The slums of Lunora—an artificial moon ruled by the noble houses of Ashborn and Heavenhart—were not the decayed wastelands outsiders imagined. The streets were paved with salvaged metal, lined with homes stacked high in careful disorder. Neon lights flickered coldly, casting eerie glows over markets where merchants bartered, where children ran barefoot through alleyways.
These were the ones who could not afford the polished cities above—the widows of soldiers lost in distant wars, the families of fallen heroes, the workers discarded after their usefulness had run dry.
They called it a slum.
Not for filth or crime, but for the people forced to live here. A graveyard of broken promises. A place where honor was the last thing they had left.
Beneath the pale glow of a pharmacy's holo-sign, honor was being weighed against survival.
A six-year-old girl lay curled on the ground, her frail body trembling under the fists and boots of five grown men. Her patched clothes barely clung to her thin frame, her bruised face streaked with blood. Yet, she did not cry. She did not beg. She did not let go.
"Thief!" a man spat. "Stealing medicine? You have no shame!"
"She shames her father's name," another hissed.
"A hero's child, acting like a street rat."
"She's not like him at all."
The crowd murmured their agreement. No one saw how tightly she clutched the small amber bottle, her fingers white from the pressure. She had stolen it when no one was looking, slipping through the shelves like a shadow. But she hadn't run fast enough.
A boot crashed into her ribs, pain exploding through her small body. The world blurred. Voices turned into distant echoes.
"She thinks she's better than us just because her father was a hero? That's why she needs to be taught a lesson."
A woman in the crowd laughed, folding her arms. "Look at her, not even crying. Acting tough, like her father did before he died like a dog."
A child, no older than ten, threw a pebble at her. "My father said they should've left people like you to rot. No place for beggars and thieves in Lunora."
Another kick landed, and one of the men scoffed. "If you're so strong, why don't you fight back? Or are you just a coward like your dead father?"
The girl clenched her teeth, her grip tightening on the bottle.
Endure. Just endure.
'Hold it. Hold it tight.' She pressed the bottle to her chest, fingers locking around it like iron. 'Mother needs this. If I drop it, she won't get better. If I drop it, she'll die.' Another kick. Her vision dimmed. The bottle nearly slipped. 'Hold it!' She bit her lip until it bled. Her father had once told her—before he had fallen, before his name had been stripped away—that strength was not about how hard one could hit, but how much one could endure.
And so she endured. She would endure all of it. For her mother. For the only thing she had left.
And still, they rained their judgment upon her. Her vision swam, the world a haze of shifting light. A foot rose above her, ready to come down on her face, and she prayed—not because of pain, but because she must endure.
A boot lifted again, aimed for her face. She prayed—not for herself, not because of pain, but because she must endure.
Then, a voice, calm yet absolute, echoed through the air.
"[Stop.]"
[Your title, Vritrahan, is responding to your command.]
[Consuming 100,000 EP to use the command – Stop!]
The moment the word was spoken, everything froze. The foot halted midair. The men stiffened, their hands still raised in fists. The crowd stood locked in place. They could not turn. They could not move. They could not even blink.
Horror gripped them.
And from the distance, as the world remained suspended in absolute stillness, NOX walked forward.
He paid no mind to these insignificant insects as his blindfolded gaze locked onto the small figure curled on the ground. His attention shifted to her trembling hands, fingers locked tightly around the bottle despite the darkness clouding her consciousness. Even at the brink of collapse, she refused to let go.
He knelt beside her, his expression softening for the first time in a long while. A rare warmth touched his otherwise cold demeanor as he gently ran his fingers through her blood-matted hair.
"You've suffered enough. I'm here now," he said, his voice calm, reassuring. After a brief pause, he added, "Big brother will take care of you."
Inwardly, he commanded his System.
"Heal her."
[Consuming 100EP to use the Skill – Heal!]
Within seconds, her wounds began to mend. The bruises faded, the cuts sealed, and her ragged breathing steadied. She slowly lifted her gaze to NOX, her eyes filled with something between awe and exhaustion. She parted her lips to speak, to thank him, but her body betrayed her, too drained to form words.
NOX caressed her hair once more, his touch light and deliberate.
"It's okay," he murmured.
He helped her to her feet and, with a mere thought, spent his energy to manifest a shirt from the void, draping the soft black fabric over her small frame.
Her strength gave way, and the dam broke. She sobbed, raw and unrestrained, the weight of everything she had endured crashing down at once. She was just a child, yet these grown men—three times her size—had treated her as though she were less than human.
Was this what his people had sacrificed themselves for?
These were the wretches so many of his kin had bled to protect?
Disgust curled in NOX's expression as his blindfolded gaze swept over the frozen figures. Though paralyzed, they could still breathe, still think, still perceive the horror unfolding before them. His presence alone gripped them with a fear deeper than any physical restraint.
And then—he willed the very air around them to retreat.
The shift was instant. Their lungs burned as they struggled to inhale, but the air refused to fill them. Their chests heaved in vain, mouths gaping soundlessly like dying fish. Terror consumed them. Their bodies would not listen, their muscles refused to move, and now even the simplest act of survival—breathing—was slipping beyond their grasp. Their vision blurred, their eyes turned bloodshot, and the unbearable suffocation crushed them under its weight. They could feel their lives slipping away, inch by agonizing inch.
NOX did not blink.
His voice, quiet yet dripping with merciless disdain, shattered the silence.
"Tell me… do you feel helpless?"
A suffocating stillness followed. NOX tilted his head slightly, watching the despair carve itself into their expressions.
"I had no intention of killing anyone today. I've killed enough," he said, his tone eerily calm. "But you insects truly have a talent for courting death."
These were the wretches who had brutalized a child, who had spat on the legacy of a fallen hero, who had treated honor like filth beneath their feet. NOX clenched his fist, suppressing the overwhelming urge to tear them apart.
But death? No. That would be too merciful.
His voice turned colder, resolute in its judgment. "And I will not grant you the mercy of death."
His disgust deepened, his rage simmering beneath a mask of unshaken control. He would not kill them. They did not deserve such an escape. Instead, he would give them something far worse.
"You will live, but you will only be allowed to breathe when you are at the very brink of death. You will feel hunger clawing at your insides, yet you will only be able to eat when starvation threatens to consume you. You will know thirst, suffering, and despair, yet survival will never truly abandon you. You will live in agony, forever haunted by the edge of death but never permitted to cross it. This is my Decree."
With a mere flick of his wrist, he granted them a single breath—a moment of fleeting relief—before the air was stolen from them once more.
"System, construct a Decree."
[Constructing the Decree…]
NOX watched as the unseen forces of his will took form, etching their suffering into the very fabric of their existence. This was not just punishment—it was a lesson. He would remind them what it meant to be powerless. He would make them feel the suffering they had inflicted on one so small, so helpless.
And on this day, NOX made a decision, a goal.
Humans—mortals who had long since forgotten their place—would be reminded. The price of their arrogance, their betrayal of the families of fallen heroes, would be burned into their very souls.
A notification flashed in his mind.
[Decree of Eternal Suffering – Constructed.]
[Creation cost : 12,000EP]
And without hesitation, he activated the Decree.
[Consuming 30,000 EP…..]
He no longer spared these scum a second thought. Even the mere notion of them lingering in his mind was repulsive. He should truly end humanity.
His blindfolded gaze shifted to the girl, who had watched everything unfold with a terrifying composure. NOX smiled. She truly was as strong-willed as he remembered.
A girl who had once become his family when he was hunted by the Dharma Soldiers. A girl who had become his second sister in that distant past.
A willful yet caring sister—one that NOX and Nora, his true sister, had ever called their outsider-family.
And she would be one of the many regrets he was going to correct in this life.
This time, he would fulfill his responsibility as a brother.