The banquet hall glowed too brightly for what it was doing.
Dark gold light poured from chandeliers shaped like opened up ribs, their pretty crystals vibrating whenever the floor shifted under too many feet dancing under them.
The ceiling stood higher than it needed to, painted with saints whose eyes had been scratched out and redone in gold leaf. Tables stretched outward in neat curves, drowning in silverware, glass, fruit split open and already browning, sauces smeared where hands had gone back again and again.
And everyone who attended the banquet wore masks; Not those cheap kind of masks. But the porcelain ones that pressed thin as skin. Metal polished until it reflected other masks back at themselves. Silk veils stitched with gems that tugged against cheeks when their wearers laughed like rich people.
Above all of it, suspended where a centerpiece should have been, hung a man. A naked man.
He had light brown hair plastered flat against his skull, darkened by sweat and blood that kept finding new paths down his face, his chest, and his bruised up legs. Magic chains bit into his wrists, his ankles, his ribs, links half sunk into flesh as if the body had tried to eat them. And every time he shook, the chains responded with a clatter that never stopped long enough to be missed.
A glossy black tar mask clung to his face and it was sealed tight around his eyes and mouth. It looked poured on, it dripped in places, slow drops stretching before letting go. Beneath it, he made sounds that startled against the room itself without ever filling it. Making constant painful noises that were leaking out of him the way the blood did.
It fell from him in steady lines…onto the floor…onto the guests who stood directly beneath, tilting their heads back with amused ease. Their hands rose and became cupped, catching the mana blood in their hands, careful not to spill. Crystal goblets filled with the blood, and some drank immediately, wiping their mouths with gloved thumbs. Others waited patiently as the human suffered in pain.
Along the side of the hall, bards hovered just above the ground, feet never touching the polished fancy floor. Their instruments floated with them magically, the strings plucked themselves; Pipes bent as fingers passed through them without contact, sheets of music hung in the air, glowing symbols rearranging as the song changed, turning pages on their own. The melody wound through the room in a celebratory way, brushing past the sobbing shape above as if it did not exist.
The man's body jerked like he had been shocked, and his shoulders pulled tight against the chains. Blood streamed faster from somewhere near his side, darkening his thigh and dripping from his heel. Below, guests adjusted and began moving closer, annoyed when a drop missed their cups.
"No!!!"
"Don't let a single drop spill!"
"His blood…is too valuable!"
The man shook his head, and the tar mask caught the light and reflected it back in broken shapes.
Then the crowd parted as the masked individual who approached did not hurry. White and gold armor fit him perfectly, every plate shaped to the body beneath, no scratches, no dents, just all around perfect. His mask was a work of patience; smooth white enamel calloused with gold filigree that traced a tranquil expression no one beneath could match. Above his head hovered a floating halo crown caught in gold flames, a ring of light that turned on its own, never touching his head.
He stopped beneath the chained man and looked up.
Gloved fingers reached out and closed around the edge of the black mask, making the man flinch at the slight touch.
The tar resisted, It stretched, and it pulled skin with it as the mask was drawn back, inch by inch, making a sound like something being peeled that should not have been attached in the first damn place.
Blood and skin followed immediately, running over the white glove, dripping down onto reaching hands below, the guests catching the blood and immediately drinking it. The chained man's body arched like a backwards cat, the chains biting deeper, his legs kicking uselessly and helplessly.
When the mask finally came free, it did not come clean. More skin tore as blood spilled in sheets, and once again, they were caught by guests.
The man screamed, the sound breaking into the music, slicing through laughter, cutting short a toast mid word, and turning heads. His face was a mess of torn flesh and exposed bone, eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open too wide. He bowed his head, chin hitting his chest, shoulders shaking as the scream collapsed into something even smaller.
"All hail my redemption…." The words barely made it past his lips, lost almost immediately to the hall.
The masked figure let the tar mask fall. It struck the floor and shattered, black tar fragments skidding between shoes.
There was a final shudder from the man, a slackening that traveled through the man's body all at once. Blood still fell for a moment after, then less, then not at all. The guests waited with cups raised until it stopped. A few frowned when it did.
The music swelled up, sheets fluttering faster as the bards leaned into the next movement, and laughter returned louder than before.
The body remained hanging….turning slightly in the light.
...
(Year 2145)
(Cyberpunk City of Eclipses, State of Emperes)
Eclipsis never paused with its lively nature, It stacked itself upward and outward, metal grafted onto older metal, balconies welded onto towers, The streets were choked with motion and constant pressure. Vehicles slid past each other on layered lanes, some on wheels that hissed against the road, others gliding a few feet above it with a soft vibration that made teeth itch.
Delivery bikes cut between lanes, their riders leaning forward, one hand tapping at wrist displays while the other stayed loose on the grip.
Vendors shouted over each other from modular stalls bolted to the pavement. A woman with chrome fingers flicked her wrist and unfolded a tray of flickering implants. "Fresh sync chips, no registry, just…don't ask where they came from."
A man beside her argued with a customer about battery life, jabbing a finger toward a charging port sparking behind his ear. "You overclocked it, that's on you!"
Somewhere nearby, a kid with eyes that reflected light too cleanly laughed too hard at a joke no one else heard, and he and other kids enhanced with small cybernetic augments ran away.
Billboards towered above, holographic screens fighting for attention. One showed a smiling executive with mirrored eyes: LIVE BETTER WHILE YOU SLEEP.
Another flickered through rotating slogans for combat augments, a polished arm punching through simulated walls: ECLIPSIS ARMATURE. BUILT FOR SURVIVAL.
A third glitched, briefly showing a religious channel before snapping back to an ad for synthetic meals, steam curling up from a bowl that looked warmer than anything sold on the street side.
Arguments broke out and dissolved just as fast down below.
"You shorted me."
"Check the transfer again." A couple leaned against a railing, one of them adjusting the other's jaw implant while muttering about calibration. A courier cursed as his drone clipped a street sign and spiraled into a pile of trash bags, the impact setting off a string of profanity from people who had almost been hit.
"Fuck! Almost.."
People moved with confidence in their modifications, Arms extended too far when they reached. Spines flexed in ways that didn't match REAL human posture. Someone leapt from a second floor walkway, landed without bending their knees, and kept walking while scrolling through a projected menu only they could see.
"Easy."
And the slums sat beneath it all, where the city's shadow collected.
Here the buildings sagged into each other, patched with scrap panels and old signage that no longer lit up. The sunset smeared orange and bruised purple across the sky, catching on exposed wiring and broken glass.
Cables hung like loose shoelaces between rooftops. Steam rose from grates that hadn't been serviced in years, carrying the smell of coolant and old food.
Ivaness tore through it.
He cut left around a pile of rusted barrels, shoes slapping wet concrete, a bag gripped tight against his side bouncing with every step. Black short hair stuck to his forehead in uneven clumps, sweat darkening the collar of his dark blue hoodie, the hood flapped uselessly behind him. His jeans were already filthy, one knee torn wider from a fall earlier that day, his sneakers scuffed to hell and slick with grime.
Gunshots from dirty thugs cracked behind him.
The guns were old, patched together from mismatched parts. Exposed wiring ran along their frames, taped down where insulation had peeled away. One spat sparks when it fired, the recoil jerking the shooter's arm too far back. Another coughed between shots like it hated being used at all. Bullets chewed chunks out of walls, pinged off metal stairs, shattered a window just ahead of Ivaness and sent glass skittering across the ground.
"Stop running!" one of the thugs yelled, voice echoing badly in the narrow alley.
Ivaness vaulted over a fallen fence, caught his foot, nearly ate pavement, corrected with a sideways stumble that scraped his palm. He didn't look back when he shouted, breath cutting his words up. "You're aim is shit! All of you! Haha!"
The black augmented lines beneath Ivaness' eyes caught the last of the sunset, zigzag paths running straight down his cheeks, stark against his skin. His dark red eyes flicked ahead, tracking gaps, doorways, anything that wasn't a dead end.
He ducked under a dangling sign, slid across the hood of an abandoned car, felt a round punch through the trunk where he had been a second earlier.
Another shot screamed past his ear close enough to leave a ringing pressure behind it.
'Owwww. These idiots are annoying. I gotta shake em somehow, this bag is slowing me down, otherwise I would've left these bastards in the dirt.'
He laughed again but shorter this time, and kept moving, bag held tighter and closer to him, his breath burning, the city swallowing the noise behind him as the slums closed in.
The alley ended in a wall of patched steel and old brick, welded plates overlapping like someone had given up halfway through making it look intentional. Pipes ran across it at shoulder height, leaking something warm that left stains where it hit the ground.
Ivaness halted and slid to a rough stop, sneakers scraping and his breath scraping with them, and turned in one motion, the bag already lifted in front of his chest.
The men froze at the movement. Their gun barrels wavered, optics twitching as they tried to line him up and kept failing.
Ivaness shifted the bag left, then right, small movements, never still, never letting it drop out of their sight. "Can't shoot me, can you?" His mouth pulled wide as he spoke with his teeth showing and voice bouncing off the walls. "You'll shoot the good stuff. Don't wanna do that, do we?"
"P-Put the bag down, shitty brat!" one of them barked like a dog, their finger trembling on the trigger. The gun coughed a spark and didn't fire, and he slapped the side of it and swore. "Piece of junk…"
Ivaness rocked on his heels and kept the bag moving, a lazy sway that somehow never opened a line. He stepped forward once, then back, like he was counting something only he could see. "Careful," he said. "You're gonna scratch it."
Ivaness was purposely dancing with the bag, with a smile, still not leaving them any room to shoot.
"Stop dancing!" another man shouted. "Give us the bag and we might let you walk free."
The one beside him turned quickly to him, shoulder slamming into his partner. "Why are you lying to him?" His voice got loud in the tight space they were in. "We're gonna kill this brat the second we get the chance!"
Ivaness didn't answer, he immediately dashed toward, The bag snapped upward, blocking sight, and he twisted his body through the gap it made. His leg came around in a wide arc and connected with the side of a man's face. Bone gave way with a wet sound, and the man hit the ground face first, teeth clattering, blood spilling out of his mouth in short bursts as he tried to breathe through it.
The others raised their guns in panic:
"Shoot him! Try not to hit the bag!"
Ivaness shoved the bag straight into one barrel, felt the impact shudder through it as a shot died inside the casing. He drove his elbow into a throat, fingers still hooked through the strap, then stamped down on a knee until it bent the wrong way. Another punch followed, knuckles tearing skin, then a kick that sent someone slamming into the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the plating.
The others said fuck it and tried to fire, they kept stopping themselves. Every angle was tragic and impossible; every time a sight lined up, the bag was there, swinging, bumping, pressed between Ivaness and the muzzle like an insult.
The last thug got low, leg snapping up between Ivaness's legs, kicking his crotch.
Ivaness dropped with a sharp girly squeal noise that jumped out of him before he could stop it, hands flying down as he hit his knees. "Oooohhhh….ooooohhhhh…..you fucking bastard…." His forehead pressed briefly to the ground. "Aghhh…such a weirdo…kicking people in the junk…?"
The thug laughed loud and shaky, backing away a step. "I-I got him…I got him!"
Ivaness stood fast and at quick speed, his fist drove forward into the man's crotch with a dull metallic bang that echoed down the alley. Ivaness blinked, stared, his hand slowly hurting, then tilted his head. "Huh? Why is your junk rock hard?" He squinted at it like it offended him personally. "You better not be excited. Feels like metal or something."
The thug grinned through gritted teeth. "Ha! You fool! Got them augmented!"
"Dumbass! Why though?!" Ivaness asked, genuinely puzzled. "There's no point, literally no point in wanting this."
"Well my wife complained I could never get ha—!"
Ivaness grabbed, tore, and pulled.
The augmented piece came free with a sound like ripping cable. Blood sprayed the wall and the man screamed so loud it rattled windows. "AGH! What the hell?! You psycho—!"
Ivaness was already moving around, he stepped past the spray of blood, already in the air behind the man , and drove his fist down into the back of his head. The impact knocked the words out of him. His face met the ground and stayed there.
Ivaness stood over the bodies, and kicked the last man's unconscious body, chest pumping up and down, the bag hanging from his hand. Doors cracked open along the slum houses, and dirty faces peered out.
Someone filmed from behind a broken window, and Ivaness lifted his free hand and gave a small wave. "I'll be leaving now."
Then a loud annoying high pitched sound cut through everything else. Sirens, giving off cycling tones that slid up and down each other instead of settling. A white and orange transport jeep rounded the corner, its wheels taller than Ivaness, the side stamped with P.H.A.R.M.A in clean block letters. Armored medics clung to the rails with their guns held easy, matching white and orange plating catching the dying light.
P.H.A.R.M.A, the state's law enforcement, arresting or killing criminals if need be, and being medics at the same time. Heroic as they sounded, these bastards were ruthless.
Ivaness's mouth twisted. "Shit. Not them again.." He turned and ran, shoes slapping wet concrete, the sirens growing closer behind him.
….
An hour later the sky had shifted into that tired half color, not night yet but not pretending to be day either. The alley outside Oracle Park's shop stayed busy anyway like it always did. Muffled Hip hop music leaked from somewhere overhead, bass rattling loose panels and vibrating through and through.
People leaned against walls tagged with old gang marks and newer corporate stamps slapped on top of them. Some smoked cigarettes that glowed different colors, and others who were just chilling on some steps on top of trash cans passed around drinks that fizzed and spat tiny sparks when the cans were cracked open.
Augments were everywhere if you bothered to look. A man with a plated jaw flicked a coin into the air and let it vanish into a slot in his wrist, a woman sat cross legged on a crate, eyes projecting a private screen only she could see, lips moving as she argued with someone who was not physically present.
"I didn't sleep with him! Stop blaming me for everything!"
On the rooftops above, holographic sights hovered like patient insects, drifting side to side as their owners scanned crowds below.
Ivaness slipped through with his hood up, backpack hugged close to his chest, and it did nothing to hide him. The lines beneath his eyes caught stray light anyway, zigzag shadows that moved when his face did. He pushed through the metal gate beside Park's shop and voices followed him in a way that meant they had already been talking.
"That's that kid…"
"Ivaness. I think that's his name. I heard it a few times, and I see him around here all the time. He doesn't realize wearing a hoodie means nothing when he has those augmented lines on his face; he's not exactly an anonymous kid."
"What do they do anyway?"
"No one knows, really. But I live around here and see him almost everyday, bringing shit inside to Mr. Park. Knowing Park is another one of them Oracles who plant augments and enhancements in people and even buy junk from anyone breathing, the kid is probably trading stuff in."
"Geez. Is he that poor? Where's his parents?"
Ivaness leaned his head around a random corner, hood slipping back just enough. "Why are you guys talking about me?"
The reaction was immediate and loud, all of them screaming in fear as they got jumpsacred.
"Huh?! We just saw you go down to Park's shop!"
"Yeah! What the hell?!" Another one said, holding her chest and panting heavily.
Ivaness laughed and pointed, "Haha! Should've seen your faces! You were all like, AGHHH!" Ivaness mocked as he stepped past them like he had been there the entire time, adjusting the strap on his bag.
He walked through the gate again and pushed open the shop door, letting it slam shut behind him.
Inside, the light dropped away. The room was a mess of metal tables, hanging tools, cables coiled and uncoiled like they had been abandoned or left there forever.
Parts were stacked wherever space existed. Cybernetic arms, legs, spines in frames, and augments sat soaking in trays of clear fluid that smelled like oil. A single work lamp cast hard light onto a table in the center where a man sat with both arms stripped down to exposed plating.
Mr. Park worked with his sleeves rolled up and hands stained with black smeared liquid, goggles pushed low over his eyes. Slick orange hair was pulled back and his orange beard caught bits of oil and dust no matter how often he wiped it. He hummed under his breath as he aligned a new set of forearm components, fingers steady as he locked them into place.
"Hold still," Park muttered to the customer. "If you move now I'm charging double. This model responds better if you don't tense up like you're about to die."
The man on the table swallowed and nodded while sweating nervously. Park connected a cable, waited for a soft confirmation chime, then began sealing the seams, welding light flickering across the walls.
Ivaness sighed. "Of course you got a customer, Park. Guess I'll wait for 100 hours."
He dropped into a chair, leaned back until it complained, and propped his foot on the counter without asking. A television sat in the corner, its casing cracked but working. Ivaness grabbed the remote and started flipping.
A news channel showed a smiling anchor talking about reduced crime rates while footage of an alley fire played silently beneath her. Click.
A combat broadcast replayed a sanctioned street fight, limbs flying, commentators shouting over each other. Click.
A religious program flashed weird ass symbols and promised protection during sleep for a monthly fee. Click.
Static gave way to an ad for black market implants, the host winking too hard. That wink made it all too suspicious. Click.
A cartoon played, characters laughing while something exploded behind them.
"Boring. Boring. Boring. Boring. Boring." Ivaness expressed his disdain for what was showing on the screen, almost ready to just turn it off.
"I'll be with you in just a second, Ivaness," Park said without looking up, tightening the last clamp and checking the alignment one more time. "Gotta squirmer here."
Ivaness kept flipping, eyes half on the screen, half on the room, waiting.
Ivaness crunched down on chips that came in a metallic violet bag stamped with a smiling skull wearing antennae.
Called BYTECRUNCH. SALT SYNTH. The bag crinkled too loud every time he reached in. Oil clung to his fingers, left smears on the remote and his jeans. He didn't bother wiping them off, and he leaned back in the chair, one leg still propped up, chewing with his mouth half open while Park worked.
"So what this does," Park said to the patient, not looking up while his voice was settling into that lecture tone he slipped into when tools were in his hands, "is reroute motor feedback through the secondary spine port. Your arms will react before you finish thinking about it. Good for hard labor, fighting, anything repetitive."
The man on the table jerked.
"Ah!" he squeaked, shoulders jumping.
Park sighed. "I told you. That's normal. Stop moving."
The man nodded hard, "Okay, okay sorry. Oracles just make me nervous, all these augmented shit going in my arms."
"Chill. You wanted this. No turning back now while your arms split open. I could vomit all inside your arms but I don't because I'm holding back. You should hold back too."
"Yeah, yeah you're right. S-Sorry."
Park continued with his fingers clicking as he adjusted something small and shining. "The enhancement syncs with your nervous system over time. First few hours might feel strange, with some tingling and pressure. Do not panic—."
Clank!
The man squealed again with his legs kicking like a little child.
Park stopped and stared over his goggles. "Do not."
The man nodded again, faster this time, teeth chattering.
Park kept going anyway. "Once calibrated, you'll experience increased grip strength, reaction smoothing, reduced fatigue across the forearms and shoulders—"
The patient released another squeal that was louder.
Park slammed a tool down. "STOP THAT SHIT!"
The man's head snapped back and forth in frantic agreement. "Sorry! It hurts!"
Park pinched the bridge of his nose, then glanced toward Ivaness. "Hey kid, mind doing me a favor? He keeps squirming like some fish. I always wanted to avoid using this method, but I have no choice. Us Oracles got it hard enough as it is."
Ivaness looked over, chip halfway to his mouth, then grinned. "Finally!"
Seconds later the patient was tied down tight. Straps crossed his arms, chest, legs. A rag stuffed his mouth until his cheeks puffed out. Earplugs jammed deep in his ears, and Ivaness planted his foot on the man's chest casually, resting his weight there like a piece of furniture.
And because of this unconventional yet effective method, Park was able to work in peace.
"Let me guess," Park said to Ivaness, reconnecting a cable and checking a readout. "You got something to trade in?"
Ivaness swallowed a chip, licked salt from his thumb. "What can you give me for it?"
Park snorted. "Depends what it is."
Ivaness tilted the bag beside him. "Augmented core. It's…an old run. One of those enhancement amplifiers that boosts existing augments past standard limits. The kind that stresses the system if you push it too hard. This one's been used. A lot. Internal wear, degraded housing, but it still functions if you're careful with it. Should sell super good, right?"
Park hummed, eyes narrowing behind the goggles. "Hmm."
He sealed the last panel on the man's arm and leaned back with his arms crossed. "They stopped making those years ago for a reason. Slightly impressive output, sure, but unstable over time. No demand and no replacement parts. I could strip it down, recycle the lattice, maybe repurpose a few components."
Ivaness waited.
"I can give you about 1,000 royals for it." Park said.
Ivaness dragged the word out. "Ughhhhh. Really? What about 2,000?"
Park laughed once. "I know you're stealing these from random thugs out in the street, and there's a lot of them in Eclipsis. I don't take stolen items, but only because it's you, I do it since I know you can't really work anywhere due to your record and I knew your parents. Plus it's never tracked back to me." He paused, then added much quieter, "Your parents definitely wouldn't approve of this though, if they were still here, kid."
Ivaness shrugged, eyes drifting toward the door. "They wouldn't understand why I steal anyway. Got my own reasons, and it's not just about the royals either. So can we make it 2,000?"
Park shook his head. "1500."
Ivaness sighed through his nose. "Fine. It's in the bag."
He stepped off the patient and walked away, already turning to leave.
"Ivaness…" Park muttered, and Ivaness stopped at the door.
"Be safe out there," Park said. "Remember you can always sleep here—"
"I'm good, Park," Ivaness replied, hand on the handle. "Thanks anyway. I think I got enough royals for what I'm about to do."
He opened the door and slipped out into the alley, the door clanking shut behind him.