Damaris Makro was born on July 8th, 1728, the daughter of Chatzis Makro, a high priest who was himself the child of a Greek commissioner and a British maiden. She never imagined she would be the first to uncover a tomb that housed beings unlike anything known to man.
The time she learnt of the gods, she was given only fragments of knowledge. Among them was the name D'Etttore—the god of their entire universe. It was he who shaped the very lands beneath their feet. His motives were pure, his intentions just, yet his creations grew twisted, sin bleeding into the world like poison in water.
Humanity, though stained by corruption, still carried sparks of goodness in its hearts. But evil had taken root, its foothold strong. Damaris always had her doubts when it came to tales of beings that loomed beyond existence—but now, in the depths of this tomb, she was about to face one.|
She moved forward, eyes tracing the ancient patterns and texts etched across the bronze walls, yet her attention kept returning to the figure entombed at the chamber's centre. As she drew closer, she was finally introduced to the first intricate details of its form.
Blue skin. Blackened sclera. Pupils pale and ghostly white, drained of every ounce of life. The thin cloth draped across its body scarcely concealed its form, leaving it exposed, vulnerable, yet eerily powerful.
"Who are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling into the silence—words meant for the mummified being before her.
Once, she had only thought of escape. Now, a hunger to unravel this mystery rooted itself inside her. Yet the thought lingered—perhaps this tomb still held her way out. Her gaze shifted to the stone where a blade lay embedded, its hilt jutting upward like a silent challenge. Strange text surrounded it, carved in repeating lines, and to her astonishment, she could read it. Greek.
Crouching low, she mouthed the words: "Nexus… Prime?" The name felt foreign on her tongue. She had studied many celestial orders, many beings beyond mortal reach, yet she had never heard this one.
There were stories—whispers of the Order of Prime—beings forged not by the elder gods, but by D'Ettore himself. These figures were said to oversee worlds, guardians of balance and authority. And yet this one, Nexus Prime, lacked the one trait that defined them all. Wings.
The mystery pressed heavily upon her chest. Her breath quickened as she turned toward the sword, her hand hovering above it. Something about the weapon called to her, beckoning her closer. She hesitated. No mortal should be able to wield such a relic. And yet curiosity consumed her.
Her palm brushed against the hilt. She braced herself for catastrophe—for curses, for fire, for divine wrath. Nothing happened.
Emboldened, she placed her other hand on the weapon and pulled upward. To her astonishment, the blade slid free without any form of resistance, stone parting around it like melted butter. Its weight was immense, her muscles straining, but she held it firmly.
Silence descended. The pulsing roots of light that held the otherworldly figure stopped. A cold wind swept through the tomb, though no window or passage existed.
Something was happening.
Then it struck her at once. A violent surge ripped through her body, snapping her head back as her mouth tore open in a voiceless cry. Her eyes blazed with white light, veins glowing red beneath her skin. She went limp, suspended in the air by unseen forces, but her grip remained on the hilt of the blade.
Something bloomed within her—like a strange, terrible awakening. Visions clawed into her mind, forbidden memories that weren't meant for any mortal to see. Something that looked like the past and future spilt before her eyes like shattered glass.
She saw Nexus clashing with Nova. She saw the elder gods watching in the form of countless burning eyes spread across the heavens. She saw Nexus fall to earth, broken and defeated. She saw beings not of this world—monstrosities that hovered over the seas, obliterating entire civilisations with the sweep of their hands.
The visions dissolved into nothing but surreal blackness. Then came another vision, and this time it felt as though she was within it. Floating in a vast chamber of stars and endless void.
Then it emerged.
A being unlike the others. Its skeletal form towered, vast as the chamber itself, cradling the cosmos in its palm as though it were nothing more than a toy. Its sun-bright eyes seared her vision, its torso wreathed in endless flame. Its face was a paradox—divine in presence, yet demonic in form, a visage that could drive mortals to madness.
It raised its colossal fist. Then it struck.
Damaris awoke with a violent gasp, her body convulsing as life slammed back into her like a hammer against a nail. She crashed to the ground, the blade slipping from her grasp. A groan rattled in her throat as she clutched her stomach, every nerve screaming. She felt defiled, as though she had tasted knowledge no human should ever consume.
Her stomach heaved. She retched violently, bile and coconut milk spilling from her lips—liquid she had no memory of drinking. Trembling, drenched in sweat, her body ached with the weight of revelation.
Now that she had gazed into the forbidden, it gazed back at her, traumatizing her, making sure she would turn out a victim, plunged into agony.
To make the fear as inevitable as it already was, the mummified woman snapped to life—bones cracking, fingers twitching, curling into a fist.
Damaris jolted at the sound, her heart hammering. Still on the ground, she turned, trembling, eyes wide in horror.
The mummified woman fell. The roots of light that had bound her dissolved into glowing dust, scattering across the chamber like dying embers.
Damaris gasped, crawling backwards as the figure collapsed face-first, its body limp—the blade's release had freed it. Curiosity, however, betrayed her fear. Something about the mummified woman, in all its ghastly ruin, felt oddly… safe. Leaning in hesitantly, she studied her form, her breath shallow.
The woman moved again—fingers twitching, bones grinding. Then stillness. Damaris felt a wave of relief. Perhaps it would not rise. But the illusion shattered as the corpse slowly pushed itself upright. Hair, long as its torso, draped in tangled sheets as it stood tall.
Damaris lifted her gaze as the figure grew above her. The mummified woman moaned, her neck snapping with grotesque cracks, her desiccated fingers bending with shrill creaks, as though every motion pained her.
She faced Damaris at last, slouched, her spine bowed, hollow eyes drilling into her soul. Then light flared within them—red pupils blooming like embers in a pit of blackness.
Nexus Prime had risen.
The mummified woman groaned, eyes fixed on Damaris. The young woman froze, unable to decide—was this being her executioner, or her salvation?
Nexus snapped her jaw from side to side before speaking. Her voice was eerie, dry, like dust over stone.
"A human, hm?" she murmured coldly. "So, the elders kept busy while I slept. Beautiful, but weak. I had thought more false celestials would be made. How… disappointing."
Damaris's breath hitched. Disbelief tangled with awe. All her doubts—years of thinking the gods and celestials mere stories—shattered in this one impossible moment.
"Y-you… you speak?" she stammered, the only words her lips could form.
The mummified celestial tilted her head, a groan rolling from her throat as if the question itself offended her.
"Hm." She smirked faintly. "I believed you to be knowledgeable, yet you ask the most foolish questions. How… tiresome."
Before Damaris could respond, the chamber echoed with wet, slapping footsteps. A low growl followed, reverberating through the walls.
Her head snapped around. From the darkness emerged the creature—the same wolfish horror that had hunted her in the halls. At first one, then many, its body splitting, multiplying into a pack. Their unified voice rasped through the chamber:
"Celestial… human… must die."
The shadows swarmed, surrounding them both. Damaris scrambled to her feet, heart racing as her darted between the advancing beasts and the risen celestial. She did not know where her safety lay.
Then Nexus spoke, her tone sharp, cutting through the dread.
"If you value your head remaining on your shoulders, trust me."
She stretched out her hand, and the blade that had fallen clattered into the air, drawn into her grasp. Rust flaked away in bursts, revealing the gleam of unbroken steel.
Red mist erupted from her lungs surrounding her as her form began to shift. Bones cracked. The ancient cloth binding her withered face slipped to the stone floor.
As the reddish haze cleared, the true Nexus emerged. Her once withered skin now shone in a vibrant shade of blue. Her abyssal eyes glowed with menace. Her rotted hands were replaced with metal, glinting sharp and merciless. And from her left shoulder sprouted a single wing—blackened, jagged, an omen of her half-restored glory.
Damaris could only stare, more in awe than terror, for here stood a celestial reborn. Nexus's voice deepened, resonant and commanding—unnatural in tone, yet magnetic in its authority.
"I never imagined the elders would keep you alive, Kontos," she declared, her words like a sentence passed. "As useless as humans, and yet here you remain. But I am here to end your misery. Come then, Kontos of the Void."