. “Understood. Execute full lockdown on my mark.”

The facility hummed as systems powered down, the specimens and clones were secured in stasis, and backup power was engaged. Decades of irreplaceable research hung in the balance, protected only by ancient technology and his own paranoid planning.

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