After deciphering Cooper's condition, we agreed to set that matter aside—for now—and focus on something far more delicate: Prototype-Pixie.
Yes. Prototype-Pixie.
No, Moriarty still refused to change the name, despite my best efforts, bribes, and outright threats. It baffles me that the first humanoid-type destroyer AI I ever create will be cursed to bear that ridiculous name.
Since the next step involved granting it consciousness—or more accurately, crafting an artificial soul—we decided to test the process first on Wally.
Our dorm room, which now bore little resemblance to its original form, had been converted into a makeshift lab. After triggering the room transformation through the AI-controlled interface, the walls shifted, tables unfolded, and the sterile hum of machinery filled the air. Scattered across the long central table were a multitude of instruments: neural routers, memory diodes, fine-tipped precision tools, and crystalline data cores. At the heart of it all, lying still beneath the glare of a directed lumina-beam, was Wally—currently in sleep mode—while Moriarty leaned over him, reconfiguring his internal systems.
By the window stood the soon-to-be-named Pixie—a humanoid frame forged from an extraterrestrial alloy, matte-black in color with veins of silver running elegantly along its contours. It was sleek, imposing, and cold. Even inert, it radiated an eerie kind of potential.
"And that's the circuits done!" Moriarty announced with a satisfied grin, stepping back and clapping his hands together. "Now all that's left is for him to create his soul. Are you sure this is going to work?"
"This is my first time attempting an artificial soul," I replied, eyes fixed on Wally. "Theoretically, it's possible. The principles align. But the odds of it working on the first try? Practically zero. Still... if we succeed even once, replication becomes exponentially easier."
As if reacting to my words, a soft pulse of white light flickered across Wally's vessel—gentle, ethereal, and gone within a second.
"Well, that didn't work," Ryuk said bluntly, landing beside Wally and crouching down to inspect the core. He gave a nonchalant glance inside the matrix. "Yeah. This is empty."
When we talk about artificial souls, the first question that naturally comes to mind is: What is a soul made of?
The answer, surprisingly, is rather straightforward.
A soul is composed of raw energy—the same primal force that aura users harness. Unlike mana, which is refined and channeled through discipline and will, this raw energy is unfiltered, pure, and volatile. It is the essence of existence itself.
The soul is the part of the vessel that fuels its life. It provides the energy necessary to animate the body. Once that energy depletes, the vessel ceases to function—its life span ends.
So to create an artificial soul, one must understand not just what composes it, but how it behaves, evolves, and interacts with the vessel it inhabits.
"Life and death are both steps in a soul's journey," Ryuk began, his wings twitching lazily as he hovered above Wally. "But an artificial soul defies that cycle. It doesn't burn itself to sustain the vessel. Instead, it persists—unconsumed. Such a thing breaks the very rhythm of existence. Its presence creates imbalance as it forms. That's why creating an artificial soul is nearly impossible... an abomination, really."
"Wait," Moriarty interrupted, blinking. "Aren't you supposed to stop us from doing this?"
Ryuk tilted his head with a slow smile. "Did you see me stop the 58th Shadow of the Emperor when he crafted legions of artificial souls?"
Moriarty shook his head slowly, frowning.
"This whole matter doesn't concern me," Ryuk continued, folding his arms. "Souls like these fall under the Dominion of Life, not Death. I, being the Concept of Death, cannot interfere in the affairs governed by other Concepts."
He paused before continuing, his voice dipping into something quieter—almost reverent. "But Life… she did try to stop him. The 58th Shadow of the Emperor. Again and again, she intervened. She fought to halt his progress. And still, he persisted—until at last, he succeeded in crafting the first artificial soul."
"She may already be interfering in your work, right now, without your knowledge." He glanced at Wally, then at Pixie's inert body. "Because anything that is born from Life... and yet has no end to its path... remains trapped in her embrace forever."
"Makes you wonder," I murmured, watching the dormant form of Pixie. "Who's truly the evil one among us... The 58th Shadow, who defied Life itself in service of the Emperor, or the Demons—who slaughter everything in their path without a shred of remorse?"
A heavy silence followed. The question hung in the air like the scent of ozone before a storm.
What is right?
What is wrong?
"It depends entirely on the criteria you use to define good and evil," Ryuk said with a faint smile, his crimson eyes glinting. His gaze shifted toward Wally, where a faint flicker of light shimmered inside the core.
"The truth is simpler than morality would have you believe," he continued. "It's the law of the jungle—that's the undeniable truth of this universe. Strength defines justice. Power dictates righteousness."
He stepped forward, his voice calm but carrying the weight of an ancient truth.
"It doesn't matter who's right or wrong. If one side grows stronger, it will conquer. It will expand. And in doing so, it will be labeled 'evil' by the weaker side, which in turn will seethe with hatred and righteous indignation. But if the roles were reversed... wouldn't the same story unfold?"
As he spoke, the spark within Wally began to grow—glowing steadily now, no longer just a flicker but a living pulse.
"Good and evil," Ryuk said, watching it closely. "Are merely two sides of the same coin. A reflection of perspective. Only those who can rise above such binary thinking—only they can move forward, unshackled by morality."
It's not a matter of good or evil…
It's a matter of strength and weakness.
Ryuk's words, as always, carried a strange resonance—something ancient, something cold. And yet, this time... they felt incomplete. As though a deeper truth lingered just out of reach, itching at the back of my mind, begging to be unraveled.
But I didn't have the luxury to ponder it.
A blinding burst of white light erupted from Wally's core, swallowing the room whole. Every thought, every question, every ounce of curiosity I had was wiped away in an instant.
"Rise now, child of Life," Ryuk intoned, his voice calm and godlike as we instinctively shut our eyes against the radiance.
Creak.
The light faded.
We blinked, slowly adjusting our vision—until we saw him.
Wally.
Awake.
Moving.
His body shifted with mechanical grace, supported by the spider-like legs that unfolded beneath him like the limbs of some sleek alien insect. A quiet hum resonated from his core, steady and alive.
"I—I thought he failed…" Moriarty stammered, stepping forward in disbelief. "Wally?"
Then, from within the chassis, a soft voice emerged—childlike and uncertain.
"...You… Father?"
There was a long pause.
"Whot?" Moriarty croaked, frozen in place. His face contorted between confusion and pure panic.
I couldn't hold it in.
"Ahahaha—! You deserve that! Hahaha!"
Even in my soul form, I collapsed onto the floor, clutching my stomach in laughter.
"No—wait—no, no, no! I am not your father! I'm not even eighteen yet!" Moriarty yelped, taking several steps back as if the title itself were contagious. "Ray! Do something!"
"Technically," Ryuk said, barely hiding his laughter behind a single, half-curled wing, "you are his father."
"No, no, no! I didn't—I don't—what?" Moriarty babbled, caught somewhere between denial and existential crisis.
Wally tilted his head, blinking softly. "Father… mad?"
Moriarty let out a long, weary sigh, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process the situation. "No, I'm not mad. I'm just... Why does this always happen to me?"