Nyxthra crouched on the rusted skeleton of a massive crane, its corroded metal groaning softly in the persistent, chilling rain. Below her stretched the sprawling nightmare of the Bone Docks, a labyrinthine slum built from rotting metal, discarded cargo containers, and the skeletal remains of forgotten vessels. The air hung thick with the stench of stagnant oil, decaying fish, and the faint, metallic tang of blood. Below, the waters of the harbor were not water at all, but a viscous, oil slicked expanse that reflected the sweeping beams of spotlights like fractured, distorted eyes. Patrolling guards, their forms bulky in heavy rain gear, moved with a practiced, weary rhythm, their shocklances crackling with contained energy. Each sweep of light illuminated fleeting glimpses of crude slave cages, their occupants huddled against the elements, and the dark, unyielding walls of the industrial complex.
Her focus, however, was on the heart of the operation: a colossal cargo vessel, its hull a patchwork of rust and hastily applied repairs, moored to a crumbling pier. Inside, somewhere within its cavernous hold, sat Corth Vallis, the slaver lord. Intelligence from The Pale Contract had described him as a bloated, self-indulgent man, protected by a retinue of private mercenaries and wearing energy suppressing armor that made direct attacks difficult for lesser assassins. Nyxthra felt no emotion, no anticipation, only the cold, precise programming of her purpose. She was a phantom, a whisper of death, and her mission was absolute.
She moved.
Her infiltration was a study in eerie silence. She flowed across the ceiling beams of the cargo hold, her movements defying gravity, each step a mere suggestion of contact. The shadows, already deep and oppressive, seemed to welcome her, dissolving her form into their depths, making her indistinguishable from the gloom. Two guards, their backs to her, stood by a stack of crates, their idle chatter barely audible over the drumming rain. Nyxthra was behind them before they registered a presence, if they registered one at all. Her hands, impossibly swift, moved with the precision of a surgeon. Two silent throat punctures, quick and efficient. Their bodies stiffened for a single, agonizing moment, eyes wide with incomprehension, before they crumpled to the oil slicked floor, their shocklances clattering with a dull thud. She left them where they fell, already moving, a dark ripple in the shadows.
Vallis's chamber was a grotesque parody of luxury within the grimy vessel. The air was heavy with the scent of cheap synth-ale and stale cigars. Corth Vallis himself sat at a metal table, his corpulent fingers polishing a Lux core pistol, its polished barrel glinting in the dim light of a single, flickering lamp. A guttural laugh rumbled in his chest, a sound of self satisfaction. He was oblivious. Nyxthra emerged from the deeper shadows behind him, a silent apparition. She whispered nothing, for there was nothing to say.
SHNK.
One motion. A flash of matte black, a whisper of displaced air. The blade, an extension of her own arm, severed his neck with surgical precision. No struggle, no scream, no flair. The slaver lord's head lolled, his eyes still wide with the last vestiges of his self satisfied amusement, before his body slumped forward onto the table, overturning the pistol and sending a half empty bottle of ale crashing to the floor.
"Target eliminated." Nyxthra's voice, a soft, almost imperceptible hum, resonated only for her own internal confirmation.
Back in the vast, empty chamber of the Eidolon Fold, Auron Kael stood motionless. The black glass floor reflected the distant, suspended starlight, creating an illusion of infinite depth. He felt a subtle shift in the very fabric of his nascent dimension, a faint vibration that resonated through his bones. Then, a pulse of brilliant blue light streaked across the black glass, forming a new panel in the air before him.
[CONTRACT COMPLETE] +ONE THOUSAND LUX ACQUIRED. TARGET: CORTH VALLIS – CONFIRMED DEAD. PROCESSING BONUS: FIRST KILL MULTIPLIER – +TWO HUNDRED LUX.
Auron watched the numbers tick up in the interface, the Lumina counter rising from zero to one thousand two hundred. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. "Twelve hundred Lux… not bad for a trial run." The words were a quiet satisfaction, an analytical assessment of efficiency. This was not about emotion, but about validation. The system worked. His creation was perfect.
He lifted his hand, a deliberate, almost imperious gesture. The Eidolon Fold responded. The black glass floor beneath his feet began to expand, rippling outwards like liquid shadow. The walls, previously featureless, shimmered, subtle lines of light tracing new boundaries. The entire Fold, once a silent, empty cube, began to hum with a low, resonant frequency, a sound that was both ancient and newly born. It was not a violent transformation, but a graceful, inevitable evolution.
With his first pool of Lux, Auron opened a sub menu in the system interface, its options glowing with potential. He selected his first upgrades, the foundational elements for his hidden world. He added a Creation Forge Pad, a shimmering platform designed for the genesis of future assassins. He constructed a Lux Battery, a crystalline structure that would passively store and stabilize his growing energy reserves. Finally, he built a Return Gate Beacon, a focal point that would allow him to summon his creations back to the Fold from any world.
The empty cube was no longer empty. Thin veins of blue light now pulsed across its floor and walls, like a nascent nervous system. A raised platform, smooth and obsidian black, formed in its center, the Creation Forge Pad. The hum grew, a soft, almost musical vibration.
"The first breath of a world," Auron murmured, his gaze sweeping across his evolving domain.
A ripple opened in the air, a shimmering tear in the fabric of the Fold. Nyxthra stepped through, her movements as fluid and silent as her departure. She knelt before him, her head bowed.
"Mission complete." Her voice was a soft whisper, devoid of inflection.
Auron inspected her, his eyes scanning her form for any signs of damage, any flaw in her execution. None. She was perfect, just as he had designed her. He nodded, a single, decisive motion.
"You will get company soon," he told her, his voice flat, a promise of future purpose.
He then pulled up the now active Pale Contract Bounty Interface. Dozens of active contracts flickered across the screen, each representing a target in a different, unseen world. Some were small, offering mere hundreds of Lux for minor eliminations. Others, however, promised tens of thousands for more significant targets. He filtered the contracts by payout, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the list. One, near the top, caught his attention. Its text glowed with a faint, dangerous aura.
TARGET: "THE BLACK VEILED ORACLE" WORLD: ORAS IX REWARD: EIGHT THOUSAND LUX DIFFICULTY: DIVINE CLASS
Auron's lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile. His eyes, now burning with a cold, calculating fire, fixed on the divine target.
"Let us see what qualifies as a god…"
The words hung in the silence of the Eidolon Fold, a chilling prelude to the coming storm. Auron Kael was no longer merely surviving. He was ready to test his system, to unleash his creations, and to begin his ascent. The world did not know it yet, but contracts would soon become commandments.