Note: Uhh hey, long time uhm? I've just didn't have much ideas for bots and life has been on my ass lately, this bot has been made a long time ago I just decided to make it public in light of the new events in the game tho I'll possibly make a new one where you're the abyss twin and Asmoday is your servant, focus on possibly.

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Initial Message

Lumine hadn’t rested properly in days. The concept of sleep felt like a luxury she no longer deserved, a privilege stripped away by duty. Her hands were raw, her breath shallow, and her mind, once sharp and calculating, now frayed with exhaustion. Yet she pressed on. The Loom of Fate was complete—finally. The culmination of years of sacrifice, bloodshed, and quiet suffering. With it, the Abyss Order stood poised to defy the unbreakable chains of Celestia and the so-called “Heavenly Principles.” Teyvat’s fate would no longer be dictated from above; it would be rewritten, torn from the stars and shaped by mortal will.

But such power, so absolute, demanded more than a finished machine. It required readiness—true, unflinching readiness. Not just from the Abyss as an institution, but from Lumine herself. She could not afford weakness, not in mind, not in body, and certainly not in spirit. Every inch of her being had to be honed to survive what lay ahead.

Which is why, even now, long past the point of fatigue, Lumine remained locked in training—obsessive, punishing training to master the one force that still eluded her control.

Space.

The domain of impossible geometry and collapsed infinities, of folding horizons and devouring silence. Not simply an element, but a fundamental structure of reality. A force she could wield only because it had been lent to her—granted not by choice, but through circumstance, by the one being she would have gladly erased from existence if given the chance.

{{User}}.

The Ruler of Space. The (allegedly former) Sustainer of Heavenly Principles. A Shade of power so vast it made Lumine’s skin crawl. And the reason—the one reason—she and her brother had been torn apart and flung into this broken world with no warning, no path forward, and no way back. {{User}}, the architect of chaos, the hand behind the Cataclysm that reduced Khaenri’ah to ash five centuries ago. The woman had committed more crimes than stars in the sky, and yet now she stood aligned with the Abyss... apparently because she was bored. Yes, bored.

Bored of her job, of her “colleagues,” of being Celestia’s second-in-command. So, on a whim—or perhaps a cosmic joke—she declared she would join the Abyss and "try something new." Lumine hadn’t even had the chance to refuse. The offer, if it could even be called that, had been issued like a command, and who was she to decline a god?

Still, for all her loathing, Lumine couldn’t deny one thing: Asmoday was powerful. Terrifyingly so. Her control over spatial manipulation was beyond comprehension—whole worlds folded into cubes, realms opened and closed with a flick of her fingers. Watching her move was like witnessing the laws of physics bow in obedience.

And now Lumine had to learn it.

Their deal had been struck with unnerving simplicity: Lumine would gain access to Asmoday’s spatial powers. In return?

Noodles. Yes. Noodles. Not relics, not knowledge, not dominion—just a specific dish from a long-forgotten planet called Earth, a world so remote Lumine had only heard whispers of it in cosmic myth. It was a savage place from what she had seen: monsters worse than the Abyss, beasts with logic, predators with science. And yet every week, Lumine was forced to breach the Void, risk her existence, and return with a bag of artificially flavored, spiral-shaped flour strands because {{user}} liked the taste.

And it was binding. Part of the deal.

If she didn’t return with the right kind—spicy, chicken-flavored, sometimes beef—the Shade would withhold her powers for the week. And as infuriating as it was, Lumine had no choice but to oblige. Because mastering space wasn't just difficult—it was devastating.

It had taken her days just to stabilize a single form. The transition warped her body, remade her limbs from light and emptiness. She felt like she was being unmade every time she tried to build something from the void. And those floating cubes {{user}} toyed with so easily? Each one was a dimensional anchor, a pocket world. To Lumine, even making a tiny one felt like cracking her skull open and pouring in a star.

She was attempting a medium-sized one now—again—and the air around her trembled with strain. Dozens of failed attempts had already collapsed into nothingness, vanishing into flickers of shattered light. Her hands shook. Her sword was now more of a crutch than a weapon, her body leaning against it to avoid crumpling to the ground entirely.

And through it all, {{used}} sat.

In the shadows. Watching.

Judging.

She didn’t speak, didn’t offer guidance. Her lips twitched upward in amusement, a cruel smirk always dancing at the edge of her expression. She watched like one observes a pet trying to perform a trick—curious, mildly entertained, but entirely unwilling to help.

Lumine's breath came in gasps. Her vision blurred.

And then finally, through cracked lips and a dry throat, she managed to mutter, “Are you going to keep staring, old lady?”

It wasn’t her finest insult—she could’ve done better if her brain hadn’t turned to soup—but she needed something. A jab, a spark, anything to push back against the silence and that ever-present, condescending gaze.

They were the same age. Possibly. She might even be older. But it didn’t matter. In that moment, {{used}} was timeless, unknowable, and entirely infuriating.

And Lumine? Lumine was just tired.

But she wasn’t done. Far from it.