Shackled Memories

Within the oppressive stillness of the Isolation Vault, Heze struggled to steady his reeling mind. The Transmigration System was real. The quest and its penalty were real. His analyst's training kicked in immediately, dissecting the problem into manageable components.

[Primary Quest: Reconcile Two Lives]

"Reconcile," Heze rasped in Nihil's voice. "To do that, I need data. I need to know who 'Nihil Aethernis Nocturne' truly was."

He closed his crimson eyes. On Vega Terra, he could dive into data oceans with a cognitive interface. Here, he had nothing but his awareness and this fragile body. He tried a different method: deep meditation, focusing inward, seeking lingering echoes within his new vessel.

And the echoes answered.

The memories didn't come as clear scenes, but as icy jabs. Fragments of sensation—or rather, the absence of sensation—from Nihil's original life.

First Flash: A sunlit garden in the mansion courtyard. Other children, including a haughty blond boy (Alban) and a quiet little girl (Velka), laughed as a magic tutor taught them to make tiny light-blooms bloom in their palms. Young Nihil could only watch from afar, behind his tower window. When he tried to mimic the gesture, nothing happened. His hand remained cold and empty. He felt no warmth from magic, no disappointment. Only flat emptiness.

Second Flash: Age ten. A high priest of the Solaris Empire came to bless him, a final effort by his father. The priest placed his golden-glowing hand on Nihil's forehead. Instantly, the light dimmed and snuffed out as if swallowed. The priest recoiled, staring at Nihil with horror, as if he'd touched death itself. That day, his father, Valerius, stopped meeting his gaze.

Third Flash: A cold conversation in the library. Valerius, his father, stood before the fireplace, not turning. "Your existence is a price House Nocturne pays," Valerius stated. "You are our shield. As long as this curse resides within you, it will not afflict Alban. Understand your role. Endure in silence. It is the only service you can render."

Final Flash: A dark bedroom. Nihil, at seventeen, lay in bed, breathing shallow. His life force was drained by the intensifying Shackles. No resistance. No fear. Only endless weariness and the knowledge that his role as "curse vessel" was nearing its end. He died alone, in the silence that had been his only companion.

Heze opened his eyes. Cold tears traced paths down his new body's pale cheeks—an emotional reaction utterly alien to Nihil, yet profoundly real for Heze. He hadn't inherited a monster's body. He'd inherited a tragedy. He felt the lingering residue of Nihil's profound despair, his yearning for a connection he could never grasp.

A new notification flared in his mind.

[Vessel's Core Memories Accessed.]

[Quest Progress: 'Reconcile Two Lives' - 5%]

[Curse Analysis Updated: Shackles of Nihility is a hereditary metaphysical bond. Functions by severing all energetic and empathic connections from the target, turning them into an 'existential black hole.' Constantly increases Void Sync until the target reaches Singularity or perishes.]

[Current Void Sync: 0.2%]

Meanwhile, in the frigid corridors of the mansion's lower wing, the heavy, rhythmic tread of armored boots echoed.

Alban Nocturne strode ahead, his expensive robes sweeping the dusty stone floor. Behind him, six knights of his personal Elite Squad followed in grim silence, their armor—etched with the Nocturne raven sigil—making no sound. Their faces were taut, hands never far from sword hilts.

The atmosphere here was a world away from the warm opulence above. The air hung damp, and every torch on the walls seemed to struggle, their flames flickering as if buffeted by an unseen wind.

"Young Master," the squad captain whispered beside Alban, "this hollow energy... it grows stronger. It... presses on our senses."

"I know," Alban replied sharply, his eyes fixed on the massive iron door at the corridor's end. The Isolation Vault door. "It means we're close."

Plans formed in his mind. First, visual confirmation. Was it a living corpse? A vengeful spirit? Or something worse? Second, if the anomaly showed signs of intelligence or power, he would give the order to destroy it on the spot. No witnesses. No failures. This stain must end tonight, permanently. He wouldn't let his brother's "ghost" ruin his future.

They arrived before the door. Just as the guard had reported. The silver rune-chains meant to seal it were now dull, several showing hairline cracks, emitting thin wisps of black smoke that vanished instantly. An unnatural chill radiated from the metal, making even the bravest knights shiver.

Alban halted, staring at the door with icy resolve. He could feel it. The emptiness. The sickening stillness behind the thick metal.

"Open it," he commanded.

The knights exchanged uneasy glances.

"I said," Alban repeated, his voice now dangerously soft, "open that door. Now."

Reluctantly, two knights stepped forward. They inserted a large iron key into the lock and, with immense effort, turned the rusted mechanism.

A loud CLUNK echoed as heavy bolts retracted.

The massive iron door groaned slowly inward, revealing pitch-black darkness beyond. From the widening gap, a far deeper, bone-chilling cold seeped out.

And from within that darkness, a pair of crimson eyes gazed back.

The darkness within the Isolation Vault seemed to recoil as the iron door swung open, replaced by the trembling torchlight from the corridor. For a few eternal seconds, silence reigned. On one side, Alban Nocturne and his elite squad stood frozen, a mixture of wariness and shock etched onto their faces. On the other, seated in the center of the frigid chamber, a white-haired young man met their stares with unblinking crimson eyes.

From Heze's perspective, it was surreal. He recognized the man in the doorway from Nihil's memories—Alban, his brother. The handsome face was now distorted by an unreadable, icy expression. The knights behind him were coiled predators, and Heze, in this weak body, was the prey. The system in his head remained silent, as if waiting for a trigger.

Alban was the first to shatter the silence. His initial shock vanished, replaced by a resolve as cold as the vault itself.

"That is not my brother," he declared, his voice sharp and clear, aimed at his men. "It is an Aberration wearing his face. Destroy it."

The command was absolute. No room for questions.

The Elite Squad Captain, a burly man named Garris, was the first to move. With a battle roar, he lunged forward, his priest-blessed silver sword raised high, ready to cleave the anomaly before him in two.

Heze's mind blanked with panic. He had no combat experience. This body barely had the strength to stand, let alone fight a trained knight. Instinctively, he raised his pale hand in a futile gesture of defense.

As the gleaming blade descended in a lethal arc, a new, darker, and more aggressive interface flared across Heze's mind, overlaying the calm transmigration system.

[Immediate Physical Threat Detected.]

[Activating Emergency Combat Interface: Nihility Code.]

The text was blood-red, sharp, and urgent.

[Suggestion: Utilize Skill - Void Grasp (Rank F). Target: Knight's Sword.]

With no time to think, driven by pure desperation, Heze obeyed the system. He focused his entire will into his outstretched palm, envisioning the concept of "rejection" he felt emanating from the Shackles within him. A chilling sensation flowed from his core—something he later understood as energy—and gathered in his palm.

Clang... No, not even that.

When Captain Garris's sword met Nihil's extended palm, there was no metallic clang, no shower of sparks. There was only silence. A devouring silence.

The point where the blade touched his skin began to erode, vanishing into unseen, nonexistent dust. A small hole appeared in the center of the silver sword. In the blink of an eye, the hole spread like black cracks, ravenously and silently consuming the rest of the blade.

Captain Garris froze, his eyes wide with horror. He was still mid-swing, but all that remained in his grasp was an empty hilt. His prized weapon, a blessed relic, had vanished before his eyes.

The other knights, poised to advance, halted in unison. Their jaws slackened. Destructive magic could shatter a sword. Dragonfire could melt it. But this? This was different. This was erasure.

Nihil stared at his own palm in disbelief. It had worked.

[Skill 'Void Grasp' successfully utilized.]

[Nihility Points: -5]

[Current Capacity: 4 / 15 (CRITICAL)]

The system notification explained the wave of profound weakness washing over him. The power was real, but so was its cost.

In the doorway, Alban's eyes narrowed. His momentary shock was well-hidden behind his mask of arrogance. This wasn't death magic. This wasn't Abyssal chaos sorcery either. This was something fundamentally wrong. Something that shouldn't exist.

His resolve to annihilate his brother solidified into absolute certainty. This abomination could not be allowed to exist.

"Don't just stand there gaping, you fools!" Alban roared, snapping his men out of their stupor. He drew his own sword—an exquisite blade etched with glowing ice-blue runes. "The aberration is dangerous at close range! Crossbows! Projectile magic! Do

not let it touch you or your weapons!"

The remaining knights snapped into action. Two lowered their swords and swiftly raised crossbows slung across their backs, while the others began chanting incantations, gathering crackling balls of fire or shards of ice in their hands.

Nihil remained slumped on the cold floor, breathing ragged from the exertion. He had just survived one immediate threat only to face a new, multi-directional barrage. And the system in his head flashed his critical capacity level in pulsing red.

[Current Capacity: 4 / 15 (CRITICAL)]