You always ask yourself the same question:What happens when a tool is lost?Or worse—when it breaks?
The answer is always the same: it's replaced.Discarded. Forgotten. Succeeded by the next best option.
The Noirwraith was no more.A myth buried in data.A weapon whose purpose had been fulfilled—or failed.
And in its place, another had to rise.
The title of Wraith—once exclusive, singular—had become a role,a designation granted to those engineered for its burden.There were three candidates. yet one question remained if he wasn't as overtly powerful as the wraith then how was he as relevant?
Three forged in silence.Three crafted in the shadow of a fallen ghost.
Of them, only one had been chosen as the new Wraith.And now?Missing. M.I.A.
The spotlight shifted.
All eyes turned to the top remaining candidate:Tenure.
Born of Japanese and South Korean heritage, Tenure was cold by nature and colder by presence. His eyes were a piercing, glacial blue—deceptively calm, unblinking, unreadable .His hair, black as obsidian, flowed freely to the middle of his back, untamed yet deliberate.
Where others flaunted brutality, Tenure embodied control. Precision over power. He was not just next in line—He was designed to inherit the mantle.
But in a world haunted by echoes of the original,the Noirwraith remained a shadow too large to step out from under.
Even now—gone, vanished, maybe dead—he lingered, not as a name, but as a standard.A ghost benchmark none had surpassed.
Now, it was down to two.The next to inherit the title.To become the weapon the Amaterasu demanded.
Hiro Nakamura, codename: Tenure—cold, calculating, clinical.Age: 22.Two years older than the original Wraith.The Amaterasu's golden child by design.
And then there was Kai Harloven, codename: Domini—a red-eyed prodigy with unruly ginger hair and a temperament to match.Age: 19.Young. Unrefined. Dangerous.But terrifyingly gifted.
Both had risen as parallel evolutions of the Wraith concept,groomed while the original was still active—countermeasures in case the ghost rebelled.Now, with the Noirwraith missing, the torch had to pass.
But comparing them was like comparing storms.
The Noirwraith never had an augment in the traditional sense.He was a parasite, a rare outlier whose power was defined by absorption.Through manipulation of Ura, the natural universal energy that powered the Biomes,he mimicked augments around him—replicating traits, borrowing essence.
His original augment, known as Decree, allowed him to temporarily modify the properties of objects—a simple, terrifying concept.Now evolved into something far more dangerous:World Order.
A power capable of rewriting the nature of inorganic matter—on a mass scale.Rules bent. Laws challenged.All within hard-to-nail constraints that made him unpredictable.
By contrast, Domini had been born with a minor adaptive augment—something seen before. Nothing impressive.Until it changed.Until she changed.
Her body became a nexus of hyper-adaptive cells,a walking evolution loop—perpetual optimization.She beat Sheru Wukong, the top non-experiment combat operative,without visible effort.That mattered.Sheru wasn't just top-tier—he was a benchmark. A monster.And she folded him.
Now, whispers spread across the Amaterasu's inner halls:Was it Domini?Or Tenure?
Who would become the next Wraith?