The city of the Nexus was a tapestry woven from the threads of countless worlds, a masterpiece of vibrant colors and impossible architecture. Buildings clung to the sides of floating islands, their structures a riot of styles from across the cosmos.
Tunnels of solidified light connected bustling market districts to serene, crystalline parks. It was a place of impossible wonders, a living monument to the human spirit.
And to Valen Kaldar, it was a discordant, nonsensical mess. A chaotic, illogical jumble of mismatched parts and inefficient designs that offended his every sense of order.
He sat on the crumbling edge of a forgotten sky-platform, his eyes, the color of a storm-tossed sea, fixed on the shimmering panorama. The sight of a Root Chakra Adept creating a bridge of solid earth across a gaping chasm made his mind ache.
Why bother with such an elaborate display of power when a simple transport tunnel would have been more efficient? It was a waste of chakra, a pointless flourish. Valen's mind did not see the beauty or the ingenuity; it saw only the logical fallacies, the absurd inefficiency of it all.
This was his burden, his unique, and often misunderstood, way of seeing the world. His thoughts were a labyrinth of rigid logic, a series of conclusions that, while true to his own internal rules, often baffled those around him.
For as long as he could remember, Valen had been an outcast, a ghost in a city of vibrant souls. He lived on the fringe of the Nexus, in the perpetually grey districts scarred by the silent screams of Annihilators.
These were the wastelands, places where reality itself had been unraveled, turning once-bustling streets into empty, lifeless husks. It was here, in a district now known as "The Patchwork City," that he had witnessed his own parents turn into empty husks, the color drained from their skin, their souls and chakras reduced to nothing.
The memory was a dull ache, a constant, nagging void in his mind. He was a survivor of the void, a living relic of a past that he couldn't remember and a future he couldn't face. He was an Annihilator's child, a truth that no one in the Nexus, not even he, knew.
He lived by a strict, almost ritualistic routine, a pattern of actions that kept the chaos of the world at bay. He ate at the same time every day, walked the same empty streets, and sat on the same crumbling sky-platform to observe the city.
He saw Adepts from the seven main chakra divisions going about their duties, their auras a beautiful, chaotic rainbow of colors.
The Root Adepts, their auras a deep, earthy red, were the city's builders, their power creating a new foundation for the city.
The Sacral Adepts, their auras a vibrant orange, were the artists and the healers, their power a flowing river of creativity and life.
The Solar Plexus Adepts, their auras a brilliant gold, were the warriors and the leaders, their will a shining beacon of power.
Valen watched them, a detached observer, and in his mind, he would break down their actions into a series of logical fallacies.
A Solar Plexus Adept is using his will to create a sword of pure light. Logical Fallacy #432: The energy required to create such a weapon is disproportionate to the task at hand. It would be more efficient to use a physical weapon, such as a Celetra.
The thought of the rare blades, a weapon forged from the shards of dead gods, sent a shiver down his spine. He had heard the legends of these blades, and of the ten squad captains who wielded them.
The blades were a mystery, their origins lost to time, and Valen's logical mind found their existence to be a paradox. A physical object that could harm a void. It was an anomaly, an equation that could not be solved.
As Valen sat there, his mind wrestling with this impossible paradox, a strange feeling began to creep up on him. A cold, hollow feeling that started in his stomach and spread throughout his body, a feeling that felt both alien and terrifyingly familiar.
It was a feeling of emptiness, of nothingness, a feeling he had only experienced once before, on the day his parents disappeared.
He looked down at his hands, his knuckles turning white as he clenched them. The air around him grew cold, the vibrant colors of the Nexus began to dim, and the humming energy of the city seemed to quiet, as if something was draining the life from the air.
Something is wrong. The logical conclusion is that an Annihilator has entered the city. I must move. My presence here will draw it to me.
He stood up, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew what was coming. He had survived one Annihilator, a ghost of a memory that haunted his dreams, and he knew that he had to get as far away from this one as possible.
He had to run. He had to hide. He had to escape the very thing that was a part of him. But he was too late. He heard a whisper, a sound that was not sound, a roar of pure, unadulterated nothingness that made the very air around him tremble.
He turned to see it, a formless black shadow, a tear in reality, a hunger that could not be sated. It was an Annihilator.
The Annihilator, a formless black shadow, a tear in reality, a hunger that could not be sated, was a sight that Valen had only seen in his nightmares.
It was a being of pure nothingness, a void that consumed everything it touched. It moved with a silent, unnatural grace, its formless shape a stain against the city's vibrant chakra energy. It was drawn to Valen, a moth to a flame, a predator to its prey.
It was a hunger that could not be sated, and Valen was the perfect meal.
The Annihilator was now directly in front of him, a black hole of pure emptiness. Valen looked into its formless shape, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he saw his family. He saw his mother's smiling face, his father's gentle eyes, and the vibrant colors of their auras. He saw them, and then he saw them again, this time as husks, their auras drained, their eyes empty.
The image was a punch to the gut, a wave of agony that brought him to his knees. He felt a silent roar, a sound that was not sound, as the Annihilator lunged at him. He closed his eyes, waiting for the cold nothingness to consume him. But it never came.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and a voice, as cold and sharp as the wind whipping through the void-scarred lands, spoke to him.
"That thing,"
Silas said.
"Is a tear in reality. It is a hunger that cannot be sated. It is drawn to you. You are the opposite. Now, are you going to be a victim, or are you going to be a warrior?"
Just as Valen's mind wrestled with this impossible choice, the ground shook. A massive, golden hammer, glowing with intense heat and light, slammed into the Annihilator. It was Commander Jax, leader of the Solar Plexus division. His face was a mask of furious concentration as he stared at the Annihilator.
"Silas, you're late! I told you not to play with your recruits!"
He bellowed.
Behind Jax, Adepts from the other seven squads were pouring into the void-scarred lands, their auras a beautiful, chaotic rainbow of colors. Commander Elara of the Sacral Chakra squad created a vortex of water and ice, attempting to freeze the Annihilator.
"Torrent of the Maelstrom!"
She screamed, her voice echoing across the wasteland.
The attacks, however, proved useless. The vortex of water simply evaporated, the ice turning to dust. The Annihilator's formless shape didn't change, but it seemed to grow larger, as if it had just feasted. The creature, enraged, turned its attention to the Adepts.
A small, wiry man with a purple aura, Commander Ezra of the Crown Chakra squad, stepped forward. He held a long, black blade that seemed to drink the light around it. It was a Celetra, a blade crafted from the shattered pieces of dead gods, one of the few weapons that could harm an Annihilator. It was one of a handful of such weapons, and each of the ten squad leaders possessed one.
Ezra's movements were precise and methodical. He raised his blade and, with a grunt, thrust it forward. The blade, a void itself, tore a gash in the Annihilator's formless shape. A shriek, a sound of pure agony, erupted from the creature, and it reeled back. But before it could recover, Ezra delivered a second, more powerful strike. The blade sliced through the Annihilator, and the creature simply vanished, swallowed whole by the Celetra.
Ezra then turned to Silas.
"The chakra signature is weak,"
Ezra said, his voice as calm and collected as his aura.
"But the void pattern… it's not native to the Nexus. This one came from the Whorl."
"The Whorl?"
Silas asked, his voice a low growl.
"I was afraid of that."
"This is the third one this month,"
Ezra said, his eyes scanning the horizon.
"Their attacks are getting more frequent. They're probing our defenses."
Valen watched, mesmerized, as Ezra dispatched the Annihilator with a single strike. Silas, his face a mask of profound understanding, walked over to Valen's collapsed form. He knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I knew it,"
he said, his voice a whisper.
"I knew you were special."
Valen's eyes fluttered open. He looked up at Silas, his mind a swirling mess of confusion and pain.
"What… what just happened?"
he asked, his voice a raw whisper.
Silas smiled, a genuine, warm smile that transformed his gaunt face.
"You just fought a void with a void. You are an Annihilator, Valen. But you are not like them. You are one of us."
Valen's mind, still struggling to comprehend, could only focus on one thing.
"My family… can I bring them back?"
Silas's smile faded, replaced by a look of sorrow. He shook his head.
"I don't know. No one has ever been able to. But… you are the first one of your kind. The first Annihilator to ever absorb another Annihilator. Perhaps… you are the key."
Valen lay there, his mind a swirling mess of emotions and pain, his body a lifeless husk. He had done what no one else could. He had defeated an Annihilator. But in doing so, he had become a monster.
And he didn't even know it. He just wanted to find a way to make the void go away, and to bring back the color that had been taken from his life. He lay there, panting, as the Annihilator's roar echoed through the silent, void-scarred lands, a sound that was so familiar to him it was almost comforting, a sound that promised oblivion.
And for the first time in his life, Valen didn't feel like running.
He wanted to fight. He just didn't know how. And as the Annihilator got closer, he felt a strange, cold comfort as the void inside of him seemed to stir, a quiet, expectant hum.
He was a void, and he was about to meet his twin. He was about to find his purpose. He was about to become the weapon that would either save the world or consume it.