The night wind rolled across the rooftop, rattling loose metal as Nyk squinted at Rayon.
For a long second, neither spoke. Then:
"So," Nyk said, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, "what you really come to Noxis for, big man?"
Rayon didn't flinch, didn't blink.
His voice came out flat. "To eradicate the Primordial Vessels. Or put them under me."
A pause.
"Submit… or die."
Nyk stared, then suddenly burst out laughing, head thrown back.
"Aye, imma keep it real witchu," he said, wiping a tear. "Those guys only follow me 'cause I'm tuff. So here's what I'll do—Imma tell em you wanna run the gang. But if they don't listen?"
He shrugged lazily.
"That's not my problem. You can slime 'em… kill 'em… whatever. But let me at least say something first. Cuz I'm a real one, you feel me?"
Rayon nodded once. No emotion in the eyes.
"Aiite. It's the least I could do. You a real one for real."
They dropped from the skyscraper in a silent freefall—Rayon just stepping off the ledge like gravity didn't matter, Nyk sliding down on a condensed plate of his own energy. Neon lights slid past them in blurs.
Nyk's Base — "Chill Money Moves Only"
For someone feared across districts, Nyk's base of operation was… a vibed-out restaurant-bar on a corner street. Warm lights, polished wood, a bartender half-asleep.
Nyk came from money—you could tell. Everything he touched had that lazy richness to it. No unnecessary flexing. Just clean, effortless luxury.
They stepped inside.
Sixteen Primordial Vessels were scattered around—boots on tables, drinks in hand, some arguing about territory maps. Energy warped around some of them like invisible storms.
The moment they saw Nyk, they perked up.
"Oii, Nyk! Who's that?" one with a cracked mask asked.
"A new recruit you picked up?"
Nyk snorted.
"Nah. This not a recruit."
He jerked a thumb toward Rayon.
"This my homie Rayon."
Some blinked. A few straightened. One frowned.
Nyk leaned on a table, cracking his neck.
"Listen up. Big bro here says he's takin' over the gang. I ain't even finna argue wit' him. So either ya'll follow him… or ya'll don't. But if you don't?"
He pointed casually at Rayon.
"Don't look at me when you die."
A long, heavy silence.
Some Vessels immediately nodded—sharp, decisive, respectful. They felt the pressure rolling off Rayon and submitted without hesitation.
But ten of them?
Ten stayed seated. Eyes cold. Faces hard. Unmoved.
One spat on the floor.
"We don't bow to outsiders," he said.
The others echoed the sentiment with their glares alone.
Nyk sighed.
"Told ya. Some of 'em stupid."
Rayon finally stepped forward.
No anger.
No threats.
Just inevitability.
"Then die."
One of the ten snapped. He shot up from his seat, aura flaring, sprinting toward Rayon with a roar.
He got within a meter.
A whisper of black energy pulsed across the room—Rayon's Black Resonance, silent as a breath.
The Vessel's head snapped 90 degrees like a broken hinge.
He collapsed mid-stride, body folding to the floor.
Dead.
The bar fell silent.
And Rayon looked at the remaining nine with eyes that promised the same fate.