The vast, starry void stretched endlessly, dimly illuminated by Chrollo's star—or rather, the fractured remnant of it. A reflection of his own inhuman nature, his lack of a soul. No words could fully capture it; even Chrollo himself struggled to name it.
Hollow Dirge Star.
Yet, the stillness of this space had begun to shift. The distant, flickering stars stretched into continuous lines, weaving into an intricate, ever-changing pattern. Then, as suddenly as it had emerged, the vision faded.
What greeted Chrollo next was the heavily armoured ceiling of the police station's vault.
Honestly, he had missed the comfort of a warm blanket, a proper bed. The wagon had offered only its hard wooden floor as a resting place.
Turning his head, he caught sight of Sunless—and the bed he had been strapped to. Between them sat a woman with raven-black hair, her presence sharp and deliberate. Her icy-blue eyes gleamed like shards of frozen light, their piercing gaze betraying an unsettling depth. Her skin, as pale as Sunless's, held none of the same sickly undertones; instead, it was smooth, flawless, and eerily luminous, like polished ivory beneath the cold glow of the room.
Chrollo wasn't startled by her presence, having anticipated her arrival. Her ascended rank didn't surprise him, either—after all, he had read a few arcs into the novel.
Jet lifted her head from her communicator—the futuristic equivalent of a phone, fitting for the high-tech setting—and her icy-blue eyes met Chrollo's gray ones. His eyes were misty, deep with an almost tangible depth, while hers were sharp and dull, carrying an unsettling darkness that seemed to pierce through him.
"Awake, huh?" she muttered, her voice cold and detached
Chrollo had awakened earlier than Sunny, and he was thankful for it. He had no desire to be labeled because of Sunny's flaw.
"Well, I should get the details out of the way. You're entitled to a lot of things and will receive full support. For example, you have access to therapy to help with the burden from your trials, and…" Jet continued, her voice monotonous as she listed all the benefits and support the government would provide, along with the basic changes that occurre after your first Nightmare.
Chrollo dismissed her words with a detached disinterest. The government's hollow promises held no sway over him. He wasn't about to be manipulated, nor would he reveal anything about his Aspect. He had everything he needed already. There was something far more pressing to attend to.
Without a second thought, Chrollo sank into his soul sea, standing atop the mist-covered surface of the dark waters. Around his Hollow Dirge Star swirled countless simmering orbs, each one flickering like a distant star. Yet, his gaze was fixed on two particular ones—one containing a memory, the other, an echo.
Summoning fort his memory Mask of the Ever-Hungering first he read
[Mask of the Ever-Hungering]
A delicate yet unnerving mask, crafted from matte black porcelain, its edges jagged as though gnawed by some unseen beast. The hollow eye sockets seem to swallow light, leaving only an impenetrable abyss. A faint pulsation emanates from within, as if the mask itself is breathing—aching, longing.
Memory Rank: Awakened .
Memory Type: Artifact.
Memory Description: This mask is the remnant of an ancient, insatiable hunger—an entity bound within the face of a forgotten god. It was worn by those who sought power but were consumed by the very emptiness they embraced. The mask remembers the gnawing void it once sought to fill, and it hungers still. Those who dare wear it may hear whispers from the shadows, reminding them of the gnawing emptiness that never ceases, never fades.
Enchantments:
[Devouring Gaze] – The wearer's eyes become black voids, pulling in the essence of life from those they gaze upon. A fleeting glance steals fragments of vitality, leaving a chill in its wake. Those who meet the wearer's gaze may feel as if their very being is being siphoned away, yet they cannot recall the moment it began—only the absence left behind.
[Hunger's Whisper] – The mask stirs the air with a barely perceptible shift, bending perception in subtle, unsettling ways. Time seems to stretch, or perhaps shrink, and space warps just enough to make the world feel alien. In these fleeting moments, enemies may falter, uncertain of the reality around them, as if something ancient watches with hunger, waiting for them to make the wrong move.
[Voidborn Shroud] – A shadowed veil, woven from forgotten whispers, envelops the wearer, blurring their form into something indistinct. The touch of magic upon it is muted, like a distant memory. The veil shifts in response to the wearer's desires, cloaking them in the emptiness of the void itself. Yet, as it shields, there is always the sensation of something pulling—a hunger that grows each time the shroud is invoked.
Chrollo took a minute to read the decisions. Wait—could just anyone read the enchantments? He hadn't thought about it until now, his mind previously focused solely on survival during the chaos of the Nightmare.
Sunny had only gained the ability after inheriting Waver's lineage, hadn't he?
Chrollo exhaled a long sigh, forcing himself to stop thinking. After all, Nen wasn't part of Shadowslave, so who knew what was going on. He could figure it out later.
Chrollo stared at the mask, its hollow eyes seemingly pulling at something deep within him. The words lingered in his mind, the mask's curse already gnawing at his thoughts. Devouring Gaze, Hunger's Whisper, Voidborn Shroud—each enchantment promised power, but at a cost. He could feel it, that insatiable hunger, like an echo of something older, something that had once consumed everything in its path.
The power could be useful, he mused. A subtle advantage in a battle. A way to warp perception, to make my enemies doubt their senses, doubt their very existence. The Voidborn Shroud could provide me with the perfect concealment...but at what price? He could already sense the tug of the mask's need, the way it would demand more and more with every use, until it was no longer a tool but a burden.
He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
His fingers lingered on the edge of the mask, feeling the faint pulse that seemed to resonate with his own hunger. I'll need to understand it fully, before it understands me.
Chrollo pushed the memory away, watching as it transformed back into a small white orb and floated back to its resting place next to his Hollow Dirge Star.
His gaze shifted to the other orb, the one containing his new Echo. It slowly began to morph, and from it emerged the image of a beautiful girl, no older than twenty. Her beauty rivaled Jet's—her smooth alabaster skin still vibrant, and the elegant armor now a permanent part of her. However, her once-dazzling lapis-blue eyes had dulled, now empty voids, devoid of any light or emotion.
Echo of The Eclipsing Shade: Seraphine Vale
Echo Type: Beast.
Echo Rank: Awakened.
Echo Attributes: [Swift Hand], [Child of Shadows], [Mark of Death].
Echo Description:
The Echo of Seraphine Vale is a soulless imitation of a being who once walked the earth, now bound forever to the darkness. She is a shadow within a shadow—her every movement a perfect replication of her final moments. Her eyes are hollow, devoid of life, reflecting the emptiness of her existence. Yet in that absence lies her power: the ability to vanish from sight, to strike without warning, and to leave only death in her wake. She is not merely the dark; she is born of it, and in it, she finds her strength.
Echo Attributes:
[Swift Hand]
Attribute Description: "Your blade strikes fast and true."
Every movement is an extension of her lethal precision. Seraphine's strikes are swift and deadly, her blade a blur that never misses its mark. She strikes before the enemy can react, the very air thick with the sense that she was already there before they even knew she existed. In battle, she is a flash of death—faster than the eye can follow, deadlier than the mind can anticipate.
[Child of Shadows]
Attribute Description: "The darkness is your cradle, and the night your domain."
Seraphine Vale was born from the void, and she moves as though the darkness itself is her birthplace. Shadows twist and bend at her will, parting as she glides through them with the ease of a predator in its natural habitat. To see her is to see only the faintest trace of movement, and by the time you realize she is near, it is already too late. The darkness is her companion, and she is never truly seen unless she allows it.
[Mark of Death]
Attribute Description: "You bear a mark of Death, as just like Death, you were created to be a weapon."
In her very being, Seraphine carries the mark of death. Her existence is an answer to destruction, a weapon forged in the image of finality itself. Her every motion is a reminder that she is the embodiment of the inevitable end—destruction that comes silently, without warning, and with no chance for escape. Her presence is death's herald, and she bears it with quiet resolve.
Echo Abilities:
[Shadow Manipulation]
Ability Description: "You can affect the movement of shadows and walk through them unseen."
Seraphine has complete dominion over the shadows, able to manipulate their shape and movement with but a thought. She can step into the darkness and vanish, moving from one shadow to the next, her form slipping through the world unnoticed. The shadows bend to her will, creating a veil that shields her from sight, allowing her to move unseen, like a ghost in the night.
[Shadow Sense]
Ability Description: "You can perceive the presence and movements of others through shadows, even if they are hidden from view."
Seraphine's connection to the shadows is more than just physical—it is intuitive. She senses the faintest movement in the darkness, able to perceive what others cannot see. No corner is truly hidden from her, no movement unnoticed. The shadows whisper to her, revealing the presence of the living, even those who think themselves concealed. In the dark, she is never alone—she knows where you are, even if you can't see her.
[Awakened]
Ability Description: "The Echo stirs from its slumber, its abilities fully realized."
Upon awakening, Seraphine's mastery over the shadows intensifies. Her movements become even more elusive, her strikes faster, her senses sharper. The darkness itself seems to bend to her will more completely, becoming an extension of her very being. She is no longer just a shadow in the dark—she is the darkness, and the darkness knows her as its own.
Chrollo's gaze remained fixed on the image of the Echo before him, his mind already working through the potential of its abilities. The girl, Seraphine Vale, was a powerful tool—an extension of the darkness itself, and a lethal one at that.
He studied her attributes carefully, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. [Swift Hand] promised speed and precision—strikes that would be impossible to dodge. [Child of Shadows] made her an unseen predator, a creature of the dark that could slip in and out of danger without leaving a trace. The [Mark of Death] was both a fitting title and a reminder of her true nature—a weapon forged for destruction.
His thoughts shifted to practical use. Shadow Manipulation and Shadow Sense would allow him to control the battlefield with ease, moving through the shadows without being noticed. She could be his perfect scout, or, in the heat of combat, his silent assassin.
Chrollo knew the value of such an Echo—one that could remain unseen while bringing death with a single strike. He would need to test her abilities in real scenarios, but the potential was undeniable. For now, though, he would remain patient. There was no rush to reveal her true power.
He had lucked out—his new Echo was a blend of Sunny and Kurt, making her his perfect weapon. She would be his shadow, just as Sunny was to Nephis. Unlike Sunny's shadows, however, she couldn't grow stronger, but with Nen, he was sure he could find a way around that.
Deciding to leave his Soul Sea, Chrollo witnessed an unusual spectacle. Jet's delicate yet strong hands gently slapped Sunny, the soft sound of skin meeting skin lingering in the air, a faint reminder of the moment.