Valen’s Transformation

The ancient stone tablet hovered in the air above Valen, its surface cracked and broken, as thin lines of light spread across it like veins.

Piece by piece, the stone began to disintegrate, crumbling into a fine, shimmering powder.

Each fragment floated toward Valen, carried by an unseen force, as if the very essence of the tablet was being drawn into him.

Valen now stood in the center of the ritual circle, his breath shallow, his body tense with anticipation.

He could feel it—something powerful, something ancient, reaching out to him, pulling him closer to the source of its energy.

The first wisps of the shimmering dust touched his skin, and the effect was immediate.

Pain.

It tore through him, sharp and relentless, like a thousand blades slicing into his flesh. Valen gasped, his knees buckling under the force of it.

The stone tablet's essence, now merging with his body and bloodstream, surged through his veins like molten fire.

His Primordial Core—his most prized possession, the source of his unparalleled power under this force—shattered.

Valen's eyes widened in shock as he felt the core within him splinter, breaking apart into fragments.

It was as if the very foundation of his being had been ripped from him. His mana, once so perfectly controlled, now ran wild, a chaotic storm of raw energy that tore through his body like a violent tempest.

No... Valen thought, his mind struggling to grasp the magnitude of what was happening. My core...

But the pain didn't stop there. His internal organs began to rupture, one by one. His lungs collapsed, leaving him gasping for air that would never come.

His heart twisted violently in his chest, beating faster and faster until it finally gave out, leaving him with nothing but the agonizing silence of impending death.

Valen's skin cracked and tore as the energy from the tablet continued to pour into him. His bones splintered, his muscles ripped apart, and his blood boiled under the intensity of the power flooding his system.

His body was breaking, disintegrating piece by piece, until there was nothing left of him but a faint outline of what he had once been.

The last thing he felt was his skull shattering, his mind collapsing into darkness, before his entire body was consumed.

And then there was nothing.

Valen's consciousness floated in the void, weightless and lost. There was no pain here, no sensation at all—just a vast, endless darkness.

He drifted, suspended in the nothingness, his mind barely able to hold onto any coherent thought.

Is this it? Valen wondered. Is this death?

Memories of his previous life flickered before him—flashes of the moment he had died as Ethan Cross.

The betrayal. The gunshot. The look in his sister's eyes as she pulled the trigger. The cold, unrelenting void that had swallowed him whole.

But this time, there was something different. Instead of being consumed by oblivion, Valen felt a faint, pulsing presence. A tether, holding him back from the brink of total annihilation.

And then, from the depths of the darkness, the system spoke.

[System Protection Activated]

Nyx... The thought drifted into his mind, faint and distant.

Nyx's voice was calm, steady, a beacon of light in the endless void.

[Host soul preservation in progress. Beginning reconstruction...]

Slowly, Valen's consciousness began to solidify. The void around him stirred as Nyx's power wrapped itself around his fragmented soul, protecting what little remained of him.

It was a strange sensation—like being held together by threads of light, barely enough to keep him from dissolving completely.

For what felt like an eternity, Valen floated in this liminal space, neither alive nor dead. But bit by bit, he could feel it—Nyx's power working to rebuild him.

His body, piece by piece, began to reassemble.

The process was slow, excruciatingly so. Valen could feel every fragment of his shattered form being pulled back together, each one a jarring reminder of the pain he had endured.

His bones reformed first, knitting together with agonizing precision. Then his muscles, growing back as if being torn from nothingness.

His organs, still weak and fragile, pulsed with a faint glimmer of life as they reconnected with his body.

The pain was unbearable. Every nerve, every cell screamed in agony as his body was forced to reconstruct itself.

It felt as if he were being born again, but instead of the warmth and light of life, all he felt was cold, suffocating darkness.

Why does it hurt so much... Valen thought, his mind barely able to focus through the waves of torment.

Each heartbeat was like a hammer blow, pounding through his chest as his heart began to beat once more.

His lungs, still fragile, filled with air for the first time in what felt like an eternity, each breath a struggle.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Valen's body lay on the cold ground of the ritual site, whole once again.

But the pain had not yet ended.

His mind, still caught between life and death, relived the torment of his body being destroyed.

Over and over, he felt his Primordial Core shatter, his bones break, his organs rupture. The memory of the agony was imprinted on his very soul, a constant reminder of what he had endured.

Alaric, who had been standing at the edge of the ritual site, watched the entire scene unfold in silent horror.

His loyalty had never wavered, but seeing Valen—someone he had served for so long—disintegrate before his eyes had shaken him to his core.

Now, as Valen's body began to reform, Alaric's panic grew. He had never seen anything like this.

The boy, or rather the young man who had orchestrated such a dark ritual, was now lying motionless on the ground, his chest barely rising and falling as his body struggled to hold itself together.

Is he... alive? Alaric wondered, his heart pounding in his chest. What if the ritual failed?

He knelt beside Valen, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch his master's arm. The skin beneath his fingers was cold, but there was a faint pulse—a sign of life. Barely.

Alaric's breath hitched. He had been prepared for many things, but not this. Not watching Valen's body shatter and then reassemble before his eyes.

He had served the Aetheris family loyally for years, but never had he witnessed something so utterly... unnatural.

"Valen...?" Alaric whispered, his voice barely audible. There was no response.

Valen lay there, unconscious, his body still slowly mending itself. Though he remained motionless, his presence felt... different.

Stronger. More powerful. Whatever had happened during the ritual, whatever force had torn him apart and put him back together again, had changed him.

Alaric, still shaking, stepped back, unsure of what to do next. All he could do was wait—and hope that when Valen awoke, he would be the same master he had always known.

The night stretched on, the ritual site bathed in a faint, eerie glow. And there, in the center of the broken circles, Valen's transformation continued.