The dimensional rift tore open in the center of the Convergence's command bridge without warning, reality splitting like rotten flesh to disgorge figures that should not exist. Reed's enhanced reflexes kicked in, plasma rifle materializing in his hands even as his tactical systems screamed warnings about impossible energy readings.
But Lyralei held up a hand, stopping him cold.
"Kaetha," she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of betrayal and recognition.
The figure that stepped through the rift bore only passing resemblance to humanity. Wrapped in robes that seemed to absorb light itself, Kaetha moved with the fluid grace of something that had transcended physical limitation. Her face—what Reed could see of it beneath the shadow of her hood—was a patchwork of organic flesh and void-black metal, as if she'd been partially consumed and rebuilt by something alien.
