Reality cracked.
Not metaphorically. Not symbolically.
Literally.
A faint, brittle crrrk echoed through the isolation chamber. Air itself trembled — a low, hum vibrating in the walls.
A fissure appeared in the chamber's corner — jagged line across empty air, glowing with colors that didn't belong in the spectrum.
Through it, Yoo glimpsed something that made his fragmented memories scream recognition:
Void. The space between dimensions. Where I scattered for 823 years.
But different now.
Not empty.
Something was looking through.
"EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN!" Han's voice shattered the sterile quiet — panic slicing through the mechanical beeping of monitors. "Rift detected! Seal the chamber! Do NOT let it—"
Too late.
The fissure split wider with a sound like tearing fabric soaked in static.
Dinner plate. Manhole cover. Doorway.
And through it stepped—
Yoo's mind refused to process what he was seeing.
Not because it was horrifying. Because it was impossible.
The entity had form but not consistent form. Sometimes vaguely humanoid — two arms, two legs, recognizable silhouette. Then geometric patterns — fractals folding into themselves infinitely. Then just presence without shape at all.
The only constant: its attention.
Massive. Crushing.
Wuuuuum — like a deep vibration shaking through the chamber floor.
The dimensional energy — already at ninety percent saturation — began screaming. Not with sound, but through bone-deep resonance. Yoo's teeth ached. His vision blurred. Reality itself protested.
His body convulsed on the table.
The foreign energy that had contaminated the test? A beacon. A lure. Something meant to call this thing.
The observer outside the factory. It wasn't just watching. It was CALLING something.
Akasha's voice, strained, glitching through digital buzz:
"Unknown entity detected. Power signature: beyond current assessment capability. Classification: Primordial-tier minimum. Possibly higher. Threat level: ABSOLUTE. Recommend—"
The entity spoke.
Not with voice. With existence.
A word vibrated through Yoo's bones — a bass note that made the air shudder:
"Interesting."
The word had weight.
Physical, crushing weight.
Yoo felt his ribs groan. Lungs compress. The steady beep… beep… of his monitor distorted into a warped bzzzzp— and died.
"A scattered soul, reformed through cosmic accident."
Each syllable pressed reality down another inch.
Walls cracked — fine hairlines racing across metal like ice fracturing.
"Not natural. Not engineered. Simply... happened."
Its form flickered — humanoid, seven feet tall, covered in living patterns that shifted and pulsed like breathing constellations.
"The Witness erased you. His erasure is absolute. Even fragments should have dissolved into nothing."
Footsteps — or what passed for footsteps — echoed inside Yoo's head, not the floor.
"Yet 0.00001% survived. Fell through dimensional cracks during your sacrifice. Tumbled through void for 823 years. Found new flesh in another child."
How does it know that?
"Because I was watching."
The words vibrated the metal of the table. Thummm…
"I observe all things that shouldn't exist. Paradoxes. Impossibilities. Violations of cosmic law."
It leaned closer.
"You are all three."
Through the one-way glass came chaos — alarms blaring, boots pounding, containment fields crackling. But the noise dimmed the closer Kaelthas leaned, like sound itself refused to exist near it.
"I am Kaelthas," it said.
"Of the Illusionary lineage. Primordial rank 122 in the Convergence hierarchy. And I find your existence... delightful."
Yoo tried to breathe. Couldn't. Could only hear the soft pulse of his heartbeat slowing.
"Your death was supposed to teach the cosmos humility."
The air around him vibrated like a thousand violins out of tune.
"But you survived."
A tendril — translucent, radiant — extended. Shhhhhk. It brushed through air, stopping above Yoo's chest.
"I grant you my seed."
Then—
BOOOOM!
Energy slammed into him. Not just light — a shockwave. The chamber shook. The monitors exploded in static.
Yoo screamed.
Sound raw. Human.
Every pitch of pain tearing the sterile quiet apart.
Akasha's voice broke into overlapping distorted alarms:
"FOREIGN ENTITY IMPLANTING! PRIMORDIAL-CLASS SEED DETECTED! WARNING—HOST INTEGRITY COMPROMISED—"
Her voice cut.
Kaelthas watched. Silent except for the low thrumming hum that filled the chamber, vibrating in Yoo's bones.
"Good," it said. "Rejection means your soul still has fight."
The sound deepened, like pressure underwater.
Yoo's blood boiled. Frost formed on his skin. His body couldn't decide what to be.
The temperature display flickered—
43°C.
Then 28°C.
Then the glass shattered with a soft tink.
Kaelthas's laughter followed — echoing without echo, stretching into infinity.
"Ninety seconds," it said, voice calm against the collapsing room.
Cracks webbed through space itself — krrk—krrk— — until the chamber's ceiling looked like a frozen spiderweb of light.
"FIGHT."
The command was thunder inside his mind — a BOOM that didn't come from sound but from will.
Yoo's soul reacted. The cracks in it glowed gold, then silver. Then deeper — molten fractal lines filling his spirit with Kaelthas's essence.
A deep, ringing hum pulsed through everything.
His scream faded into a ragged gasp. The chamber stilled.
For two long minutes, the only sound was his heart trying not to stop.
Then—silence.
Kaelthas's voice returned, quiet now, like thunder rolling far away:
"Adequate."
The rift hissed as it began to close.
"Three years, little echo. Three years until the cosmic game ends."
The laugh that followed was soundless and deafening at once — like the air itself cracked open and didn't know how to close.
Then—nothing.
Silence.
Only the soft drip of blood from the table to the floor.
Yoo collapsed.
Outside the Chamber
The door burst open — metal screaming, smoke curling from detonators.
Heavy boots thundered in. Weapons charged with a low whine.
Han's voice trembled. "Get him stabilized! NOW!"
Machines whirred, clicked, buzzed. Healing cores flared with white light — FWHOOOM — and faded uselessly.
The hum from Yoo's body replaced them. Soft, rhythmic, like distant machinery running inside him.
Monitors flashed warnings in sharp electronic tones.
Han stared. "…So why is he alive?"
No answer. Just the faint pulse-pulse-pulse of golden light beneath Yoo's skin.
Medical Bay – 14 Hours Later
The soundscape shifted.
Beeping. Oxygen hiss. The low whirr of cooling vents.
Yoo's eyes opened. His breath rasped against the oxygen mask.
Restraints creaked as he moved.
Han's tired voice broke the silence. "You're awake."
He blinked. The machines continued their steady beep-beep-beep, grounding him in the living world.
"Fourteen hours," she said. "Your body temperature cycled six hundred times."
The scanner's soft chime punctuated her words.
Yoo's throat clicked dryly. "What percentage?"
Han exhaled. "Seventy-three percent human."
Silence filled the room again — deep, heavy silence broken only by the hum of machinery and the faint buzz of monitors.
Less human every hour.
He looked up at the ceiling. Somewhere inside him, a faint vibration echoed — like a heart that didn't belong to him beating out of sync.
Three years until the game ends.
Three years to reach Primordial-tier.
The monitor's steady tone matched the rhythm of his thoughts.
No pressure.
The air around him seemed to pulse once, faintly — the echo of Kaelthas's laugh buried somewhere in the walls.
He smiled.
You want entertainment, Kaelthas?
The sound of his own quiet breathing filled the sterile space.
Watch me turn your blessing into my weapon.
The beep slowed, steady, determined.
Three years? I'll do it in two.