Poxitarium Invade

The Yer

As they proceed towards the office, Gregory intercepts them, his expression sharp with curiosity, eyes immediately locking onto the object in the General’s hand. He pauses for a moment, and a sigh escapes his lips, heavy with both understanding and regret. Gregory knows all too well what a hypercube means—someone is trapped within, caught in its multidimensional prison.

He clenches his jaw, the tension in his neck growing as he forces his breath to remain steady. His steps quicken as he follows the General, his eyes darting briefly to the General’s back, searching for any sign—a stiffening of shoulders, a slight turn of the head—that might signal displeasure.

Gregory keeps his face neutral, but a bead of sweat trickles down his temple. He brushes it away with a swift, almost irritated movement. Should’ve been quicker, should’ve known—there’s no excuse, not with him. He swallows hard, his eyes narrowing as he keeps stride, focusing on each deliberate footstep, his boots tapping rhythmically against the polished floor.

The General, exuding unwavering confidence, silently presents the hypercube, his gaze steady and commanding, an unspoken challenge resting beneath his authoritative exterior. Gregory swallows his anxiety, nodding in silent respect, instantly recognizing the gravity of the situation. Without another word, he falls in line behind them, his thoughts weighed down by both the implications of what was to come and the fear of disappointing the formidable man leading the way.

As they walk, Gregory’s gaze shifts, drawn by an unexpected sight—her. The pink-hued woman is struggling, her delicate fingers clenching the edge of the heavy, royal blue military cape draped over her shoulders. The fabric is far too large for her, the ornate cape trailing awkwardly along the floor, and she stumbles slightly under its weight. Yet her eyes are determined, her expression fierce, refusing to let the cumbersome garment defeat her. Gregory finds himself momentarily transfixed by the sight—the vivid contrast of her ethereal pink skin against the deep blue of the cape, and her relentless effort to carry a symbol that does not quite belong to her, yet. He can’t help but wonder why the General would allow her to bear such an obvious burden, but then again, the General had always believed in trials by fire.

“And who is she exactly? Another Hazar?” Gregory inquires, his curiosity couldn’t be held anymore.His tone edged with suspicion, his eyes flicking to the woman by the General’s side. The question is directed at the General, who meets his gaze with calm, unwavering confidence.

“Some can see more of her face, while others cannot,” the General says, his voice steady. “We haven’t confirmed if she’s a Hazar yet.” The woman clutches his arm, her fingers tightening as if seeking reassurance. She glances up at him, her eyes filled with fear and uncertainty.

“A Hazar?” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“Yes,” the General responds, his tone softer but still firm. “I will show you a graph with their information.” He begins walking, his footsteps echoing deliberately down the corridor, exuding calm authority.

“Fascinating…” Gregory murmurs, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His eyes linger on the woman for a moment, his mind visibly processing the possibilities, each one more intriguing than the last

They move through the base’s labyrinthine corridors, their footsteps almost silent against the gleaming white marble floors. The pristine surfaces, polished to perfection, reflect the soft ambient lighting, giving the passageways an ethereal glow. The atmosphere feels almost otherworldly, as if they are stepping through a place untouched by the turmoil outside, a sanctum of control and authority.

As they continue down the corridor, the subtle shift in the atmosphere becomes palpable—the lavender hues deepening with each turn, the soft glow of the cylindrical lights casting elongated shadows that dance along the marble. Their journey seems to stretch into timelessness, the silence punctuated only by the muffled echo of their steps. Finally, the end of the passageway comes into view, where the metallic white door of the General’s office stands, its surface pristine, with a simple doorknob and a button beside it. There, Tolius stands rigid, his posture unyielding, a sentinel ever-vigilant since the moment the General left her to rest and the alarm had been triggered.

“Tolius,” the General addresses him, his voice carrying that distinct blend of authority and confidence, the kind that expects—and receives—immediate obedience. “Prepare the tools.”

“Yes, sir.” Tolius responds without hesitation. He pivots sharply, entering the office with a precise step. His fingers glide across the holographic panel, executing a series of practiced movements. A portion of the wall shimmers, then silently slides away, revealing an unseen chamber beyond.

Tolius steps inside, disappearing from view, before his voice crackles through the comm. “I’m in, General.”

The General raises a hand, a gesture commanding them to follow. Gregory, Fereyan, and she step forward, moving into the office with an instinctive sense of reverence, as if entering a sacred space. The office exudes an austere power—dominated by the striking desk made of iridescent Pox Wood, its deep violet hues shimmering like the twilight sky. The minimalist design and subtle holographic displays hint at both the General’s precision and the secrets held within these walls.

The General strides to his desk, his movements fluid and deliberate, like a predator fully in control of its territory. He lowers himself into the office leathered chair, the hypercube resting in his palm, its edges glinting as he turns it casually, though there is nothing casual about the way his eyes flicker over to her. There’s a cold sharpness there, predatory and calculating, as if he holds not just an object, but the entirety of the spy’s fate between his fingers.

“Fereyan,” he says, his voice breaking the silence with a commanding edge, “prepare some yer for everyone. Add a calming dose for her. She needs to relax.

She felt a wave of relief wash over her at his words, the tension that had gripped her chest loosening just slightly. The General’s recognition of her condition was both a mercy and an acknowledgment of her limits, one that she could not let go unappreciated. She bowed deeply, her pink hued body bending with a mixture of exhaustion and respect, even if she was afraid of him and knew what he was capable of, in a way, the fact that he was taking care of her, gave her the comfort she needed amongst strangers.

“Thank you so much, sir,” she said, her voice trembling, the last remnants of her strength pouring into her gratitude.

Fereyan nods, slipping out of the office to carry out the task, his footsteps fading into the quiet.

The General’s gaze shifts back to her, a gesture that holds the weight of an order even before he speaks. “Please, take a seat,” he commands, each word laden with an implicit expectation of compliance. There is no hesitation—she, Gregory, and those still present move immediately, settling into the chairs set before his expansive desk. They sit in silence, the room filled with an invisible tension, each of them waiting, knowing that whatever was coming next was beyond their control, resting solely in the hands of the man before them.

“If anyone didn’t grasp the explanation earlier, I’ll clarify,” the General begins, his tone serious yet laced with a hint of amusement. As he speaks, he exhales a plume of thick smoke, the rich aroma lingering in the air, momentarily obscuring the sharp lines of his expression. He feels the familiar warmth of the tobacco coursing through him, but the stress of the day drives him to finish it in half the time he usually would. With each swift drag, he lets the calming effect wash over him, yet the urgency in his demeanor remains palpable, as if he’s trying to draw out every last bit of clarity before the weight of responsibility settles back in. “Years ago, Gregory and I embarked on a hunt for epic and legendary artifacts that could expand our scientific knowledge. We discovered this little cube, known as a hypercube, on Planet Horax—two universes away. It was found in the wreckage of a freighter, decimated by the planet’s unusual acidic atmosphere that caused the most catastrophic storm. Despite the destruction, the hypercube remained unscathed, its glimmer catching our eye. We still don’t know who it belonged to, but our technology at the time—limited yet formidable—revealed that this hypercube can trap individuals if thrown at them.” The General’s voice turns almost playful as he smirks at the cube, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and intrigue. “Lucky for us...”

Gregory nods in agreement, a distant look clouding his eyes as memories flicker like ghosts in his mind. “I wonder if the Noxis are still alive,” he muses, the weight of his words heavy with unspoken loss. He recalls their expedition—the vibrant landscapes now marred by the unfortunate event that had ravaged their home. The thought of his friends, the Noxis, once full of life and spirit, now reduced to uncertainty, tugs at his heart. A pang of guilt stirs within him as he questions whether they had managed to escape the devastation or if he would forever be left wondering about the fate of those he once called family.

Moments later, Fereyan and Tolius re-enter through the hidden wall, their access codes granting them seamless passage. Fereyan carries a silver tray with round, tree bark cups filled with yer. He first offers the cup to her, understanding her need for it most. Then, with deference, he serves Gregory, followed by Fereyan. Finally, he places the tray on a nearby cabinet and takes the last cup for himself, joining the others, all now facing the General.

Tolius sets a metallic toolbox near the desk, readying it for use.

The General continues, his tone unwavering, “Fortunately for you, I managed to rescue a few of our old friends before I rose to the rank of General.”

Gregory’s eyes widen in shock and disbelief, tears welling up as he leaps to his feet. “Where are they?” His voice is filled with urgency, as though he is ready to rush out the door at any moment.

“No need to leave,” the General’s voice cuts through Gregory’s emotion with calm authority. “Tolius, summon the Queen of Noxis and her King to the office immediately.”

Tolius nods and exits swiftly to carry out the command. The room falls into a tense silence as they sip their yer, the anticipation of the royal couple’s arrival heavy in the air. All eyes turn to the door, waiting.

Gregory, unable to contain his impatience, drains his yer in an attempt to calm himself, then sits back down, a smile of pure joy spreading across his face as he looks at his old comrade, the General.

She observes everything, a fleeting sense of safety washing over her as she sips her yer, feeling her nerves settle with each taste. Yet, despite this momentary comfort, a deep-seated loneliness persists. She feels detached, a stranger among them, her trust hard-earned and easily shaken. The General’s presence looms large in her mind, his reputation as someone not to be trifled with adding to her inner turmoil. Her thoughts spiral as her emotions threaten to overwhelm her. ~What’s this feeling? ~she wonders, fear creeping in as her heart races, an unfamiliar sensation stirring deep within her—a restlessness she cannot name, as though her very soul is awakening to something she doesn’t yet understand. Pressing a trembling hand to her chest, she gulps in fear, struggling to make sense of the rapid thudding in her heart, as if something within her is desperate to break free.

Unknown Soul Awakening

Not long after, Tolius re-enters, leading the Queen and King of Noxis into the room. Their yale blue skin, adorned with small, transparent darker spots, creates an almost ethereal presence, not unlike the Poxits, though their differences are distinct. The Noxis, standing at 1.70 meters tall, possess humanoid features—arms, legs, and faces like humans—but lack hair. Instead of hair, they have large, rounded locks, composed of skin and membrane, cascading from their heads like organic dreadlocks slicked rigid on the back. These extensions, known as “Interceptors,” are far more than mere adornments. They are sophisticated sensory tools, capable of picking up telepathic messages, navigating their environment, and leading them to the nearest source of sustenance. In contrast, the Poxits are shorter, around 1.30 meters, their lighter blue skin dotted with yellow, and their heads crowned with antennae that house their eyes. Both species have their genital areas located on their abdomens, discreetly covered by specially designed clothing for privacy.

The Queen of Noxis enters with an air of regal authority, her Interceptors adorned with golden and silver rings, rendering the once flexible membranes rigid. Her divine green eyes sparkle with an almost supernatural intensity, piercing through anyone who dares meet her gaze. Her small, perfectly shaped nose is accentuated by a thick silver nose ring, subtle yet prominent. Unlike humans, she requires no clothing, her body devoid of the humanoid genitalia that necessitates it. Her veins, glowing faintly with the royal Noxis blood, are visible beneath her skin—a trait unique to the royal lineage, signifying her status and power. Her reproductive system, hidden behind a layer of skin at the back of her neck, is discreetly concealed by her rigid Interceptors. When in a state of pleasure, these membranes soften and shift, revealing the small round opening for reproduction, a process devoid of pain. Her children are born as tiny, 5-centimeter embryos, growing to 60 centimeters within five human years. With a lifespan of nearly 4000 years, the Queen is a youthful 1430 years old.

Beside her stands the King, his Interceptors longer, flowing freely on the back not rigid to his shoulders, adorned with black rings that signify his freedom and masculinity. His yale blue skin is darker, more intense, his veins accentuating with glow more with Noxis blood, and his deep black eyes seem to absorb all light, drawing those who look into them into a void of unfathomable depth. His broad shoulders and powerful build radiate strength and authority, his glowing veins a clear sign of his royal lineage. At 1364 years old, he exudes a commanding presence, every movement deliberate and authoritative. Among the Noxis, the next in line for royalty is marked by their glowing skin at a young age, though this can sometimes be confused with a sickness, as their blood fights off infections. Only after they reach the age of 800, when their systems are strong enough to fend off viruses, is their royal status confirmed.

The General, ever observant, notices the tension rising within her as she gazes upon the Queen of Noxis. It is not jealousy or fear, but something deeper—an unexplainable pressure from within, her heart pounding faster and faster, as if drawn to the Queen by an invisible force, like they had known each other for an eternity.

The Queen, sensing the same, places a hand on her own chest, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she chooses to ignore it. “Gregory, it’s so good to see you,” she says, her voice soothing, stretching out her glowing arms to embrace him.

Gregory leaps from his seat, tears brimming in his eyes, and hugs her tightly. “Oh, I thought the acid had killed you all, my dear friend,” he trembles, his voice thick with emotion. After a moment, he releases her but keeps hold of her hand, his eyes filled with deep admiration and sympathy. He then steps back, composing himself

The General watches the reunion with a smirk, a hint of satisfaction dancing at the corners of his lips.

Gregory, still reeling from the weight of the moment, steps forward to introduce her to the King and Queen. She offers them a soft smile, but it barely masks the storm brewing inside her. ~Maybe it’s just the yer… ~she thinks, her gaze lingering on the King a moment longer than intended, drawn in by the gravity of his presence.

Ever the pragmatist, the General breaks the silence that envelops them. “I welcomed them to this planet with my arrival, hoping to finally provide them the home they deserve,” he begins, his tone steady but tinged with an unexpected vulnerability. “Yet, only around sixty of their kind could be saved. Unfortunately, we couldn’t rescue them all.” A rare note of remorse flickers in his otherwise steely voice. “There may be one or two potential queens or kings among them, but only time will tell. It’s crucial for your population to continue growing.” His words hang in the air, heavy with the implications of loss and the fragile hope for the future.

Fereyan, returning to his post alongside Tolius, stands guard by the door, his presence a silent reassurance of their safety from within.

The General shifts in his seat, impatience creeping into his tone. “We have important matters to discuss, Gregory. You can reunite with them later.” His voice is authoritative, cutting through the moment like a blade.

The King’s deep, resonant voice echoes through the room. “We thank you once again, General, for your hospitality.” His words resonate with power, causing an unexpected blush to bloom on her cheeks. Embarrassed by her reaction, she feels the heat rising even further, her heart racing.

The Queen, catching sight of her blush but unsure of its meaning, comments with a playful tilt to her voice, “What a lovely color you have on your face.”

“On… my face?” she stammers, her blush deepening as the realization washes over her. “Do you see my face?” she adds, her voice quivering, a mix of fear and anticipation tightening in her chest.

“Oh yes, don’t you?” the Queen replies, her voice soft and laced with nostalgia. “Your features remind me of a goddess I encountered in another universe I once visited. She had energy as pink as yours and often wore that same hue on her cheeks. I never understood what it meant.” A wistful smile graces her lips as she gets lost in the memory.

“A goddess? What is that?” she asks, her fingers fidgeting anxiously, her soul stirring within her, tears threatening to spill over.

“A goddess is a divine being,” the Queen explains, her glowing arms folding gently as she speaks. “One who transcends the morals of all species, ascending their consciousness to higher realms and achieving a status beyond that of any queen or king—a being of ultimate superiority and power.”

“What happened to her?” she inquires, her voice tinged with desperation, a tremor of longing lacing her words.

“I don’t know,” the Queen replies, her expression shifting to one of gentle sorrow. “It seemed she was engaged in a war of her own.”

The General clears his throat, a deliberate sound meant to regain control of the conversation, his gaze sharpening with purpose.

She quickly wipes away the tears that have begun to spill, her emotional state teetering on the brink of collapse.

Gregory, noticing her distress, leans closer with concern etched across his features. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, a strained laugh escaping her lips. “I just feel… something strange happening here. Maybe it’s the yer,” she adds, attempting to lighten the mood with a nervous chuckle as she presses a hand to her chest, trying to steady her racing heart.

The King remains silent, his dark eyes observing everything with an intensity that feels almost palpable, a knowing look lingering within them, as if he comprehends more than he reveals.

The Queen, sensing the tension, suggests, “I think we should get going. The General has work to do.” With a graceful wave, she exits, leading the King out, leaving the room steeped in the heavy silence of unspoken thoughts.

“Excuse me, sir. I think I need something... to soothe me?” she says, her voice trembling with uncertainty, as though she’s grasping for the right words, not fully understanding what she truly needs.

The General, without hesitation, gestures to Fereyan, who quickly exits the office, understanding the urgency of her condition.

“I won’t pry into what’s troubling you,” the General begins, his tone firm yet not unkind. “It’s clear that this goes deeper than any question or answer. Fereyan will prepare a potion to help you settle down. You’ll be fine after.” He says this while casually turning the Hypercube in his hands, its gleaming facets reflecting the room’s dim light, his demeanor calm yet commanding.

“She was able to see my face,” she chokes out, her voice cracking, on the verge of tears.

“Stop talking,” the General orders, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. “Try to calm down. Speaking while you’re in such emotional pain will only make things worse. You need time to recover—don’t think, and don’t speak.” His words, though stern, are meant to protect her from the turmoil within.

Before long, Fereyan returns, carrying a tree bark cup filled with a swirling green and pink mixture.

“Cut your finger and pour your blood into it,” Fereyan instructs, extending the cup toward her, a sharp blade held out in his other hand.

She hesitates, the fear and pain evident in her eyes. But before she can act, the General rises from his chair, his tall frame looming over her, radiating authority.

Tears spill freely down her cheeks, but she remains silent, too overwhelmed to express her terror. The General, without flinching, takes the blade and swiftly cuts her finger, the action executed with almost impatient efficiency. “Done,” he says, his voice serious and devoid of emotion.

“S-sir...” she whispers in pain, closing her eyes, trying to block out the sharp sting and the terror of the moment.

Fereyan quickly takes her hand, allowing the blood to drip into the potion. “It needs your DNA to be effective,” he explains, his tone clinical.

She glances at the General, her expression turning grumpy, but as she meets his more serious gaze, she averts her eyes, choosing instead to stare at the ground, her wounded ring finger now covered by her other hand. Fereyan hands her the cup after mixing the potion thoroughly. She drinks it down in one gulp, not caring for the taste, feeling the weight of the General’s presence press down on her like a ticking bomb. She knows they have more important matters to attend to, the spy, and feels a burden to not delay them further.

The General returns to his seat, his eyes fixed on the Hypercube, his posture as commanding as ever. “Let’s continue,” he says, gesturing for her and Gregory to sit down.

“As you know, Gregory,” the General begins, his voice edged with tension, “something went wrong with the vials, and since you’re the only one in the lab, I need an explanation.” His fingers tap impatiently on the armrest, each tap a reminder of his simmering anger.

Gregory gulps, placing a hand over his chest in a gesture of sincerity, his heart racing as he meets the General’s piercing gaze. “General, I swear I didn’t do anything wrong,” he pleads, his voice a mixture of honesty and fear, each word laden with the weight of his anxiety. “I made them exactly as you instructed. I never altered the recipe,” he insists, desperation creeping into his tone as he feels the tension in the air.

The General leans forward, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as he demands, “Who stored the vials?” His voice is low and measured, yet it carries an undercurrent of authority that makes Gregory’s stomach twist with dread.

“There were no labels indicating how or where to store them,” Gregory replies, his voice faltering slightly under the General’s intense scrutiny. “So I placed them with the others in their usual containers.” His words spill forth in a hurried rush, but he can feel the General’s skepticism pressing down on him like a heavy weight.

“If they were stored as usual, then what caused them to react differently at varying temperatures?” the General presses, his tone growing more demanding, each word a challenge that cuts through the tension like a knife.

“I honestly don’t know,” Gregory admits, his voice trembling as the gravity of the situation settles in. The fear of failure gnaws at him, each moment stretching into eternity. “I kept everything the same as always. I’ll go check, if you allow me,” he offers, a glimmer of hope igniting in his chest despite the oppressive atmosphere.

“I do.” The General’s response is clipped, his patience wearing thin as he shifts in his chair, a subtle sign of his growing frustration. The authority in his voice leaves no room for argument, and Gregory nods quickly, a rush of determination flooding through him.

Hurrying out of the room, Gregory’s departure is marked by a hasty wave to her and the guards, his mind racing as he grapples with the implications of what might unfold. Each step feels heavy with the uncertainty of the task ahead, and the lingering weight of the General’s gaze follows him as he exits, pushing him to find answers before it’s too late.

She watches the exchange almost as if disassociated, her hand still resting over her chest. ~I’m waiting for... what?~ she wonders, her mind racing. She tries to focus on waiting for the potion to take effect. ~I’ve never seen them before. What’s happening? Why do I feel this way around them? At the thought of the Noxis? What kind of power does the General wield? Why does he keep me around? I just want peace again, or at least to pretend... But... There’s Kaizu out there, and no one will protect me~... Her thoughts, chaotic and panicked, gradually quiet as the potion’s effects take hold, bringing a deep sense of tranquility and a meditative calm. Her racing mind slows, the weight of her emotions lifts, and she begins to sob softly, feeling vulnerable and afraid. ~What am I doing here? What am I waiting for?~ she questions herself, wanting nothing more than to be alone, to cry in peace, to release the tension coiled within her. She sobs

The General, noticing her state, silently offers her a box of tissues—a rare gesture of kindness, granting her the freedom to cry as hard or as loud as she needs to.

She takes the tissues with trembling hands, pushing down the overwhelming sense of helplessness and confusion she feels. As she blows her nose, she feels the potion’s effects deepen, a lightness and serenity replacing the foggy heaviness from before.

“Thank you, sir,” she says, her voice now stable, a calmness settling over her.

He nods, his gaze still focused intently on the Hypercube.

The silence is finally broken by the General. “Who do you think this being is?” he asks her, his tone gentle, careful not to unsettle her further.

“I don’t know, sir...” she replies, the events of the day now dulled by the potion’s anesthetic effect. She feels calm and collected, despite the trauma lingering just beneath the surface.

“What should we do with him to make him talk?” the General continues, his fingers pressing on the Hypercube in a deliberate pattern. Suddenly, a holographic image of the spy appears, showing him trapped somewhere dark and foreboding.

“Hello?!” the spy’s voice echoes through the room, laced with agony and fear. “They’re going to eat me, please help!” he screams, his face twisted in terror as he sees the General’s holographic image appear before him. “I swear I don’t know why he wants her, but he wants her! Please, let me go!” The screeching sound in the background grows louder, almost unbearable.

“S-sir...” she stammers, panic rising as she watches the scene unfold. She looks at the General, hoping he will release the spy, afraid of witnessing another death, another trauma she desperately wants to avoid.

The General manipulates the Hypercube swiftly, shifting the spy’s location as the screeching sound intensifies.

“Who sent you?” the General demands, his voice cold and unyielding.

“I’ll die anyway, either by your hand or his, but I’ll tell you if you promise to protect me, give me a new identity, and shield me from his wrath! If he finds out I’ve talked, he’ll come for me in every lifetime, please!” the spy pleads, his voice shaking with desperation as the screeching grows louder, the noise reverberating through the room.

The General’s eyes narrow, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “At least you know who you fear the most. Good. Tell me then, and promise to keep you in my base with a new identity, under my protection.”

The spy, his will finally cracking, sobs, “Just get me out of here,” the desperation in his voice palpable.

“What’s inside that Hypercube that terrifies him so much?” she asks, her voice soft but curious. “On this planet, we’re used to seeing deadly monstrosities, diverse and dangerous.” Her fear is now masked by a layer of calm, though the curiosity remains.

The General remains silent for a moment, then presses a combination of smaller cubes on the Hypercube, releasing the spy from its grip but keeping him restrained by unknown glyphs, like a spell of containment.

“Talk,” the General commands, a trace of amusement in his voice.

“He’s from the East. I don’t know his name, but he hired me specifically to take her. I heard something about her glowing face or power energy, I’m not sure,” the spy confesses, his voice trembling with barely controlled sobs.

“Power energy?..” she asks in curiousity “Do I have that?” she looks at the General asking him, The General focused on the matter at hand.

“I need to know who sent you, name or not,” the General insists, his impatience clear as his fingers tap rhythmically on the armrest.

“No one knows his name. He stays anonymous, I’ve never even seen his face. I just received a letter with Lox glass, a piece to start and a piece promised after I delivered her through another person. He knew about me, but I don’t know anything about him. This planet is small but diverse, with people coming and going as they please, so I wouldn’t know who he is, he might be the King of the East or just another being, I wouldn’t know,” the spy sobs, his voice filled with despair.

“Tolius,” the General calls out, his tone sharp. “Spread the word that the spy sent here was murdered by the General’s guards.” His voice is deadly serious, brooking no dissent.

Tolius nods and exits the room, his footsteps echoing down the corridor as he descends, the weight of the General’s command heavy in the air.

The General turns his attention back to the trembling spy, his expression unreadable but his presence undeniably menacing. “I don’t trust you with your powers,” he says, his voice cold and measured. “I’ll take them away from you. If you behave, perhaps you can earn them back later. For now, I’ll give you a glamour of your choosing, but all your powers will remain in my control. You will be no more than a normal, powerless being. Your name will be Astrox from now on.”

“Thank you... anything... please don’t kill me,” Astrox pleads, his voice cracking under the strain. Tears stream down his face as he continues, “I... I have a sister out there... I shouldn’t have accepted the glass...” His sobs grow louder, his body shaking with the weight of his regret.

“What’s your sister’s name?” the General asks, his tone steady and unyielding.

“Tuan,” Astrox responds desperately, choking on his tears.

“Fereyan,” the General calls out, his voice a commanding presence in the room. “Tell Tolius to bring her here anonymously, while spreading the word that she was killed as vengeance by the General’s guards.”

Fereyan nods and swiftly exits to carry out the order, his demeanor as focused and efficient as ever.

“You don’t have any other relatives, do you?” the General asks, his gaze piercing.

“No, just her,” Astrox replies, his voice barely above a whisper. He keeps his eyes downcast, unable to meet the General’s gaze, feeling the weight of his shame and failure crushing down on him.

“What did you need the money for?” she asks, her voice soft with curiosity, yet laced with empathy.

“She needs brain surgery,” Astrox explains, his voice breaking with emotion. “She doesn’t have much time left...” His tears fall freely now, the hopelessness of his situation clear on his face.

“I understand,” she replies gently, her heart heavy with sympathy. She glances at the General, her eyes searching for some sign of compassion.

The General groans, the sound deep and almost annoyed, as if weighing his options. “Fine,” he says at last, his tone begrudging. “Since you’re in my care, I will provide for her. But understand this—if you ever consider betraying any of us, we will hunt you down across lifetimes.” His voice is low and menacing, the threat clear and terrifying, causing Astrox to shudder in fear, his body trembling uncontrollably. He’s so overwhelmed by the General’s words that he loses control, his body betraying him in the worst possible way, peeing himself.

The General approaches the Hypercube with his hand, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement. He leans in and presses his lips to the surface of the Hypercube, drawing out Astrox’s powers with a forceful, almost mocking kiss. “Just for safety,” the General says, his voice playful, a smirk curling on his lips. “If you want them back, come and kiss me, hehe,” he adds with a mischievous grin, enjoying the power he holds over Astrox.

Astrox yelps in pain and horror as he feels his powers being vacuumed out of him, leaving him weak and defenseless. “I just wanted to save her,” he cries, his voice filled with despair and regret, knowing his decisions have led him to this point.

“Why did you rape her?” the General asks suddenly, his voice turning deadly serious.

Astrox’s sobs deepen as he responds, “I don’t know what came over me... I just felt so drawn to her. It was like I lost control. The plan was only to take her, but I failed because of my own weak mind.” His head hangs low, his shame and guilt evident in every word.

The General, with a dismissive flick of his hand, tosses the Hypercube onto the floor. Astrox, now free from its confines, collapses onto the ground, his body trembling with relief. He looks up at the General, fear and gratitude warring in his expression. “Thank you, please don’t hurt me,” he pleads, his voice weak, his hand covering his mouth as if to stifle his sobs.

“Fereyan,” the General calls out once more, his tone commanding and decisive. “Escort him to the glamour facility and find something suitable for him. Ensure he’s comfortable and doesn’t cry anymore.” His orders are clear, and the weight of them leaves no room for disobedience.

Fereyan steps forward, ready to carry out the General’s command, his demeanor calm and professional as he prepares to escort the newly named Astrox to his new life, stripped of his powers, a mere shadow of his former self.

As the others leave, the General remains seated, his gaze unwavering and intense. “As for you, girl,” he commands, his voice laced with a subtle edge of amusement, “go bring me that cube over there.” He waits for her reaction, his eyes narrowing slightly as he opens a drawer, retrieving a finely crafted tobacco pipe. With practiced ease, he lights it, the flame dancing confidently at the tip as he inhales, the rich scent of tobacco filling the room, a testament to his calm dominance.

“Yes, sir,” she responds, her voice obedient yet tinged with uncertainty. She moves to the center of the room, her steps tentative as she approaches the fallen cube. Bending over, she reaches for it, but as her fingers close around the object, it slips from her grasp. Confusion flickers in her eyes as she looks up at the General, searching his face for some hint of what just happened. There’s no answer in his expression, only a silent, almost mocking patience.

Determined, she tries again, but the Hypercube slips through her fingers once more, this time accompanied by a sharp, stinging pain that shoots up her arm. ~Is this the energy they keep talking about? Why does it hurt me?~ she wonders, struggling to understand the strange sensation coursing through her hand. The cube’s unnatural heaviness makes it impossible to hold, its smooth surface too slippery to grip.

The General, observing her futile attempts with a cold amusement, stands up slowly, his movements deliberate as he strides toward her. His towering presence looms over her, exuding a new level of dominance that sends a shiver down her spine. Without a word, he effortlessly picks up the Hypercube, the object seeming light and obedient in his grasp. He turns it over in his hand, playing with it casually, as if to demonstrate the ease with which he controls it.

She frowns in frustration, her brow furrowing as she stares at him, the weight of her own inadequacy pressing down on her.

“You shall not move from my office until you can pick it up and hold it for five seconds,” the General declares, his voice firm, brooking no argument. “No water, no bathroom breaks, no sleep, no food. Nothing.” His tone is serious, demanding, each word landing like a hammer blow, driving home the severity of her task. He places it back on the floor.

At his command, her eyes widen in shock, and she instinctively steps back, her mind reeling. “But sir, that’s—” she begins to protest, only to be cut off as the General opens a drawer, revealing the muzzle within. His face is devoid of emotion, his silence more threatening than any words could be.

She swallows hard, her protest dying in her throat as she frowns with determination. A low groan escapes her lips as she steels herself for the impossible task ahead.

Over and over, she tries to lift the Hypercube, but it continues to slip from her grasp, its weight and slipperiness mocking her efforts. “Why is it so heavy and slippery?!” she yells in frustration, her voice echoing through the room, directed at the infuriating object that refuses to be held.

The night drags on, now being almost morning, with Fereyan and Tolius returning to their designated posts, standing guard over the General. She continues her struggle, her fingers raw and throbbing, her body dehydrated, her mouth parched, and her lips cracked. Her eyes, bloodshot from the sleepless nights that have already taken their toll, betray her exhaustion, tho no one can see her pain, only a pink ethereal glow on her face. Her stomach rumbles loudly in the oppressive silence, a stark reminder of the days she has gone without proper nourishment.

She glances at the General from time to time, hoping for some sign of leniency or even acknowledgment, but he remains focused on his holographic documents, his silence a constant, unyielding presence. Her desperation grows, the physical and mental toll becoming too much to bear. She sobs softly, her breakdown quiet and controlled, not wanting to draw attention to her weakness. Needing a brief respite, she takes a moment to stretch her legs, the numbness in them a reminder of how long she’s been standing.

With a heavy sigh, she looks at the Hypercube, her thoughts clouded with exhaustion and frustration. Her entire body aches, and as she bends down once more, a sharp pain shoots through her, causing her to yelp involuntarily. “Ah!” The pained moan breaks the stillness of the room, and she blushes, embarrassed by the sudden outburst. The General’s gaze snaps to her, his eyes narrowing as he waits for an explanation.

She notices, to her growing confusion and alarm, that a part of her heavy war clothing is slowly disappearing, fading away like mist. The sight deepens her unease, as if the very fabric of her being is unraveling along with her resolve.

As she stands there, panting from the effort and pain, the General’s sharp eyes catch something unusual. Her clothing, the heavy war suit she had worn like armor, is beginning to fade, dissolving into thin air as though being vaporized by an unseen force. Inch by inch, the material disappears, revealing the ethereal pink glow of her body beneath. Her form, now increasingly exposed, radiates a soft, otherworldly light pink that pulses gently, contrasting starkly with the cold, harsh lines of the room around her.

The General, intrigued and amused, stands up from his desk and steps closer, his gaze fixed on the spectacle unfolding before him. “Just like your mask?” he muses aloud, his voice low, laced with both fascination and a hint of something darker. His eyes, now filled with a mix of curiosity and intent, trace the glowing lines of her body as more of the suit disintegrates, exposing the luminous, almost translucent pink skin beneath.

She stands frozen in tears of exhaustion and hurting hands, feeling the intensity of his gaze on her, a mix of fear and confusion churning inside her. The protective layer she had relied on is vanishing, leaving her vulnerable, her true form slowly being revealed to the one person who exudes absolute control over her fate. “Oh, no..What is happening?..“, she asks confused, while looking at herself.

As the last remnants of her suit fade away, her ethereal body fully emerges, glowing softly in the dim light of the room. The General’s smirk deepens, his mind racing with the implications of what he’s witnessing. Her true form, now laid bare before him, is both captivating and powerful—something far beyond what he had anticipated

He reaches out, as if to touch the glowing surface of her skin, but hesitates, his fingers hovering just above her ethereal pink form. A thousand thoughts seem to pass through his mind in that moment, the possibilities endless and thrilling.The soft, pulsing glow emanating from her body casts a delicate pink hue across the room, gradually revealing more of her features as the light intensifies.

As the light continues to build, the shapes of her form become clearer, the outlines of her body slowly emerging from the haze. The ethereal glow dances across her skin, creating an almost hypnotic effect. The pink aura seems to deepen, carrying with it a subtle but undeniable energy that stirs something within him—a mix of fascination, curiosity, and an arousal that tugs at the edges of his controlled demeanor.

He narrows his eyes, concentrating on the vision before him, as if by focusing harder, he could unlock more visible features. The glowing light reveals the soft curves of her body, the delicate lines that had been hidden beneath her suit. There’s something entrancing about the way the light plays off her form, a mixture of innocence and allure that pulls him in, making it impossible to look away.

The air between them is thick with tension, the pink light casting an almost dreamlike quality over the moment. His breath catches slightly, the faintest hint of arousal stirring within him, not just at the sight but at the power she unknowingly exerts—an untamed force that both excites and challenges him. And then, in the midst of this quiet, electric moment, a thought surfaces in his mind ~What exactly is she?~

Fereyan, his sharp eyes fixed on the spectacle, feels a chill run down his spine as the war suit disintegrates. The sight of the ethereal pink glow radiating from the woman’s form is both mesmerizing and arousing. He can’t tear his gaze away from the soft, pulsating light. The transformation is both beautiful and fascinating, and he finds himself torn between admiration and apprehension. The sheer power of her true form, revealed so suddenly, makes him feel like an outsider to a secret he wasn’t meant to see.

Tolius, standing beside him, is equally captivated but less restrained in his reaction. His jaw drops slightly as the woman’s suit vanishes completely, leaving her glowing form exposed. The light casts strange shadows and colors on the walls, creating an eerie, dreamlike quality that makes the room feel surreal. Tolius’s curiosity is tinged with unease—there’s something primal about the way the light dances across her pink glowing skin, something that stirs a sense of both wonder and awe. He glances at Fereyan, searching for reassurance or an explanation, but finds only the same bewilderment mirrored in his comrade’s eyes.

Both guards and the General are acutely aware of the shift in the atmosphere, the air thick with aroused tension and unspoken questions. The general’s fascination with the woman’s transformation is palpable, and the guards find themselves caught in a moment of strange, uncomfortable clarity—something extraordinary is happening right before them, and they are powerless to intervene or fully comprehend it.