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.
Along the inner path of the Bright Castle wall, Nephis walked alone.
The stone beneath her feet was warm, despite there being no sun to give warmth. Regardless, she felt none of it.
The last few days had clung to her thoughts like the unforgettable blood of comrades. The tremor—the flood—Cassie's vision and Gunlaug's visit.
None of it fit together…
Nephis did not show it. Her face remained calm, as if carved from pale marble.
Internally, however, her thoughts were coiled and in chaos.
It was not survival that troubled her. Survival was simple—you endured or you did not.
It was the meaning behind the quaking earth that lingered in her mind.
The Spire's growth. The strange escalation in Nightmare Creatures. Gunlang descending from his own castle like a benevolent tyrant, just to save a few commoners.
And 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 as multiple cracks could be heard under careless boots.
And there he was, right in the middle of it.
The Lord of the Bright Castle had not sent a hunter.
Not even an emissary.
He had come himself.
That alone sent alarms ringing in Nephis's mind.
Nephis had always believed Gunlang would sooner watch the settlement burn than interfere in its defense. At most, he might send one of his loyal hounds to observe. Perhaps to collect debts later.
But he had descended in person.
That meant he wanted something.
Thirty minutes after his grand speech to the settlement, the cohort gathered once more in the abandoned house they used for planning.
Only this time, there were five Sleepers inside.
Caster stood near the entrance, his [Bone Flute] already summoned. A veil of silence wrapped around the room, swallowing any stray sounds.
Effie leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, though the scowl on her face was undeniable.
Cassie stood near Nephis with her hands lightly clasped, listening intently.
Nephis remained at the opposite side of the table.
It was just them. And considering Gunlang spoke first, he didn't want to waste any time.
"Ah! How welcome I feel. To sit in the presence of the illustrious Changing Star… truly, an honor. Though I assure you, I did not come out of generosity."
Effie's lip twitched downward. Caster watched carefully, already having prepared for a confrontation. Just not so soon.
After all, what Gunlang just said… sounded like a threat.
Nephis met Gunlaug's gaze. White sparks flickered faintly in hers.
"Why are you here?"
Straight to the point.
Gunlang spread his hands as if wounded by the lack of ceremony. "Come now. Surely you've guessed! I came to speak."
Nephis stepped forward and placed both hands on the table. The others shifted subtly behind her.
"Then speak. Have you come to join forces?"
Gunlang regarded her in silence.
"Well… that depends entirely on you, my dear." Though Nephis couldn't see it, she could tell based on his tone that he was smiling. "You only undermine my rule. You sow dissent… Frankly, Changing Star, I grow tired of your insolence."
Nephis's lip curved faintly.
"And why do you think that is, Gunlang? You are the one that's given up, are you not? You are a coward that's gotten fat and complacent. Sitting here on these godforsaken Shores and imposing your heinous rule upon others. If you are tired of my insolence, I tire of your weakness."
Gunlang tilted his head. "…Weak? Weak, you say."
For a moment, his voice softened unnaturally. "Are you challenging me, Changing Star?"
"If you wish."
For a moment, tension filled the room.
Effie's hand hovered, already ready to summon the Zenith Shard. Caster's Jade Jian rested in its sheath, already called from his Soul Sea.
Gunlang, though, suddenly dropped his hands with a light laugh.
"Oh, how delightful. I would enjoy crushing you here and now, but that would defeat the purpose of my visit. Come now, tell me—have you deduced why I came?"
Caster and Effie glanced at Nephis.
Nephis answered evenly. "The flood of Nightmare Creatures. Is your castle struggling?"
Gunlang barked a short laugh.
"Struggling? Hardly. Not a single beast has breached my walls. My people remain safe beneath my strength." His gaze drifted to the right. "Unlike yours."
Effie snorted. "So you came all the way down here just to shelter us for a price? Plea—"
"No, dear Effie." His gaze flicked to her, briefly amused. "Though I appreciate the assumption."
Silence settled again.
Gunlang tapped a finger on his gold chin.
"I confess, I am… surprised. None of you have noticed."
Nephis's brow rose slightly. "Noticed what?"
He lowered his hand slowly. "…So it is true."
Cassie suddenly stiffened. At that, Nephis realized it a moment too late. He had been fishing.
Now he knew.
Gunlang rose from the chair. The once-playful, charismatic tone vanished from his voice.
"The Crimson Coral spreads from the Spire. You've all seen the Messengers. But do you truly understand what stirs within the west?"
No one spoke, so he continued.
"Tell me, are your people aware of the calamity approaching?"
Cassie's fingers tightened around Nephis's own. The message delivered between them was clear.
Gunlang was not concerned about the flood of Nightmare Creatures. Or perhaps he was not afraid of it.
"The true calamity," he had said.
Cassie went pale.
'The Disasters.'
If he knew… had one already arrived?
Nephis felt the shift beside her. She sighed quietly before answering.
"You speak of the Disasters."
Gunlang, though it could not be seen, blinked in surprise. "Oh? Then perhaps you lot aren't entirely blind."
Caster, adopting a mild and curious tone, stepped forward slightly.
"Disasters? That is unfamiliar to me." He offered a polite smile. "Would you care to elaborate?"
Gunlaug's golden helm turned slightly toward Nephis.
"Keeping secrets from your own companions? How unsightly, Changing Star."
Nephis did not look at Caster or Effie, despite them both turning toward her with curiosity.
Her gaze remained fixed on the Bright Lord.
The air in the room seemed to rise slightly with heat. The faint white light in her eyes tempered.
Gunlang exhaled. "Very well. The Disasters." His voice took on a quieter tone. "Few know of them, and even fewer of who they were. The Drowned. The Silver Wing. The Hydra. The Mindless Legion."
Each title carried weight.
"Legends… or so I once believed."
Caster's polite smile did not falter, but he was quite displeased to know that Nephis was potentially keeping information from the cohort. Or more accurately, from him.
Effie straightened from the wall, listening intently. Cassie did as well.
Gunlang tapped one armored finger against the table.
"I assumed they were embellishments in the ruined tablets scattered across this forsaken land. Mere fragments of history, twisted by time." He lingered a moment before saying evenly: "Until I sent a hunting party west."
His voice lost its edge of amusement.
"What I believed… well, was proven quite incorrect."
Nephis's eyes narrowed.
"Did you encounter one?"
Gunlaug's helmet inclined toward her.
"If I had, Changing Star, you would not be speaking to me right now. In fact, none of us would, for we'd all already be dead."
Silence took the room once more. Though this time, the air felt colder, for even the Bright Lord had admitted that he could not face these calamities and live.
Cassie decided to speak before the silence could stretch too long.
"Bright Lord," she asked softly, urgency in her voice. "Which Disaster did you see?"
Gunlang studied her a moment.
Then he abandoned the performance entirely.
"…The most dreadful one," he said. "The Disaster of the West. The Silver Wing of the Evil Star."
He took a breath and continued, as if disturbed by the memory. "A catastrophe—no, a force of nature. A warped abomination born of something that had once been a Saint."
Effie frowned. "Silver Wing of the Evil Star?"
Gunlang released a slow breath.
"I sometimes forget how long I've endured on this Shore. I have ventured into the Dark Sea many times. In its depths, I found fragments—tablets, carvings, and incomplete histories."
He turned slightly toward Nephis.
"Tell me, Changing Star. What do you know of Constellia?"
For the first time, Nephis's composure cracked.
Only slightly, of course. But it did not go unnoticed.
She was… uncertain. She had never heard the name before, and it disturbed her.
Caster repeated the word in a low tone. "Constellia…?"
Gunlang observed all their reactions and nodded once.
"Yes… yes. I expected as much! No one speaks its name. I salvaged some of the tablets, yet others still remain beneath the sea. But to quench your curiosity—Constellia was the civilization that thrived here long before even the Seven Heroes."
The room seemed to tilt.
Nephis had come here with the assumption that the Forgotten Shore was at its prime during the age of the Seven Heroes. Though for no good reason, she had assumed their era was the beginning.
To hear of something far, far older…
Her thoughts churned.
Cassie leaned forward slightly.
"…Was it full of forests and rivers?" she asked.
Gunlaug's helmet angled toward her.
"How curious." A faint note of intrigue crept into his voice. "Well, yes! The texts describe such things. Lush lands, flowing water. A world untouched by coral and ash, as we have here."
He paused.
"Though… these are ruined records. Physical ones—not bestowed by the Spell itself. I trust them only as far as their fragments allow."
Cassie's fingers trembled. Why? Because she had seen it.
The lush forests and rivers were in her vision. Thus, they couldn't be simple fabrications of history. They were quite real.
Yet, in that same vision, the Disasters were born. And further still, somehow, Sunny was going to be involved in the Disasters' upcoming futures.
He was there in every vision, after all. She couldn't tell if he was watching, fighting, dying, or surviving.
Her stomach tightened. She didn't like thinking of Sunny in any of those scenarios, completely on his own. Though they had separated, she still cared deeply about him.
But her stomach dropped a little.
If the Disasters were real… if one had already woken…
Where did Sunny fit into it all?
And the king?
There had been a king in her visions. A crowned figure.
Why had Gunlang never mentioned him?
Cassie lifted her chin.
"Have you read of a king?" she asked carefully.
Gunlang stilled before turning his gaze toward her.
"A king, you say?"
She nodded.
He considered the question for a moment, then shook his head.
"No such figure appeared in the fragments I possess."
Cassie's heart sank.
So that part belonged only to her sight.
Suddenly, Gunlang straightened.
"But we waste time." His voice hardened. "The petty rivalry between us is meaningless now."
Effie let out a short, humorless laugh.
Nephis, though, understood perfectly.
"So I was correct. You came to propose an alliance."
Gunlang gave a small shrug.
"If you prove adaptable."
His helmet turned toward the shuttered window, toward the distant black horizon.
"You will soon understand… that the Forgotten Shore approaches its end."
Those words struck like a bell. Truly, that was quite the statement. All but Nephis seemed to react to those words.
Gunlang stepped away from the table.
"Changing Star of the Immortal Flame Clan, think of me as craven if it comforts you. I have survived eight years on this wasteland. I once attempted to storm the Spire itself."
Nephis's eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment.
"…You did not know that, did you?" he added.
She had not.
Or… he was lying?
"Get to the point," she said coldly. "Your voice wearies me."
Gunlang inclined his head.
"Very well."
He turned slightly. "Any dream you harbor of charging the Spire, now or later, will crumble. Soon, even my Bright Castle will fall. None of us will survive if we remain divided." His tone lost its arrogance. "Relocation—cooperation—survival. That is the only path forward."
Nephis's lips curved faintly.
"And… do tell, why should I believe you?"
Gunlang slowly lifted one gauntleted hand.
"Because each of the Four Disasters once lived and breathed as Saints." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Which, as you must know, means they are Corrupted now."
He turned his gaze and pointed west—
"And because one has already 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 castle walls.
Gunlang had come to her with the same intention she had been cultivating in silence. Unity—not out of any sort of trust, but necessity. The flood of abominations was only the surface problem. She knew that now.
What lay beyond it was something older, and far stronger.
The difference between them was not the idea. No. It was knowledge.
Gunlang knew more than anyone else. And he had not shared all of it.
So she had sent him away, initially at least. Nephis hadn't outright refused him—since she planned to ally with him herself—yet she had delayed it.
She… she needed time.
Not only to consider strategy. But to confront herself.
Nephis did not bend to the will of this world—the world bent to hers.
That was the law she had been forced to live by since childhood.
Allying with Gunlang was not a submission of her will. She wasn't kneeling to the bastard—nor was anything being compromised. It was simply… survival. They were all Sleepers, what else were they supposed to do? At least in this scenario, she could still have some resemblance of control.
And yet it tasted so bitter. He was stronger than her—and that was a fact.
He, through methods of a tyrant and cowardice, had survived eight years here. And even in those eight years, he had gathered fragments of lost history.
In this situation, Gunlang was five steps ahead.
He was a tyrant—a coward who gave into the Spell. She despised him for it—the traitor.
And still, he stood above her in strength. What did that say about her?
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 godhood.
It was quite something to wrap one's head around. Beings who had walked the path of ascension, only to fall and become something warped beyond recognition.
Corrupted and ancient. Sleeping for millennia.
…What had woken them?
The quake couldn't have been random. 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 it.
What force could rouse entities that had endured thousands of years without succumbing to death?
Why had they fallen in the first place?
Who had they been before corruption claimed them?
Heroes? Kings? Saints who defied something they should not have?
The questions multiplied—the answers remained out of reach.
Nephis rarely allowed herself the luxury of uncertainty.
Only when she truly knew she was alone did she stop walking.
No one watched her—no one could see.
Her grip tightened against the stone wall—
And suddenly, a sound tore from her throat. It was the rawest sound she could produce in the moment, ripped free before she could restrain it.
A cry that vanished into the wind.
For even she had limits. She was still human, after all.
The thought of standing beside someone like Gunlang sickened her. The thought of losing against him sickened her even more.
But that was not what pained her so.
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, what about Sunny?
There was no comforting illusion any longer. No silent hope that he would somehow survive.
A Corrupted Nightmare Creature.
The gap between Fallen and Corrupted was not incremental—it was absolute. Corrupted beings were the equivalent of Saints, transcendents. Entities who had some way of bending the world to their wills.
Sleepers were insects by comparison.
There was no outrunning such a thing. You couldn't simply maneuver your way around it. You simply couldn't hide long enough for it to lose interest.
Nephis's own chances of survival were already low. Sunny? By himself? He stood no chance.
If he had been at her side, it would be different. They would have devised something. As long as he was here… she would have forced a path through the impossible.
But he was not.
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 dead.
Her heart felt like a depth without bottom, filled with something she couldn't put a name to.
Every day, the temptation grew stronger.
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 face it together.
…She despised herself for even considering it. 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.
'There is no solution.'
Charging the Crimson Spire in the coming months had already been an audacious plan. It had required unity among all Sleepers. A single decisive strike before death took them all.
Now that fantasy lay in ruins. 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.
The Crimson Terror must still live. Its influence lingered, even after the battle ended.
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 that had once been a Saint—the Crimson Terror would be dead.
Instead… both survived.
Suddenly, she realized it. This must have meant something of weakness.
Nephis's breathing slowed—but her mind sharpened.
And then, she pushed herself upright abruptly, eyes widening.
If the Silver Wing was weakened…
Then the others must be as well.
They had all been asleep for thousands of years, and had only recently awakened.
Dormancy left its marks.
Corrupted Creatures, yes. But thoroughly diminished.
Her thoughts accelerated, precise now instead of chaotic and self-loathing.
No known minions had appeared. None of the Disasters seen so far had sent hordes directly toward them.
That suggested they were not Tyrants commanding armies of lesser beings.
So… Devils. Corrupted-Devils at minimum.
Still monstrous and far beyond them, but Devils nonetheless.
If reduced further by age or incomplete recovery, perhaps closer to the threshold of a Fallen-Terror.
The Silver Wing—as the name implied—possessed the ability to fly. It could traverse the continent much faster than its brethren, hunting freely across the skies.
Yet it had engaged the Crimson Terror prematurely, and retreated at that.
It was injured. This was not the behavior of a being at full strength.
It had either miscalculated, or had been desperate. It must have feared something the Crimson Terror possessed. Or simply, the Terror was too dangerous to let live.
Either way, it bled. It bled quite heavily.
Nephis stared into the darkness. Her despair had thinned by a large margin, replaced with something she had grown quite familiar with.
Calculations. The situation was suddenly not so hopeless.
The Disasters were not invincible demi-gods. They were ancient predators, newly awakened, wounded, and hungry.
That did not make them manageable, however.
It simply made them more mortal. And if they were mortal… they could be killed.
Nephis drew in a slow breath, the night air cold in her lungs, and spoke the realization aloud to make sure it was truly real.
"Each of the Disasters… are in their weakest states."
The words steadied her a thousand times over.
Some of them were likely trying to remember how to even fight.
At the thought, Cassie surfaced in her mind. What she had said was no longer a vague omen, but a puzzle to be dissected.
A sacrifice. A legion that wished to 'contain.' Seven priests molded into one.
Nephis frowned slightly, turning the possibility over in her mind. A Nightmare Creature formed from seven bodies fused together would explain both multiplicity and singular presence. A composite abomination. Alternatively, a shared mind fragmented across several vessels.
The latter was far more frightening.
Either way, it was coherent.
Then… the sacrifice. Cassie had described rot—no—poison. A spreading affliction that spewed from its body. Perhaps a being whose affinity lay not in brute force but in contamination. A Disaster that didn't kill through claws, but instead infected its victims with various poisons.
That would be quite the trial. Thankfully, with her soul flame, she could simply burn the poison from her body. The others—the cohort and Gunlang—would have to come up with solutions of their own.
And then there were the weapons. Or rather, the relics Cassie had seen in her vision.
Artifacts crafted specifically to counter each Disaster, Nephis assumed.
Forged with the intent to put these monstrosities down, someone of the ancient civilization must have known the bane of each and every Disaster. Yet they were only wielded by chosen hands that died before they could fulfill their purpose.
And… a thousand years had passed, at least.
Metal rusted and cities crumbled. Coral consumed entire landscapes, and worse, the Dark Sea took the rest.
If such weapons still existed… they were either buried beneath ruin, guarded by terrible horrors, or had already dissolved into nothing.
Gunlang had scoured the Dark Sea and retrieved fragments of history. If he had discovered even a whisper of these weapons, he would have claimed them.
Which meant one of two things.
Either he had found nothing. Or he was withholding even that.
Nephis's expression hardened a moment.
The probability of locating ancient anti-Disaster relics through blind searching was negligible at best.
And yet, hope did not require probability. It only required a possibility.
As long as there was a single path forward, however narrow, she would carve it.
She exhaled slowly. For now came the more immediate matter.
Gunlang and the alliance.
It was obvious. The settlement could not withstand the endless influx alone. The Nightmare Creatures came in waves, testing their defenses time and time again, probing for weaknesses that would show sooner or later. Even without the coral's spread, the pressure was constant. Exhaustion was accumulating and their supplies would soon dwindle.
The people waited for her answer.
She was not blind to the reality that Gunlang would not have come personally unless his position had grown precarious. Rumors had already spread through the settlement. There were arguments within the Bright Castle—discontent among his own guard at the prospect of joining forces, not unanimously welcomed.
Of course, he had overridden them. Regardless of their thoughts, he was king of the castle.
That alone revealed the severity of the threat.
Nephis still viewed him as a coward. A man who submitted to the Nightmare Spell—unforgivable, in her book.
But Corrupted-Devils. Transcendents twisted by a thousand years of rot. That was not a threat one dismissed for pride.
She pushed herself fully upright and began walking along the wall once more, her steps now calm and measured.
She was Changing Star of the Immortal Flame Clan.
Her existence was not meant to remain on this land as it was.
It was meant to change it.
Indeed, she would ally with Gunlang. But she would not trust him.
She couldn't trust him or his guard to not slit their throats while they slept. Her cohort would remain within her immediate reach at all times.
But Gunlang possessed advantages she could not ignore. He could engage multiple Fallen Beasts and Monsters without being overwhelmed. Additionally, his Aspect would allow him to dominate the Dark Sea—something they would soon need in earnest. He commanded numerous offensive Aspect users, supported by those who could craft. And hell, he had supplies within his fortified walls.
Nephis, by contrast, was forced to ignite her Aspect to decisively handle even a single Fallen opponent. Her power was devastating, but it was not sustainable for prolonged, repeated engagements. Not as it was now, at least.
Strategically, the choice was obvious.
Emotionally, it was intolerable.
Still, she would make it.
What Gunlang did not know was that her acceptance would not mean the surrender of her ambitions. Relocation—cooperation—defense. All of these were temporary measures.
Whether the golden man liked it or not, the Disasters would have to be confronted, eventually.
The Dark City lay dangerously close to the southern expanse. If the Disaster of the South stirred before the Silver Wing returned, they might encounter it first during relocation.
The Bright Castle could not hold indefinitely. Even if the coral had stalled and the Spire Messengers ceased, the natural influx of Nightmare Creatures would continue. And the so-called peak of the tide was likely not its true peak at all.
Pressure would increase, walls would fall—so movement was inevitable.
And within that movement lay her opportunity.
She needed Sunny to see it.
When they relocated in large groups, crossing open terrain in numbers impossible to miss, he had to notice it. He was perceptive—damn near paranoid, but resourceful.
He would understand. Or he would already be dead.
If she was enduring this crucible, then Sunny was enduring something worse. It was a simple conclusion, considering he was alone and being hunted by countless creatures.
Nephis was starting to find it increasingly difficult to maintain the internal 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, posture once more composed, expression carved from pale 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.'