The rooftop meeting at the Wool Exchange Building left a mark on my mind.
I knew full well that none of it was recorded in any news outlet, and the information couldn't be traded. They were like gambling house owners who set the rules of the game for their players. My offer to join them had been accepted, but I knew exactly where I stood, I was no partner in the usual sense. I was a fighting dog they had just purchased, unleashed into the arena to entertain its masters and, if lucky, win a few battles for them. My first task, to cripple House Droct's influence, was proof of that. They had made me a pawn in a game of monumental scale, so, for now, I would play along.
I returned to my routine with a renewed focus. Mornings were spent at the Fravikveidimadr training center under the supervision of Second Lieutenant Gerald Vahtrein. Those sessions were like physical hell, which I embraced. Every punch, every torn muscle was an opportunity to understand the limits of this body and how to push it further using Void Essence. Gerald in his brutal and straightforward way, unknowingly became the best teacher I'd ever had in the practical application of my power. He taught me survival, how to endure pain, and how to turn weakness into resilience.
By day, I was Welt Rothes, director of Doyle Acquisition. I worked from my new headquarters, a building I had deliberately purchased in the Financial District, just blocks away from the Wool Exchange Building. I no longer hid. Now was the right time to make a statement, indirectly. I had placed myself right at the heart of the spider's nest, allowing the Consortium to keep a close watch. I managed my information network, analyzed market data, and issued instructions to Finch and the others. My war with House Droct continued on the economic front.
But at night, the night belonged to 'W'.
It was an identity I had crafted with care. 'W' was not Welt Rothes, but a reversed 'M', a deliberate reference. He had no past, no emotions, no doubts. W was a concept, and a function. I named him after the reversed initial of a fictional criminal genius from my former world, James Moriarty. Because I understood, no matter how monstrous an Aberration may be, it would never outmatch the intelligence of what civilization calls "human."
That night, I received a message through one of the encrypted channels I had established. The message wasn't from the Consortium or Fravikveidimadr. It came from Magpie.
"A special cargo will arrive at Dock Seven at midnight. According to sources, it's not ordinary goods. They call it the 'Mechanical Heart.' Escorted by a personal unit from House Valerius. Highly confidential."
House Valerius. The family of Roshtov and Lian. I'd read about them during my years at the academy, an old noble house renowned for their expertise in mechanical engineering and alchemy. Mechanical Heart. The name alone was enough to pique my interest.
I donned the gear of 'W', a charcoal-black fitted suit made from sound-dampening material, leather gloves, and a cold porcelain mask. I left my penthouse not through the door, that would be too loud, but through the window, descending into the rooftops of Clockthon like a shadow.
The harbor district at night was a different world entirely. The noise of trade was replaced by a haunting silence, broken only by the crashing waves and the distant calls of guards on the night shift. I moved soundlessly across the warehouse rooftops, Void Essence cloaking my body, bending light and sound around me. I was invisible, at least from a distance.
I arrived at Dock Seven. From my perch atop a massive crane, I had a full view of the area. The dock had clearly been cleared out. Dozens of guards in House Valerius uniforms formed a tight perimeter. These weren't regular guards, not for something this secret. They were at least Archetype Eight Evolvers, trained soldiers moving with military discipline. At the center of the dock, a large reinforced metal crate was being unloaded from an unmarked cargo ship.
A military operation.
I kept watching. I had no intention of stealing the cargo, too risky, too foolish. My goal was information. What was the "Mechanical Heart," and why was House Valerius, supposedly a military ally of House Droct, conducting a covert operation in their territory?
As the crate was placed on the dock, I sensed a faint Essence, or rather, a presence. It was similar to the night I encountered Forre, but different. Forre embodied the void. This… this was gravity. A crushing force that bore down on everything around it. Even for me, it was excruciating.
Then I saw it. Standing in the shadow of a stack of crates, a figure that hadn't been there before, or perhaps I had failed to notice. He wore a tattered gray cloak, his face wrapped in filthy bandages, revealing only a single eye glowing with an unnatural pale blue light. I could tell he wasn't armed, but his hunched posture radiated power. The Essence fluctuations around him were erratic, surging one moment, vanishing the next.
The Valerius guards didn't seem to notice him. They were too focused on the cargo. As they began to move the crate onto an armored transport, the bandaged figure moved, incredibly fast.
He didn't run. It was as if the wind carried him. One moment he was in the shadows, the next he was beside the armored transport, hand reaching toward the metal crate.
"Stop him!" the Valerius commander shouted.
The guards reacted instantly. Five of them charged at the figure, their Essence-forged swords glowing.
And then, the real show began.
The bandaged figure didn't dodge. He simply raised one hand. A glowing blue sigil appeared mid-air, etched in blood on his palm, a complex symbol, shining with the same pale blue light.
Thrummm.
A low hum filled the air. The guards' swords froze mid-strike, suspended in the air. The density of the air had been manipulated, made as solid as a wall, at least that was my analysis. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the swords turned and struck their wielders.
The guards screamed as their own weapons sliced through armor and flesh. This wasn't telekinesis, not any kind I'd seen. He wasn't even directly controlling the swords. The strange symbols seemed to move the objects, likely connected through his mind.
The Valerius commander, a hardened middle-aged man, roared in fury. Data from the Consortium pegged him as a Archetype Seven Evolver of the Juggernaut Channel. His body expanded, skin hardening into steel. He charged like a bull. "Die, Aberration!"
The bandaged figure stared at him with that one glowing eye, unmoving. And just as the Juggernaut reached him, the figure whispered a word. I couldn't hear it clearly, it was bizarre, like reversed Ghulben. I knew Ghulben was the ancient language of the fallen Vormihadreth Empire, destroyed in the "Greater Cataclysm" a millennium ago.
Crack!
The commander's living armor shattered. I saw no physical blow land on him. The Juggernaut dropped to his knees, coughing blood. His body shrank to normal size, his power utterly erased, swallowed by the figure.
"What kind of Aberration is this…" I whispered to myself. "Is this what they call a High Aberration?"
It wasn't one of the mainstream Channels, not ,The Creator", not "The Sage". This was something else entirely. I couldn't identify it, not yet.
The figure touched the crate. The same blue sigil glowed on his hand. The crate didn't open in any conventional way, it melted. The reinforced metal softened, flowing like wax. I saw what lay within.
Inside, resting on black velvet, was a crystal sphere the size of a human heart. At its center spun an intricate mechanical gear, slowly turning. From what I could feel, the motion generated Essence, pure, powerful, refined. That was the Mechanical Heart.
The figure took the crystal orb. Alarms began to blare across the dock. More guards swarmed in.
He turned, his glowing eye locking directly onto my hidden position on the crane. Perhaps he knew he was being watched. I wasn't sure, could an Aberration think so clearly?
Then, he slipped the Mechanical Heart into his cloak, and his body began to vanish, not just invisible, but gone. No trace, no presence.
I stayed in place, processing what I had just seen. The entire battle had lasted less than a minute, but it had expanded my understanding of the power systems in this world.
What kind of Archetype could do this? Archetype Three? Maybe even Archetype Two?
I left Dock Seven before Fravikveidimadr or the Consortium arrived to clean up the mess. I didn't get the Mechanical Heart, but I gathered critical intel on a High Aberration, one I could potentially hunt when I was strong enough. I could use this as leverage against House Valerius if necessary.
Back in my penthouse, I couldn't sleep. I stared out the window, over a city that now seemed darker than ever. This chessboard of power would keep evolving, into a form I might never fully predict. Chess holds more possibilities than the universe itself.
My thoughts returned to Silas and his altruistic Channel. Then to Forre, The Rebel, the anti-force. And now, this bandaged figure. I had dismissed the existence of such entities, a blind spot in my thinking.
And what about me? The Bizarre Dao of the Outers, the Void Essence. Was I also one of them? Was my power also born from the "wounds" in the world Silas mentioned?
I opened The Throne of Nothing. I had read it dozens of times, each time differently, with new ways of understanding. I was looking for clues, for the origins of the most fundamental kinds of power.
I found it in one of the final chapters, a section I had once dismissed as rambling.
"Essence is the language of the universe. Most Evolvers merely learn its vocabulary: fire, wind, strength. They are average speakers. But some study its grammar. They add new diction and craft more precise sentences. Some call them poets. And beyond them, there are those who create entire languages, ones that defy all the rules of the old."
That bandaged figure... without a doubt, he had created such a "language", an independent Channel never documented.
Which meant, one day, I could too. By understanding this universal language.
I closed the book. The chessboard had become a thousand times larger, and infinitely more complex. My plan to dominate this world through economic and informational control now seemed naïve.
Or perhaps… a mere attempt to dam the sea with sand.