Chance looked on as the crew, the plants, shrivelled around him. The viewing window looked out on the spectacle as the creature freed a bat-like wing from its prison. Blotting out the stars.
Finally free, the Great Vampire screeched its triumph. It slowly turned towards the Galaxy, glowing with life and light. Then back to its new disciple.
The ship broke apart around Chance, the air escaped his lungs, the icy cold of interstellar space latched itself to his bones. Then the voice came once more.
"Come. We shall feed. This Universe is plentiful. I bestow upon you unlife!"
Miguel Chance screamed as the presence coming through the rent in space turned its attention on the crew of the Arbogast. Overwhelming hunger lanced into his soul, a desperate need for one thing...
"Serve me." Dribbled the voice in his mind. "Serve me, and live for eternity."
"I... I..." The hunger wracked his body, gripping his torso as if he were in the grip of a giant hand.
"I... I... Will serve Lord."
"Then join me..." It hissed, as the creatures giant hand reached out and wrapped itself around the hull of the ship. The crew died screaming.
Actinic, hateful, red, light oozed from the aftermath of the torpedo. Spacetime was thin here, where the brane rubbed up against the surface of another Universe. Here, there was something trapped between the two. In the not-space between realities. Trapped. Screaming.
The crew of the Arbogast felt the shiver through space as an enormous, clawed, hand reached through the hole. Grasping in vacuum as a drowning man would grab at the air. It struggled when, whatever it was, began to pull it's massive bulk through the terrifying tear. Gripping Spacetime itself to drag it into the Universe.
"Yes Mr Killian?" Captain Longström pinched the brow of his nose, feeling tired after a straight sixteen hours.
"Sir. The aft scanner array is detecting a spatial anomaly off the starboard carousel."
"Is this our buried screamer Mr Chance?"
"I believe it is Captain. If I may?" Chance pointed at the weapons station. Longström nodded. "Mr Smith? We need to put a hole in Spacetime at the coordinates Mr Killian has found."
Smith nodded. "Yes sir." He tapped on the console. "Torpedo away sir." The device sped across the space between the ship, and the anomaly. Then it flashed...
Longström felt a gentle tap on the shoulder. "Er, sir?"
"What is it Jenkins? Can't you..." He turned. "Oh. Mr Chance. Nice to see you're wearing your uniform today."
The shrivelled, and emaciated, figure of the psychic leaned heavily on his wooden stick. Blackened skin around his bloodshot eyes, made it feel like you were talking to a dead thing.
"There is something buried here Captain Longström. I'm glad you heeded my requested stop."
"Indeed Mr Chance. You know as well as I do that I have to. How do you know something's here?
"I can hear it screaming Captain."
"Captain; Mr Chance has just sent me a message from his tank."
Longström groaned loudly. "Ok. What does our resident psychic have to say..."
"Sir. He says there is something buried here, and we should stop immediately."
The captain sighed.
"Alright. All stop! Geez, I hate psychics. When he's ready, bring him up here. I want to know why he thinks that there is something 'buried' here, when we're sixty light-years outside the plain of the ecliptic, in extra-galactic space."
"Oh, and Jenkins? Remind Mr Chance that I prefer him to wear clothes, not absolutely nothing..."