The Codex, Scourge of Nemesis.
It was more than a name or title etched into her system. It was a living reminder of what she had done, what she had promised and what she would continue to carry until the end of her existence. Unlike other Divines who bore Codices as tools or instruments to be manipulated for growth or strategy, Narisva's Codex was not hers to wield. It had formed not as a collection of abilities but as the embodiment of her vow to the world itself, to Spheraphase. She remembered the day it had crystallized in her soul.
The Starisnova Dynasty had fallen by her own hand. The Scourge of Nemesis had not been born from hatred alone, nor from ambition. It had been forged from the guidance of the Celestial whose soul now resided within her own soul.
Milkshake, her scythe, had once contained the Celestial. It had been the Celestial's will, in part, that had helped her exact vengeance upon the Starisnova Dynasty. But after her brush with death, after Veneri's intervention back in the Submerged Islands, the Celestial's soul had been transferred into her very own. She was no longer just Narisva Starisnova. She was the vessel of a Celestial and the keeper of a promise that tied her power directly to the world itself.
The Codex had been created after her family's destruction but it was not a weapon. It was a contract and it bore three irrevocable clauses. Each promise was a pillar and each pillar was a condition of her continued survival.
The first vow was simple in phrasing but brutal in consequence: she would never involve herself in the politics of the world again.
The Starisnova Dynasty had been a machine of power, influence and manipulation. She had seen firsthand how intoxicating, yet corrupting politics could be. To meddle in governance was anathema to her existence. If she broke this vow, if she ever allowed her ambitions or influence to sway the threads of nations or Dynasties, she would die instantly. And that immediacy was not metaphorical. It was enforced by the world itself.
The second vow carried more weight in her day-to-day consciousness: she would protect the people of Xypelia until a new full-blooded Celestial was born in Spheraphase.
It was a vow of guardianship that bound her to the survival of a race she was both part of and apart from. She could not walk away and abandon those who relied on her presence, for doing so would violate the terms of the contract. Yet it was not a burden she hated. She had made peace with the responsibility. There was honor in the protection of the innocent, especially for a being who had once been the instrument of annihilation. Every Xypelian she saved, every soul she lifted from the frost and fire of the Second Epoch Cycle, was a fulfillment of that vow, and every fulfillment strengthened the resonance of her Codex.
The third vow was the most personal, the most visceral: she would help the Celestial within her body exact revenge on those who had annihilated their kind.
Milkshake had once carried this Celestial. Now, it resided in her. The Celestial's vengeance, its need for justice against the annihilation of its brethren, was now intertwined with her own power. To refuse it or ignore it was to refuse a part of herself; and to refuse would be to court death itself. Yet, in this vow lay the rawest edge of her strength. The Codex did not simply bind her. It amplified her. By fulfilling this promise, she channeled her mastery of space, gravity, and dimension into a force that could not be stopped, even by the harsh laws of the world itself.
Every day she upheld the three vows. Every life she saved, every act of protection and vengeance she carried out became fuel. They were like hidden rivulets of power that fed her spatial capabilities. Her Tethers resonated with the Codex, growing in harmony with each fulfilled promise. In essence, the Codex was both a limiter and an amplifier. Break the promises, and she died; honor them, and she grew stronger than before.
In many ways, her Boon and Bane were the most intimate aspects of her being. While her Pinnacle Tethers, her Mystic Eyes and even her Codex defined what she could do, it was her Boon and Bane that defined how she experienced doing it, like all Spheraphasians.
Her Boon, Victoria Absoluta, was deceptively simple in concept but devastatingly effective in execution.
It was the principle that she would always achieve victory. To her, success was not a matter of chance but a law that followed her as faithfully as gravity followed matter. Every attack she launched, every strategic decision she made, every manipulation of space and dimension, all of it bent toward the inevitability of triumph. She could fight armies of Sunderer-ranked Krepsunas or survive impossible storms of chaos and the outcome would always bend in her favor unless she consciously chose otherwise.
It was almost intoxicating to have the certainty of victory. For a Divine like Narisva, it removed hesitation, doubt and fear. She never wasted effort wondering if her actions would fail and never had to pause to reconsider a tactic, never had to calculate contingency after contingency. The world itself seemed to bend to her will when she moved with intent Theoretically, it should have been intoxicating, it should have made her feel invincible.
But then there was the Bane, Vanitas Infinita, which was crueler than any physical threat she had faced in her existence. It was the perfect counterpoint to her Boon. Every victory she achieved, no matter how overwhelming, no matter how absolute, was hollow.
The moment the fight ended, the battlefield cleared and the last echo of destruction faded, she was left with an emptiness so profound it gnawed at the core of her consciousness. It was a void where triumph should have been. Joy, pride, relief, all were denied to her. Every victory, no matter how perfect, no matter how impossible the odds she overcame, was meaningless.
This cruel mechanism shaped her behavior in subtle ways. She became aloof in battle, detached even when surrounded by the chaos of war or the screams of her enemies. To those who watched her fight, she seemed calm, cold and almost uninterested but that was not apathy. She could destroy a Sunderer swarm with a flick of her wrist and all she would feel was the quiet, indifferent echo of emptiness.
The Bane also magnified the weight of her existence in the long term. Every life she spared, every victory she won to protect Xypelians or punish her enemies carried no emotional reward. There was no elation, no satisfaction or warmth in her chest when she emerged unscathed. Each triumph was an act of inevitability.
Allies could depend on her to succeed, to survive or annihilate threats that no one else could touch but they could not expect warmth, cheer, or even gratitude. Every time she lifted a Xypelian from the frost or obliterated a pack of Krepsunas, she did so with absolute precision and detachment.
And the cruelty of the Bane extended further. No matter the context, either rescuing innocents, dismantling enemy forces, or surviving impossible odds, the feeling of emptiness was inescapable. She could choose to allow herself to lose or deliberately fail and in those rare moments, the Bane's effect would be suspended, giving her the faintest taste of relief.
But choosing defeat in a world that demanded survival was not trivial. To lose consciously was to risk everything and endanger lives she had sworn to protect. And so she rarely, if ever, tasted even that small loophole of emotional freedom.
It was a paradox she had grown with for years. It was absolute victory at the cost of absolute emptiness. And yet, in a strange, twisted way, it had honed her further. This was the main reason why she was as strong as she was. When she explored the world after leaving the throne to her half brother, her Boon and Bane shaped her to who she is today.