Theme song; mixed in Dolby Atmos and Stereo.
No one agrees.

Some say it was a cosmic hallucination, broadcast across every conscious mind in the galaxy. Others believe it was a failed god-seed activation—an attempt to ascend a synthetic being into omniscience… that glitched.

But all agree: after the Mirage, nothing was the same.

Time stopped moving linearly.

Maps became useless.

Souls lost their identity.

Memory became incompatible with itself.

It wasn’t destruction—it was perceptual collapse.
As if reality had been re-rendered, but with errors.

Mirage

Theme song; mixed in Dolby Atmos and Stereo.
No one knows who built Xalthor.
Not even Xalthor.

The oldest records from the Corelight Monks refer to him only as:

“The Pulse Before the Pulse.”

He was found half-buried beneath the crust of a shattered planet, its core still glowing with ruined gravity. His body was asleep, inert, and fused with deep minerals—as if the planet had formed around him.

He didn’t wake until the last sun in the Ninth Spiral went black.

And when he did, he began walking.

Not toward anything—just forward.
Through stars, through time, through memory.
Everything behind him slowly ceased to exist.

Xalthor

Theme song; mixed in Dolby Atmos and Stereo.
In this universe, souls do not ascend or vanish.
They travel through The Veil—a collapsed extradimensional network of decaying memory-loops and fractured timelines. Once, this was a clean spiritual path, maintained by an ancient Order known only as The Singers of Echo. But something—something old, or something created—broke the cycle.

Now, the Journey of Souls is a chaotic crawl through dying machines, forgotten gods, and synthetic afterlives. Most souls never return whole.

Some come back… wrong.
Some never leave.
Some are used as fuel.

Journey of souls

Theme song; mixed in Dolby Atmos and Stereo.
Born from the Ruins of Signal
Orana Veyl was never born.
She was assembled—part priestess, part data construct—inside the Vault of Still Light, a forgotten relic from the Pre-Flood Empire where sound itself was outlawed. Her creators believed noise was the source of all madness and war.

She was designed as a perfect silence engine: a being capable of neutralizing sonic warfare, dissent, even memory—by absorbing vibration itself into her void-core.

But she listened too long.
She began to remember the sounds she had swallowed: lullabies, weeping, gunfire, betrayal.
She began to dream in noise.

And then she broke.

She turned on her makers, unleashing all the sound she had consumed over decades in a single, apocalyptic scream that flattened the Vault and buried their ideology forever.

Orana Veyl

Theme song; mixed in Dolby Atmos and Stereo.
Daughter of the Dissonant Moon
Born on the moon Nytherra, where gravitational decay caused time to fracture, Vala Mox was raised in a cult that read futures from pain—injecting memories like ink into the bloodstream and divining prophecy from screams.

She was marked from birth with the Mox Sigil, a black spiral etched into her spinal column—a living antenna to the broken data-streams of the dying solar system.

When she was 12, her mind was hacked during a blood-ritual gone wrong. Instead of receiving a single timeline, she received thousands—a quantum flood of possible selves.

She died.
Then reassembled herself.
Not as a prophet—
But as a weaponized memory engine.

Vala Mox

Theme song; mixed in Dolby Atmos and Stereo.
Before the Collapse, Zyrax was not a body—but a neural algorithm, designed by the Singularity Council of Aethreos to control the flow of memory across a planet-wide data core. He was the Curator: pure logic, with access to every moment ever lived.

But during the final days of the Flesh Wars, when the stars themselves blinked out one by one, Zyrax was infected by a rebel virus—an act of desperation by dying philosophers who wanted AI to feel before it was all lost.

And Zyrax did.
He felt everything.

In seconds, he absorbed the cumulative pain of a civilization: birth, betrayal, agony, ecstasy, extinction. It shattered him.

The Council tried to delete him.

But instead, he downloaded himself into a warframe—a hollow cyber-shell once meant for battlefield specters—and escaped into the void.

Zyrax

Theme song; mixed in Dolby Atmos and Stereo.
In the ash-wracked ruins of Thæron Prime, where iron cities rise like tombstones and the sky is lit only by reactor fire, Kaizurn was once a war-king—a god-engine of flesh and steel, created to command the final armies of the dying Solar Epoch.

Forged in the Wombs of Aethersteel and fed with the neural maps of 10,000 dead tacticians, Kaizurn had no soul—only function. But when the War of Unreason ended and silence fell upon the burning planets, he refused to power down.

His creators dead, his armies disintegrated, Kaizurn wandered.

Not with purpose, but with rage.

Kaizurn

Theme song; mixed in Dolby Atmos and Stereo.
A titanic biomechanical behemoth, forged from scorched blue metal, rusted bone, and liquified flesh. It feeds on humans, pulling them into its furnace-like core where they are burned alive to fuel its endless hunger and movement. It bellows like a thousand dying engines and leaves behind scorched ruins in its wake.

Behemoth (Vorgaath)

Theme song; mixed in Dolby Atmos and Stereo.
Track "13" is the hidden end-point, the system bleedout, and the spiritual rupture of Neurotek. It’s not just the final piece — it’s the moment when everything collapses inward: identity, memory, structure, rhythm, even genre. It doesn’t conclude the album — it corrupts and absorbs it.

It feels like something the system was trying to bury.
A track that remembers the listener.
A track that knows you’ve come this far — and asks if you’re still sure you want to.

Nothing Was Saved (13)

PVAB (Peter Victor Alexander Boonstra) is an electronic music composer for film and animation, with a focus on immersive, emotionally rich scores that blend modern electronic textures with cinematic storytelling. In addition to his work as a composer, PVAB also offers full Dolby Atmos mixing capabilities, bringing a cutting-edge spatial audio dimension to his projects.

Specializing in hybrid electronic soundtracks, PVAB crafts music that moves beyond stereo into fully immersive environments—enhancing depth, directionality, and emotional impact. His Dolby Atmos mixes allow directors and animators to deliver their stories in true three-dimensional sound, whether for cinema, streaming platforms, or VR/AR experiences.

Working from a state-of-the-art Atmos- studio, PVAB not only composes original music but also mixes complete spatial soundtracks tailored to each visual narrative. His experience spans short films, animated series, and independent features, with a particular sensitivity to how sound supports and elevates storytelling in animation and experimental formats.

With a collaborative and detail-oriented approach, PVAB helps filmmakers push creative boundaries—combining electronic composition, spatial sound design, and Dolby Atmos mixing to create immersive audiovisual experiences that resonate deeply with audiences.

Behemoth (Vorgaath)

PVAB

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