the skies of justice

***

Kralscells—king functions of the universe. Concepts given hosts. They are engines of apocalypse, programmed to annihilate entire planets the moment an unknown law is broken by their inhabitants.

Unlike conventional magical, superhuman or supernatural disciplines, Kralscells don't rely on martial arts or magecraft drawn from mana, mantra, haki, or qi. They wield aether—a violent, wilful power, as potent as it is perilous.

Mana, psychic energy, qi—these are the standard external fuels for practitioners on the path of sorcery or combat mastery. They permit impossibilities: conjuring fire from bare hands, breathing underwater for an hour, or even flight through sheer force of will.

There are darker variants—devil-mana, demonic-qi—that offer greater strength at the cost of one's sanity and flesh. Powers that grant monstrous enhancements in exchange for mutating the mind, rotting the soul.

Yet compared to aether, all other energies pale. Suppressed. Powerless.

Aether allows its bearer to transcend reality. To perform feats so absurd, even the elder gods recoil—growing larger than moons, flinging planets with a thought. But it's the Kralscell that dictates how far that strength goes.

The price? A constant war against the aether's will.

When channeled, aether seeks to devour the mind. To puppeteer its wielder like a marionette made of dreams and rage. Those who misstep are not granted the mercy of death, only something far worse.

I was reckless when I first began taming aether. Back then, it slipped through my fingers like dry sand, refusing to gather no matter how I focused. So I took a shortcut. I calcified a part of my own body—replacing my original heart with three new ones, each born from the extinct Leviathan's blood. A brutal but necessary measure.

I still remember the screams. The moment I tore out my heart to make room for the others. I was desperate. I didn't care about the cost. But it worked. After nearly a century of refinement, I had three hearts of pure aether.

My central heart—Sator, the sower, the anchor of influence.

My silver heart—Tenet, the encoder, the navigator of will.

My amber heart—Rotas, the refiner, the final wheel that circulates aether and blood as one.

Each heart with its own duty. Together, they forged me into something the universe was not meant to contain.

Over time, they became like three supernovae burning in my chest. Because over twenty percent of my body is aether now, my connection to it is deeper than any other Kralscell I've met.

Even at rest, I hear it. Whispering. Murmuring. Waiting.

I feel its thoughts, its curiosity, its intentions—more intimately than others ever could. Our bond is unnatural. But it allows me to communicate with it. Not just command it, but speak with it. Aether wants to exist. It yearns to manifest. Even if its form is chaos incarnate. That's how Kralscells came to be—chosen hosts, uniquely crafted to survive aether's fury without detonating from within. Each one aligned with a concept they embody.

Though never confirmed, I believe there are thirteen types of aether—one per Kralscell. Which means only thirteen of us can ever exist. Each bound to their own hive-mind. Each tethered to a singular idea.

My aether... trusts me. It supports me, helps me, watches the world through my eyes. It's curious, like I am. I want to show it everything. I want to share with it what no one else can. But when it grows restless—especially during high stress peaks—it turns on me. Aether doesn't understand trauma, or fear, or memory. It only knows stimulus. Intensity. If my brain activity spikes too fast—if I panic, rage, or remember too much—it reacts, and tries to assimilate me into its hive-mind.

That's where my advantage as a homunculus comes in. I don't feel real emotions. Only echoes. Simulations. Borrowed from Thorn's high-emotion brain.

Still, I've lived long. Longer than most. My life has been shaped by war, pain, and survival. Emotions or not, trauma leaves a mark. Constant battles and constant flight mean adrenaline is always there—and adrenaline, to aether, is a threat.

Somehow, I've lasted this long.

Empyreans themselves are beings of concentrated aether. For a normal person to be near one is suicide. Within five minutes, they'd lose their mind and die. Radiation poisoning of the soul. Only Kralscells can withstand their presence—and even then, it's a razor-thin margin. Because Empyreans amplify aether's madness. They are not sentient so much as desires made sentient.

I drew a breath, trying to slow the storm in my skull, aether's whispers clawing behind my eyes. Thorn's voice hummed in my mind, chanting, "Zen, zen, zen..." like a mantra he didn't believe in.

When I felt some control return, I looked around the warehouse. Relieved—viscerally relieved—that I didn't see that white room again.

But then, I blinked. And for a heartbeat, it was there.

A blank, seamless space. No doors. No light. Just me and my shadow, imprisoned in a room of nothing. A realm I couldn't be sure I'd truly escaped.

Heru was still briefing the others, including Ben's crew. I forced myself to anchor to the now. To this reality.

This is real.

This is not the white room.

This is not my mind lying to me again.

I escaped. I know I did. I clung to that hope until the vision stopped flickering.

Sifo Ren—rebuilt after his mecha body had been damaged by the Zorain of Gold—stood beside Heru, assisting with the explanation.

Kimaris, Wukong, Clara, Vex, Dante, Falice, and Quinella listened. Quiet. Focused. Uncertain, but trusting.

"You ready, Strife?" Sathuna asked, watching me closely. Her tone calm, but bracing—ready to intervene if I lost control.

I leaned back, exhaling slowly as the whispers faded to murmurs. "You know how my mind works, Sathuna. Stop treating me like glass." There was a bitter edge in my voice. Thorn was visibly bored, slouched in a corner of my thoughts.

Sathuna smirked behind her fingers. "You can't trust an insane man's word, you know. Especially when his meltdowns can warp the laws of physics."

I scowled, but said nothing. Tossing my head as she was right.

She smiled. "I'm just covering all bases. You're the one who has to seal the Empyrean."

"Yeah. I know." I flexed my hand, Thorn materialising onto my shoulder. "Just tell us what needs breaking."

Sathuna sighed, the sound touched with weariness. "There's a cargo ship at the south end of the city. It's scheduled to launch supplies two hours before the festival begins—headed for a hidden space station. Ben was smuggled aboard, sent by the three lords of Idaten for some experiment later today. The Empress has no idea. She still thinks the boy's rotting in a prison just outside the city."

"Why would the gods of Idaten want Ben?" Thorn asked, unimpressed. "The kid's an idiot."

Sathuna shrugged. "From what Sifo Ren and I uncovered, the Empyrean favors young men—they stay sane longer. The gods are trying to communicate with it through them. Trying to understand what 'true justice' means."

I scoffed, a sharp breath of disbelief. "So they're begging to be blinded."

"Seems that way." Sathuna exhaled, shaking her head before offering her parting words. "Just try not to die up there, Strife. The sooner you leave this planet with the Empyrean, the sooner I can crawl back into my bed. You know how comfy it is." She winked playfully.

I rolled my eyes, pretending to ignore the teasing while Thorn let out a lecherous whistle. "Still bugs me that he gets innuendos and I don't."

"Aw." Sathuna scratched Thorn gently behind his nape. "If Strife ever swings back to Felcri, you both can rest in my home again."

I shuddered at the memory of her homeworld. Thorn hesitated too, his wings twitching. "Oh yeah—uh, maybe? If the stars align... princess?"

I didn't answer. I just turned and walked out of the warehouse without another word.

[Skill: Autumn King's Conquest — Mach Rush!]

Before Sathuna could say anything else, I surged forward, flooding my limbs with aether and launching into the streets with divine speed. Buildings blurred past as I headed south, eyes scanning for anything resembling a hidden launch zone.

After half an hour of zigzagging through alleys and abandoned infrastructure, I arrived at an underground garage embedded into the city's steel foundation.

Thorn fluttered off my shoulder and landed on the rusted railing beside me as we surveyed the scene. A single cargo ship stood in the dim hangar, being loaded with crates—food, water, scientific gear.

"I told you we should've turned left at the yellow sign," Thorn muttered.

I clenched my jaw. He was right. "Uh-huh. Everyone's got their day."

Thorn, ever the opportunist, nodded toward a worker slumped in the corner mid-breakfast. "That one's ripe for dinner. Stuffing himself like a good... little... snack."

I ignored him and vaulted the fence, dropping down seven stories in one breath.

"Hey! Wait for me, psycho!" Thorn flapped after me in a fiery blur.

As I plummeted, I compressed aether around me like a crushing vice, then vanished.

[Skill: Hollow Void — Void Steps!]

I blinked to the far side of the garage, fingers dragging along the rock wall as I slid down silently. Landing behind a distracted watchman, I grabbed him by the neck and slammed him into the concrete without a sound.

"Hey! The cargo's all loaded up! Clear out and set her off!" someone shouted across the floor. The workers quickly scattered, the ship's hum turning into a deafening roar as the engine warmed for liftoff. The noise throbbed in my skull, even muffled through my beanie.

[Skill: Astral Third Eye — Searching Eye]

I swept my aether across the ship's surface, feeding data into my mind. Every seam, flaw, entry point revealed itself—one of them had a small window. That would do.

[Skill: Hollow Void — Void Steps!]

I sprinted up the hangar wall, aether coiled in my legs, each step launching me higher. The ship was already lifting. With a glint of silver lightning and a twitch of thought, I teleported to the ship's curved hull.

The wind struck me like a hammer as we climbed through the sky. The engines roared beneath me, lifting the vessel higher with every blast.

[Skill: Winter Inverse — Armour!]

The sleeves of my coat peeled away into metallic segments, reforming into clawed gauntlets that bit into the hull. My coat reshaped itself, plate by plate, until I was encased in knightly armor—sleek, jet-black, survival-ready. Enough to endure the hellfire of atmosphere and the void beyond.

With my gauntlets locked in place, I held on tight as the spacecraft tore through the sky. Below us, Idaten-II's blue oceans shimmered, and above, space traffic moved like a constellation of migrating insects.

'Looks like Sathuna's plan worked after all,' Thorn mused, flapping his molten wings beside me. 'Customs is going to be very confused.'

I nodded, visor reflecting the distant light of orbit. The stars stretched wide above us. Ahead, madness awaited.