The sterile scent of the hospital faded as Null stepped out into the humid Kaelyn air, the late afternoon sun a warm balm on his skin. Kai and Ashley flanked him, their relief palpable. Fang, in his tiny black dragon form, nestled imperceptibly within Null's hoodie pocket, his constant mental chatter a new, grounding presence in Null's mind. The white streaks in Null's golden hair seemed to catch the light, a silent, stark contrast that drew curious glances from passersby.
"Man, glad that's over," Kai exhaled, stretching. "Rough week. First, the alley, then the orphanage... What even happened there, Null? The police kept asking about the 'structural damage'."
Ashley nudged him. "They settled for 'unstable old building,' Kai. Don't worry Null, we handled it. Just focus on getting back to normal."
Normalcy, Null mused, the word feeling utterly alien. How could anything be normal now? The world, once a blank canvas, was now filled with the spectral hum of shadowy energy God had warned him about, a faint, disquieting signature weaving through the city's hum. His senses, subtly sharpened by God's recent blessing, picked up nuances he'd never noticed before – the distant thrum of power, the subtle shift in the city's ambient magic. He felt the steady pulse of his Prime Stone fragment, now imbued with a foundational strength, waiting for the next echo to awaken its deeper powers.
Ready for your first day back at school, Liege? Fang's voice chirped in his mind, laced with theatrical cheerfulness. New hair, new you! Though I must say, the white is a bold choice. Very 'hero-after-traumatic-event' chic. Did you know the Almighty thought it was a good look? He's got surprisingly good taste for a celestial being.
The Devil, Null thought, pushing past Fang's typical antics. Is he... here?
Fang's mental presence became a touch more serious. He's been summoned, Liege. That doesn't mean he's throwing block parties in Central Park just yet. But his influence, and the influence of his more... eager followers, will certainly be on the rise. Keep your senses open. That 'Oculus Syndicate' isn't known for patience. They know you're out. They're watching.
As if on cue, a sudden, jarring siren cut through the city noise. Not a police car, but a low, guttural wail from a battered cargo truck swerving erratically a few blocks ahead. It clipped a lamppost, sending sparks flying, then careened towards a crowded street vendor market. People screamed, scattering in terror.
Kai and Ashley instinctively froze, eyes wide. "Whoa! What was that?" Kai exclaimed.
Null, however, felt a strange coldness. His newly heightened senses, sharper from the divine gift, picked up not just the sound of crunching metal and panicked shouts, but a distinct, unnatural resonance emanating from the truck. It wasn't just an accident. It was a lure. The signature was faint, hidden beneath the chaos, but undeniable: a familiar, infernal tang, like the residue of the shadow figure he'd fought.
distraction, Fang's voice rumbled, devoid of humor now. A test. They want to see what you'lldo, Liege. What you're capable of. Just whoop them already .
Without a word, Null began to walk calmly towards the chaos, the white streaks in his hair seeming to hum with faint energy.
"Null, wait!" Ashley cried, grabbing his arm. "It's too dangerous!"
He gently disengaged her hand. His golden-yellow eyes, normally so unreadable, held a flicker of grim purpose. He might not remember why he had to do this, but the information from God, the whispers of an impending war, the knowledge of his own power, propelled him forward. The Almighty had called him a "true golden angel." He wouldn't stand by.
As he neared the truck, an individual emerged from the shadows of a nearby alley. Tall and lean, cloaked in dark, reinforced tactical gear, their face obscured by a sleek, featureless helmet. This wasn't a random thug; this was a trained operative. Null could feel the faint hum of an Infernal Pact, a borrowed shadow power, radiating from them. They were an agent of the Oculus Syndicate.
The operative raised a hand, and the runaway truck, instead of crashing, began to distort, its metal bending inward, forming sharp, jagged spikes of shadow-infused steel. It wasn't just a physical threat; it was a clear display of their demonic connection. The spike-laden truck now aimed directly at a group of terrified civilians trapped against a storefront.
"Let's see the Unwritten King's true colors," a synthesized voice crackled from the operative's helmet, cold and mocking.
Null's resolve hardened. The white streaks in his hair pulsed with a faint, almost imperceptible glow. He felt the cold fury from the orphanage, the terrifying power of Reality Slayer, stir within him. This was not the chaotic, uncontrolled burst from before. This was focused, sharpened by the Almighty's touch.
Easy does it, Liege! Fang advised, his voice surprisingly calm. Remember our limit!
Null extended a hand. Time seemed to ripple around his fingers, not just in his mind, but visibly in the air. The very fabric of the space between him and the spike-laden truck shimmered, warping like heat haze. A tear, impossibly precise, began to open, not a gaping maw this time, but a thin, almost invisible slit in reality, directly in the path of the truck.
For a terrifying ten seconds (Null felt the internal timer ticking precisely), the charging truck, the screaming civilians, the very air around the tear, were shunted into a localized pocket dimension where time slowed to a crawl. The spikes, inches from impaling the civilians, became agonizingly static. The operative, mid-mockery, froze.
Null moved with blinding speed, a shadow amongst the frozen. He wasn't inside the slowed dimension; he was manipulating it from the outside, a master of its flow. He darted forward, pulling the trapped civilians out of the pocket dimension's path, placing them safely behind a sturdy lamppost. He felt a sharp, agonizing pull on his own energy.
Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the reality tear snapped shut with a soundless implosion. Time resumed its normal flow. The Oculus operative blinked, the truck, now devoid of its targets, crashed harmlessly into the storefront, sending fruit and vegetables scattering. The civilians, unharmed, looked around in bewildered confusion, their screams cut short.
The operative, however, was not confused. They saw Null, standing calmly, the white streaks in his hair now faintly luminous. "Impossible," the synthesized voice whispered. "Reality manipulation? This goes beyond basic Prime Stone potential. The reports... they were understated."
Before the operative could react, Null's shadow tendrils lashed out, not to harm, but to disarm. The operative, startled by the unexpected speed, dropped a small, glowing device they were holding – a communication beacon. Null snatched it, crushing it in his palm, severing their link to the Oculus Syndicate.
The operative snarled, manifesting a jagged shadow blade, but Null was already gone, disappearing into the lingering chaos of the market. He had proved his point. He wasn't a static target.
Running, Null felt a faint, new sensation. Not a full memory, but a flicker of a feeling, a vague image of a complicated, multi-layered diagram, swirling with incomprehensible symbols. It was an echo, a fragment of knowledge, unlocked by the controlled use of Reality Slayer. God's words resonated: With every echo you unlock, a portion of that boundless power will integrate within you. This power wasn't just about bending reality; it was tied to the very secrets he'd forgotten.
He ran until he reached a quiet, residential street, Kai and Ashley still far behind. He leaned against a wall, his chest heaving, the white streaks in his hair now receding, but still stark. The war was no longer a prophecy; it had just sent its first greeting. And Null, the amnesiac, the Unwritten King, had just sent one back. His life, and the world, would never be normal again.