The night was late, but no one in the room could sleep. Five figures gathered in Piro's chamber, their shadows dancing on the walls, stretched and elongated by the flickering candlelight. The air was still filled with the scent of frost and mystery, remnants of the vanished ᛏᛟᛗᚱ runes, yet leaving a persistent cold, as if the room itself had been branded by the void.
Piro stared at his blackened index finger. It was no longer just a wound, but a pulse, a rhythm that resonated with the void. The corruption had become a part of him. The eerie numbness was not an absence—it was a communion. In the crystalline silence of his dead nerves, Piro heard whispers. They were not words, but the fractured hymns of dead stars, the screams of realities that had been unmade. The blackened finger had become a cathedral of cosmic sorrow.
Before him sat Sophie, Gareth, and Lysandra—an impromptu team bound by a single threat. Zego lay unconscious on a distant hospital bed, and his fate was now tied to the quest they had just begun.
Lysandra, the palace doctor with a white robe and eyes as sharp as needles, held an arcane tablet. "We don't have much time," her voice was sharp and analytical. "The corruption on Piro's finger is not a disease, but a forced adaptation. His body is slowly adjusting to another reality. His fibrinogen is crystallizing at a cellular level, as if his body is starting to see our reality as something alien, even wrong. Essentially, Piro is in the early stages of an existential transition. We don't know when this process will be complete or what the consequences will be."
Piro felt nauseous at the explanation, a terrifying, invisible sensation. "Will I... change?" he asked, his voice low.
"In the bio-arcane experiences I've studied, there are several possibilities," Lysandra replied, showing no emotion. "You could be destroyed, your soul scattered into incoherent fragments. Or... you could adapt, becoming a stable bridge between two realities. However, for now, all we can do is slow down the process. I can concoct a serum, but it will only buy us time, not a solution."
Lysandra then took a small bottle containing a golden liquid from her bag. "This serum is made from Arcania leaves. A plant that grows near energy fissures. It will help stabilize his energy temporarily."
Piro took the bottle and swallowed its contents. The golden liquid burned like molten sunlight. Piro's blackened finger glowed—briefly—before the darkness swallowed the light. "It feels like something is fighting inside me," Piro murmured.
"It is fighting the corruption," Lysandra noted, her eyes glued to her tablet. "But the darkness... is hungrier now."
Gareth, who was seated in a chair with his sword leaning against it, nodded in agreement. He was a man with a solid build, every muscle seemingly carved from stone, and his vigilant eyes looked at Piro with a soldier's intensity. His fractal scars on his arm shimmered faintly under the candlelight. "We called that 'transition' in the Void Wars," he said, his voice as raspy as sand. "The wall between our world and the Void is very thin. You are standing on it, Piro, and you could fall at any moment. If we want to find the answer, we have to go to where that wall is thinnest. Astalon's Tomb."
"But no one knows where that is," Sophie interjected, taking out her small notebook. "From the ancient texts I can recall, the tomb was erased from all maps after the Void Wars. There's only one person who has ever seen it and survived. Malakai."
Gareth grunted, his expression filled with disgust. He picked up a cup of cold tea and put it back on the tray with a hard clatter. "Malakai the Madman. The man is insane. I met him once in the past. He spoke in riddles and painted maps with his own blood. He's crazy. He'll lead you into danger, not guide you."
"Nevertheless, he is who we need," Piro replied, his voice calm and confident. He had accepted his new role as a leader, and with that role came the responsibility of making difficult decisions. "Sane or not, he is the only lead we have. We can't rely on old maps or books. We need someone who saw it with their own eyes."
"How do we find him?" Lysandra asked. "We have no location, only a reputation. That reputation doesn't even give us a hint other than that he's 'crazy'."
Sophie, who had been listening intently, raised her head. "Malakai doesn't hide. He's known to frequent places filled with ancient energy. The Great Library in the city is the most likely place," she explained. "Malakai is often seen there, talking to ancient books. However, there is one other place he visits, which he calls the 'World Wall's Wound'. It's a place where the Void Wall is thin."
"We will go to the Great Library now," Piro said, rising. "We will look for him there."
"You can't," Gareth argued, his voice flat and firm. "You are the bridge. The entity in that book knows you are looking for them. Your movements must be concealed. As a former peak Celestial soldier, my job is to protect you. I will go alone."
"No," Piro shook his head. "I won't just sit here. This finger is a compass. I can feel every tremor of the unpure energy. I am the best person to find Malakai. I won't let you face that danger alone."
"That danger is my specialty, Master Piro," Gareth countered, standing up. His height, which was greater than Piro's, exuded an intimidating aura. "You may have a 'compass' in your hand, but I have decades of experience fighting things you can't even imagine. I am the only one who came out of the 'Transition' battle alive. Don't underestimate what you're facing."
Sophie intervened, "Piro is right. And so are you, Gareth." Her voice was calm, like water soothing the waves. "We can't let Piro move alone, nor can we let you bear all the risk. We all have our own roles here." Sophie looked at Lysandra. "Lysandra, you're a bio-arcane expert. Your analysis of Piro's condition is crucial. You will stay here, monitor Zego's condition, and try to find a way to slow Piro's corruption. You will be our base. We will take Piro and go find Malakai. Gareth, you will lead the way."
Lysandra nodded, accepting her role. "I will try to make a potion to slow Piro's adaptation. I will give him a potion made from Arcania leaves—a plant that grows near energy fissures. It will help stabilize his energy temporarily. But don't take too long, or the corruption will reach his heart. Then, there will be no turning back."
Gareth finally sighed, his rigidity easing. He looked at Piro with a gaze that showed a mixture of respect and doubt. He then took out a palm-sized object made of black metal with intricate rune engravings. The object hummed with fractured gravity. "This is a Reality Anchor. I got it from the ruins of Astalon. It stabilizes local reality," Gareth growled. "If Malakai makes your brain boil, this buys you 10 seconds to run. Don't use it unless it's a real emergency. And don't drop it."
"We will move in the shadows," Gareth said. "And we won't come back until we find Malakai."
Sophie then activated her spectral crystal. A three-dimensional hologram of Piro's body appeared in the air. From the blackened finger, tendrils of void-energy snaked up his arm, heading for his heart. Next to the hologram, a countdown glowed: 72 HOURS.
"This is our deadline," Sophie whispered. "The corruption will reach your heart in 72 hours."
As they prepared, Piro felt a strange pulse in his finger, a signal guiding him north. Towards the Great Library. He knew his journey had just begun. He was no longer a victim, but a hunter.
They left the residence in the middle of the night. Gareth moved like a shadow in front, his eyes scanning every dark corner, every narrow alley. Piro and Sophie followed behind, hidden in dark cloaks. The city was silent, only the streetlights flickering and the sound of their footsteps echoing. Piro felt the pulse in his finger intensify, the sensation now stronger and clearer. It was not just a compass; it was a link.
As they passed through a dark, narrow alley, Gareth suddenly stopped. He froze. His hand trembled, and he closed his eyes, his face covered in cold sweat. "This alley... smells like Trenches 7," he muttered, his voice hoarse. In Piro's eyes, for a fleeting moment, he saw the ghosts of voidsoldiers—their bodies half-erased from reality—screaming silently. It was Gareth's past trauma returning to haunt him.
Suddenly, Piro felt a different whisper, one that didn't come from within him, but from the blackened finger. A whisper that slithered up his spine, cold and cruel. "RUNNING WON'T SAVE YOUR LITTLE FRIEND, ANTENNA."
The Great Library was no ordinary building. It was a cathedral of knowledge that towered into the sky, with obsidian domes and stone spires decorated with ancient runes. The air around it felt heavier, filled with the scent of old paper, ink, and long-forgotten magic. Gareth signaled for them to stop. "Stay here. I'll check the perimeter." He disappeared into the darkness.
Piro stared at the Great Library. "This... feels like home to that book," he whispered.
Sophie nodded, her eyes shining in the darkness. "The ancient energy here is very strong. If Malakai frequents this place, it's because he's drawn to that kind of energy."
Gareth returned a few minutes later. "No visible guards. We can enter through the back door."
They slipped into the silent Great Library. But the interior was illogical. The bookshelves twisted and turned, forming Möbius strips. Staircases led to ceilings where new floors materialized. "This Library rearranges itself," Sophie breathed, her voice a gasp. "It's alive with forgotten knowledge."
Suddenly, from the stone pillars, gargoyle statues began to peel off. Their eyes glowed with lit runes, and they began to move, letting out a harsh, grinding stone sound.
"Knowledge Guardians," Gareth growled. He brandished the Reality Anchor. The object pulsed with a blue light, and Gareth slammed it into one of the gargoyles. The statue exploded into temporal dust, as if time itself had shattered it.
They continued to move, Piro using his finger as a guide through this illogical labyrinth. But it was not a physical labyrinth; it was a psychic one. Piro saw a vision of Zego, his body torn apart by dimensions. He held his breath, and the corrupted finger pulsed. Piro used it to suppress the vision, to rewrite the vision. It was a terrifying and intoxicating power. Sophie faced books whose words turned into linguistic weapons, but she managed to translate them back into an ancient language to neutralize them. Gareth faced the ghost of his commander, and he used the Reality Anchor to perform a symbolic "burial" of his past.
Finally, they arrived at a room full of empty shelves. In the middle of the room, a thin man sat, surrounded by open books. His eyes were kaleidoscopes—each pupil reflecting a different timeline. The scabs on his wrists formed pulsating ᛏᛟᛗᚱ runes.
The man was Malakai.
He didn't see them. He spoke, but not to them, but to the books around him. "Do you hear it?" he giggled, ink-black tears streaming down his cheeks. "The Conqueror's heartbeat. BUM-BUM. Like a war drum in the void."
"How do we sever the connection?" Sophie asked.
"Sever?" Malakai giggled. "Why cut the umbilical cord when you can BECOME THE GOD?"
In a nanosecond, Gareth's sword was at Malakai's throat. "Speak straight, prophet."
"Astalon's Tomb isn't a tomb," Malakai whispered. "It's a transmitter. And your friend here," he pointed at Piro's blackened finger, "is the signal booster."
Piro stared at him, his finger pulsing madly. In a desert under a green sun, a shadow turned towards them.
As the team left the library, the lion statues at the gate turned to follow. Their stone eyes changed into pulsating ᛏᛟᛗᚱ runes. The city began to breathe in rhythm with Piro's finger. This was the end of their search, and the beginning of a much more dangerous journey. They had finally found Malakai.