Chapter 11 : Breath of the Stars

As the flames consumed the towering orc, Roderick stood firm, his silhouette outlined by the pulsing blaze behind him. The fiery tendrils danced upward, painting the sky with orange and gold, casting flickering shadows over his battle-worn face. He watched in silence, savoring the raw, unfiltered power of his magic tearing through his enemy—an old, familiar glory.

Glancing down at his palm, he slowly clenched it into a fist.

So the fire still answers me. Even after all these years.

A quiet sense of affirmation settled in his chest, pushing away a lingering doubt he hadn’t realized had been nesting there all this time. Maybe he wasn’t so far gone. Maybe the title of Adventurine hadn’t yet slipped from his grasp.

“Ugh—uhuk... uhuk!”

A cough, wet and sharp, pulled him from his thoughts. Roderick turned.

Elliot was kneeling nearby, blood trickling from his lips, his breathing ragged and shallow. The orc's brutal grip had done a number on him. Roderick knelt and eased him onto the cold, scorched earth, brushing ash from his shoulder.

“Multiple broken ribs,” he muttered after a quick assessment. “At least.”

Elliot slapped his hand away, wincing. “I’m fine.”

Roderick smirked, shaking his head. “Whatever you say, White Hair.”

Footsteps approached. Maggie stepped into view, her long coat billowing slightly in the breeze stirred by the dying flames. Her expression, as always, was unreadable, but there was a hint of regard in her voice.

“Huh. That thing slammed you like a sack of wheat, and yet you’re still breathing.” She crossed her arms. “Impressive.”

“Thanks... I think.” Elliot grimaced, clutching his side.

“Aw, quit whining,” Roderick said, giving his shin a light kick. “Walk it off.”

But the grim calm didn’t last.

From the edge of the battlefield, a voice cracked with disbelief rang out.

“Nooo!! Impossible!!” It was Darcus.

He stood frozen amidst the smoldering debris, the sneer once etched on his face now twisted into panic. His sharpened teeth were bared in fury, his body trembling with rage.

“You were the second strongest! How could you lose? You big, stinking pile of failure!”

His scream echoed across the field, shrill with denial. The flames behind him cast his shadow long and wild as the reality of Bumpty’s defeat tore into him like a fresh wound.

Darcus stepped through the smoke, slow and deliberate, toward the still-burning remains of the fallen orc. He knelt beside the crackling corpse, the flames painting his face with flickering shadows. His eyes—narrowed, shimmering with grief, rage, and bitter disbelief—locked on what was left of his comrade.

Bumpty.

Burned beyond recognition.

Gone.

The sight awakened something dormant in him. Something foul. Something wrong. His jaw clenched so hard it trembled, and his hands shook—not from fear, but from fury boiling too deep to be calmed.

And then, he broke.

What is restraint, he thought, when grief carves open the soul and rage pours in to fill the cracks?

With a sudden motion, Darcus unsheathed a curved, cruel-looking dagger from his belt. Its edge was chipped, blackened, and stained with old blood. He stabbed it into the dirt and began carving a circle around himself—a chanting ring, etched with swift, practiced strokes. But the symbol he inscribed at the center was no emblem of the Five Celestials. This sigil twisted and turned in unnatural ways, pulsating as if it were alive.

It was ancient. Forbidden. And not of this world.

Once complete, Darcus lowered himself into the circle, slicing his palm, feeding the ring with his own blood, sitting cross-legged in silence. The winds around him stilled. Then, in a voice low and resonant with fury, he began to chant:

“For the endless death beneath the skin of the world,

For the might that festers in darkness and decay,

To the master, the servant, and the agony in between—

I offer my flesh as vessel…”

The chanting ring ignited with a sickly, dark-purple glow, exhaling coils of black smoke. The air grew heavier with each verse, and the earth beneath him cracked ever so slightly as if recoiling from what was being summoned.

Then—without warning—the fire consuming Bumpty's remains extinguished, vanishing in an instant. No smoke. No embers. Just silence and the lingering stench of charred flesh.

Roderick blinked. “What in the hells… What is he doing?”

“I don’t know,” Maggie muttered, eyes narrowed, lifting her rifle on instinct. “But I don’t like it.”

The barrel of her weapon locked on Darcus. Her finger curled around the trigger.

“Oi!” Roderick shouted. “Whatever twisted game this is, end it! It’s over!”

But Darcus did not so much as flinch. His voice, calm and final, carried the last words of his incantation:

“Cornitus Vhagares.”

The earth shuddered.

A thick cloud of black vapor burst from the circle, violent and wild, engulfing both Darcus and Bumpty’s corpse. It rose high, swirling like a storm, wrapping itself in tight coils before taking shape—broad, hulking, monstrous. A silhouette emerged from within the chaos. It was an orc… but not the same. Bigger. Worse. Its presence radiated corruption, like something that had crawled back from the abyss beneath the world.

“What… what in the gods’ names is that?” Roderick breathed, the color draining from his face.

Before anyone could answer, a desperate scream rang out from beyond the battlefield.

“Run! Get out of there!”

Roderick spun toward the voice.

A half-orc came sprinting through the smoke, waving his arms frantically. His round spectacles were cracked, his robes scorched and tattered. Panic contorted his face, and fear clung to him like sweat.

It was Corrin.

The frail-looking man kept running, his voice hoarse and wild. “You have to run! You don’t understand—hes using black magic! A forbidden art! You can’t fight that! You can’t!”

But before any of them could so much as move, the dark beast charged.

It moved with horrifying speed—too fast for something its size. Its steps shattered cobblestones beneath its feet, and in the blink of an eye, it closed the distance. The first blow came like a bolt of thunder, its enormous, shadow-wreathed fist slamming into Roderick with devastating force.

The seasoned adventurine didn’t even have time to defend himself.

He was launched through the air like a ragdoll, his body crashing through the wall of a nearby wooden building with a deafening crack. Splinters exploded from the impact, and then—silence. He did not rise.

Maggie and Elliot stood frozen in disbelief.

A single strike had felled Roderick Barrentworth.

A high-ranked adventurine. Gone. Just like that.

The dark-skinned monstrosity, with twisted features and eyes glowing like dying stars, turned toward them, its heavy breath curling into the cold air like smoke from a furnace. Fear set in. A deep, suffocating dread that pressed against their chests like iron weights.

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They weren’t strong enough.

They never had been.

With trembling hands, Maggie dropped her weapon—the rifle clattered against the ground. She rushed to Elliot, whose blood still stained his lips, his frame barely upright.

“We need to go,” she said under her breath, lifting his arm over her shoulder. “Now.”

But the beast was already moving again.

Another fist rose—massive, gnarled, death incarnate. This time, it was Maggie in its path. Her eyes widened as she realized she wouldn’t be able to run, not while holding Elliot. Not fast enough.

And then—he moved.

With the last ember of strength flickering in his battered body, Elliot shoved her to the side. His breath caught in his throat as pain surged through him, but he didn’t hesitate. He chose.

He took the hit.

The beast's blow came down like a falling mountain. The ground quaked. A sound like thunder cracked through the air as the fist struck, with Elliot caught beneath it.

Dust and debris shot outward in a violent ring. The earth buckled. And where Elliot had stood, there was now only a crater—deep, fractured, and still.

Maggie lay nearby, thrown back by the shockwave. She scrambled to her feet, coughing, eyes wide as she stared at the smoking impact zone.

“White… hair?”

No answer.

Just silence… and the slow, deliberate sound of the monster rising again. Two fighters down in less than ten seconds only she remained, alone and outmatched.

In that breathless moment of despair—when all hope seemed to falter—salvation came from the skies.

With a sudden flutter of wings, two creatures swooped down from above—Boulder Frogs, heavy-bodied with mottled green skin and stone-like hides. Their wings buzzed noisily as they hovered near the monstrous orc's head. Their jaws yawned open, releasing thick plumes of green smoke that hissed and curled around the creature’s face.

A distant voice pierced through the chaos.

“Don’t just stand there!! Run, woman, run!!” Corrin’s voice echoed from beyond the alley, strained and frantic.

The command jolted Maggie to life.

Her pulse roaring in her ears, she snatched up her breath and bolted, sprinting through the alley as fast as her legs would carry her. The smoke grew thicker behind her, the beast flailing its arms in frustration as Corrin’s summoned familiars clouded its senses.

Then came a voice—hoarse, furious, familiar.

“Inverno!!!”

The ground beneath the monster erupted in flame.

A pillar of fire surged upward, engulfing the beast in roaring heat. Wooden planks and debris were blasted outward as a figure emerged from the shattered wreckage—a silhouette against the rising inferno.

Roderick Barrentworth.

His coat torn, face bloodied, one arm hanging limp at his side. Smoke coiled from his burned sleeve as he pulled himself upright, teeth clenched in defiance.

It should have been enough to kill a man. But Roderick stood, eyes locked on the beast, as if daring it to try again.

The flames of Inverno licked up the monster’s body, but still—it did not fall. It merely took a single step forward, its massive feet crunching through scorched earth. Its gaze—brimming with wrath—fell upon Roderick, unblinking.

No wound. No hesitation.

The creature had endured the blast, utterly unfazed.

But Roderick refused to falter.

With blood dripping from his temple and his coat tattered by flame and impact, he clenched both fists. Fire ignited around them, swirling violently, coiling up his arms like a pair of living serpents. The ground beneath his feet cracked with the sudden surge of heat.

“It’s time to get serious,” he muttered, a lopsided, almost reckless grin curving across his bruised face.

Then, he launched forward like a meteor, colliding into the fray once more.

Round two had begun.

He circled the monstrous orc with practiced grace, flames trailing in his wake with every spin and feint. Every time the creature swung its massive arms, Roderick twisted and dove beneath, retaliating with gouts of searing flame. At times, he even used the force of his own fire to propel himself—blasting off the ground like a human rocket, making himself too fast, too erratic to catch. His fire wasn’t just a weapon now—it was part of his very movement.

Suprisingly, Roderick went toe to toe with that monstroucity out pure spite mixed with adrenaline rush.

While the beast’s attention remained locked on Roderick’s relentless assault, Maggie had made her way to Corrin, breathless and ash-covered. Just behind her, three of Corrin’s summoned Boulder Frogs came fluttering awkwardly through the smoky air, their stubby wings straining as they carried Elliot’s limp form between them.

“Oh my Celestials—Elliot!” Serena came rushing from her hiding spot, panic etched across her face as she pushed past Gerald. “Is he okay? Tell me he’s okay!”

Corrin whipped around, wide-eyed with disbelief. “Yes! Yes, of course he’s okay! In fact, he’s ready to climb the highest damn mountain in the realm—twice—while carrying a wagon full of bricks on his back! Just look at him!” he shrieked, gesturing wildly. “What do you think?!”

Serena recoiled. Corrin had a tendency to unravel dramatically when faced with what he deemed idiotic questions.

Maggie stepped in, yanking Corrin by the sleeve, her voice sharp and urgent. “That thing. What is it? What the hell did Darcus do?”

Corrin hesitated, his mouth parting but no words came at first. Then, reluctantly, he answered. “It’s dark magic. A forbidden rite. Necromancy—something that predates the Five Celestials. A technique buried since the First War.”

“N-Ne-Necr—necromancy?” Gerald’s voice cracked. His knees buckled as he hugged himself, jaw quivering. “B-but… that’s a—"

“A crime,” Maggie stated coldly, her voice like steel.

Corrin flung his arms in the air. “Well, of course it’s a crime! That’s the whole point! They call it forbidden magic for a reason!” he snapped, clearly teetering on the edge of a breakdown. “You think people get to raise the dead and mutate them into rage-fueled monsters without a few laws getting broken?!”

Maggie didn’t respond. She simply turned to watch the distant battlefield, where Roderick danced like a blaze incarnate beneath the looming shadow of the resurrected terror.

She narrowed her eyes.

“We need a plan,” she said, low and tight.

But just as Maggie opened her mouth to insist on a plan—

SLAM.

Roderick’s battered body came crashing down from above like a meteor, landing squarely atop Gerald with a sickening thud.

“—Mmph! I-I'm alright! B-but not so much…” Gerald wheezed, his voice rising into a squeak as the full weight of Roderick Barrentworth flattened him to the cobblestones.

The adventurine rolled off him, groaning, his face a bloodied mess, and his right arm twisted at an angle that clearly wasn’t natural. He grit his teeth, breathing raggedly through the pain. “If any of you geniuses have a plan… I’m all ears.”

Maggie turned sharply, pointing at Corrin with a glare sharp enough to cut steel. “Glasses! You're up. There’s got to be something about that creature—some kind of weakness. Come on!”

Corrin threw his arms up. “Weakness?! Have you seen it?! It’s already dead! If fire from a ranked adventurine couldn’t stop it, what could?!”

“Well figure it out!” Maggie snapped.

“Why me?!”

“Because you’re the only one here who has more than two brain cells and even remotely understands what the hell that thing is!”

The two continued to argue, voices rising, a pointless exchange spiraling into panic. But none of them noticed how close the true danger had crept—until now.

The dark creature was drawing near, one slow, deliberate step at a time. There was something unnerving in its pace—not the urgency of a predator, but the leisure of a tormentor. It knew they were finished. It was simply savoring its victory.

Then, from behind them, a voice cut through the noise.

“You said it’s already dead, right?”

Everyone turned. Serena had risen to her feet, gripping her staff with white-knuckled resolve. Her eyes were wide, not with fear—but with a sudden, dangerous clarity.

“That means… it counts as undead, doesn’t it?”

Corrin blinked, caught off-guard. “Well, yes—technically! But what does that help us with?!”

“Third-year magical creature profiles,” Serena said, her voice steady. “Basic rule: to defeat an undead, you use purification magic.”

Corrin broke into laughter, high-pitched and incredulous. “Oh sure, why didn’t we all think of that?! Why don’t we sprinkle some holy water on it while we’re at it? Serena, did you see the amount of dark animus pouring off of that thing?! A simple purification spell won’t even itch it!”

Serena didn’t flinch. Her grip tightened on the staff.

“But what about an overcharged one?”

The argument died. Everyone turned to her in silence.

At last, Serena made her choice.

From the very beginning of this battle, she had been the one in need of protection—shielded, sheltered, treated as the weakest link. But that time was over.

No longer would she stand behind the others.

With quiet resolve, she stepped forward, positioning herself at the front of the group. Her small frame stood tall against the hulking shadow approaching, her staff gripped tightly in both hands.

“Oi! Little girl!” Roderick growled from the ground, alarmed. “Don’t go playing hero!”

“No, no, no! Miss, don’t—somebody stop her!” Gerald shouted, practically scrambling on all fours in panic.

Even Maggie lunged toward her. “Serena, what are you doing?!”

But Serena turned to them with a calm, graceful tilt of her head. Her eyes glowed faintly with power. “It’s my turn to fight,” she said, her voice unwavering. “Leave the rest to me.”

And, to everyone’s surprise, Corrin said nothing. He didn’t argue. Didn’t try to pull her back. Instead, he exhaled a quiet sigh, his shoulders sinking as a bittersweet smile crossed his face. Somehow, he knew.

He knew what this little sorceress was capable of.

Serena turned to face the beast. Her gaze locked onto the creature, and she did not flinch. There was no fear, no hesitation—only the glint of determination in her eyes.

She raised her staff. “Here I go…” she whispered.

And then, she began to chant.

“Slumbering light that thrives within my glass heart, I call upon your grace. For your eternal glow is the true source of the realm. Time, Space, Life, Mind, and Creation… By the blessings of the Five Celestial Stars, May the stream of Aster grant us salvation.”

A radiant circle ignited in the air above the creature—a massive ring of glowing sigils, pulsing with a brilliant cerulean hue. At its center shimmered the ancient symbol of Artheons, surrounded by six caelus cores, orbiting like moons caught in divine gravity.

From Serena’s small frame, torrents of animus erupted—pure and powerful—surging upward like a river of light, flowing into the floating array. The very ground beneath her trembled as raw magic coursed through the sky.

“Luminea Ars Lorna Weiss, Novan Trask, Farum Liest Faltera… Luminea Ars Lewin, Filhum Greiss!”

The chanting circle flared, and from its center, a celestial arrow began to form—monumental in size, forged of gleaming starlight. Its surface shimmered with golden motes, like a comet wrapped in the breath of constellations. The aura it exuded was divine, unmistakable, and overwhelming.

Serena raised her staff skyward.

“With thee… I release the breath of the stars.

Disintegrate all that is evil and vile… Gladios Estella!”

The arrow launched.

It tore through the air like divine judgment, crashing down upon the monstrous creature with the force of the heavens. The moment it struck, the entire battlefield was engulfed in blinding light. Stardust erupted outward, flooding the alley in a blizzard of shimmering particles. The air quaked with a deep, resonating boom, as if the stars themselves had roared.

The creature’s body was consumed. No scream. No defiance. Just obliteration.

When the light finally faded, only silence remained.

Where the monster had stood, only its lower half remained—severed and cracked, before slowly crumbling into ash, scattered by the wind.

The dark monstrosity has been defeated.