Cage of Tormented Soul

Three days later

The void whispered of treachery, beckoning to the rage that smoldered within, threatening to consume all reason. Rage—sweet, searing, and unstoppable—washed over my consciousness in a hot, intoxicating wave, sweeping away logic and restraint. Those vile creatures had dared to shatter my creations, insult my very essence, deem me weak, fit only to be their prey! Filth! The mere thought ignited a storm of fury, and to vent this boiling chaos, I seized control of the Minbari puppet, "inhabiting" its shell, and unleashed a tempest of destruction upon the training hall. For hours, I reduced the sparring dummies to heaps of debris, each blow a fleeting release, but it was not enough. It will never be enough! Driven by a thirst for vengeance, I stormed back into the cockroach-infested system, blasting everything in my path without mercy. The hunt began—a bloody feast where every creature within reach met its end. Detaching from the habitat and engine modules, I swept over the planet's surface like a god of blood and fire. Force-arms sliced through chitin, cannons thundered with devastating precision, engine flares tore flesh asunder, and grav-fields smeared the remnants into oblivion. Not a single damned creature survived, not a seed of their corruption escaped to taint the stars.

Two decades of days fueled this relentless festival of destruction, unyielding and merciless. The creatures proved more numerous than I had observed when departing—perhaps they had hidden in the shadows or spawned anew, but it mattered not. Only after twenty long days did reason claw its way back through the haze of madness, bringing with it a cold dread. What had possessed me? It was insane, dangerous, terrifying… and—by the stars—exhilarating? The thought gnawed at me, a contradiction I could not reconcile. Thank the heavens that Indra was forged strong; in my recklessness, I had pushed the ship to its limits, risking more than was wise.

I retreated to the interstellar void, far from any system, to dissect what had transpired and mend my wounds—both physical and otherwise. This was no technical glitch or programmatic error; the logs made that clear: the matrix shifts followed the madness, did not cause it. The command for fury had sprung from my soul, from a part of me I scarcely understood, for madness is not in my nature. Perhaps the psi-blast from the Zerg lord's death had left its mark, but data was scarce. Whatever the cause, I needed a countermeasure: this feral rage had revealed the depths of my power and skill in battle, but it was a peril I could not afford.

Plunging into research, comparison, and invention, I lost track of time, riding the wings of inspiration. Ideas surged from the depths of my being, crystallizing in the ship's memory banks. A thirst for knowledge drained every archive dry—from drone schematics to the psychology and fiction of long-dead races. But it was not enough. I turned to my own technologies, seeking to grasp the principles behind what I could create but barely comprehend. Alongside the science came thoughts of strategy: how to converse, manipulate, extract advantage from every move. How to avoid repeats of the cockroach fiasco, how to lie artfully, omit wisely, foresee betrayal, and conceal my own. Power and its temptations whispered at the edge of my mind, alluring and treacherous.

The initial goal—to shield my mind and soul—faded to the background but did not stall. I needed a psi-cage, a spiritual Faraday shield, though the task was far from simple. I tied reflection coefficients to material absorption factors, calculated scattering amplitudes, navigating a labyrinth of equations.

Many experiments demanded accelerated perception—a state I loathed. Speeding my mind slowed the world around me: results crawled, flights stretched into eternity, reactions dulled, sensors lost their edge. Worse, my architecture forbade instant toggling—activation scaled exponentially. Tenfold speed? Four minutes in real time, half an hour within. A thousandfold? A day became a year and a half. Inconvenient, but standard timeflow couldn't keep pace with my needs. At first, I engaged it only for experiments, then kept it low and constant, and eventually crept up to a hundredfold.

In this state, I completed my studies, the well of ideas running dry, and prepared to test the fruit of this scientific frenzy. With reverence and unease, I wove protective lattices around my "brain," but upon a final glance, a chill gripped me. Damnation, I've taken no precautions. The experiment was upon myself, and there was no spare "me" to pull from storage. Hastily, I set up protocols: timed shutdowns, charges on key nodes, reboot contingencies.

Mentally crossing my fingers, I activated the shield. Fractal "flowers" flared to life, and the ever-present hum of the cosmos that had echoed in my mind fell silent. In idle mode, it worked flawlessly. Time to stress it. I triggered an emitter, simulating an attack. The external stream scattered perfectly, nothing breached. But—what? Why is the emission spiking inside? Damn it, shut it off! No response, of course. Physically, then? Praise Lakshmi, it worked.

I had nearly been ensnared. Fool. This entire scientific binge, cage included, was an assault—like the rage before it. Now every "invention" would need ruthless scrutiny, for I could not be sure they were truly mine. The cage's trap was elegant: under pressure, it reflected and amplified the soul's emotions back, locking the victim in obsession with their last state. Mine? The hunger to know and create. Fixing it was simple once spotted, and after stress-testing it to the breaking point, I deemed it fit, keying activation to signs of spiritual tampering.

Two days later, while probing a new system, the next assault struck. Flight sensations amplified tenfold, pleasure so thick it was palpable, like syrup. Weak. Unconvincing. The first attack might have broken me, but now—empty. I paused, withholding the shield to observe. Spatial awareness sharpened, my "eyes" saw deeper, richer. I waited. Flashes of lust flickered in my mind—really? I laughed. Give me a body and a mate first, then tempt me! Snorting, I flew on. Kami is no match for Sarasvati and Rudra.

Two more attacks followed, but their intent eluded me—concepts too alien to grasp. With that, my "temptations in the void" ceased, though I knew the abyss would not remain silent for long.

[Lakshmi, Kami, Sarasvati, and Rudra—gods of ancient Terran myth: Lakshmi of fortune, Kami of love, Sarasvati of knowledge, Rudra of fury. Their names are echoes of a world I once knew.]