Smoke swirled through the massive city wall breach, thick with dust and ash, but even that haze couldn't hide the unmistakable gleam of three knights advancing—white armor radiant under torchlight, their helms marked with Jolly Roger of House Solace. They cut down struggling rank twos in their path, stepping over the dying without pause.
Then they saw him.
A lone figure amidst chaos.
Astra stood tall.
Starlit armor dark as the void shimmered in the flickering light, his blade held low and gleaming—too dark to reflect anything but death. Constellations crawled across his armor like moving tattoos, and shadows pulsed around him like a living storm.
One knight hissed, recognizing the figure.
"Astra Noctis."
A VIP. A high-value target. A fallen prince of a long dead royal house. There was a reward just for confirming his death.
All three knights grinned behind their visors. "Pay day" they thought
But the smiles died quickly.
The air thickened. Shadows coiled tighter grew deeper, and more tyrannical. The battlefield shifted.
The shadows behind Astra rose above and spiraled into a crown—a jagged halo of void—and from that void was born something darker still:
Astra didn't speak for a moment. Then, calm as a prophet:
A black moon.
"Rise, Blackmoon."
And rise it did.
Two words echoed in their heads "Mythical core," and . "Domain spell" they also remembered a fight so absurd, it felt fake when they saw it.
The moon hovered fifteen meters overhead, dense with mana. Its surface churned like liquid night, tendrils of shadow leaking from it like blood from a wound in the sky. The knights froze—not from fear, but from the oppressive weight pressing against their chests.
"Rank three battle strength" One called out.
The shadows deepened across the entire breach. Warriors of House Shadow felt strength pour into their bones—like a warm breath at their backs. Their morale surged. Their fear evaporated.
The Peacekeepers felt it.
Their steps slowed.
Their strikes dulled.
Their eyes darted upward toward the unnatural moon that whispered ruin.
The three knights felt it most of all. Their aura flared in defiance, pressure warping the air—but Blackmoon's curse took root. They became slower. Their mana, heavier.
Astra moved.
He was a blur. The Sword of Shadows, his Curse and Astral sight In full effect as he saw everything
The first knight swung his glaive in a wide arc—it was predictable. Astra ducked beneath it, shadows erupting from his feet and coiling like snakes to tangle the knight's stance. He stabbed upward—not at the heart, but the ribs—twisting just as the second knight with the flail came crashing in from the right.
Astra pivoted sharply, catching the flail on the flat of his voidblade. The shadows surged behind him and burst like wings—flinging the glaive-wielder into a wall with bone-crunching force.
The third knight came next—spear first, lightning dancing across its edge.
Astra parried, then turned into the knight's guard, shadows enhancing each twist of his body. He caught the man's shoulder, pulled forward, and used his own momentum to flip him over his shoulder, crashing him onto broken stone.
A quick glance.
The flail knight returned—faster this time, aura burning away some of the Blackmoon's suppression.
But Astra was ready.
He spun, Blackmoon swirling above like an eye watching the dance.
He conjured a lance—not just of shadow, but curse-forged and rank three. It pulsed like a heartbeat. He thrust—straight through the knight's helm.
The screech of cursed steel against enchanted metal rang like a bell of doom.
The body spasmed—then collapsed.
Two down.
The last knight—glaive retrieved—roared and charged. Astra turned, blade in hand. Sparks flew as glaive and sword met in a whirlwind of steel. The domain pulsed. Every strike was like thunder. Shadows exploded from Astra's back, the black moon glowing brighter.
They dueled through the rubble, striking, parrying, countering—until finally, Astra slid beneath a wild swing, pivoted on one knee—
—and rose just in time to drive his blade through the man's neck.
The glaive fell with a clatter.
The knight staggered.
Then collapsed.
Astra exhaled.
Smoke drifted across the field. The light of the Blackmoon hovered still—its eerie glow casting Astra's figure in silhouette.
The breach had gone silent.
The warriors nearby—both Shadow and Peacekeeper—were appalled, staring, as they had moved out of the way for the knights to fight, but what a sight it was. Even the rank ones knew what they'd seen.
A lone man, kid even/
A mere rank two.
Just fought like a one of deaths reapers as he took on three knights of solace in an instant.
And three knights now lay dead.
Their blood fed the darkened soil.
"Damn" Astra thought as he felt sweat drip from his visor. "I have a whole night of this gods"
Astra turned, shadows rippling off him, cape fluttering behind him like night-woven silk
He turned towards the breach
"This breach should hold for now, I feel presence's nearby" he thought as he gazed upon the many peacekeepers ahead.
The moon above pulsed.
Beyond the breach, the Peacekeepers hesitated. A powerful rank three held this position there was nothing they could do besides wait for backup of the same calibre.
Astra whispered in the shadows , "Hold this breach for now" all warriors he recognized as allies instantly heard this behind them as if he was right there transmitting his orders.
"Hold we shall" they responded eager.
Astra turned towards the breach at the enemy legion surrounding it, weapons at the ready, he felt pity. Blackmoon pulsed once—and then, the sky wept arrows.
Not ordinary arrows.
They were shadow-forged and curse-laced, each one carrying whispers of despair and echoes of death. They rained down in impossible numbers, blotting out the moonlight, falling upon the peacekeepers like divine punishment. Rank ones and weak rank twos dropped instantly—pierced through armor, through eyes, through hearts. Their cries drowned beneath the chorus of impact.
The peacekeepers broke formation. Some screamed. Others hesitated.
But Astra had already turned, his sword raised and his cape slicing through the air as he sprinted toward the collapsing flank. His domain moving on from the breach, he heard the clangor of battle behind as the fighting continued.
As he ran looking for rank threes he felt three nearby.
A loyal officer of Shadow, a rank three clad in onyx armor, fighting two Peacekeeper commanders alone—barely holding his ground. The enemy duo moved in tandem: one with a spear wreathed in holy flame, the other with a curved axe that shimmered with wind mana.
Astra hit like a comet.
He crashed into the first enemy with explosive momentum, shadows bursting out like a nova as he rammed his shoulder into the flame knight, sending him tumbling across the ground. Without pausing, Astra spun—his sword now glowing faintly with a star-etched rune—and parried the axe mid-swing from the second commander.
His ally didn't waste the moment. With a battle cry, the Shadow officer surged forward, slamming his sword into the dazed fire knight, cleaving through his enchanted pauldrons in a spray of mana and blood.
Astra danced through the smoke.
He twisted his body low, dodging a wind-enhanced strike, then kicked the axe-wielder backward. As the enemy knight stumbled, Astra unleashed a concentrated curse blast from the Blackmoon—hitting the man's chest with enough force to dent his armor and send him skidding through rubble.
Together, Astra and the officer advanced.
Steel met bone. Shadow met flame. But Astra's sword found the wind-wielder's throat in a blur of movement.
He fell, gurgling, as the flames of his ally were snuffed under the crushing blade of the Shadow officer.
"Thank you, my prince," the officer who was panting said, kneeling with a bloody smile.
Astra smiled behind his helm as he nodded. "Get up. With me."
They ran, shadows trailing them like smoke as they moved along the eastern wall.
Then the sky changed.
A mana pulse unlike anything nearby surged from the distant north.
A flash of white. Then orange.
Then—Boom.
A massive explosion. A blooming inferno.
A mushroom cloud towered into the sky, its heat reaching Astra even here, across the city. Buildings in the distance were flattened. Smoke stretched to the heavens like a divine wound.
The officer running next to him paled as he looked up feeling the ash fall "Holy dead gods, Prince what was that!"
Astra narrowed his eyes and chuckled.
"Spectre."
He imagined his fellow commander standing there, calm in the inferno, shirt scorched, hair swept by the wind, saying something like, "What? That was just my warm-up."
Astra grinned. "Just wait, bastard. Till I go all out."
The battlefield was madness incarnate. Warriors clashed steel and soul. Elemental mana raged—firestorms devouring buildings, icebergs replacing others, water crashing down alleyways, and blood slicking the stones. Entire blocks were flattened under the weight of magic. Screams, roars, and war horns filled the air.
What really unnerved astra however was the constant chanting of the Peacekeepers, "how do all of them know deaths tongue" he thought his curse tugging at him to find out fast.
"Gods" he sighed feeling it itch the back of his mind.
Through the broken city, Astra moved with purpose. As he ran through the battlements, some fighting had broken out in the city, it seems the east wall had fallen.
Then a voice came through the comm crystal embedded in his collar.
"Merry to Astra—my prince, you're needed at the eastern gate. Rank threes are gathering there—thirty, maybe more. They're organizing for a full breach."
Astra's smile faded. never mind they're about to breach he laughed in his mind.
"Very well," he replied, voice cold now.
The gate.
Solace wanted to breach
Let them try
Shadows curled tighter around him, and the Blackmoon pulsed with a deeper hunger.
As he neared the gate he felt it. A deep nervousness and a feeling of unease.
"Thirty rank threes. Damn."
Astra now stood at the eastern city gate, smoke curling around his starlit armor as the shadow-wrapped wind howled across the shattered marble roads. The gate—once towering and proud—was now scorched, cracked, and groaning under the relentless assault. Walls that had stood for centuries bled enchanted dust and flame as chunks were torn away by rank three siege-grade bombardments. On the horizon, the enemy was a living tide—thousands of Peacekeepers surging forward like a wave of iron and bone.
"Vael. Reroute your squad to my location. Now," Astra commanded through the mana-comm crystal, voice low and sharp.
"As you command, Major," came the reply, cool and efficient.
The gate exploded open.
A thundering crack split the air as the battering ram, glowing with dense red mana, slammed into the gate one final time. The doors blew backward, hurling defending rank twos and threes like leaves in a hurricane. Stone rained down in chunks. The air itself recoiled from the impact—mana shattered like glass across the threshold.
Chaos poured in.
A mob of Peacekeeper soldiers flooded through the breach, howling in that cursed language of the dead. The first wave—rank ones and weak twos—rushed blindly, sabers and halberds raised high, eyes filled with fanatic fire.
The forces the city of who had barley mustered a force to meet this tide, met them head on.
Astra's Blackmoon swept overhead, expanding its radius to the broken archway, stabilizing the shaken defenders.
The shadows rippled at his feet as they mirrored his mood.
He surged forward.
A rank two lunged toward him—Astra's blade met his throat with a flash of black light, a clean slice that sent blood fountaining sideways. Another came in from the flank—Astra twisted low, shadows lifting him into a spin as he cleaved upward, gutting the man from hip to shoulder. More followed. Dozens.
The clash became carnage.
His sword became a blur—black void-edge cleaving through steel and flesh. He moved like a starfallen phantom, shadows dancing and thickening around him, echoing his every thought. A curse-laced lash swept out from his palm and wrapped around a rank two, dragging him screaming into a spike of darkness. He blocked a downward slash with one gauntlet, shoulder-checked the attacker, and summoned a lance of shadow straight into their chest.
Boom—three more enemies exploded from an orb of compressed curse-mana he released mid-spin.
He ducked under a halberd, impaled its wielder, then shattered the blade of another with a pulse of starlight—only to silence them with a reverse stab through the mouth. A twin-sword wielder tried to flank him—Astra parried once, twice, then shifted his weight, pivoted, and drove a heel straight through the man's thigh, following with a brutal overhead slash that nearly split him in two.
He was being flooded.
Too many at once—but still, they fell.
Astra heard the gatekeeper screaming in the background "Stabilize the breach!"
Just as he caught a glimpse of the old man, he was dead impaled by a lance.
"Damn"
The Blackmoon pulsed brighter now, the curse strengthening. Enemy soldiers slowed mid-swing, their limbs betraying them. The weight of dread built—mana unraveling in their cores. Behind Astra, the defending line stabilized, emboldened by his dominance.
A rank three tried to rush him—a mace wielder in ornate skeletal plate.
Astra sidestepped the strike, shadows whirling around him like a cloak. With a sudden motion, he stabbed low into the knight's knee, then flicked his blade into an uppercut that tore through the man's helmet with a sickening crunch. Sparks flew. Blood misted. He was already turning, parrying another strike from behind.
His mind raced as he moved. Not even thinking—just reacting. Fire magic blazed near the gate, water froze into spears mid-air, wind howled as it collided with summoned walls of stone. Every element was alive. Buildings burned in the distance, some covered in ice, others crumbling into ash.
Astra danced among it all.
Blood soaked his boots. Screams thundered around him. The east gate shuddered with the weight of the world.
As he held the line.
Astra spotted Vael in the thick of the carnage—cutting through enemies like a moving bastion, every strike of his greatsword parting rank twos as though they were made of paper.
They fought side by side, steel and mana singing through the smoke. Vael moved like a mountain breaking through an avalanche—every swing a quake, every block an unmovable wall. But Astra's senses flared with unease.
Something was wrong.
He jumped back.
A massive explosion tore through the ground he'd just left, heat and sinister energy licking at his armor like burning fingers. He twisted midair and stabilized—just in time to see his foe.
A woman stood where the blast had bloomed. Her aura pulsed like a sun dying in reverse, dense and immense. a High-tier Rank Three.
"Crap," Astra muttered as he landed behind some rubble, further away from the gate.
"My, oh my," she cooed, voice like silk over steel. "If it isn't the mythical prince of the stars. Astra Noctis."
She stepped forward with regal poise. "I am Herald Helena of the Death Singers of Solace. May you find eternal rest."
She vanished in a blur.
Before Astra could even move, her fist crashed into his chest like a meteor.
He flew—crashing through his own warriors, through stone and steel—before slamming into the great cathedral behind him. Its towering columns shattered on impact. The spire trembled. Then the whole sanctuary came down.
The cathedral collapsed in on itself, entombing Astra beneath rubble and flame.
Silence.
Until—
The Blackmoon pulsed.
Still hovering in the broken sky, the cursed moon flared with a desperate hunger. Its curse lashed out with renewed violence, gnawing at enemies, empowering allies. Nearby soldiers surged forward, faster, stronger, more relentless.
A breathless moment later, the rubble stirred.
Astra stood up.
"Fuck me that hurt."
Blood trickled from his temple. His hand trembled. But his stance remained unbroken—low, coiled, alive.
He looked behind him at the destruction of this great cathedral and thought, "Wow I just got hurled deep in the city and became ammunition for a deathsinger"
He coughed, then smirked. "The Death Singers of Solace… damn. A legendary order of Rank Threes and above. Elite reapers. They say where a Death Singer sings, only death and ruin follow.Just why the hell are they here on top of the damn peacekeepers??"
He spat blood as he laughed. "How the hell did I go from brawling drunken street rats to a legendary Death Singer?"
A wave of curse-forged metal surged at him. He dodged it by instinct.
"Great," he hissed. "And she controls curses too. Makes sense—my Blackmoon curse doesn't effect her. She's a curse."
Helena approached from a shop in the city.
Her steps were slow, deliberate. Every soldier that neared her—died. Their bodies collapsed before they could even raise a blade.
She wore ornate, ritual-forged armor. Black-gold, engraved, terrifying.Behind her armor, a halo with spiked was worn Like a herald of the underworld walking across ash .
Astra exhaled. Around them, more Rank Threes began unleashing their auras. He felt the pressure—mid-tier elites tightening the noose.
He smiled.
A dark, eager grin.
It was time.
Blackmoon fluttered in the heavens—then collapsed like ink, crashing into the earth and being absorbed by Astra's body. He was rank two now.
He felt a weakness and dread, as the full pressure of Helena crashed down on him, she was like a mountain of sinister malice. He trembled.
Helena stopped as she removed her helmet.
gods astra laughed, She was beautiful.
White hair, tied loosely. Eyes of cold, stormy gray. A lovely smile—one that promised death.
"Are you done, little princeling?" she asked sweetly. Is this all the famed mythical Prince of the Stars can muster? To collapse under his domain… and surrender?"
Her voice coiled like a blade through the air.
"How disappointing," she sighed. "Still, thought your death shall be a blessing to the Death God."
Astra blinked. "Yep. She's a Death Singer through and through."
He smiled again.
Dismissed his helmet.
Light from fires and the bombardment above illuminated his striking face, damp curls and eyes like the skies themselves.
He could feel the eyes of nearby soldiers, their morale flickering.
"Surrender?" he laughed, cracked and bleeding his very voice dripping with mana and will. "To you?"
Astra chuckled. "I mean don't take it the wrong deathsinger, I'd love to be your prisoner."
She raised a brow, almost amused.
"But no can do," Astra continued, voice cold now as his skin began to glow. "I've got a city to lead—and a whole sky to inherit."
He called upon his star core as his mana surged.
Helena took a single step back. Something was off.
Mana roared into Astra's core—sucked in and refined, made impossibly pure by the mythical core within him.
Then—
The pressure changed.
The weight of a mountain slammed down on the nearby area. The eyes of many narrowing as some gasped. They felt that aura, a aura unique to the stars themselves as more and more vestal mana flooded the area.
Astra raised his hand. As he chanted.
"Heed my call"
It seemed as if mana itself was awaiting him to command it.
Helana narrowed her eyes as she felt it. she had faced many powerful warriors before, many knights of legendary orders and powerful families, she had killed many through her years as a herald of the deathsingers, yet she had never felt the true might and advantage of a mythical core ever before. This made her uneasy for the first time in years.
Astras voice cut off her train of thought
"Arise, my shadows."
Shadows deep and dark crawled from every crack in the earth.
as they crawled and rose.
Twisted.
and danced obediently
A small dome formed behind him one of his domain—as it twisted—deepened it kept rising and coalescing even more shadows as it expanded to cloak the entire city and castle the skies darkened and the world beneath became shadowed by the mass of shadows.
"Descend, my stars."
Above, a field of stars blinked into existence—twinkling, ghostly, terrible. Nebulae curled like paint swirling in water. The very air became drenched in starlight. Every single warrior of all ranks within the city witnessed this and heard Astra as mana itself carried his will out.
Celestial energy floated down from the heavens, a radiant wave spilling over the battlefield. Starlight grew ever brighter as celestial energy was absorbed by the star, it grew even more darker and cracks began to appear, yet its aura kept surging.
The entire front froze beneath the glowing dark celestial orb.
Out side the city walls the Solace commanders stared in dread, a domain spell of such magnitude and quality made things a lot harder for their assault, they had faced two powerful enigmas in this assault of the north and east wall, A warrior of Iron and Fire, and now the famed mythical heir of House Night was for some damn reason stationed here which meant that there were even more powerful assets stationed here. The commanders had expected an easy breakthrough but now they actually had a proper siege on their hand. as they saw the massive domain forming overhead.
Soldiers throughout fell silent.
Astra's voice rang out, clear and cold, like a bell forged in the void.
"Now Come forth and descend the night"
Velhor held its breath
"My Blackstar."
The star detonated.
And the world darkened.
The battlefield sank into a darker night as the star's collapse devoured the light. Shadows danced—mad, obedient—with dark glee. Above, the stars shimmered brighter.
Shadow and starlight flooded through him—and every soldier under his command. Their mana sharpened. Their wills hardened. The enemy faltered.
Above in the sky one can see it
A true Blackstar.
A sphere so dark it could not be seen—only its corona, glowing white like an eclipse burning through reality.
All around the city, warriors of shadow felt Astras nourishment, His domains strengthening most of his allies, everyone felt and saw it.
Astra stood taller. he felt the stars nourish him, strengthen him
and even call out to him.
His aura surged drastically
yet he was still slightly weaker than Helena's—but she was in trouble.
She was in his domain now. and as it seemed, she did not have her own domain spell or one to a sufficient level to counter Astras Black star.
He exhaled deeply, as he felt the pressure of her fade away.
"While I'd love to surrender myself to you," he said, summoning his helmet once more, eyes glowing like twin stars, "I'm afraid I'll have to pass."
Helena narrowed her eyes, her mocking smile long gone.
Before she could even reply, jagged spikes of shadow erupted from the ground—razor-sharp, twisting, relentless—lancing toward her with merciless speed.
Helena staggered back, forming a shimmering barrier of cursed energy around herself. The barrier glowed dark gold, crackling with malicious power, and to Astra's irritation, it effortlessly dissolved his shadows as if they were smoke in the wind.
Astra felt his domain clash with a few that already were summoned, mainly spectres and kaals, as well as a couple more from the north side of the city, powerful domains, "damn, he really is powerful" Astra muttered
Unfazed, Astra slid his helmet back over his head. The roar of his warriors echoed in his mind, carried on the voice of Merry:
"My prince, I see you've summoned your Blackstar. Commander Spectre is clashing with four pinnacle-tier combatants and may soon require assistance, a domain clash is underway. More rank threes assault his position. The south and west sides hold strong, but the brunt of the attack presses your front. Spectre bears the worst of it. I've rerouted platoons fifteen through eighteen to the Eastern breach and sent the fifth through ninth to the gate. Vael is en route, and I'm dispatching Elric with his platoon to support you. Vance moves toward the gate, too. Drevan Kal holds off five rank threes with reinforcements coming. Oran's platoons are outnumbered and in dire need. Vael is free; I'm rerouting to assist."
"Thank you, Merry," Astra muttered, a hint of impatience in his voice, "but I'm a little busy right now… with a herald of the Death Singers and her cohort. I'll need time before I can reach Spectre."
Merry's voice held a note of worry.
"A Herald? Do you need reinforcements?"
"No one else free can handle her, and no," Astra replied, irritation flaring at her audacity, "she's mine."
Helena's fury was palpable—she twisted and darted through Astra's relentless assault as tiny stars fell from his domain like burning meteors, each streak wrapped in black shadow and radiant light. Shadow tendrils lashed at her, striking like whips of void and flame.
Astra's aura flared. His sword, a dark blade etched with starlight and shadow, gleamed as he donned his helmet fully and surged forward, the weight of his domain behind him.
Helena met him head-on, thrusting a dark golden spear crackling with cursed energy. The spear was a thing of terrible beauty—etched with runes that shimmered with malice, glowing as if fed by the souls it had claimed.
Their weapons collided with a thunderous clang—the sword against the spear, starfire against cursed flame.
"Say, Death Singer," Astra hissed, voice cold and commanding, "how does it feel to be under my dominion?"
"Like a piece of cake" Helena laughed, her voice a harsh rasp as she parried and riposted, driving him back with surges of dark magic.
Astra surged forward, the Blackstar's lingering shadows swirling fiercely around him like living shadows hungry for blood. His sword blazed with celestial heat, the blade a streak of void and starlight that carved through the smoky air. Helena met him head-on, spear crackling with cursed energy, each rune glowing as if alive.
He was slightly weaker.
Their weapons collided with a deafening crack—the shockwave tore through the ranks of soldiers nearby. Dozens of rank twos and ones, caught in the crossfire, were hurled backward, their armor scorched and battered, cries of pain rising above the battle's roar. Some were struck by stray shards of cursed energy; others fell to Astra's whipping shadow tendrils lashing out in all directions.
Helena pushed Astra back with a savage flurry, her spear spinning in wide arcs, each thrust dripping with corrosive curse magic. The air sizzled as her curse waves clashed with Astra's starlight bursts, creating ripples that twisted reality briefly—fireballs exploded nearby, smoke engulfed the ground, and warriors screamed as earth cracked beneath them.
Astra ducked under a brutal spear sweep, his boots skimming the cracked stone. With a burst of Astral Jump, he vanished, reappearing behind Helena and slicing upward with a strike imbued with the weight of mountains. Helena twisted just in time, parrying the blow with a reinforced cursed shield that splintered under the force. The reverberation shattered shields and helmets from Astra's own side; a lieutenant staggered, clutching a bleeding arm.
Astra lashed out with shadow spikes from the ground—helpless rank two and one peacekeepers caught in the spikes' grasp were pierced, torn apart before they could cry out. Blood sprayed, and bodies tumbled like ragdolls in the chaos. Astra felt sick.
Helena snarled, stepping into the fray with a cursed roar that seemed to twist the very air. She unleashed a wave of dark energy, sweeping through Astra's shadow tendrils and turning them to ash. Several of Astra's warriors nearby were caught in the blast, screaming as their mana faltered, their bodies convulsing violently before collapsing.
The Death Singer pressed the attack, her spear glowing brighter, carving arcs of cursed flame that cut through Astra's defenses. Astra gritted his teeth, summoning starlight to his blade, each strike a flare of brilliance that illuminated the battlefield's grim carnage.
Their dance continued—a deadly pendulum of attack and defense.
Astra's Astral Sight and curse allowed him to anticipate Helena's movements, dodging cursed blasts and retaliating with crushing blows that forced her to stagger. He leached mana from the shadows beneath her feet, causing the ground to writhe and grasp at her ankles, momentarily rooting her.
But Helena's curse was relentless. She roared and shattered the shadows with a surge of malignant energy, sending shards of cursed crystal flying like deadly hail. One shard struck an allied rank three officer beside Astra, piercing through his armor and silencing him forever.
The air between them crackled with raw power—stars and shadows against curses and darkness. The soldiers around them faltered under the weight of their leaders' duel, morale wavering as the clash tore a path of destruction through the lines of troops fighting, leveling parts of the eastern side of the city.
Helena lunged with her spear, her cursed energy wrapping like chains around Astra's blade, trying to rip it away. Astra twisted, using his sword to sever the chains and, with a roar, slammed his blade down in a starfire slash that scorched the earth beneath her feet. Helena barely rolled away, leaving a trail of scorched stone and withering grass.
I'm taking too long, Astra thought, sweat clinging to the inside of his helmet. Helena was relentless—her aura still pulsed with terrifying pressure even under the oppressive light of his Blackstar. She didn't falter. She didn't break. Even drenched in his domain, She was fine just under pressure, she would surely outlast him.
He was burning through too much energy too fast.
He just needed to halt her—halt them—long enough for the retreat signal to sound. Just long enough.
Then came the new pressures.
Helena stopped her spear of curses in hand as Astra retreated.
Four more figures stepped forward from behind the haze of ash and slaughter, their dark gold armor shimmering with curse-bound radiance under the fractured sky. Rank threes—all of them. Mid-tier. And worse: all wore the skeletal heraldry and coiled sigils of the Death Singers.
Astra's throat tightened.
Helena's voice oozed with mockery. "Ah death truly follows all. A spell of such level sure is impressive… but what can fake stars do in the face of deaths grace.."
Five against one. Astra tensed. She alone was a nightmare—but this? This was a proper execution squad.
He glanced to the sky—his star still burned, and shadows churned beneath his feet like loyal hounds ready to be unleashed. But even they grew sluggish under the weight of so many cursed auras. He was running out of time, of tricks, of breath.
He readied himself, steadying his blade as he mocked "Five famed deathsingers assaulting a poor helpless rank two, my oh my how just how pathetic is your order."
They snorted and Astra felt a premonition "Oh shit"
Then—
"My prince, if you would be so kind as to move three feet to the left," a calm voice chimed in his mind.
Kaal?
Astra shifted instinctively.
And then the air behind him detonated.
A wave of pressure, suffocating and divine, howled through the battlefield like holy retribution. Two of the newly arrived Death Singers dropped to their knees—gasping, choking, clutching their chests as though their lungs had been seized by invisible hands.
Sealing mana, he could tell by the unique coiled threads.
Astra turned.
Through the smoke strode a tall figure in priestly blacks, a twisted staff in one hand, a short sword burning with ink-black fire in the other. A dark halo floated above his head like a second eclipse. Barbed spikes of light hovered behind him like wings frozen in time.
Platoon Commander Kaal. In full domain release. His Seal of the Grave humming.
"Gods," Astra whispered. "He's terrifying."
Kaal's voice rang like a funeral bell, his disdain sharp and absolute. "Ah the Death Singers. You lot did always piss me off with your misguided sermons. Blind zeal to a dead god and your misguided duty. Pathetic madness draped in gold."
Helena clicked her tongue, her spear twitching with tension. "Two domains and a high tier rank three, this is gonna be harder then we anticipated"
A new Death Singer stepped forward beside her, eyes wild, body shaking under Kaal's pressure. "It doesn't matter. The God of Death will welcome you all. In time."
Kaal sneered. "He'll have to get in line. For my only faith is within that of Mana itself"
Astra's grip tightened on his blade, the shadows beneath him sharpening once more. His reinforcements had arrived—but Spectre's situation still clawed at his thoughts. The signal for retreat hadn't come yet. Which meant Spectre was still holding, or…
Or he was dying.
But Astra couldn't afford to think about that now.
Right now, he had a Death Singer to kill. One who had personally slaughtered hundreds of his men. Who had dared stand beneath his sky and not kneel, and she called his star fake!. How audacious
"Where does she get the galls" he seethed.
Astra took a step forward.
"You'll answer for every soldier you butchered, Herald," he said coldly, helmet gleaming with starlight, his voice layered with echoing mana. "Let's see how long your dead god listens… when I carve his songbirds apart."
Helena grinned.
"So be it, If we shall return to his embrace on this day then we shall welcome it!."
And they clashed again.
Drevan Kaal stood unmoving, a specter of divine judgment. His priestly robes billowed in the rising wind of power, the dark-gold halo above his head pulsing like a holy seal, thrumming with the eerie cadence of Grave Seal Mana. The air thickened, saturated with silence and weight—his very presence a curse to curses themselves. Every breath near him felt heavier, every spell cast near him strained to survive.
Blight—rare, virulent, ancient—bled from his staff like rotting incense smoke, curling toward Helena and her ally like tendrils from some buried blight. He moved like a funeral bell rung by the cosmos itself, each strike from his short sword severing mana threads mid-cast.
But Astra wasn't watching.
He had his own dance to finish.
Three Death Singers advanced on him—armored head-to-toe in jet-black bone and gold. Their auras were malignant. Not Helena's level—but heavy enough to crush lesser men. The ground darkened under their feet. One wielded a mace so large the cobblestones cracked beneath it. Another spun a spear long and cruel, its shaft etched with funerary scripture. The last moved with methodical menace, sword and shield in hand, like a knight from some cursed liturgy.
Astra exhaled.
"Finally," he muttered, rolling his shoulders as shadows flickered up his legs. "I can breathe."
The first to strike was the spear-wielder—fast, vicious, a blur of stabbing curses. But Astra's bastard sword was already in motion, catching the blade with the flat of his own and deflecting it into the oncoming shield-bearer, whose block faltered from the sudden collision.
The mace dropped from above like a meteor.
Astra vanished.
No—he moved—Astral Jumped—the flicker of starlight trailing where his body had just been.
He reappeared to the left, shadows rising to parry the mace mid-swing while his real blade shot forward. The sword-and-shield knight barely intercepted the thrust—but Astra's blow wasn't meant to pierce.
It detonated.
The Death Singer staggered back, armor cracked. Astra surged through the breach, blade howling with abyssal madness and the keening of the stars.
The mace came again, but this time Astra caught it—shadow tendrils erupting from his arms to grip the weapon mid-swing. With a twist of his wrist and a flare of Blackmoon Mana, the shadows yanked the mace off-course and the wielder with it.
Astra spun—his blade dragging behind like a comet's tail—then struck with a full-body twist into the spear-wielder's ribs. The Death Singer screamed—until Astra's sword bit through both armor and soul, and starlight burned out the cry.
One down.
The other two hesitated for a moment.
The shield-bearer surged forward, trying to push Astra back while the mace-wielder recovered. But Astra didn't retreat.
He advanced.
A feint left—a sudden sidestep—Astral Sight saw the angle of the coming block before it even moved. His blade dipped under the shield, a flicker of silver in the dark.
Slice.
The knight gasped—blood sprayed from a torn thigh.
Then came the kill. Shadows wrapped the enemy's arms. Astra drove his blade up through the chin of the helmet.
Two down.
"Deaths embrace huh." Astra chuckled.
The mace-wielder roared.
He charged.
Astra let him.
Just before the hammer fell, Astra dropped low and let gravity shift—his Sword of the Stars surged, dragging weight and fire into the arc. The mace clanged against the cobblestone as Astra's blade passed through the enemy's gut.
But he wasn't done.
The mace-wielder stood still—until a shimmer of shadow sparked from the wound and the Death Singer imploded into ash.
Three down.
Silence.
Ash blew gently across the street as the clangor of battle rung out all around him.
Only Astra remained—smoke curling from his armor, his blade whispering with lingering starlight, his helmet catching the glow of the corona above.