You know, I've always found it curious—how the brightest minds, the so-called titans of science, never managed to ascend to the level of the 58th Shadow.
One would assume it was due to a lack of intelligence, wouldn't they? A simple case of not being clever enough, not being him enough.
But no… it wasn't that at all.
After conducting numerous experiments on corpses, all in pursuit of understanding the strange circuits he mentioned in his writings, I uncovered something profoundly frustrating.
These circuits—whatever he originally called them—couldn't be replicated in someone else's vessel.
It was... impossible.
So I gave them a name: Soul Circuitry.
They are not only mechanical, but also arcane. They are intimate, alive—rooted in the very essence of self. These circuits can only be formed once a person uncovers the structure of their soul… or brings a new one into existence.
And that's where Wally comes in.
He is the reason I've been able to make progress despite the lack of knowledge passed down. His presence… it changed everything.
You see, Soul Circuits can enhance a person's physical attributes—reflexes, strength, cognition—but at a steep cost. They consume life energy. Meaning, if someone without adequate understanding were to create them, they'd burn themselves out in moments. A flash of brilliance before death.
That naturally led to a more disturbing question:
How did the 58th Shadow—a man of flesh and bone, of wholly human origin—live for so long before the Emperor's grace ever touched him?
The thought clung to me like damp air, lingering... until Wally, broke the silence.
"Father… he created the circuits after developing multiple artificial souls, didn't he?" Wally asked. He stood before the exposed skull of a corpse, its brain neatly opened like the pages of a book.
"Yeah? What about it?" I asked, placing a coil of Grade-Two extraterrestrial wire on the steel tray beside him.
"What if… he connected himself to those children?" Wally continued. "The artificial souls. Maybe they could regenerate life energy—and he tapped into that to keep himself alive."
His words struck me like a bell in an empty room, echoing long after the sound had gone.
"…Yes, I think you should definitely have more children," Ryuk remarked, his smirk sharp enough to cut glass. He leaned casually against the table, as if we weren't standing over a dissected corpse.
"Shut up," Moriarty muttered, surfacing briefly with a flash of irritation before slipping away again.
I let the silence breathe for a moment before speaking.
"I suppose we'll have to shelve the current research for now… Prototype-Pixie takes priority."
My eyes drifted to the schematic hovering above the workstation—soul matrices splintered across its surface like spiderwebs of light.
"We still haven't determined whether it's passive or active. If it's passive… well, we'd be dead long before we could produce another artificial soul."
I traced my gloved finger along the edge of the table, lost in thought.
"And even if its consumption rate is minimal… it's still a ticking clock we're strapping to our own hearts."
We discovered the life-energy-draining property quite by accident.
It happened after we managed to create an unstable Soul Circuit inside one of the intact corpses—one that still retained a flicker of lingering vitality. The moment we installed the circuit, that faint spark of life was extinguished instantly, as if snuffed out by unseen hands. What remained was a withered husk, reeking of death energy… a thick miasma that clung to the air like regret.
The process of installing a Soul Circuit was… meticulous. And brutal.
It required finely crafted wiring—no less than Grade Two extraterrestrial metal—and a surgical-grade sewing needle, disinfected and coated in radiation-neutralizing acid. Even then, the act was so invasive, so volatile, that performing it on another person was nearly impossible without killing them.
Performing it on myself?
I wasn't even sure I'd survive the attempt.
And even if someone did endure the procedure, they'd be forced to consume radiation-neutralizing acids regularly, gradually building resistance until their body could fully withstand the metal's toxicity. Until then, every heartbeat would be a gamble against slow, internal poisoning.
Wally, ever diligent, packed up the equipment without needing a word. Then, like a loyal shadow, he returned to his place—forming once more into my armor. I stepped out, leaving behind a room soaked in crimson constellations.
Loken stood waiting in the hall, posture stiff, pretending not to be nervous.
"I take it you're finished," he said, sniffing subtly at the coppery air wafting past me.
I offered him a nod. "I gained a few insights. Thank you, once again, for the arrangements."
He straightened, sensing the transactional shift in tone.
"And the supply issue?" I asked, brushing dried blood off the edge of my gauntlet.
"Three-point-six," he said quickly, then added, "But I can cover that—for my earlier mistake."
I tilted my head slightly. "Three-point-six million? Loken… you can't just cover that kind of debt. Not unless you've been smuggling voidstone on the side."
He flinched. Just a little.
"Wally," I said without looking, "round it up to four. The rush delivery alone must've been obscene."
As I spoke, a screen materialized in front of Loken. He tried to hide the relief that spread across his face—but of course, he failed.
"But next time," I said softly, stepping just a bit closer, "if there's a problem, you bring it to one of Eden's Commanders directly."
I met his eyes and let the silence stretch.
"I don't give third chances."
And then I was gone—vanishing into nothingness, leaving Loken alone in the corridor, gasping for breath and wondering which part of him had almost been carved away.