Auron Kael lay slumped against the grimy alley wall, the acidic rain still falling, though now it seemed to slide off his skin, refusing to cling, as if hitting something unreal. His clothes, once merely tattered, were now scorched in places, the fabric brittle. His skin felt stretched, cracked, and faintly glowed with a residual, internal light. Blood, now cold and sticky, traced paths from his ears down his neck, a testament to the brutal energies that had coursed through him. His eyes, though bloodshot and rimmed with fatigue, were focused with an unnerving clarity. The world around him, the decaying slum of Rotmouth Sector, felt strangely muted, slower, as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a deeper, emptier reality beneath the grime. His thoughts, usually a torrent of calculations, were now crystal clear, each one precise and unburdened.
"I survived," he thought, the realization a cold, hard fact, devoid of triumph or relief. "The ritual worked."
A single, translucent panel of cerulean light shimmered into existence directly before him, hovering in the damp air. Its edges were sharp, almost painfully so, and within its ethereal frame, elegant script pulsed with a soft, internal luminescence:
[THE PALE CONTRACT IS NOW ACTIVE] Welcome, Architect Auron Kael.
Auron did not speak, did not move a muscle. Instead, he confirmed his identity mentally, a simple, decisive thought. The system responded instantly, unfolding around him like a cosmic origami. Rotating glyphs, intricate and ancient, spun into being, their forms shifting and reforming. Threads of pure code, vibrant and alive, wove themselves through the air, binding together to create a complex, multi layered interface that only he could perceive. It was beautiful, in a cold, mathematical way, a testament to his own genius made manifest.
His gaze, unwavering, tracked to a prominent display within the interface. It showed a single, stark word: LUX. Below it, a number: ZERO. The vast, infinite power he now commanded was, for the moment, utterly useless. Yet, a new prompt appeared, shimmering with a faint, hopeful glow.
[CREATOR'S CREDIT AVAILABLE: ONE INSTANCE OF CREATION. LUX DRAW CAPPED AT MINIMAL. USE WISELY.]
Auron's lips, still stained with dried blood, curled into a faint, predatory smile. "One token for one kill," he murmured, the words barely a whisper in the echoing alley. He licked the dry blood from his lip, tasting iron and the lingering essence of raw Lux. "That's more than enough."
He mentally accessed the creation prompt, a new section of the interface blooming before him. It presented a series of parameters, each one a blank slate awaiting his divine input. He considered each option with meticulous care, his mind already forming the perfect tool for his immediate need.
First, Form: He selected 'humanoid,' the most versatile and adaptable. Next, Combat Specialization: 'Stealth and precision kill,' he decided. No wasted movement, no unnecessary noise. Intelligence Rating: 'High AI-processing,' for adaptability and independent tactical decision making, but always within his parameters. Finally, Loyalty Protocols: 'Absolute obedience,' a non negotiable truth. His creations would be extensions of his will, perfect and unyielding.
The system paused, awaiting one final input.
"Name?"
Auron paused, his gaze fixed on the blank space. He had considered many, but one resonated with the cold, silent purpose he intended for his first creation. "Nyxthra," he stated, the name a whisper that seemed to absorb the ambient light.
The air around him twisted, coalescing into a swirling vortex of shadow. From a tear in the fabric of the alley's gloom, a shape flowed out, not solid, but like liquid darkness given form. It was feminine, lean, and impossibly graceful, armored in a matte black material that seemed to drink the light. Her eyes, the only visible feature within the shadows of her hood, glowed like moonlight filtered through smoke, ancient and knowing. She landed without a sound, a phantom given flesh.
She knelt before him, her movements fluid and precise, her head bowed in absolute deference. Her voice, a soft, resonant whisper that seemed to emanate from the very air, filled the silence of the alley.
"Command me, Creator."
The Pale Contract interface shifted again, a new prompt appearing.
[WOULD YOU LIKE TO INITIALIZE YOUR FOLD?]
Auron accepted without hesitation. Space collapsed around him, not violently, but with a serene, almost gentle folding. The grimy alley, the biting rain, the distant sounds of Rotmouth Sector—all of it vanished, replaced by an absolute, profound emptiness. He was pulled into a blank dimension, a realm of pure potential: The Eidolon Fold.
It was a void of black glass and suspended starlight, an infinite expanse of polished obsidian reflecting distant, pinprick stars that hung motionless in the vastness. It was silent, utterly still, a perfect cube of nothingness. Auron breathed, a deep, slow intake of air that tasted of pure possibility.
"We will build this into a world," he declared, his voice echoing in the vast emptiness, a promise to himself and to the void. "But first—we need energy."
He exited the Fold, Nyxthra appearing instantly behind him, a shadow stitched to his side. The alley reappeared around them, the rain still falling, the sounds of the slum returning. His gaze fell upon the broken bounty board outside a grimy weapons shop, its screens still flickering with the desperate hopes of the damned. One old mission, its text a persistent, angry red, still pulsed with a faint, dying light.
"ONE THOUSAND LUX – KILL CORTH VALLIS, SLAVER-LORD OF THE BONE DOCKS."
Auron's lips curled into a cold, satisfied smile. It was a simple target, a minor lord in a forgotten corner of this world, but the Lux was real.
"Take the contract," he commanded, his voice flat, absolute.
Nyxthra's form blurred, dissolving like mist into the persistent rain. A single, almost imperceptible ripple was all that remained of her presence.
Back within the Eidolon Fold, a faint flicker of light ignited on the ground where Nyxthra had first emerged. It was a single, tiny point of blue, pulsing with a slow, deliberate glow, like a nascent heartbeat in the vast emptiness. Auron watched it, his eyes tracking its rhythmic thrum.
"Let us see what perfection earns me," he murmured, the words a quiet promise to the void.
The light pulsed, a silent testament to the unfolding events, then slowly faded into the black glass.