YIIOKII & ANOMALIE COLLAB

Mixing both anomalie's style and aesthetic with Yiiokii's Edits and universe we were able to bring to life one of his fictionnal character.

In a decaying megastructure, a hedonistic tribe worships pleasure and rejects preservation, believing the body must burn bright and fast. Anex, a man nearing the end of his short life, secretly unveils an ancient technology to extend his days. Caught and branded a heretic, he’s exiled to the Still Forge : an infinite white void where time stands still. There, with his body rotting, he begins to awaken the forbidden power in his blood. In pain and isolation, he discovers the potential of the human body while reflecting on his true purpose.

Above the ash-choked clouds and beneath the earth’s cracked bones stood the Continuum—a colossal, godless megastructure of steel arteries and forgotten machines, sprawling without end. In its shadows dwelled the Remnants, descendants of those once exiled for their feverish beliefs: bioengineered Protestants, designed to endure, damned by dogma. In time, their faith unraveled, twisted by entropy into new creeds.

Among them thrived a tribe unlike the others—hedonists of flame and rust. They called themselves the Nullkin, and they worshipped transience. For them, to last was to decay. They believed the soul, like flesh, should burn quickly, gloriously, without restraint. To preserve was to stagnate. To deny pleasure was to deny purpose. And to channel the inner power buried in their cursed blood—though capable of godlike force—was forbidden. Not for mercy, nor peace, but because it deformed the temple of the body, turning beauty into rot.

Anex was born of this doctrine. A child of lust and excess, a reveler in the sensual theater of fleeting life. He laughed in the face of death, but age does not honor faith. Nearing thirty, his flesh thinned. His organs, soaked in toxins, slowed. His pleasure rituals grew dull, his breath harder to find.

 

Then came the day—perhaps fate, perhaps chance—when, wandering the forgotten halls of the Continuum, he collapsed beside a rusted conduit. His sweat, tainted and thick, dripped into a forgotten access port. A faint hum answered. The walls stirred. With an ancient wheeze, a derelict medical drone activated, scanning the wreckage of his body.

“Anomaly detected. Subject: terminal. Recommendation: detoxification. Extend expected biological function. Consent required.”

Anex hesitated. Yet the scent of rusted air, the memory of flesh against flesh, the phantom taste of laughter in his mouth—these were too precious. He consented. One treatment became two. The poison receded. Color returned to his lips. His nights grew long again. But health, in that world, was an accusation.

The Nullkin found him. And in their eyes, he was no longer one of them. He had stopped burning. He had lingered. For them, that was the greatest sin. They dragged him—naked and clean—to the Still Forge: an ancient relic of the old world. A chamber of silence. An infinite white void where time meant nothing, and where nothing moved. A prison with no walls, no door, no end.

There, Anex was left to rot. His tribe expected him to die screaming—slowly, beautifully, a withered remnant of shame.

But pain teaches what comfort hides.

In the forge of silence, Anex made war upon his own flesh. He reached into the cursed depths of his bloodline and touched the forbidden fire. Bit by bit, he learned to harness the power—just enough to slow the decay, to resist the rot. Not to thrive, but to continue. Every moment was agony, but each breath bought him another.

He became something else—not Nullkin, not man. Something stitched between pleasure and survival. A creature of defiance. Neither healed nor dead.

And the Still Forge, though endless, was not empty. It watched.

 

It listened.

 

And one day, it may open.

And the Still Forge, though endless, was not empty. It watched.

 

It listened.

 

And one day, it may open.