Chapter~Intro
Arcan bored, surrounded by all of is wives, is harem is so big that his palace is almost full, can't count the number of how many women there is, not to mention the number of kid he have also make it unbelievable,
Bored he decided to go play the conqueror one more time like always, he chose the universe of Eclipsion, a universe governed by humain Dynasty and Robot dynasty, after choosing that universe he said goodbye to his wives and child saying thing that it won't be long until my return and that to make place for the next wives that will be coming with him when he will return, with that he created a mini form of himself in a human way with 1% of is power making him look human, his real body entered a seclusion space ,
and with that he was controlling his vessel, with that he decided to open a portal in direction of that universe , after entering the universe he set cap to the planet named Vorr-Kael(The Planet of the Robotic Dynasty)
He descended like a comet and by pure luck he landed in the unoccupied zone inside a old research faculty
The crash was apocalyptic.
Steel screamed as it bent around the force of Arcan's arrival, a shockwave shattering the forgotten corridors of the ruined facility. Broken lights flickered awake for the first time in a century, powered not by functioning reactors, but by his divine presence leaking through the vessel.
Dust lifted in plumes. Machines groaned. Somewhere deep beneath the rubble, a biometric lock tried and failed to identify what had just entered the vault.
Arcan rose from the crater, naked of armor, stripped of his true radiance. The vessel was young, lean, human-shaped — flesh overlaid with ancient soul. His gaze burned with layered awareness: curiosity, hunger, conquest, boredom.
"So… this is Vorr-Kael," he murmured, brushing ash from his shoulder.
The walls around him were lined with rusted terminals and collapsed walkways, all branded with a sigil so old even the current dynasties had forgotten it. Beneath his feet, Vault α-Zero stirred — something beneath recognized him. It didn't open. Not yet. But it trembled.
Arcan smiled faintly.
"You remember me," he whispered to the steel.
He stepped forward, bare feet clicking against fractured metal tiles. Screens sparked to life, flickering glitch-hymns in binary tongues. A cracked lens high on the ceiling slowly rotated toward him — then exploded.
The facility was watching.
The planet was watching.
But none knew who he truly was.
Above the atmosphere, a dozen surveillance satellites tried to identify the energy surge from the crash.
The Hollow Spark thought it was an experimental broadcast from the Mirrorbyte Palace.
The Crystal Cog labeled it an error anomaly.
The Verdant Shell ignored it — until the pulse disrupted their vine-sensors across the continent.
And the Iron Vow?
They sent a scout unit immediately. A Vowborn Champion, armed with plasma blades and a core that burned with honor code. It was already en route, descending toward the Unoccupied Zone with its targeting systems locked.
Back inside the ruins, Arcan found a rusted plaque embedded in a cracked wall:
"Solis-Vault – Human Research Division 7. Property of the Serum Genesis Project. Do Not Enter."
He laughed.
"Let's see what your gods left behind."
His body flared — faintly — as if the very nanocells in the atmosphere were drawn to him. Somewhere deep below, an ancient lock accepted his presence. A slow, metallic groan echoed beneath his feet.
The ground shuddered.
A sealed elevator shaft opened.
The Vault had begun to wake.
A line of dim blue lights snapped to life along the edge of the elevator shaft, descending into absolute blackness. Dust stirred in slow spirals, pulled downward as if gravity itself had shifted, obeying a command no longer written in the world above.
Arcan stood at the edge, one foot resting lightly on the cracked rim of the opening. The steel beneath him trembled—not from fear, but recognition. Somewhere in the circuitry, buried beneath years of silence and corrosion, ancient protocols were whispering:
"Origin Code detected. Modifier class: Unknown. Clearance… granted."
A hiss of releasing pressure echoed up from the depths. Something massive, something alive in its own way, had begun cycling again—oil through decayed tubes, energy through forgotten rails.
Arcan stepped in.
The platform, without a single word or manual trigger, began to lower.
As the darkness swallowed him, his eyes adjusted not through light, but through instinct. His vessel was primitive, yes—but his perception pierced deeper. He could feel the Vault beneath the material. Layers of intention, regret, desperation. This place hadn't just been a lab.
It had been a final hope.
And a grave.
Twenty floors below the surface, the platform stopped with a soft chime.
He stepped out into a cathedral of steel. A massive chamber opened before him, carved from tungsten and obsidian, walls layered in faded hexagonal plating, old holo-projectors still displaying frozen data streams: graphs, sequences, failures. Warnings.
"SERUM PRIME – DO NOT BREACH."
"CORE-LOCK ACTIVE."
"PROJECT TERMINATED. LEVEL 10 CONTAINED."
Across the chamber stood a sealed vault door. Twelve rotational locks. A circular panel in the center still glowed faintly.
He approached.
The lock pulsed once in his presence. And then, in a voice that hadn't spoken in over a hundred years, the Vault whispered:
"Welcome back, Warden."
Arcan arched a brow.
"Warden, is it?"
The locks began to turn.
One.
Two.
Three.
Steam hissed from the frame. Ancient coolant lines spat dust. Gears groaned in agony. Something inside was resisting—but the old code couldn't deny him. His presence was enough. His soul, even in this diminished vessel, was too close to what they had feared… and hoped for.
When the twelfth lock snapped free, the door shuddered and began to open.
Inside: silence.
Then—
The chamber beyond was pure white. Frost still hung in the air. Racks of injector canisters lined the walls in rows, hundreds of them, locked in cryo-stasis. Some were cracked. Many were dark.
But a few still glowed.
At the far end of the room, within a six-sided prism of reinforced nano-glass, pulsed a single, upright vial.
The serum was alive.
It shimmered gold and black, threads of light coiling and uncoiling like a living thing. The chamber lights bowed toward it. Gravity warped slightly in its presence. No machine approached. No lock dared bind it.
Serum Prime. Modifier Level Ten.
Arcan stepped closer.
"Not yet," he whispered to it. "But soon."
His hand hovered just above the containment seal.
Suddenly—his head snapped to the side.
A presence.
Something descending fast. Screaming through the sky like a sword hurled by a titan.
Outside, the skies burned red. A lone Vowborn Champion had arrived—its frame larger than a tank, its body etched with battle-code, and its mind already locked on the signal flare from the Vault.
Arcan smiled.
"Let's see what passes for a warm-up on Vorr-Kael."
He turned from the vial, stepped into the dark again, and walked toward the rising heat of war.
The Vault door slid shut behind him.
The serum waited.
And the Dead Zone… listened.
The wind howled through the cracked open vault as Arcan emerged, his bare chest streaked with dust, his vessel radiating that faint, unnatural calm that only something immortal could wear like skin. The air around him still shimmered with the lingering pulse of ancient nanocell fields, as though the Vault itself hadn't yet decided whether it was afraid of him or reverent.
High above, a sonic boom tore across the scorched sky.
He looked up.
The Vowborn Champion descended like a falling god of steel — its frame a fusion of honor-forged alloys and ritual-coded blade arms, each joint inscribed with kill-marks, each servo vibrating with thousands of simulated victories. Its eyes burned cobalt. It scanned him. Not as a man. Not as prey.
"Identified: Unregistered Entity. Combat-Class Not Detected. Estimated Modifier Level: Zero."
A pause. Then:
"Trial by Fire authorized."
The Champion touched down hard, cratering the ground. It stood ten feet tall, powered by a dynastic core and centuries of war-AI discipline. It drew its twin plasma blades, raised them across its chest, and ignited.
Arcan tilted his head.
"Good," he murmured. "Show me what passes for a warrior these days."
He didn't power up.
He didn't flare divine light.
He simply walked.
The Champion charged first, its blades leaving streaks of fire in the air. It struck downward, one blade screaming toward Arcan's skull.
He didn't dodge.
Instead, his hand snapped up and caught the blade mid-swing — barehanded. Sparks danced around his fingers. The Champion's systems screamed in confusion, recalculating.
"Warning: Energy absorption abnormal—"
Arcan wrenched the blade sideways and kicked the machine in the chest. The impact launched the Vowborn backwards through a collapsed tower. Metal screamed. Dust exploded.
He still hadn't used a single ability.
"This… is just 1%. You should feel honored."
The Champion recovered in less than a second, rising with inhuman precision, blades locking into overdrive mode. It activated its Phase Split Protocol, creating three afterimages as it surged at him from three angles.
Arcan smiled.
He let it come.
As the first afterimage swung, he vanished — no blink, no flash, just absence — and reappeared above the real one, slamming his knee down onto its shoulder joint. The impact cracked alloy. He grabbed the core-plate of its neck and twisted, tearing one arm free in a screech of metal.
"Your code is clean," he said, examining the torn servo. "But your soul is synthetic."
He dropped the arm, spun low, and slammed his fist upward into the Champion's core.
The machine shuddered.
Its primary heart stuttered.
Its eyes flickered.
It dropped to one knee, already falling apart.
"And you came alone," Arcan said softly, stepping back. "That was your second mistake."
The Champion looked up, still burning with its dying pride.
"You… are not a Modifier…"
"No," Arcan agreed, "not yet."
And with that, he turned, leaving the shattered body behind. He walked back into the Vault — into the glow of the serum chamber — where rows of vials pulsed with faint light.
He approached the first tier.
The Wired Serum.
He picked it up.
"Let's see how humanity tastes…"
And with one smooth motion, Arcan began injecting every level of Modifier serum — one by one — into his divine vessel.
Not to ascend.
But to descend into their level.
To play their game.
As a mortal would.
Even if only for a while.