Kael’s dismissive laugh still echoed in Ra'ay’s ears, a persistent hum of inadequacy. They called his cube useless, his summons weak, a mockery of true power. But Ra'ay saw potential, a challenge tailored for his engineering mind. Ignoring the sting of those words, Ra'ay turned his attention to the true battlefield: the sprawling, grimy outskirts of the district. Here, the detritus of past Void incursions often lay forgotten, overlooked by those seeking grander spoils. Days blurred into a relentless cycle. Ra'ay haunted the edges of the city, where the sanitation crews rarely ventured, and where the wealthy cast off what they considered worthless. He was searching for 'void-steel,' a metal born from the Void itself, jagged fragments often discarded because they were too small, too warped, or simply too much trouble to refine. Sharp edges bit into his calloused fingers. He unearthed pieces no bigger than his thumb, some the size of his palm. Each fragment held the peculiar, inky sheen of true void-steel, a dark promise of resilience. Most cultivators scoffed at such scraps. They wanted ingots, polished plates, ready-made gear. Ra'ay, however, saw opportunity. Every shard, every sliver, represented a building block. He meticulously collected them, filling an old, patched canvas bag, the weight growing heavier with each successful find. His back ached, his eyes burned from scanning the polluted ground, but a stubborn resolve fueled him. A makeshift forge took shape behind his hovel, a crude affair of scavenged bricks and hardened clay. He bartered a few meager coins, earned from odd jobs, for a small sack of charcoal from an old merchant who barely looked up from his scales. His hammer was a heavy, misshapen lump of iron, salvaged from a broken cartwheel. Heat rose from the smoldering charcoal, a fierce orange glow in the deepening twilight. Ra'ay fed the void-steel fragments into the heart of the embers, watching them shimmer and soften. This wasn't about forging a sword or a shield; it was about crude, functional reinforcement. He worked with a focused intensity, his brow furrowed in concentration. The void-steel, even in its raw, fragmented state, possessed a tensile strength far superior to common metals. It was brittle if struck improperly, but with careful, controlled heat and precise blows, it could be reshaped. Each fragment was heated, flattened, and then bent. Small, curved plates began to accumulate, followed by strips and rings. He wasn't aiming for elegance, but efficacy. These would be crude armatures, a second skin for his fragile summoned skeletons. Sweat beaded on his forehead, stinging his eyes. The clang of metal against metal echoed softly, a rhythmic pulse in the quiet evening. He shaped small bracers for forearms, greaves for shins, and chest plates barely larger than his hand. He even crafted narrow strips to reinforce the skull, hoping to protect the most vulnerable point. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he had a collection of rough, black pieces. He used salvaged leather straps, thin cords, and even tightly woven plant fibers to create bindings. These wouldn't be pretty, but they would hold. Summoning a skeleton, its bony frame clattered into existence before him. It was a pathetic sight, its movements jerky, its bones almost translucent. Ra'ay gently, meticulously, fitted the first crude void-steel bracer onto its skeletal forearm. He secured it with a tight leather strap, pulling the knot taut. Clanking, the skeleton moved its arm, the new weight barely noticeable. Ra'ay continued, outfitting it piece by piece. A small chest plate, shoulder guards, greaves. When he was done, the skeleton looked like a patchwork warrior, its bony structure now partially encased in dark, scarred metal. A spark of triumph ignited within him. It was rudimentary, a far cry from the polished gear of elite cultivators, but it was *his*. It was an improvement, a tangible step forward. He dismissed the first skeleton, then summoned another, repeating the laborious process of armoring it. Days turned into a week. He spent every waking hour either scavenging or forging. His pile of void-steel armatures grew, as did his collection of crude bindings. He was perpetually tired, his muscles aching, but the vision of his re-engineered undead army spurred him onward. His core was almost always depleted from continuous summoning and dismissing, a constant drain. But he pushed past the fatigue, driven by the memory of Kael’s sneer, the injustice of being dismissed before he’d even truly begun. One evening, as he was painstakingly fitting a knee guard onto a newly summoned skeleton, a low, guttural roar ripped through the twilight air. It was a sound that made the very ground tremble, a sound that carried the chill of primal fear. Suddenly, alarms blared across the district, harsh, mechanical shrieks that tore through the relative calm. Red lights flashed atop distant towers, painting the sky in an urgent, bloody hue. People screamed. Panic erupted in the streets. Fear gripped Ra'ay’s chest, a cold, suffocating hand. He recognized that sound, those alarms. A Void excursion. It was happening, here, now. Monsters, raw and ravenous, were pouring into their world. His hands trembled, fumbling with the last strap. He looked at the half-armored skeleton before him, then at his Necro-cube, pulsing faintly with a dim, sickly green light. All this work, all this effort, for what? A horde of weaklings facing an inevitable onslaught. Just as despair threatened to overwhelm him, he forced himself to consider this as the skeletons first real field test

Chapter 3: First Spark, Invasion Incoming