Machina Arcanis: Two Worlds Collided
Book 2: Chapter 105. Zetius Zel Celerius

In the desolate land of Vinveil, the terrain was cracked and fractured into hardened stone. Jagged rock formations jutted from the tainted ground, menacingly sharp like the claws of giants. There was no sign of light or life, as the sky was blanketed in a thick, black mist. It was always night in Vinveil.

Beyond the vast and treacherous landscape lay the abandoned city. Street signs, buildings, and houses crumbled in slow decay, gradually succumbing to the passage of time. The walls were overrun with strange vegetation, with hair-like vines slithering from the earth. The wind howled with a terrifying high-pitched wail, like a phantom in mourning.

Many decades ago, a beautiful and vibrant city had once graced this land. But now, only grey and decay remained.

In a far corner of this town of despair, a grand castle loomed. Towering spires pierced the darkened sky, each tip adorned with a gargoyle statue carved from black clay. The same hair-like vines clung to its walls. The gothic aesthetic screamed sorrow to anyone who dared trespass into this unholy place.

There was movement in the shadows — ashen humanoid figures flitted about, low groans escaping their lips as they laboured on the construction of the walls, expanding the castle's boundary.

Elenore Blair Veyne stood before the castle door, wearing a wide-rimmed hat and a dark purple dress. She held her arc staff at her side. The massive double doors, cast in dark iron, swung open of their own accord. She drifted through, her movement frantic, yet her regal bearing remained intact.

The grand hall welcomed her with luxuriousness. A crystallised chandelier cascaded from above, bathing the room in cold light. A red carpet stretched across the stone floor as she hurried towards the wide staircase leading to the second floor.

At the top of the stairs stood a statue of a medieval knight, posed with shield and sword.

Elenore passed through corridor after corridor lined with old paintings and dimly lit lamps affixed to stone walls, until she finally reached the grand chamber.

The chamber opened onto a vast balcony that spanned its width. Moonlight poured in, illuminating a beautiful figure standing in tranquil stillness.

Serene Blair Veyne, her twin sister, spun slowly, her movement ethereal. She hovered slightly above the ground as she stepped away from the scenic view.

Her black dress clung to her hourglass figure, the tall collar fanning out behind her like a peacock’s tail — elegant and commanding. Her glowing blue eyes and long black hair were divine and arresting.

Though Elenore shared many of her sister’s features, her soft brown hair cascaded down to her lower back, and her face held a gentler, more endearing charm.

Serene regarded her sister with bright anticipation.

“Elenore, my dearest sister,” she murmured, her words drifting from her lips, revealing a glimpse of vampiric fangs.

Elenore approached and clasped her sister’s hands. “Sister, it’s happening — your seed of hatred has been awakened!” she said, brimming with joy.

A smile spread across Serene’s face as she pulled her sister into a tight embrace. Elenore rested her head gently against her sister’s chest.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Yes, sister. Let us pray for his reawakening…”

Her glowing eyes flared with mana as she gazed upward, watching the mana-fall cascade from the heavens.

***

On the eastern border of Porand…

The aftermath of the devastating clash between two Celestius mages had laid waste to everything within a radius of several kilometres, stretching far beyond what the eye could see.

A gentle breeze swept across the flattened terrain, reshaped by the unimaginable power of the Celestius of Aries.

Smouldering ashes had melted into the soil, hardening into molten rock with flowing, wave-like formations.

Debris from a fallen Armatus lay strewn across the battlefield. Its once-pristine silver armour was charred beyond recognition, yet the faint outline of the hopping rabbit sigil — the Hoffmann crest — remained etched in the scorched steel.

A cold corpse lay on the desolate ground, his legs and right arm completely severed. His only remaining limb, the left hand, was outstretched toward a golden arc boot just in front of him. He had come so close, yet he never managed to grasp it.

Reaching for something that seemed otherworldly, something precious.

Even in his final breath, even with his last ounce of strength, he had crawled toward her — the bearer of the golden arc boot.

For a brief moment, the wind stopped.

All movement ceased.

The starry night fell silent.

A glowing white orb floated out from the corpse, illuminating the nothingness around it.

Wind whipped into a vortex as the orb drew in air, whirling around its centre.

A low hum and high-pitched howling echoed from within as the orb vibrated erratically.

Then it pulsed once, then again, releasing glowing, thread-like fibres that slithered outward like nerve endings. With every throb, they grew longer, branching and weaving together.

Soon, a stem began to form at one end. At its peak, a jelly-like cerebrum took shape, growing rapidly into a complete brain.

White smoke thickened around it as bone formed from swirling air, taking the shape of four long limbs.

Muscle wrapped around bone. Skin followed, sealing the form in its entirety. The smoke grew denser, blanketing the figure completely.

Then, lightning struck from the heavens.

A bolt of raw energy surged into the celestial body, jolting it into life.

Thum-thump.

A heartbeat. Steady. Strong.

As the wind returned and swept the white smoke away, the radiant light faded.

The eyes snapped open — bright red pupils glowing with renewed life and fire.

Involuntarily, words escaped his lips.

“Holy… Gaia.”

The man sounded amazed by his own voice, his own existence.

His feet touched the soft earth. He dug his toes into the soil, savouring the sensation.

The cold breeze kissed his bare skin as he drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh oxygen.

He spun slowly, searching the night sky for the moon.

Moonlight bathed his face, revealing an angelic visage — so perfectly shaped, it seemed sculpted by the loving hands of goddesses.

The fractured moon still hung high above. Tonight was a full moon.

Its light reflected in his fiery red eyes, and his silver hair shimmered, glowing with otherworldly majesty.

The man studied his hands — young, strong, full of energy.

Then his body chiselled like a Greek god. His firm chest and sculpted abs radiated divine symmetry.

Memories began to merge, colliding like waves in his mind.

He remembered the pain.

He remembered the betrayal.

“Rhok… Wagner…” he growled, voice low and heavy with purpose.

Raising his hand slowly, he swept back his long fringe with quiet resolve.

He was no longer Jack Squire.

Zetius Zel Celerius had been rebirthed into his perfect form.