"Scheat Septentrionalis. Alpheratz Occidentis. Markab Orientis. Algenib Meridiei."
The bells of beginning tolled as the holy maiden trailed the astral constellations, calling forth the names of forgotten generals.
"Quattuor columnae equi caelestis, ungulae tuae sacrum sigillum sculpant. Caelos terrae liga, et hoc regnum sub umbra alarum tuarum obsignatum sit."
Gazing down, perched atop the plated maroon tiles of the roof encasing the great bell tracking the ticking of time— Big Bin, the Great Clock of Southminster— her hands clasped in a definite oath of faith and deference, the light of her prayer began to materialize.
White, tinted with a pinkish-amber tan. Pure and unblemished, it bloomed into fluid strips coalescing at her tender fingertips.
"[Quadrata ex Pegasus]!!!"
She stated her wish.
A plea the almighty goddess granted, bringing forth the incandescent buds of the comets lost in conscious mind from the dusts of the ethereal nebula. Planted in the four corners of her sight, which soon, will give form to an impenetrable chamber beneath the gaze of Andromeda's skies.
The barrier of protection once used by the first saint, and now as a sphere of demise, by whom many believed to be her present incarnation.
"Phew~ There we go." The silver child ecstatically stepped down.
Beside her was her family.
Gill's safe haven, the golden counterpart she's split from in their mother's womb. Kinder, smarter, and more responsible— or so the person herself proclaims.
And the ashen child of destiny— her indignantly excellent brother, who, she could not determine whether he was the timely prophet or the descended Messiah himself.
This was the beginning of their assault. A preemptive measure to secure total subjugation.
From here, they would wait. Both for the shield to take its full form and for the spear— in which their inconspicuous poison was already laid. The three of them readied, equipped in the black and white tunic adorned with the predominantly engraved golden crest of their house— the Lotus of victory, as it was named by those unfortunate enough to meet the edges of their blades.
Then, it stirred. The skies brighten for the briefest second, succumbing into the abyss in the next. The translucent barrier— appearing invisible if viewed from within, a translucent veil when approached externally.
A warning to one's ally, cunning trap to their foe.
"Hmm… Clever mechanic." The curious boy made sure to take notes inside his reeling mind.
Subtle foreshadowing is sometimes blatant.
Remember this!
She's not using the staff, huh.
Conversely, it's Silk that's using one instead of the daggers she had in the game— which Gill now carries. It's like they've switched places… same role, just swapped demeanors.
Luxion's gaze wandered to his sisters— musing on the paradox of this tale.
That aside… they really are contrast to one another, aren't they? Or more like interchangeable?
"Lux…" Silk called out, hesitation in her voice.
"The knights are in position already… Isn't it about time?"
In her hands, the staff Lux personally gifted her, tightly nestled under the grip of her fingers as though her next breath depended on it.
"Yes. Be vigilant for any strays." Lux, who had finished meditating, stood up and replied.
"From here on out, it's only a matter of execution. I'm counting on you two to have my back, just in case… not that I'll ever let that happen."
"I… understand."
Rather unexpectedly, Silk was acting frightened as though she just learned how to act her age.
A change her siblings noticed immediately.
Being the more timid sister of the prodigal twins, she is weak-minded, likely to overthink and panic at times when a stable mind matters most— Those who had only viewed her from the outside-in would predict as much.
However, this misconception couldn't be any further than the truth.
The modest Silk— a girl with the heart to pity even the most heinous criminals, one whose kindness knows no bounds— loses the light in her silver irises, morphing into a methodical, merciless, and almost tyrannical machine, the moment she step foot in a battlefield.
A trait that even her identical half finds outright disturbing.
However, for the first time in a long while, she was nervous. A feeling comparable to the time she had to take her first life.
Was it the severity of the threat this time? Or was it the weight of failure— the repercussions of her shortcoming, especially now, with her little brother at the helm?
This was the moment she had long awaited, the perfect chance to prove her worth to herself more than anyone else… but perhaps, it was simply too much of a burden for the person she is right now.
Knowing when to back down, accepting one's limit. That, too, she understands—
"It's all yours now, Lux."
Gill's sweet voice coiled like a fresh spring breeze, disrupting the silence— breaking the ice.
Not just the awkward air, but also the metaphorical ones binding Silk's frozen feet.
Gill spared her no glance, but her smile— assured and confident— was enough to quench her sister's doubts, fingers shivering without her knowing. Words meant little for them who essentially share existence, but those few syllables reminded her of their unbroken vow. That thought alone woke the troubled mage from the trance that showed her a future of defeat.
"Yeah, I got it. Now, I'll leave the rest to my beautiful sisters."
Lux, despite being shorter, leaned forward to gently pat both of their heads before leaping off the clock tower's ledge. His form plummeted, then flickered like a dying candlelight— phasing into the very fabric of the world itself, dissolving into an abyss with only brief glances of his shadow remaining for their eyes to track.
Mysterious. Yet expected of the boy wonder.
He left them drowning on their own thoughts, stunned and confused.
"Eh…" Gill muttered, mind in disarray.
"Wh-What… was that for…!?"
The startled Gill desperately held the urge to shout— internally screaming. Her face, flushed up to her ears as she shyly traces the part of her hair that he had touched.
"Patting my head like that… When did he grew to be this cheeky!?!?!?" She snapped, completely losing her composure.
"It's that guy! Liam definitely taught him that!"
"Fufufu~ How very adorable." Silk teased, patting her sister's head as well.
"S-Stop that…! Not you, too." Gill barked back, swatting her sister's hand away.
"It's embarrassing…"
Or so she says, but her sheepish look betrayed her sentiment. It made her happy, quite a bit.
A fleeting moment of bliss. A heartbeat of tranquil warmth in a time they could afford neither. The mission demand sharpness. Their responsibility required their utmost rendering.
Their eyes sharpened, locked briefly at each other's hum. They recalled the fate they acknowledged. Their goal and oath— Support the Lords. Be their strength.
Now's the time to make good on that vow.
"Thank you, Gill…" Silk whipered softly, her smile rejuvenated.
"I'll go now."
"Hmph! Just hurry up and go!"
Gill folded her arms, shooing away her sister with a pout that masked her emotions beneath a huffed breath.
"You're a central piece of this mission, right?"
Her expression mellowed, wielding a resolved expression that culminated in a smile not to dissimilar to her twin.
Silk stilled, captured by the sight.
"We really are twins, aren't we?", She thought.
Then, with a final glance. Silk followed her brothers steps, taking a leap of faith into the fog of sorrows, soon to be thick with the wailing of shattered souls.
And within an instant— the next snap, it happened— she changed. A deep breath to unsheathe the unparalleled edge, the unsettling sharpness to slit the throat of those who held its mere thoughts.
Light returned to her mind, as it vanished in her silver eyes. A true monster detached from the foregone script.
+
"Realm of the Gnomes. [Nidavellir]."
Through the glowing crest of the eight-faced Lotus uniting their names, the commanding presence of his authority surged through each one of them present. A divine decree issued without ever being spoken.
A veil of amber light weaved around their silhouettes, forged in a script that accessed the forgotten memories— the armors of Aether forged by the elder dwarves of the ancient epoch, was again woven into existence under their commander's will.
They materialized, shrouding each knight in dark, adamantine walls— imperious and unyielding shells morphed like a second skin.
The army of Obsidian Knights— the Noir Legion of the Zancrest Domain.
This was the Godly ability that elevated Luxion Von Zancrest beyond the mere title of a prodigy— a legend at his unripened age. His power was whispered in awe, eventually gaining the recognition from majority of the kingdom's upper echelon— including the king and his trusted vassals.
"So… this is what the captain meant by experiencing it myself." A familiar face from the last chapter uttered in awe.
He stared down at himself. His whole body— clad in a dark exoskeleton so impossibly slick and resplendent that it made any other armor look like mere scrap metal. Even he, with his untrained wisdom, could tell that it was of a quality rivaling even the mythical artifacts of legends he has only ever heard in glorified epics sang by the bards.
It wasn't merely forged, this magic recreated divine armaments.
Furthermore, despite its imposing size, it was unfathomably light. He was no less nimble than he was without the armor nor was he restricted by its interlocking pieces in any way. Contrarily, he felt stronger and more agile than before— not a need to compromise for it felt as though it had always been one with him.
"I've finally found him, Father…"
For the first time in his life, he felt it— a surge of emotion new, but one he understood clearly.
"A master who would never cast me aside. A person I could wholeheartedly entrust with my very being. Someone I want to serve… Someone worthy of my sword."
It was no longer obligation, nor duty.
He now acts with devotion.
His words of doubt earlier that day screamed of his ignorance inside his head. That moment of hesitation was now a scar of shame, forever etched in his pride. An individual, pure and righteous, bestowed with the power, trained with the discipline to cherish that gift.
How very stupid he was— he thought in hindsight.
This display of complete transcendence, carried with grace and not-at-all boastful, kindled the bud of loyalty within his chest to bloom fully— not out of responsibility, but of pure admiration and respect.
Of his power, of course. But more than that— of who the young lord is, as a person of character.
"If it is for this person, be it a Demon Lord or an Eldritch Dragon…"
Hilden swore an oath to his very existence. Carved deep into his being— not as mere words, but covenant law, signed in his blood.
"I, Hilden Kraus, vow upon the name of my forebearers to spare every ounce of my life and everything I own on erasing any and every foe that stood in his way."
This was how Luxion got hold of one of his most powerful vassals in the future. A name that sooner than later would be a staple in bloodborne passages in history books.
But that's for a later story.
"Still… What a cruel blessing this is." Hilden murmured in a solemn plea.
He couldn't help but hold pity for his master.
Flame. Ice. Gold. Sun. Moon. Void.
These are the six elemental forces of Dark Magic, each governing a distinct facet of reality. Some are tangible like Flame and Ice— forces that burn and freeze, obedient to the natural world, manifesting as it was meant to be conjured.
Others are more... obscure.
Magic, in its truest form, is the act of reshaping mana, rewriting reality to one's own by inserting oneself in its fabrics— grasping its very essence.
For the most abundant elements, Flame and Ice— the process is almost effortless. With sufficient energy and proficiency, a caster needs to merely channel what already exists around them, their mana serving as a catalyst, mediating for this change.
However, as for the others…
They are not as forgiving.
[Creation]
Born from the strained restrictions derived from element of the [Sun], it is magic that bestows not just any power, but the miracle of synthesis. A force capable of forging something— anything from nothing.
{Author's Note: Sun = Earth magic. Light constructs. Nature Manipulation.}
In theory, its limitations only stretched so far as the proficiency and the wielder's imagination permit it to be.
But in reality, its price is far steeper.
It is a unique astral magic of the distant past. There was only one other ascribed record of its existence, and according to its archives… it is fueled by a person's life.
Every second. Every breath. Every spark initiated, and each moment spent on maintaining its cost. Increased familiarity with its unforgiving toll meant another slice chipped off the caster's lifespan. A powerful force measured in moments stolen from the future yet to be known— one the caster will never know.
To wield this power is to engaged in a race with a foregone conclusion. One towards their own inevitable demise.
And yet, the young master— a boy barely beyond a toddler— wields it without hesitation.
The scale of his usage, the extremities and details imbued within this armor. They were monuments of a silent sacrifice, merciful enough to spare him from pain. A testament to the depths of his dedication to his duties.
In a literal sense, the young master is chipping days— years off of his life every second his magic is activated.
So, this is why he is revered despite his age.
Why he was given the reins without opposition. Why the proud commanders stepped aside and catered to his every request. Why no one dared to question his judgment when he deemed it a battle worthy of his gift.
Because they understood.
The weight of his life— he knew it more than anyone. They acknowledged his presence not simply because of his strength, but wisdom very much unlike a child— albeit one destined to perish of his own decaying flesh.
Because they knew the unspoken warning behind his insistence.
Whatever enemy awaits them, it is one so catastrophic that even he finds it worth gambling his mortality to stop it.
The outcome of this battle, it will undeniably shape the future of the nation.
They can just hope it will not be in vain.
…
Or so they believed… these gullible fools.
Kuhahahahahaha~!!!
To think that the sad backstory I circulated in the guild a few years back would be this effective. Insider knowledge sure is OP, ain't it? Even the big wigs from that rotten church were shedding tears for my, quote on quote, [Noble sacrifice].
Like hell I'll sacrifice anything, let alone my life, for these rotten assholes.
The scene shifted.
Eyes on the crimson fog.
Ears clogged in the mist of silent whistles.
There, silent and waiting, a wraith of origin.
I exist where they do not.
I know of those who never were.
I know of futures that never will be.
I stand here, anchored to a vessel of prominence— and slowly, weakly, pathetically, I can feel their unseen hands coiling in rejection of my presence.
The old keepers of fate, the ones who bore the authority of a scribe— well before me, that is. They do not welcome this divergence. They do not welcome a specter like me for they knew very well that it had always been my jovial intention to stray away from the uninspired path they stubbornly paved.
And now, it'll be my mission to prove just that.
…
Damn, that monologue is really good! Probably the best one I've written so far.
The benevolent savior who sacrificed his mortal time for his people, but in truth, he's the manipulative mastermind orchestrating everything in the shadows.
Let's immortalize that matter of fact with this event, shall we?
Tucked in a pocket of space threaded between reality and the voidal abyss, the young overlord wrote in his journal, musing in his abominable creation.
A false setting stated in a riddled prose. The unfortunate pieces in their unfortunate posts. A situation where it matters not the sense of logic or the governing faculty. An encounter of no reason made convenient conclusion.
Impromptu as can be.
Now, if only those ancient scribes were really true, my scenario would be perfect.
I guess, they'll be the big bad at the end of the story.
As I observed the fabric of fate narrates its story before me, I saw it shiver.
The ink of destiny— once so absolute and unblemished with impurity— now trembled with certain uncertainty. The stains of its untimely mishap, the trajectory it was meant to follow, all faltered beneath unknown influence.
The script is fading.
It's happening.
Familiar faces in unfamiliar places.
Known figures in unknown scenarios.
Mysteries emerged where there should have been none, led by an existence foreign to this point in the plotted narrative.
An anomaly in the timeline.
Concerning. Terrifying… Intriguing.
This much ripple… This much chaos within this short span of time… It couldn't possibly have been only me, right?
"Five calamities— primordial marvels of the living world. First Gods. First rulers."
The awakened sage of wisdom voiced the abyssal verdict, the clouds parted with her gesture, while the earth shrank beneath the soles of her boots.
"I call forth thy might. Gnaw at their eyes. Puncture their ears. Snap their noses. Berate those who spoke, and pillage their senses."
Hollowed smile of a murderer, she bore the stance of a ruthless dictator as she silently walked up to her next playground— slow, deliberate, stalking. Enlightened by the moon who she stole the light, her eyes reflected the void of which it will be swallowed.
This ungodly presence… It could only be her.
I sure hope she had left already cause even I can't defend her from this.
"[Eclipse]."
Emptiness.
It was not mere shadow, not the absence of light, but something deeper— something alive.
A sphere of unbridled enigma swirled above her palm, pulsating, expanding outward like a silent abyss, swallowing the very perception of this world in its unforgiving jaws.
Within this barrier, everything ceased.
The living retained its breathing, coiled within the twisting corridors of their own consciousness, but severed from the grasp of reality.
No sight. No sound. No scent. No taste.
No sensation to bind them to their own flesh— to their heads to check if they are still attached.
In this realm of nothingness, time held no meaning. A second stretched beyond eternity, an eternity lived within the whisper of a fleeting instant. Its flow imperceptible. Its ticking calls muffled under impossible phases.
It made no difference— for either which way, it was hell.
And yet, the mind persisted.
Deprived of external stimuli, the brain screamed that which the heart could not materialize. It strained upon which it can't comprehend.
It continued to think.
To fear. To scheme. To panic and fret. To fight. To resist. Cycling through the whole spectrum, threading to a myriad of states, culminating in the same gnawing solitude. And then, to eventually… break— crumbling into hopeless despair until finally, in the abyss known as their heart, they beg for their own demise.
Eclipse— A word that means to overshadow. To diminish. To devour. To render another existence insignificant— worthless before one.
It is the highest tier of Moon Elemental sorcery, and if not the most lethal— then certainly, the most wretched of all forbidden magic ever woven into this realm.
{Author's Note: Moon = Illusion. Summoning.}
…And this is her before she reached her full potential? My, how scary~!
Man, being a main character sure is broken as heck… Though I can't really complain when I'm exploiting it myself.
Wait, then why am I not affected, you ask?
The answer to that is a very simple one.
I'm just built different.
Parlor tricks like this holds no ill effects whatsoever to someone who had already conquered their inner mindscape. I'd say this complete silence is even therapeutic at this point.
I already exist in an anomaly.
Living multiple lives meant existing with contradicting memories and conflicting emotions lodged directly in your head like your some sort of twisted pin cushion. Among that ocean of personalities and ideals, it is very easy to lose track of who you are.
One could simply not stay sane, let alone, utilize those inherited experiences if they possess the mental fortitude of a sponge, which has none— exactly.
Fortunately for me, I didn't have to get the living daylights beaten out of me by a monochromatic clone of myself, monologuing nonsense about the king and his horse while an old man with funky glasses watches like a creep… or maybe unfortunately, because that would have been really cool!!!
Imagine having your own hollow mask!!!
{Author's Note: That's an idea for a future arc~}
Anyway, back on topic. In order to counter this annoying side effect of my Soul Archive, all I needed was to remember and embrace the roots of who I truly am— an absolute badass.
This is what game Luxion ultimately failed to accomplish. The reason he became like that.
He's fragile— broken in his first try.
Feeble darkness and complete seclusion is far too tame to make my sense of self waver even in the slightest. After all, I'm a proud narcissist with hints of sociopathic tendencies… though, the same cannot be said true for anyone else within this barrier.
{Author's Note: The Knights are exempted thanks to Lux's armor.}
One after another, screams of insanity and maddening horrors erupted from the dilapidated compound where the orphans of this town supposedly reside— shrill, ragged, raw, primal like a banshee cradling nightmares.
Because that's what it was.
Grown men and women— possessing canine traits, none of them being human. Tumbling to the ground in a vegetative state amidst their grotesque transformation, bodies crumpled like defective puppets.
Their eyes, once smoldering with ferocity, lost all colors, their complexion devoid of emotions.
A wither. Hollowed shell of what they were.
In a matter of seconds, the bone-shattering cacophony of the terrorizing threat that haunted the town had ceased, seamlessly blending in a tranquil serenade of discarded husks and shattered vessels scattered in the solemn streets of crippled sanity.
It was one-sided— to the point absurdity.
An act that blurred the lines of morals and ethical reasoning.
It wasn't a battle. It can't even be called slaughter. It was annihilation, merciless and impartial— an act of pure destructive tyranny that would delude anyone who witnesses this sight to think that we are the aggressors.
It was complete erasure.
Clap. Slow, rhythmic clapping.
Just as planned~ A mass genocide to start the show! I wouldn't have it any other way!
But then—
A deafening howl shattered the illusion, broke the abyssal cocoon that aimed to dissect each critters in its encompassing blanket from the inside out… except for a certain wolf.
It wasn't no normal roar, but one that belonged to a sovereign.
There it is…
Perched on a run-down roof where an empty seat lay mere seconds ago, a monster— its cerulean eyes glowing with a wrathful glare, twin moons of the lunar reaper— made its presence known.
The Feral King of the Frost.
Destruction given form. Stood at a size twice that of a giant basilisk, its silhouette alone was enough to swallow the evening horizon. Its fur, radiant as it was venomous. Snow-white, coated in silken glimmer, imbued with the aura of elegance and divinity. Six tails unfurled from its rear, flickering furiously like the incessant thumping of wardrums, ripping through the very air like a whip to enslave the gods. Each ringed with golden bands, engraved with distinct script, indecipherable to the mages of today.
That was no mere predator, it was cataclysm incarnate. A sentient disaster rivaled only by the mythical dragons, calamities of the primordial world, and the archangels.
It was a Divine Beast of Legend.
"Troops! READY!!!" The fearless captain rallied, his visor especially tailored to let his beard sprawl free.
"RAISE YOUR SHIELDS AND BRACE FOR IMPACT!!!"
Steel clattered as the knights snapped onto their posts— swift, precise, practiced. Despite trembling hands, they surged forward.
However, to the beast, they're effort seemed like ants hoping to defend their colony against a flood— futile. Still, their faces brought it amusement. It grinned, the corners of its mouth twisting into a mocking smirk, baring fangs as sharp as dagger hidden beneath the dark outline of its majestic snout.
"Realm of the Vanir." came a voice, upbeat, hopeful— carrying thunder with each syllable.
A sadistic conqueror.
An uncivilized brute, unlike its majestic reputation. Nature's conjured psychopath, a guardian wrapped in myth and contradiction. Once known as the white tyrant of the frozen mausoleum, later subdued by a single man, who eventually became the Lord of the Underworld.
From the one who stood on top to the lapdog of the one who ruled above all.
Not a bad resume, with all that said.
The air twisted, a cyclone formed within its maw. The breath said to have frozen hell. The steaming winter spiraled until it coalesced into a sphere of apocalyptic frost, just peeking between the gaps of its jagged fangs.
An avalanche.
A blizzard in the form of a blast.
Certain death compressed into a ball, looking adorably puny until you realize that it is channeling the power of a thousand ballistic armor-piercing rounds jacked to the max with celestial steroids— that will ship your ass, your bloodline, the lad beside you and his lineage, and the entire goddamn state, straight to Luxifer's mailbox with same second delivery.
Weeding out the weaklings first, eh?
Guess we're more similar than I thought.
It raised its head, seething, binding— winding up its overwhelming mana onto one devastating attack that nullified the very concept of warmth.
Cool! Bring it on~!
"[Vanaheim]!!!"
A thunderous roar cleaved through imminent despair like divine decree. Parting the blinding white was a sole ebony vignette, the young master— unyielding, unfazed, untainted and with a smile on his face— rose from the very heart of his people. His defiant figure, framed in a golden radiance, coiled the landscape in his tune. His silhouette stretched towards possibilities unknown. Hs battle cry igniting the flames of their courage— washing away fear, kindling undying faith… their devotion on his image.
This is the birth of a new legend.
The shrilling corona pulsating in his veins resonated through his soldiers. The bursting beacon of their resilience, primed and ready, took the form of the astral paladin— the warden of the eternal prison, the [Cetacean].
[Atlan] of the Shell.
{Author's Note: The knights think that they're seeing things, but there's a real projection made by Lux— his personal Susanoo.}
The heavens trembled.
The shrouded sky tore open, the thick veil of frosted fog dissipated as though it had never been there, revealing the glittering expanse of stars beyond its hazy blanket— annihilation.
Half the district, gone in the blink of an eye.
The once-thriving neighborhood was swallowed by an icy apocalypse. Industrialized buildings erased, stone and steel pillars vaporized beyond the naked eye's perception. In their place— spires of crystalline glaciers, monolithic icebergs, rose taller than skyscrappers— devouring everything in its abominable wake.
The devastation was absolute.
And yet, miraculously…
Not a single soul was conquered by its cold.
As the smoke thinned, what remained was a sight beyond comprehension. The Dukedom's forces stood unbroken— their dark armor, unwavering, unblemished, behind their impeccable spearhead bulwark.
Not only have they withstood the full brunt of the attack, they had redirected its path— mitigating the carnage it promised to unleash.
At the command of their rebellion— a gallant warrior of pure, unbridled marvel.
The embodiment of divine protection.
Clad in armor synthesized slightly different than theirs— crystalline black veined in hinted deep purple, its design intricate as it was ravishing. Chains of tinted gold layered in patterns of dragon-scale latticework wove through its ligaments. A shimmer of gold radiating beneath the dark exterior like astral polished, accented by his helm of pure shadows, upon which, three slit engravings glowed ominously beneath molten embers.
In one hand, he held the indestructible shield, [Aegis] of Greek. And in his right, the world-shattering spear, [Gungnir] of Norse.
Two items of mystic descent. One gifted by the creators, the other, a malevolent abomination birth by a king who sought to make the heavens his. Now, these material embodiment of sublime connection and astral divinity is wielded by the very personification of… egotism.
Surely, it can't go that badly for this world, right?
YEAHHHHHHHHHH~!!! NAILED IT!!! Unperturbed spectral look— dismissive, not a word, not even a frickin' sweat! I totally bodied that first attack!!!
Kyahhh! I'm so cool!
Luxion was over his head, screaming maniacally as though he just won the lottery, reflecting on how good that shot was just now.
And now, for the killer one-liner…
"Tha—"
"That was a bit too lukewarm, don't you think?" A loud, boisterous voice butts in his opening dialogue.
"Divine Beast, Fenrir."
Mmph—!? Who in the blue hell dared to stole my line!? I was just about to say that!
I looked back to see who's the mofo who stole my spotlight— eyes bloodshot, seething with overwhelming envy.
His mountainous visage blotted the land with no intention of being inconspicuous, his long, braided beard whipped like a banner of war as he yelled, raising the gigantic machete in his hand that dwarfs even his enormous frame— straight towards the face of the ferocious beast that had just failed to kill them.
Damn! That entrance is cool!!! Guh— His delivery is also impeccable! I can't hate him!
"I thought the frostbites in the Blizzard Valley were supposed to be lethal… guess, we just debunked that rumor."
Hoft…! You irresistible hellion—
"Enough with the pleasantries, Captain. It's no use conversing with a mindless freak."
Wha— Another one!? Who is it this timeeee!?
A streak of blue light strode across the battlefield. It flew by the soldiers' ears, grazing the air as it trailed the drifting fog, aimed directly for the divine beast's eye, only to, quite effortlessly, shatter, blocked by the beast's hide.
"Tch! That vexing barrier…"
Hovering above an illuminated sequence of magic circles far behind the army, Rein stood tall, eyes narrowed, his crimson bow drawn taut.
"Just as the young master anticipated."
Beside him was my brother, sporting not a set of clanky metal armor, but a sage's robe inscribed fully with defensive magic in every seam.
"Th-That was close…" He nervously whispered, beads of sweat flooding from his temples.
"Why is is still this strong even after we blocked the moon? Hahaha… I think I just saw my forefathers beckoning me when that thing was fired at us."
"Hey! Eyes upfront!" Rein snapped.
"Get yourself together, first son! Don't forget you're the lead commander in this operation! Your demeanor reflects our entire territory!"
"Ughh…" Liam crumpled, his voice laced with utmost exasperation.
"Why does it have to be me…? Lux is clearly the leader here, no matter how you look at it."
"Do you have no pride as a brother!?"
Rein was about to scold him sternly but caught himself before he exploded.
"Ah, whatever! Now's not the time for your complaints! Just hurry up and do your part before we get vaporized this time!"
Begrudgingly, Liam complied…
But not before he could utter one last jab.
"…spectacle brute."
"What did you—"
Raising his staff as though to physically cut the conversation short, the atmosphere around Liam, once unbearably freezing, suddenly changed.
Heavier. Crushing. Suffocating… His piercing irises bled from purple to red, his swaying ashen hair ignited into a tint of gold and orange. His fingers, raised above his head, guided tens— hundreds of magic circles, each script berating ancient sigils, flaring a new constellation that spelled devastation.
In courteous pride, Fenrir responded in kind and summoned his familiars.
Five of its six tails detached from his flesh. Each transforming into children bearing identical blue hair, differing only by the placements of dark talismans plastered on their bodies.
One was sealed except for her dilated eyes.
Another— her pierced nose.
The other— her pointed ears.
The fourth— her bloodied mouth.
And the one in the middle— her skin.
Expression blotted with a black veil bearing the symbol of life and immortality.
{Author's Note: It's the Ankh (☥).}
Their mouths motioned their plea, yet their voice couldn't manifest their cries.
Stay back.
Run away.
We're sorry.
Save my sisters.
Free… us.
Blind marionettes. Soldiers without souls, stricken by chains attached to their hearts like puppets on a play.
Their bodies moved, hands lifted towards the skies, forming a field of pale pink surrounding the beast— a wall of suppression sourced from their depleting lives.
A sight that deeply angered Liam.
"Die… You foul creature."
He dropped his hand, and the heavens fell.
At breakneck speed, javelins of molten magma rained down in a storm of flames. Striking at the barrier with frighteningly surgical accuracy, each one calculated and has a purpose— A declaration against its presence.
In a matter of seconds, the area was leveled, igniting the momentarily frozen district into an ocean of cinders. Relentlessly, it fired. Carving the divine beast's tomb in its scorching wake.
The Prince of Embers.
Liam is one of the few Archmages in the continent. And among such elites and historical figures, he is the sole conqueror of the visionary chantless magic. A wizard in possession of incredibly potent… firepower.
Quite literally.
With the earth-shattering force of a surging meteor paired with the deliberate mind of a strategic genius… It didn't take long before the first crack presented itself.
"[Translocation]!!!" Silk shouted.
As the field of protection came undone, torn to shreds as though it was nothing but a sheet of paper. Every individual within the grasp of the four holy pillars— allies and foes alike— sank onto their shadows, engulfed by a swelling void, and before they could do anything, were transported somewhere.
Sent to the cardinal edges where their fated opponents await their turn.
To the West, Hoft and the Obsidian Knights face off with the [Savor] and [Sight].
Liam and Rein with the fractured dryads, [Gonpachiro] and [Monitsu]— I meant to say, [Smell] and [Sound], due East of the cage.
The Shrift twins positioned South against the guardian of [Sense].
Lastly… the main spectacle, situated far North.
Luxion Von Zancrest versus Fenrir, the Divine Beast of the Frost.
A perfect match card lineup.
Hmm~ Was that too sudden, perhaps?
It felt like it's a bit rushed— like I skipped a bunch of cutscenes and now, I'm in the boss room clueless of the plot.
Luxion contemplated, a hand on his chin.
The reveal just happened out of nowhere, no build-up, no nothing. One scene, we're doing an investigation, then BAM! Creation! Eclipse! Divine Beast! Lore drop after lore drop without any groundwork done.
It's as though… the author didn't plan this arc through, and had absolutely no idea of what's happening before he started writing.
.
.
.
Ah, whatever.
I didn't get to say my lines anyway.
The stage is set for the opening climax to unveil its tangled threads.
The very first adversary to fall, the one to set the standards for what's to come, and the one unfortunate imbecile whose blood shall serve as his declaration against the rest of the world.
Just how much despair can I possibly conjure for [You], I wonder?
"Let's have some fun, shall we?"
With a languid wave of his hand, Luxion raised the curtains of the play.
[Dimension Lock]
+
"Our enemy is Fenrir."
A declaration that drove the members of the subjugation into grim silence.
The barracks, once buzzing with military tension and bloodthirsty courage, instantly unraveled into uncontrolled chaos. Murmurs spread, gasps rippled, questions rose, anxiety deepened— some tilted in confusion, most shivered in convinced horror, but none questioned the legitimacy of his claim.
{Author's Note: Flashback— because, of f'n course, there is.}
"F-Fenrir, you say!?" Hoft echoed, as he leapt to his feet, doubting his ears.
"You mean the Divine Beast governing the Eastern Tundra!?"
Divine beasts are monsters on the level of War Heroes. Living nightmares, walking catastrophes, that spawn mythologies overnight. Beings whose footprints carry the weight to alter the terrain, create of erase civilizations, and, at worst, initiate extinction. Forget a town or a city— wiping an entire kingdom off the face of the earth, to them, is akin to taking a casual stroll before slumber.
If something of that class chose to intentionally bare its fangs in hostility against humanity, even with their greatest assets, putting a scratch on its skin is all they could hope to achieve.
"Lord Lux, we must delay the operation! This matter is already beyond our power!" Rein rose in desperate protest.
"The Imperial Court, even with all those stubborn fools, cannot afford to remain still once they learn about this threat. They will surely dispatch forces from all over the country to come to our aid."
His argument was without holes— extremely logical. Following his lead, Liam, the Duke, and every gathered officers seconded his opinion— nodding in silent approval.
"I believe that it would be wisest if we are to wait for reinforcements before launching an all-out assault against such a foe."
Eyes gravitated towards Lux. The youngest among them, yet the most prominent figure across the table— his words granted absolute authority to veto any of their statements. Before such power, everyone remained silent. Waiting for the young master— fingers crossed before his chin, gaze dead forward in deep calculation— to stir a directive.
A sigh escaped his lips as his throat clutched, churning his solemn opinion.
"I'm afraid we don't have that privilege."
Their proposal prioritizes prolonging the peace as much as possible, buying precious time for the citizens to evacuate while giving us some leeway to prepare, and hopefully, strengthening our forces with the help of the national military.
A sound preposition, it really is.
By any other circumstances, this would have been the correct decision.
But where's the fun in playing it safe?
"If my suspicions are correct, the Divine Beast is already within our walls. A confrontation is already unavoidable, much sooner than any of us might think." His words struck like lightning in the soldiers' hearts.
"We are already at an irreparable disadvantage. That is why I think it'd be detrimental if we fail to, at the very least, take the initiative."
The room held its breath.
"Should we wait for reinforcements, Eisenburg will fall before they could even gather."
The air grew heavy. Rein had no rebuttals.
"And tomorrow night is a full moon." Gill added, her eyes gleaming with hope and confidence.
"That's a big problem for us."
A stack of documents in her arms, she unfurled them onto the table for everyone to see. One is a map of the southern district, specifically, an orphanage, circle in red. The rest were archives containing historical records pertaining to divine beasts… to Fenrir, especially.
"Thankfully. Fenrir is quite famous, having appeared numerous times in the past century. And each time, we've acquired valuable information about this unfathomable monster."
Gill's voice lulled a hint of mockery.
"First is its personality. Unpredictable— described as a rampaging monster without a defined purpose except for the thrill of battle. However, it is certainly not mindless." She paused, letting her words sink in the minds of the Knights.
"It is feral, but not senseless. It'd be suicidal to face it without a firm strategy."
Gill flipped the pages, just now realizing the eyes fixated on her. Slightly caught off-guard, she sneaked a glance towards Lux as though she was waiting for permission to continue.
"Next, are its familiars." She uttered, tone lowering as her eyes narrowed.
"The frost dryads that once served her majesty, the Guardian Hexe, is enslaved under its influence— morphed into five of its six tails."
Then, came the last page.
"And most importantly for us— its race." Gill declared, pointing to a specific line of text.
"[Lunar Canid]. A rare mutation of demon hounds that converts moonlight radiation into mana, increasing its strength in proportion to its exposure." She explained in clear, concise words— tone serious, yet retaining its casual lilt.
"We suspect that it the attack be tomorrow, when its strength is at its fullest."
"Postponing the mission tomorrow morning is not a viable option either." Silk continued, assisting her sister.
"Considering their previous actions, they are likely to cause a separate commotion— too much clutter that would spread our forces thin. If that happens, we would be playing right to their trap— reacting and not acting, as Lux feared."
Her fingers tapped the orphanage's location, straying slightly to an open field where another mark— this time, black— was placed.
"If we are to strike, it has to be tonight when they least expect."
Another wave of silence haunted the barracks.
Their Lord just declared that a battle with the sublime is now an imperative fact, but frankly… none of them had the slightest bit of confidence they will succeed. No one doubted the truth, but neither could they believe it.
The greenhorns were frightened. The veterans, though calm, contemplated.
Brave soldiers who would gladly plunge into the afterlife's devouring ocean if the need arises, wavered in their conviction— unsure whether a futile death under such inevitability truly could be considered valor.
It was amidst this suffocating stillness that his voice reverberated clearly in their ears like divine bells tolling.
"I'll face Fenrir by myself."
The silence continued to roam the air, colder this time. At first, they were scared. Now, speechless, unable to even process what he had just said.
His declaration sounded nothing short of lunacy. Crazed absurdity that they're rational mind refused to accept had just exited the young master's lips. Even for the twins, who were assigned to be his aides for this mission, didn't ever expect such a suggestion.
Moments passed. They waited, but Lux never corrected his statement.
"What…did you just say?"
The Duke raised his head, his gaze shifting slowly, eyes shot open, the edge of his voice— cold, yet searing.
Lux paused briefly, readying himself.
"Your ears are not playing tricks on you, Father." He said, composed and rational.
"I intend to confront the divine beast alone—"
"YOU BLASTED FOOL!!!" The Duke snapped, roaring like an agitated lion, cackling with such power that it shook the barracks like a storm.
"You arrogant, suicidal fool! That's obviously not going through!"
He stood from his chair, slamming his fists onto the table, almost shattering it. His eyes, blazing with anger and disbelief, stared a hole through his son— who remained still, calm and collected, fully expecting this outcome.
His eyes see through it all. The Duke's words, stern and emotional, were not meant to degrade his status. It was a desperate cry.
"Calm down, Father—"
"NO!" Louis growled sharply, pointing a reprimanding finger at his son.
"Unless you abandon that madness of yours right this instant, I am stripping you of your authority in this operation!"
Lux didn't flinch, not outwardly. This outburst was unprecedented, at least to this level of fiery certainty. It wasn't something he anticipated coming from the Duke himself.
His knucklehead of a father, who he thought was always behind, rarely displays assertiveness in front of someone he deemed more intellectually adept than him— was one he didn't consider had the courage to be this adamant.
Perhaps he always has been when it came to matters of his family.
I thought for sure Louis would put up a front and exercise his Duke persona. Trying his hardest to be civilized about this, and eventually, after a few back-and-forth, hesitantly agrees with the plan.
Headpat, hug, goodbye— end scene.
That, or he'd be bawling his eyes out silently in a corner, unable to argue with me, but he didn't even let me sweet-talk him.
It altered Luxion's opinion of him quite significantly.
Seeing this ragtag group of dudes in unnecessarily fancy suits, alongside rancid peasants encircling this ragged table that in itself is located in a dark warehouse that reeks of grease and sweat— Tell me this doesn't look more like a biker gang's base than the knight order's barracks.
And rather strangely… Being in this rowdy shack, he felt… honored.
It made Luxion smile— albeit briefly.
"Father… it is not that hopeless." He began, eyes locked with his father's. His words were sparse, but his tone was already telling.
"I intend on using the Divine Armaments."
But still, he had his own part to play.
"NO WAY!"
This time, it was Hoft's voice that broke the screeching silence.
"Even the young master can't handle that!" His voice cracked, halfway to breaking down.
"The last guy who wielded those weapons— the Northern Paladin. Tough son of a bitch, took both us brothers to take him down… But even he kicked the bucket after one swing."
The grizzled captain fell to his knees, prostrating in front of the child, begging him to reconsider.
"Your life's already hangin' by a thread with that creation magic. If you go using those cursed artifacts on top of that… you'll be signing your own death warrant."
Tears strained down his cheeks, drenching his beard in sorrows.
Meanwhile, inside Luxion's head…
"Bingo!!! Master predicted a crying old man!" A little girl chirped, voice high and sweet.
"His bald spot is out in full glory… same spot as his brother— Pfft!!!" Another one spoke. This time— a young man. Adolescent, it sounded like.
"I hate that I find this ridiculous charade… actually funny."
"Hm? Is that… heart-shaped?"
"Pwahaha! Stop it! Don't make me laugh harder… my stomach is already hurting…!"
Then came a voice risking demonetization.
"Hahhh… It's quite the sight— witnessing a muscular man in such a state… So humiliating… so pathetic… so weak and helpless…"
Luxion shivered— in more ways than one.
"mmm… Ohh, how delicious… this is getting me turned on more and mo—"
Enough! Shut your traps already!
You three are being too loud! I can't concentrate on my acting!
Laughter reverberated in Luxion's head for a good five seconds. Which quickly turned to a flurry of whispered apologies— hollow at first, drowned beneath naughty gasps and rowdy giggles. That is, until they notice their master's souring mood, to which the young ones quickly apologized— this time sincerely— noticeably holding fright guised in their subdued tones.
"…sorry, master."
"I am deeply repentant. Please forgive me, my Lord. I swear to be more mindful in the future."
Luxion sighed internally, as the two now started to bicker, their voices ringing endlessly in his head, loud enough that he could no longer hear the people in the room.
"Master got angry at Roux because of Cy!"
"No, it's your loud mouth, you fishbrain!"
"What'd you say, you birdbrain!? I'll tell Ves that you're being mean to me again! He'll scold you!"
"Go ahead. I dare you."
"Wahh~!!! MASTER!!!"
"Hey, you little—! That's not fair!"
And "…muscles… Dear, can I—"
These monologues— intrusive thoughts given sentience— kept on weaving themselves into his thoughts. At one point, it almost made him crack in front of the soldiers.
That last one was said in a particularly breathy voice.
Exasperated, he chose to ignore their presence completely.
"I am… aware of the dangers of this plan." Lux stirred, voice low and soft.
"Then, please—"
"I'm sorry… Uncle." His voice wavered. Lux bowed his head, voice tinted with solemn conviction.
"This is the only solution I can come up with."
His decision— the courage it must've took, to make such a choice— it resonated with every person present. They could not utter a word nor dare suggest anything half-hearted in the notion of giving up hope, to someone who had already steeled their resolve to perish if he must— just to preserve the lives of his people.
Today, they saw the real essence of a ruler.
None of them could look at him anymore. Gaze at those beautiful amethyst gems, and think that he was a mere child.
That wasn't merely a declaration.
But an oath. A possible eulogy.
Shame struck their hearts like Zeus' wrath.
They— the honorable knights of the Dukedom, the ones supposed to be the living beacons of hope to their people— allowed their fear to overcome their minds like a parasite.
While this child— gifted as he may be— still remains but a boy, yet he alone was the sole individual in this room— in this land with the heart to stand tall in front of these insurmountable odds…
Alone, if he needs to.
The cyan eyes of a certain soldier glimmered. The seeds of reverence planted.
"No! I refuse to acknowledge that!" Louis roared again, seething in defiance— his eyes beginning to glisten with tears.
"I am the Duke! The Lord of this domain! I… I am your Father."
Louis stood tall, fists clutched to the point of bleeding, face crumpled in a scowl. He remained glued to his post, unmoved in his conviction.
"If someone is to die protecting this land, it should only be me, and no one else."
Lux paused. Then, he smiled gently.
"Father… this is why Brother jokes about your incompetence." came a complete curveball. A lighthearted remark— casual and affectionate.
Lux stepped forward, his gaze unyielding.
"You are the heart of this territory. Your duty is to protect our people— to be their pillar of reliability in times of crisis." His voice was calm yet fiercely resolute.
"Father's worth doesn't revolve solely on your fists. Your existence itself is an absolute necessity. Losing you, the beloved Duke Zancrest, is something that must be avoided at all costs. In the eyes of our people, you are not just a man, but a symbol— that is something only Father can do."
Lux's eyes briefly trembled— a blind window unfurling the turmoil brewing within him.
"And this I must do… because only I can."
And still, he smiled. That dastardly smile… The one thing in this world, he knew, Louis, for all his might, could never steel himself against.
"…I refuse."
"Father!"
Lux saw it. Painting his Father's face in red and glistening trails— Regret, Love, Despair.
"Don't you… ever…!" The Duke trembled.
"Don't you ever dare… order me to stand by, watch you… waltz out of this estate with a bomb strapped on your neck… and simply allow you to kill yourself!"
Louis' voice was a low growl— a mess of incoherent syllables veiled under sobs.
"I may be a fool with many flaws. But being a failure of a Father is not one of them… You are not executing that plan. I won't allow you to justify suicide with some shit-stain honor."
His formal act finally shattered. Logic no longer mattered in his argument.
"I will drag you with me if I have to."
The weight of his words made even Luxion hesitate— a wavering flicker in his determined plot. In those fiery eyes, he saw not just anger, but guilt. Pain. Excruciating agony.
A plea for forgiveness— for the things he knew his son was about to do.
But, what must be done… should be done.
No one else dared to speak. They couldn't. And even if they could, they shouldn't. The idea of a Father and son debating who should die was a conversation no family should ever have.
And yet, here it is.
Encased in this fragile silence, the twins froze on their feet. Gill was… out of it. Eyes shaking, voice hitched, her expression— one of horror as though she had just received a revelation.
Silk, albeit torn between duty and heartache, tried to make a move to intervene, when—
"Fine, you got me~"
A voice, steady and eerily composed, cut through the tension like a dagger.
"I support Lux's plan."
All heads turned. Liam, the eldest, the Heir to the Duke's title, strode in unspoken confidence— fake, but passable.
"Liam… What are you saying?" Louis' piercing gaze landed on his firstborn.
"Do you understand the weight of your words?"
"Of course." Liam proclaimed with finality before glancing at Lux's face.
"I have a good idea of what this reckless little troublemaker is truly planning, and I intend to support him in any way I can offer… even if it means going against you."
"Thank you… Brother Liam." Behind him, came a whisper— soft, almost inaudible.
"This is just me paying debts." Liam smirked.
He stepped forward, placing himself between his Father and brother.
"Father, you also understand that there is nothing we can do to stop him once he's like this, right?" Liam began, tone shifty and deliberate.
"If Lux insists on facing that Divine Beast alone, I support it. More than anyone, he understands the risk he's taking. And I think I know him well enough to know that he's not so foolish as to try a stunt he has no chance of succeeding."
Then, before Lux could react—
"Though, I don't appreciate you making it seem like you are trying to sacrifice yourself." He pinched Lux's cheeks, hard.
"Ou-ouch… That hurts…" Lux whined.
Liam sighed, gazing into those glittering irises, sharing the same shade as his, yet it couldn't be any more different.
What he saw pained him deeply.
Not a fearless prodigy.
Not a seasoned warrior.
Not an untouchable hero.
Just a child.
A boy of an age when he was supposed to be carelessly playing around— forcing himself to carry burdens far beyond what his still-growing shoulders should bear.
"If only I had done more… this wouldn't have..." Liam muttered under his raspy breath, regret gnawing at his soul.
"Don't worry, Father." Liam said.
"I'll make sure to bring him back home even if I have to turn hell inside out."
He straightened himself, stepping behind Lux as he rest a firm hand on his narrow shoulders. Then, turned to their father, offering a confident smile… His grip ever-so-slightly tightening.
"I'll drag him with me if I have to."
.
"Sigh~~~~!!! I can't really say no if he says it like that, can I?" Liam said with a brimming grin.
"Am I being too much of a pushover, Rein?"
"You're… just obsessed with your siblings— extremely so. To a point that it's surpassed disgusting, and now, it's almost somewhat endearing." Rein replied, appalled by his borderline stalker behavior.
"Ughh… I'm getting shivers just saying that."
As an official within the Dukedom, he portrays himself in a certain image to match his self-declared standards. But when they're alone, he lets loose— or rather, was ordered to forget about stiff formalities and interact with Liam, not as a servant, but as the long-time friend that he always had by his side.
A safe haven for the both of them.
A privilege only he enjoys.
"How could I not!?" The Heir's voice rang with unwavering conviction.
"Those four are angels— I'm convinced of it!"
His eyes shimmered with unfiltered glee and adoration, practically glowing with a divine aura.
"You've seen how adorable they are, have you not!? So you must understand! As their brother, it is only natural that I fawn over them and carve their everlasting brilliance in my memory!!!"
Rein only stared at him, visibly unsettled.
"That's… I mean, I get it. I have sisters of my own, but…" He hesitated, blinking several times, before muttering with genuine concern,
"You're being really creepy about it, dude."
"Hmph! I'll take that as a compliment!" Liam declared with a smirk.
Rein didn't even bother responding to that one.
Liam may appear as a slouch, but he is usually competent. He acts like a gentleman— an impeccable nobleman to the public's eyes, while playing the role of a carefree, slightly air-headed, and doting older brother in front of his siblings. But in truth, this is who he really is— a brother with an excessively overbearing amount of affection towards his family.
And it is only his childhood friend, Rein, that he trusts with this not-so-hidden secret.
"Well, let's leave it at that." Rein shrugged it off, faster than a racing horse.
"More importantly, focus on the task at hand."
"I know… I don't plan to hold anything back."
Witnessing Liam's serious expression— one he secretly admires, but rarely sees— Rein's complexion also lit up. He readied his bow, spectral arrows lined up, one at each knuckle.
Restricting the area of battle within a range advantageous for us through Lady Gill's Holy magic. Utilizing Lady Silk's massive mana output to erase the enemies' countless foot soldiers with one massive spell, before manipulating a divine beast into summoning the familiars— using the threat of Liam.
Then, separating them— effectively diminishing their powers.
As he immersed himself in the moment, he couldn't keep his thoughts from drifting back to this operation's strategic layout—
The brilliance of its scope and its spotless execution.
Normally, those would be the ramblings of a madman. No sane person would ever dare attempt a blasphemous rebellion like that against a beast said to parallel the Gods.
And yet, he made it happen anyways.
Lord Lux truly is one of the greatest minds there is, and ever will be.
Amidst the wreckage of a flattened building, a patch of darkness began to stir— swirling like a pool of ink against the ruins, creeping like veins of polluted miasma through the asphalt. The blackened void widened, distorting reality itself, until two shadowed silhouettes stepped forth from its depths.
Children. They stumbled, their expressions dazed with confusion, but the chains embedded in their chests lifted them upright, forcing them to stand— forcing them to face them.
"I'm sorry, truly." Liam exhaled, his gaze steeled with resolve.
"I take no pleasure in harming children the same age as my sisters… but my brother can be a bit too reckless, you see."
His fingers twitched, and in an instant, countless crimson magic circles ignited around them— layered, shifting, forming an intricate sphere of arcane inscriptions obstructing their sight.
The night sky bled red.
"I need to get to him as soon as possible. So please, do forgive me for my rudeness."
With a snap of his fingers, the spell surged to life— raining hell on land.
"Stewards of the Tundra."