CHAPTER FIFTEEN: SLAVE NO LONGER

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Nyte(POV)

“Oi, Drazel… Bring…” The voice fluctuated at the edge of his consciousness; he couldn’t focus on the distant yet familiar words.

Nyte felt an immense pressure bearing down on his consciousness, it echoed from a memory on the forefront of his mind, it thundered with authority, demanding he surrender to its power, stop trying, give up, and fall into the unfathomable darkness of the endless sleep.

"You… on… Harbinger essentials…” Came a voice as if through water, Nyte couldn't focus on it, he dared not.

The pressure consumed his entire world, just like the Dygan Syndicate, like Dante and Cipher until he had stood up, became something more than the slave the Dygan Syndicate had created, shaped him to be, he became a person, not a slave, for the first time he had tasted something. Autonomy.

Now against the pressure that radiated from the memory of the cruel outburst from his master and Chronfier parents powers, he refused to yield. He held onto his half-conscious state and pushed. He couldn't feel his body, but he could feel the force he exerted –like pressure building in his skull. It anchored him, yet it brought unimaginable pain.

Once again Nyte saw the truth in his master's harsh words, he felt his anchor slipping, giving way. Who was he after all against such power? He refused it but what power did his defiance hold?

Non.

Nyte had defied his master out of self-hate, a self-loathing that had consumed him entirely. He had expected death for his rebellion. Instead, Dante had treated him like a person, offering him a choice. That had been Nyte’s first taste of autonomy, and saying those words had taken all his strength –yet, in that moment, he had felt more alive than ever.

His master had been right, autonomy, freedom. They required power, power to make once choices, power to resist oppression, power to rest, and grow side by side with Chronifer and watch each other's backs. Yet against the echo, the memory of his master and his friends' power he had been brought to a state where his resistance seemed so futile. Could he ever control his own decisions in such a world? Nyte didn’t know but yet against the crushing and disastrous force of the memory he made another decision for himself for he was no longer a slave.

One day… he thought with a grunt, the pressure making thought hard. I'm going to… become powerful… powerful enough to have full control of my decision, my, my… I'm… going to have my own… autonomy

“Stop… fucking bitching…” thundered the voice through his screaming mind.

Nyte didn’t let up, he fought, struggled as much as he could, but he had not been strong enough. As he felt his anchor cease to hold him, he felt a deep torturous regret, what would it have looked like, a life where he made his own decisions? Be free from the oppression of power? There was so much he could have experienced yet.

He felt the pressure cut out so instantaneously he felt a dazzling vertigo slam up his mind. Then like an attack his sense of his body returned, the feel of the soft mattress beneath him, the folds of the blanket, then came the smell of something burning, it smelled of flowers.

Groaning Nyte rolled out of the bed, he fell down further than down he expected, his bed hadn't been that high in the Montcroix-Wythe mansion.

“Fuck…” He coughed out as he tried to get his eyes acclimated to the intense light.

“Never heard a truer word, little turd.” Came the voice of his master, Dante or as he was commonly known through the multiverse Cowardicelore.

“Ugh,” Nyte's eyes began cleaning, but he felt an intense headache ravaging his head.

“That shouldn't have worked according to the Harbinger essentials.” said a soft voice, so gentle that Nyte almost mistook it for that of a young girl.

“Shut your trap Drazel, you're gonna sound dumb if you keep yapping.” Dante said, his Gravelly voice sounding annoyed, yet indulging.

Nyte's eyes cleared and he saw the familiar figure of his master, Dante squatting before him, his pale white hair, and eyes unsettling, his skin like that of a corpse but with a slight glow to it, his maddening self assured grin uplifted by his unchanging stubble.

“Master…” he trailed off as he caught the figure of the person behind his master to his side. It was not Cipher, or Chronifer, the strange little boy. Standing behind his master was an unfamiliar boy. He was tall, dressed in loose leather trousers and a plain, milk-colored silken top, while not exactly the same style that Cipher and his son favored, it held a more modern feel of their fashion.

“Ah yes, Nyte, meet your roommate for the next four days. Drazel Kain a smart dumb fuck.” Dante introduced,

The boy Drazel opened and close his mouth multiple time as if finding the words of rebuke that wouldn’t seem disrespectful, he seemed to have failed, standing back in reluctant silence,

The boy ran his hand through his dark blonde hair streaked with black, cropped low. His face was smaller, lacking the stark, angular features of Chronifer and his family. Green-tinted glasses hid his eyes.

Nyte slightly dipped his head to the boy, a gesture Chronifer had often used to acknowledge him. The boy reluctantly dipped his too.

“Now, then it's time for me to get going, lads.” Dante stood up as he spoke.

“Wait. Where the fuck are we? What's going on?” Nyte asked, confused. “Where's Chronifer?”

“In the Jade Coven, as for the rest. Drazel, update the lad. Fuck!” Dante spoke in a hurried manner.

“What happened?” The boy Drazel beat Nyte to the question, in response to Dante's frightening loud curse.

“The Ruvashi Empire just sent another blasted Demigod! I've got to go, Little shits, I need the essence of this clone.” The figure of Dante burst into a multitude of creatures, snakes of different kinds, insects of different sizes and types all attached to a black core then like a mirage it was gone.

“What the fucks going on?” Nyte asked although still hung on his Earlier brush with death, his confusion intensified and his body pulsing with goose bumps. The creatures had all seemed skinned, their muscles and blood vessels open to see and the organs of some had hung in the air, their mouths had seemed to scream for freedom.

“The Integration.” Drazel, his voice a soft, yet hunting melody.

“Do you mean the system announcement earlier?” Nyte asked

“You should take a bit to rest up.” Drazel suggested, as he turned to sit down on his bed a ways from Nytes.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The words of the boy might have Seemed a simple suggestions, but to Nyte it sounded like a command. Nyte didn’t want to rest, he wasn't a slave to what people wanted or decisions made for him.

“Listening doesn't hurt.” Nyte said he had made a decision, he would make his own decisions, and aspire to his own wants.

“Are you sure about that?” Drazel said his eyebrows pitched up, his voice holding a soft hint of curiosity.

“Sure.” He said with a single nod. His headache caused him to winch.

Nyte smiled as the boy shrugged. It was a peculiar feeling –making his own decisions. He felt free, though he knew it was a lie. He had seen it before; his choices only mattered in front of the weak, those not so different from himself. But before true power, before overwhelming oppression, they would falter.

He would always remember how Slora had asked for his opinion during her tea tastings –never demanded, only asked. That small gesture had meant something. Nyte could live with that. He respected her for it.

“Introductions anew. Coherent introductions.” He began seeming to release his anger through the words. “I, my friend, am Drazel Kain, Youngest Sigildry Master of the Fumasubah academy. Now, you?”

“I'm Nyte,” he began, not sure of what to say next. Whatever. “Pupil of Dante.”

Should I have added Bloodline Patriarch? No, that seems stupid.

“Spectacular, As to updates” Drazel began, adjusting his glasses. “The Integration Occurs ever inconsistent from thousand of years to hundred thousands of years.”

Nyte nodded. “How does it affect our current situation?”

“Pardon my rambling.” He said with a small giggle. “I've been consumed with books on integration, you see. My thoughts are pushing the bounds of my tongue.”

He seemed to think for a while, then another.

“Ah, Excuse me. I at times get taken in thought.” He said. “It affects us, my friend, being here due to one little detail from the System Announcement.” Drazel Looked At Nyte as if expecting him to guess the reason.

“What?” He asked.

“The Incursion.” Drazel said, with a visible sigh “An Event that allows passage for a restricted few of stated ranks into the new universe.”

Nyte nodded along, not really caring for Drazels's obvious enthusiasm.

“Yeah?” Nyte frowned. He didn’t see why a new universe was such a big deal –there were already countless others in the multiverse.

“Yes! It is the reason you've found yourself here. All the young generation youth of the Spiral qualified by the rank limit have been summoned.” He outlined to Nyte. “As to the Summons, I suppose we will be seeing what lies in wait for us. My guesses, not applying.”

So we've been summoned by? Nyte could guess however he didn’t like the answer: the council?

Yet he still felt he wasn't understanding why this integration would matter enough to cause such waves. The multiverse had been calm for so many years.

“Why is it such a big deal? What's up with my master? Why would the council bother?” Nyte asked, confused although like most of his emotions he kept it off his face.

“The Integration, the Incursion, they’re the future, Nyte. It ensures power to those with the capacity to get the utmost from it. Titles, bloodlines, technology, people and a myriad of other things. It's a total power wave, capable of making the powerful more so or tumbling them and birthing new powers.” With a tamed voice that made his soft and gentle voice almost imperceptible he continued. “Total war. Factions are all moving to claim treasures, opportunity and even squashing oppositions. All this to set a better pace for their young who will actually enter the new universe.”

“It all falls on our shoulders?” Nyte asked, not sure if he wanted that kind of responsibility.

“Yes, but only if you affirm the summons.” Drazel said.

Nyte took a deep breath.

What would Chronifer do? He'd go, of course. Yet Nyte found Himself asking what he wanted. Power and… to keep my deal with Chronifer.

He would do it, he would seek power like his master had wanted but not because his master had wanted it for him, no he would do it so he'll be able to have uncontested say in all his actions and decisions and also for a hand held out to him in his darkest time. One that offered companionship in watching each other's back and growing towards power together.

“Where is the Jade Coven?” Nyte asked.

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Nyte woke to the soft glow of a lamp on the nightstand beside Drazel’s bed. The chandelier’s light had been dimmed to an imperceptible flicker, while the embers of the fire-heart in the center of the room radiated faint heat. Thick black curtains covered the windows, swallowing the world outside in darkness.

“Good morning,” Nyte muttered, his voice hoarse from sleep. He glanced at Drazel, who sat cross-legged on the bed, munching on dried snacks with a book in hand. “Or is it, good night?”

Drazel tilted his head, setting his book aside to pull out a pocket watch. Its silver surface gleamed faintly, the intricate sigils engraved on it catching the light. “It’s three. Why would you wake at such an ungodly hour?”

Nyte shrugged. He didn’t feel like explaining. Months of training had made early mornings a habit. Still, hearing the time –three o’clock– was surprising. Back then, he and Chronifer had trained relentlessly, starting from midnight until sunrise, he felt shocked at their tenacity.

“It matters not,” Drazel said, snapping the watch shut. He removed his glasses and turned off the lamp. Shuffled around in the darkness before offering: “A comforting night to you, Nyte.” Moments later, he was asleep.

Nyte sat on the edge of his bed, restless. He pushed himself up, moving to the window. Sliding the curtains aside, he was met with pitch-black darkness. When he touched the glass, a chill shot through his hand. He pulled back, startled.

Warmth replaced the cold a moment later, and faint golden lines shimmered across the glass –sigils, their intricate pathways glowing faintly in the darkness. To a human, they might have appeared as dim golden etchings. But to Nyte, they burned like the sun, though they caused no pain to his eyes.

They’re protecting against the cold, he realized. His eyes shifted to the darkness beyond the window. Snow.

Nyte’s shock didn’t linger long. Buried in snow? As long as they weren’t dying, he couldn’t bring himself to care much.

His attention shifted to the room’s two doors. The first opened into a bathroom –a beautiful one, sure, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the opulence of the Montcroix-Wythe mansion. He shut it with a sigh, his fingers lingering on the polished handle before moving to the second door.

This one opened into a long, dimly lit hallway. Nyte paused, his curiosity pulling him in two directions. For an outstretched moment, he considered searching, letting the tension of decision weigh on him. But in the end, his apathy won. He turned back into the room, shutting the door with an audible click.

The silence enveloped him again as he began the one routine he’d once cursed. The stretches, the rhythmic movements – it was all muscle memory now. Yet, something had shifted. The exercises felt... good. Smooth. Almost comforting. Was it simply the absence of his master’s barked commands? Or the strange weight of choosing this routine himself?

As he finished, faint voices drifted from the hallway beyond the door. People were stirring, their footsteps and chatter bleeding into the quiet. The still hours of the night were fading away.

Nyte took a quick bath, letting the warm water work the tension from his muscles. When he returned to his bed, however, he stopped short.

A flat, long box sat on the neatly folded sheets, its edges catching the faint glow of the chandelier above.

He approached it cautiously, his sharp eyes scanning the surface. A folded note rested on top, the handwriting unmistakable.

Forgot about this. Totally understandable, right?

Yeah, no. Screw that. Doesn’t matter.

This is a gift box. From me, Cipher, and Slora. Open it only if you choose to answer the Summons. Inside, you’ll find survival.

Insincerely, Dante.

Nyte’s fingers tightened around the note as his eyes scanned the words again. Trepidation crept through him, slow and cold, spreading from his chest like frost over a windowpane. A sickening fear churned in his stomach. Was he truly ready to face what the Spiral demanded of them? To take the first step into the Incursion’s unknown chaos?

His breath wavered, uneven at first. But he forced himself to inhale deeply, grounding himself in the stillness of the room. There was no turning back now.

With trembling hands, Nyte reached out and lifted the lid of the box.