Deep within the Realm Scrapper's ever-morphing bowels, where the hum of cosmic machinery blended with the whispers of forgotten stars, Azrail stepped into a chamber that felt less like a room and more like the inside of a dreamweaver's fevered skull. Nayan's mad genius had outdone itself this time, configuring the space into a swirling vortex of ethereal mists and glowing soul-veins that pulsed like the arteries of some colossal, undead beast.
No flames crackled here, no blue waves of reality danced—today, it was all about the soul, that slippery, infinite essence that held the keys to existence itself. Azrail, the boy with eyes like shattered universes, cracked his knuckles and grinned. "Soul power, huh? Let's turn this into a cosmic carnival of chaos. All-Seer, fire up the Soul Shenanigans Protocol. Make it spicy—Heavenly Saint level spooks, adaptive, and throw in some curveballs. No holding back on the weird."
