The warning echoes in your fading consciousness: “Fatal impact in forty-seven seconds…”
Then—
Reality crashes into you like ice water.
Your soul slams back into your own body with the violence of a car wreck, leaving you gasping and disoriented. For several heartbeats, you can’t remember where—or who—you are. The transition feels like waking from a vivid nightmare, except the phantom pain burning through your chest proves it was anything but a dream.
You squeeze your fist tight, knuckles white, trying to anchor yourself to this reality. The metallic taste of blood still coats your tongue—blood that isn’t yours, from wombs you never really had, in a body that was never yours. Yet somehow, impossibly, you can still feel the warmth of it between fingers.
Slowly, memory returns like pieces of a shattered mirror reassembling themselves. The Lore Engine’s familiar black glow surrounds you, its dark interface pulsing with patient menace. You remember who you are—really remember. This isn’t your reality. You’re back in the Quantum Arcade, trapped in a body plagued with phantom pains so intense you can barely think, let alone walk home.
Everything floods back: the Temple’s golden corridors, the explosion that tore through sacred stone, the impossible experience of living as The Adept. Each memory carries its own echo of agony, phantom sensations from deaths you never died but somehow survived.
“How did I get back here,” you think to yourself.
“I think the vault’s security system must have cut my tether when it went into lockdown mode,” you manage through gritted teeth, your voice hoarse as if you’d been screaming.
The Archivist’s glitched form materializes before you, her “☉” symbols pulsing with urgent red light. When she speaks, her voice carries a gravity you’ve never heard before—ancient, tired, and deeply concerned.
“I had to eject you,” she says, each word carefully measured. “The Out Caste have become aware of your activities. They’re hunting you across the ethers.”
“The ethers? What are the e—”
“No time to explain.” Her interruption cuts like a blade. “The attack wasn’t just something those people experienced in the future—it was specifically targeted at you.”
Your phantom pain spikes to a 6 out of 10, feeling like invisible hands are crushing your ribs while molten glass flows through your veins. You double over, gasping, trying to process both the agony and her words.
“But if Ever-Seal vaults block tethering completely,” you wheeze, “how was I even able to tether in there at all?”
The Archivist pauses, her form flickering as she considers her words carefully. The silence stretches long enough that you wonder if the connection has failed, then she speaks with reverence bordering on fear.
“Remember what I told you about The KNOXX. Nothing is hidden from it, nothing concealed, nothing secret. Even Time is naked to The KNOXX—all time is bound in one. The most impenetrable barriers in existence, including Ever-Seal vaults, are transparent to it.”
“But I thought these vaults were designed to be completely secure against tethering?”
“They are,” she confirms, her voice taking on an almost mystical quality. “To anyone else, they would be impenetrable. But The KNOXX doesn’t respect artificial technological boundaries. It doesn’t hack or bypass security measures. This is also true for some of the most advanced tethering masters.”
You struggle to process this information as another wave of phantom agony tears through your torso. The burning sensation has spread like wildfire, electric shocks now cascading down your limbs in unpredictable patterns that make your muscles spasm and twitch.
“The KNOXX can pierce through any door, see behind any wall,” the Archivist continues, her words heavy with implications you’re only beginning to grasp.
“Then you DID hear me when I called out to you back there… When I pleaded for your help — thinking I would be trapped in that vault forever… Why didn’t you answer me?! Why didn’t you help me?” you released trying to withhold your temper.
“Would you have had the motivation to move an object with your mind had I saved you sooner?!” she asked — her tone indicating no response from me was neccessary.
But she’s right…
Your phantom pain spikes to an unbearable 7 out of 10. Every movement requires enormous effort, every breath feels like inhaling broken glass. Your vision blurs as the electric shocks reach your skull, feeling like invisible lightning is frying your neural pathways.
“Your phantom pains will only intensify,” the Archivist warns, directing your attention to a new card that materializes before you—“Welcome to AetherPoint…” written in bold font across an image of twisted spires reaching toward storm-dark skies.
“Amnesiacs there are the other factor of the equation needed to begin accessing THE CURE.” Her voice takes on an urgent edge. “If you are the Key, Amnesiacs are the locks.”
But as the card hovers before you, your pattern recognition kicks in. Golden mathematical threads weave through your synesthetic perception, showing you connections the Archivist hasn’t mentioned — suggesting another card… You still have access to previous quests in the Lore Engine—including “Into The Chamber.”
“And… honestly?” she says, her voice determined, “being an Amnesiac is the most dangerous, dreadful, stressful form of life anyone can possibly live on this planet — one that you must experience yourself to complete KNOXX 101.”
“But how does it all connect?” you ask, frustration bleeding through your words as another spike of phantom agony forces you to grip your seat. “Why all these fragments? Why can’t you just tell me what’s happening?”
The Archivist’s form solidifies, her expression becoming almost maternal in its patience. “You need to see all the pieces first before you can put them together. The future is inescapable—you cannot change it. You can only choose which side of humanity’s fate you wish to be on—the side that creates the destruction or the side that survives the mayhem.”
Her words hit you like physical blows, each one resonating with terrible certainty.
“The KNOXX won’t unlock advanced knowledge without proper foundation. Complete KNOXX 101, and you’ll have what you need to cure your phantom pains.”
But your synesthesia is already showing you another path…
Golden threads connect you not just to Aetherpoint, but backward—to the Temple, to the moment of explosion, to the source of your torment. The mathematical beauty of it takes your breath away: if you can prevent the cause, you can eliminate the effect.
Meanwhile The Archivist drones on about Aetherpoint — and something about proxy patches…
The prospect of relief from your increasingly unbearable condition outweighs the Archivist’s cautions. You’ve had enough of following other people’s plans, enough of being herded through experiences that leave you broken and bleeding. No more…
Your finger hovers over the “Into The Chamber” that appears alongside Aetherpoint in your peripheral vision. The Archivist notices immediately.
“What are you doing?” she demands, her voice sharp with alarm. “You need to go to Aetherpoint. The sequence is crucial—”
“No more blindly following anybody,” you say, your voice gaining strength despite the phantom fire consuming your chest. “Even you. I got myself into this mess by rushing forward without understanding. I’m going to get myself out by fixing what I broke.”
Yup! You’re done listening. Your synesthesia shows you the mathematical certainty of cause and effect, the golden threads connecting your current agony to that moment in the Temple when steel pierced flesh and death echoed across time. If you can stop the Assassin of the 2nd An’jel—if you can prevent your first death that started this cascade of phantom pain—maybe you can finally be free.
Your finger moves decisively toward the card reading “Into The Chamber.”
“You cannot change the past!” the Archivist shouts, her form becoming more unstable, pixels scattering like frightened birds. “The future is fixed! You’ll only make things worse! You won’t — “
You tap the card.
The Archivist’s protests fade as the familiar gravitational pull takes hold. Reality fragments around you, pixels scattering like debris in a hurricane. Through the chaos, you hear her final warning, distorted and desperate:
She pleads, “You don’t understand what you’re about to face! Time itself will fight you! And win.”
But you’re already falling through digital space, your mind hurtling toward the Temple with desperate determination. The phantom pain reaches a crescendo—8 out of 10—feeling like your soul is being torn apart at the ethereal level.
As the familiar golden architecture materializes around you, one thought burns through your agony with crystal clarity: This time, I’m going to save everyone…
Your UI displays “THE TEMPLE”.
The warm stone beneath your feet, the scent of incense in the air, the soft chanting echoing from the distant chamber—it all feels exactly as you remember. But this time, you know what’s coming.
This time, you’re ready.
“Fight Mode Disabled: Sacred Zone” flashes across your vision.
The Temple’s golden corridors stretch before you, exactly as they were before the explosion that sent phantom shards of agony through your soul. Incense smoke drifts through shafts of ethereal light, and the distant hum of prayer creates an almost hypnotic atmosphere. But your pattern recognition screams warnings—mathematical threads of gold and crimson weaving through your synesthetic perception, showing you that something fundamental has changed.
You’re not alone.
A figure emerges from behind a pillar with predatory grace, stepping into the sacred light as if darkness itself was simply another doorway. Tall, lean, moving with fluid precision. But it’s the eyes that trigger instant recognition—wide with that same zealous fervor you witnessed in the chamber, pupils dilated to pinpoints despite the Temple’s ethereal lighting.
The memory crashes into you with violent clarity: sweat glistening on his forehead as he pushed through the crowd, face contorted with religious ecstasy mixed with terrible purpose. The same muscles straining beneath skin pulled too tight, the same veins pulsing visibly at his temples.
But now, without the desperate urgency of that moment, you can see him clearly. This isn’t some random fanatic driven to violence by zealotry. This is someone who moves with lethal precision, whose very presence seems to bend shadows to his will.
The phantom pain in your chest spikes to a savage 7 out of 10, feeling like molten glass is flowing through your arteries. But this time, you understand the connection.
It’s really him. The one whose explosion will tear through the 2nd An’jel’s flesh in a few moments, creating the cascade of death that’s been poisoning your mind ever since.
It’s — THE ASSASSIN…