Abyss Prison, Cell K-6
The old man in silver had watched the boy rot.
That was how it always went in Abyss Prison—where monsters were broken not through bloodshed, but repetition.
Wake.
Eat.
Stand.
Sit.
Repeat.
Do it enough times and you'd start to forget what rebellion even tasted like.That was Warden's genius, Kaer thought. The AI didn't torture; it silently killed their ambitions through boring repetition.
He had watched thousands crumble this way—proud beasts, tyrants, zealots. Even a mighty one from Crimson Crescent turned into a zombie like existence . But not the boy. Neo.
At first, Kaer thought he would break the same as any other. The boy came in composed, with a hint of 'righteousness indignation' deep in his eyes. A wealthy kid had framed him out of envy. Thought that since he was innocent, he would come out of prison soon.
He, too collapsed. As the Wealthy kid had burned his Heavenly Tome, years of dedication, into ashes.
He collapsed like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Kaer closed the book on him right there.
But then came the grin.
The boy—no, the thing—grinned. Not like the prisoner he is. No. Neo grinned like a man who'd just been freed from prison? Has he lost it?
Kaer remembered the exact moment.
Neo stood like a free man, ironically inside an inescapable prison. Then, bloodied fingers reached out. Slit his own hand open. And began… writing.
Not words. Not scripts.
Symbols. Madness-shaped like glyphs.
Every day, a new one. And every day, that grin grew wider.
Kaer couldn't understand them at first. He assumed it was insanity—until the fifth day.
That's when the pattern clicked.
Heavenly Tomes.
Crude, yes. Rushed, undoubtedly. But they were unmistakable.
Where most took years—Neo did it in seven days.
And worse... his Tomes were alien.
Not derivative. Not variations.
Original.
"Impossible…" Kaer whispered on the seventh night, heart pounding against decades of hardened apathy. "That... that's not Martial Sky volume, I had personally written one. Not the other two either. It is not the same!"
He was still trying to accept that when the Heavenly Trial came.
Three questions, three answers. Everyone faced them.
Kaer waited, tension clawing at his chest. He remembered when he passed his own trials, decades ago. He'd received seven sparks—a symbol of genius, of divine approval.
Part of him still wanted to see this mad upstart fail.
But Neo didn't fail.
When the bestowal came… it shattered the prison's rhythm.
There was no song. No chorus of divine light.
There was only impact.
Seven bolts—obsidian lightning, sharp and roaring—struck the wall, not Neo himself. The cell trembled. Dust fell like snow.
Kaer blinked, and the writings—those insane glyphs—began to move.
They transformed.
No… they rewrote themselves.
Everything Neo had scrawled in madness was devoured by black flame. Symbols twisted into spirals, lines bent into vortices. What emerged was not a Heavenly Tome—it was something deeper. Something unauthorized by any sky Kaer had ever known.
Then came the sphere.
No radiant pillar rose. No chorus of the firmament sang his name.
Instead, the seven obsidian bolts that strick and erased.....or maybe changed his heavenly tomes turned into a sphere. It slammed into the center of the cell, engulfing Neo entirely.
And then... silence.
No glow. No sparks circling like delighted fairies.
Only a sphere, pulsing with unnatural rhythm, as if it was alive and breathing. Ready to usher a new life.....or maybe.....usher a new era.
Kaer staggered back.
Around him, eight other cellmates stared, mute.
Even Warden, the infallible AI that monitored every motion, every breath, sounded… confused.
"Error. Unable to determine Status. Initiating Abyssal Lock!!!"
Neo was gone from sight, devoured by the sphere. The wall bore no writing now—just smoldering lines where madness had once played god.
And Kaer?
For the first time since his incarceration…
He felt that Abyss Prison had welcomed someone it cannot hold. The inescapable Abyss Prison....will soon no longer be as inescapable as he had thought.
---
Excellent vision. Let's shift the tone slightly—grounding the scene with a more mortal perspective, layered with madness and awe, rather than divine detachment. We'll present Neo's first encounter with his Heavenly Spirit as if he's staring into a twisted mirror, a version of himself shaped by everything he endured, embraced, and let rot.
And for the name—we'll tune it per your vision: more active, more commanding, yet retaining the mythic structure.
---
Neo stood still as the obsidian sparks struck the wall.
Others received their Sparks of Life like gifts—dancing motes, descending with joy.
His came as bolts, each one a sentence. A reckoning. A promise.
He had known. In his moments of silence, in his spirals of thought, he had foreseen the deviation.
The moment when the sky would not simply answer, but pause—unsure if it should.
And so, when the world blurred and the blackness took him, he did not resist.
At first, Neo thought he was looking at a mirror.
Not the kind that reflected light.
The kind that reflected truth—the deepest part of twisted truth radiating madness.
There it floated, not behind him as was common, but directly in front. Like a reflection, just a twisted one.
A humanoid figure, translucent like smoke that had made a pact to stay whole.
It wore two layers.
The outer—a draped cloak, blacker than void, seemed to drink the faint light of the space. It carried no symbol, yet shifted constantly.
One second it looked like crumpled silk, the next like breathing shadows.
He blinked—now it looked like a procession of hands clutching at nothing.
Neo did not shiver. He only grinned. This was.... just ....so much like him.
The inner layer was tighter, like battle-worn armor made of polished volcanic stone—smooth, dark, and utterly still.
A shroud of silence in solid form.
Where attacks would land and simply… vanish.
From its arms, two long chains dragged behind—made not of metal, but something worse.
Darkness so dense it felt alive.
These were not for show. Neo knew this. These were tools, forged for one purpose:
To bind horrors.
To drag them from the abyss.
And make them kneel.
Its chest bore the sigil of a tiger's head, carved in relief—wide-jawed, with eyes that screamed hunger.
Not for food.
For challenge.
Its face was obscured by rough bandage-strips, aged and grayed like they'd been torn from ancient ceremonial cloth.
They wrapped its jaw, its forehead, its neck—revealing only the pale white eyes.
No pupils. No humanity.
Yet Neo recognized those eyes.
Because they were his eyes.
---
He laughed. Not out of joy, but because the absurdity of it all had finally come full circle.
The cloak twitched.
The chains lifted.
The tiger-head glowed, faintly.
And in his mind, not a voice—but a meaning burned into being.
---
"Chainbound Warden of Ghastly Genesis."
Apex predator, preying upon not flesh....but soul.
Warden not of men, but of ghosts and nightmares.
Distortwr of reality, origin of illusions.
---
Neo smiled back.
Madness didn't need symmetry. It needed recognition.
And in this mirrored ghost, he had found his reflection of who he was…
---