Eleven months had gone by since Civarat assumed control over Terraluna, the celestial body once known as Earth. The headquarters, once the enigmatic Lost Enclave, now displayed no trace of its previous human inhabitants. Robots scuttled around, clearing away remnants of a bygone era.
Marki 7, now more human than machine, paced towards a quaint two-story house located in the middle of this post-human landscape. His brain, still entwined with mechanical interfaces, was the last remaining artifact of his original form. He halted before an elderly man, Nexus, and uttered, "Sir, it's time."
Behind Marki 7, a sea of robots had assembled, their numbers reaching into the millions. Nexus sighed deeply and led the way into the house. "Two years," he murmured, "all it took for one person to change the course of the universe."
Inside, the kitchen was fragrant with the aroma of stir-fried vegetables and spices. A man in his 30s, Shaoran, was at the stove. Shaoran gestured for Nexus to take a seat at the table. When the meal was ready, he divided it onto two plates and sat down.
The house was eerily quiet. The only sounds were the clang of forks and knives against plates. Once they'd finished eating, Shaoran broke the silence.
"Prepare the suit," he said. "Of all the garments across the multiverse, this is the one that has truly caught my eye. If people from other realms saw this, they'd be floored—though, of course, their tastes and aesthetics are vastly different."
Shaoran paused, his gaze drifting towards the sky. Pulling himself from this reverie, he donned the suit—a meticulously crafted attire that was a marvel of both form and function. He stepped outside where a legion of human-like robots awaited him. They were once his adversaries, or casualties in battles fought for deeply human reasons. Shaoran had repurposed them, giving them the humanity they had either opposed or yearned for in their previous lives.
"Initiate the ritual," he commanded.
As the robots began chanting in perfect synchronization, a circular formation materialized around Shaoran. Nexus stood by, his eyes glistening with a complex blend of pride and sorrow. The air vibrated with an invisible energy, humming with the sum total of millions of mechanical voices. Nexus wondered how it had come to this—a young man wielding the power to alter the very fabric of reality.
The atmosphere hung heavy as Nexus sidled up next to Shaoran. "Sir, we've drained all the Qi from the universe's atmosphere for this ritual. Are you certain this is the path we should take?"
Shaoran looked at Nexus but offered no words in reply. After a moment of silence, he began to chant an ancient spell, one that seemed to have existed before the universe itself. As he chanted, Terraluna trembled, and the sky grew darker, as if swallowed by an eternal eclipse.
A figure began to materialize in the air. Simultaneously, the assembled robots started to disappear, their forms dissolving into particles of light. The more the figure materialized, the more robots vanished, until, finally, the figure appeared in full form. Not a single robot remained, not even a trace of their souls.
Only Shaoran and Nexus stood on Terraluna, now kneeling before the figure hovering in the air.
"We welcome you, Lord Varian Eclipsian, Guardian of the Multiverse, the Ruler of Souls," they intoned in unison.
Lord Varian slowly opened his eyes and looked at Shaoran. "It's been a billion years since we've seen each other like this. Why use up so much energy just to speak with me?"
Shaoran sighed. His dad always had questions. Ever since he was born, he'd done his best not to let him down. "Dad, I want you to take half my soul," he told Lord Varian.
Lord Varian let out a sigh too. "You've done a good job getting ready for this. And it's not like we're newbies fighting against Bloody Psych. Fine, I'll take half your soul. But don't forget, if you die, your soul will explode, destroying this universe and strengthening Bloody Psych."
Shaoran nodded. "I get it, Dad."
Lord Varian stared at Shaoran, then spoke in a language that was incomprehensible to most beings. "You're the third prince of the entire multiverse, and you've got a lot of eyes on you. Don't let them down. If anything happens, it'll be 56 trillion years for you to be reborn. I'll stick your soul back in the rebirth cycle, but that's a long wait. So stay alive." After saying this, he placed his hand on Shaoran's head.
Pain flooded Shaoran; it got so bad he couldn't keep it in. He screamed, a scream so bone-chilling it even made Lord Varian's hand tremble for a split second. But Lord Varian held steady.
Then he turned to Nexus. "Once this is done, he'll forget everything. I'm giving you a coffin. Put him in it, and use your soul to enter his body. When Bloody Psych strikes, most people will die. But thanks to both of you, there might be more survivors."
Lord Varian looked skyward and hummed a resonant tune that felt like it had the weight of eons behind it. At his call, multiple spirits materialized in front of him, each representing a different planet. They were ethereal entities, each emanating a unique aura that reflected the worlds they hailed from. Some were vibrant, shimmering in hues of blue and green, while others were more subdued, their auras reflecting the barren landscapes of their celestial bodies.
"So, you are the spirits of the planets," Lord Varian began, his voice echoing with an ancient wisdom. "Don't be overly concerned about my presence here, nor overly pleased. The Spirit of the Universe and I have an agreement: I don't personally intervene in the matters of individual universes. However, since you have come before me today, I'll grant Nexus the authority to communicate with you. And let it be known, I hope to find you all alive and well when next we meet."
The spirits continued to bow, their gestures an intricate dance of respect and awe. They had heard tales of Lord Varian, of course—every spirit had. But to stand before him was something else entirely. It wasn't just the authority he commanded; it was also the aura of profound wisdom and ancient power that he radiated. Even as non-corporeal entities, they felt it—a tingling sensation, a slight vibration in the very core of their being that reminded them of their cosmic insignificance compared to him.
Lord Varian's words had a mixed impact on the assembled spirits. The mention of granting Nexus the authority to communicate with them sparked a blend of relief and trepidation. Nexus was a mechanical life form, something so fundamentally different from them that it raised questions about how their interactions would unfold. Spirits like these were not used to dealing with the mechanical. They were elements of nature, embodiments of cosmic phenomena; machines were an anomaly to them, a paradox they hadn't yet come to terms with.
At the same time, Lord Varian's parting words—"I hope to find you all alive and well when next we meet"—instilled a kind of fear that was both humbling and motivating. The notion that their survival was uncertain in the times ahead was a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation they were facing. If Lord Varian, the Guardian of the Multiverse, hoped for their survival, it meant that the odds were not necessarily in their favor. What kind of struggle lay ahead that even he couldn't guarantee their safety?
After Lord Varian disappeared, a palpable silence filled the air. Nexus and the spirits stood there, still processing the magnitude of what had just occurred. For a moment, they had been in the presence of an entity so supremely powerful that their own souls had felt suppressed, their auras dimmed. And now, they were charged with the monumental task of protecting Shaoran, a being whose significance they were only beginning to grasp.
The spirits glanced at each other, then at Nexus, and finally, at Shaoran. Though they lacked physical forms, their auras seemed to shimmer with a mix of awe, fear, and a burgeoning sense of responsibility. This was the first time in the history of this universe that such a meeting had occurred—a confluence of spirits and mechanical life, brought together by circumstances beyond their understanding. And as they stood there, each felt the weight of the mission ahead: the protection of Shaoran, a mission so critical that it had necessitated the intervention of Lord Varian himself.
They had been brought together by fate, perhaps, but also by the urgency of a situation that defied comprehension. And as they stood there, considering the daunting mission ahead, each spirit felt a renewed sense of purpose. The fear was still there, of course, but it was now tempered by resolve. They had been chosen for this mission, and come what may, they would not fail.