[Malachi Novastia]
I fell to the ground, the scent of ash and iron thick in the air, and raised my gaze toward the distant castle. The horizon burned crimson beneath the weight of war.
Beside me, Makilah stood with unnerving composure, her expression serene, untouched by the chaos that surrounded us.
"Brother," she said softly, though her words carried a chill that pierced bone, "I can feel the gaze of a vile existence upon me. Do your best to cover me, will you?"
Before I could respond, her form blurred into shadow and vanished, leaving behind only the faint echo of her presence, cold and lingering like the whisper of a curse.
I clenched my jaw. "Damn fool. You still play games, even when death itself stares at us."
But I shouldn't have expected anything else. Makilah's sins ran deeper than I could comprehend, rooted in worlds beneath our own.
She would always dance on the edge between damnation and brilliance.
Mirabel would come next, our last reinforcement. She was rallying her armies, while the other kingdoms worked to cleanse what remained of the Golden Authority's hold.
I drew my sword and exhaled slowly. "Reveal yourself to me."
The air fractured. From the seams of reality itself, Stiffer emerged. His smile was one of cruel satisfaction, his very presence poisoning the atmosphere around him.
"You felt me?" he asked, voice like velvet drawn across blades. "I was hiding in another dimension."
I met his gaze, steady and unflinching. "Draw your sword. This time, I won't lose."
Before he could retort, I invoked my Regalia.
The threads of fate unraveled before me, every strike, every choice, every possibility.
Yet they all converged toward one inescapable truth: his victory.
Even impossibilities, even outcomes that defied logic, all led to the same result. He would win.
He tilted his head, curiosity flickering across his face. "Ah… so you've seen it, haven't you? Your Regalia has already shown you how this ends. And yet, you still resist."
"I resist because I must," I said, voice low. "Because I despise liars, and you, Stiffer, are the greatest one of all."
He laughed, a hollow, unsettling sound that carried the weight of a thousand endings. His eyes burned red, as if light itself had been cast out from his soul.
"You call me a liar? No, Malachi. You are the liar." His tone sharpened to a cruel edge.
"You lie to yourself with every swing of that blade, pretending resistance has meaning. You lie because you already know your struggle is futile."
He lifted his sword, the motion almost lazy. "Still you fight, clinging to your blade like a drowning man clings to stone."
And then he whispered, "That is what I am, Malachi, the inevitability you cannot escape."
Before the thought could even form, his blade passed through me.
It wasn't speed; it was the violation of causality itself, an entirely higher notion of it! I gasped as pain tore through both flesh and spirit.
"Tell me," he murmured, voice soft, almost reverent, "did your precious fate show you the wings I have yet to sprout?"
I separated my physical form from my spiritual essence, forcing myself back into alignment. "Such an attack… I could barely perceive it. Just what are you?"
"I am a Martyr," he said flatly. "And your disbelief will cost you your life."
His declaration felt like law. Every clash that followed echoed through the world itself.
I wrapped my sword in darkness, letting the void coil and writhe along its edge, each strike a storm of annihilation. Yet he met every blow effortlessly.
Back and forth we fought, light against void, faith against despair, but the truth was undeniable.
I was losing. My Regalia faltered under the weight of his presence.
He had learned. Adapted. Evolved.
I shifted tactics, forcing probabilities toward my favor, bending reality through sheer will.
Shadows surged from the earth, tendrils of abyssal power snapping toward him. The air screamed as it tore apart around us.
Still, all possibilities led to one unyielding conclusion: his triumph.
Blood spilled down my chin as his blade struck mine, the impact shattering bone and resolve alike.
I dropped to one knee, gasping, but he gave me no respite.
He kicked upward, slammed a fist into my throat, and laughed.
"Good. The more you struggle, the sweeter your despair."
His words weren't mere sound, they bent me.
My Regalia should have resisted, my will should have held, but even my desire bowed before his.
He thrust forward again, his blade splitting through space. I ducked, firing a beam of void energy, but he swatted it aside as though it were nothing.
He stomped once, and the earth rose beneath me like a tidal wave.
His descending strike ripped through my defenses; blood painted the ground. Only compressing my aura saved me from death.
Wings of shadow erupted from my back, flaring outward as I countered.
I lashed at him with tendrils of night, but his blade shattered them effortlessly.
The world blinked, and I was on my back. His hand reached through dimensions themselves, dragging me from my inner world and slamming me back into reality.
His foot crushed against my chest, armor splintering beneath the weight.
"Running isn't wise," he said, almost playfully. "Especially not from me."
Then something impossible happened. His sword shimmered with the void, the same black radiance that belonged to my technique.
"Void Slash," he whispered, smiling as if savoring the irony.
My breath caught. Copy. His Regalia mirrored mine completely.
When he struck, the attack was perfect, a flawless reflection.
My body, mind, and soul were cast into darkness. For the first time, I knew true fear.
Then the air shifted. The battlefield trembled. The shadows themselves recoiled as a new power descended.
A being untouched by mortality's curse. A king veiled in crimson light.
Cole Herstia.
He descended from above like divine wrath given form, his aura vast and terrible.
The ground fractured beneath his landing, radiating waves of force that pushed even Stiffer back.
Cole moved before I could even blink, intercepting the killing blow meant for me and hurling Stiffer backward with an explosion of blood and light.
Even Stiffer, eternal and unyielding, looked stunned.
"You did well, Malachi," Cole said, his tone calm but absolute. "To think another vampire would match my strength."
Before I could respond, another figure appeared from the haze. Calista. Her aura was wildfire, bright, commanding, uncontainable.
"Damn, Cole," she said with a fierce grin. "This one might actually surpass you."
The battlefield shifted around them. The weight of their power bent the air, altered gravity, and rewrote the balance of fear.
They were kings, living embodiments of divine contradiction. Power and grace, wrath and serenity.
I forced myself upright, my vision trembling between exhaustion and reverence. "To stand beside you both… I'm honored. With you here, losing is no longer possible."
Cole smiled faintly, that rare warmth breaking through his usual stoicism. "Don't fret, Malachi. You've done enough. We'll take it from here."
Calista's gaze was sharp, unwavering. "Stand firm, little darkness. Let the elders handle this pest."
Still, I warned them. "Be careful. His Regalia allows him to copy any technique, any form of power."
Their presence steadied me. Their arrival restored something I thought long lost, faith.
I had glimpsed countless fates, and all of them had told me I would fall. But now, with them here, those futures were burning away one by one.
The inevitability I once feared had begun to fracture.
For the first time, the threads of destiny trembled.