The battlefield hung suspended in the corpse-gray silence of deep space. What remained of the volcanic planetoid was little more than a skeletal fist of obsidian rock clawing at the void, shrouded in perpetual twilight. Ash fell in a ghostly rain, blanketing the scars of cataclysm; valleys carved by spiritual detonations, mountains sheared clean by void-energy. The air thrummed with residual violence, tasting of ozone, charred stone, and the copper tang of spilled power. Across this graveyard of celestial ambition, Shinji Kazuhiko stood trembling, his breath sawing through clenched teeth. Sweat plastered strands of his vibrant yellow-green hair to his forehead, mixing with grime and the luminous blood weeping from shallow cuts. His golden-green aura, usually a corona of defiant energy, flickered erratically like a guttering candle in a tomb.
Twenty paces away, Nirvana, the Heartdeath Monarch, was a broken doll propped against a jagged spire of volcanic glass. Her once-radiant pink hair was a tangled, matted curtain. The magnificent Rod that had been the focus of her terrifying dominion lay in fragments around her, dark veins of power within the shards fading to dull obsidian. Her ample chest heaved with ragged, wet gasps, each exhale a puff of vapor in the chilling void-air. Luminous blood, thick as syrup, seeped from a dozen wounds, staining her torn battle-garb and pooling on the ash beneath her. Defeat clung to her like a shroud.
Kokuto's eyes, cold and depthless as event horizons, swept the devastation. They lingered for a heartbeat on Torento's grotesquely contorted form, then settled on Nirvana with a dispassion that was colder than cruelty.
"What a spectacle," his voice cut the silence, sharp and clear as shattering ice. It carried no echo, absorbed by the vast emptiness. "Drained to the dregs. Powerless. And your Rod..." His gaze flicked to the shattered obsidian fragments. "...the very symbol of your ascension, the key to your monarchy... reduced to rubble. You haven't just failed, Nirvana. You've made yourself an epitaph."
A choked, wet sob escaped the fallen Monarch. Tears, thick and luminous like liquid starlight, welled in her wide, desperate eyes, carving tracks through the grime on her cheeks. "I... I was reckless!" she gasped, the words bubbling with despair. "Arrogant! Stupid! Please... Kokuto... just... one more chance! Let me redeem myself!"
A sigh escaped him, soft yet carrying the finality of a tomb sealing. "Chance is Lord Saganbo's indulgence, not mine. Your orders were explicit: retrieve the Trascender. Not indulge in a tantrum that shattered your weapon and spilled a Monarch's essence across this forgotten rock." His gaze, sharp and unyielding as the blade at his hip, shifted towards Shinji. The young Trascender met it with eyes that burned with a hatred as deep and cold as the interstellar void, a hatred forged in the blood of his murdered family. Kokuto's knuckles whitened almost imperceptibly where they gripped the worn leather of his sword's hilt. "Return to Universe 3523. Grovel at the foot of the Obsidian Throne. Hope his amusement outweighs his wrath." His voice hardened, becoming the rasp of steel being drawn. "As for this... distraction... I will conclude it. The Trascender falls. Now."
Relief, fragile and desperate, warred with shame on Nirvana's battered face. "Thank you! Kokuto, I... I owe you a debt!" She scrambled back, her movements clumsy with exhaustion and pain. Weak pink energy sputtered around her hands as she tore at the fabric of space with pure speed. With a final, fearful glance back, she tumbled into its swirling, nauseating depths.
The void seemed to contract, the silence deepening into something oppressive. Shinji's golden-green aura flared violently, then subsided, pulsing erratically like a dying heart. Blood trickled from a split lip, tasting of iron and dust. The fire in his eyes, however, was undimmed, fed by the visceral memory of crimson-soaked floors, the stillness of his aunt and sister, the cold steel that had first ended his life.
"Perfect timing, Swordwrath," Shinji spat, the words thick with venom that burned his throat. "Did Saganbo send his favorite attack dog to clean up the mess? Doesn't matter. I'll carve you into bloody ribbons and string your guts between the stars for the void fucking worms to feast on, you soulless monster!"
YOU ARE READING
Trascender : The Fourth Gust
FantasyWhat happens when death becomes impossible? Nineteen-year-old Shinji Kazuhiko's life shattered the night a masked killer invaded his home. Left for dead, he made a horrifying discovery: he cannot die. And with each death, something inside him grows...
