A thousand hopeless prayers resounded in the nascent deep, as hell was born of divine flame and harvested for fuel. A Divine Law was weaved, both improbable and cruel, to lock the boundaries of a dream.
And thus, with those every same laws broken, the Sea was breached, and a Seed was set forth across the Sea of discarded data to find the boy who must bear the world.
Abaddon's voice was like a pleasant breeze acting as a veil for a sun.
「 I find this fate... deeply lamentable. To compel an innocent to walk the jagged path of another's history is a terrible fate too ancient for any child to bear. 」
Hope stood with her emerald eyes fixed on a distant, invisible horizon, her voice carrying a chill that was opposite to her beauty.
「 Cruelty is the only language the 'Story' understands. One must dwell within the shadow of another's suffering to understand the weight of that 'Story'. Even if that vessel is but a fragile child, the Story of an Angel demands a witness. 」
Nether spread his harrowing wings, the darkness of the underworld coiling around his feet.
「 Solitude was once his true ending. Therefore, he shall have our company instead. We shall stand before Avarice by his side, ensuring his Fable does not wither in the dark. Without the proper instruments, he will be another protagonist merely waiting for his Conclusion. 」
Ariel whispered into the wind, his voice a ghost of the secrets he kept buried.
「 I find that even my own tongue tastes of iron when I contemplate this design. We have accounted for every thread, yet I cannot suppress the tremor in my soul. That Angel nearly extinguished the Gods themselves during the dawn of things. 」
The master of lies spoke through her wooden mask, her elusive voice mocking the very gravity of the moment.
「 What a magnificent, merciful architect you are, Indescribable Shadow. To weave this world with your own miracle and then offer your very Essence as a gift... I see your kindness knows no limits. You have granted me perfect freedom and left me with every choice to refuse you. You are a truly blessed and truthful God. 」
Oblivion spoke with a warmth that her sister lacked, her gaze piercing the mists of data to find the boy.
「 Brother, my brother. He seeks the same salvation we all crave. The Forgotten One stirred in every failed cycle; your Spell, even with our souls, cannot hold out forever. If this boy falters, the Worldline falters with him. He is the anchor and sole hope for everything we desire to save. 」
Finally, the King of Outer Gods looked out across an indescribable distance, reaching through the Sea of pure Frequencies to a sole Dreamer.
「 To you from an indescribable distance and time, though you may not hear this, I am sorry. Sorry, for forcing my past upon you. And sorry, for the Eternal Reoccurrence you must bear. And yet, you are the only one who is truly free… 」
A hand was drawn out. A seed was sent. A Nightmare was born.
And his name was Lost from Light.
[The Divine Titan, 'Lord of the Abyss', is looking at you.]
[The Divine Titan, 'Demon of Desire', is looking at you.]
[The Divine Titan, 'Prince of the Underworld', is looking at you.]
[The Divine Titan, 'Demon of Dread', is looking at you.]
[The Divine Titan, 'Demon of Fate', is looking at you.]
[The Divine Titan, 'Demon of Oblivion', is looking at you.]
[The King of Outer Gods is looking at you.]
.
.
.
[Story, 'Hell of Eternity', has begun its storytelling!]
.
.
.
[You have received the Unholy Miracle 'Star-Writ Thread'.]
[You have received the Divine Miracle 'Silver Weave'.]
[The Attribute 'Star-Writ Thread' has been sealed.]
[The Attribute 'Silver Weave' has been sealed.]
—
Sunny took a long sip from the Endless Spring. It was a pleasant feeling, to feel the cool water wash the dust and iron taste from his tongue. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and surveyed the ruined plaza before him.
Another battlefield and neat arrangement of corpses.
He was starting to appreciate it, as if it were a work of art.
Eighteen days now into the frenzy. Throughout these days, since the tide of divinity, the Dark City had begun to vomit out Nightmare Creatures without rest.
Five days ago, he received his Echo, Stone Saint.
He glanced to his side.
She stood a few steps away, as usual, silent and unmoving. Her black armor seemed to blend into the dark. A statue among ruins. If not for the faint, natural presence tethered to his soul, she would have looked like nothing more than elegant debris left standing by accident.
Transforming her into a shadow had cost him one hundred fragments. And yet, the result was worth it.
Sunny's lips curved upward slightly.
The moment the Echo had devoured those fragments and changed, something shifted. The Stone Saint was no longer a mere puppet. As a shadow, she could grow—evolve. And hell, she already surpassed him in almost every aspect aside from stealth.
That thought was quite welcome. After all, he was still a Sleeper. A sturdy Sleeper, but nonetheless mostly weak against the abominations he was forced to face every day. Having something that could eventually outrank him in strength felt like raising a weapon that might one day turn in his hand.
Better that than dying alone.
For a moment, he thought of Jet's voice.
"No one survives the Dream Realm alone."
He had never ignored this advice, but it truly shined here more than ever. He had come to the Dark City determined to rely on no one but himself.
That had made everything harder.
Now, with Saint at his side, hunting had become… manageable.
For one, Fallen-Beasts were no longer an immediate death sentence. Awakened abominations were little more than sword practice. Between his shadow and Saint's relentless, tireless assault, most enemies didn't stand a chance.
Sunny crouched down and gathered the last pile of Soul Shards from the spot he'd hidden them in. The pale fragments glimmered faintly in his palm.
He summoned the silk pouch.
Memory: [Widow's Brood Pouch]
Memory Rank: Ascended.
Memory Tier: I.
Memory Type: Tool.
Memory Description: [The Iron Widows cradle their young within cocoons of woven silk. Though Nightmare Creatures rarely bear offspring, those that do guard them with relentless will. Their silk is spun with the same strength as their iron shells and the same unyielding will that drives a mother to shield her brood. What rests within remains hidden, safe and undisturbed, as though held in a mother's embrace.]
Enchantment Name: [Sleek Embrace]
Enchantment Description: [This silk pouch can store a large volume of inorganic material within its interior space.]
This was the same memory he had received from felling one of the many Fallen Iron Spiders he ambushed five days ago.
The Widow's Brood Pouch appeared in his hand, soft with a color of pale-white light, deceptively simple too. He loosened its opening and poured the shards inside.
The silk seemed to move as it took them all in. Over a hundred shards already rested within it—normal ones, mostly—but a few Ascended ones as well. And still, it showed no sign of reaching its limit.
A storage tool of the Ascended rank, indeed.
He almost wanted to thank the Iron Widow that had died for it.
Sunny sealed the silk pouch and looked back up. This had been his final marked location in the Dark City. The last of the X's he had drawn on his map with his own blood.
Which meant only one last objective remained.
Escape.
He slowly rose, rolling his shoulders. His body, somehow, felt harder now. The last three weeks of constant combat had removed any sort of hesitation from him. Every movement he made was sharper.
Four more days. That was his estimate.
He wanted at least five hundred shadow fragments before attempting whatever came at the halfway point of this part of the Dark City.
He allowed himself to glance at his runes.
Shadow Fragments: [398/1000]
To think he turned Saint into a shadow, and he'd already surpassed his previous number. So close…
At this rate, four days would really be enough.
He exhaled.
"Well. On we go."
Saint dissolved without a sound, her massive form collapsing into a shadow and merging with his own. Keeping her manifested at all times would nearly guarantee his safety, so it was quite tempting.
Unfortunately, walking beside a literal shadow stone knight tended to attract attention.
And attention, in this city, meant trouble.
Sunny stepped forward, weaving through broken arches and crumbling walls.
Sunny, a true assassin, and Saint, a true-born warrior.
A rather unfair combination.
For the Nightmare Creatures, at least.
—
An hour later, after more blood had soaked the ground, Sunny returned to his chosen midpoint in this section of the Dark City.
Halfway through the street, a plaza opened between two leaning towers. He had passed through it again and again during these past days. A familiar hunting ground now.
Nightmare Creatures gathered here in greater numbers. Perhaps the open space simply drew them in. Or maybe the city itself funneled them toward these broken squares.
Whatever the reason, this place screamed with danger.
Sunny let his shadow detach and roam. Through it, he observed the plaza.
He counted thirteen. Awakened-Beasts and Monsters roamed between crumbled statues and ancient overturned carts. Blood Fiends paced with their twitching bones, Iron Spiders walked the grounds and clung to walls and pillars.
Charging in headfirst would be suicide.
Even with Saint.
If he had to choose a number with confidence, then Saint could hold four Awakened-Beasts. Five, if the circumstances favored her. Monsters naturally required more care. As for Sunny, two at once demanded his full attention.
So… thirteen was quite excessive. He needed to thin the herd.
Sunny crouched and summoned the [Ordinary Rock] into reality. As usual, it was plain and unremarkable.
He leaned close and muttered a phrase into it with a low and mocking voice. Then he hurled it with all his strength.
The rock flew through the air yelling "COME GET ME, YOU SONS OF BITCHES!"
It smashed into a distant window, causing the glass to shatter. The shout echoed down the street, mingling with the crash.
Nightmare Creatures of this class lacked subtlety. They reacted to the stimulus—noise, impact, and movement.
Five of them jerked toward the sound and surged away from the plaza, leaving eight remaining.
Acceptable battle conditions. Sunny exhaled slowly.
'Here we go.'
Saint emerged from the shadows in a ripple of darkness. Her stone form solidified, and the moment it did, her shield rose as she struck it thrice with her sword.
A clear challenge. Naturally, the Nightmare Creatures would be more than happy to take her up on it.
Three Blood Fiends shrieked and bounded forward. Two Iron Spiders skittered after them, their bladed legs gleaming with murderous intent.
At the same time, one more Blood Fiend and Iron Spider charged toward Saint's flank.
Sunny made his move.
The Prowling Thorn flashed from his hand with its signature string trailing behind it. The kunai embedded itself into stone, causing the thread to stretch taut across the fiends' path.
They both hit it at full speed. Both creatures stumbled and lost balance for a single precious second.
That second was enough. The next moment, Sunny blurred forward.
His black tachi was wrapped in shadow as he augmented it. The Iron Spider barely had the chance to recover before the blade pierced through its skull. Its iron body convulsed and collapsed.
He wrenched the sword free—
And leapt back with haste, for the blood fiend's skeletal limb swiped like a scythe, downward to where he had stood.
Sunny flicked the kunai, slicing across the creature's leg. The cut failed to sever anything, yet it ruined the fiend's balance once more.
He drew the Midnight Shard from the spider's corpse in one smooth motion and charged.
The Blood Fiend shrieked, towering over him as it brought down both its claws. Sunny raised his tachi in defense, and due to it being augmented by his shadow, he held—though the impact rang through his arms.
The second claw came in low and vicious. He blocked it with the kunai, causing multiple miniature slashes to form on his fingers.
He ignored it.
The kunai thrust forward, piercing the open gap in the fiend's skeletal wrist. In the same motion, he looped the string around his tachi's hilt.
He kicked the creature in the torso just as it lunged to bite.
The combined force bent its posture backward. The tethered string tightened, causing its footing to falter completely.
For a moment, the towering abomination swayed in disarray.
Sunny stepped in and brought his black tachi down upon it.
The fiend's head parted from its shoulders. The Spell whispered the kill to him, but he had other matters to attend to.
Saint required his attention.
He sprinted toward her with his blade ready.
She had already crushed one Iron Spider beneath her shield and carved deep fractures into another. The three Blood Fiends pressed her, claws raking across stone armor. Cracks marred her surface, but they had failed to draw any ruby dust from her wounds.
'Impressive.'
He felt a brief sense of pride.
One Blood Fiend, focused entirely on Saint, turned too late.
Sunny's blade severed its head in a clean arc. Saint pivoted instantly, bashing her shield into another fiend with terrible force, sending it stumbling.
Sunny and Saint moved together, as if guided by one will.
Sunny pivoted toward the Iron Spiders. Their movements, by now, had become predictable to him. Every twitch—lunge—feint, all read clearly.
He dismantled them with swift, efficient strikes.
Behind him, Saint's sword crashed against bone and chitin. A Blood Fiend fell to its knees beneath her relentless assault.
Before the final fiend could exploit her opening, Sunny appeared at its side.
His blade tore through its ribs—it collapsed into pieces.
The last Blood Fiend staggered upright, only to meet Saint's descending black blade.
The strike crushed it utterly.
Sunny exhaled heavily, a sound of glee, for silence reclaimed the plaza.
Eight Awakened Nightmare Creatures lay dead at their feet.
[Your Shadow grows stronger.]
The Spell had repeated the same phrases with every kill. His own, and Saint's.
He barely reacted to it anymore. Some days, he had already heard it over thirty times. The words had lost their novelty.
Yet this battle—
Handling multiple Awakened foes with confidence.
His swordsmanship had sharpened beyond what it once was. He wasted less energy and drew cleaner lines. Nephis's lessons had carved themselves into him before, but now? They were practically a part of his muscles and instincts.
He wiped blood from his chin and along his side. Of course, he did not escape the battle unscathed.
But they were minor injuries that Blood Weave would take care of in minutes. And besides…
He felt strong and alive.
He glanced at Saint. "Ready, gal?"
She turned her head slightly. Of course, no expression appeared on her stoic stone face.
But she stepped forward. Sunny took that as agreement.
In the distance, the five creatures he had lured earlier thundered back toward the plaza.
Sunny exhaled.
The Prowling Thorn reappeared in his hand. His gloomy shadow coiled around his body.
He gave Saint a small nod, and she charged forward.
Sunny charged with her, setting another trap across their path as the incoming monsters roared in murderous rage.
The night was young~
And he intended to use every second of it.
—
Nephis walked alone along the inner path of the Bright Castle wall. The stone beneath her feet was warm, despite the absence of a sun to provide such heat. Regardless, she felt none of it.
The events of the last few days clung to her thoughts like the unforgettable blood of fallen comrades: the tremor, the flood, Cassie's vision, and Gunlaug's sudden visit. None of it fit together.
Nephis did not show her turmoil; her face remained calm, as if carved from pale marble. Internally, however, her thoughts were coiled in chaos. It was not survival that troubled her — survival was simple, for one either endured or did not.
It was the meaning behind the quaking earth that lingered. The Spire's growth, the escalation of Nightmare Creatures, and Gunlaug descending from his castle like a benevolent tyrant just to save a few commoners.
And then, there was Cassie's dream…
—
Five days earlier, the battlefield had barely cooled when the crowd dispersed, dragging the wounded back into the settlement. Blood soaked the ground, and the sharp cracks of bone could be heard under careless boots. The Lord of the Bright Castle had not sent a hunter or even an emissary. He had come himself.
That sent alarms ringing in Nephis's mind. She had always believed Gunlaug would sooner watch the settlement burn than interfere. At most, he might send a hound to observe. But he had descended in person, which meant he wanted something.
Thirty minutes after his grand speech, the cohort gathered in the abandoned house used for planning. Five sleepers stood inside. Caster stood near the entrance, his Bone Flute already summoned to wrap the room in a veil of silence. Effie leaned against the wall with a clear scowl, while Cassie stood near Nephis with her hands clasped, listening intently. Gunlaug spoke first, not wishing to waste time.
"Ah! I'd love to say I feel quite welcomed! But I don't! To sit in the presence of the illustrious Changing Star… an honor, indeed. Though I assure you, I did not come out of generosity. You know that though, of course."
Effie's lip twitched downward. Caster watched carefully, preparing for a confrontation. Nephis met Gunlaug's gaze while white sparks flickered faintly in her eyes.
"Of course I know you didn't come out of the goodness of your heart. Get on with it and tell me why you came."
Gunlaug spread his hands as if wounded by the lack of ceremony.
"Come now, Changing Star. Surely you've deduced my purpose. I came to talk! We've been separated for far too long!"
Nephis stepped forward and placed both hands on the table. The others shifted subtly behind her.
"Then speak. Have you come to join forces?"
Gunlaug regarded her in silence. When he spoke, his tone was a faint, condescending drawl.
"Well… hm. That depends entirely on you, my dear. You only undermine my rule. You sow dissent… Frankly, Changing Star, your insolence begins to weary me."
Nephis's lip curved faintly.
"And why do you believe that is, Gunlaug? Are you not the one who has forsaken all ambition? A coward, grown fat and complacent in these godforsaken Shores, content to impose your heinous will upon others. If my insolence wearies you, then your weakness exhausts me."
Gunlaug tilted his head.
"…Weak? Weak, you insist?"
For a moment, his voice softened unnaturally.
"Are you challenging me… Changing Star?"
"If you so wish."
Tension solidified within the room. Effie's hand hovered, poised to summon the Zenith Shard, while Caster's Jade Jian rested in its sheath. Gunlaug suddenly dropped his hands with a light, almost delighted laugh.
"Oh, how utterly delightful! I would enjoy crushing you here and now, but that particular indulgence would defeat the purpose of my visit. Come now, tell me — why am I here?"
Nephis answered evenly.
"…The ceaseless influx of Nightmare Creatures. Is your castle struggling beneath this onslaught?"
Gunlaug barked a short laugh.
"Struggling? Hardly. Not a single beast has breached my walls. My people remain secure beneath my strength. Unlike yours."
Effie snorted.
"So you journeyed all this way merely to offer shelter for a tariff? A plea—"
"No, dear Effie. Though I deeply appreciate the assumption. You always were one for directness, weren't you?"
Silence settled again. Gunlaug tapped a finger on his gold chin before continuing.
"I confess, I am… surprised. None of you have noticed it."
Nephis's brow rose slightly.
"Noticed what?"
"…So it is true."
Cassie suddenly stiffened. Nephis realized too late that he had been fishing for information.
Gunlaug rose from the chair, the playful tone vanishing in favor of a cutting edge.
"As of some nights ago, the crimson coral has begun to approach. You've witnessed the Spire Messengers as well, I see. But do you truly comprehend what relentless force stirs within the west? Tell me, are you at least aware of the impending calamites?"
Cassie's fingers tightened around Nephis's own. The message was unequivocal: a great threat loomed. Gunlaug harbored no fear of the flood of creatures; he was watching the Disasters. Cassie's skin grew pale. Nephis sighed quietly before answering.
"I assume you mean the Disasters, although you may have another name for them?"
Gunlaug blinked in surprise beneath his helm.
"Oh! Then perhaps you lot possess more than just blind ambition. Well yes, I do mean those abominable things."
Caster stepped forward slightly with a polite smile.
"Disasters? The name escapes me. Would you care to elaborate?"
Gunlaug's golden helm turned toward Nephis.
"Keeping secrets from your own companions? How utterly unsightly, Changing Star."
Nephis ignored the curious looks from Caster and Effie. Her gaze remained fixed on the Bright Lord. Gunlaug exhaled.
"Very well. The Disasters, as we call them. How shall I say? Few know of them, much less what they are. However, out of the four, only one of their names are confirmed — and that is 'The Anointed Legion' in the North. As for the other three, we of the Bright Castle call the one in the West the 'Silver Wing', the one in the east 'The Hydra', and the one in the south 'The Drowned.' All four are legends. Or rather, they were… until a few days ago."
Gunlaug tapped one armored finger against the table.
"Really, I had assumed they were mere embellishments found carved into the ruined murals I salvaged from the deepest, most treacherous parts of the Dark Sea. Mere fragments of history, ruined by the march of time. Until I sent a hunting party west, you see. Then, what I had casually disregarded... was proven quite incorrect. You can imagine what occurred, can't you? Ah, belief! How swiftly it can turn lies into the truth… hm."
Nephis's eyes narrowed.
"Did you encounter one yourself?"
"Oh, heavens no! Changing Star, you would not be speaking to me right now If I had! In fact, none of us would, for we'd all already be quite dead."
Silence seized the room once more until Cassie spoke.
"Bright Lord. Do you know how powerful the western Disaster is?"
Gunlaug studied her for a moment.
"…I cannot give an actual account. However, If I had to warrant a guess, it's far more dreadful than the Crimson Terror in single combat. The Disaster of the West. That one in particular goes by the moniker 'Silver Wing of the Evil Star.' A catastrophe — no, no, more of a force of nature. A warped abomination born of something that must've been a Saint."
Gunlaug released a slow breath. He turned slightly toward Nephis.
"I ask this simply to ease a question of my own. But Changing Star, have you ever come across the name 'Constellia'?"
Nephis maintained a confused expression. She had never heard the name. Caster repeated the word in a low tone.
"Constellia…? That can also mean 'Kingdom of Heaven' or 'Heavenly Kingdom.'"
Gunlaug observed their reactions and nodded.
"Yes… yes. I expected as much! Though it is a shame, nonetheless — I had dearly hoped at least one of you had more information on it. Some years ago, I salvaged what I could from those murals, yet others still remain beneath the sea. But to quench your curiosity — Constellia, or so I think, was the civilization that thrived here long before even the Seven Heroes."
Gunlaug suddenly straightened.
"But now we waste precious time. Any information you wish to know on Constellia can wait. This petty rivalry between us is naught but trivial in the face of what is coming. I propose we end it here and now."
Nephis understood perfectly.
"So I was correct, you came here for an alliance. Though… why didn't you start with that?"
"I am a man of theatrics, what can I say? I need to see if you could prove adaptable — and it appears you can. Very well, in fact. Besides, you will soon comprehend… that the Forgotten Shores is approaching it's ending."
Gunlaug stepped away from the table.
"Changing Star of the Immortal Flame Clan, think of me as craven if it brings you solace. I have lived eight years on this merciless wasteland. I once attempted to storm the Spire itself."
Nephis's eyes narrowed.
"…You did not know that, did you?"
"Get to the point. Your voice is beginning to grate upon me now. I have other things to attend to, Gunlaug."
"Very well. As succinct as ever."
He turned slightly toward the door.
"Any dream you harbor of charging the Spire, now or later, will crumble into dust. Soon, even my Bright Castle will succumb. None of us will survive if we persist in fighting each other. Relocation — cooperation — survival. That is the only path forward, I'm afraid."
Nephis challenged him one last time.
"True as that may be, do tell… why should I trust your sudden concerns?"
Gunlaug slowly lifted one gauntleted hand and pointed west.
"Oh, that's easy. As you know, each and every one of the Four Disasters once lived and breathed as Saints. Which means they are of the Corrupted Class now. And also because… the most dreadful one of all has begun to move."
In that same moment, a distant rumble reached the settlement.
The distant rumble of a terrible, disastrous battle.
—
Far away, where the coral spirals strangled the horizon around the Crimson Spire, a slaughter unfolded.
It began without warning.
The devil stirred from ages of rot and memoryless sleep, and with its first sense came hunger.
Hunger vast enough to hollow its world.
It rose from the jagged growth as if crawling out of its own grave. Towers of coral splintered beneath its bulk. All that could be heard was ripping and tearing, cracks and shattering. The sound carried across the wasteland.
And then, it began to devour.
The coral that had been spreading outward to claim the divinity suddenly felt disturbed, for the devil began to snap it shut between its claws. Even other Nightmare Creatures fled in shrieking swarms, only to vanish into that grinding maw. The sickly sounds of bones crunching and flesh bursting brought delight to the unnatural being.
Essence was spilled and swallowed before any could dissipate.
The devil showed no distinction or preference. Everything within its reach became sustenance.
The beast fed until the frenzy within its own mind dulled. Suddenly, it could think once more, albeit fragmented.
Essence began to pool within its monstrous frame, threading through ruined flesh like frost creeping across glass.
Truly, fragments of knowledge returned. And with it, a flicker of instinct.
A memory of the sky.
With a shuddering motion, it forced an unholy wing from its back. Tattered membrane stretched over warped bone. It raised its head and regarded the starless heavens.
The sky did not answer, and thus, a roar split the eternal night.
The creature lowered one clawed hand to the ragged cavity where its right wing had once been. The wound was gaped and scarred. Without hesitation, it drove its talons inward.
Flesh tore.
It ripped itself open and dragged new matter from within, shaping it through sheer will and corrupted essence. A new bone sprouted and coiled. And thus, a second wing emerged.
Imperfect and trembling, it spread both wide—
And took flight for the first time in a thousand years.
The air buckled beneath the force of its ascent. Coral forests exploded into debris as it surged upward, a streak of ruin cutting through the darkness. Nightmare Creatures were swept aside, seized, and devoured mid-flight.
It showed no mercy. It hunted without restraint.
The Forgotten Shore lay beneath it, and the sky belonged to none but it.
Higher… higher… higher it climbed. Until the very air thinned and the land below became a dark-scarlet wound etched into endless black. From that height, it saw the crawling specks of humanity within its territory.
It felt anger, though only for a moment.
For it sensed something else…
A presence to the west. One that agitated it, very much so.
It turned.
The Crimson Spire was in the distance, coral blooming from its base like an infection consuming flesh.
The devil folded its wings and plunged.
It struck the Spire's peak with the force of a falling star.
An explosion rippled outward in violent waves. The towering growth shuddered to its core as the Silver Wing met the Fallen-Terror in pure defiance.
Claw met tendril.
Wing tore through crimson growth.
For a time, the spreading coral faltered.
For a time, the plague slowed.
The battle scarred the sky. Devastating shockwaves rippled across the wasteland. Entire forests of coral collapsed into dust beneath their struggle.
Driven to fury, the Crimson Terror unleashed the nameless sun.
Blazing radiance consumed everything in its path. Soul-searing light engulfed the Silver Winged Devil, scorching its flesh.
Yet still, it endured.
Through the inferno and the terror's annihilating brilliance, it carved forward.
And delivered one final, devastating strike.
The spire split with a thunderous crack.
Then, finally, the devil tore itself free and rose once more into the eternal night.
The coral continued its spread—
Only to utterly halt a moment later.
The Crimson Terror was heavily wounded. It could no longer spread its influence upon the land.
And above the darkened shore, a silhouette passed through the night sky.
The Disaster of the West.
The Silver Wing of the Evil Star.
King of the Empty Heavens.
The most terrible disaster of all.
—
And now, five days later, that was how Nephis arrived at her conclusions as she walked along the inner castle walls.
Gunlaug had come to her with the same intention she had been cultivating in silence. Unity —not out of any sort of trust, but sheer necessity. The food shortages and the flood of abominations were only the surface problems. She knew that now.
What lay beyond the horizon of the Dark City was something older, and far stronger.
The difference between them was not the intent. No. It was knowledge.
Gunlaug knew more than anyone else on these cursed shores. He had salvaged the murals of the deep, and yet he had not shared the full extent of his findings.
So she had sent him away, initially at least. Nephis had not outright refused him—since she already planned to ally with him for the sake of the Sleepers—yet she had delayed her answer.
She needed time.
Not only to consider the logistics of a relocation, but to confront the churning of her own soul.
Nephis did not bend to the will of this world; the world was meant to bend to hers. That was the law she had been forced to live by since her childhood, even after she was taken in by the Great Clan…
Allying with Gunlaug was not a submission of her will. She was not kneeling to the bastard, nor was her ambition being compromised. It was simply… survival. They were all Sleepers trapped in a hell not of their making; what else were they supposed to do? At least in this scenario, she could still retain a semblance of control.
And yet it tasted so bitter. He was stronger than her—and that was a hard, cold fact.
He, through methods of tyranny and calculated cowardice, had survived eight years in this wasteland. In that time, he had gathered the scattered fragments of a lost history. In this situation, Gunlaug was five steps ahead. He was a coward who had given into the Nightmare Spell, a traitor to the path of true ascension. She despised him for it.
And still, he stood above her in pure strength. What did that say about her own conviction?
Her fingers dug into her palm as her thoughts drifted elsewhere.
The Disasters.
Nightmare Creatures that had apparently once been Saints. Either that, or they were Masters who, soon after becoming abominations, had descended further into corruption. It was an staggering concept to wrap one's head around—beings who had walked the path of light, only to fall and become something warped beyond recognition.
Corrupted and ancient. Beings who had slept for millennia.
What had woken them…?
The quake could not have been a random geological event. The land itself had seemed to convulse in agony, as though something deep beneath the Forgotten Shore had been disturbed. Had the Spire caused it? She doubted the coral alone possessed such a reach.
What force could rouse entities that had endured thousands of years without succumbing to the natural rot of death? Why had they fallen in the first place? Who had they been before the corruption claimed them? Heroes? Kings? Saints who defied a destiny they should not have touched?
The questions multiplied with every step she took, but the answers remained as distant as the Spire itself. Nephis rarely allowed herself the luxury of uncertainty.
It was only when she truly knew she was alone did she stop her walking. No one watched her here; no one could see the crack in the ivory tower.
Her grip tightened against the cold stone of the wall.
Suddenly, a sound tore from her throat. It was the rawest sound she could produce, a jagged cry ripped free before she could restrain it.
The sound vanished into the winds.
Even she had limits. She was still human, after all.
The thought of standing beside someone like Gunlaug sickened her. The thought of losing against him sickened her even more. But that was not the focal point of her pain.
It was Sunny.
The comfort in knowing that their chances of survival had once been considerable had all but vanished. If the cohort's situation was this bleak even with their shared strength, what about Sunny? There was no comforting illusion any longer. No silent hope that he would somehow persevere against the odds.
A high classed Corrupted Nightmare Creature was now a reality.
The gap between Fallen and Corrupted was an abyss. Corrupted beings were the equivalent of Saints—Transcendent beings who possessed the power to bend the world to their will. Sleepers were mere insects by comparison. There was no outrunning such a thing. You could not maneuver around a god. You could not hide long enough for it to lose interest.
Nephis's own chances of survival were already dismal. Sunny? By himself? He stood no chance. If he had been at her side, it would be different. They would have devised a way. As long as he was here, she would have forced a path through the impossible. She would have even revealed her secret if it meant keeping him alive.
But he was not here. And the certainty of his likely death hurt far too much.
They had parted badly; she had practically pushed him away. That did not mean she wanted him to become a ghost. Her heart felt like a depth without bottom, filled with a sentiment she could not name.
Every day, the temptation grew stronger. She wanted to abandon the settlement, gather the cohort, and march. March north, south, east—wherever the hell he was. Find him. If death truly awaited them, at least they would die together. She did not want to die without him by her side.
She despised the thought, though. A leader did not abandon those who put their trust in her, especially not for one life out of the many. Even his.
She slid down the wall until she sat against the cold stone, head resting back, eyes fixed on the starless sky. Her teeth ground together, containing yet another scream before it could escape.
'Ah… Auntie, what would you have done in a situation like this…? Gods, I miss you all.'
Charging the Crimson Spire in the coming months had already been an audacious plan. It required unity among all Sleepers—a single decisive strike before the disaster took them all. Now that fantasy lay in ruins.
The scouts had confirmed it. The Disaster of the West had battled the Crimson Terror and forced the coral's spread to halt. Perhaps it simply felt threatened and decided to meet its adversary.
One creature had caused complete devastation. It was visible even from afar—entire stretches of land scarred and broken by the Silver Wing.
The Crimson Terror must still live. Its influence lingered. But it had been wounded. The red strike seen to the north was the only sign of the Silver Wing afterward.
It was recovering. That was the crucial detail.
If it had been at full power—performing with the true might of a Corrupted creature—the Crimson Terror would be a memory.
Instead, both survived.
Nephis's breathing slowed. Her mind sharpened. She pushed herself upright abruptly, her eyes widening.
'If the Silver Wing was weakened… then the others must be as well.'
They had all been asleep for thousands of years. Dormancy leaves its marks. They were Corrupted, yes, but thoroughly diminished.
Her thoughts accelerated, precise now. No known minions had appeared; none of the Disasters seen so far had sent hordes. That suggested they were not Tyrants commanding armies.
Devils. Each a Corrupted-Devils at minimum. It was a far better prospect than dealing with Tyrants. And based on the battle with the Terror, their power was reduced further by age, putting them closer to the threshold of a Fallen-Terror or Titan.
The Silver Wing possessed the ability to fly. It could traverse the continent much faster than its brethren. Yet it had engaged the Crimson Terror prematurely and retreated. It was injured. It had either miscalculated or had been desperate.
Nephis stared into the darkness. Her despair thinned, replaced with a familiar coldness. Calculations. The situation was suddenly not so hopeless. The Disasters were not invincible demi-gods. They were ancient predators, newly awakened and wounded. That did not make them manageable, but it made them mortal.
And if they were mortal, they could be killed.
Nephis drew in a slow breath and spoke the realization aloud to anchor it.
"Each of the Disasters… are in their weakest states."
The words steadied her. Some of them were likely trying to remember how to fight. They were practically newborns again.
At the thought, Cassie surfaced in her mind. What she had said was no longer a vague omen. A weeping woman pierced by ice—a Disaster that killed through contamination rather than claws. A Devil, likely. Nephis could simply burn the poison from her own body with her soul flame.
Then there were the relics Cassie had seen. Weapons crafted specifically to counter each Disaster, forged by a civilization that knew the bane of each monstrosity.
If such weapons still existed, they were buried beneath ruin or guarded by horrors. Gunlaug had scoured the Dark Sea; if he had discovered even a whisper of these weapons, he would have claimed them. Which meant he had either found nothing, or he was withholding the most valuable cards in his hand.
The probability of locating ancient relics through blind searching was negligible. And yet, hope did not require probability; it only required a possibility.
As long as there was a single path forward, she would carve it.
She exhaled slowly. For now came the matter of the alliance. The settlement could not withstand the influx alone. The Creatures came in waves, probing for weaknesses. Without Gunlaug's castle, they were vulnerable.
She rose to her feet. She was Changing Star of the Immortal Flame Clan. Her existence was not meant to remain on this land; it was meant to change it.
She would ally with Gunlaug, but she would not trust him. She couldn't trust his guard not to slit their throats as they slept. But Gunlaug possessed advantages—he could engage multiple Fallen Beasts without being overwhelmed. His Aspect would allow him to dominate the Dark Sea.
Nephis, by contrast, was forced to ignite her Aspect in full to handle a single Fallen opponent. Her power was devastating, but not sustainable for prolonged, repeated engagements. Not yet, at least.
Strategically, the choice was obvious. Emotionally, it was intolerable. Still, she would make it.
What Gunlaug did not know was that her acceptance did not mean the surrender of her ambitions. Relocation and cooperation were temporary measures. The Disasters would have to be confronted, eventually.
And within that movement lay her opportunity.
She needed Sunny to see hear. When they relocated in large groups, crossing open terrain in numbers impossible to miss, he had to notice. He was perceptive—and quite resourceful.
He would understand. Or he would already be dead…
Nephis was starting to find it increasingly difficult to maintain the pretense that he was fine. He was not fine. And when she saw him again, she would have a few words for him.
Very, very harsh ones.
But they would be spoken to his face.
Nephis released a quiet breath and continued walking, her posture once more composed, her expression carved from stone.
Her despairs had been acknowledged. And then, they had been discarded. She was beginning to adapt to this new hell.
—
[You have slain…]
[You have slain…]
[You have slain…]
[You have slain…]
[You have slain…]
[You have slain…]
[You have slain…]
[You have slain…]
[You have slain…]
[You have slain…]
Suffice it to say, Sunny and Saint had gone on a massacre.
Of all his nights within the Dark City, this one had been the most productive. Efficient to the point of absurdity. The streets between the fractured towers and ruined plazas had been scoured clean by shadow and steel. With traps laid in advance, they triggered flawlessly. His lures and plans had worked, ambushes closing in like locked jaws.
He had lost count of how many Nightmare Creatures Saint crushed beneath her blade and shield, and how many he himself had dismantled with precision. Blood had soaked the stone ground until it no longer stood out.
By the time he finally stopped, he had cleared the midpoint section of the city—the area that housed the cathedral and its surrounding horrors.
An hour ago, he had been drenched in gore and exhaustion.
Now, after washing himself with the Endless Spring and letting himself dry in the stale air, he felt something close to exhilaration.
He checked his fragments.
Shadow Fragments: [605/1000]
Already over halfway there. He'd surpassed his initial goal.
He let out a quiet breath, staring at the ruined plaza before him.
"Finally…"
It wasn't just the number that pleased him.
His swordsmanship had sharpened beyond what it once was. Cleaner than ever before, like that of an executioner. He was beginning to read opponents before they committed to a strike—recognizing the tells in the way claws tensed, and how their weight shifted.
Something at the edge of his soul felt like it was waking up.
As if a new sense waited just beyond a thin veil.
Awakened Blood Fiends that had once required careful planning and isolation could now be handled two at a time. Sometimes three, if he controlled the area well enough. His timing and strikes had grown ruthless.
And Prowling Thorn—that simple kunai bound to a string—had proven itself invaluable. A trick weapon was not flashy, but it was unpredictable. He could bind ankles and redirect a Nightmare Creature's lunge, misleading it entirely.
Underestimate it, and you died.
He unfurled a crude map he had drawn in his own blood, studying the rough lines and marks.
'Okay…'
He was at the midpoint. If he rushed southeast, he would reach the fastest exit from this portion of the Dark City. Beyond that lay unknown lands, but fewer concentrated threats. From there, he would be able to circle around and reach that golden light.
He glanced at Saint.
Her wounds had mostly sealed. The dark flames within his soul sea had done their work. She stood silent and unyielding as ever, her sword resting at her side.
"Ready to push on?" he asked, unable to suppress a grin.
Saint struck her shield once. The clang echoed faintly through the dead streets.
"That's my girl!"
He folded the map into his shroud and broke into a run. Under normal circumstances, he would conserve energy, but he had already spent too many days here. Every delay increased the odds of that golden light vanishing—and worse, the odds of something terrible finding him.
He did not worry about being ambushed from behind. Or his flanks. Those paths had been cleansed by his own hand. There were no Nightmare Creatures left to hit them from behind.
Only forward remained.
Keeping to the shadows regardless, Sunny and Saint sprinted through the narrow streets. They passed the corpses of their handiwork—mangled limbs, shattered chitin, headless torsos.
It was a welcome sight.
—
Ten minutes into the sprint, Saint stopped abruptly.
Sunny halted instantly without question.
He didn't speak. He had long since learned that if Saint stopped, there was a good reason. Their instincts complemented each other, after all.
'Already?'
He had scanned the area with his own eyes, full circle.
Nothing.
There weren't any sounds he could pick up on. The silence was… wrong.
He shifted his perception to that of his shadow—
And froze.
'Not good…'
It wasn't that he saw something. It was that he didn't.
Saint had raised her shield and sword, posture angled upward slightly. Though the plaza ahead looked empty.
Quickly, Sunny summoned the Midnight Shard, the black tachi forming in his grasp. He advanced step by careful step. Saint mirrored him, guarding his blind spots.
He couldn't extend his shadow too far. If a fight began, he would need it immediately.
"Ground is clear… so—"
He looked up.
As it would happen, that single decision saved his life.
Something immense sliced downward without a whisper of warning.
Sunny reacted purely on instinct. His shadow wrapped around him. The Midnight Shard slashed upward to intercept the coming attack. The impact exploded against him like a falling boulder. He was hurled backward into Saint.
She caught him, but not before his flesh tore.
He felt white-hot pain. His shoulder split open—his arm slashed deep, and a chunk of his right ear vanished in a spray of blood.
All sounds disappeared from his right side. He could no longer hear anything through it.
And his vision ran red. Not with anger, but with blood.
His head rang as Saint planted her shield just in time to absorb a second crushing blow. The force drove her back a full step, stone cracking beneath her feet, but she held.
'What in—?'
Sunny staggered upright, his blade raised. His right arm burned with pain but responded. He forced his right eye shut—blood flooded it uselessly. The shadow remained wrapped around him, leaving only shadow sense to compensate.
…And then his heart dropped.
He felt nothing.
Saint struck her shield three times in challenge. It prompted Sunny to let out a strained chuckle. Saint was ready as ever.
"Eager as ever…"
He had fought in worse conditions. But being half-blind and half-deaf against an unseen enemy was not ideal.
Then he noticed it.
Not a presence—but a near-complete absence.
A distortion where a shadow should have been stable. A faint warp to his left.
He and Saint turned simultaneously.
And there, perched atop a broken rooftop, was the creature.
A bird?
No—larger than that.
Feathers layered in unnatural hues. A pale silver mask covering its face. Two colorless eyes fixed on him with curiosity. Its head twisted too far, too smoothly.
Though Sunny wouldn't know the name, it was an Owl.
The flying Nightmare Creature from five days ago. The same one that had swooped into the chaotic battle between stone saints and iron spiders, nearly stealing Sunny's kill. It had seized its prey mid-fight and fled.
Had it been watching him ever since?
Perhaps… it was hunting him.
Sunny felt a cold clarity settle over his anger.
"So," he muttered, blood dripping down his face. "You finally decided to finish what you started, wretch?"
Saint's darkness seemed to thicken in sync with his rage.
The owl tilted its head, studying him as though puzzled by his survival. It seemed it had expected to take Sunny out with the first blow.
Then it snapped its neck back into alignment and spread its wings.
It rose into the air—
And vanished.
Not through speed alone. It was as if the starless sky swallowed it whole. Its form dissolved into the blackness as though it had always belonged there.
Sunny's stomach dropped.
It possessed the unnatural ability to either obscure its form, or blend with the surrounding area. That only fit one category.
It was a Devil. An Awakened-Devil.
He barely had time to process the conclusion before the air itself screamed.
"Shield!" he barked.
Saint braced. The impact struck like a meteor.
The last coherent thought that crossed Sunny's mind before steel and shadow met descending death was simple.
'Damnation.'