Arc III.5: “Zero”
Chapter III: “Ground Zero”
Episode IV: “Rikito Ken: Origin”
[Acier’s Fleet – The Holding Ward]
Metal never slept.
The corridor lights dimmed on a schedule, but the hum of engines stayed constant—like the ship refused ever to let its body relax.
Bowl sat outside the holding ward with his back to the wall, arms folded, helmet resting beside him. He looked like a guard.
He was a babysitter.
Inside the small compartment, two children sat on the floor with their backs against the bunk frame—too quiet for their age, too used to “wait” meaning “survive.”
Rikito watched the ceiling, as if he expected it to collapse on him.
Asuka watched Rikito.
Bowl cleared his throat once—an awkward sound for someone built like a weapon. “You’ve eaten.”
Rikito didn’t answer.
Bowl leaned forward slightly. “You should sleep.”
Rikito’s fingers tightened around the cloth on his lap—an old strip of fabric he refused to let go of. “Where is our mom?”
Bowl didn’t pretend to misunderstand.
“…Mizuka,” Bowl said.
Asuka flinched at the name as if it stung.
Bowl’s jaw worked once. “Your mom… she didn’t make it off Utopia.”
Silence swallowed the ward.
Rikito’s eyes didn’t widen. They didn’t tear.
They just… hardened.
Asuka’s voice came out small. “What does that mean?”
“It means she’s gone,” Bowl said, quieter.
Rikito stood. Slowly. Like the gravity had doubled.
He was shaking, but not from fear.
“Who did it?” he asked.
Bowl didn’t answer right away—because the truth wasn’t a name. It was a chain.
A planet. A crown. A decision. A war that didn’t care who was innocent.
“…Who knows,” Bowl said at last. “They’ll say Father never should’ve mingled with her—”
His jaw worked, like the words tasted wrong.
“That’s what they’ll say. That you’re ‘tainted.’ That you’re cursed.”
Rikito stared at the door like he could see past it—past the ship, past space, past time—straight to the man who made the world choose blood.
He didn’t scream.
He didn’t cry.
He just whispered, like a vow was safer when you kept it close.
“I’m going to kill him.”
Asuka grabbed Rikito’s sleeve. “Riki—don’t say that.”
Rikito didn’t look at her.
“Say it,” Bowl corrected softly, and surprised himself.
Rikito’s eyes flicked to him.
Bowl held his gaze—steady, not cruel. “But understand it. Vengeance isn’t a toy. It’s a weight.”
Rikito’s lip trembled once.
Then he repeated it anyway—stronger this time.
“I’m going to kill him.”
[The Healing Bay]
Kukito floated inside a healing pod like a corpse the universe hadn’t decided to bury.
The fluid around him glowed faintly—medicinal aether and machine runoff, trying to knit what had been torn away.
His body was mostly restored.
His spirit was not.
Cataline stood in front of the pod with her hands behind her back, calm as glass.
On the other side of the room, a lanky man in a sterile coat adjusted instruments while Cette and Tub lingered behind Cataline—restless, out of place in a room built for machines.
Kuro stood near the wall, silent.
He kept his hands closed.
Two red threads—frayed, rain-darkened—were wrapped around his fingers beneath his sleeves: one from Kukito, one from Mizuka.
Beneath the cuff, his thumb rolled them together—twisting grief into a single line.
Cataline’s voice was gentle. “He’s waking soon.”
The lanky man didn’t look up from the instruments. “Regeneration’s stabilizing. But his meridians—”
“I know,” Cataline cut in, still polite. “That’s why we help him dream.”
Kuro hesitated. “Is that… ethical?”
Cataline turned just enough to look at him.
Her expression didn’t change.
Kuro looked away.
Cataline raised two fingers toward the pod. A filament of aether—thin as hair, red-lit—trembled between them.
It slid into the pod’s field like a whisper.
Kukito’s eyelids fluttered.
Inside his mind—
Mizuka laughed.
Warm. Close. Alive.
She reached for him the way she used to, fingers brushing his cheek, smile soft enough to make the world feel forgivable.
“Kukito,” she murmured. “Come back to me.”
His breath hitched in the pod.
The machines read it as an improvement.
Kuro read it as cruelty.
Cataline leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. “You can still protect her,” she said, as if speaking to the dream itself.
A shadow moved behind Kukito’s smile.
Then the dream widened.
Behind her—beyond her—there was an endless mass of power.
A spherical core of pure aether, vast and serene, like the Universe’s first heartbeat.
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It was majestic. Like a celestial body.
Angelic lights hung around it in a black void—watchers without faces, harmonies without voices.
Kukito’s breath caught.
This… isn’t her.
The harmony trembled.
A violet, corrupted light bled in—too loud, too wrong—drowning the angelic glow.
It crawled across the void like a stain, reaching for the immense sphere.
The whole world shook.
Fractures split through the core—hairline cracks turning into screaming lines—
As if reality itself was begging the discord to stop.
The dream warped again.
Mizuka’s face stayed beautiful, too beautiful—like a portrait painted by someone who didn’t understand the pain of losing her.
Her mouth moved, but the words didn’t match her voice anymore.
“Kukito…”
Kukito’s brow furrowed.
His hand twitched.
The pod fluid trembled as his Flow surged.
The filament’s light flickered.
Cataline’s gaze sharpened a fraction.
Then Kukito’s eyes snapped open.
The room felt colder.
Not from temperature.
From intent.
He stared through the pod glass, eyes unfocused at first—then locking onto Cataline like she’d been waiting there his whole life.
“Mizuka,” he breathed.
Cataline’s voice didn’t waver. “She’s gone.”
The words hit like a blade.
Kukito’s aura didn’t flare.
It collapsed—gold strangled by violet.
The pod glass spiderwebbed with cracks.
Kuro tensed.
The lanky man stepped back.
Cette flinched hard enough to stumble.
Cataline didn’t move.
Kukito’s voice came out broken—then sharpened. “Ryoda.”
The name came out like it had been carved into him.
His head rang. I know this name… but what does it mean?
He tried to reach for the rest—faces, places, the shape of a life—
—and found fog.
There was a child in that fog. A small voice. A weight in his arms.
A name hovered on his tongue and vanished before he could catch it.
…Riki—
No.
Nothing.
A storm rose in his eyes.
Cataline’s filament tightened—subtle, guiding, steering.
“You need power,” she said calmly. “Enough to make a God bleed.”
Kukito’s jaw clenched. “Give me the Heart.”
Cataline smiled softly, as if he’d said something adorable.
“The Dark Heart is still out of reach,” she replied. “But you don’t need it yet.”
Kukito’s gaze darkened. “Then what do I need?”
Cataline held up her fingers again, filament glinting.
“Your Covenant,” she said. “It’s a Discordant Harmonic Covenant.”
Kukito’s pupils tightened.
Kuro’s stomach sank.
Cataline’s voice stayed smooth. “A way to take what Utopia hoards. Blessings. Spirit. Power that was never offered to your people.”
Kukito’s expression twisted—pain becoming purpose in real time.
The lanky man across the room tilted his head, watching as shards of glass flowed with the liquid from the pod.
“He’s not the same man he once was. What do you want to call him?” he asked, glancing carefully at Cataline.
Cataline didn’t even blink.
“Apocalypse,” she said.
The name landed like a verdict.
Kuro’s breath caught.
Not because it was dramatic—
Because it was accurate.
Kukito stared at his reflection in the pod glass.
And for the first time, he didn’t look like a Sage.
He looked like a disaster with a human face.
The name felt… inevitable.
“Kukito,” he tried to say—like testing whether it still belonged to him.
The word tasted wrong.
[The Brig]
The Pure Utopians were lined up in rows.
Not in cages.
In lines—because Acier’s forces didn’t treat people like animals.
They treated them like inventory.
Some prisoners still had the light of golden irises—signatures of Blessings from the Spirit.
Some looked exhausted enough that their aether barely flickered.
Cataline walked past them slowly, as if selecting ingredients.
Bowl stood beside her, arms folded, expression blank.
Kuro hovered behind them, silent, eyes hollow.
Apocalypse stepped into the center of the hold.
He was still weak—his body still recovering—
But the pressure that lived in his meridians now felt wrong.
Like music played in the wrong key.
A circular array formed beneath his feet—purple runes etched into the metal floor like a wound reopening.
The air buzzed.
The prisoners flinched.
Cataline lifted her hand—filament shimmering—linking the array to two conduits.
Herself.
And Bowl.
Bowl stiffened as the filament wrapped around his wrist like a leash.
He didn’t resist.
He just… accepted.
Apocalypse raised his palm toward the first row of prisoners.
“Listen,” he said, voice low. “This is what Utopia stole from us.”
A Pure Utopian woman spat blood at his feet. “You’re a monster.”
Apocalypse didn’t react.
He just spoke like a man reading a prophecy he’d already written.
“Dark Siphoning,” he murmured.
Then—
The draining began.
It didn’t rip.
It pulled.
Golden aether rose out of the prisoners in thin strands—like light being unthreaded from their bones.
Cataline’s filament guided it.
Bowl’s body took the strain.
His meridians glowed faintly as the energy passed through him—burning, but contained.
The prisoners screamed as their Blessings were stripped.
Some collapsed immediately—eyes dulling as if their souls had been dimmed.
The stolen power didn’t disperse.
It collected.
A black-gold mass began to form inside a containment vessel behind Apocalypse—swirling, unstable, half-born.
A pseudo spirit-core.
A failed Spirit.
A hunger pretending to be a heart.
Kuro’s hands clenched.
The red strings under his sleeves bit into his skin.
This isn’t liberation, he thought. This is theft dressed like justice.
The Doctor sharpened his gaze. To increase his power by siphoning the power within another’s soul… marvelous. If that siphoning pattern can be imprinted into a synthetic meridian lattice… then my Adaptoid’s won’t just survive battle. They’ll feed off it.
Cataline leaned close to Apocalypse’s ear. “More.”
Apocalypse’s eyes burned.
“More.”
He extended his hand again.
Another row.
Another round of screams.
Another Blessing drained.
The pseudo core thickened—heavier, louder, wronger.
A group of Dystopian soldiers stood in the corner—watching.
Cataline turned to them, filament still glowing.
“This is what you were denied,” she said, voice smooth. “You want strength? Take it.”
She flicked her wrist.
Thin traces of the stolen Blessing flowed from the pseudo core—dividing into smaller threads, weaving into the soldiers’ meridians.
Their auras surged—gold layered over dark signatures like forced holiness.
They gasped—then laughed.
They looked at their hands like they were seeing themselves for the first time.
Kuro felt sick.
He glanced at Apocalypse—at the man he once called Master.
Apocalypse didn’t look happy.
He looked… convinced.
Like he’d finally found a reason to keep breathing.
Kuro’s eyes burned.
Not with anger.
With grief.
[The Lab]
The lanky man wiped his gloves and stared at the vial.
Inside it was Kukito’s blood—taken quietly while he slept.
Tub hovered near the doorway, nervous—like he didn’t want to be seen learning how monsters were made.
Cataline entered without knocking.
“Doctor. Is it done?” she asked.
The lanky man nodded. “The sample is clean. Enough to begin replication.”
Tub swallowed. “Replication… of what?”
Cataline’s eyes slid to him. “Of loyalty.”
She turned back to the lanky man. “Start with one.”
“Head,” the lanky man said automatically—like the name had been decided long ago.
Cataline nodded. “Then the twins.”
Tub blinked. “Twins?”
“Filter,” Cette murmured.
“And Sink,” Tub finished, voice small—like he regretted knowing.
Cataline’s expression stayed composed.
“They’ll be born in a world that needs monsters,” she said, as if that was a kindness. “Make sure they survive.”
The lanky man nodded. “A simple task.”
Cataline’s filament flickered—brief, amused.
“Good,” she said. “Because Kaelos is next.”
[The War Council]
Acier stood in the command bay with his hands behind his back, looking out at a planet projection like it was a map he intended to fold.
Cataline approached, filament trailing between her fingers like a thin red thought.
“Kaelos has taken in survivors,” she reported. “Refugees. Sages. Children.”
Acier didn’t react.
Cataline continued anyway. “And something else. A signature I can’t fully read.”
Acier’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“A relic,” Cataline said, voice soft. “Possibly the Heart’s trail. Or its vessel.”
Acier turned his head just enough. “Then we don’t negotiate.”
Cataline’s lips curved. “Of course not.”
Acier lifted one hand.
“Set course,” he ordered. “If Kaelos shelters what I want… Kaelos becomes collateral.”
Someone hesitated. “My lord, Kaelos is a warrior world. Their resistance—”
Acier’s eyes didn’t sharpen.
They simply… measured.
“Then we test the Universe,” he said quietly. “And see what breaks first.”
[Kaelos – The Day the Sky Split]
The first sign wasn’t the ships.
Kaelos had seen ships.
Kaelos had seen war.
The first sign was the sun.
It dimmed.
Not because it changed—
Because something eclipsed it with intention.
A shadow slid over Kaelos’ sky like a blade passing over a throat.
Then the bombardment began.
Not random fire.
Not chaos.
Disciplined lines of destruction—targeting power grids, defense nodes, city arteries.
Kaelos didn’t scream.
It roared back.
Kaelithian fighters surged into the air in waves—heat-driven auras, sun-fed Flux, bodies built to break and endure.
At the front of one squad stood Draco, scars bright against the firelight.
He didn’t shout orders.
He moved.
A crimson-red flame carved through space—each strike anchored, each motion a sentence written in violence.
A Syndicate craft exploded above him.
Another fell.
Then a third.
But the fleet kept coming.
Because Acier didn’t care how brave Kaelos was.
He cared how long it lasted.
[The Pod Center]
The nurturing facility shook.
Alarms screamed.
Technicians ran down sterile halls that suddenly felt like coffins.
Pods flickered—life-support fields wavering.
In the chaos, two figures moved against the flow.
Ronin, cloak ripped, eyes sharp.
Frame, heavier, quieter, scanning with methodical speed.
“This place is a death trap,” Ronin hissed.
Frame didn’t answer. He spotted a pod.
Small.
Too small.
The readout flashed:
KYTE — Stabilization: Critical
Frame’s expression tightened. “That’s one of the Lyte kids.”
Ronin smirked. “Then we don’t leave him.”
Frame hesitated for half a breath—then moved.
They tore the pod’s anchoring bolts loose, muscles screaming, aether bracing their joints as the building buckled.
The pod hissed—field stabilizers flaring.
Inside, Kyte floated—eyes closed, breath faint, body too fragile for a planet that worshipped scars.
Frame swallowed. “Come on, kid.”
Ronin hefted the pod like a weapon.
A ceiling beam collapsed behind them.
They ran anyway.
[Acier’s Mothership]
Bowl grabbed Rikito’s wrist and yanked him through a shaking corridor.
Asuka stumbled beside them, eyes wide, face too pale for a child.
“What’s happening?” Asuka cried.
Bowl didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t know how to say:
Your world is being erased.
A blast rocked the ship.
The corridor split.
Bowl shoved the kids into a side passage just as the floor buckled.
He turned—
And a figure landed between them and the falling debris.
Armor scorched. Breathing hard.
Draco—who should’ve been on the frontlines—had flown straight into the fleet like a blade drawn in silence.
His aura burned like Kaelos’ sun—Spirit Ascension igniting his soul.
His eyes snapped onto the children. “Move.”
Bowl stiffened. “You—”
“Stay down,” Draco growled—then drove a blunt strike into Bowl’s gut, dropping him to one knee.
“I’ll finish you later,” Draco added, already moving.
Another blast hit.
Metal screamed.
Draco grabbed Rikito by the collar and dragged him forward.
Rikito fought him instinctively, furious. “Let go!”
Draco slammed him against the wall—hard enough to scare him, not hurt him.
Rikito froze.
Draco’s voice came out low, brutal, and honest.
“You want revenge?” Draco said. “Then survive long enough to earn it.”
Rikito’s jaw trembled.
Asuka clung to Rikito’s sleeve.
After dragging them through the corridor, Draco blasted open a cell.
Rows of prisoners poured out—mostly Kaelithians.
A young Kaelithian girl walked out, stopping before Rikito.
“Thank you,” she muttered, tears running down her face.
“I…” Rikito paused, his throat tightening as he looked at her face.
A slightly older girl pulled her arm. “Come on, Sikira, we have to go!”
“Torra, wait!” Sikira said as she was dragged away.
Draco lifted Rikito and Asuka, then sprinted down another corridor.
He shoved them toward an emergency launch bay.
A small craft—barely a lifeboat—waited with its hatch open, blinking like it was afraid.
Rikito stared at it. “We can’t just run—”
“You can,” Draco cut in. “Because running is living.”
Rikito swallowed hard.
Suddenly, the pressure spiked. Someone moved behind them—
“Hey, what’s going on here?” the voice said.
A Zerethian stepped from the smoke—tall, plated, aura cold enough to tighten the air—a commanding presence.
“Protect your sister.” Draco turned his back towards them, his fiery aura surging.
Asuka whispered, “Riki…”
Rikito looked at her—then at the burning sky beyond the bay.
He nodded once.
Draco shoved them into the craft. “Go.”
Rikito hesitated. “Come with us!”
Draco’s smile was bitter. “I’m already dead the moment I stop fighting.”
He slammed the hatch shut.
“Hey, hey, hey!” The Zerethian hollered. “I can’t let those brats escape!”
The craft launched.
Rikito watched through the viewport as Draco squared off against the cold monster.
He didn’t scream.
He didn’t cry.
He held his head up, gripping his fists.
And made a vow he didn’t fully understand yet.
[Elsewhere]
On the far side of Kaelos, Kai stood on a cliff watching the sky burn.
He could feel it in the air—foreign discipline, foreign cruelty, a war that wasn’t personal.
That was what terrified him.
Raida’s voice echoed in his head from earlier—
“Watch them. Protect them. If anything happens…”
Kai’s fingers curled.
Akira’s laughter.
Kyte’s shallow breathing.
Carrie’s fury—held behind control.
Raida’s stubborn hope.
Kai exhaled slowly.
If I fight them head-on… I die. If I run… they follow.
So, he did the only thing he was good at.
He became a shadow again.
He turned away from the burning horizon and headed for the place no one would look for a “good man.”
Toward the enemy.
Toward Kuro.
Toward Apocalypse.
Not to join them.
To watch them.
To become the kind of spy the universe only notices after the damage is done.
[Next Time on Lyte of Utopia]: “Final Stand”
[Yield Levels]:
Rikito: 1,800
Asuka: 1,600
Bowl: 2,000
- Post-Training: 20,000
- Post-Apocalypse Boost: 2z
Cette: 1,000
- Post-Training: 10,000
Tub: 500
- Post-Training: 5,000
Kuro: 12,000
Cataline: 16,500
- Post-Apocalypse Boost: 3z
Apocalypse (Kukito): 4z
- Recovering: 1,000
- Dark Siphoning: x1
Acier: 15z
Draco: 100,000
- Spirit Ascension: 20 – 2z
Ronin: 7z
Frame: 4z
Kyte: 5,000
- Weakened: 5
The Zerethian: 10z
- Dominion: 2 – 10z
The Lanky Man: 1