Kai Harloven., Domini.
I watched him grow.Surpass us all.
And just like that—he was gone.
The chosen vessel. The scapegoat forged to save us from the fate we saw coming like a train with no brakes. He ascended, while we chose to shackle ourselves. He took on the weight we were too afraid to bear.
He was the only one among us directly controlled by Hibino.
And that devil of a daughter—That succubus. Sakura.
She used him. Again and again. Twisting his love. Siphoning power through those stolen fragments of his soul. She bled him dry while pretending to care.
Now that puppet is dead.
And with him gone, we're left holding the bag—The last scraps of the Amaterasu's great experiment.The new candidates for the vessel.
Not by merit.By default.
Because there was no one else left to carry the burden he abandoned.
After all, he'd wiped out Master Hibino's previous generation of creations—erased them completely, as if they'd never been. They were flawed, yes. But weren't they all? Disposable tools, made for a single purpose. Weapons shaped to enforce ideologies they themselves never chose. Bound by their modifications. Shackled to their function.
She remembered how they fought.
How he adapted—used her own augment against her. Every attack answered, not just matched. His stored characteristics adjusted on the fly. Increased speed, improved perception—each modulation countered in real-time. Denser musculature neutralized by a form of kinetic impact redirection. His armor was nothing special, plain even. But once awakened… his amber eyes were impossible to look into. Maddening. Infinite.
Most of the organization didn't even call him by name.
They called him Legion.
Not because he fought like many—but because the Norvanite in his system allowed him to become many. He could reconstruct the foes he'd killed—physical replicas formed from a base he called Tenebri. Shaped from memory, imbued with the essence he absorbed: Ura. Their life force. Their identity. Their power.
He had thousands. All malleable. All disposable. Shifting, living weapons that could wear any face he remembered.
And two were infamous.
Nyxora and Horus.The Dragon and the Falcon.
Each a force of destruction on their own—each capable of acting autonomously under a "prevailing activation standard." They weren't just constructs. They were vestiges—souls he had broken, then folded into himself.
But one stood apart.
Strom.
The first kill. The first echo.The one he always sent first.
According to Hiro, the process began with exposure—skin, energy, resonance. The vestiges would crystallize out of the air, like memory foam snapping into shape. Brutal. Familiar.
And yet, around them—those still inside the cult—he never used them.
He didn't have to.
From the moment his eyes turned amber, he could access any of their abilities. Directly. Instantly. It wasn't just memory. It was possession.
They spoke often of his retrieval from Vanorion as a child—how he fought his way free. How he wounded Hibino's precepts inside his prototype Arkashell. And then, with the help of a forbidden mutagen made by the organization's head, he shattered the very foundation of their control.
He had no Uratsu of his own.
And yet he became chaos incarnate.
That's why he was chosen.Not just as a candidate.But as the template.
The Norvani Series Project was never meant to make another soldier.
He wasn't just built to fight.He was made to be the true vessel—the one who could finally meet Evaltol's impossible demands.
And yet, around us… he never flaunted it.
He was quiet. Steady. Like the older brother who never needed to speak much—who always had your back. On missions, he covered Tenure's cooldowns without hesitation. Took hits for her during her adaptation lag. He didn't complain. He didn't boast. He just moved like the perfect soldier was supposed to. Reliable. Efficient. Unshakable.
I remember the day he fought the Grand Master.
A week straight. No rest.And he injured him.
Not just held his own—injured the highest tier combatant in the entire cult structure. None of us could believe it. But that was him. The outlier. The variable no one accounted for.
And then—he was gone.
No signal. No corpse. No trace. Just… absence.Like the universe blinked, and forgot he existed.
It's terrifying. Even now.
To know that something out there was strong enough to erase him.To unmake the unmakeable.
It makes everything else feel brittle. Fragile.Like we're all just waiting for our turn to vanish.