The following day dawned with a muted glow, after Nyxander's intense black market trip, he remained locked in his room, secluded from the waking world. Nyxander barely noticed.

The hours slipped by in silence as he remained seated cross-legged on his bed, lost in a world of swirling energy and fragmented memories. His room, once neat, was now a chaotic mess, parchments scattered like fallen leaves, fragments of failed attempts littering the floor, and diagrams hastily drawn across the walls.

Essentia energy pulsed faintly around him, like a heartbeat struggling for rhythm. He sat there, battling the invisible currents, recalling theories and ideas from novels and comics of a life he no longer lived, but none seemed to yield the breakthrough he sought.

Nullpoint, ever-watchful, assisted him in crafting countless designs of fabric gloves, each one a promise of success that fell short. The daylight eventually dipped beneath the horizon, the galaxy spreading its dark velvet blanket, as though shrouding the world below in whispered secrets.

Evening had come. The room lay in a state of beautiful chaos, the air thick with the weight of failure and unyielding determination.

Nyxander sat on the edge of his bed, his figure outlined by the faint glow of starlight spilling through the window. His silver eyes reflected the vast expanse of the cosmos, filled not with defeat but relentless resolve. "Nullpoint, let's proceed," he said, his voice steady but edged with exhaustion.

In response, Nullpoint shimmered into existence, weaving dark grey fabric gloves around Nyxander's right hand. The design left a perfect aperture on the palm, an intentional gateway for the flow of essentia energy.

"Okay, Master," Nullpoint replied, its voice as calm as the night breeze.

Nyxander's fingers tightened around the butcher knife, its blade already bearing the scars of countless failed attempts. "Remember, cut off the flow if the results fail," he instructed, his voice low yet firm.

As he gradually released his energy, the butcher knife began to glow, it handle heating up in a deep, molten red, like iron fresh from a forge. The blade emitted a faint, sorrowful cry, its vibrations growing stronger, resonating like a lament for all the failures it had witnessed.

But the cry grew louder, more frantic, a warning shriek from metal pushed to its limit. Without hesitation, Nullpoint reacted, enclosing the open part of the glove, halting the energy's flow.

Nyxander sighed, the sound escaping his lips like the final note of a long-forgotten song. "I've tried everything I can think of... yet still no success," he muttered, tilting his head back, staring at the ceiling as though hoping the stars above might offer an answer.

For a while, silence reigned, broken only by the soft whistle of the night's cool breeze slipping through the window, bringing with it the scent of distant worlds and dreams unfulfilled.

Nyxander's gaze shifted toward the window. The galaxy stretched out, a tapestry of cosmic wonders, the stars twinkling like silent witnesses to his struggle.

Suddenly, something caught his eye. A comet, bright and untamed, streaked across the dark expanse. Its trail shimmered like a painter's silver stroke against an obsidian canvas. But as it raced through the galaxy, it passed through a dark, floating fluid suspended below the galaxy.

When the comet emerged from the other side, its once-pure glow was tainted, carrying with it the inky darkness of the fluid. Nyxander's eyes widened. "Huh..." The pieces clicked together, a flash of inspiration igniting within him like a star being born.

"Why didn't I think of this before?" he whispered, his voice trembling with newfound clarity. "The principle behind semiconductors," he said, his voice now carrying the weight of understanding. "That comet, part of it was nullified, but not completely. The balance between resistance and flow… that's the key."

Nullpoint, caught off guard by the sudden revelation, hesitated.

"What do you mean?" it asked, its voice laced with curiosity.

Nyxander turned, a fierce determination lighting his face, a stark contrast to the exhaustion from before.

"Let's try this." His grip tightened around the butcher knife once more. "When I release my essentia energy, don't nullify it completely. Instead, partially nullify the flow. Then, gradually reduce the nullification until the knife reaches its maximum limit."

Nullpoint understood immediately. "Understood, Master." The atmosphere in the room shifted. The air grew thick with anticipation, as if the universe itself had paused to witness the moment.

Nyxander exhaled slowly. His mind clear. His will unshaken.

As he released his essentia energy, a subtle hum resonated. The butcher knife began to glow once more, but this time, it was different.

Nullpoint skillfully adjusted the flow. The blade absorbed the energy in controlled pulses, the thermal glow smoothing into a steady, radiant burn.

The cry from the blade returned, but instead of a frantic wail, it was a harmonious hum, like a melody finally finding its rhythm. Nyxander smiled.

The edge of the knife surged with red light, brighter than before, more stable, like a star holding itself together under its own gravity. Finally, the knife reached its peak. The glow held. The blade no longer screamed.

Nyxander fell back onto the bed, a grin breaking across his face. "Hahaha! Finally!" His laughter echoed softly through the room. Throughout the difficult day, his mind found peace.

As sleep gently claimed him, the galaxy outside shimmered, the comet now a faint memory, and the dark night whispered secrets of victories yet to come.

At the late hour when night reluctantly welcomed the dawn, Nyxander lay in deep slumber, his breath slow, his mind adrift in the calm sea of dreams. The faint glow of early morning seeped through the window, brushing against the room's disorderly interior.

Suddenly, a roar of commotion shattered the fragile quiet. Noises thundered from outside, a chaotic symphony of screams, footsteps pounding like war drums, and the sharp clatter of objects crashing against walls.

Nyxander stirred, groaning as he rose to a sitting position.

"Huff," A hot breath escaped from his nose as he groggily rose to a seated position, rubbing the lingering sleep from his eyes. His gaze drifted lazily across his dim room, still cluttered from yesterday's experiments. "Seems I slept off..." he muttered, rubbing his eyes, his voice dragging with sleep.

But the noise didn't relent. It grew louder, closer, and with it came the unmistakable rhythm of panic, footsteps charging without pause, as though the ground itself had turned to fire. Objects flew through the air, crashing and clattering without mercy.

Nyxander's brows furrowed. "What's going on?" Still groggy, he pushed himself off the bed, his footsteps sluggish and unsteady, dragging across the cold floor. His eyelids drooped, still clinging to sleep's embrace.

He gripped the door handle, pulling it open with quiet hesitation. The morning light, still dim with dawn's early breath, slipped into the room. As Nyxander gently pulled the door open, his half-closed eyes snapped wide with disbelief.

Chaos. The district beyond his room had descended into madness. People ran frantically from both directions, their faces twisted with fear, as if death itself had come to claim their souls.

Objects flew through the air, kicked and tossed aside like leaves caught in a storm. Furniture shattered, crates rolled, and fragments of debris painted the ground in disarray.

Nyxander stood still, his sharp gaze shifting from side to side, his mind momentarily blank. "What in the stars is happening?"

Snapping back to focus, he took a step forward, planting his feet firmly as he lunged toward a man fleeing past him, grabbing the stranger's sleeve.

"Hey! What's going on?" But fear knows no loyalty. With a desperate pull, the man wrenched his arm free, the fabric of his sleeve tearing with a sharp rip, leaving Nyxander holding the torn cloth in his hand, fluttering like a white flag of surrender.

Nyxander watched, speechless, as the man vanished into the crowd, still running. Before he could process the moment, another figure appeared, charging straight toward him.

Nyxander moved swiftly, this time, his grip firm and unwavering, his fingers digging into the man's trembling shoulders. "Stop! Tell me what's happening. Why are you running?"

The man froze, though his body trembled violently. His head jerked repeatedly, eyes darting past Nyxander, as if still searching for an escape route. "It… it's here!"

His voice cracked, heavy with dread, breath escaping in ragged gasps. Nyxander leaned closer, his curiosity now sharpened by urgency. "What's here? What has appeared?"

The man gulped, the sound loud in the tense air, his dry throat struggling against fear. "Listen, young one," the man rasped, his eyes finally meeting Nyxander's. "Flashstamp. It has appeared again."

Nyxander's gaze hardened. "Flashstamp?" he repeated, the word tasting foreign and ominous on his tongue.

"The station forces, yes, I'm sure you're one of them, judging by that uniform, are preparing to face it. But trust me, it won't be easy. Not with that thing."

The man's voice lowered, as though saying its name aloud would summon it. ""Now, if you would be so kind… let me go." Nyxander hesitated but released his grip. "Oh… yeah."

The man didn't wait for another word. He bolted, disappearing into the sea of panic as swiftly as he had come.

Nyxander stood there, the word "Flashstamp" echoing in his mind. The crowd continued to run , a river of fear flowing endlessly. "Flashstamp…" he muttered again, staring into the distance. His eyes narrowed, the word rolling on his tongue, foreign yet weighty. "What… is that?"

The morning light grew stronger, golden rays piercing the lingering darkness, but the unease in Nyxander's chest remained, shadowed and unanswered. The name lingered in the air, like a storm cloud waiting to break.

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