“But be warned, children of the Stars

Thy freedom shall be hindered

Thy cage shall tower strong

For the warden holds the lock and key

Hold fast

Withstand and Prosper

Thy task merits a unified hand

And only in death shall the age of fracture end

Only in death shall the Constellation find peace.”

- An Excerpt From The Nebulas

———

Lorelai

Lorelai and Gravitas lock eyes. Not a word is spoken between them. Their previous aggressions, their vitriolic jest… none of it matters now. All that is exchanged is a mutual look of terror and a silent, tentative truce.

The thing shambles into the crimson plain. Stomp upon stomp, it crushes the fallen corpses with a squelch of its greave, advancing indifferently as if this land of madness is but a vapid familiarity. Eventually, it happens upon a Polus knight; a spear is impaled upon their torso - a fortunate soul they are to have perished through steel rather than insanity. The being slowly grasps the handle with its rusty gauntlet. Feeling. Savoring. Inspecting the sanguine weapon before pulling it out, blood spurting from the corpse’s chest—

And turns directly towards her. It arches its back, twisting its arm into an unnaturally long stride, and throws.

“G-Gravitas,” Lorelai whispers, gaze fixed on the shuffling horror. “Gravitas, lift your gravity now!”

The force pushing down on her disappears. Her wings are free, and she quickly leaps up to the sky. The spear tears right past her, hurtling through the air and unleashing an unearthly shriek that echoes throughout the malignant atmosphere. A second sooner, and she would have perished before she could even take another breath.

Sweat begins to drip down her cheek; nerves overtake her. If she loses focus for even an instant, her death is guaranteed. Quick. Miserable. Without even the chance to cry.

A furious shockwave from the attack sends her tumbling along the gale. She never would have thought herself to be so helpless whilst amongst her dominion, yet here she is: flailing about like a leaf in the wind. The thing cocks its head and searches the graveyard for another weapon; it is ignoring her, treating her as some insect waiting to be dealt with. But there’s naught else she can do.

Lorelai can sense it: the boundary of death. The moment she enters its range, her heart will be crushed in a singular blow.

Run away, her body screams. Run far, far away until your throat is coarse and your blood is boiling. And then run even farther, to the very edges of the world so that you may never see its wretched sight again.

But she can’t. The thing is blocking off the entrance to the Alexandria. She cannot allow such a despicable being to lay its hands upon their hope. She has to fight, even if it means doing so alongside her enemy.

“Little bird,” Gravitas grunts. “I… my strength will only allow one final burst of might. What of you?”

It appears Gravitas can sense it, too. They are but mere specks of dust before the incomprehensible being.

“My body is the same. Only one chance.”

“Then I shall snare its movements. The honor shall be yours.”

The danger shall be mine, more like.

Yet deep within, she knows no other can take to the task. Her speed is all she has left now. Their only salvation. Gravitas lifts his mace up high and gathers a discharge of violet energy into the end’s base. It surges all throughout his body, scorching the armor and grafting the plate to his skin, but he persists nonetheless and begins to invoke a desperate chant to Creation with all his being.

“O’ formless Mother. O’ menacing light. Let loose your wrath—”

Wait!

The thing readies its volley once more. Gravitas is helpless, mind still entranced in the invocation. The horror has been waiting for this moment, idling about until their defenses are laid aside. Lorelai dashes forth and crashes straight into the speeding projectile. Its force is overpowering, threatening to penetrate through her guard, but she manages to deflect it off to the side with a roar and send it digging deep into the earth. Her hands tremble from the overbearing might; her arms hang loose with numbness, but her plight is not in vain.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“—and all shall be crushed before your weight, immeasurable!”

Gravitas unleashes the condensed energy, creating a floating, violet cloud of crackling might directly above the puzzled horror. The cloud screeches out a warped, garbled cry and - with a glaring flash - sends down a ray of gravitational force. It overwhelms the being, violently suppressing it in an inescapable prison as the surrounding dirt crumbles into a pulverized dust. The atrocity twitches. It convulses without a sound, but she doubts it can feel pain. The force appears to be a mere inconvenience.

Regardless, now is her chance.

She hurdles towards the highest peak of the world, basking in the dissipating moonlight and breaking through the clouds into the sun’s gentle warmth once more.

“Solga. Lunas. I’m sorry, but I must ask you to take my lifeforce. There is no other way.”

The twin blades glimmer and flash in protest, but the Throne remains firm. A measly few years of longevity is a small price to pay for hope. Lorelai takes in a deep breath and manifests the gold and silver auras blinding onto her trusted partners. She spins; she twirls, gradually gaining more and more speed as she waltzes through the air in a sword dance of blurring auroras. Every morsel of strength, every fountain of vitality within, trickles out of her body and fills the sky until it is filled with a beautiful mirage of shifting color. Her celestial performance nears its completion, creating a razing whirlwind of melded divinity.

“Gravitas, I am ready.”

“…Grm. Then go. End it,” he wheezes, body nearly on the brink of collapse.

She must end it here. After all, she made a promise. A promise to return back to her friend. A promise to return back home, safely into the embrace of the one she loves most.

The whirlwind reaches its coalescence, and Lorelai conducts her last, final movement in the dance.

“To the Stars above, I bid you for only a singular wish: Guide my blades true.”

BOOM.

She breaks through the sound’s veil and bolts across the expanse as a ravaging beam of pure, unrelenting obliteration. Her flight razes all existence blocking her path, the aurora following closely from behind and creating an ethereal trail of hue in her wake as she closes in with a speed beyond any her soul has felt before.

Gravitas’s spell is lifted. The horror’s neck is exposed.

With the souls of every slain Polus warrior steadying her hand, she slashes... and cuts through naught but thin air.

The last thing she ever feels is the sudden bite of metal upon her throat and the cold chill of the end.

A-Ascalon, I—

———

The Shell

The winged woman’s head is cleaved in an instant, her corpse crashing onto the ground and tumbling into a lifeless, mangled clump of dirt and grime. The severed head lands onto the earth with a meager thud next to her disgraced body and the helm falls off to reveal a disfigured face frozen in surprise. The shimmering gold and silver auras fade from the swords near her side, blood pooling from the severed orifices and staining her armor in scarlet filth, as the last remnants of her life disappear into nothingness.

Threat eliminated. New variable introduced. Commence: retrieve the Astral Armament.

The Shell walks towards the defiled carcass, every step crunching the earth below and emitting a ghastly, splattering echo. When it arrives at the remains, it reaches forth and claims dominion over the twin blades. The weeping weapons spark and sputter, desperately attempting to reject their captor, but their light eventually fades, and the swords are forced to submit. They have no choice. They must obey.

Irregularity determined. Armament fractured into two. Strength: weakened. Reevaluating current capabilities.

A voice sputters from afar. It is the human clad in grease and blackened ash. Their balance is unstable; their cries are devoid of strength.

“Hehehe… your end was truly a beautiful one, little bird,” the man says, falling onto his knees. “A shame it… didn’t come by my hand. How unexpected.”

He rises up, meekly lifting his weapon in resistance, and growls with a rebellious hysteria.

“But I… I shall not allow myself to be put down like a mangy mutt. My death shall be one of pride!”

The man charges.

Estimated strength: powerless. No danger detected. Commence.

With a singular slash, he is bisected into two. A swift extermination. The smoldering aura from the fragmented sword of the sun melts the strange metal plate, leaving only cauterized flesh to plunge afoul. All life has been extinguished in the region. The last objective remains: slay the Comet.

The Shell sheathes its trophies and marches to the colossal construct. The entrance resembles a fortress.

Proceeding with siege protocol.

Steel walls block its way.

It smashes it.

Unknown mechanisms trigger and halt its advance; projectiles, crumbling passages, and incantations of debilitating curse.

It endures it.

Soon, the halls become filled with those of Cosmos’s kin. It appears the construct protected them from the Shell’s miasmic release. They are of no threat.

It slaughters them.

The Comet’s presence is getting stronger. Deeper into the heart of the construct it marches, all the whilst creation is swirling in desperation. It begs for the Shell to stop, to spare their beloved child. But its pleas are useless. The being is a mere Shell, and its only priority is to fulfill the eternal duty.

Another human appears. It is a woman, strength estimation far above the other spawn, yet she does not move. Her gaze is filled with despair.

“T-Those blades,” she mutters, collapsing onto the ground. “No. No, Lorelai? You can’t be… but you promised…”

Her face stains with tears, throat besieged by a fit of gaping sobs. Slaying her proves simpler than the rest.

Finally, it arrives at the Comet’s shelter. The room is cluttered with infantile toys and decorations - the walls plastered with paintings of the night sky - and in the very center, a crib holds its prey: a baby boy. Newborn, slumbering, and carrying the mark of inevitable ruin.

The Shell steps forward and raises its blade. But right before it can claim the child’s life, a faint muttering stills its hand. The child wakes up and opens his star-speckled eyes.

The irises display a wondrous, never-ending nebula of space and galaxies. It is a portrayal of the heavens above and the realm that humanity once called home. It is an echo, a song of love, of tragedy, and of grim stoicism. The being can never go back to those bygone eras; its life shall never be the same.

Hearth, forever gone. Purpose, forever wandering. All that awaits it is an eternity of imprisonment. As it always has. As it always will.

The baby reaches out to the frozen hollow - his tiny hands full of curiosity - and lets out a loud babble of amusement before the trembling blades. At that moment, the Shell disappears.

And the Knight awakens.