KEIICHI MIURA

My laboured breaths came in ragged bursts as I struggled vehemently against the advancing branches and grotesque appendages. A few of them had managed to breach my defences, attaching themselves to me like parasites and inflicting severe wounds across my body.

Although my waning reserves of power had succeeded in disintegrating some of them in the past, I feared that the same outcome wouldn’t be possible now, as I stood at the edge of physical collapse.

Despite my attempts to call for aid, my voice failed to penetrate the entwined network of dark-brown branches, which seemed to possess autonomous sentience as they extended and assailed me from diverse angles.

The only recourse left was to trigger the third phase of lune weaving, though it came with great peril. This state remained precarious because I hadn’t fully mastered it, merely accessing it for a brief two-second interval. It left me vulnerable to easy defeat as I grappled to stabilise this condition.

In that pivotal instance, a notion sprang to mind. The environment was ripe with "life." Driven by my dire circumstances, it dawned on me that I might glean insights into "death" from this setting.

"I require the prowess of the third phase, or I shall meet my end here!" I proclaimed.

My concentration sharpened as I absorbed my surroundings, striving to seize any possible cues even as I evaded the onslaught. Clinging to the faintest flicker of hope, I endeavoured to uncover a solution to extricate myself from this dire entanglement.

In that particular instance, I observed that the peculiar limbs and body fragments hurtling towards me exhibited an identical appearance. Despite my repeated disintegration of them through my powers, they inexplicably regenerated and reappeared.

It was perplexing that they maintained precise shapes and sizes, raising questions about how this could be possible. Drieshee could potentially manipulate them in such a way, although there was no apparent reason for her to do so. The very essence of lune should have eradicated any traces of them, leaving no semblance behind.

This notion triggered a recollection from my memories. I recalled the final utterances of Nelchael’s projection emanating from the spherical artefact, through which he had imparted to me a foundational comprehension of lune. He had admitted that Nelchael’s research was incomplete, preventing him from offering further guidance. Nelchael had delved into comparable scenarios, instances where creatures appeared reborn after exposure to lune.

His grand creation, the Citadel of the Undying, was a direct outcome of his explorations in this domain. Before Nelchael’s demise, Ketu had informed me that he had been fervently seeking an answer to the enigma of how the citadel’s inhabitants exhibited human-like attributes—speaking, moving, walking, and thinking—despite the absence of sol in the atmosphere, which traditionally symbolised life.

The resolution to this enigma lay in the fact that they drew sustenance from Lune, functioning distinctively from regular humans by evading death and lacking any discernible flavor. However, this revelation merely spurred further perplexity, raising the question of what common ground these two energies shared that granted a semblance of "life." Their flow patterns also aligned perfectly.

"I believe… I’m grasping it now," I articulated slowly, channelling the final reserves of my energy to evade the incoming onslaught.

In that critical instant, an epiphany struck me. Perhaps the very terminology we ascribed to these two cosmic forces as representatives of life and death was fundamentally flawed. The definitions we clung to were misconstrued. Concepts like "life" and "death" have been gravely misunderstood by us, leading to a misguided interpretation of these cosmic energies.

While both energies endowed individuals with certain forms of "life," albeit differing, it was erroneous to label Lune as the harbinger of "death." A more accurate description of it would be the contrasting counterpart to sol. In a similar vein, sol could not be deemed the convener of "life," as lune could serve an analogous role. By forsaking the constructs of "life" and "death," these energies essentially functioned in identical fashion.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Hence, these energies were parallel forces, flowing in opposing directions and inherently clashing with one another—nothing more.

A third force was in motion, imbuing individuals with living attributes like emotions and intentions—the very essence of "life." This power found support from both sol and lune, as was evident in the existence of people displaying these attributes on both Earth and the Citadel, fueled by both energy sources.

The essence of life remained consistent in both scenarios. Even if the sol or lune coursing through a person were to disperse, the individual would lose their physical form, yet the third power that granted them this "essence" would persist, untouched and enduring indefinitely.

By this juncture, my legs had been impaled by the piercing branches, and I had mere seconds before meeting my end. Despite the imminent peril, I summoned a tranquil composure, acknowledging my impending fate while refusing to relinquish hope.

"Wait… I’ve encountered this before." A surge of realisation reinvigorated me as I recalled my conversation with Kabir.

During one of our dialogues, I inquired about Kabir’s age, and he dismissed the notion, stating he wasn’t afraid of "death." He expounded that in his homeland, the concept of "death" held no sway. Even upon a person’s demise, their "soul" endured and eventually underwent rebirth.

"The third power constitutes the ‘essence’ of life, which subsequently enters the material world and animates a vessel—the physical body. This vessel has the option to employ Sol and Lune as sources of sustenance. These energies, however, are simply fuels that bolster the third power. The struggle between these energies results solely in the individual losing the means of sustenance but not the ‘essence’."

In that pivotal moment, the ultimate epiphany struck me.

"When the vessel fractures, leading to the individual’s ‘death,’ the energies dissipate, yet the third power persists. This enduring power, transcending both sol and lune, is the person’s ‘soul’!" I proclaimed.

At the very moment I arrived at this deduction, the branch poised to impale my heart trembled. The entirety of limbs and lifeforms sprouting from the nest of dark-brown trees and branches that had ensnared me initiated a hasty retreat, as if recoiling in fear.

The surroundings seemed to convulse, simulating the impact of an earthquake.

At this juncture, a smile graced my lips, and a sense of harmonisation resonated within my mind.

"I have ‘truly’ attained the ultimate phase of lune-weaving!" I exclaimed.

As those words left my lips, the grievous wounds that marred my body commenced rapid healing, courtesy of the effects of the mask continually absorbing the black mist emanating from me. Simultaneously, a surge of power coursed through me, replenishing all the expended energy in an instant and leaving me devoid of fatigue. This resurgence was attributed to copious amounts of lune being drawn to me.

The origin of this ample lune was quite straightforward—the battlefield of war. This locale was ideal due to the multitude of deaths transpiring within seconds, leading to the transient formation of lanes before dissipation.

Thanks to the third phase of lune-weaving, I had the ability to manipulate these natural lune formations, drawing them towards myself and converting them into sol to shroud my form, thus replenishing my energy reserves. As long as life ceased, my energy would remain inexhaustible.

In an instant, a potent and forceful black mist materialised in close proximity and spread throughout the area, disintegrating the tree branches. However, new branches emerged in rapid succession, poised to replace their predecessors.

Yet, this time, a shift occurred in the scenario. Just as the fresh branches emerged, another wave of black mist enveloped them. I could perpetuate this cycle until the ambient light was depleted. However, that outcome wouldn’t materialise until all humans perished and a significant stretch of time elapsed.

Subsequent combat was straightforward—a silent struggle against the cycle’s repetition. New branches and trees formed only to be enveloped by a wave of lune, resulting in their dissolution. My command over lune had amplified considerably, allowing me to swiftly overpower Drieshee’s manifestation in a matter of seconds, leading to the eventual collapse of the entire structure.

In the aftermath, Drieshee’s figure materialised from the residual liquid.

Her body was marred by grievous wounds spanning nearly every inch, rendering her appearance chaotic. Pitch-black blood trickled from her disarrayed hair, and standing proved arduous for her. The destruction of the dark brown wood directly impacted her, draining her resources.

"This is not the end. Lord Mirrikh will Her words were abruptly truncated as her head was severed from her body by an obsidian dagger moving at supersonic speed. The head detached, descending slowly to the ground. Her dull senses prevented her from sensing the blow.

Soon thereafter, her decapitated form was engulfed by white flames, which gradually consumed her entire being, reducing her to naught in a matter of seconds.

"Whether this signifies the end or not is not for you to decide," I intoned, my voice calm yet laden with gravity.