I started on the lower decks. It was the only place that made sense—quiet, tucked away, where no one would notice the changes. Up above, every move would have been watched. But down here? These people were barely seen as human anymore, just a mass of suffering. The higher-ups would rather let them rot in this dying world. They’d never admit it, but they would have abandoned these souls without a second thought. Persephone, though—she saw potential. She wouldn’t waste it. The ones who resisted were turned into carriers, their minds emptied, their bodies left to shuffle through the rest of their miserable lives. The ones who accepted their fate got something better—though "better" was a stretch

"Special treatment," they called it. Those healthy enough were herded off to Siren Terraforming Processing. The rest? Slicers or slaves, were forced to build the plants. Families were ripped apart and marched down separate hallways without knowing their fates. It wasn’t easy watching a child wrenched from their mother’s arms, the fear in their eyes. Salen had explained why the siren genome took to children best, but the science? It was lost on me. All I needed were soldiers.

The ship’s bowels were crowded. Endless faces, huddled together for warmth, for safety. This ship, once a war machine, was now a cage. Above, the rich and powerful lounged in their private rooms, oblivious to the suffering below. My steps were slow, and deliberate, as I moved through the halls. A man lay curled in the corner, his jacket barely covering him. He was shaking, his breath shallow. Each step was like walking through a never-ending wave of pain, each faces was a reminder of just how far these people had fallen. They didn’t need gods. They needed help, real help.

I’d heard whispers about someone from the upper decks. An officer, maybe, who’d ventured down here by mistake. Blake, one of the men I passed, had crossed paths with them. His arm had been twisted—not broken but left in a way that would heal slowly and hurt for longer. It was a message. Whoever did it wasn’t here to kill. If it were one of the others, Blake would be dead, his arm ripped clean off. But no one could figure out who this shadow was. The best description? A petite woman with long blonde hair.

Veronica. Plain name for someone so dangerous. She didn’t want to be seen, but everyone whispered about her. Some said she could shapeshift, but not this one. This one walked as herself, unafraid. I needed to get to the upper decks to find out more.

“My lady.” A woman grabbed my hand, pulling me from my thoughts. She kissed it, her grip trembling. I hadn’t expected it. She’d been ‘willed’ to worship me, but this was the first time I felt it. I should’ve felt proud. Instead, I felt awkward. More people were gathering, stepping forward—tired, broken, some bowing, others lowering their heads.

“You need our help?” a man asked, his jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides. His eyes burned with a mixture of hope and fear. Persephone’s gift still felt foreign, like a weight I hadn’t yet learned to carry. These people had been desperate, herded down here like livestock, left to suffer. Now, they looked to me for something more.

“Yes,” I said, placing a hand on the man’s head. His eyes fluttered closed, and a smile spread across his face. The others knelt, their eyes fixed on me, waiting. “I need you to find someone. A shadow. She’s important. Go to the upper decks. Find out what you can.”

I paused. Should I have them spread my influence? It would draw attention, but at this point, resistance would be small. “And if you think it necessary… spread the word. To those who are worthy.”

“Yes, Virulent,” they said in unison. The name fit now. My old one was forgotten, buried with the people who had once known it. I watched as they rose, filtering out into the hallway, moving with purpose. A thought struck me. I had no idea how far my power reached. I needed to hold the element of surprise, and keep control. With someone like Veronica on board, I couldn’t afford any mistakes.

I looked down at the woman still kneeling before me. “Do you want to serve me?”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide with devotion. “Yes,” she said, her voice almost breathless.

I kept my expression steady, but inside, it twisted. This god-like reverence, the power—it was still uncomfortable.

“I have a special task for you,” I said, my fingers curling around her head. She flinched, just slightly, as I pressed down.

“Anything,” she whispered, her voice shaking as her body changed beneath my touch.