The wind had changed.

It carried no scent. No heat. No sound.

Only weight.

Kiro walked alone beneath the pale moons of Gaeth-9, his body cloaked in a tattered scav cloak scavenged from the dead. The remains of the Kruger strike team smoldered behind him, forgotten and irrelevant. The System had grown quiet, no longer hungry—but not satisfied.

It was listening.

And so was he.

His core pulsed in a rhythm that wasn’t entirely his own. Blood Venom now flickered with black veins of light, a symptom of some deeper transformation. It didn’t speak. Not in words. But in sensation. In tremors along the bone. In flashes of memory that weren’t his.

He saw war.

Planets turned inside out.

Something vast and wrong—teeth in a skyless void.

A god screaming without a mouth.

He stumbled.

Not from pain.

From revelation.

The visions weren’t dreams. They were residuals—psychic echoes buried within the System. Buried within the very flesh that now powered his core.

“You carry not a god’s gift,” the System finally whispered. “You carry what’s left of him.”

Kiro froze.

“What do you mean?”

No reply.

But the truth began to settle, heavy and cold.

The Blood God was dead.

Not sealed. Not banished.

Devoured.

The word rippled through his mind, foreign and monstrous. Images followed—fractured, disjointed.

A chasm in space. Tendrils made of starlight and despair. A body the size of a continent, cracked open. And feeding—things without form, without names. Ancient.

Older than the Kargal Empire. Older than the divine systems. Older than sin.

Voidlings.

The name came unbidden, and the System did not deny it.

They had killed the Blood God. Consumed his flesh, drained his essence, left only scattered shards behind.

And Kiro?

Kiro had found one.

A fragment.

No wonder the System evolved instead of leveling. It wasn’t whole. It was rebuilding itself through him—gathering strength the only way it could: through blood, through will, through survival.

But with that knowledge came something else.

A warning.

“They felt your awakening.”
“The corpse stirs. The Void remembers.”

Kiro knelt beside a dead tree and touched its bark.

It cracked beneath his fingers.

Inside, the rot had begun to spread—silent, black, almost invisible to the eye. But he could feel it now. The Void wasn’t just out there. It had started to bleed in.

Through him.

He looked to the sky. The stars no longer shimmered. They blinked… like eyes.

How many had felt what he’d done? How many were coming?

He had thought himself a weapon. A vessel of vengeance. The beginning of something new.

But maybe—just maybe—

He was a flare.

A signal.

And the monsters that had eaten gods were already on their way.