The world around Legion falls into an eerie silence. Birds no longer sing, the wind is still, and even the air feels stagnant as if caught in a moment that doesn’t belong to time. Legion stands, his mechanical frame humming softly, facing Ehrek, the embodiment of space itself. Ehrek moves toward him, but his steps grow slower and slower, each one stretching into a drawn-out eternity until even his form seems frozen in place.

Legion takes a step forward, approaching the suspended figure of Ehrek. Yet, just as he gets close, Ehrek's voice echoes ominously, reverberating from all directions, "You don’t realize it yet, but you are already dead."

Legion spins, scanning the silent, stilled world, searching for the true source of the voice. "They say space and time are bound together," Ehrek’s voice continues, disembodied and unsettling. "Let’s see how true that statement really is." When Legion turns back, Ehrek’s body has vanished.

Panic sparks within Legion’s circuits. His sword ignites in bright crimson, and he slashes wildly in every direction, releasing arcs of red energy that hang, suspended in the air, frozen like the world around him. Legion watches the red slashes float, illuminating the darkening sky, then reaches for his second blade. He twirls both weapons, planting them into the ground with force, and a red beam surges upwards, splitting the heavens with a crimson glow that stops high in the sky. Yet even that light, fierce and blazing, appears caught in the strange, timeless stasis.

Then, Ehrek emerges from the shadows of the trees, circling around Legion, his appearance transformed. This time, his armor is no mere metal; it’s an endless cosmos, stars and galaxies swirling within its depths, each facet of his body reflecting the vastness of the universe. The very fabric of space itself seems woven into his form.

“Time is fragile, Legion," Ehrek murmurs, his voice smooth and inexorable. "But space... space is the anchor of how you perceive time. Together, they create the fabric of reality. What you see now—this vastness—is spacetime itself." The world around them plunges into darkness, not the dimness of night, but an absolute, pitch-black void where all light, all matter, seems erased.

Ehrek’s voice drifts from the emptiness, like a whisper echoing across galaxies, "Time is catching up, slowly… but surely." Then, in an instant, he’s right before Legion, his cosmic eyes bearing down. "I am the event, Legion, the singularity that allows your existence to even be possible. And you," Ehrek's voice hardens, "crossed the horizon long ago."

Legion feels it then—a profound dread that stills even his mechanical heart. He is paralyzed, locked in place, as Ehrek raises his hand and drives a blade of cosmic energy straight through Legion’s chest. Legion feels the very essence of his being unraveling as Ehrek's other hand tightens around his head.

"You’ll be the first of many," Ehrek intones, his voice resonating with finality. "The H-Event has already begun."

With a swift, merciless motion, Ehrek crushes Legion's head, and his lifeless body collapses to the ground. In an instant, the world snaps back to normal—leaves rustle, birds sing, and the wind returns, as if none of it had ever happened. All that remains is Ehrek, the embodiment of a dark, unyielding cosmos, standing alone amidst the silent aftermath.

Ehrek gazes down at what remains of Legion’s body, the lifeless form sprawled across the ground. His breath hitches as he studies the crushed head and gaping wound in the chest. With a grim resolve, he turns away, the weight of his actions bearing heavily on his shoulders. Reaching out, he opens a wormhole with a flick of his wrist, sliding his sword into the void. The portal snaps shut, leaving only the eerie silence of the aftermath.

He trudges toward the cathedral, each step heavier than the last. The massive wooden doors groan as he pushes them open, revealing the dimly lit interior. A few heads turn, their wary eyes scanning the figure in battle-scarred armor as he stumbles inside. Their expressions flicker between concern and unease.

“I didn’t mean to,” Ehrek begins, his voice rough with exhaustion. “He just... attacked me. It wasn’t even a sparring match. That beam—it nearly destroyed the entire cathedral.”

The words linger in the air as a figure materializes from thin air. Gong-gi steps outside without a word, his presence a sharp contrast to the tension filling the room. Meanwhile, Schein rushes to Ehrek’s side, his face etched with worry.

“Are you okay?” Schein asks, his hands briefly hovering near Ehrek’s arm before hesitating. “I know you’re still injured. He... Legion, he wasn’t himself after you came out of Merkmal’s room. Something was wrong.”

Ehrek nods faintly, his movements sluggish. “I’m fine,” he mutters, though his voice lacks conviction. “It took everything I had to take him down.” His form wavers, shimmering briefly as his battle-altered appearance begins to fade. The transformation back to his normal state is slow, as though even that requires strength he no longer has. “This,” he gestures faintly to himself, “this is what I look like under the armor.”

The creak of the cathedral door draws their attention. Gong-gi strides in, Legion’s mangled body draped across his arms like a grim trophy. Blood drips steadily onto the stone floor as he walks, unflinching, toward Merkmal’s quarters. The sight draws murmurs from the gathered onlookers, their unease growing palpable.

Ehrek drags himself to a nearby table, slumping into a chair with a deep sigh. “Seems like I can’t catch a break, huh?” he mutters bitterly, glancing up at Schein as he joins him.

From Gong-gi’s perspective, the scene shifts as he enters Merkmal’s workshop. The room smells of oil and paint, the faint hum of magic lingering in the air. Merkmal, oblivious to the commotion outside, is hunched over his workbench, meticulously applying fresh paint to a set of intricate armor.

Without preamble, Gong-gi says, “Put his body on the bed,” and lays Legion down carefully. The limp form seems even smaller against the pristine linens, a stark reminder of the chaos that transpired moments ago.

The room falls silent save for Merkmal’s brush strokes, the methodical sound a haunting counterpoint to the scene of devastation.

The room hums with an almost sacred quiet as Gong-gi places Legion’s lifeless body onto the bed. Merkmal doesn’t turn from his work, his hand still moving with deliberate precision as he applies a final stroke of paint to the ornate armor. Without looking up, he speaks in a low, contemplative tone, the words flowing effortlessly, as though he already knew the tragedy that had unfolded.

“彼の死は残酷に見えます…どうしてこんなことが起きたのか理解できません。” (His death looks barbaric… I don’t understand how this could have happened.)

Gong-gi glances at him, the faintest trace of surprise flickering across his otherwise composed face. “You knew?”

Merkmal sets the paintbrush down, wiping his hands clean on a nearby cloth. His voice remains calm, though a subtle edge of suspicion colors his words. “I don’t know for certain, but my suspicions are forming. The burns on this armor... they’re remarkably similar to the way Schein’s fire manifests. That alone caught my attention. But the fact Ehrek killed Legion—” He trails off, standing to examine the body.

Merkmal’s piercing gaze sweeps over Legion’s crushed form. His tone shifts to one of reluctant admiration. “I knew Ehrek was strong, but to crush through phrik with raw strength? That’s impressive.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Gong-gi’s brow furrows, his confusion evident. “Phrik?”

Merkmal nods, gesturing toward the faint remnants of Legion’s shattered armor. “A material created from infused traits. Normally, it forms as a transparent substance, but if compressed enough, it becomes nearly indestructible—stronger than anything else in the known universe. Or so I thought.”

Merkmal places a hand on Legion’s chest, his touch igniting a faint royal blue glow that envelops the body. From the core of the lifeless form, two distinct orbs emerge—one blazing orange, the other a deep crimson, each surrounded by an ethereal blue hue.

“I can’t change the traits themselves,” Merkmal murmurs, his eyes flickering with a brilliance that matches the glow. “But I can alter their functionality. If I could change a trait into something entirely different... the possibilities would be endless. Imagine—traits that adapt to the wielder’s needs. But...” He pauses, his fingers curling around the orbs as the light dims. “Would it alter the person, too? Their mind? Their essence?”

Gong-gi shrugs, his expression unreadable as he turns to leave. “That’s your domain to worry about. For now, tell him the armor is ready. And keep an eye on him.”

Merkmal’s royal blue eyes flick back to Legion’s body as he snaps his fingers, causing the extracted traits to vanish in a shimmer of light. Gong-gi strides out, the weight of his steps dissipating as he enters the main room.

At the table, Ehrek and Schein are finishing their conversation, their voices low and subdued. Gong-gi approaches, his towering presence drawing their attention.

“Your armor is done,” Gong-gi announces curtly.

Ehrek excuses himself, his exhaustion evident in the way he rises from the chair. As he makes his way toward Merkmal’s quarters, the tension in the air thickens.

Inside, Merkmal sits at his workbench, his focus seemingly divided between a new project and Legion’s lifeless form. Ehrek approaches the newly completed armor, its design sleek and ominous, radiating an aura of power. Without hesitation, he begins removing pieces of his current armor and replacing them with the freshly forged set.

The silence is broken by Merkmal’s voice, sharp and probing. “So, who are you?”

Ehrek pauses briefly but continues fastening the armor. “I’m Ehrek,” he replies simply.

Merkmal’s voice cuts through the air like a blade. “No. Who. Are. You.”

A palpable force ripples through the room, emanating from Merkmal. It’s the unmistakable weight of Rewrite, an overwhelming sensation that threatens to peel back layers of reality itself.

Ehrek halts, his hands resting on the final piece of the armor. The air grows heavy, charged with unspoken questions and veiled accusations.

The room falls into an uneasy silence, the air thick with tension. The faint clinking of metal echoes as Ehrek secures the last pieces of his armor. Merkmal, still seated at his workbench, doesn’t glance up but finally speaks, his tone laced with an edge of curiosity.

“How much do you know?” Ehrek breaks the silence, his voice calm yet weighted with implication.

Merkmal freezes for a moment, his hand halting mid-repair. Then, with a measured tone, he responds, “So, there is a story behind this after all. I’ve fought you already, haven’t I? Likely Schein as well... perhaps even Gong-gi did too.”

Ehrek exhales, the sound carrying the weight of weariness and something deeper—resignation. “There are others in this reality like us—conduits. Beings who count others as forbidden simply for existing, labeling them threats. It’s ironic, really. Without all of us, existence itself wouldn’t be, or life as we know it would be completely different.”

Merkmal listens quietly, his hands resuming their work but with a slower, more deliberate rhythm, as if processing each word. Ehrek continues, his gaze distant.

“There’s a war,” Ehrek says, his voice low and reflective, “a war that’s probably existed since time itself began. When the first conduits emerged, so did the conflict. I’ve seen my weapons—all of them—a testament to the lineage they bear. Each blade, each tool, carries the echoes of a timeline long erased. I assume the events of this reality mirror my original: me falling from the sky, landing right before you. Again and again.”

Merkmal sets down a tool, his gaze finally lifting to meet Ehrek’s armored form. “Why do you fight?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and deliberate. Ehrek pauses, considering his answer. When he finally speaks, his tone is resolute, with a hint of pain.

“To stop the cycle,” he says. “And to get revenge on those who caused my downfall.”

Merkmal’s sharp eyes narrow. “And we three—Schein, Gong-gi, and I—just so happen to be the ones who wronged you?”

Ehrek shakes his head slowly. “No. But it’s not that simple. When you kill another conduit, you gain their cosmic essence—the very force that defines them. The other conduits, the ones who call themselves righteous, keep ‘forbidden’ ones like me at bay, ensuring we can’t grow stronger. Slaughtering us when they deem it necessary. They only need one essence to survive, but the stronger the conduit, the greater the reward. And after every reset, the conduit who fell must start over... weaker, stripped of everything they were. Watching that happen is...” He stops himself, his voice faltering for the first time.

“Let’s just say I was labeled as an outcast. A Forbidden Conduit.” He clenches a gauntleted fist, the metal groaning under the pressure. “I’ve killed Schein twice now, and Legion once. Each time, I’ve taken their essence. It’s given me more power, but my control over it is still faulty. And yet, if I’m to end this cycle, I must kill conduits. For the greater good.”

Merkmal leans back in his chair, his expression inscrutable as he studies Ehrek. The silence stretches once more, broken only by the faint hum of tools and the distant murmur of voices from outside.

“You really believe that slaughtering others like you will end this war?” Merkmal finally asks, his tone quiet but tinged with skepticism.

Ehrek’s gaze meets his, unwavering. “If it doesn’t end it, then at least it will stop the suffering. Someone has to take that burden.”

Ehrek secures the final piece of his armor, the sound of metal locking into place resonating through the room. With deliberate precision, he lifts the helmet, placing it firmly over his head. The faint hum of the armor's systems activating fills the air. He looks to Merkmal, his voice muffled but still coldly resolute.

“I see there’s a lot more to unpack here than I thought,” Merkmal mutters, turning to Ehrek, his expression a mixture of curiosity and disappointment. “But let’s be clear—your justification doesn’t make you right.”

Ehrek interrupts, his tone cutting through Merkmal’s words like a blade. “I don’t need to be right. Because, in the end, that’s not what matters.”

Merkmal falls silent for a moment, his gaze narrowing as he studies Ehrek. “So why tell me all of this?” he asks, his voice laced with suspicion. “You’re not even our Ehrek.”

Ehrek turns slightly, the glowing slits of his helmet casting an eerie light. His voice softens, almost imperceptibly. “Because you were the only one to take care of me. Even if this won’t last, you should at least understand something your Ehrek will never tell you.”

Merkmal’s hands still as he processes the weight of those words. Ehrek steps toward the door, the heavy armor making his movements deliberate and methodical.

“Goodbye, my only friend,” Ehrek says quietly, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic hint of sorrow. He pushes open the door, the creak of its hinges echoing ominously.

As he steps into the corridor, he’s immediately confronted by Gong-gi, his form rigid, his eyes burning with fury. The tension is palpable, the silence heavy as Gong-gi blocks Ehrek’s path.

“I don’t know what happened in there, and I don’t care,” Gong-gi says, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. “You killed Legion.”

Ehrek stops, his towering frame looming over Gong-gi. “His death won’t be in vain,” he replies, his tone calm yet unwavering.

Gong-gi shakes his head, his expression dark. “No, it’s too late for that. I thought you were a good person. But now... you’ve shown your true colors.”

He raises his sword, the blade gleaming in the faint light as he points it directly at Ehrek. The hallway grows still, the air heavy with the promise of violence.

Ehrek’s helmet tilts slightly, his voice coming out low and steady. “If you stand in my way, you’ll regret it.”

The two stand locked in a tense standoff, the weight of their conflict threatening to erupt at any moment.