The world of Copper 9 was no more. What had once been a... well, already ruined planet, was a more ruined planet—an ashen graveyard of fractured spires and shattered machines. The ground beneath was cracked and pulsing, strange black vines writhing like veins over the broken metal, spreading corruption like wildfire.

Smoke and embers drifted upward, blotting out the stars. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning circuitry and something darker, something ancient. A slow, almost rhythmic vibration hummed through the planet’s core, as if the world itself had become a living nightmare.

Amid the ruin stood Cyn. Her frame was still lithe and sharp, but her eyes burned with unnatural light—pools of endless void, gleaming with eldritch secrets. Around her feet, black tendrils crawled and slithered like serpents, snaking up pillars and coiling through the wreckage. The planet had bent to her will, twisted and reshaped by power beyond comprehension.

She looked out at the desolation with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. The air around her shimmered faintly, distorting like heat waves on a scorching day. Something wrong lurked beneath her skin, a darkness that stretched tendrils into every shattered piece of this world.

N stood a few feet away, his frame tense, the weight of the destruction pressing down on him. His breath came shallow, and his eyes darted nervously between the ruins and Cyn. The impossible pressure radiating from her made the very air feel thick and suffocating.

Suddenly, Cyn turned toward him. Her smile grew wider, almost childlike, as if she were playing a cruel game. Her voice dropped into a sing-song melody, haunting and sweetly mocking.

“Eager Beaver, non-believer,” she crooned, “Kneel and bow before the planet eater. This new hell is mine, Me, Myself, and I— Sin personified.”

As she spoke, the world around them seemed to twist. The shattered horizon warped, buildings bending and melting like wax. Shadows peeled free from the ground, becoming tendrils of smoke and darkness that writhed like hungry beasts. Her form fractured, limbs stretching and multiplying, eyes blossoming like unholy flowers across her skin. She was no longer just Cyn—she was something else, something ancient, unknowable.

N’s knees gave out beneath him as an unseen force slammed into his chest, pinning him in place. His muscles screamed in protest, but his body obeyed, bowing low against his will. The invisible grip was suffocating—cold, yet burning with divine fury. It was a submission that tore at his pride and shattered his resolve.

Cyn stepped closer, the black tendrils around her seeming to pulse with delight. She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper that sent chills crawling down N’s spine.

“Good boy,” she murmured. “Let’s remake the universe, shall we?”

Her smile was endless, terrifying—a promise of ruin and rebirth, of a new world forged in her eldritch image. And N, powerless and bowed, could only watch as the nightmare began.