Chapter I: Genesis

In the depths of an abyssal void, silence reigns—absolute, suffocating. No light. No sound. Only stillness. It pins me in place, sightless, immobile, swallowed by isolation and the unbearable weight of frozen consciousness.

Where am I?

Falling... fracturing into nothingness. I ache to breathe, to draw breath that refuses to come.

Am I dead?

Confusion coils around my thoughts as I try to understand this place—myself. What happened? How did I arrive here? Sensations stir faintly, ghostlike, gliding across the edge of awareness as I drift, untethered, in a void without anchor.

Am I alive?

Let me live.

The thought rings like a prayer—a desperate plea to reclaim the thrum of existence, to feel, to be. I am alive.
But... what am I?

Time fractures. Eternities flicker past like moments.

Then—a spark. A bloom of colour. Searing, violent light tearing across the dark, stitching the void with impossible speed.

Who am I?

My eyes open—slowly.

The world unfolds. Alien. Familiar. My hand brushes against something soft, filmy, barely tangible. A veil between being and oblivion. On the other side, a figure takes shape, its hand mirroring mine across the translucent barrier. Our palms align.

Can you let me in?

I hover at the threshold of the aether, an ocean of scattered stars. Suspended between worlds. Caught in a liminal space—neither anchored nor adrift.

Please… you have to say it… say I can come in.

“You can come in.”

Urgency takes hold. I press against the membrane—it shatters like brittle glass. Our hands clasp.

A jolt.

A reunion. A remembering.

Clarity rushes in like a flood.

“Beyond the stars, outside time and space, I was born—and there I belong.

In my dreaming place, the totality hums a lullaby only I can hear.

It echoes through the marrow of my soul, and in the shadows of my mind.

I am the Ænigma.”

A man in a lab coat sprinted through a dim corridor, bathed in the pulsing crimson of an emergency alarm. Each step was a frantic beat in a race for his life. Behind him, shrieks cut through the air—inhuman and relentless. He didn’t dare look back.

In his hand, he gripped a black metallic orb, roughly the size of a baseball. Its surface shimmered like a Buckminsterfullerene—dense, perfect geometry forged in some forbidden crucible.

He reached a vault-like door, punched a sequence into the keypad, swiped his access card. The hydraulics hissed open. Slipping through, he yanked at the door—but a clawed, pincer-like hand slammed into the narrowing gap, halting the seal.

From the other side, a rasping female voice broke through.

“It’s… me… Margaret.”

His eyes widened with panic.

“I’m sorry!”

He kicked at the intruding pincer. Muffled cries of pain echoed beyond the door. Another kick. The claw recoiled. The door sealed shut.

Gasping, he turned to face the chamber.

An open-air laboratory unfolded before him—spanning a vast dome, its framework echoing the same fused-ring latticework as the orb in his hand. A pale sunrise bled across the horizon, washing the scene in amber light. At the dome’s centre stood a machine—monolithic and ancient, reminiscent of Stonehenge, with towering metal pylons arcing skyward. Beneath them, a circular platform gleamed with dormant energy.

He crossed the dewy grass, each step crunching underfoot. At the platform’s centre, he extended his arm and released the orb. It hovered, suspended, defying gravity. A hum filled the air.

A voice crackled to life from a nearby console—calm, mechanical, female. The Researcher.

“Initiate calibration of Athena’s Sphere. Assess Cosmos Magnitude.”

The sun climbed higher, casting an ethereal light through the fractured dome. The machine vibrated with quiet anticipation.

“Cosmos Magnitude analysis complete,” the AI reported.

The man exhaled, just as the voice erupted in alarm.

“Warning. Mesosphere Magnitude Void detected. Initiate quarantine protocol.”

He spun, confusion plastered across his face. The sealed door behind him was now eclipsed by a towering, grotesque silhouette.

A creature loomed—its frame elongated, insectile. Pincers in place of hands, each bristling with malformed fingers. Legs like a deer’s—but ending in apelike talons. From its elongated head, three human faces draped downward, eyes weeping, mouths grinning in unison. All wore the same expression—one of sorrow… and recognition.

It struck—clamping its pincer around his neck and lifting him effortlessly. His feet kicked at the air.

“Margaret...” he gasped.

Their eyes met—three pairs of tear-filled, blue irises locked with his. The creature turned its gaze to the orb, now glowing with liquid, bluish energy.

A deafening impact.

The dome above shattered. Grotesque monsters poured in—Voids, each hideous and unique, drawn to the orb like scavengers to carrion. Chaos erupted. The Researcher's voice glitched and sputtered:

“Warning! Quarantine Failure! Multiple Magnitude Voids Detected: Troposphere... Stratosphere... Mesosphere... Thermosphere... Exosphere…”

The Voids ignored the man entirely. They fought one another—feral, brutal—for the orb. Explosions ripped through the facility. The earth itself convulsed. The sky cracked. Lightning burst from the platform’s core, defying gravity, splitting the heavens.

The machine came alive—its metal pillars stretching and twisting, then vanishing into the ether.

A rupture opened overhead. From the breach, something fell—fast, burning—tearing the line between heaven and earth.

Reality contorted.

Landscapes twisted into impossible geometries. Up became down. Straight lines bent. Mountains floated. Cities folded like paper.

Then—silence.

Shards erupted from the broken sky—celestial, jagged. Star-shaped spikes, glowing, innumerable, slicing through Voids like divine weapons. Those closest to the orb were obliterated, torn into nothing.

The man stirred, rising from the rubble.

He turned. Standing on the tower’s edge was a young woman. Her red wolf-cut hair danced in the wind. She wore a charred, torn lab coat over a black, rose-patterned dress shirt. Her jeans were scorched, her stance defiant.

Below them, the city writhed—a chaos of folding architecture and broken gravity. The dome had been atop a tower all along.

Her eyes shimmered—reflecting galaxies, trembling with rage and sorrow.

“What happened to my world?” she whispered, her voice low with anguish.

Behind her, the sound of footsteps.

She turned.

The man approached, hollow-eyed and broken.

“Please… save us, Alice.”

***

“Move! Move! Move! It won't wait for you! It can kill you in the blink of an eye!” barked the instructor—a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early forties, his blonde hair cropped short, his full beard lending him an air of seasoned authority. His piercing gaze scanned the recruits, scrutinising every movement with cold precision.

The trainees sprinted across the terrain, their suits shimmering as they phase-shifted from point to point, attempting to keep up with their blurring multi-speed targets.

A contained Void—temporarily pacified for training—suddenly broke formation. It veered mid-flight and attacked, snatching one recruit mid-air and slamming him down toward the ground with feral violence.

Pinned, the recruit stared into the face of an elongated, spectral figure. Its distorted visage hovered inches above his, reflected in the curved screen of his visor. Its mouth twisted grotesquely, parting to reveal rows of jagged teeth. It lunged forward, jaws unhinging to devour his head whole.

The recruit reacted instinctively—he drew his sidearm and fired. The point-blank shot struck the Void in its core. The creature twitched, spasmed, and collapsed, lifeless.

With a grunt, the recruit kicked the limp body off and scrambled toward the designated safe zone, adrenaline fuelling his every move. But his escape was short-lived.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

The field ahead, once clear, was now swarming. Three distinct Void clusters had emerged, surrounding him in a suffocating triad. No way forward. No way back. He was trapped—caught in a tightening snare of horror.

Heart pounding, he reached for a gear change—only to freeze as a glaring warning flashed across his HUD:

"WARNING: Artificial Cosmos Insufficient."

Before he could react, a Void struck from the shadows—its arms locking around his throat in a brutal headlock. He crashed to the ground. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Icy dread surged through him, draining the colour from his face. Sweat poured down his temples as panic seized his voice.

“SOMEBODY! HELP ME!”

Another recruit entered the scene like a blade through mist.

She wielded a translucent weapon—ethereal, bladed light. With surgical precision, she sliced through the Void restraining her comrade. The creature collapsed in two neat halves.

But there was no time for relief.

All around them, chaos reigned—multiple recruits were caught in similar traps. Her eyes flicked across the carnage, calculating.

She adjusted her equipment, rerouting its energy output to max efficiency—but only for 9.57 seconds. Just enough time to act before her gear overheated and risked detonation.

Her voice, low and focused, broke the tension.

“Fifteen Voids... eighteen recruits. Death shall do them part.”

She inhaled.

“Breathe in... Breathe out.”

Her eyes, visible beneath her visor, shimmered—radiant with a kaleidoscopic surge of Cosmos energy. A final whisper:

“Farewell.”

Then she vanished—zig-zagging across the terrain with fluid, near-impossible grace. Trees, craters, roots, and steel scaffolds passed in blinks. When she reappeared, the training ground fell still.

Fifteen Voids lay motionless, their remains dissipating like smoke.

Without a word, she walked away.

The session was over.

The room was dimly lit, the bluish glow of a projector illuminating the faces of gathered recruits. On-screen: disfigured shapes, footage of prior encounters, and fragmented recordings of what few survived them.

The synthetic voice of Lecturer, NIX’s AI interface, filled the silence.

“Voids manifest in countless grotesque forms. Though primarily hostile toward sentient species—including one another—instances of dormancy have been observed. Current theories propose that Voids are physical embodiments of conscious and subconscious thought—summoned by intense emotion: trauma, fear, grief, rage.”

A ripple of unease passed through the room.

“They are not dissimilar to poltergeists—manifesting from psychic stress, and capable of real-world harm.”

A hand rose from the audience.

“Lecturer, are Voids indestructible? If so... how can we fight back?”

Several recruits murmured in agreement.

Slouched at the rear of the hall, a young man sat with one leg crossed lazily over the other. He spun a silver coin across his knuckles, watching it rise and fall like a pendulum. Unlike the others, he seemed detached, even bored. But his movements were precise—deliberate.

The Lecturer responded:

“Their physiology remains incomprehensible. Voids demonstrate abilities such as matter mimicry, telekinesis, short-range teleportation, and biological corruption—capable of converting both living and deceased hosts into new Voids. They are most active after dusk.”

The recruits leaned forward, captivated or horrified.

The young man continued his sleight-of-hand: flipping the coin, catching it, letting it dance across his knuckles.

“Some Voids possess high intelligence and bipedal humanoid forms. They communicate. Coordinate. Their neural architecture is advanced—but lacks mirror neurons, making empathy impossible. To them, all life is prey. Their cruelty is not learned—it is inherent.”

A new scene appeared onscreen: a Void tearing through a patrol, its actions methodical, unfeeling. A few recruits turned away, pale-faced. One fainted.

“Voids are vulnerable to kinetic trauma when laced with extraterrestrial energy: Cosmos. This energy is wielded most effectively by individuals known as Quasars, or through specially designed M.J.O.R.N.I.R. weapons—engineered with Cosmos-conductive materials.”

The coin arced through the air. The young man caught it between his index and middle fingers with practised flair.

Silence fell once more as the Lecturer concluded.

“Now, the top five scorers from the NIX Stargazer Final Exam.”

A murmur of tension passed through the room. Eyes turned toward the front.

“1. Evangeline Weiss
2. Paul Sievernich
3. Tetsuo Kenshin
4. Lucy Drakenstein
5. Felix Quantum.”

A subtle smile spread across the young man's face.

He rose from his seat—Felix Quantum—just as the hall began to empty. Some recruits looked inspired. Others anxious. A few, openly fearful.

Felix pocketed the coin.

His fingers brushed the hilt of a blade hidden beneath his coat.

And then, without ceremony, he slipped through the crowd.

***

It was the eleventh hour of a chilly October night, a bitter wind sliced through the narrow alley, carrying with it the sharp sting of a late-autumn chill. Felix stood alone, the icy air cutting through his dirty blond hair, styled in a swept-back undercut with jagged, spiky fringes that danced in the breeze. He tugged his short, single-breasted black hooded jacket tighter around his frame, shoulders hunched, breath visible in the faint streetlight glow.

He waited—silent, composed, but alert.

This meeting was not casual. It was an exchange with the leader of the Paradox Movement—a covert resistance network convinced that NIX, the sprawling global conglomerate, was far more than a benevolent tech empire. According to the Paradox Movement, NIX’s corporate veneer masked a clandestine operation involving human experimentation, weaponised consciousness, and the engineered monstrosities known as Voids. They believed civilians were being manipulated, conditioned—turned into soldiers without ever realising they’d enlisted.

Felix’s pulse quickened, but not from fear. I need to close this deal. If I want to save them, I need this money—tonight.

Footsteps echoed—sharp, deliberate—approaching from the alley’s far end.

Two figures emerged from the shadows. Their faces were obscured by the wide brims of charcoal hats, their trench coats soaked in shadow.

Felix took a step forward and held out a small cube, no larger than his palm. It resembled a Rubik’s Cube, but its surface shimmered with faint, shifting colours—an encrypted container only someone with the right sequence could unlock.

“Here it is. As agreed,” he said evenly.

The taller of the two stepped forward and accepted the device. With practised ease, he rotated the faces, aligning the colours in a specific sequence. With a soft click, the lid popped open. He peered inside—his expression unreadable—then gave a slight nod to his partner.

From beneath his coat, the second man produced a thin folder and handed it to Felix. It was secured with a biometric lock, which disengaged at Felix’s touch.

Inside: a tightly packed bundle of high-denomination credits. Seven hundred and thirty thousand.

“More than enough.” A spark of relief flickered behind Felix’s eyes.

But the taller man’s curiosity got the better of him.

“How did you get it?” he asked, eyeing Felix with sudden scrutiny. “You weren’t supposed to find it. Our agents scoured the entire sector. We wouldn't have needed you if it were that easy.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Felix replied calmly. “I found it tucked away in an old storage unit. Hidden under some boxes. I got lucky.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Lucky? Don’t insult my intelligence.”

Felix tensed. “I’m not lying.”

Before the moment escalated further, the second man—the one holding the cube—intervened.

“He’s telling the truth,” he said. “The sequence was unaltered. No tampering.”

A pause. Then a sigh.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

He turned to his partner, motioning for him to follow. Then, glancing back at Felix:

“This meeting never happened. Understand?”

Felix nodded. “Crystal clear.”

Without another word, the two men vanished into the darkness, swallowed by the alley’s shadows.

Felix stood alone once more—his breath misting in the cold air, the folder clutched tight in his gloved hand.