[Aethel]
[Location: Galadriel Kingdom]
[Outskirts]
The sky above had lost its usual brilliance. Once a dome of blue had now become smeared with hues of gray and a deep black. It was as though the skies had been burnt.
Guinevere flew high above it all, her dress fluttered violently behind her, the residual turbulence of mana bursting in the distance.
Below her, chaos bloomed.
Villages now crumbled beneath the encroaching darkness. Entire hamlets were engulfed by crawling shadows—no, not shadows, she corrected herself—entities. Ink-black, malformed aberrations with too many limbs, with wrong-shaped skulls, some eyeless, some with too many, their flesh writhing as though it could not decide what it was trying to become. Some slithered on broken soil. Others galloped on hooves and twisted claw-feet. Still others crawled upside down along the undersides of trees or scaled mountain faces in reverse, dragging entire structures with them.
Guinevere's eyes scanned the devastation. Below her, a young boy with ash-smeared cheeks was yanked into the air by a tendril-like clawed hand, screaming. His mother chased after him, only to be split into ribbons by a swipe from a creature with a mouth stretched from neck to groin, vomiting black liquid.
And they just kept coming.
From cracks in the sky. From the torn earth. From the woods. They poured in endlessly, devouring everything in their path. Forests were no longer tranquil. She watched a glade erupt as ten creatures tore through a tree's bark, ripping them apart. Animals and rogue Astrothians alike fell indiscriminately.
There were too many to count.
Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. What could she say to this?
"Absurd. There are already this many?" Her eyes trailed over the burning valley ahead, and the infinite blackness still pouring in from the skies. "This is... an infestation already in full bloom."
She angled downward, banking left as a streak of violet-black flame arced past her—one of the larger creatures had spotted her, a multi-winged serpent of voidstuff and dripping entrails. It screeched, a sound like metal scraped against metal, and flung itself toward her. She vanished before it could touch her, blinking in a ripple of light, reappearing higher and farther away.
Still, the creature did not pursue. There was too much to feast on already. The land was helpless beneath it.
Guinevere's face remained still—too still. But behind that stoic mask, her mind churned.
"How are there already this many...?"
She drifted to a hover above a ridge, her heels grazing the stone beneath her as she watched a town in the distance collapse as dark appendages wrapped around its many structures and pulled them down.
"We weren't ready." She clicked her tongue.
Behind her, another town fell. Screams rose, swallowed one by one.
The black sky above groaned as a new tear formed—massive and bleeding darkness. Something immense stirred beyond it.
Guinevere narrowed her eyes.
She ignited her aura and shot forward once more, toward the next town under siege. And still, deep within her thoughts, the same bitter phrase repeated like a curse:
"Too many."
Villages once vibrant with the chatter of livestock, the laughter of children, and the clatter of daily routine, now lay sundered. Whole rooftops split in half. Smoke curled in thick spirals. Entire rivers ran black—not with ash, but with an impossible substance that defied elemental classification.
There were thousands.
No—more.
Far more.
"They're multiplying," she whispered under her breath.
Her gaze swept across the distant skies—and there, her eyes caught a glimpse of the capital. Order was still enforced by immense walls.
And they were holding. For now.
Hundreds—perhaps thousands—of black abominations clawed and thrashed at the gates and walls of the city. They hissed, shrieked, and howled. Their limbs snapped and reshaped, trying to find purchase. But they could not enter. The walls held.
Guinevere's lips tightened into a line.
"Good," she muttered. "They hold."
But even as the words left her mouth, her gaze darkened.
Because they were gathering in droves.
No longer content to wander the forests and smaller provinces, the black abominations had begun to consolidate. She could see it in their movement—no longer directionless. No longer wild. They were organizing.
And if the speed of their convergence continued at this exponential rate—days, no, hours from now—even Galadriel would fall.
"Not long now…" she thought grimly. "They will breach these walls."
Below her, the creatures hissed—dozens of heads tilting upward as if sensing her presence. Violet slits for eyes glared at her.
"So they can sense intent now," she whispered. "Or maybe they already could."
She dipped lower.
Mana laced her heels, adjusting her flight as she arced closer to the capital.
As she flew just above the city's protective dome, her gaze fell to the people below—soldiers readying for battle. Sorcerers readying defensive wards. Citizens huddled in mass shelters. Children sobbing, unaware of what was happening. Unaware that their world teetered on the precipice.
Her heart cracked—but did not break.
"So many lives," she thought. "So many souls I've ignored for the sake of playing court mage…"
She hovered in place for a heartbeat longer, eyes locked on the black tide beyond the wall.
A sudden, sharp voice echoed.
"Lady Guinevere!"
The voice snapped Guinevere's attention skyward. Through the clouds, a figure approached with staggering speed.
Lucinda.
But not as she was before. The radiant form of her Arcane Ascendance was gone.
She came to a stop and hovered beside Guinevere, her breath uneven, her eyes wide and frantic. The chaotic screeches of the black horrors below clawed at her ears.
"This… all of this… Is this truly what that Ancestor meant?" she asked, voice trembling. The words barely escaped her lips as she stared at the earth below, now riddled with dark creatures, collapsed towns, and ruined forests.
Guinevere didn't immediately answer.
Her lilac eyes stared out across the land. Whole villages had already been consumed.
"It's good that you're here, Lucinda." Guinevere started. "We'll need every soul willing to fight if we're to weather what's coming." She let her words hang in the air for a moment, before continuing. "And yes… this would be called a calamity. I don't know the full details. No one does. But what I do know is this: the realm is under siege. And not from something natural."
Her eyes finally met Lucinda's.
"The Festival of Octavia has been abandoned. The entire world is waking to this horror now. What we face is not isolated… it's everywhere."
Lucinda's breath caught. Her gaze fell, shoulders sinking slightly under what she heard. There was a tightness in her chest.
"…They were beyond the world as well," she finally murmured. "I saw them. These things—they weren't just towering. They weren't just large. They were… absurd."
She shook her head, a strand of white hair curling over her eye.
"What could we even do against that?"
Guinevere watched her, but did not answer right away. Instead, she looked beyond the capital, to the edge of the world. Her voice returned.
"I don't believe they are mindless." Her tone sharpened. "They're coordinated. I believe there's a source. A heart to this infestation. Someone—or something—is directing it. Because entire sections of our kingdom are falling too quickly. The monsters aren't just rampaging." She narrowed her eyes. "Probing."
Then her expression darkened even more.
"We've already lost countless towns. And more than that…"
She hesitated.
"…we lost Mikoto."
The words hit Lucinda like a blade through the chest.
"What!?" She choked the word out, a strangled cry bursting from her throat, her hands twitching at her sides. The expression on her face was sheer panic, as if her body refused to believe the words even as her mind tried to comprehend them. "Don't say that—please don't—don't tell me he's—"
Guinevere raised a hand gently, her eyes softening. She hated that she had to be the one to tell her.
"No… calm yourself, Lucinda. It wasn't Death." Her voice lowered, taking on an almost maternal softness. "It appears… he and one of Verdantis's strongest were forcefully displaced. Plucked from the battlefield, from that world. Not killed, taken. This was all clearly planned."
"Then… then he's alive."
"Yes," Guinevere nodded, solemnly. "He must be. And if there's any hope left he'll find a way back to us."
Lucinda closed her eyes, just for a moment. Just to gather herself. Just to breathe in that fragment of hope before the despair swallowed it whole. When she opened them again, there was steel in them.
Guinevere hummed.
"We'll need him, and everyone else, if we're to have even the slimmest hope of resisting this calamity. Because I fear—this is only the beginning."
And as the two hovered in silence for a moment, the world beneath them burned.
-------------------
[Location:???]
Red eyes snapped open.
Mikoto's breath hitched for half a heartbeat, the sensation of air rushing back into his lungs like a sting. His vision sharpened, but only barely. His expression twisted into a scowl, his brow furrowed. He could feel the weight of his gauntlets pressing against the bone of his wrists as he pushed himself upright.
There was no floor. And yet he stood.
White everywhere.
There was no sky, no horizon, no gravity. Just a sea of nothingness. A space stripped entirely of texture, scent, and warmth—a void made of pure mana. He scanned the surreal expanse, his lips parting as his eyes narrowed. He could feel it—not see it, but feel it.
("A separate space composed entirely of condensed mana… no natural matter. There's no curvature, no anchor. No ceiling or depth. It's constantly expanding. And infinite. This place… it's something beyond even me.")
Then a voice rang out. Familiar. Too familiar.
"Quite boring, no?"
Mikoto's eyes widened a fraction before narrowing into slits. He turned sharply on his heel, his features contorted with disdain as his gaze fell upon the figure who had spoken.
There, standing at a slight distance, barefoot upon the weightless white, was her.
A woman—if one could even call her that—whose presence made the air feel heavier and the silence louder. Her skin was flawless, and pale, even seemed to radiate. Barely concealed by strategically draped bands of black cloth, her form was too perfect, as though the rules of mortal modesty could not bind her. Her long snow-white hair fell down her back, straight, shifting gently despite the absence of wind.
And her face—her face was beautiful beyond reason, too beautiful. Her features were transcendent. And then there were her eyes: twin orbs of ruby, glowing faintly. And behind her—twelve colossal wings, radiant and pure. Each feather glowed with translucent white-gold lights, refracting fragments of the mana-space around them.
("…Twelve wings. That's… no. Lyra said she had six.")
Most mortals would've fallen to their knees. Most mortals would've wept, or worshipped, or shattered under the unbearable pressure of her presence and beauty.
But Mikoto was not most.
His expression twisted into loathing.
"What? Awestruck by me, boy?" she purred, a smile dancing on her lips.
"Octavia." Mikoto spat the name like venom, as if it burned his tongue just to say it. "Of course it's you." The Goddess tilted her head slightly, her radiant wings subtly shifting as if responding to his anger. Her smile did not waver.
"Oh, come now. Why such hostility, my delicate little knight? I've come to speak, not to smite. I'm bound by Divine Principles, after all. Interference is frowned upon." She gestured vaguely. "So I can not speak for very long."
But Mikoto had no patience for her games.
"You want to know why I'm hostile?" he hissed. "Because you ripped me away from everything. My home, my family, my life. And let's not forget—you shoved one of your sibling's goddamned souls into my body."
His scowl deepened.
"You fucking bitch." His red eyes locked with hers. "If I had the power that could harm you… I would rip your wings from your back and bury your corpse in the foulest pit I could find."
Her expression didn't change. If anything, it softened. She began to pace slowly around him—she glided more than walked.
"Ah… the fire in you never ceases to amuse," she murmured, hands clasped behind her back. "The former, I understand. Truly, I do. Many are always so sentimental about their 'homes.' But as for the latter..."
She stopped just behind him.
"…you've always been one of us, my dear. But the latest incarnation. Of my sibling and dear Hadiya."
She leaned forward slightly, whispering the name into his ear. Mikoto stiffened.
"Of course, I allowed their souls to slumber within you. Dormant, buried beneath your humanity so dear old dad wouldn't pluck you back. But you…" she circled back around him, her eyes scanning his form. "…you were never entirely human. You're something far more precious. A confluence."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Octavia's smile turned wistful, almost fond, though her eyes remained calm.
"There was a war. A war that tore through the stars. Most of my dear siblings perished in it. I couldn't save them all. But I could do something…"
She raised one hand, and from her palm emerged small glowing fragments—seven lights of different colors, spinning around her fingers.
"I scattered what remained. Seven souls, entrusted to your realm. The rest? I sent them through the cycle of reincarnation… but not alone." Her eyes gleamed. "I affixed to each a shard of my lover's soul. A memento."
Mikoto blinked, her words hit him yet he wanted to call her bluff. But did this entity truly have any reason to lie? Nothing would be gained from it.
("So then... I was never human. Not even from the beginning?") The thought spiraled in his mind, heavy with disbelief. ("Not even once?")
His eyes dropped to the floor beneath him—though there was no real floor to speak of, just an endless whiteness that stretched like a cruel joke, mocking the foundationless nature of his entire life.
("Not like it matters. Not anymore.")
His jaw clenched, and he narrowed his gaze at the woman before him—no, not a woman. A Goddess. The same Goddess that world celebrated. The same Goddess who stood now with her twelve majestic wings lazily unfurled.
"Am I supposed to give a damn?" Mikoto said. "So what, you're telling me you ripped me from my world—because I've got a piece of your dead boyfriend's soul rattling around inside me?" He scoffed bitterly.
Octavia shrugged, her expression casual. "Kinda," she replied, as if explaining a minor inconvenience. "But don't make it sound so cold—I do truly love you, Mikoto. I really do." She sighed, one dainty finger tapping her cheek as if pondering the absurdity of her own confession. "Though I suppose it's a little weird, given your nature. But the Greeks don't seem to mind such things, and they were a fun bunch."
Mikoto features warped with a revulsion.
"You… disgust me,"
Octavia, to her credit—or perhaps, to her apathy—nodded. "Understandable," she said with a chuckle. "I get that a lot." Then she leaned in—far too close. Mikoto tensed, resisting the urge to slam his forehead into hers. It would have been satisfying. If she weren't a Goddess, if his skull wouldn't shatter like glass.
"Well," she murmured, her breath brushing against his bangs, "we've not much time left for pleasantries or hatred, I suppose. I've temporarily hijacked the spell that's dragging you back across space and realm—but it's only a matter of time before you're wrenched away again."
He blinked, the red in his eyes dimming slightly with confusion. "So then why? Why drag me into this white hellhole, just to piss me off? Is this all just a joke to you?"
Her smile vanished for just a heartbeat—long enough for a flicker of honesty to escape her mask. "No, Mikoto," she said, and this time her tone was a little more grounded. "I'm here to warn you. And you'd do well to listen." She drifted slowly around him with no need for intimidation. "The Angel you're an incarnation of… wasn't a saint, not by his standards. He wasn't some gentle choir boy strumming harps in golden clouds. He was… wrathful. A storm of hatred fulfilled by centuries of loss and betrayal. One of Father's most corrupted little lambs. Even worse than me. And he's still in there, sleeping somewhere inside you. The 'phase' isn't caused by me, it's my siblings wrath at Death resurfacing."
She paused, then spun. "But you're different. You're my favorite incarnation. Strongest, too. Or, at the very least, the cutest." Her expression bloomed into a grin far too pleased with itself.
Mikoto's nose crinkled. He looked like he might be sick. "And that was it? That's why you brought me here? Just to gush about how I'm your little dollboy prize in some tragedy." He spat, fists clenching in his gauntlets. "Fine. If that's the case—take your little boyfriend's soul. Rip it out of me. Tear it from my bones. And leave me the hell alone."
Octavia's smile widened in a way that could've melted glaciers. "Oh, but Mikoto," she cooed, tilting her head to the side, wings fluffing behind her. "You are my little boyfriend."
He recoiled as if struck. The horror on his face was genuine, and it made him look even more fragile. "Don't—say that—again."
"Oh, don't give me that expression," she said with mock pout, cupping her own chin as she eyed him. "I mean it with love. Originally, I even considered building a harem of you precious incarnations. Imagine—eight cuties, each with a spark of my beloved. But Isadora called it morally questionable. I don't really see the issue."
("God, I wish I could kill her,") Mikoto thought. The Octavia he met at the beginning of the festival felt like a distant ghost compared to the irreverent nightmare fluttering around him now. "…Whatever," he muttered. "Just—tell me one thing. My mom. My sister. Are they okay?" He knew this woman before him would not simply send him back, she could not.
Octavia's face softened slightly, a momentary pause freezing the air around them.
"They're… surviving," she said gently. "They haven't stopped grieving, not really. But they're learning to live again. Slowly. Humans are far more resilient than we give them credit for, Mikoto. It's one of the reasons I've always admired them."
He didn't believe her. Not really. Not entirely. But he had nothing else—no proof, no windows into the world he once called home. Her word was all he had, as pitiful as that felt.
"Endure, Mikoto," she said softly now, her wings glowing with pale light. "That's all I can ask of you. Just… endure. For now, that will be enough."
The light began to overtake the white of the space around them, flooding it with a hue of endless, deep sky-blue.
And then, the light swallowed him whole.
The world blurred as his thoughts unraveled.
To be continued...