Chapter Eleven: Aftermath

Pixis residence

Maggot's crown

Outer Pit

Pitland AKA "The Pit"

Continent of Zenithan

I stood amidst the smoldering ruins of the Pixis residence, my gaze locked on the thick, curling plumes of smoke rising into the twilight sky. The acrid scent of scorched metal and burning debris clawed at my throat, mixing with the lingering ozone of whatever energy had fueled the devastation. The ground beneath me once paved with familiar stone, was now fractured and uneven, a graveyard of shattered walls and twisted beams.

Both Pixis and the Ghostkiller were gone—wiped from existence by the sheer force of the blast. No bodies. No remains. Not even a trace of their final moments. The explosion had erased them so completely that it felt as if they had never existed at all. A hollow sort of silence settled over the ruins, punctuated only by the crackling embers and the occasional groan of weakened structures threatening to collapse. There was nothing left to mourn. Nothing to bury.

And yet, that thought barely registered in my mind. Instead, a single notification blinked in my vision—VoidNet's cold, clinical text informing me of an imminent system restart. Soon, the digital veins threading through my consciousness would reboot, recalibrating, reconfiguring. I should have cared. But I didn't. Not now. Not with the weight of absence pressing down on my chest like a phantom of something irretrievably lost.

Next to me, Rowena stood, her gaze distant as she murmured into her Psycell, the faint glow of the device casting a soft light across her sharp features. The synthetic hum of encrypted frequencies pulsed as she finished her conversation, severing the connection with a quiet flick of her wrist. When she turned to me, her expression was unreadable. Her golden-brown eyes held something—something I couldn't place. Pity? Understanding? Indifference? I didn't know. And at that moment, I didn't have the strength to care.

Rowena had helped me in the fight, though she hadn't needed to. This wasn't her battle. The only reason she was still here was that she wanted an answer—an answer I wasn't sure I could give her. I drew in a deep breath, forcing the tension from my chest. Pixis was gone. Just like so many others in Pitland, swallowed by violence and forgotten beneath the dust of wreckage. He wasn't the first person I cared about who had died before my eyes. My mind, hardened by years of surviving this world, almost allowed a memory to surface—a flicker of a face from my childhood, a whisper of loss I had buried long ago. But I crushed it, sealed it away behind mental barriers that had been reinforced through necessity. Not now. Not ever.

Still, Pixis had said he left something for me.I turned toward what remained of his residence—or rather, the husk of it. What had once been a marvel of integrated astral engineering was now a charred skeleton, stripped of its brilliance. Holographic partitions once projected shifting, data stream information—now they sputtered erratically, broken panels flickering with dying light. The gravity regulators had failed, causing chunks of the upper floors to collapse in awkward, jagged formations as if reality itself had fractured along unseen fault lines. Wires, some sparking with residual energy, hung like veins from the ceiling, swaying in the breeze of a breached ventilation core.

I stepped over the remnants of Pixis' security drones, their sleek exoshells melted into formless lumps, their once-sentient cores shattered beyond repair. The data-streaming conduits, which had once pulsed with quantum-fed information, now lay silent and dark, their Astra-tech lifeblood drained. And then, I reached his room—what was left of it. Walls that once displayed swirling astral charts and encrypted blueprints had been obliterated. The specialized stasis vaults, which once housed experimental technology, had either been ripped open by the explosion or vaporized entirely.

The bedframe, reinforced with anti-gravity plating, had been reduced to twisted, smoldering metal. Yet, amid the ruin, something remained. Something he had left behind for me. I stepped forward, brushing away fragments of shattered glass and singed fabric, my heart pounding with quiet, unspoken hope. Pixis had said he left behind a Psydrive—a digital archive containing information about me. About my parents. About things he had wanted to tell me but never got the chance.

I stepped toward the Astral Vault nestled in the corner of the ruined room. Unlike the rest of the residence, the vault had held firm, its reinforced alloy plating resisting the full force of the explosion. The biometric scanner was cracked, its holo-interface barely flickering to life as I pressed my hand against it. After a few tense seconds, it recognized my imprint, hissing open with a faint hum. Inside, amidst the dust and lingering scent of scorched circuitry, was a single Psydrive. A tiny storage unit, barely the size of my finger, yet capable of holding vast archives of encrypted data. I stared at it for a moment, feeling the weight of what it represented. Answers. Questions I never dared to voice. Truths I might not be ready to hear.

With a sigh, I took the drive and slipped it into my pocket. It could wait. Right now, I needed a moment. I turned and left the room, stepping carefully over the wreckage as I made my way toward what used to be the kitchen. Surprisingly, a few household droids had survived the destruction, their exteriors covered in dust but otherwise intact. They stood motionless, their synthetic eyes dim, as if waiting for orders that would never come.

Ignoring them, I went straight for the fridge—a state-of-the-art Astra-cooling unit that, against all odds, was still functioning. A miracle. Or just a testament to Pixis' obsession with reinforced tech. I yanked it open. Inside, the shelves were mostly empty, save for a few cans of beer and a couple of preserved ration packs. My fingers brushed over the cans, cold against my skin. Without a second thought, I grabbed one, popped the seal, and took a long, slow drink.

The bitter taste spread across my tongue, grounding me in the present, and pushing back the exhaustion gnawing at my bones. For a moment, I just stood there, drinking in silence, surrounded by the ruins of what had once been Pixis' home. What had once been his life. And now, all that remained were scattered embers and unanswered questions.

As I took another slow sip of my beer, Rowena appeared in the doorway, her gaze sharp and assessing as she took in the scene—me, sitting in the wreckage of what had once been Pixis' kitchen, casually drinking like the world hadn't just burned around me. Her expression was unreadable, but the silent judgment was there, flickering in her golden-brown eyes. Without a word, she stepped forward, raising a hand as the fridge door clicked open on its own, guided by her telekinesis. A can of beer drifted smoothly into her palm, the seal popping with a soft hiss before she took a slow, deliberate sip.

"Not bad," she mused. I raised an eyebrow. A Legacy Family heiress drinking cheap beer from a half-destroyed fridge in the middle of a crime scene? That was something. We sat in silence for a while, the tension between us unspoken, yet heavy. The only sound was the distant crackle of burning debris and the quiet hum of the fridge's failing motor. Eventually, Rowena set down her drink and exhaled, stretching her arms as if preparing to leave.

"I should head back before my people start asking too many questions about my whereabouts," she said. Then, after a slight pause, she added, "But... if you ever need anything, you can reach me—" Before she could finish, I cut her off.

"I accept."

Her brow furrowed slightly. "Huh?"

I met her gaze, my expression steady.

"Your offer. To join your vassal team." I lifted my can slightly before setting it down. "I accept."

Rowena blinked, clearly not expecting that response. For a moment, there was a flicker of something in her eyes—surprise? Interest? Amusement? Then, a slow smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Well then," she said, taking another sip of her beer. "Welcome aboard."

"Just give me time to settle some stuff," I said, setting the half-empty can down on the counter. Rowena leaned back slightly, watching me with a knowing look before nodding.

"Sure." Her gaze drifted around the ruined Astra-Tech residence, the remnants of Pixis' sanctuary barely holding together. A question formed on her face before she finally voiced it.

"What are you going to do with the place?" She asked. I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair as I took in the wreckage. The shattered consoles, the burnt-out security drones, the collapsed gravity regulators. It looked unsalvageable to most, a ruin not worth reclaiming. But I had already made up my mind.

"Fix it up," I said. "This is my home. Pixis' home. It would be a waste to just abandon it—not after everything he put into it." Rowena arched an eyebrow.

"Is that wise?" she asked, tilting her can slightly. "This is Maggot's Crown. You think the gang lords won't come crawling for it?" I chuckled, but there was no humor in it. My fingers tightened around the can, the metal groaning slightly under my grip.

"Don't worry about it," I said, my voice dark, edged with something raw and violent. Rowena caught it. Saw it in my eyes. A flicker of something dangerous, something ruthless. A promise. She said nothing. Just shrugged, tipping her head back as she finished her drink. She wouldn't push. She didn't need to. Instead, she set her empty can down, stood up, and stretched.

"Well, Just try not to get yourself killed before you start working for me." Then, without another word, she turned and walked toward the exit, leaving me alone with the ruins of my home and the weight of everything yet to come.

****

I left Maggot's Crown behind, the stink of desperation and blood still clinging to its streets, but with one crucial difference—it now belonged to me. The gangs were still reeling from my meetings with them, each one leaving with a newfound understanding of exactly what would happen if anyone so much as set foot near my home while I was gone. I had made it clear—this was my domain now, and any trespass would be met with swift and unforgiving retribution.

Some had been foolish enough to challenge my claim at first, but after a few demonstrations, the message had settled in. Fear, when properly cultivated, is an excellent deterrent. With the immediate threat handled, I turned my attention to fixing up what was left of Pixis' stronghold. The security droids had taken a heavy beating during the attack, but I managed to salvage and restore most of them. Pixis had designed them himself—high-grade Astra-tech units specifically programmed to repair and maintain the stronghold's infrastructure. Fortunately, many of their self-repair protocols were still intact, and with some quick manual overrides, they began restoring what had been lost.

As for materials, Pixis—ever the planner—had stockpiled an extensive supply of spare components and reinforcements for exactly this kind of scenario. Hidden caches, sealed behind biometric locks, revealed enough raw materials to rebuild most of the compromised structures. The entire stronghold hadn't been lost, either. Despite the devastation, large portions of the complex still stood, including the primary power core, lower-level security systems, and underground storage facilities. It wouldn't be easy, and it wouldn't be quick, but I would rebuild. Not just for me. For Pixis. For everything he built. And for what was coming next.

I sat in the transport ship, a sleek astral-powered vessel, its engines humming with the faint, rhythmic pulse of compressed astral energy. The ship cut through the sky effortlessly, carrying me toward my next destination—the Cognis Outpost, located within one of the many settlements under Cognis jurisdiction. Now that I had accepted Rowena's offer, I was on my way to officially becoming a Vassal under her command. An official member of Cognis.

I leaned back in my seat, exhaling slowly as I gazed out the window, watching the world blur past in a streak of lights and distant structures. How ironic. Just weeks ago, I received a rejection notice from Cognis, turning me down when I had applied to be one of their Ranked members. I lacked Psychic powers so they couldn't take the risk of me becoming a Ranker who descended for them. And now ?

Now, a Legacy Family heiress—one of the elite, the untouchable few—had personally offered me a spot on her Vassal team. A position far beyond what I had originally applied for. Funny how things work out. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the hum of the ship vibrate through my body as I let the thought settle.

The rejection had stung back then. It had felt like another locked door, another reminder that the system wasn't made for people like me. And yet, here I was, bypassing the normal route entirely, walking through a door only a select few ever got to see open. Was it fate? Luck? Or just the result of being in the right place at the right time? Whatever it was, I wasn't about to waste the opportunity. My situation had only grown more complicated—far worse than it had been before. For one thing, VoidNet was back online, fully rebooted, and stronger than ever. The familiar, cold presence of my system pulsed at the edges of my consciousness, its enigmatic processes running in the background, calculating, adjusting, waiting.

And then there was the second problem—the seal on my Psychic power had begun to unravel. For the first time since gaining them, I could feel my abilities stirring beneath the surface, raw and untamed, no longer held completely at bay. The restraints that had bound my power for so long had begun to loosen, allowing me access to what I had always been meant to wield. Ironic, isn't it? When Cognis rejected me, they had done so because I lacked Psychic abilities—because, to them, I had been just another ordinary, unremarkable candidate.

And now? Now, one of their elite—Rowena, a Legacy Family member—had recruited me under the assumption that I was a Deviant, one of the rare individuals with superhuman physical capabilities, outside the conventional spectrum of Espers. The irony was suffocating. Back then, I didn't have access to my Psychic power. Now, I did. And yet, I was forced to keep it a secret. Forced to play the role of something I wasn't.A Deviant.I had accepted Rowena's offer under pretenses, and now I had no choice but to maintain the illusion—to keep my abilities hidden, to suppress what was awakening inside me. Because if Cognis found out the truth—that I was an actual Esper, that my powers had been deliberately sealed, that I was something far more dangerous than a Deviant—things would get messy. Very messy.

During the weeks I had spent remodeling Pixis' residence, I had become accustomed to my newfound Psychic power—an adjustment made smoother thanks to VoidNet, which constantly refined, modified, and optimized my mental and physical state. With VoidNet acting as an adaptive interface, my body started to synchronize naturally with my abilities. What once felt like a locked door in my mind was now wide open, and for the first time, I was truly beginning to understand Psychic cultivation—not just in theory, but in practice.

I had always known the fundamentals, of course. I had spent years studying Espers, their abilities, their cultivation methods, and the science behind their evolution. But knowing something and experiencing it were two completely different things.The most significant revelation was the awakening of my Mind's Core—the very center of my consciousness and psychic potential.

It no longer felt dormant or constrained but alive, pulsing with Astral Energy, a force that enhanced my mental perception far beyond what I had previously thought possible. Right now, I was at the first tier of Psychic Cultivation—The Foundational Stage. And within this stage was the Psionic Awakening Realm—the entry point for all newly awakened Espers. It was the realm where a Mind's Core could begin to siphon Astral Energy from the ambient World Essence, drawing in the vast, unseen power that flowed through all things.

The process was both instinctive and deliberate—a subtle pull on reality itself, allowing my consciousness to absorb and refine this energy, feeding it into my growing reserves. The more Astral Energy my Mind's Core processed, the more my mental power expanded—allowing my thoughts to move faster, my awareness to stretch further, and my connection to the world around me to become sharper, clearer, and more profound.

It was a beginning, but one that came with a dangerous path. For the mission, Voidnet had given me years ago, I finally understood why Voidnet had given me the task. And it was a task that resulted in my eventual survival if not implemented. I sighed. Looking around, making sure no one was paying attention to me-the pilot and the assistant that had picked me up weren't- I summoned Voidnet, the floating silver cube object with glimmering glyphs and symbols. I used my mind to communicate with it.

Show me my status I requested.

[Affirmative] Voidnet responded. And then the usual interface that always showed me my physical and mental stats showed up.

Status

System Name: Voidnet

System Upgrade:  (Cognitive Awakening)

Name: Ashlar Kain

Cultivation level: Tier 1: The Foundation Stage (Psionic Awakening Realm)

Physical Enhancements: [Tier-3] – Post-Void Reconstruction

Cognitive Capacity: [Enhanced Processing & Combat Calculation]

Mind Core: Awakened

Physique: Awakened

Mental Stats

Intelligence: 11

Wisdom: 12

Will: 15

Physical Stats

Strength: 15

Dexterity: 15

Endurance: 13

Psionic Applications

Void absorption: Energy disruption

Matter Disassembly: Entropy Touch

Conceptual Decay: Controlled Disintegration

Specialized Art: School of Entropic Will, Shcool of Telekinetic Dominion, School of Internal sight

Ability Factor: Unknown

Astral Shard Consumption: 0/600

Psychic Status: [Unlocked – Suppression Protocol Deactivated]

Astral-Tech Compatibility: [0% - System Override]