Chapter 458: Starter Pack

After the meal was done and plates were cleared, Veyr leaned back in his chair like the conversation had just reached the part he’d actually been waiting for.

“There’s an auction tonight,” he said casually. “Underworld circuit. Private floor. If you want in, you come with me.”

Xavier didn’t answer right away. He leaned back against the table, arms crossed, letting the idea sit. He had already done what he came here for. Bull’s treasure had been found. His face was fixed. Whatever business Helior Prime had held for him was finished, and the underworld wasn’t a place you stayed in longer than necessary.

But auctions were different.

The last one he’d attended, back on Earth, was where he’d walked out with Serpent’s Fang. He still remembered the room, the tension, the way dangerous things hid behind polite smiles and sealed cases. Auctions had a way of putting the right objects in front of the right people at the wrong time.

And curiosity had always been his worst habit.

’My daily limit’s already burned,’ Xavier said slowly, more to himself than anyone else. ’But I’ve still got enough billions sitting around to be irresponsible.’

Xavier nodded once. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Arlen straightened immediately, already half-smiling. Rin looked up too, interest clear on his face. Even Klatos tilted his head, feathers shifting slightly.

Veyr raised a hand. “Before anyone starts packing fantasies,” he said evenly, “I’m bringing one guest. Not a group.”

The room went quiet for half a second.

Arlen didn’t hesitate. “That’s fine,” she said, eyes on Xavier, confidence baked into her voice.

Rin opened his mouth like he was about to argue on principle alone.

Klatos stayed silent.

Xavier looked between them, then at Veyr, then back again. The decision wasn’t emotional. It never was. Auctions weren’t about muscle or loyalty. They were about knowing what something was worth before someone else did.

“Klatos,” Xavier said.

The reaction was instant.

Arlen’s expression cracked. “You’re kidding.”

Rin let out a sharp laugh. “Seriously?”

Klatos blinked. “Me?”

“You know Jupiter,” Xavier said, already standing. “That’s what I need.”

Arlen’s voice dropped, tight. “So what, I just sit here? And for your information, I know Jupiter too!”

Rin crossed his arms. “Unbelievable.”

Xavier didn’t engage. He’d learned a long time ago that explaining decisions to angry people just gave them more things to argue with. He turned away, already heading for the corridor.

“Be back later,” he said over his shoulder. “Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone.”

Arlen swore. Rin muttered something under his breath. Klatos stayed quiet, still processing.

Xavier shut his door behind him and locked it.

Xavier sat on the edge of the bed and finally pulled out the small box the surgeon had shoved into his hand. Curiosity won over caution. He flipped it open and froze for half a second.

Inside wasn’t jewelry or tech. It was a mask.

Not a generic one either. The surface was molded with the exact damage his face had carried before the Axiom fixed it—the fractured cheek, the torn skin pattern, the ruined symmetry. Even the subtle deformation near the eye was there, replicated with uncomfortable accuracy.

“Fucking old hag,” Xavier muttered, half impressed, and half annoyed.

He lifted it, turned it over, and noticed the inner layer wasn’t solid. It was an adaptive mesh, memory-reactive polymer woven with bio-resonant filaments. The kind of tech that didn’t just sit on skin but synced to muscle movement, heat, and micro-expressions.

He put it on.

The material softened, spread, and locked into place as it bonded to his facial contours. A second later, his reflection in the dark glass stared back at him wearing the same broken face he’d walked in with earlier that day. Same damage. Same menace. And the same unsettling wrongness.

Xavier tilted his head, flexed his jaw, blinked. The mask followed perfectly.

He exhaled slowly, then smiled under it. “Alright,” he said to himself. “That’s actually useful.”

“Guess I owe her for this one,” he muttered, closing the box.

The clinic was quiet in the way only underworld places ever were after sunset. The surgeon had stripped the room down to bare function, sterilizers humming, extraction rigs open, every surface lit too bright. She moved fast, methodical, pulling filters, flushing conduits, purging anything that might still carry a trace of the Axiom. She knew better than to leave residue behind. Things like that drew attention, and attention in this city always came with teeth.

The door slid open behind her.

“The shop’s closed,” she snapped without turning. “Come back tomorrow if you still have a face.”

Silence answered her.

She turned.

Three figures stood inside the doorway, cloaks dark and matte, swallowing the light instead of reflecting it. The one in front was tall, taller than the others by a clear margin, posture straight, presence immediate. The two behind her stood half a step back, hands folded, faces hidden, not guards so much as confirmations.

The surgeon’s hands froze mid-motion.

She shut down the extractor with a flick, wiped her palms on her coat, and lowered her head slightly. “You’re late.”

The tall figure’s voice came smooth, layered with something artificial beneath it. “Did you do what I asked?”

“Yes,” the surgeon replied quickly. “Exactly as instructed.”

The figure stepped further inside, boots silent on the metal floor. The golden glow from beneath her hood caught the edges of the room, sensors flickering in response. The surgeon felt sweat crawl down her spine.

“I guided him,” she continued, words tumbling out now. “A young man. Severe facial trauma. He came asking for repairs. I told him conventional methods wouldn’t work. He tried to name the alternatives, Vitae Fracta, Chroma derivatives, Genesis Ash. I discouraged all of them. I told him only the Axiom would restore him fully.”

The figure stopped in front of the operating chair. “And?”

“And he had it,” the surgeon said. “The real thing. Not a replica. Original lattice. I confirmed it myself.”

The glow beneath the hood brightened slightly.

“Are you certain it was him?” the figure asked.

The surgeon swallowed. “He was wearing the silver locket. The one you described.”

The figure turned her head just enough that one golden eye became visible beneath the hood. It fixed on the surgeon, unblinking. The pressure in the room spiked, instruments whining softly as their fields destabilized.

“And the fusion,” the figure said. “It completed?”

“Yes,” the surgeon said. “Fully. Permanent integration. I saw the system response myself. Whatever you were hoping for, it worked.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. The two cloaked attendants didn’t move. The surgeon stood rigid, hands clenched, resisting the urge to look away.

Then the tall figure reached up and pulled back her hood.

Her face was human, or close enough that the difference felt intentional. Smooth skin with a faint inner sheen, hair pale and pulled back, eyes glowing gold not like light but like depth, as if something vast sat behind them and watched through. She smiled, soft and genuine, an expression that didn’t belong in places like this.

“My son,” she said quietly. “This is my starter pack for you to start your journey, and become the evil Lord as I have envisioned.”

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