The moon, now blood-red, poured its malevolent glow over the still-warm ashes of the massacre.
The ground, soaked with blood and residual energy, vibrated as if trying to spit out the horror it had just swallowed.
Not a sound. Only a funeral silence.
Dense. Choking.
As if even the universe held its breath in the face of the inevitable.
A breath. A heartbeat suspended.
Then…Everything exploded.
At the heart of the chaos, Marie France, Princess of the Luméens, still stood.
Wavering, but proud.
Her body bled from every crack, but her eyes… her eyes shone like two sacred fires in the night.
Around her, the last remnants of her guard—veterans, brothers-in-arms, gave their final performance.
Furious sword strikes, strangled cries, and the dying crackle of their Dimensional Veil, already shattered.
One last scream. One last breath.
The last warriors fought, but their strength was fading.
Their hands trembled. Their legs wobbled.
The SCOD was here. They were coming.
Cold. Methodical. Relentless.
— "Mistress! You must leave!" yelled Nyx, his armor shattered, one arm in tatters, his gaze faltering.
But Marie France shook her head.
— "No! "
She would not leave. She could not. Not while her son still breathed. Not while hope remained possible.
— "For my son, but also my people… never," she whispered, her breath dry, her throat tight.
With a trembling hand, she pushed back another enemy assault.
Her Veil surged in a breath of pulsing shadows, interwoven with flashes of pure energy.
But her movements lacked strength.
Her body, drained, dragged itself into a tragic dance.
Each movement was a tearing. Each breath, an agony.
But her heart still beat with the strength of all mothers willing to die for their child to live.
And they were coming.
The SCOD.
The general advanced.
His silver armor, shimmering with ancient elven glyphs.
His sword dragged on the ground, and his smile… that fixed, haughty, disgusting smile.
— "I've never killed a princess before."
But Marie France was not listening.
Around her, her last allies, these old warriors with unwavering loyalty, rushed to cover her flanks.
Each one knew it was the end.
They no longer hoped to win.
But to die standing... that was non-negotiable.
One of them whispered,
— "Our master will avenge us…"
Before collapsing, his chest pierced.
Marie France closed her eyes for a second.
A silence. Unreal.
A last breath in the shadow.
She offered them a silent prayer.
A promise.
The General of the SCOD:
— Your reign ends here, majesty.
Then, in one last surge, she tried to raise her Veil.
Her arms trembled. Her light flickered.
Too much pain. Too many losses. Too late.
The general raised his sword.
A massive blade, engraved with runes, charged with death.
The blade descended.
The world froze.
And in that split second… she smiled.
Not joy. Peace.
She knew the end was near.
Her body collapsed with a dull thud.
On her knees, she raised a blurry gaze to the crimson sky.
And with a breath, as if a heartbeat torn from the universe:
— "My son… I love you…"
Her trembling fingers reached for her child in the darkness.
But the light was already fading.
The cold was swallowing her
.And in that final instant, her soul—intact—projected itself toward him.
And there…The world screamed.
A cry. A cry of a child. Pure. Wild. Ancestral.
The earth tore. The sky moaned.
Even the shadow seemed to retreat.
Around the child, a whirl of pure shadow rose, as if ripped from the Origin.
His mother's energy—her sacred Veil—merged with him in a heartbreaking silence.
Immediate. Inevitable. Divine.
A black halo, incandescent, enveloped him.
Then everything exploded.
"Veil of Shadows: Unintentional Activation. Level ∞.
The battlefield was swept away.
Time twisted. Matter gave way.
The SCOD, those closest, were erased.
Not killed. Disintegrated.
Their bodies turned to dust.
Their souls, blown away.
The others… frozen, frozen stiff, paralyzed. Unable to speak, flee, or comprehend.
— "It's… impossible…" muttered one, eyes rolling back.
They were no longer soldiers.
They had become prey.
The shadow stretched, relentless, and razed everything within a hundred-meter radius.
Not a sound. Not a breath.
Just the silence of a power too great for this world.
And in that silence…The sky wept.
For something irreversible had just been born.