On the distant planet called Vice, the atmosphere trembled as though the heavens themselves were holding their breath. The skies were endless, an ocean of swirling colors torn between light and darkness, and in the center of it stood a man shrouded in mist. His figure flickered between clarity and haze, as if reality itself resisted defining him. His face twisted with a contorted expression that held both unbearable pain and mad joy.
His laughter cracked the silence, a chilling sound that echoed across the desolate world.
"Hahahahahaha!" His voice shook the empty air, rising into the heavens. "So this is the option you have chosen to stop me? Hahahaha! But I will not fall down like this! I will never!"
The mist around him rippled violently as he raised his hand. A sudden swirl of purple light surged outward, like a storm given flesh, wrapping around him in a blinding cocoon. His fingers clutched something a mysterious object with an octagonal shape. Its surface pulsed with ancient energy, carved with runes that seemed to shift every time one dared to look at them.
Then a voice came. It did not come from above, nor from below, but from everywhere at once. A voice so immense and unfathomable that it rattled the core of every soul and being within reach of Vice.
"How long can you resist? How far can you go?" the voice resounded. It was not merely sound but will an authority that pressed down like the weight of mountains. "Oh, Merlin the Bizarre… you will eventually submit to me."
Merlin his name spoken, his identity declared threw his head back and laughed, his voice rising defiantly against the oppressive presence. "Hahahaha!" His laughter cracked, tinged with madness, yet there was no fear in his eyes. The purple light thickened around him, cocooning his form, and in that moment he pressed his lips close to the octagon, whispering as though in prayer.
"May the star lead the worthy. May the star lead to the one of the highest fate. May the one obtain this legacy." The octagon trembled violently, vibrating as though it understood and obeyed. Then it burst forth in a radiance so fierce that even the endless skies of Vice dimmed before it. Its brilliance poured over everything mountains, plains, and ruins turning night into a realm of endless dawn.
As the light rose, chains appeared. They came from nowhere, woven from laws unseen, shimmering with the same purple hue. They lashed out like serpents, binding Merlin's form with merciless force. They wrapped around his arms, his chest, his legs, and his very soul. With every link that snapped into place, reality groaned, and yet Merlin did not despair. Instead, a faint smile curved his lips. "Oh, great spirit Fenrir," he whispered softly, his voice carrying gratitude even as the chains dragged him away, "you have my gratitude."
His figure dissolved, pulled into the unknown by the light and chains that tore him from existence. His presence vanished from the planet Vice as though he had never been, leaving only the aftertaste of defiance in the air.
But the octagon did not vanish with him. Trembling, it rose higher and higher until it escaped the planet's grasp. The mysterious voice fell silent for a long moment, watching. No figure could be seen, no silhouette marked the presence of the speaker. Yet the weight of its gaze pressed against the octagon as it drifted into the endless stars.
Finally, the voice resounded once more, low and final. "Very well…" And the octagon vanished into the void, racing toward an unknown fate.
Far away, on a quiet corner of Earth, the sun hung lazily over the horizon. The golden light spilled across tiled roofs and narrow streets, warming the busy yet familiar town. In the heart of it, in a modest home nestled behind swaying plum trees, a young man named Lou Yang was visiting his grandmother.
Lou was an ordinary college student at Forrit Sol, unremarkable to the world, yet precious to his family. He pushed open the old wooden door of the house, and the hinges creaked softly as a warm scent greeted him freshly baked cake, mixed with the faint aroma of dried herbs his grandmother often kept in the corners of her home. "Lou!" his grandmother exclaimed with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. Her eyes, though wrinkled with age, sparkled with joy.
Lou returned her smile as his chest warmed with affection. He stepped forward quickly and embraced her fragile frame. "I missed you, Grandma." She patted his back, her voice trembling with love. "Me too, Lou. You are my pride. Look at you… Your grandpa, he looked just the same when he was your age."
Before Lou could reply, footsteps sounded behind him. His father, Zhou Yang, entered the doorway. His expression was caught between embarrassment and amusement.
Grandma's eyes narrowed the moment she saw him. "Unlike my grandson, this unfilial son Zhou over here…" she muttered with a frown. Lou laughed awkwardly, caught between them. Zhou rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Come on, Ma, you don't have to insult me every time I come back."
Not long after, Lou's mother, Ying Yang, stepped in. She carried herself with a graceful poise, yet her lips curved mischievously as she joined the scolding. "Mother-in-law, you should scold him more. He has not only been an unfilial son but an unfilial husband as well."
Zhou groaned. "Oh, come on… not you too!"
The house filled with laughter, a warmth that only family could create. Lou sat at the dining table, savoring the slice of cake his grandmother placed before him. The sweetness melted on his tongue, rich and comforting, as though her love had been baked directly into it.
As the conversation between his parents and grandmother carried on, Lou eventually pushed back his chair and decided to stroll around the house. The walls were lined with old photographs, faintly yellowed, their frames holding memories of faces he only vaguely recognized.
"Lou," Grandma called gently, noticing him wandering, "you can check and take anything from your grandpa's belongings. I'm sure he would want you to have them too. They're in the attic."
Lou nodded, touched by her words. He made his way upstairs to the attic, his footsteps creaking against the old wooden stairs. The door groaned as he pushed it open, and a cloud of dust immediately exploded outward.
"Cough, cough wow, that's a lot of dust," Lou muttered, waving his hand in front of his face. "Maybe Grandma hasn't cleaned this place since Grandpa died… fifteen years ago."
The thought hung heavy. His memories of his grandfather were faint, hazy images from early childhood. He remembered the warmth of strong arms, the faint smell of tobacco, and the quiet dignity of a man who collected strange objects. Beyond that, his memory failed him.
Lou pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. A pale beam cut through the gloom, illuminating shelves stacked with books, boxes, and odd artifacts. The attic felt like a museum frozen in time, each item whispering fragments of stories long forgotten.
As he wandered, something caught his eye. Resting against the wall was a katana, its lacquered sheath dulled with age but still beautiful. "Oh, damn," Lou breathed, crouching down. "That is one hell of a sword."
He reached for it and tried to lift it, but the weight surprised him. His grip slipped, and with a metallic clang the blade fell back against the floor. The sound echoed harshly in the confined attic.
"Shit!" Lou hissed, clutching his hand. The edge had grazed his finger, and a bead of crimson blood welled up before dripping down. "Ouch." He winced, bringing the finger to his lips instinctively. "Man, the katana is still sharp?"
Unbeknownst to him, the droplet of blood had fallen into a bronze cup resting nearby. The cup was strange, carved with symbols that twisted and shimmered like they belonged to no language on Earth.
As Lou licked his finger, his eyes caught something movement. A faint glow shimmered from the bronze cup, subtle at first, then growing brighter. His breath hitched. "What the hell…?