"I accept the sacrifice."
The words left his mouth, a quiet surrender that the void seemed to swallow the moment it was born. The silence that answered was so complete he wondered if he had spoken at all, if the decision had been nothing more than a tremor in his soul. He might have repeated it, just to hear the sound of his own resolve, but the panel vanished. Not with a fade, but a cessation—as if it had never been.
Then… pain.
It erupted from his insides, a hot, seething agony that tore through the very fabric of his being. This was not the mere intrusion of the shards; this was an unraveling. It felt as if his soul were being dipped in molten reality, his nerves burning and wailing a hymn of pure, undiluted suffering. His body, or the memory of it, was being unmade at a cellular level.
A sharp, shrill scream tore from his throat, a sound that felt too small and mortal to disrupt the void's silent symphony. It took a moment for him to recognize the source—his own voice, screaming. The sound echoed in the oblivion, a fleeting testament to his suffering.
Yet it lasted only a moment—a prelude, a final, violent protest from the man he was before the fusion.
The silence, dethroned for a single beat, rushed back in to reclaim its domain.
What followed was a cool, gentle sensation, a refreshing wave that washed through him, reminiscent of the wind that had presaged his plunge. It was so profoundly soothing that the memory of the pain already felt like a hallucination, a bad dream screamed into a pillow. The deep-seated ache in his muscles from the gym, the psychic fatigue from the void, the constant, low-grade stress of his life—it all dissolved. Nothing became tranquil. A serene atmosphere embodied everything he had ever yearned for. Peace bloomed in the absence of his own heartbeat.
Then, from the center of his chest, a single drop of blue liquid—not the orb's cerulean, but a deeper, slightly glowing blue—bloomed through the white fabric of his shirt. It parted from him slowly, and began to move through the space between where he floated and where the panel had been.
It hovered, a single, mesmerizing sphere of blue liquid, capturing his entire attention. The substance within danced with a smooth, flowing cadence, holding a miniature cosmos in its shimmering form.
It didn't stop there.
Tendrils of the same mesmerizing blue stretched from the fabric of his shirt, flowing in slender, intelligent strands until they touched the hovering sphere. The sphere swelled, the new liquid merging seamlessly, adding to its dazzling spectacle. It grew, pulse by silent pulse, until it settled into a perfect, self-contained bubble of viscous, blue liquid. It was a captured droplet, a hair's breadth from spilling, yet it held its perfect, globular form through some unseen, gentle magic. Its body was a deep, translucent azure, and from within its core emanated a soft, bioluminescent glow that swelled and receded in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Within its depths, swirls of lighter sapphire and aquamarine drifted lazily, like ethereal clouds in a miniature sky, never mixing fully, always shifting in a silent, eternal dance.
The orb floated patiently before Zane, its surface a perfect, tensioned meniscus that shimmered with a liquid sheen. It felt less like an object and more like a presence, a dense, conscious liquid contained within a single, breathtaking sphere of glowing blue.
As if it had been waiting for the spectacle to end, a new panel shimmered into existence. It was strikingly similar to the first, save for the runes that now glowed with a softer, more welcoming light. This time, he didn't need to focus to decipher them; their meaning unfurled in his mind like an ancient scroll he had mastered in a forgotten life.
『A New Turn And Gifts Are Born. The Grand Bazaar Bestows Upon Its Eternal Patron』
『Boons』
◇Solitary Aide
◇Orb Of Expertise Conceived [2]
◇Grimoire of Space Unseen
Zane's eyes gleamed. Splendid. Truly spectacular. This time, the Bazaar offered gifts without demanding a sacrifice. The rewards were unexpectedly generous: a personal assistant to help run the Bazaar, orbs that granted skills through pure information, and finally, a book that contained infinite space within its pages—though, sadly, it could only store a single item per page.
His gaze drifted to the luminous sphere suspended before him. Where was the other orb? The Bazaar had specified two. Also, where was the Grimoire?
As if in answer, the azure and aquamarine light within the sphere stirred, and a voice—clear and resonant, as if spoken from inside his own skull—filled the silent chamber of his mind.
«Hail the wise patron. Your courageous choice has awakened this lowly aide from nothing. I, your eternal servant, implore upon the patron to bestow a name upon this aide of yours.»
Zane nearly jumped, a phantom reflex in a body that no longer needed such mundane reactions. The voice; Cordian, perfectly enunciated and at full volume in his consciousness, had startled him. His heart should have been hammering against his ribs, but it wasn't. The fusion had changed him, quieting the frantic bestial rhythms of his old self, and in his shock, he failed to notice the profound stillness in his own chest.
His head turned, a useless gesture in the featureless void, looking for the source. Only the panel, the glowing sphere, and the lonely, forgotten gold coin shared the expanse with him.
It had to be the sphere. Since when did skill orbs talk?
Unless.
Yes. That had to be it. The sphere wasn't a skill orb at all, but his newly acquired Solitary Aide.
'Phew. Thought there was some ancient monster in the abyss with me.'
The assistant wasn't ugly by any standard, though Zane hadn't expected a physical form. He had imagined a discreet voice in his head, or perhaps a spectral pet. But a slime? Was the universe jesting with him?
No sooner had the thought formed than the sphere began to change. It morphed, its liquid light reshaping itself, pulling from the very fabric of his imagination. It streamlined, gaining a sleek, segmented body of purest white, adorned with icy blue rings. Two small, rounded horns sprouted from its head. It was his imaginary spiritual animal, a creature born from daydreams and private solace—Nyx.
'Nyx?'
How could this be? His lifelong mental companion, a secret he had never shared, now manifested in reality. What had he gotten himself into? The world, or whatever lay beyond it, was bending to the shape of his mind. The thought made his eyes gleam with a light fiercer than before.
The silkworm—now undeniably Nyx—floated through the space, moving with a gentle, undulating grace until it came to rest on his shoulder. It nuzzled against his neck, a cool, smooth pressure that felt both alien and intimately familiar. It was the exact proportion he had always envisioned: about ten centimeters long, a perfect, living sculpture of his own creativity.
The aide had asked for a name. He already had one, pulled from the hidden vault of childish dreams he'd long told himself to forget.
"Nyx."
The word left his lips, and the void itself seemed to acknowledge it.
"Yes. Nyx is your name, starting today."
Or had it always been that way? A flicker of suspicion crossed his mind. Was this his own will, or the influence of some unseen entity—a god, fate, a programmer of this cosmic game? He had never believed in such things, but now, faced with a figment of his soul made real, he could not help but doubt the very architecture of his own self.
But that was a pondering for another day. He didn't care if there was a fate, a god, or some ultimate programmer. With the Bazaar, he could trade for anything—even fate itself, or so he thought. Now, a more immediate curiosity burned within him.
"Nyx? I have two questions. First, can you read my mind? If so, please stop. I don't like people in my head, let alone spiritual animals or whatever you are."
A pause, a consolidation of his second question in the newfound silence of his thoughts.
"Second, where are the other rewards from the system?"
His eyes swept through the void before settling on the distant, lonely coin. He wasn't thinking about it; his mind was now an antenna, tuned solely to the frequency of an answer.
«Wise patron, I dare not read your mind. This lowly servant can only aide you with operating the Bazaar. As for your second question, you can summon the Grimoire of Space Unseen with but a thought.»
The response was unexpected but within the scope of his new reality. Yet, before he could 'summon' the grimoire, another question surfaced, sharp and necessary.
"You say you can't read my mind. How is it that you can speak directly into it? And why did you transform into that exact form just now?"
«Sorry, wise patron, I never meant to offend your lordship. If my communication irritates you, I will cease at once. Ever since my birth, this is the only form of communication this lowly servant can make. Unlike you, wise patron, I lack the vocals to muse. As for your second question, I am but a mirror of your soul; I can only take the form as you will. I will no longer irritate you.»
"Wait! Wait! You do not irritate me. I was only inquiring. If you have no capability of reading my mind, all is well."
His personal assistant was… weird. Why was it behaving like a chastised child? And with every cryptic response, his curiosity only grew, a tangled knot he felt compelled to unpick.
"Also, what do you mean by a mirror of my soul?"
«Wise patron, sorry if my response did not meet your expectations. By mirror, I mean I am you, just without your memories.»
What?!
It kept getting stranger. And more interesting. How could his personal aide be him? Was it some sort of joke? Not a funny one. But Nyx seemed to revere him so profoundly he couldn't fathom it jesting. Unless… it was all a stupid act to fool him? Well, it was surely doing a great job, as he was half-tempted to believe it.
Still, it was an eternal aide. He could always interrogate the nature of its existence later. Now, a more primal need dominated his thoughts.
"Is there any way to leave this place?"
It was good to have a Bazaar with all sorts of cool abilities, but it would be infinitely better to be free under the sun—or even the streetlamp-lit night. Anything was better than this consuming abyss.
«Wise patron, there are two methods to leave this dimensional storage space. Unfortunately, only one is accessible to you currently. You can depart by using one of the skill orbs housed within the Grimoire. You can also depart by exchanging your location with another, but the patron is currently limited in what he can exchange with the Bazaar. You must increase your level to gain greater exchange privileges.»
Zane's spirit leapt. There was an actual way out. What truly surprised him was the revelation—he wasn't in a formless abyss, but a dimensional storage space. The term itself clicked pieces into place. If this was a storage space, then the coin was a doorway. And its primary function… was to store the Bazaar itself.
That could wait. All of it could wait. His focus narrowed to a single, burning point, sharp as the edge of the coin that had brought him here.
Leaving.
And as for the limits of the Bazaar? The fact that he couldn't yet trade for anything and everything? Nyx said he could gain more privilege. He didn't yet know how to increase his level, but the 'how' was a problem for the future. No more distractions. His entire will bent toward the work at hand.
His attention turned inward, toward the silent command to summon his reward.