The Queen of Nightmare promptly arrived at the glorious structures of grey stone, which were still illuminated by the flickering glow of her makeshift torch.
'Thankfully, I can just trickle my essence into it to keep it active,' she questioned internally, hoping for a miraculous answer, though she received none. 'Though it would be nice if I could create more permanent runes... or perhaps there are different types? That's for another day, I suppose.'
Outside the central spire — which looked like a cross between a sprawling palace and a grand temple — stood a small battalion of stone warriors.
No, could they even be called Stone Saints? These sentinels seemed far more advanced, their proportions more perfect in every way compared to their predecessors. Their skin possessed the texture of smooth, polished marble rather than rough stone.
"Oh, please," Asteria murmured, eyeing the line of silent guardians. "I don't want to fight you. Just let me pass and we can all be good friends, alright?"
To Asteria's utter surprise, the Marble Saints — as she promptly dubbed them — shifted in unison. They created a perfectly straight walkway through the middle of their ranks, parting to grant her access toward a great door at the base of the spire.
"Well, thank you!" She cheerfully nodded, taking her next strides with a sudden burst of confidence. It felt as though she had been granted a personal escort toward her eventual truths.
Stepping inside the spire, however, the interior looked nothing like the outside.
The hall was in complete ruins, lost to utter chaos. The load-bearing stone was heavily cracked, and chunks of the ceiling were actively crumbling, as if the entire structure would give way any second — perhaps while she was standing right underneath it. Broken fragments of what Asteria assumed were older Stone Saints littered the floors, completely covering the ancient stone below.
There were tens — no, hundreds of them smashed to pieces.
Asteria glanced back the way she came, her gaze landing on the miniature cohort of Marble Saints who had allowed her entry. "They're not planning on locking the doors and slaughtering me, are they?" She chuckled nervously, seriously believing her own words for a moment.
She walked slowly down the corridor, trying to calm her racing nerves at what she might see at the end of this long hall. There were ancient runes carved into the walls, ones the Spell thankfully translated for her eyes.
They read:
"The war was lost and so the Daemon of Destiny created instead.
He abandoned his interests, deep resentment fueling his creations upon which he gave them her face.
The Black Skies were said to laugh, to tease and to make our creator hateful and resentful."
'Well, isn't that miserable,' Asteria thought, shaking her head. 'Who could make a Daemon that angry? A God, maybe?' She dismissed the thought quickly, not wanting to imagine the conflicts between the Divine just yet.
Asteria continued reading the creeping runes, and as her eyes scanned the next passage, her heart threatened to stop.
"A man named Aemedon came.
"He came to convince our creator to leave us and fight again.
Our creator left us here, abandoned some of us to fight a war, and while he waged war — we fought to understand his choices.
Why must he leave us? Why must he abandon his children?
Were we failures? Were we not enough?
We fought each other instead."
Asteria finally reached the end of the dreadful, dark corridor, which was full of tales that told the Prince of the Underworld's story — even if it was only a small fraction of it.
***
The Queen of Nightmare stood face to face with another door. Large, violent scratch marks cluttered its surface, most definitely carved by a highly skilled swordsman, and most likely one of Nether's own creations.
Perhaps there was a mindless warmonger waiting behind this door, the sole survivor who fought and conquered until there was absolutely no one left to fight.
Pushing open the heavy door with her palms, Asteria's nose was hit with a multitude of thick scents: ash, dirt, grime, and... old blood.
There was a lone figure crouched on the floor, made entirely of a dark, polished material — almost as dark as the True Darkness outside. It resembled the midnight sky; it looked like pristine, gleaming onyx. It was exactly what Asteria feared most at this moment.
One of Nether's strongest children, who had fought and conquered every single person who challenged them.
Asteria swallowed nervously. "Oh... I'm going to die, aren't I?"
The Saint of Onyx slowly stood, its domineering height rising multiple heads taller than the small Queen of Nightmare. The Saint held a long, dark sword that seamlessly blended into the darkness around it, and two glowing crimson eyes burned underneath the visor of its helmet.
A single thought continuously ran through Asteria's head.
Terrifying.
The soldier pulled its equally dark blade from the ground — the metal appearing to drink the minimal amounts of light that permeated the room from a few lamps hung on the walls — and stood ready to strike.
"Are we really doing this?" She laughed nervously, her voice trembling in the quiet room. "I just want to learn some things and go home, okay?"
She stumbled back on her feet as she encased her lithe body in a much thicker layer of the [Might of Gold], even if the heavy armor restricted her movement. Asteria wasn't entirely sure she could take a direct hit from that dark sword without being sliced clean into two pieces.
She remodelled the [Sentinel's Heart], transforming it back into a beautiful longsword of starlight once more. The single red vein along the metal pulsed in perfect tune with her own frantic heartbeat, the blade raring to go.
Asteria, however, was not ready. Not in the slightest.
The Statue of Midnight, however, was ready to face another foe.
CRACK.
The Statue lunged, its blade pointing directly at Asteria's chest, aiming to pierce straight through her core. Asteria barely had any time to deflect or launch a counter-attack — that's just how blindingly fast the creature moved.
Locking blades with the fanatical statue, the impact rattled her bones. Up close, Asteria could see the Saint's armor and equipment were far more damaged than she had first imagined. The onyx plating was coated in a web of cracks, some shallow and some remarkably deep. They were filled with old ash, and a thick, red substance oozed out of the deepest fractures.
It seemed the Saint had not emerged without irreparable damage during its bloody conquest of its own race throughout the years.
Luck was evidently on Asteria's side.
'Even if it's damaged and weakened, it's still stronger than me... but I can keep up, barely,' she mused, hoping she could land a decisive blow quickly rather than engaging in a prolonged fight.
Asteria's eyes scanned the Saint as they clashed blades, neither letting the other take an inch as they danced through the makeshift arena of broken corpses. The Queen of Nightmare quickly found the precise reason why she could keep up in speed but not in raw strength — one of the Saint's legs was noticeably more cracked than the rest of its body, leaving its movement slightly rugged and predictable.
'The legs, of course...' she dryly laughed internally. 'It's not like they're stronger than I am and won't let me get close, right?'
That wasn't to say Asteria was without a plan at all, though.
CRACK. CLASH. CREAK.
Their blades met and sparks flew, their bodies moving in a synchronised dance of blood, stone, and sweat. Asteria was sweating from nervousness, the intense heat, and a scornful feeling from the darkness itself that gripped at her skin, cutting deeper into her flesh and deeper even more into her corrupted soul.
The Queen of Nightmare's plan was paying off, even if it was a slow, agonising process. She had formed and deformed sharp blades at her feet, allowing her to trace an intricate pattern into the stone below during their hectic dance. Asteria was, after all, quite good at fighting against foes of darkness.
And just like that, a blooming light was born — a radiant, miniature sun bursting into existence amidst the carnage of cuts, blood, and corpses of the arena they had danced in.
Light!
Since the Queen of Nightmare was a creature of the daytime and not secluded to the depths of the Underworld, she adjusted to the sudden, swift change in illumination instantly.
Even if she only got a single moment's worth of time ahead of her opponent, she would take it. The Saint was staring directly at the bright light, unable to comprehend what its opponent had just created, completely losing focus on the fight at hand.
SCRAPE. CRACK.
Asteria's blade found its way into the crevices and joints of the Saint's horribly damaged leg, causing the stone to crumble under the impact. Part of the dark onyx shell of the Saint shattered, scattering across the arena floor.
Stumbling to stay upright on one leg, the Saint collapsed heavily among its dead brothers and sisters, whom it had coldly slaughtered in a bid to become the strongest child of their creator in the Underworld.
Asteria stood above the fallen Saint, her blade poised at the creature's cracked chest, wincing as she tightened her grip.
SMASH.
Asteria... went flying.
Even without a blade, the statue could fight confidently with its bare hands. Even without a leg, the creature could still stand.
"Ack!" Coughing up her own blood due to the sudden impact, Asteria grimaced as she felt the bruises piling up on her small figure beneath the molten gold armor.
The Saint's balance was perfect as it stood opposing the Queen of Nightmare on one leg, its heavy fists raised in a defensive stance to block any attacks that came its way.
Unfortunately, that wasn't a problem for the insatiable Queen of Nightmare as she came barreling through the dust, her jaw clenched, her teeth gritted, and her eyes full of raw malice.
"Why can't you just stay down and die?!" The Queen roared, coiling her arm back and transforming the [Sentinel's Heart] into a shining spear of starlight.
CRACK...
A brief pause.
...BOOM.
A thunderous bang echoed through the arena after Asteria threw her starlit spear at the weakened Saint. The spear pierced directly through the shoulder of the statue, pulling it back and pinning it securely to the ashen stone wall at the far side of the room.
The speed at which the spear was thrown completely broke the sound barrier — and the weapon itself broke through the Saint's onyx armour like it was simple paper.
Asteria was determined and truly spiteful towards this creature, who fought on when it should have laid down to die in front of her.
"Who do you think you are, wretched piece of stone?" Asteria huffed angrily, running towards the pinned Saint as fast as her legs could carry her.
The Queen of Nightmare arrived at the wall, the Saint pinned firmly in place with the starlit blade buried deep through the blackened armor. She hurriedly morphed the [Might of Gold] into a great battle-axe and forced the heavy edge down upon the Saint's helmet.
[You have slain, Corrupted Demon: Onyx Saint]
[You have received a memory: Mantle of Choices]
Asteria huffed, trying to breathe slowly in an attempt to calm her seething anger at such a display. No, it was wrong to say she was angry. She had fought an opponent who was obviously weakened, and yet it still fought its absolute hardest — overpowering a perfectly healthy and almost refreshed Queen of Nightmare and nearly winning the exchange.
The Onyx Saint had one of its legs crumble to dust, its weapon shattered, and yet it still fought. It still pushed her back until the Queen of Nightmare had enough and dealt with her anger towards herself.
She was weak.
She knew she was weak.
All she wanted was strength so people didn't push her around, so she could live in luxury, safety, and at the very least — help people.
But Asteria knew she was pitifully weak to the point where she only won her battles due to her opponent's misfortune and her own equipment, which was an entire rank above herself. She couldn't do anything by her own power, and that's exactly what she was angry about.
The Spell gave her gifts... Weaver pitied her...
It was dehumanizing. Even if she wasn't truly human anymore — she was just another corrupted creature who somehow managed to stay sane. She was pitiful, weak, undeserving of the title of a Queen, and yet somehow she was pushed into this role she was never supposed to have.
She had questions in her head, answers she desperately wanted to know but didn't wish to hear, else they might shatter her more than she already was internally.
What is strength? She wondered. Is it brute force? Is it intelligence? Is it technique? Is it the equipment on her back, or the allies she can gather? Why can't she be strong like...
Like Nephis.
Someone who knows exactly what she wants and will do anything to get it without sparing the cost. Someone who can rally a group behind her that can support her. Someone who has the willpower and drive to push for greater heights when she has already reached a peak most people would dream of.
'Why can't I be like her?' she mumbled, collapsing directly to the ground.
And so, tears fell from the Queen of Nightmare's face — tears she should have shed a long time ago.
***
Asteria finally calmed herself down, sitting quietly in the silence of the Underworld's arena, surrounded by the True Darkness.
The Queen of Nightmare had a job to do and things to uncover. She had a goal.
Strength and Answers.
Her Aspect Legacy might finally shine a light on both.
After all, she was the Seeker of Truth, and who would dare try to stop her?
Turning her gaze upwards, Asteria saw runes deeply inscribed on the stone, almost flawlessly preserved against the age. But nonetheless, the Spell translated the text for her.
"Failure after failure.
How did the Gods create life? I asked myself this a number of times. How did they create the body, the soul...