The Canyon of Whispers earned its name from the wind that whistled through its jagged obsidian walls, sounding like the frantic pleas of a thousand dying spirits. It was a natural blind spot for the Academy's satellite surveillance, shielded by high concentrations of magnetic iron.
Raiden stood on a high ledge, the Cloak of the Unseen flapping silently behind him. Below, the canyon floor was a river of silver light. An armored transport convoy—sleek, levitating white pods marked with the Academy's sun crest—moved with mechanical precision.
« Essence... » the Archive hissed in his mind. « The purity... I want to stain it. »
Raiden didn't wait for a tactical opening. He stepped off the ledge.
The fall was hundreds of feet, but as he neared the ground, he slammed his hand into the canyon wall. Black rust erupted from his palm, carving a deep trench in the rock to slow his descent. He landed directly in front of the lead transport pod with a bone-jarring thud.
The convoy screeched to a halt. The side panels of the pods slid open, and a dozen Paladins—higher-tier soldiers than the Erasers, clad in heavy white plate armor—stepped out, their energy claymores glowing with a blinding gold light.
"An intruder? In the Dead Zone?" the lead Paladin barked, his voice booming through his helmet. "Identify yourself!"
Raiden didn't speak. He reached into the void of his cloak and pulled. The Archive didn't manifest as a sword this time; it flowed out like liquid tar, wrapping around his legs and arms until he looked like a demonic silhouette.
"The Zero," the Paladin whispered, his grip tightening on his claymore. "The Board said you were a myth. Men! Form the Circle of Sanctity!"
The Paladins surrounded him, planting their blades into the ground. A dome of golden light erupted, designed to vaporize anything with a "corrupted" signature. But Raiden didn't burn. He stood in the center of the holy fire, his matte-black eyes reflecting the flickering gold.
"Your light... it has no weight," Raiden said.
He lunged.
His movement was a blur of ink. He didn't use a weapon; he used his hands. Every time he touched a Paladin's armor, the metal didn't just dent—it rotted. The pristine white plate turned to brittle brown flakes in seconds. The Void-Light Resonance he had gained from Mia pulsed in his chest, allowing him to ignore their energy shields as if they weren't there.
Raiden was a whirlwind of controlled carnage. He tore the power cores directly out of their suits, the Archive greedily drinking the high-density Essence within. The Paladins screamed, not from physical wounds, but from the terrifying sensation of their very souls being vacuumed out.
In minutes, the canyon floor was littered with rusted husks. Only the lead Paladin remained, his shield flickering and weak.
"You... you are a monster," the soldier gasped, falling to his knees.
Raiden walked toward the main transport pod. He ignored the man. With a single punch, he shattered the reinforced door of the cargo hold. Inside, hundreds of glass canisters filled with shimmering, liquid Essence glowed like captured stars.
But in the center of the cargo, there was something else. A small, black box engraved with the same Closed Eye symbol that was on Raiden's palm.
As his hand neared the box, the Archive on his wrist went silent. A cold, ancient fear radiated from the metal.
"Don't... open... it..." a voice whispered. It wasn't the Archive. It wasn't the Merchant. It was his own voice, buried deep beneath the fog of forgotten memories.
Raiden's hand hesitated. But then, a red dot appeared on his chest.
[Target Locked]
A massive beam of white energy descended from the sky, vaporizing the rock where Raiden stood. High above the canyon, a figure descended—not a soldier, but a man in a simple gray robe, his feet bare, his eyes glowing with the terrifying serenity of a god.
One of the Founders.
"You've been a very busy shadow, Raiden," the Founder said, his voice echoing through the entire canyon. "But the Archive belongs to the sky, not the dirt."