Deep within Ethan's unconscious mind, a silent war was raging. He couldn't feel it, but the Omnitrix, a part of his very being, was fighting for his life. The vast, chaotic flood of Aura the cultists had injected should have destroyed him, shattering his psionic foundation beyond repair. But the ancient device was re-routing that energy. Every joule of hostile power was being consumed, not to elevate his rank, but to fuel a desperate, frantic repair sequence. It was a battle between the crude, forced evolution of the potion and the sophisticated, restorative power of alien technology. His psionic rank, the measure of his power, was plummeting not because he was weakening, but because the Omnitrix was sacrificing his current strength to ensure he had a future at all. It was painstakingly rebuilding his very foundation, purging the foreign DNA, and fighting to keep its host alive. The process had nearly exhausted its own energy reserves, leaving it on the verge of a system crash.
And Ethan, trapped in the agonizing throes of the Beastification Potion, was completely unaware.
The Tiger Deacon hauled Ethan's twitching, half-transformed body from the stasis pod. He looked at the boy—the failed experiment, the wasted resources—with unconcealed disgust. He dragged him across the cold floor and threw him into a dark, damp solitary confinement cell.
"You damn bastard," he spat onto the ground outside the cell's bars. "You can just fend for yourself in here!"
He motioned to two low-level cultists. "Watch him." Then, the Deacon turned and stalked away. His personal inventory of Aura Cores was now completely depleted, wasted on this failed project. He had to hurry out into the wilds and kill some more monsters to replenish them. Otherwise, he wouldn't even have enough for his own training.
The wilderness was alive with the unseen hum of psionic energy. A military squad moved in a wide, sweeping formation, their psionic detectors scanning the terrain. High above, invisible to the naked eye, the immense pressure of two Rank Four psionicists—General Valerius and Mayor Everett Thorne—rolled across the landscape, a silent warning that kept the most powerful and intelligent mutated creatures deep within their lairs.
Miles away, on a remote, untrodden path, Marcus Vance drove his fist through the skull of a mutated civet cat. He pulled his hand back, shaking off the gore, and let out a frustrated sigh.
"I'm still too weak," he muttered, looking at his fist. The kill had been easy, but it felt hollow.
They had been out here for three days. Three days of tense searching, of following a strategy born from Seraphina's sharp mind. The military's search was thorough but predictable, covering the main areas. The Evolution Cult, she had reasoned, would be smarter than that. They would hide in the gaps, the places no one thought to look. And so, that's where they were.
"Do you think we can really find him, Sera?" Marcus asked, his voice heavy with the weight of their three-day search.
Seraphina, her eyes fixed on the softly glowing, compass-like device in her hands, didn't look up. "I don't know, Marcus. But it's better than sitting at home doing nothing."
The device was a psionic gear detector, designed to pick up the faint energy waves emitted by other active psionic devices. Her theory was sound: to hide a base of this size, the cult would need an illusion-generating device, and that device, no matter how sophisticated, would give off a signature. Her detector was only a beginner-grade model with a small range, but in these overlooked, remote corners of the wilderness, it was their only hope.
They pressed on, the relative quiet of the forest a testament to the two powerful masters watching over the region. Without their presence suppressing the stronger monsters, a trip this deep would have been suicide. Still, some creatures, too stupid or too desperate to heed the warning, slipped through the net. From time to time, they had to fight them off, quick, brutal encounters that only frayed their already worn nerves.
High in the canopy of an ancient tree, a pair of sharp, intelligent eyes watched them. A pitch-black Swift Falcon, a predator known for its incredible speed and its love for shiny objects, was perched on a branch. It stared intently at the glowing, pulsating compass in Seraphina's hand. A greedy light flashed in its eyes.
Marcus had just dispatched another creature, and Seraphina was completely focused on the detector, trying to decipher a faint reading. This was the best opportunity.
The falcon tensed its body. Like a black, feathered arrow, it swooped down from the tree in utter silence. Before either of them could react, it snatched the psionic compass from Seraphina's hands with its sharp talons and shot away towards a distant line of sheer cliffs.
Seraphina cried out in alarm, "My compass!"
"You beast! Put that down!" Marcus roared. He smashed a giant rock next to him with one powerful punch, picked up the jagged fragments, and began hurling them at the fleeing falcon with all his might. But the bird was living up to its name; it was unnaturally fast, its reactions agile as it easily dodged the stony projectiles.
"It's a Swift Falcon!" Seraphina yelled, her mind already working. "They're known for their speed, but its psionic rank can't be high, otherwise it wouldn't dare to come near this area! We have a hope of catching it! Quick, we have to chase it!"
Marcus didn't hesitate. He activated his muscle strengthening, scooped Seraphina up in one powerful arm, and with a thunderous push of his legs, he leaped a full twenty meters in a single bound. This was his fastest way of advancing. Just like that, Marcus became a superhuman battering ram, bounding through the forest in hot pursuit of the thieving bird.
The chase lasted for ten frantic minutes. Finally, the Swift Falcon stopped at a large, messy nest perched high on a sheer cliff face. It carefully placed the glowing compass, its new treasure, in the nest and began to affectionately rub its head against it. In the nest, a hoard of other sparkling and crystal-clear things glinted in the sun.
"So this thieving bird has stolen so many things," Marcus panted, setting Seraphina down. "Today, I will carry out justice on behalf of the heavens." He rubbed his fists and did a few warm-up exercises. Looking at the nest high above, he planned to jump up to the cliff face and then climb the rest of the way. He coiled his powerful legs and leaped.
But the scene he had imagined—his hands grabbing onto hard, solid rock—did not happen. Instead, his hands passed right through the cliff face as if it were smoke.
"Ouch, my butt!" Marcus yelled as he bizarrely drilled straight into the cliff face, his momentum carrying him into a dark cave where he landed in a painful, undignified heap.
Seraphina, watching from below, gasped in shock. She cautiously approached the cliff face and tentatively stretched out her own hand. Sure enough, her hand also passed right through the illusion. Then, her face became grim with a dawning realization. She carefully walked in. Inside the dark cave, she found Marcus getting up from the ground, brushing the dust off his body.
"What's the situation?" he asked, looking around the dark, man-made cavern. "Why is it empty inside here?"
Seraphina's eyes widened, her voice a hushed, trembling whisper. "I think… Marcus, I think we've found it."
He froze. "You mean… this is the Evolution Cult's nest?" His eyes blazed with a sudden, fierce fire. "Then let's hurry up and go rescue Ethan!"
"Wait a minute, Marcus, don't be rash!" Seraphina hurriedly stopped him, grabbing his arm. "We still don't know what the strength of the people inside this place is. Rushing in rashly will be suicide! First, we need to send a message to the military and have them come over."
Marcus knew she was right. He had been impulsive. He hurriedly took out the prepared satellite phone. It was a special military-grade device, given to them by a search party they had encountered on their first day out, who, worried for their safety, had also left their direct contact information.