Chapter 19: Chapter 19: The Echoes Of Eternity
The cold, sterile floor pressed against him as Rhys's body surged back to life. His eyes snapped open, vision sharp and clear, the pain in his neck instantly dulling as his body seemed to repair itself. Without a second thought, he shot up from the ground, his instincts kicking in before his mind could fully catch up.
In a flash, he propelled himself toward the Necrolythian, his fist blazing through the air, and landed a devastating punch to the side of its head. The metallic crunch of impact reverberated through the room as the Necrolythian's skull twisted at an unnatural angle. Rhys didn't hesitate; he knew better than to give the creature a chance to retaliate. A part of him had known the Necrolythian would realize he wasn't dead soon enough—there was no sense in pretending otherwise.
As the Necrolythian staggered from the blow, Rhys noticed something strange. He was thinking. His thoughts, sharp and clear, flowed through his mind without the interference of the whispers that had plagued him. The fog of rage required to keep him sane was gone. For the first time in what felt like forever, Rhys could think. Really think.
There was peace in his mind.
For now.
Rhys allowed himself to bask in that momentary clarity. The constant gnawing in the back of his mind had subsided, the endless pressure to act out of rage or instinct absent for once. It was like emerging from a storm into a brief moment of calm.
"I'll enjoy this while it lasts," Rhys thought to himself as he glared down at the crumpled form of the Necrolythian before him. He knew the voices would eventually return, and when they did, the chaos would follow. But for now, he was in control.
Without wasting a moment, Rhys's eyes narrowed as he prepared to tear the Necrolythian apart, his fists clenched tight, ready to grind it into fine scraps. He wanted to make sure it was destroyed beyond repair.
But just as he moved in to finish the job, something shifted at the door. A shadow loomed in the frame, larger than life, and Rhys froze.
Another Necrolythian.
Rhys's heart sank for a split second, his mind racing with the possibility that he would have to fight another one of these monsters. But something was off—this Necrolythian looked too familiar. The same metallic limbs, the same cold, hollow eyes…
His blood ran cold.
The Necrolythian tilted its head and laughed—a sound that made Rhys's skin crawl, splitting the air like nails on metal. It was a laugh that seemed to reverberate through his very bones, a laugh filled with mockery and malice.
"Congratulations," the Necrolythian sneered, its voice dripping with disdain. "You killed me. Again."
Rhys's mind reeled, confusion twisting in his gut. How was this possible? He had destroyed the thing just moments ago—he had seen it crumble. And yet, here it was, standing before him as if nothing had happened.
"Impossible," Rhys muttered under his breath, taking a step back as his instincts screamed at him to run, to fight, to do something.
The Necrolythian's laughter echoed through the control room once more, a maniacal gleam in its cold eyes. "Oh, it's very possible. It's the culmination of countless experiments… my experiments."
Rhys's fists clenched again, his teeth grinding together. "What are you talking about?"
The Necrolythian stepped forward, its metallic joints clicking with every movement. "We were once like you—biological beings. Flesh, blood, and bone. But that was long ago." Its voice dropped to a whisper, almost as if it were savoring every word. "Now, we're something else. Something eternal. And for most of us, that eternity has become… unbearable."
Rhys's brow furrowed, trying to make sense of what the Necrolythian was saying.
"We can't die, " it continued, its tone dark and twisted. "No matter how much we try, we can't escape this wretched existence. After centuries, after millennia, many of us wanted the same thing: to finally die."
Rhys's eyes widened. "You… want to die?"
The Necrolythian nodded slowly. "We've tried every method you could imagine. Thousands—no, millions of experiments. We tried disassembly, obliteration, and erasing consciousness. Nothing worked."
Rhys swallowed hard, his body tensing. "And what does that have to do with me?"
The Necrolythian's eyes gleamed. "We discovered something. We found a way. After endless failure, we realized that if we could return to a biological body—a suitable biological body—we could finally kill ourselves."
Rhys's stomach dropped, his muscles going rigid as the realization hit him like a sledgehammer. His voice came out as a low growl, seething with fury. "You're saying… I'm supposed to be your ticket to salvation?"
The Necrolythian smiled wider, a twisted mockery of human expression. "Yes. For a body to sustain both your soul and ours, it needs incredibly strong regenerative abilities. And thanks to our little enhancements, your body is capable of that now."
Rhys's mind raced, his pulse quickening. The surgeries. The endless cycles of being opened up and stitched back together. It all made sense now. They had been preparing him—turning him into something that could survive the impossible. A vessel.
The Necrolythian stepped closer, its voice softening, almost as if it were giving Rhys some twisted form of comfort. "The nanomachines we implanted in you—they amplify your regeneration, making you nearly unkillable. Once I transfer myself into you, I'll finally have the chance to deactivate the machines, ending my cursed existence."
Rhys's fists clenched, his entire body shaking with rage. "You… you want to take over my body so you can die?"
The Necrolythian's laugh was sharp and cold. "Exactly. And you, my dear, won't be able to stop it."
From behind its back, the Necrolythian produced a syringe filled with a strange, glowing liquid. The sight of it made Rhys's blood run cold.
The Necrolythian's smile grew even darker as it brandished the syringe. "This is the final piece. Once I inject you with this, your body will be ready. And then… I will take what's mine."
Rhys's heart pounded in his chest, his instincts screaming at him to run. But before he could make a move, the Necrolythian lunged toward him, the syringe aimed straight for his neck.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone