The intersection of the Abyssal and Void scars was not a subtle place.
From five miles away, they could see it: a colossal, weeping canyon of gray dust (the Abyssal scar) being slowly, methodically erased along one edge by an advancing wall of perfect stillness (the Void scar). Where they met was a maelstrom of conflicting realities. Matter decayed into nothingness, only for the nothingness to be filled with chaotic, hungry growth that was then erased again. It was a perpetual, silent war.
Sylvia called a halt on a stable mesa overlooking the conflict. "This is as close as we get without being pulled in. The border zone is... unstable."
Damien's Storm-Eyes watered from the input. He saw the storm-patterns clearly: a raging, purple-black hurricane of Abyssal hunger grinding against a serene, gray typhoon of Void erasure. At the epicenter, the energies were so dense they had crystallized into physical phenomena—floating islands of decaying rock, rivers of silent light that ate sound, and patches of wild, over-saturated life that bloomed and died in seconds.
"Perfect," Kiran murmured, his void-eyes hungry. "They're fighting each other. Weakening each other."
Lyra shuddered. "It's horrible. It's like watching two diseases argue over a corpse."
Brom simply stared, his stone-face unreadable.
"Our objective," Damien said, pulling their focus, "is not to intervene. It is to harvest residual manifestations—pieces of each Singularity's power that have been torn loose in the conflict and now exist independently in the border zone. Sylvia, you identified three such zones?"
Sylvia pointed. "There. The Bleeding Stones—chunks of rock saturated with Abyssal energy that weep a corrosive fluid. Good for poison or curse-breakers. Over there, the Silent Gardens—patches where the Void has won, but life adapted; plants that absorb sound and thought. Rare alchemical ingredients. And in the center of the maelstrom itself…" She paused, her voice dropping. "The Stillborn Heart. A chunk of what might have been a nascent realm, caught between being eaten and being erased. It's stabilized into a… thing. It pulses with both energies. That's the prize you want, isn't it?"
Damien followed her gesture. His enhanced sight focused on the heart of the storm. There, suspended in the air where the two forces met in perfect, annihilating equilibrium, was a rough sphere about the size of a house. It was a patchwork of reality: one hemisphere was a lump of cancerous, multi-colored flesh-like stone, throbbing with veins of abyssal purple. The other was a smooth, featureless gray orb, swallowing light. Where they met was a jagged, shimmering seam of unstable potential.
[Analysis: Composite Singularity Manifestation - 'Stillborn Heart'.]
[Contains: Concentrated Abyssal Essence (Tier 3), Concentrated Void Essence (Tier 3), Traces of Primordial Chaos (from the conflict).]
[Danger: Extremely High. Unstable equilibrium. Contact may trigger catastrophic release or absorption. Proximity causes rapid spiritual decay and mental fragmentation.]
[Potential Reward: Massive advancement in both Abyssal and Void integration. May catalyze next Constitution evolution. High probability of unlocking new System functionality.]
"It is," Damien confirmed, his voice devoid of awe, only calculation. "But harvesting it is a phase-three objective. First, we test the waters. We secure the lower-risk resources and gather data on the border zone's behavioral patterns. Sylvia, you and Kiran will scout the Silent Gardens. Your void-affinities should provide some protection. Lyra, Brom, with me. We will harvest a Bleeding Stone sample."
Kiran nodded, already turning his new eyes toward the eerie, soundless patch of greyish vegetation. "I can feel the stillness there. It's… clean."
"Don't get fascinated," Sylvia warned, hefting her chain-sickle. "The gardens have guardians. Void-tendrils. They don't attack, they just… make you stop. Permanently."
Lyra bit her lip. "Damien, splitting up…"
"Is a calculated risk that doubles our resource acquisition rate and provides diversified tactical data," Damien finished. "We maintain crystal contact every fifteen minutes. If either team encounters a threat above containment grade, we rendezvous at the fallback point." He indicated a jagged spire of stable rock two miles to the north.
The teams separated, moving with the cautious grace of predators in another predator's den.
Team One: Damien, Lyra, Brom - The Bleeding Stones
The canyon edge near the Bleeding Stones was a nightmare of erosion. The ground was porous and brittle, collapsing into sinkholes that led straight into the Abyssal scar's depths. The air smelled of ozone and rotting fruit. The Stones themselves were a cluster of jagged monoliths, their surfaces weeping a viscous, iridescent black fluid that hissed where it hit the ground.
"Corrosion is rapid," Damien observed, watching a droplet eat through a finger-width of rock in seconds. "Brom, test the ground ahead. Find a stable approach."
Brom knelt, placing his good hand on the ground. His earth-sense was muffled here, the land sick and fragmented. "Five yards ahead… the ground is solid. But it possesses… awareness. It feels hungry."
They advanced carefully. As they drew within ten yards of the nearest stone, the weeping intensified. The black fluid began to flow against gravity, creeping up the stones and forming crude, grasping limbs.
"Defensive reaction," Lyra noted, her staff raised. "It perceives us as a threat."
A limb of fluid lashed out toward Brom. He brought his hammer up, but Damien was faster. A flick of his wrist sent a shard of Event Horizon Frost through the limb. The fluid froze mid-air, then, trapped by the spatial lock, shattered into harmless motes that evaporated.
"The frost inhibits it," Damien said. "But the stone itself is the source. We need a sample from the core." He looked at Lyra. "Can you create a sustained edit to divert the fluid's attention?"
Lyra focused, her tails flicking. "I can try to make an illusion of a larger, more spiritually potent creature… over there." She pointed away from them. She wove her hands, and foxfire coalesced into the form of a shimmering, mana-rich spectral stag. It pranced, drawing the attention of the fluid limbs. The weeping redirected, streams of black corruption flowing toward the illusion.
"Now," Damien said.
He and Brom moved forward. Brom used his hammer to chip at the base of the smallest stone, his void-brace locking to provide immense striking force. Chunks of rock flew. One piece, the size of a fist, contained a pulsating black core—a concentrated nugget of Abyssal essence.
As Brom grabbed it, the stone shrieked. Not a sound, but a psychic wave of pure, ravenous despair. Lyra cried out, clutching her head. The illusion stag dissolved. All the fluid in the area recoiled, then surged toward them in a unified wave.
"Fall back!" Damien ordered.
He unleashed a wide-area Rime-Void Anchor at their feet. Space froze in a ten-foot circle. The advancing wave of fluid hit the anchored space and slowed to a crawl, giving them precious seconds. They sprinted back toward stable ground, the psychic shrieking fading as they left the Stones' territory.
Panting, they regrouped. Lyra was pale. "That feeling… it wanted everything. It wanted to be everything."
Damien examined the sample. The black core throbbed in Brom's hand, trying to seep into his stone-flesh. Damien encased it in a shell of frost, cutting off its connection. "Data point one: Abyssal manifestations are psychically active and aggressively consumptive. Direct harvesting requires mental shielding."
[Acquired: Abyssal Stone Core (Grade 2).]
[Use: Can be refined into potent curse-materials or devoured for Abyssal integration (Risk: High).]
Team Two: Kiran & Sylvia - The Silent Gardens
The Gardens were worse.
It wasn't the danger that was unsettling; it was the absence. Sound died within ten feet of the border. Their own breathing, their footsteps, the clink of Sylvia's chain—all swallowed by the pervasive stillness. The plants were shades of grey and silver, beautiful in a stark way, but they absorbed more than sound. Kiran felt a gentle, constant tug on his thoughts, a temptation to just… stop. To be still. To be empty and perfect.
"Keep moving," Sylvia signed, her lips moving soundlessly. She pointed. Between the trees of smooth, barkless wood, shapes moved. Void-tendrils. They were like translucent worms of solidified silence, drifting gracefully. Where they passed, color drained momentarily.
One drifted toward Kiran. He didn't attack. He held up a hand, his void-eyes focusing. He reached out with his own void-sense, not to erase, but to… harmonize. The tendril paused, coiling gently around his wrist. It was cold, but not unpleasantly so. It carried no malice, only the pure concept of cessation.
"It's beautiful," Kiran murmured, the words dead in the air but clear in his intent.
Sylvia grabbed his shoulder, her face alarmed. She pointed at his feet. Grey tendrils were creeping up from the soil, starting to encase his boots in a shell of silent stone. He was being assimilated.
Kiran shook himself, a flicker of alarm breaking through the lull. His void-core pulsed. He didn't fight the tendril; he inverted its stillness. He turned the concept of "stop" back on itself. The tendril holding his wrist froze mid-coil, then dissolved into grey dust. The ones at his feet retreated.
"Don't empathize with it," Sylvia's hands said sharply. "It's not alive. It's a pattern. A beautiful, deadly pattern."
They found their prize growing in a small clearing—a cluster of Silverbane Moss, a plant that was said to be able to mute spiritual signatures and heal soul-damage caused by psychic noise. As Kiran harvested it with his void-daggers, carefully severing its connection to the silent earth, Sylvia kept watch.
Her sharp eyes caught movement at the far edge of the Gardens. Not a tendril. A humanoid figure, grey-skinned and moving with an unnerving, fluid grace. It paused, its head tilting toward them. It had no eyes, only smooth sockets.
"Soul-Artist," Sylvia breathed, the sound swallowed but the shape of the words clear on her lips.
The figure raised a hand. The silence around them deepened, becoming a physical pressure. Kiran felt his void-energy grow sluggish. This was no mindless manifestation; this was a cultivator who had made this place their home, or perhaps their larder.
Kiran met the figure's empty gaze. He felt a probe—cold, curious, and utterly devoid of empathy. It was tasting their souls.
He didn't wait. He grabbed the harvested moss, grabbed Sylvia's arm, and performed his newest trick: a Void-Fold retreat. He didn't move through space; he folded the space behind them to be in front of them, effectively teleporting them fifty yards back the way they came in a single, silent step.
The pressure vanished. The figure did not follow. It simply watched them go, then turned and melted into the grey trees.
Rendezvous
Back at the fallback spire, the two teams compared notes.
"…and then it just watched us leave," Kiran finished, his usual arrogance tempered by the encounter. "It wasn't hostile. It was… assessing. Like we were interesting specimens."
"A Soul-Artist," Sylvia said, her face grim. "They're rare. They cultivate by consuming raw emotion and memory from places or beings. That Garden is a buffet of stillness for them. If they're here, they're after the big prize too. The Stillborn Heart would be a feast."
Damien processed this. A new, intelligent variable. Not a mindless Singularity manifestation, but a cultivator who wielded similar powers. A competitor. Or a potential source of data.
"Our tactical position has changed," Damien stated. "We have a competitor with unknown capabilities and a home-field advantage. Our original plan to harvest the Stillborn Heart is now compromised."
"What do we do?" Lyra asked.
"We adapt," Damien said, his Storm-Eyes turning toward the maelstrom. "We observe the Soul-Artist. We learn their patterns. The Heart is unstable. Perhaps we do not need to harvest it ourselves. Perhaps we can encourage our new competitor to attempt the harvest… and intervene when they are weakened by the process."
A cold, ruthless strategy. Use the Soul-Artist as a canary in the cosmic coal mine.
Kiran grinned, a dark edge to it. "Let them do the hard work. I like it."
"We'll need to get closer," Sylvia said. "Set up an observation post inside the conflict zone. That's dangerous."
"Brom and Lyra will establish a fortified forward base here," Damien decided, pointing to a stable but hidden rock formation closer to the storm. "Sylvia, you and I will infiltrate and observe the Soul-Artist's movements. Kiran, you will be our mobile response, using your folds to extract us if necessary."
He looked at each of them. The cost of the Void-Nexus was fresh. Brom's shoulder was a silent testament. But the calculus was clear: the Stillborn Heart was a leap in power they desperately needed. The risk of a competitor acquiring it was unacceptable. The path forward was not safe, but it was necessary.
"Prepare," Damien ordered. "We move into the storm's shadow in two hours."
The true test was beginning. Not just against mindless forces of reality, but against another will, another hunger, fighting for the same scrap of cosmic power on this godsforsaken battlefield.