Even a Special Servant Will Do the Job for You

"Yes," the two ceremonies intoned in unison, their voices monotone yet oddly synchronized. "Anyway, we don't have a goal. We have nothing to do."

Although their tone was relaxed, deep within, the hearts of these two special rituals remained hollow. Yet that very emptiness fueled their determination to live up to the legacy of [Weaving]—the darker, almost mythic side of their dual nature. In their silent, emotionless state, they clung to the hope of finally experiencing the fullness of life, even if it was only by fulfilling a single, dedicated purpose.

"Then get out of here," Nate ordered, his voice calm but resolute. "Today's weather is perfect for being discharged from the hospital."

Nate had grown accustomed to their cryptic responses. With a few swift taps, he clicked the exit button on his summoning interface, and his figure dissolved into shimmering starlight before he reappeared in his private chamber. Removing his helmet, he stood and stretched as the soft morning sunlight streamed in through the open curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room.

As Nate turned around, he noticed something peculiar: the two ceremonies, still resting on the bed, had each grasped his helmet in their tiny, trembling hands. They shook it from side to side, trying in vain to remove it. A smile tugged at Nate's lips. Amused and curious, he walked over and attempted to take the helmet from them. But as soon as his fingers made contact, the helmet inexplicably shattered into a cascade of tiny fragments.

In that moment, the eyes of the two ceremonies shone with a captivating blue light—yet at their center lay a depth as dark and endless as a black hole. They gazed around at their surroundings with bewilderment; every object—their own hands, their limbs, even their bodies—appeared to be etched with dark, crack-like lines. Although Nate had explained the concept of the "death of the Demon Eye" to them before, seeing it with their own eyes filled them with a paralyzing fear. The idea of falling once again into that encroaching darkness was unbearable.

"Are you all right?" Nate asked gently, stepping forward with genuine concern. As he looked into their faces, he noticed a small, almost desperate gesture—they suddenly clutched his palm tightly.

"No, not on your body," they insisted in unison, their voices strangely harmonious. In their perception of the world, only Nate's body was spared from the dark, fissured lines—the so-called "dead line."

"…There is no dead line on you?" Nate murmured, cradling their small hands with tenderness. "Relax. You can deactivate this power. Don't worry—by the fundamental rule of our summoning system, a servant can never harm its master."

Nate was well aware that he himself would not be immune to injury or even death if fate demanded it. But if the two ceremonies could not detect the dead line on him, it was because the system's protocols strictly prohibited any harm from beingfall on their master.

Gradually, as the tension ebbed away, the oppressive vision of "death" that had filled the room began to fade. With deep, steady breaths, the eerie aura dissolved. Slowly, the two ceremonies began to look around. The room was modest and unadorned—a simple space furnished with a bed, a few chairs, and a small table. Near the bed, a delicate girl with soft blonde hair and a gentle smile stood, her hair catching the morning light like spun gold.

"How are you feeling now?" Nate asked kindly, releasing their hands and encouraging them to move. "Try to walk around a little and see if you feel any different."

One of the ceremonies cautiously shook her arms, and suddenly, as if life itself had been reignited, she murmured, "I… feel something. This isn't like my body before."

"Of course," Nate said, his tone warm and encouraging as he helped them up. "I've been helping strengthen you. Now, welcome back to the real world, Shi."

At that moment, the group of partners around Nate had grown: besides Quinn Maxwell and Violet, now the two special ceremonies—once mere echoes of a lost self—had awakened. Without much fanfare, the four of them gathered for a modest celebration. Nate, always the caring host, prepared a feast himself. The table was laden with dishes chosen with care: Quinn's favorite coffee pudding, Violet's cherished strawberry cake, and, naturally, Nate's personal favorite hot pot brimming with tender lamb and fresh vegetables.

"Wow, sure enough," Nate declared with a satisfied grin as he eyed the simmering lamb in the hot pot, "the most enjoyable thing in life is a beautiful meal." He turned to the two ceremonies with genuine curiosity. "Tell me—what do you like to eat? Today, you are the guests of honor."

One of the rituals responded softly, "I don't like spicy food." In response, Nate adjusted the dish accordingly. "I knew I'd make a mandarin duck pot, but luckily, I had a backup plan," he laughed, dashing into the kitchen. When he emerged with a steaming pot of hot chicken soup, he boasted, "Dang dang dang! This is my proud work—the kind of chicken soup that can capture the hearts of even the most discerning foodies."

He carefully added large pieces of potatoes and carrots into the rich, fragrant broth. As they boiled, the flavors melded into a comforting symphony. With each spoonful that the two ceremonies took, their eyes brightened—a subtle but clear sign that the nurturing care was beginning to bridge the gap between their hollow past and a hopeful future.

"Didn't you say there's something that needs my strength?" one of the ceremonies asked, her tone now more inquisitive and engaged.

Nate nodded, his eyes gleaming with resolve. "Yes. Tomorrow, just the four of us, we're heading to Mexico. Our enemy might be an automated armor unit called the Destroyer—or perhaps even something that resembles a god. But no matter what, I'm determined to solve it. My ultimate goal is to become an existence strong enough to interfere in the family affairs of the King of the Gods, Odin. I want to prevent the destruction of Asgard."

He continued, "Asgard, with its advanced technology, powerful warriors, and magical prowess, far exceeds Earth's capabilities. Yet, it was that very brilliance that led to its downfall in a legendary royal battle—a tragedy that still makes one sigh with sorrow. If we want to change the future of Asgard, we must begin by untangling Odin's complicated family ties."

At that moment, Quinn's voice, clear and steady, resonated in their shared mental space. "With such a purpose, you should first work on strengthening yourself, Nate, because the enemy you'll face will be incredibly powerful."

Unexpectedly, the two ceremonies set down their spoons, and in unison declared with icy determination, "Even if it is a god, I will kill it for you." Their words were filled with resolve and hinted at an inner strength that belied their earlier emptiness.

"Master…" Violet echoed softly, reaching up to gently pull at Nate's sleeve, a silent promise of loyalty and trust.

Nate's heart swelled with gratitude. "I will train each of you well," he assured them with a warm smile. "For now, eat, and replenish your strength. We've earned this moment."

In a brief pause that followed, the four of them—Nate, Quinn, Violet, and the two newly awakened ceremonies—enjoyed a humble party to celebrate the return of life and hope. Nate had personally cooked every dish, and the atmosphere was filled with laughter, shared memories, and the promise of a better tomorrow. Even as they ate, the discussion turned toward the future.

"Tomorrow, we're going to Mexico," Nate announced as he cleaned up. "Our mission is crucial. We may face an enemy equipped with an automated armor unit known as the Destroyer or even something resembling a deity. But I'm confident that with our combined strength, we can resolve the situation perfectly."

He added, "I want to be strong enough to interfere in the family affairs of Odin himself, to prevent the catastrophic destruction of Asgard. I know it sounds like a tall order, but I believe that if we work together, nothing is impossible."

Quinn nodded, while the two ceremonies, still processing their new reality, listened intently. Their once-empty hearts now held the promise of new memories, the gentle nourishment of shared experiences, and the hope of a future where they would no longer be defined solely by their past trauma.

Nate reflected on the journey that had brought him here—a journey filled with battles, betrayals, and unexpected alliances. Each day, he had painstakingly added new memories to his summoned allies, guiding them away from the void that had once consumed them. Even as he prepared for the dangerous mission ahead, he knew that these moments of tenderness, of shared meals and quiet conversations, were just as important as any battle strategy.

He paused, gazing out at the soft glow of the morning light that filtered through the curtains. "Remember," he whispered, "every moment is a chance to create something beautiful. Do not fear the void—it is simply a canvas awaiting your new memories."

With renewed resolve, Nate activated the exit command on his summoning interface. His presence receded from the virtual chamber like the last rays of twilight fading into dawn, leaving behind a sense of calm and promise. The two ceremonies remained, their eyes reflecting the gradual return of life as the darkness of the "dead line" disappeared from their vision.

In that quiet, tender moment, Nate Locke knew that his mission was far from over. Every day would bring new challenges and opportunities—a chance to awaken more souls, strengthen his allies, and confront enemies that threatened the very fabric of their existence. The virtual gaming helmet had opened a door to untold possibilities, and now it was up to him and his companions to walk through that door with courage and determination.

"Tony, I'll keep you updated," Nate said into his comm as he prepared for the next phase of operations. "We're on the cusp of something extraordinary. I promise you, we'll turn these new memories into a brighter future."

Tony's voice, confident and encouraging, came back over the line: "I believe in you, Nate. Remember, the future isn't set in stone—it's ours to shape."

And so, with the gentle warmth of a new day rising over the horizon, Nate Locke stepped forward with unwavering resolve. Every beat of his heart, every decision made in the quiet moments of reflection, was a testament to the hope that even the most fractured souls could be rebuilt. In a world where every life was precious and every memory held the power to change destiny, Nate vowed to guide his followers toward a future where hope would shine brightly against the darkness.