The Shackled Void

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)]