Isolated in his silent Andean lab, a stark contrast to the bustling yet mundane and sterile Moonshine Inc. headquarters in Lima, or the secrecy and seriousness of Base 42 in the North, Anthony meticulously planned his defection. Each blueprint, each calculation, was a brick laid on the path to freedom. Yet, doubt and uncertainty gnawed at him. Shadows whispering of the cartel's ruthlessness, the chilling stories of those who dared to defy them, memories of previous missions, lurked in the corners of his mind, sending shivers down his spine. However, he held a picture of the family portrait, a constant reminder for what he fought for. The cost of freedom, he knew, wouldn't be measured in what is material, rather what is close. But how heavy would it be?

The "hallucinations," whom he hasn't experienced for roughly a year now, reemerged. Plunging into an inky blackness, Anthony found himself adrift in a realm devoid of warmth or light, not in his cyborg form that he had gotten accustomed to - now he was but flesh and bones. A solitary symbol, pulsed with a faint white luminescence – a stretched triangle speared by a vertical line. A flicker of recognition sparked within him, a memory from a forgotten nightmare, a fragment he'd glimpsed hidden within the halls of Base 42. But what was its significance?

A skeletal monstrosity loomed before him, its form a grotesquely distorted reflection of humanity. Its bones, an inky black, writhed and stretched like macabre marionette strings. Six malformed ribs protruded on each side, grasping claws reaching out like skeletal fingers, each tipped with a wickedly sharp barb.

The skull, however, was the most unsettling aspect. Far from human, it sported horns that twisted into a grotesque crown. A gaping maw replaced where a nose and mouth should be, a sightless abyss that devoured light itself. Eye sockets pulsating a crimson red, both large and small, studded its surface, boring into Anthony with an intensity that stole his breath.

From its back sprouted six tattered wings, leathery and monstrous, akin to a nightmarish bat, they were clawed and porous, coupled with what seemed like to arms on each side. An unholy stench of decay filled the air as black smog materialized in the creature's chest cavity, a mockery of a heart. This unholy amalgamation pulsed with a low, rhythmic thrum, a sound that seemed to claw at the very fabric of reality.

Tendrils of inky flesh writhed and pulsed as they latched onto the black bones, the sickening sounds of their union echoing in the oppressive silence. This was no mere creature; it was a harbinger of cosmic horror, the Defiler of Worlds, the Dark Emperor.

As its form solidified, countless eyes and mouths materialized across its surface, a chorus of silent screams trapped within its unholy flesh. Anthony stood paralyzed, trapped in a tableau of terror. The escape plans, the meticulous calculations – all seemed trivial in the face of this entity. He was a mere insect, caught in the gaze of a god in the making.

Whispers, faint at first, began to permeate the darkness. They spoke of shattered worlds, of a salvation offered but never attained, a chilling chorus of tortured souls echoing the Dark Emperor's reign of destruction across a thousand crushed worlds. A mask and cloak, woven from the very essence of oblivion, materialized around the monstrosity, obscuring its true form – a mercy, perhaps, for no human mind could bear to witness the full horror of the Dark Emperor.

The cloak billowed and writhed, a living entity seemingly separate from the skeletal form beneath. It defied light, absorbing any stray photons that dared touch it, leaving behind an inky void that seemed to devour the very air. Its edges frayed and pulsed with an ethereal, sickly green luminescence, the only hint of color in the oppressive darkness. This wasn't mere cloth; it was a shroud spun from the nightmares of a plethora of dying worlds, a physical manifestation of the desolation the Dark Emperor left in his wake.

The mask, a perfect antithesis to the cloak, was crafted from a substance as black as a starless night, yet smooth and polished like obsidian. It offered no features, no hint of the monstrosity beneath. Only two vacant white eyes, devoid of pupils or irises, shone through preternatural holes where human eyes would be. They burned with an intensity that seemed to pierce Anthony's soul, an unending hunger for destruction reflected in their lifeless depths. It was a chilling reminder that while the true form was hidden, the entity's malevolent essence remained, a constant threat that gnawed at Anthony's sanity.

The air, once crisp and clear, had become a suffocating shroud. Each ragged breath scraped against Anthony's raw throat, a burning reminder of his desperate struggle. His vision blurred at the edges, the unholy entity before him wavering like a mirage in the heat, its edges and corners flickering and warping, an attempt at defying reality itself. His limbs felt like lead weights, a dull ache throbbing in every joint. The meticulous calculations, the grueling training, all seemed a distant dream in the face of this overwhelming horror.

Indifference, cold and suffocating, seeped into his core. What did it matter, his meticulously planned escape, his family waiting for him a world away? In the face of this cosmic horror, they were mere specks of dust, easily swept aside. He was insignificant, a fly caught in the web of a monstrous spider.

As the Dark Emperor approached him, the space around seemed to twist, warp, and contort, emitting a low hum in the process, leaving behind fragments of trapped, damned souls, negativity, and shadows. A putrid stench, a melange of decay and sulfur, assaulted Anthony's nostrils as the ungodly entity loomed closer, its cloak waving in the process. He proceeded to touch Anthony's chin with his right arm, a skeletal appendage that scraped against skin – a phantom sensation that sent shivers down Anthony's spine despite his lack of augmentations in this realm.

"My child," the Dark Emperor rasped, his voice a cacophony woven from the tortured souls, dying worlds, screams of horror and agony. Each syllable dripped with pure, raw malevolence. "I am aware of what occurred to you. Perhaps I may offer you salvation, for you shall witness the birth of a new god, and the decay of an old one..."

And then, the room pulsated an ethereal purple-blue momentarily. Something which even shook the Dark Emperor. "...7th of July 2007, mark your calendar." He added, before fading away. A stark contrast to the words that loomed heavy in the air, leaving Anthony pondering what might happen.

Seemingly out of nowhere, colors inverted, as in front of him, stood the familiar flawless figure, still dressed in their black suit and black shades. He found himself in another unfamiliar place: a limitless void, with what seemed like twinkling stars in the distance, a tapestry of colors unlike anything he has ever seen.

"Mr. Semyonov..." they said, their voice ever calm and soft, each syllable felt warming and ethereal. Contrasting to the unfathomable horrors he had witnessed.

"...I know that you are confused and stupefied, however, fear not, for salvation awaits this Realm of Darkness" they continued, circling around Anthony and switching between copies of their body in an otherworldly display of power.

"Who are you? What do you want from me!? Are you real???" Asked Anthony in a fit of confusion and fear, with a sense of information overload washing over him.

"Perhaps my identity wanes in comparison to what I can offer you, Mr. Semyonov. I believe that our... end goals... are one of the same. As per my actual existence, our brains choose to believe what they think is real, not what is concretely real... therefore it is up to you to choose..." they answered.

"Stop it with your philosophical ramblings!" Exclaimed Anthony, as he reached out for his shades and ripped them from his face, only to discover there are another pair beneath, and continued repeating this process for a moment, as silence washed over this void.

"As much as I'd love to tell you everything... I'm bound by certain... regulations... however, what I can tell you is..." they calmly replied, moving Anthony's hand away effortlessly in the process.

"...in the primordial epoch of God's creation, a being of staggering yet intriguing power emerged, a force voraciously absorbing darkness and negativity across the cosmos with an unquenchable thirst, growing in might with every conquest. However, this insatiable appetite for power took a toll on its sanity. Gradually consumed by the accumulating darkness, the once-great entity succumbed and metamorphosed into the infamous 'Dark Emperor.'

A cataclysmic rampage ensued, marked by the enslavement of worlds, the obliteration of planets, and the establishment of an empire that struck terror across the universe – the dreaded Realm of Darkness. This dominion disrupted the delicate cosmic equilibrium, compelling a resilient civilization to intervene. The Ru'akatha, standing against the unchecked might of the Dark Emperor, launched a daring campaign that altered the fate of not only the galaxy but the entire universe.

Leveraging their psychokinetic powers, the Ru'akatha managed to trap the Dark Emperor's essence within the desolate confines of his home planet. Through potent enchantments, the malevolent force slumbered, unable to interact with the external universe, and the universe unable to reach him. It seemed as if this would be the end of his reign of terror. Or is it...

As the sands of time cascaded, the fetters binding him weakened, incapable of confining the insatiable hunger for negativity he bore. Awaiting the advent of an enigmatic figure, a harbinger foretold to bring about his ultimate demise, for once and for all." They explained, displaying vivid images of these events to Anthony telepathically.

"So, you're saying I saw the Dark Emperor? And I have to like uhhhh... fight him or something?"

"Indeed..." the figure affirmed.

"...there are forces that seek to fasten his reawakening, the ones behind your... mechanization... the puppeteers carrying out this unholy show across Terra, a mockery of God's divinity." They added.

"Okay but how are you helping me?" Anthony asked, his tone laced with confusion.

"Be patient, if and when the time comes, you'll know." They replied, their tone ever calm.

"Wait what do you mea-" He asked, but to no avail, as colors around him inverted once more, and he now found himself in his usual cyborg form, and surprisingly, in Base 42. A stark contrast to the ethereal void he was in, or his personal Andean lab. Now a question hung heavy in the air, awaiting to be answered: When would this help arrive? What did destiny have for Anthony in store?