The air in the Inner District of Aureum-Primus had become a pressurized medium of market value. Every breath Ren took felt like inhaling liquid gold, a heavy, sterile substance that coated his lungs in a debt. The diamond streets beneath his boots had ceased to be a road and had become a stage, a wide, crystalline arena where the golden sky above watched with a billion unblinking, mercenary eyes.
Ren stood in the center of the 'Plaza of Liquid Sun', his breathing was a ragged, metallic sound that echoed against the diamond towers. He was a wreckage of divinity. His porcelain skin was spider-webbed with crimson fissures, and the synchronization was a roaring furnace in his marrow that he had only barely brought under control by wounding his own ego.
[Synchronization: 65.0% (STABILIZED)]
[Condition: Midas-Infection (Stage 2)]
