The stairs spiraled downward for hours, their edges carved from a black stone that seemed to drink in light. Each step echoed—not just through the air, but through Damien's bones.
The deeper he went, the warmer it became—not in temperature, but in sensation. It was like walking down the aorta of some colossal, long-dead creature… a heat that wasn't physical, but cellular.
The walls were wrong. They weren't built—they'd grown. Faint vascular patterns pulsed beneath the surface like capillaries feeding an ancient heart. Every few meters, Damien could hear a faint thrummm, as though the entire stairwell was inhaling and exhaling around him.
And then… the stairwell opened into a space so vast it defied sense. A cathedral without walls, without ceiling—its boundaries swallowed in black. Only a single platform floated in the middle, tethered by bridges of bone-metal.
Above it, suspended in a gravity-lock, hung a humanoid sarcophagus. Its surface was neither metal nor stone, but a shifting lattice of organic crystal that reconfigured every few seconds—like it was dreaming.
A faint ping sounded in his skull.
Interface Detected. DNA Match: Partial
Designation: Subject 000 – Primary Genome Source
Status: Dormant
Warning: Lifeform contains unstable consciousness
Damien froze, his eyes narrowing. "Subject 000…" His voice came out low, almost reverent. "That's what they called my father."
He stepped forward, boots clicking on the bridge. The air was thick now—not with heat, but with memory.
The chamber didn't speak with sound. It spoke in images—flooded directly into his mind.
Men in sterile white coats, faces blurred. Rows of glass tubes, each containing something that shouldn't exist. A fetus injected with something luminous. A baby crying—its tears vibrating at a molecular frequency, fracturing the observation glass. Then rage.Escape. Blood on walls and ceilings. Subject 000… breaking free. Destroying the lab in a storm of bone and steel. Slipping into myth.
One image burned deepest: A woman holding a child—his child-self—golden eyes wide and unblinking.
The system pulsed again.
You are of the Source. You are the Result. You are the Catalyst.
The sarcophagus split open with a hiss—not of hydraulics, but of something exhaling for the first time in centuries. Inside, there was no body. Only armor. Ancient. Organic. Its surface shimmered like oil on water, constantly reshaping itself.
It flowed toward him.
The first touch was warm—not mechanical, but alive. It wrapped around his arms, legs, chest. Not fusing, not welding—bonding.
Damien's breath hitched. "It's… adapting to me."
The system's reply was immediate. No. You were always made for it.
Above the surface of Vael'Tris, far beyond the crust, a spike of impossible energy flared into the void.
Null Sanctum's satellites caught it instantly.
"He found the Vault."
"Prepare Phase Two."
"Activate the God-Killer Protocol."