Chapter 9
The ruins were still trembling from the echo of the divine voice when Nyxen opened his eyes.
The dust of collapsed heavens swirled like ash above his head, each mote pulsing faintly with the color of dying stars.
The two others—royal heirs of the dark palace—stood far from him now, their bodies faintly glowing with the blood of the same celestial lineage.
The prince was tall and lean, his eyes the color of moonlit ice, his hair white as bleached bone. A soft blue halo shimmered behind him as though even the shadows bent around his will. His name was Irael, called by many "The Silver Requiem."
The princess beside him was a storm in motion. Selara, the "Crimson Lotus," her long crimson hair tied in threads of gold, her skin pale as snow marred by scars of lightning. A spear rested in her hand, alive with silent fire.
They were not siblings by birth—but born of the same god who ruled the City of Darkness before it fell into ruin. Both stood upon the bones of that forgotten deity, eyes fixed upon the intruder who now wore the guise of a woman.
Nyxen's disguise shimmered faintly under the twilight wind—tall, fair skin pale like carved jade, black hair cascading down her back like a shadow waterfall, and eyes deep red, calm and abyssal.
A woman's form, flawless and unearthly.
The embodiment of quiet wrath.
The endless chamber stretched into horizons that curved into themselves—a world within a world, echoing eternity. Every step created ripples across the floor as though the ground were a still lake reflecting constellations.
In the heart of it all, sealed within ten thousand rings of shifting light, floated the Heaven-Sealing Sword.
It was neither gold nor silver, but a pure, colorless brilliance—like condensed reality. The hilt was wrapped in black silk that swam like liquid night, and around it coiled runes that whispered in forgotten tongues.
The sword's presence alone crushed the air. Every breath was a sin.
"Step back, outsider," Irael spoke first, his voice smooth as wind through metal. "That weapon belongs to the royal lineage. Those not born under the Eclipsed Star will perish for touching it."
Selara's lips curved. "Let her try, brother. If the sword kills her, the ruins will claim her soul."
Her eyes lingered on Nyxen's form with faint amusement. "If it spares her… I might want to know why."
Nyxen tilted her head, expression unreadable. Her voice—low, melodic—cut through the silence.
"Whoever it chooses… will ascend."
For a moment, the three simply watched one another. The silence thickened, until the palace itself began to hum.
The trial began.
Pillars of light burst from the edges of infinity. The sealed chamber reformed itself into an arena made of galaxies and bones. Stars floated beneath their feet, constellations bending into geometric sigils of combat.
The Heaven-Sealing Sword pulsed once, sending a shockwave through the domain.
Every living soul within the infinite ruin was now its witness.
Irael moved first.
The blue halo behind him expanded, forming a hundred silver swords that revolved like moons. His breathing slowed, his aura folding into absolute precision—each movement divine, clean, mathematical.
"The Sword of the Moonless Sky," he whispered.
A thousand streaks of pale light flew toward Nyxen.
But she only lifted one hand.
A petal fell.
It was not a flower—but a fragment of her Finger of Flowery Swords condensed into a single shimmer of destructive grace.
When it touched the storm of silver swords, everything dissolved.
The petals multiplied, scattering into endless blossoms that filled the air.
Each bloom was a blade.
Each blade was death.
Irael stumbled, his precision breaking under beauty too violent to comprehend.
Selara smiled then—a cruel, bright flame in the darkness.
She spun her spear once, and the floor beneath her cracked open to reveal molten rivers of fire. Her voice sang with ancient joy:
> "Dance for me, stranger!"
Flames rose like serpents. She lunged forward, spear trailing fire, eyes wild.
Nyxen moved—her every motion too fluid, too silent.
The Sword Dance of Twilight began.
Step one: Flow.
Her sword curved like a river.
Step two: Reversal.
Momentum bent backward, returning flame for flame.
Step three: Silence.
All sound vanished.
Selara's spear met an invisible strike that froze the world. The fire halted mid-air, the molten rivers ceased to move, and her heartbeat echoed once, twice—then stopped.
Her weapon shattered.
She fell to one knee, coughing blood that shimmered gold.
The silence that followed was eternal.
Only the hum of the Heaven-Sealing Sword remained, vibrating as if amused.
Nyxen turned toward it, eyes soft yet unfathomable.
Her disguise flickered for a moment, revealing the faint outline of her true self—a god drowned in mortality, reborn through hatred and mercy both.
She walked forward, each step collapsing galaxies beneath her feet.
The sword's radiance grew violent, brighter than suns, as if rejecting her existence.
"You would take what Heaven itself has sealed," the divine voice returned, trembling through the cosmos.
"You, who walk with both Buddha and Demon."
Nyxen stopped before it.
Then, quietly, she smiled.
> "Heaven sealed it," she said, "but who sealed Heaven?"
Her hand reached forward.
For an instant, her demonic aura—True Body of Mara—and her sword aura—Golden Scripture of the Unorthodox Path—merged.
Dark flame and divine light intertwined, forming a color that had no name.
The seal cracked.
The chamber screamed.
Reality shattered into mirrors.
And the sword—
—the sword opened its eye.
The next thing she saw was the void.
Endless, quiet, watching her.
The Heaven-Sealing Sword floated before her like a god made of truth.
It whispered,
> "Only one will ascend."
Behind her, Irael and Selara still lived—but barely. Their bodies burned with divine curses. Yet even they looked up, trembling, as the blade lowered itself toward Nyxen's heart.
She did not flinch.
The sword entered her chest.
Light and shadow erupted, consuming everything.
The City of Darkness—once infinite—was erased.
When the storm ended, there was no ruin left.
No sky. No floor.
Only a woman, standing upon the remains of nothing.
Her black hair danced in the cosmic wind. The Heaven-Sealing Sword rested quietly upon her back, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat.
A faint whisper echoed across the void—
a thousand voices, the remnants of gods and demons alike.
> "The Unorthodox Path has ascended."