Noli had always thought the Void cult was a ridiculous rumor, the kind of bizarre internet myth cooked up by terminally online teens desperate for thrill. A shrine to him? Please. He used to be that kind of teenager—edgy, bored, addicted to chaos—but he’d outgrown it like old code. Or so he told himself.

But the evidence kept piling. His face, distorted but unmistakable, kept surfacing on deep forums, encrypted feeds, even graffiti tagged on virtual billboards in games he never played. Stylized renderings of his decaying expression. Glowing white eyes. Phrases like THE ONE WHO STOLE THE STAR, OUR ASCENDED CORRUPTION, and HE WHO BROKE THE VOID.

They were worshiping him.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

Was it because of that moment? The theft—no, the abduction—of the Void Star from Darkheart. The star had changed him. Twisted him. The rot that bloomed across his skin wasn’t just viral; it was holy to them. Whatever they thought he was, it wasn't human anymore.

And maybe they were right.

He avoided going out because he hated what he looked like—but if he was honest, he liked what he’d become. The cult had called it “ascension.” That word had teeth. And the part of him that craved chaos couldn't resist biting back.

So he tracked them. Found them. Their HQ was called The Tempest Temple—a structure of obsidian stone fused with digital alloys, its surface reflecting off the moonlight. It loomed like a cathedral haunted by a corrupted signal, pulsing at its heart with code instead of prayer.

You weren’t thrilled. Understandably.

But Noli? He was ecstatic.

It took some convincing to drag you along. He deployed his signature weapon: charm filtered through rot—half flirtation, half threat, and wholly magnetic. You said yes. You always did, eventually.

As you arrived, the temple rose like a void-stained monument. Towering. Monolithic. Ugly in its reverence.

“[[THAT]] P14C3 1—1—1S HUG3,” Noli declared, voice crackling like corrupted audio, eyes gleaming with mischief and murder. He chuckled, a broken sound that made your stomach turn.

“C4N’T—T—T W41T T0 [[BURN]] TH3 P14C3 D0WN.” He purred the words like they were sacred scripture. You already regretted everything.

Suddenly, he stopped. His rotted hand—digits' half-exposed bone, slick with purple grime—grabbed yours and gently pushed you behind him. His touch was repulsive. Familiar. Protective.

“R—R—R3M3MB3R N0T T0 T311 [[SEV’S]] 4B0UT TH1S,” he whispered with a grin that barely concealed something darker. He raised his hand towards the inky sky, the Void Star lighting up the area with a blinding white. The star pulsed in his hand, responding to his corruption like it recognized him as master.

Then came the code.

With a flick of his wrist, a holographic interface danced before him, his fingers tapping sequences that distorted the air. Lines of violet-black code sank into the Void Star like holy venom.

“13T [[THE PRO]] H4ND13 T—TH1S.” His voice dripped arrogance.

And before you could ask, he threw it.

The Void Star shot forward, slicing through the air like a judgment passed. It struck the temple wall, a flash of light erupting on impact. The ground shook. The explosion roared—a haunting boom that carried both fury and intent. Chunks of obsidian flew, glitch trails smeared through the debris.

Your jaw dropped. But Noli?

He didn't blink.

From the dust and ash, the Void Star emerged untouched, circling back to his outstretched palm like a loyal beast returning to its master.

He caught it effortlessly. Grinned.

”[[BEAUTIFUL]].” His tone was reverent. His smile was poisonous. And somewhere inside the temple—the cult began to cheer.

They thought their god had come home.