Even a Bastard Will Kill It for You

"Yes." The two special ritual followers replied in unison, their voices measured yet oddly detached. "Anyway, we don't have a goal; we have nothing to do." Although their tone sounded relaxed, Nate Locke knew that beneath their calm exterior, the hearts of these enigmatic beings remained empty—voids that only deepened their determination to live up to the legacy of [Weaving]. Their emptiness was not weakness, but rather the fuel that drove them to fulfill a destiny they could barely comprehend.

Nate, standing in his private chamber at Tony Stark's temporary villa, studied the two newly awakened ceremonies with a mix of pride and concern. "Then get out of here," he said, his voice calm yet authoritative. "Today's weather is perfect for your discharge from the hospital." With a few precise taps on his summoning interface, Nate activated the exit command. His consciousness shimmered and dissolved into starlight before reappearing on the soft, sunlit floor of the room. He removed his helmet and stretched, watching as the early morning light spilled through the open curtains.

Turning around, Nate's eyes fell upon an endearing sight: the two ceremonies, who had lain quietly on the bed, were now clumsily holding onto his helmet. They shook it from side to side, their small hands struggling to remove it despite their best efforts. Nate's lips curved into a gentle smile. Amused yet touched by their innocent determination, he stepped closer, attempting to take the helmet from them. But as soon as his fingers touched the object, the helmet unexpectedly shattered into a cascade of tiny metallic fragments.

In that split second, the eyes of the two rituals sparkled with a captivating blue light—but when Nate focused on their gaze, he saw something far more profound. In the center of those eyes, a darkness lay like a bottomless void. Every object in their sight, even their own hands and bodies, was etched with faint, crack-like lines as though marked by death itself. Although Nate had explained before about the "Demon Eye"—a dreadful ability that allowed one to perceive the "line of death" on any object—seeing it with their own eyes now filled the rituals with a paralyzing fear. They trembled at the thought of falling back into that eternal darkness.

"Are you all right?" Nate asked softly, bending down to study their small, trembling hands. At that moment, the two ceremonies instinctively clutched his palm, as if to anchor themselves to his presence.

"No, not on your body," they replied almost in unison, their voices firm yet laced with vulnerability. In their perception, only Nate's body was spared from the creeping dark lines—by the immutable rule of the summoning system, no servant could harm its master.

Nate's heart softened. "There's no death line on me," he whispered, stroking their hands in reassurance. "Relax and turn off that power. Trust me—you're safe. The rules forbid you from hurting your master."

Gradually, the oppressive aura of death faded from their vision as their breathing steadied. With deep, measured inhalations, the world around them began to regain its clarity. The room, once shrouded in a foreboding gloom, was revealed as a modest, yet comfortable space: a simple bed, a few chairs, and a small table occupied the area. Near the bed stood a delicate young woman, her soft blonde hair catching the morning light, her face an epitome of quiet grace.

"How are you feeling now?" Nate asked gently, releasing their grip as he encouraged them to rise and move around. "Try to walk a little; see if you notice any difference."

One of the rituals hesitated, then slowly lifted an arm. The movement, small but significant, sent a ripple of hope through Nate's heart. "I… feel something," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's not like my body before."

"That's good," Nate said warmly. "I've been helping you strengthen. Welcome back to the real world, Shi." His voice was soft yet full of promise as he addressed them by the name he had chosen.

At that moment, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The two ceremonies, once lost in the void of their past, now appeared with a glimmer of life in their eyes. Their once-empty expressions gave way to curiosity as they took tentative steps. Without fanfare, Nate arranged for a small celebration—a modest meal to mark the occasion. In the spacious kitchen of Tony Stark's villa, Nate prepared a sumptuous spread. There was coffee pudding, one of Quinn Maxwell's favorites, alongside a delectable strawberry cake that Violet loved, and even his own favorite hot pot filled with tender lamb, carrots, and potatoes.

"Wow," one of the rituals breathed, her voice filled with a mix of wonder and delight as she tasted a spoonful of the hot chicken soup Nate had prepared. "The most enjoyable thing in life is a beautiful meal."

Nate beamed, his earlier worries momentarily forgotten in the warmth of camaraderie. "Tell me," he asked with a playful glint in his eyes, "what do you like to eat? Today, you're the guest of honor." One of them replied shyly, "I don't like spicy food." Nodding, Nate assured them, "I knew I would make a mandarin duck pot, but luckily, I had a backup recipe." He dashed off into the kitchen and returned with a steaming bowl of chicken soup, his voice rising in triumph, "Dang dang dang—this is my proud work! I think this soup alone could capture the hearts of any foodie."

As the meal progressed, the conversation turned to more serious matters. "Didn't you say there's something that needs my strength?" one of the ceremonies asked, her tone now more inquisitive. Nate's expression grew solemn as he explained, "Tomorrow, just the four of us, we're heading to Mexico. Our target might be an automated armor unit known as the Destroyer, or even something that resembles a god. But regardless, our mission is to ensure that no threat goes unchecked." He continued, "My goal is to become strong enough to interfere in the very affairs of Odin—the king of the gods. I want to prevent the destruction of Asgard, because that, my friends, would mean the end of civilization as we know it."

Quinn Maxwell nodded in agreement. "With such a purpose, you must continue to strengthen your abilities, Nate. The enemy you're likely to face will be formidable, and every bit of power will be crucial."

Nate's eyes shone with determination. "You're right," he said. "Even if the enemy is a god, I will kill them for you, if that's what it takes." His words, though cold and resolute, carried a deep undercurrent of responsibility and care—an assurance that even the most brutal decisions were tempered by his duty to protect those under his command.

Violet, who had been quietly absorbing every word, reached out and tugged gently at Nate's sleeve. Her expression was earnest—a silent plea for reassurance and clarity. Nate's heart softened further at her gesture. "Don't worry," he murmured. "I'll train you all well. I will add new memories to your minds so that the void of your past can finally be filled with hope and life."

In the days that followed, Nate's routine became a blend of daily battles, training sessions, and tender moments of teaching. He personally instructed Violet on how to speak, prepared delicious meals with the help of his loyal team, and, most importantly, ventured into the virtual world to interact with the two ceremonies. In his words, this was "adding new memories to you"—an effort to help them reclaim their identities and experience life in its full spectrum.

Every evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the gentle glow of the villa's lights bathed the room, Nate would sit with the two ceremonies and share stories about the world outside. He would describe the bustling streets of New York, the beauty of nature, and even the taste of his favorite desserts. Slowly, the rituals, once void of emotion, began to show subtle signs of awakening. Their eyes, once blank, now flickered with curiosity. Their small gestures—twitches of a finger or a slight tilt of the head—became symbols of progress.

One day, while handing them a cup of hot tea on a quiet morning, Nate looked at their now gently animated faces. "How do you feel now?" he asked softly. The ceremonies responded hesitantly, "I feel… different. I feel like I can move, like I can live again." A genuine smile broke across Nate's face as he nodded in satisfaction. "That's it. Every day, we take one small step forward."

Meanwhile, Tony Stark's presence loomed large in the background. Ever since his villa had been attacked and his life upended by terrorist forces, Tony had grown more reflective. Though he remained outwardly cocky, his inner world was filled with a quiet resolve to protect his legacy and the people he cared about. In a rare moment of sincerity, Tony had even embraced the idea of forming a partnership with Nate. "I believe that our combined efforts can change the world," Tony had said during one of their late-night meetings. "But it's not just about power—it's about ensuring that every life is given a chance, that no one is left in darkness."

Nate knew that the technology of the virtual gaming helmet and the mystical summoning system held immense promise. It wasn't just a tool for upgrading their gear—it was a bridge between life and death, between a past filled with trauma and a future bursting with possibility. And as he looked at the two ceremonies, now slowly coming back to life, he vowed that he would do whatever it took to help them, and to help all those who depended on him.

"Tony, I'll keep you updated on our progress," Nate said one evening into his comm. "We're on the brink of something extraordinary. I promise we'll turn these new memories into a future full of hope."

Tony's deep, assuring voice responded, "I believe in you, Nate. Remember, the future isn't written in stone—it's ours to shape."

As the days turned into weeks, the villa became a sanctuary not only for Tony's legacy but for Nate's growing family of summoned allies. Every meal shared, every conversation, every training session served as a step toward healing old wounds and forging a new destiny. Nate Locke, with his unwavering resolve and empathetic leadership, was determined to see his followers awaken completely from their deep, enforced slumber. The path was fraught with challenges, but with each new memory added and each obstacle overcome, a fragile hope began to shine—a hope that even in a world where darkness once reigned, light would prevail.

In that gentle twilight, as the villa settled into quiet harmony and the promise of a new day shimmered on the horizon, Nate whispered, "Every moment is a chance to create something beautiful. Do not fear the void—it is simply a canvas waiting for your new memories." And with that, he continued his tireless work, ready to guide his newfound family into a brighter future.