The violent collapse of the mutated Lich King signaled a seismic shift in the dungeon's structural integrity. As Malakar's necrotic mana dissipated, the chamber of black ice groaned, the reinforced granite walls spider-webbing before a massive section crumbled into a rain of obsidian dust.
Revealed behind the wreckage was a set of towering temple doors, forged from a metal that seemed to absorb the dim bioluminescence of the crypt.
These were not the rusted iron gates of the Valerian frontier; the surfaces were smooth, cold, and bathed in a shimmering, ethereal starlight that pulsed with a rhythm independent of the world outside.
Atop the looming archway, ancient texts burned with a pale, silver fire, the script etched in a language that predated humanity.
[Nyx's Legacy]
A sharp jolt of recognition bypassed Markus's physical exhaustion, locking onto the silver script with an intensity that bordered on hunger.
This was no longer a mere training trip for the team; the starlight radiating from the archway hummed with a frequency that mirrored the deepest, most guarded memories of his lineage.
Within his spatial inventory, a long-dormant heirloom—the key left to him by his mother—began to tremble with a violent, sympathetic resonance. Before he could reach for it, the artifact tore through the dimensional fabric of his storage, shooting toward the doors like a comet and merging into the starlight-drenched metal.
As the key dissolved into the silver runes, the "Absolute" silence of the chamber was broken by a low, tectonic groan.
The massive doors creaked open with agonizing slowness, releasing a scent of ancient dust and cold, primordial ozone that had been sealed away for eons.
The air spilling from the gap didn't carry the necrotic rot of the Echoing Crypts, but rather the crisp, terrifyingly still essence of the deep void.
Markus stood at the precipice, the pale light reflecting off his eyes as he prepared to step into his mother's legacy.
Markus held up a hand, halting the girls' advance with a gesture that brooked no argument, his focus entirely consumed by the path ahead.
"Nagini, keep them back. They won't survive the 'Absolute' pressure of what lies beyond," Markus commanded, his voice a cold, focused rasp as he stepped into the starlight. "I'm going to scout this alone. If the door closes, do not attempt to follow; stay in formation and hold the exit until I return from the dark."
The girls nodded in unison, their vibrant curiosity instantly checked by the heavy, suffocating pressure of the Lich King's residual aura and the unknown power radiating from the starlight.
Despite their internal excitement at being part of such a discovery, the cold reality of their Tier 3 limitations served as a grounding force against the looming threat of the void.
They maintained their positions with disciplined precision, recognizing that to follow Markus into Nyx's Legacy without his protection would be a flirtation with an absolute and silent death.
As Markus crossed the starlight threshold, the "Absolute" silence of the temple swallowed the sound of his footsteps, leaving the girls behind in the flickering, dying glow of the crypt.
The transition was not a mere physical movement but a dimensional shift that bypassed the geographical constraints of the West. As Markus stepped through the threshold, the oppressive atmosphere of the Echoing Crypts vanished, replaced by an expansive, celestial silence.
A grand cathedral loomed over him, its scale so immense that it seemed to anchor the very fabric of this pocket dimension. The architecture was hauntingly familiar; the soaring domes, the intricate marble colonnades, and the baroque grandeur were an "Absolute" mirror of the historical Vatican City of Rome.
Markus stood at the center of the starlight-drenched plaza, his 80-point Perception analyzing the divine geometry of the structures.
He noted the uncanny resemblance to the real-world architectural landmarks he had researched, specifically the elegance and structural logic found in the Sagrada Família and the Alhambra.
The realization struck him with the force of a tectonic shift; perhaps the creators of the Vatican had not innovated, but had instead taken a "Relative" inspiration from the primordial blueprints of his mother's legacy.
Unlike the stone of Argentis or the marble of the Valerian Royal Academy, these walls vibrated with a celestial frequency that suggested they were built from the very essence of the void.
Markus moved toward the central altar, his boots echoing against a floor that looked like polished obsidian inlaid with constellations.
Suspended in the absolute center of the cathedral, directly above the obsidian altar, a singular glowing orb pulsated with a rhythmic, silver light. It did not merely illuminate the space; it acted as the gravitational and temporal anchor for the entire pocket dimension, vibrating with a frequency that synchronized perfectly with Markus's own mana signature.
The artifact hovered in a state of "Absolute" stasis, a concentrated sun of primordial starlight that had been waiting for untold eons for its true master to return and reclaim the birthright of Nyx's Legacy.
As he approached, the air around the altar began to shimmer, the starlight reacting to his presence by weaving intricate, geometric patterns on the floor that mirrored the architectural elegance of the cathedral.
He understood intuitively that this was the apex of his mother's work—a source of power designed to elevate an Architect beyond the limitations of the known Tiers.
Markus extended his hand toward the light, the flickering silver glow reflecting in his cold, expectant eyes.
The moment Markus's fingers brushed the surface, the starlight didn't just touch him; it recognized him. The orb surged forward, a streak of "Absolute" brilliance that shot into his chest, sinking through his armor and skin as if they were nothing more than mist. A violent, cold resonance erupted from his core, synchronizing his heartbeat with the ancient frequency of the cathedral.
Simultaneously, a crystalline panel of information flooded his consciousness, the text etched in a script that burned with the authority of the stars.
[Name: Formless]
[Type: Conceptual Weapon]
[Tier: God-Rank (Legacy)]
[Description: A masterpiece of celestial engineering crafted by Nyx, the Goddess of Space. Formless possesses no fixed physical state, existing as a fluid manifestation of pure Law. It adapts instantaneously to the user's mental image, capable of assuming any shape, density, or elemental affinity manifested within the Mind of the Architect.]
Markus stood in the center of the silent cathedral, now vibrating with the weight of a divine instrument. He felt the weapon resting within his mana pool, ready to be poured out and molded by his will.
He simply raised his hand, and for a fleeting second, the silver starlight leaked from his pores, swirling into the shape of a perfectly balanced, translucent sword before dissolving back into his skin.
Markus inclined his head in silent satisfaction, committing every celestial detail of the starlight cathedral to memory—from the vaulted domes that mirrored the Vatican to the shimmering constellations embedded in the obsidian floor.
He had claimed the [Formless] weapon, a God-tier relic of his mother's legacy, and unified it with his very essence. With the glowing orb now resting securely within his soul, the "Absolute" purpose of the temple had been fulfilled.
Turning away from the altar, Markus stepped back through the shimmering threshold of the dimensional gate, the starlight fading behind him as he re-entered the necrotic chill of the Echoing Crypts.
As the team stood, their faces etched with a mixture of relief and lingering awe, Markus signaled the start of their extraction.