Your head is buzzing… again. Just another Monday.
A man wakes up in the middle of the sidewalk, in a world where whatever was new yesterday became old the very next day. It was three in the morning. There, in the shadows of a crumbling city, someone without a real name, without an identity, awakened. To the passersby, he was just another drunk… or an addict? He was both. A tiny ant in the urban hell known as NowaGen — a suffocating megacity of cutting-edge technology, where the Arcane had been almost entirely abandoned in the name of scientific advancement.
Amidst the chaos — flying machines, vehicles roaring with powerful turbines, grotesque implants, deformed mutants, and modified bodies — stood someone with no name. Just another face among millions. An ant in a burning anthill. Even more so now, with the city under mass attacks from a new and violent terrorist group. He was nobody. It wasn't the first time he had hit rock bottom. Just another day.
— Damn it… again… heh. Whatever. After all, it's just another Monday, isn't it? Besides… there's that thing, right?
With a subtle movement, he brings his hand to his belt — curiously, the only valuable item he owned. A dark, gothic, and ornate model. Its brand: Igyris. A beautiful name. Touching his battered fanny pack, he checks on something.
— Yeah… maybe my head is clearing up… damn it…
Walking through that city, surrounded by strobe lights and visual pollution, he begins to notice his own state — covered in bruises and scratches. Around him, recent debris from the attacks. People in ruins. But he ignores them. The city's cyberpunk lights burn his eyes. Turbine engines roar relentlessly. Cold, hostile-looking people cross his path — and he was one of them. Arcane users try to sell their gifts for crumbs, dirty circuit coins. He avoids them all.
In the center of the chaos, the great Powermagi tower. He didn't understand how it worked. Maybe he had forgotten. Maybe it didn't matter.
— Come on… don't these idiots realize this isn't their place? There are so many paradises where the Arcane reigns… and they choose to live in NowaGen? Hah…
Maybe it's even worse out there. I've never left this place, have I? Anyway… my allergy is acting up…
He had an "allergy." Every time he got close to Arcane energy, his skin would itch, crack, burn. He didn't know why. He didn't know anything.
And so, he plunged through the vast hell of NowaGen, amidst the freezing smoke rising from the sewers. The filthy rats that...
CRECK!!!
— Disgusting...
He ended up stepping right into the middle of the street.
— Argh... for fuck's sake, the city is busier than usual today, huh... Could it be because of that last explosi—
BACK!!!
A dull thud abruptly and violently threw him against the ground.
CRACK!!!
Making him crash hard straight into a mud puddle.
SPLASH!!!
The thick, dirty water splashed everywhere.
— Argh... what the hell, man?...
He looked up, and the view couldn't be any clearer. Beyond the raw sight of the bright, artificial lights of the buildings, the freezing smog created by pollution, and the hypersonic vehicles crossing the skies, something much "uglier" dominated the landscape.
— ARGH!!! WHAT??? WHO ARE YOU STARING AT, BOY???.
An immense, gigantic mutant. An abnormally tall man, about 2.5 meters tall, skin completely pale as snow, and with no apparent nose due to bodily alterations via completely inhuman surgeries. His entire set of teeth was exposed, revealing fangs sharp as canines, made entirely of titanium. This mutant now had his boots completely soaked in mud. A fact that...
— I'M GONNA KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD!!!
...filled him with fury.
Creck!!!
— ARGH!!!
And with that fury...
VUSH!!!
— I'M GONNA KILL YOU!!!
With immense brutality, that mutant, using his arms, grabbed the man's neck with extreme force.
Creck... creck...
And lifted him above his head.
Creck... creck...
With enough strength to crush his neck.
— Argh... argh...
All the civilians moving along that sidewalk watched the horrible scene. Just another normal night in NowaGen; it was standard.
— Mommy... what is that tall man going to do to that mister?... Isn't that wrong? — asked a small child, while her mother pulled away, dragging her hand along with the rest of the crowd that feared getting involved in the confrontation.
Soon, an empty circle formed amidst that vast crowd. Such a circle was dictated by the fear of all those people.
— Hahah... these goddamn cowardly idiots... I don't blame them for being scared to death of me... I bet they know damn well that if it were them in your place ruining my boots... they'd be the ones here... about to die...
Creck... creck...
The force only increased. The man's neck was so close to being completely crushed. The crushing pressure came from the monster's fingers.
— So, boy... want to beg? You know... I'm not really doing this because of the boots... It's just that I was so...
— Bored?...
The man, so close to a brutal death, answered him as if it were nothing, as if it meant nothing at all.
— I get you... I'm bored as fuck too... I just woke up, can you believe it? It's tough for me... That explosion really caught me off guard... It sucks...
The mutant stared at him in disbelief, his black eyes widening, while the words flowed effortlessly from the mouth of a man who, in the mutant's eyes, should have been bathed in the purest despair.
— What??? Are you crazy or something? Do you have no idea how bad this situation is? Argh... you stupid boy, I'm going to...
— Kill me? Wow... how creative, hahah. When you're bored... honestly, anything goes. Go ahead, big guy... But before you do... would you like a tip?...
The mutant, annoyed, began to tremble with pure, unbridled fury, restless. At that moment, he realized that the victim he had so delicately selected was going against everything he had written in his script. His boredom was gone, but this was...
unexpected.
— You know, big guy... those prosthetics of yours... the arms, I mean... they're made of a malleable steel alloy, aren't they?... Looks like smuggled material straight from Powermagi itself... Hah... It's pretty cool... if you're a sucker, you know...
CRECK!!!
— URGH!!!
At that moment, all of the mutant's boredom was replaced by pure, unbridled fury.
— ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY???
And with that fury, with all his strength, he smashed the man's body with everything he had against a glowing neon sign advertising a brand of noodles...
CRACK!!!
Which, along with what it advertised, was completely destroyed.
— ARGH!!!
The man, crushed against the glass that made up the sign and feeling the sparks of electricity burn his skin, could only writhe in agony.
— ARE YOU INSANE??? I HAVE YOUR LIFE IN MY HANDS, YOU IDIOT! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A TOY TO PASS MY BOREDOM!!! AND YOU STILL WANT TO MOCK MY PROSTHETICS??? YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!
Or at least, that was... what the mutant wanted to believe.
— Hahah... of course I want to mock you... After all, we're the ones who sold that shit to idiots like you... Hahah...
But at that moment, looking deep into that man's eyes, the mutant noticed something completely terrifying. Something very few men possessed in their gaze. Between bouts of laughter, that man was truly using the mutant to escape his own abyssal boredom.
That mutant trembled, because there he saw that this life-or-death situation didn't matter, or even make sense to that man; he just didn't care. The mutant, at that moment, in the depths of that man's eyes, saw the purest void.
— W-what... but... argh... Only Jaywen smuggles that kind of material in all of NowaGen... Argh... You're bluffing, damn it!!!
The mutant's voice faltered. Soon he began to stammer.
— Huh? What... come on, man... We're not talking about him... Change the subject, come on... Hahah, let's go back to talking about this piece-of-shit alloy... and the ridiculous weak points it has... Like, come on, if this shit gets wet, it's over. It's the cheapest material we smuggle out of Powermagi.
Soon the mutant realized something in those words: the purest cynicism. Those empty eyes were like black holes. He realized something: that man didn't want this situation to end. Because that type of man only truly finds entertainment in moments like these.
— What's wrong, man... let's keep going... It's just, honestly, I'm pretty bored.
That type of man, with that void in his eyes, only seeks to entertain himself with chaos, violence, and evil. That was how his void was filled.
— Argh... you... really...
Thus, slowly, with his fists trembling...
Fwep...
The mutant let go of the man's neck.
Tap!
He, as if it were nothing, landed on his feet on the ground.
— Huh? What's wrong, big guy? Don't tell me you're already done?...
Disappointed, the man stared at the mutant. The confused crowd began to wonder what the outcome of their conversation had been for the conflict to end like that. But it was still just a night and, like every night, the crowd went back to ignoring the chaos. Thus, they scattered once more across the sidewalk.
— Argh... I just... I just don't want trouble with Jaywen... please...
Thus, still trembling, the mutant lowered his head, because there he understood that, in front of him, there was only an empty well, devoid of the slightest shred of humanity.
— Ah... seriously?... That's why you stopped? How boring, man... Always like this... Hahah... Don't worry...
Thus, the man began to move along with the crowd, carried by the boredom that surrounded him.
— I wasn't going to tell him anything anyway.
Disappearing into that swarm of flesh that scattered in all directions. Soon, his footsteps didn't take long to be heard far from there.
SPLASH!!!
Now sinking into mud puddles, on purpose.
— Argh... so hungry... Fuck, you know what?
Eating something will clear my head. After all, I had something to do, didn't I?
He muttered to himself, now walking down a dark street, the concrete completely riddled with holes. Mud puddles formed in droves, filled with the water from the city's frequent toxic rains. The water in the puddles was black as oil, yet it still majestically reflected the glow of the buildings.
SPLASH!!!
Abruptly, one of his feet sank completely into one of the black mud puddles that broke up the ground. Soon, the man stood motionless again.
— Oh, right... Eating something will definitely help me.
Thus he looked ahead, his eyes catching a vast alley, known by the entire underworld of NowaGen. One of the main locations for the city's massive smuggling trade. Putrid and dangerous, from the outside it appeared obscure, a cold, black mass of darkness in the shape of a vast alley.
— So... here we go...
But upon taking his first step into that vast darkness...
SPLASH!!!
...an immense, narrow, and bright environment revealed itself. A realm of its own, with its own commerce. In addition to the smugglers gathering in every dark spot of that alley, the shops and businesses were more alive than ever there: small bars, stalls, food, drinks, all advertised with various glowing signs of dull neon, on the verge of burning out. Even though it was filthy, filled with trash, horrible people, and grime, with those vibrant signs illuminating every puddle of mud, that place seemed alive, built up by trade.
— Pretty just like I remembered... Hahah...
At least I remember this, don't I?...
Thus, steps were taken amidst that straight line of concrete shaped by the buildings. The neons of the bars, stalls, and shops guided him to a specific spot, perhaps a spot that would finally kill his boredom. Thus, led by slow and clumsy steps, he carried himself forward, once again on purpose, stepping into every mud puddle in his path.
— Psst... hey... Dreik!!! Isn't that that bizarre son of a bitch again?... — a hooded smuggler whispered quietly to his partner while nudging his shoulder.
— Oh, fuck!!! It really is him... That violent, psycho bastard... — his partner replied as expected. He was a mutant smuggler, as tall as the one the man had gotten into trouble with earlier.
— Fuck... What does that guy want here again? Last time... Holy shit... There's no understanding what kind of shit goes through that psycho's head... He's just... completely unpredictable...
The mutant smuggler bit his lips until they bled. Watching that man in that place again made him, for some reason, completely restless. A fact that almost made him step forward, but before he could...
Tap!!!
His partner quickly grabbed him by the wrist.
— No, Dreik... Don't forget, he's with Jaywen's people... We don't mess with Jaywen's crew, no fucking way. You know he would skin us alive.
Something that brought him back, for a moment, to reality.
— Argh... I know... But I can't help but hate this guy... Piece-of-shit crazy psychopath... Last time... He... Argh... That guy's eyes are completely empty... He's entirely insane... And you know the worst part? He doesn't even use any substances, he's just genuinely crazy...
The mutant smuggler, seized by a vision of a past occurrence — an occurrence that involved that man with the empty eyes —, couldn't help but shake down to every fiber of his body, gripped by the terror of that goddamn vision.
— Yeah... I know... I heard Jaywen found this guy half-dead in a pile of garbage around here... Total amnesiac, didn't even know his own name, but he had that belt... That "Igyris" model... Rumor has it it was the only thing left of whatever or whoever he used to be...
Then, those two smugglers shuddered together to their absolute core, carried away by the horrible image, by the terror that the slouching man in front of them was capable of providing. For, to their misfortune, they had witnessed images that would never be erased from their minds.
— But it doesn't matter... It doesn't matter what this bastard used to be or what he's going to become... What matters is that he's a goddamn psychopath... An insane piece of shit who doesn't see the slightest value in his own life or the lives of others... Argh... He doesn't even use any heavy drugs...
— Yeah... That's the nature of that bastard... Some guys who used to work with Jaywen's crew reported that this guy is just purely empty... Without meaning, without sense. Some men just look for ways to plug that hole in their chest, whether through darkness, violence, or chaos...
Thus, the hooded smuggler slowly guided his palm toward a loaded and cocked pistol holstered at his waist.
— Argh... That belt, this guy not having a name, being an actual psychopath despite being a piece-of-shit amnesiac... And still being found passed out in a pile of trash... Argh... I gotta admit... If it weren't for picking a fight directly with Jaywen...
SPLASH!!!
Once again, the man's feet sank completely into a mud puddle. While the lights from the signs burned his eyes, he didn't even blink.
— I'd kill this bastard right now...
Slowly, he drew the pistol from his waist, but before such an idea could be put into practice...
PIU!!! PIU!!! PIU!!!
— SHIT!!! IT'S THE COP!!!
An armored police drone, like a rocket loaded with cutting-edge military equipment from end to end, crossed the sky. And along with it, its sirens signaled to every smuggler in that alley that this place no longer belonged to them.
— SHIT, LET'S GET THE FUCK OUT!!!
TAP! TAP! TAP!
And with heavy steps that crushed those mud puddles, splashing them more and more, every smuggler fled with their tails between their legs, filled with the pure fear of a sinister and brutal death at the hands of the most violent police force in the entire state: the police force with the most recorded and unrecorded deaths, the police force of NowaGen.
Every man there fled, because they feared for their lives. Except one. Only one man there feared nothing, because he felt nothing.
— Look at that, are those CXpL models? Wow... It's been a while since I saw those running around... Aren't these outdated?...
Watching them, he felt nothing. A sinister sensation took over the air. The merchants, who still feared for their establishments, scared that the police force would soon arrive there, closed their stalls, shops, and bars.
— Let me see if I remember correctly... XXZL jet armor... Argh... Well, the weaponry on one of those things would destroy an XXZL, wouldn't it?... Man, these Powermagi models are bizarre. I bet there's a lot of shady shit involving these drones...
— Damn it... It's Jaywen's boy... Argh... He's gonna die... What a mess, I don't understand what Jaywen sees in this kid besides insanity, but if he dies here... It's not going to end well... — muttered one of the merchants to himself, a bar owner hiding behind his own establishment's counter.
— It doesn't make sense, honestly, for Powermagi to back NowaGen's police force with so much heavy funding... What kind of benefit does that bring to that type of corporation?... Well... What do I even know about this anyway, right?...
— He's really going to...
Tap... tap... tap...
Heavy, wet footsteps from combat boots with steel soles arrived, crushing the concrete floor. A sharp, violent weight. Three individuals from NowaGen's police force had arrived.
— ...die.
— HEY, YOU!!!
One of the cops, fully geared up from head to toe, signaled to the man.
— STARRING A BIT TOO HARD AT THE DRONE, HUH? WANT ONE FOR YOURSELF???.
The man with the empty eyes slowly turned toward the officers.
— Hah. Of course not, gentlemen. You see... I usually sell this kind of garbage... Not buy it, you know?...
Such a response couldn't have been more unexpected.
— What did you say, brat?...
And it couldn't have forced the fury of NowaGen's violent police force any further.
TRECK!!!
The cop standing in the middle quickly drew his weapon.
— Huh? Are you really going to shoot at—
BANG!!!
Thus, the violent echo fired.
BLASH!!!
Blood soon splattered everywhere.
— Fuck... Look at that... You fucked up my shoulder.
But that man with the empty eyes truly couldn't be more empty or detached from the situation. Each cop was seized by a bizarre excitement in that moment, observing that bizarre man, so detached... so unusual in the eyes of those three uniformed men.
— Hm... What's wrong? Don't tell me you got hard at the thought of giving me a beating.
That bizarre man in front of them seemed like a great toy to pass the time until the night called them.
— What an interesting little man...
The cop in the middle, with a sharp click...
TRECK!!!
...drew a massive stun baton. The other two, discreetly, had their faces taken over by a malicious smile.
The NowaGen police officer, a man whose face was hidden by a mask reinforced with carbon filters, tilted his head. The sound of the gunshot still reverberated off the narrow walls of the alley, and the smell of gunpowder mixed with the ozone scent from the drones.
Bzzz...
The baton crackled in his grip, screaming for violence.
They expected a scream. They expected the sound of a body dropping into the mud. But what they received was that void, and that couldn't be a more satisfying meal for those goddamn psychopaths disguised in the police force. It couldn't be more perfect.
A step was taken...
Bzzzz.
— Wow... You're getting closer...
Their tongues slithered over their lips.
Bzzz...
Another step was taken... They couldn't feel hungrier. They couldn't wait to devour him completely, until nothing was left... But...
Tap!
That wasn't the plan for tonight.
— Hey, you idiots... Don't even think about doing that. Go find another fool, this boy is one of mine...
A palm touched the back of the middle officer, followed by a slender silhouette and a voice far too delicate for a man.
— Argh... Chief... I'm so sorry, forgive me... I didn't know this kid was one of Jaywen's men... Please, I beg you, let there be no retaliation.
Soon, all three officers, at the same time, turned off their batons and, instantly, lowered their heads.
— Argh... Sure. If I ignore the fact that you blew a hole in the fucking shoulder of one of my guys... I just want you to leave right now... I have serious business to handle with this one...
— Argh... Of course, of course... Yes, sir! We're leaving!!!
And with the same speed they appeared, the cops, as corrupt as the city itself, once again blended into it, giving crime yet another chance to merge back into that alley.
— Holy shit, you came straight to me, Zielme? Hah... I remembered what I had to check out... I bet you looked for me all over the city.
— Argh... Sit down, and let's treat that gaping hole in your shoulder right now, you sack of shit... We have serious matters to attend to... Direct orders from Jaywen for you...
With the departure of the oppressive police force, the alley, as expected, resumed all its illegal activities for the time being. And along with that, the smugglers returned, one by one, because in that place, Zielme's voice carried a strange weight for those people. At least with someone of that stature there, only brutal, unforeseen events would disrupt the standard operations of the alley. Thus, the two sat at the counter of a bar that had just reopened due to the urgency of having someone of that caliber present.
Night in NowaGen was nothing more than a gigantic urban hell. A hell entirely monopolized and governed in every way by a massive, aggressive, and oppressive organized crime network. Every alley, every street was taken over by this gigantic illegal trade: drugs, weapons... A force completely dominated by the massive company and owner of this industry, Powermagi, thus keeping itself at the top of the large-scale smuggling hierarchy, crushing the competition by holding control over the police force.
— So... What does Jaywen actually want?... I forgot...
The one they saw as nameless soon awkwardly leaned his head against the bar counter, his palm smoothing over the massive tear ripped into his shoulder by the previous gunshot, now covered in bandages and healing spray. Raindrops dripped bit by bit; the fog completely consumed that alley.
The sharp, chemical cold covered the streets with a fog as white as snow, and soon, light drizzles followed.
— You really are a useless piece of work, aren't you, kid?... To be honest, I don't see everything he sees in you either. You really are nothing more than a destructive force without control or guidance... But... You are still useful for that exact reason... Unpredictable...
Zielme, in order to protect himself from that intense pale fog and the cutting cold due to the toxicity of the air itself, pulled up his hood and tightly buttoned his coat, while the palm of his right hand supported his face. With his elbow resting on the counter, the palm of his left hand went straight to one of his pockets, searching for a pack of electric cigarettes loaded with a glowing purple substance.
— Oh, come on... I'm not like that, Zielme... Hah... I don't think so...
Soon, it didn't take long for everyone in that alley — smugglers, merchants, and consumers — to be gripped by the extreme cold. The air cut into the skin with mere contact; everyone huddled up from that thermal sensation that made them nauseous.
— Wow... So cold... Argh... Great for some milk, huh? You have some, don't you?... — asked the nameless youth to the bartender and owner of the bar.
Huddling from the cold, and with a trembling voice, he quickly replied:
— Ye-yes, sir...
Thus, he rushed to prepare something for the one already known for his unpredictability, aiming to prevent further damage to his business.
— Argh... Yes, it's very cold... Almost reminds me of ChainLand... Though it still manages to be much worse there... But it doesn't matter, I'm sure you've never even left this place...
Zielme slowly brought one of his cigarettes to his mouth, pressing hard with his fingers until the object emitted a strong purple light.
Fush...
Slowly, he inhaled the glowing purple smoke, releasing it through his nostrils.
— Hah... For sure... I've never even left this place... But if you want to know, I heard ChainLand is a hellhole... That the air there is so toxic the fog is red as blood, that you can't even go out on the street without using a shit ton of breathing gear... To think a guy like you came out of there... Must have been tough, Zielme...
— H-here, sir...
Soon, once again the bartender returned, bringing, amidst that frozen hell, a glass emitting a strange, freezing vapor. A white cup, with its cold contents, milk cold as ice, yet perfectly liquid.
— Ahh, look at that... Just the way I like it... What else could be better in this cold, right?...
The nameless youth brought the freezing cup to his lips, completely excruciating.
Gulp... gulp...
Thus, two consecutive gulps followed. The cutting cold contents slid down his throat, an act that made a chill run through Zielme's stomach.
— Argh... I bet you wouldn't understand anyway... It's not your type... of topic, I guess... But living in ChainLand would be the equivalent of your reality in a way... Your allergy to the Purple Flame has no explanation or meaning... Yet, even so, you live inside an abandoned building that was used as a home by the old Sect of the Rotten Flesh... Even after that massacre that killed them all... That place has a considerable amount of accumulated energy, perhaps the highest in all of NowaGen... Every member of the Rotten Flesh was cursed, you know? And you, whenever you come into contact with that kind of energy... Argh... Your skin cracks like glass... But look at you... You keep living there... It's almost like ChainLand...
Zielme slowly touched his palms to the counter, observing the nameless youth, who bit by bit took slow sips from that immense glass filled with that freezing, crackling milk.
— Hah... I really don't know. I guess I... I feel nostalgic about that building... You know... I... I like it, without any explanation, it just feels familiar to me.
Thus, the nameless youth spun the tip of his index finger around the rim of the glass, one full rotation, staring at the bottom of the container.
— Could it be... the same way you feel about your belt and that stone you carry everywhere?...
Leaving the cigarette pack resting on the counter, Zielme once again guided the palm of his left hand to his lips, removing the cigarette resting there once more, releasing another immense cloud of that purple, toxic smoke into the air.
— Yeah... I guess so...
For a moment, their gazes met. The void of nihilism existed in two hearts that, to others, could be seen as bottomless pits. But perhaps there was a deeper meaning in their rare displays of the proverbial "feeling."
— Maybe... I feel that way about ChainLand too...
But soon their eyes averted, and once again, the cold became increasingly intense and hellish. That massive pale fog only grew and grew, without stopping for a single instant. A sensation so freezing it paled their skin; the raindrops, which before were thin as drizzles, began to thicken.
— Right... But I didn't come here to talk to you about that kind of shit... To business: Jaywen has a very special job for you tomorrow... A solo job. That's what the explosives we had you steal earlier are for... It sucked that the job collided directly with one of those shitty terrorist attacks going around the city... But look at you... Alive and kicking, with just a few scratches, and what's more... with the explosives intact... Sometimes I understand why Jaywen likes you so much...
Zielme, with a quick movement as he stretched his fingers, flicked that cigarette away after having completely consumed its contents, only to draw another one in succession.
— Oh, right... About tomorrow's job, I remember it was something like... stealing a sword or something from some rich folks passing through the city in mourning tomorrow... Hah... Don't take it the wrong way... But it sounds funny as fuck to me...
Finally, the last gulp. The empty glass rested on the table. Once again, staring into that void, while Zielme inhaled again.
— Not exactly... Have you ever heard of or do you know House Kaiwen, boy?...
Fush...
Another drag...
— The House is nothing less than one of the founding Great Houses, families that have dominated politics, relations, and any form of order for ages... House Kaiwen is entirely committed to military actions and affairs.
They are nobles, an ancient military family, a lineage...
Zielme, once again holding the smoke in his mouth, turned his eyes back to the one who now had no milk, still fixated on the emptiness of the glass.
— Oh... Okay?... So... I still don't get this sword business... Doesn't seem worth the risk to me, especially for these explosives... You know, it was tough... getting them...
— And as a lineage... They possess a long history, customs, beliefs... Traditions and many assets... Boy, have you ever heard of a Pure Relic?.
The nameless boy shook the cup that previously contained milk, now empty, trying to spill the last drops onto his tongue, but the measly drops were instantly carried away by the dense pale fog of darkness, frustrating him.
— Argh... Damn it... Well, regarding your question, as a smuggler most of the time... Yeah, I have an idea... They're objects fused with that energy, aren't they? The Arcane, as they call it here in NowaGen... But you call it...
— Purple Flame... It's the right way that so-called "Arcane" should be named... Its official name, in fact... Well, I grew up in ChainLand, there's an immense concentration of sects there... Of the most varied kinds...
Zielme slowly removed the cigarette from his mouth; the taste of toxins was gradually becoming nauseating to his palate.
— I believe that even without a reactive Purple Flame, I can say I'm familiar with the subject. Boy, the Purple Flame behaves like microscopic, energetic particles scattered through the air... Something the laymen of NowaGen interpreted as "magic," but it's definitively very different from that.
Feeling the saliva mix with the purple residue spreading to all corners of his mouth, he spat.
— The Purple Flame behaves much more like a real energetic phenomenon than magic itself, and all its foundations are based on physics... Calling it Arcane forever was ridiculous... But yes, about the Pure Relics, you're right...
Licking his lips, a sweet, strong, and unpleasant taste took over his mouth; he needed to clear his palate.
— It refers to a specific object that was fused with a dominant energetic signature of the Purple Flame... It's a rare phenomenon... That requires time and energetic refinement... There aren't many Pure Relics in the world... And the ShadowStorm, in the possession of the Kaiwens, is one of them.
Zielme looked toward the bartender and, slowly, raised his palm.
— Please... Give me a hot drink...
— Ah! Of course, Mr. Zielme.
And soon enough the bartender did so with a certain urgency, grabbing a large glass cup and filling it with a thick, dark liquid, then carefully resting it on the counter, right in front of Zielme's palm.
Gulp...
Zielme took a sip of the steaming liquid, finally clearing that hellish sweetness dominating his palate.
— A few months ago... Vilos Kaiwen, the eldest descendant of the main family of House Kaiwen, died under mysterious circumstances... He was a very sick and frail boy, after all. Even if they try to cover it up, the reason is clear.
— Hmph... How sad. But then, Zielme... Tell me, why all of this? What does it have to do with the jo—
The speech of the one who had no name was interrupted before it could even be finished. For, looking directly at the frail and scrawny Zielme, he was met, once again, with that inexplicable feeling he could never comprehend: human greed.
— Even being a poor sick boy... Vilos Kaiwen was still the eldest son of the main family of the entire House Kaiwen, and consequently, the rightful heir to the ShadowStorm... The death of this boy implies several direct political problems, even more so involving a family so connected to the Royal family and military affairs...
Zielme's eyes exuded the absolute maximum of a greed never before seen, something that would soon signify a fervor so disturbing, what they would see as the fullest form of wanting: the Dark Determination burning in his depths. And with that, those pale flakes in the air grew thick and increasingly cold, and thus, it began to rain.
— With the death of Vilos Kaiwen, House Kaiwen will enter a period far too fragile to continue its activities. With the death of the main heir, the image of strength plummets, mourning comes, weakness... And we are going to take advantage of that...
The rain thickened more and more, and with it came the storm.
— According to some insiders and "partners" we have working inside the Powermagi tower... We found out that tomorrow a direct envoy from House Kaiwen will come to resolve some direct political matters... Mourning weakens them, their image weakens them. Treaties are ideal for them now, and since NowaGen and Powermagi are "neutral," they are great grounds for this...
Taking the final gulps of that thick dark liquid, Zielme tapped the glass on the counter, sighing in a way that didn't match his previous demeanor; he was anxious.
— In this moment of weakness, they don't have the slightest choice or resistance.
Required treaties must be signed as quickly as possible. Luckily for us... They will be in the city tomorrow...
However, the boy, even not comprehending at all that gaze which seemed so illogical due to his own unfillable void, wasn't even shaken.
— So... Political matters, right? Those guys have been doing that forever... Why would now be special?...
But Zielme slowly rose from his seat. The rain and thunder tore through the skies toward the ground, every alley consumed by the pure waters of the heavens.
— The one who will come to negotiate these treaties, using Powermagi as a helping hand, will be the youngest son of House Kaiwen, the second successor, just behind Vilos Kaiwen, his twin brother: Khaelis Kaiwen... With Vilos's death, he automatically becomes the direct heir to the ShadowStorm, and as the one who carries the main legacy of House Kaiwen, as its arm, he must carry it...
The dense, steady rain ripping through NowaGen grew stronger than ever, and bit by bit, Zielme turned his back.
— Do you understand now?... In fact, we've never had a chance of this level... A Pure Relic of such a high tier, so close to our hands...
And without pressure, staring at him, there remained the nameless youth.
— I see... So, in that case, I believe it's a small escort, that type of people doesn't like to draw attention... I don't understand why the Gullbriser would be necessary in this case... Maybe if we just shot in every direction, considering how many people we have... We could easily take this "sword."
However, slowly, Zielme turned his face to him, his expression locked in a terrifying way.
— That's where you're wrong, "belt guy"... Unlike his brother Vilos Kaiwen, this Khaelis Kaiwen guy is very strong.
A macabre, hellish smile stretched from ear to ear.
— That's why we're going to need every possible resource... I have a really bad feeling, actually... This Khaelis Kaiwen has been standing out a lot in the military sphere lately... The Gullbriser is mandatory. He graduated from the S-Rank Military Class.
Where the most prestigious in this world's military career come from, the best at everything, with direct military education coming from General Von Stroveniers. With an education strictly directed at the Nobility, he was the second best out of more than 500 students... Just behind the missing Andra RyzisX.
Then, slowly and uncomfortably, he dropped his smile and, once more, turned his back.
— That's what we'll need you for tonight... The Gullbriser is a hybrid technology, powered directly by energetic overloads of the Purple Flame; that's how its pressurized energy shots work. You are going to steal for us, tonight, a Lesser Devil Stone... from a clandestine factory used for smuggling weapons directly from Powermagi...
Slowly, the palm of Zielme's hand slipped inside his thick, robust coat, pulling out an object similar to a holographic projector, placing it directly onto the counter.
— Here it is... These are all the mapped coordinates. The factory's location and everything else... That's what the explosives you stole earlier will be used for.
The nameless boy soon guided the palm of his hand to the object, bringing it close to his face.
— And you guys really think I'd be the best option for this job?... You know very well about my allergy... Lesser Devil Stones are literally mineral material with accumulated "Arcane" energy... Even if they are used to power technological objects... My allergy...
His palm squeezed the projector. Zielme noticed.
— Yes... I'm aware of your "special condition" in contact with the Purple Flame... But honestly, that's none of my business...
Direct orders from Jaywen, boy. He wants it to be you...
Slowly, Zielme put his hands inside his pocket. Slowly, a step was taken.
— By the way, boy... Another point I'm obligated to pass on to you...
Slowly, stepping out into that pale rain, dense and thick...
— ...Jaywen made something quite clear as well... Take this as an additional objective, "belt guy"... He made it very clear: he wants you to kill everyone inside the factory when you enter. Be it an acquaintance, ally, anyone... Kill them all...
And slowly, out there in the rain, his silhouette disappeared completely.
— Huh... Okay then...
The night, already swallowed by the mouth of chaos, was now savored by the tongue of death. The void and darkness entirely took over those ever-so-artificial lights. A foggy city made of lies. After all, it was always night in NowaGen, but not a beautiful night where the lights from buildings and lamp posts illuminated the streets. Rather, an empty darkness that the billboards couldn't hide, as empty as the hearts of everyone there.
Tap... tap... tap...
Wet footsteps of boots slowly being swallowed by muddy puddles were heard amidst that emptiness.
— I think this is it...
As if he were lost in the middle of a vacant desert area, between the darkest parts of that city.
— And without any guards. Looks like Jaywen already pulled the strings, huh...
A vast urban area devastated long ago by a horrible civil war fought in the early days of that place.
— Hah... Of course... He wouldn't want to share the profit with our friends, would he?...
This was the factory then... Our own work spot...
Buildings, streets, entire neighborhoods... A completely devastated landscape. Debris of what once was inhabited by NowaGen's high society.
— Zielme... You put on such an act of being civilized... But just like Jaywen... and me... you're nothing but an empty demon.
A land that should have been so vast and rich. Land that was swallowed by the War of the Six Fleshes. A tortuous conflict that lasted eight whole years between NowaGen's Noble Class — including the local military — and Powermagi itself, which financed with every type of military weaponry, from the most destructive bombs or drones that blew up civilians from above, the mass members of the annihilated Sect of the Rotten Flesh. An ancient sect that resided for years in NowaGen's territory under the authorization of the Six Great Noble Houses, also known as the "Six Sons of Order and Chaos." However, after political and territorial conflicts, negligence from the Six Great Houses, and massive structural prejudice from the high class toward the sect, a horrible war stretched for eight years, devastating the area and stripping away its beauty. A war that only ceased when the Six Great Houses drastically interfered in the matter, after so many deaths, ceding the place to the Rotten Flesh.
Tap... tap... tap...
After the war, besides the deaths of innocent civilians, senseless due to the structural hatred formed in the conflict and due to the devastation, that entire area was transformed into an extreme landfill by choice of the local government itself, backed by Powermagi. Every kind of waste began to be dumped there, making the place completely uninhabitable. Only for the Rotten Flesh, the sect lived there with its members for years, serving its purpose, paying for their sins in that pile of garbage, waste, and post-war oppression, living in complete torment until the massacre that disbanded the sect completely and exterminated all its members.
— Well, well... Here we are then... Home, sweet home...
Something that for many years made the place completely uninhabitable, almost a ghost town attached to NowaGen itself, like a useless limb attached to a sick body. That was until organized crime, smuggling, and the underworld saw the growing value of that place. Entire territories to be taken, empty areas... Soon crime took over that whole area with force: gangs made their bases, smugglers set up their spots. And in the case of weapon smugglers like Jaywen, entire factories were built in order to increase the production of handmade products. Factories disguised as simple bars.
— Just this once... I think I'm... gonna need strength to do this...
Only crime inhabited that place; it was its commerce, from the most horrible of activities, yet no one truly lived there, except for one person. A boy with no name at all, young, who was found in a deplorable state and completely amnesiac in a landfill a few years ago. A boy with empty eyes who carried only two objects with him: an old model belt that had gone out of circulation long ago and a small white stone, devoid of any meaning. When those who found him, looking into the boy's empty eyes, asked what they should call him, his response was confusion. But over time, staring at it, he finally chose a name.
— Who am I kidding... Hahah... I won't feel a single thing...
Igyris. That was the name the boy chose. The name of the very model of the belt he carried. Just like his life, his very existence, that choice simply meant nothing. Thus, taking wet steps toward a bar that belonged to the gang he was a part of — a bar used as a factory by Jaywen's group to manufacture weapons in mass.
Tap... tap... tap...
His footsteps echoed in a completely unnatural way in that vast emptiness. Igyris, an existence without meaning carrying a name without meaning, he who was the void personified incarnated in flesh, unpredictable, walking in the direction of that bar in order to eliminate all his acquaintances who were inside, sinking his feet into the mud, closer and closer to the door.
Creck...
But as he stepped on a twig wet from the recurring rains, a thought flooded his head. Already so close to the door and with that action in his mind, already so close to committing that immense carnage without a second thought, before actualizing an immense massacre with his own hands against men who belonged to his group, men who were his acquaintances, colleagues... Just as dirty as him.
— But why?...
He asked himself, targeting that single question, as if, like all his actions up to that point — even choosing his name —, it had no meaning at all.
— No... No... This doesn't make sense. Why? Why would Jaywen think of this? The Lesser Devil Stone is already in our possession... And we already have a Gullbriser... Argh... Why steal something from ourselves... and kill so many of our men?...
But soon...
— Argh... Of course, after all...
The answer came as fast as the question.
— ...after all, we're talking about Jaywen, aren't we?...
Because, without exception, everyone there really was nothing more than pathetic empty demons.
— Thought it through well, huh, old man... Destroying half of your entire group aiming for the profit that will be left for whoever truly matters to the organization... Stealing something that already belongs to you... It's going to make it sound like a strike from some rival? Sure... After all, your "big job" is tomorrow... I bet you're savoring the thought of the profit that will be left for you after fucking over half your crew... Old Jaywen...
Tap... tap... tap...
Taking his feet off that crushed twig, he drew closer and closer to the door. In front of him, a decadent bar — shattered neon sign and a low-resolution hologram of a woman stripping. Typical of that place, but by no means the worst of sins. In front of him, three steps, and with three steps he climbed them, slowly raising his hand to the door handle. His touch was light, and then, suddenly, a buzz came to his head.
— But... Why me?...
Observing through the small glass positioned at his head height, all those acquaintances of his inside — every single person there he knew, without exception —, men who, even if their nature screamed for them to stay away, still saw him as someone...
— Sad... That's how they see me... Isn't it?...
Igyris truly saw himself as empty, but to his surprise, some people interpreted him differently: as something sad, melancholy, something that perhaps needed help. And perhaps, to his surprise, only these men were at the factory that day.
— Is this by any chance... a test, Jaywen?... You know, don't you?... About all of this... Why did you choose me to do this?...
And then, another time, a question flooded his mind.
— Unless...
And then, slowly as he questioned himself, his vision scanned the place.
— Ah, right...
Something that, once again, answered his question.
— You chose me because I live in a building right next door, don't you, you sneaky bastard?...
After all, he was still talking about Jaywen.
— Anything happens, just say I snapped and betrayed everyone, hah... Okay, it's pretty smart, actually... What a clever guy.
Treck!
And then, slowly, as expected, he turned the handle and, as the light from inside illuminated and warmed his body, he entered the bar.
— HEY, BELT GUY! LOOK AT THAT, YOU'RE ALIVE! — a man shouted upon seeing him, seized by an exaggerated reaction of happiness, as if he were truly standing before a friend, even if that friend was so problematic and possessed such empty eyes.
— HAHAHA! I DON'T BELIEVE IT! THE EXPLOSION FROM THE ATTACK WAS RIGHT IN YOUR FACE! YOU'RE IMMORTAL! — another man shouted from afar, running toward Igyris, enthusiastic. A man who was present at his last job, a man who saw with his own eyes Igyris be swallowed by the flames.
— It's true, man! What bad luck for us… The job scheduled right in the middle of these crazy attacks. But you're one lucky son of a bitch — survived the flames!
Men who, in a strange way, felt an inexplicable fondness for that strange boy with no life in his eyes. A boy whom they did see as problematic, but above all, he was just a boy.
— Oh, man... I was so desperate... Argh... I saw the fire swallow you, I thought you were a goner...
Men raised, born, and grown in the greatest hell NowaGen could provide. Each one there with their own existence denied by the world. Men who grew up with that rotten reality, in contact with the worst NowaGen had to offer. Men who, upon finding an amnesiac boy in a landfill, with no identity, with nothing, whose only thing he clung to was the name he carried on his belt, couldn't feel more fondness.
— Igyris... cough... cough... Come here, boy.
An older man, leaning on the counter, called him. A tired voice, carrying a cough in his speech and the weight of a lung that had already agonized too much in that hell.
— Prick?... What's up, old timer? Still alive?...
Igyris slowly approached, passing through all those voices and bodies surrounding him, as if he really were someone. Approaching that old man, Prick — one of the founders of that criminal group and, in that environment, the only one with as much authority as Jaywen —, it actually made sense for him to vanish.
— How are you doing, boy?...
The old man rested his body on the counter, where various weapons lay completely disassembled, like Lego pieces. Objects ready to circulate, after all.
— Oh... Same as always, old man...
And slowly, Igyris sat by his side, also leaning against the counter.
To a maggot without an identity like Igyris, those relationships, deep down in his heart, truly weren't worth or had never been worth anything... Or at least he liked to believe that. But all Prick saw there was a boy. A boy so young, a boy they found in a goddamn landfill, nameless, memoryless... A sad, lonely boy.
— So... I heard you got hurt on the last job... These terrorist attacks are really following a complicated pattern.
Said Prick, extending his hand to a glass hidden behind the counter. A drink black as the night sky, reeking of pure alcohol.
— Hah... Don't tell Jaywen I'm drinking this... Or he'll kill me...
The old man gulped the drink.
— I can't even imagine...
The word echoed in a strange tone from Igyris's mouth as he rested his head on the counter.
— Well... Okay... About tomorrow's job, boy... Are you excited?.
After gulping, he slowly rested his glass on the table, looking directly at the boy.
— Well... Jaywen informed me that Zielme was going to tell you all about the plan... But since boys your age are hotheaded, hah, I think some advice from a professional would be good... Not to mention I don't trust Zielme that much... He's... strange, even more than you.
The old man slowly rested the palm of his hand on Igyris's back.
— You know, boy... I understand that sometimes it can feel suffocating for you... The expectations Jaywen puts on you, the pressure... This sad void in your heart... But it's okay. Starting tomorrow, if the heist on the Kaiwens works out, we're going to move up a level... With the ShadowStorm in play, our lives will be set... We'll be the biggest weapon smugglers in this place. We will transcend NowaGen... Change our lives! Don't let that feeling take over you until then, alright?.
Igyris stared back at him, feeling the human warmth of his palm. Those words, every single one of them, entered his ears. He comprehended each one, understood everything they meant, but honestly, he felt nothing.
— Oh... Thanks...
Looking him in the eyes, even at that moment, because without even bothering to say something that would deceive him, that made no sense to him.
— Humph... I hope everything goes well tomorrow, Igyris...
And then, slowly, the warmth on his back vanished, just like the old man's hand, which bit by bit drew away.
— So... Jaywen told me we should leave the Lesser Devil Stone with you... Look at that, it's a big responsibility! I didn't quite understand why, but he said there wouldn't be any problems, so take care of it, okay? It's really hard to get one! Luck is, with Zielme in the group, interaction with the outsiders who mess with this "mysticism" becomes easy... But it was truly hard to get one, take good care of it!.
Igyris could only, at that moment, stare at him. The void in his heart looked beyond his eyes, seeing that, truly, Jaywen had already thought of every point, removing every doubt, one by one. Demons, after all.
— Also... He said something about you leaving a piece of merchandise with us... I didn't quite get that part either, but orders are orders, right? That it was an...
— Explosive?...
The lack of naturalness instantly showed itself.
— Yes... An explosive. Where is it?...
Zip...
Such a question was answered when Igyris, instantaneously, opened his fanny pack. A small, flat object with a discreet glowing red dot was pulled out from inside it, held by just two fingers of his hand.
— Here it is...
And slowly, he delivered it into the old man's hands.
— Humph... Oh, yes, sure. It's small, probably some new product from Powermagi... Hah... So, boy? How about having a drink with us now?...
— No... I'm in a hurry.
A horrible sensation flooded the air, as if every inch of the room were taken over by the awful feeling of death.
Tap!...
And with that sensation, Igyris's feet touched the ground, leaving the seat.
— Oh... Yes... Yes, I understand you prefer to keep to yourself... But don't forget the Lesser Devil Stone, tomorrow's job depends on it!.
The old man waved his hand to one of the men who quickly brought a box covered by a cloth to them.
— Here it is... We know about your allergy to these bizarre "mysticisms"... So we took precautions, we don't want your skin turning into glass, do we? Or something like that.
However, for no reason at all...
— No, I prefer it without the box...
The sensation of death seemed to grow more and more...
— But, boy...
The air became suffocating, heavy, like hell itself. Once again, for no reason at all.
— I prefer it this way...
And as requested...
— Igyris... Okay then...
Treck...
With a fluid movement of his fingers, the box was opened, quickly exposing Igyris to that intense energy which, to him, was hellish. Pain shot through every point of his being instantaneously, his vision blurred, and soon everyone noticed he looked like he was holding back vomit. The tension kept growing. He then raised his hand toward it; that object burned it, his palm hissed as if he had touched glowing hot charcoal.
— Igyris... You don't need to do th—!!
Soon, he grabbed it entirely. A hellish hissing echoed from his closed fist around the object, and with that, a horrible smell of burning flesh rose. His entire fist cracked open, the flesh breaking into several fractures as if it were made of glass, like a solid and breakable object. From these fractures, his blood flowed. And nauseated by the smell of burning, by the hissing, and by the horrible sight of seeing flesh crack, everyone watched, with absolutely no reaction, as Igyris put that object into his fanny pack.
— Okay, guys... I'm leaving now...
After that, a deafening silence... followed by his footsteps. Slow steps, which everyone followed with their eyes toward the door.
— See you never!.
Treck!
Only to see him cross it, closing it right after, heading into the darkness of the night.
— Fuck, man... Sorry, but I can't help but find this kid bizarre... — said one of those men, slowly sitting in the seat where Igyris previously was.
— But he really is strange, Quid... The difference is... I don't see greed in his eyes... It's not like Zielme or Jaywen... What shines in his eyes is different...
The old man tried to decipher him, yet, once again, failed humiliatingly. Now only left to gulp more of his drink and evaluate that small explosive in his palm.
— You know damn well what's in his eyes... Nothing shines... And that is much more terrifying than Zielme or Jaywen...
— I know...
Truly, a melancholy empty boy. A boy who now walked in that vast immensity in ruins, toward a gigantic abandoned building that he had made his home for years. A building occupied by the members of the Rotten Flesh, an abyssal sect that, after betraying the current government in an attack, was completely massacred. Walking in the vast immensity, empty and lifeless like his heart, dark and distorted. The moon was hidden beneath a sky suffocated by toxic clouds. The only light came from neon signs, billboards, and vehicles cutting through the skies at hypersonic speed in the populated part of NowaGen.
Igyris slowly lit a cigarette with a horrible sweet flavor, which he had stolen from Zielme earlier. With one hand, he shakes his dirty denim jacket. With the other, he adjusts his outdated and worn devices. And finally, with both hands, he holds the amulet in his pocket and his belt. Two objects without great meaning… but that somehow deeply calmed him. It was all he had. The only things that were with him… when he was born in that cradle of garbage.
— So... An empty demon, right?...
Heading toward his "home" and already so far from the factory, his grip slowly loosened. Without even blinking, his palms let go of those objects. Slowly, his left hand went toward his fanny pack, opening it slowly. With his left hand, his palm grabbed the Stone stored there; once again, sharp pain shot up his arm, which quickly had its skin crystallized and shattered.
— Yeah... I'm sure of it. I am an empty demon.
And slowly, his right hand also went toward the fanny pack. Feeling the stone burning it, from inside he pulled a small object that fit pleasantly in his palm, as if it were made to intertwine between his fingers. And on this object, a small vibrant red button.
— Yeah... I've always been...
Slowly, Igyris turned around. Far away in the darkness, he stared at the silhouette of the factory blending with the shadows, and then...
Click...
A second passed.
BOOOM!!!!
The explosion of flames spread for dozens of meters without stopping, a show of orange destruction, like fireworks. The light of that mass of destruction spread to every corner, illuminating them, and, in the distance, illuminated Igyris's motionless body. The light reflected in his dark eyes, which possessed only the deepest void.