JVMenjivar

Astashica: Eternal Starborn Dominion

"Listen well, child of the twin suns. The land speaks, the winds whisper, and the rivers carry old songs. But there is one voice that does not sing, one truth that sleeps beneath your feet. The world you stand upon is not what you believe it to be."

The Xothek Galaxy is gone, consumed by its own hunger for power. The Asemeri once shaped the stars, bending light and void to their will. Their greatest creation, the Formicrons, built empires that stood for millennia.  

But Xothek fell—not to time, nor to gods, but to its own arrogance.  

The Azurevat fire erased them. Cities vanished. Kingdoms dissolved into the abyss. And the last Asemeri fled aboard the Defiance Vanguard, a warship of lost power, its runes still pulsing with ancient knowledge. They sought refuge. They found Astashica.  

A world of twin suns. A world veiled in Light. A world that does not belong to them.  

For three hundred cycles, the Asemeri ruled. They carved their names into the mountains, built their towers over rivers, but Astashica is awake. It watches. It remembers.  

Now, the shadow returns.  

Cosmus has returned. The exile. The usurper. The last remnant of a dead empire. His fleet blackens the sky. His armies rise from the abyss. And in his grasp? The final Azurevat missile—the fire that once shattered the heavens.  

And in the path of destruction, one man stands.  

Tlandar. Son of two worlds. A man of soil and harvest. A man who should have lived his days in peace.  

But war does not ask who you wish to be. It demands who you must become.  

Flee, and the twin suns will set forever.  
Stand, and awaken the Light once more.  

He takes the blade. He spills the blood. He walks the path of no return.  

The Defiance Vanguard looms overhead.  
The Azurevat fire waits in silence.  
The Formicrons stir beneath the sands.  
The ancient Asemeri cores pulse in the dark.  

But beneath it all—beneath the ruins, beneath the rivers, beneath the very bones of this world—there is something older than the Asemeri.  

Something forgotten.  
Something that was never meant to wake.  

This is not a war for land. This is not a war for power.  

This is a war for the right to exist.  

And so I ask, child of the twin suns—will you fight for the Light, or will you let the darkness take it?"

ASTASHICA: Eternal Starborn Dominion

The Challenge in the Marsh

The battle was nearly over. Tlandar stood victorious on the field, his forces securing the remnants of Ixtiel's broken army. The sky still carried the hum of the Defiance Vanguard, but its cannons had fallen silent—for now.

Yet, one figure remained unshaken in the distance.

Despite his warriors faltering, despite his Formicron kneeling in surrender, he refused to accept defeat. His hands tightened into fists, his breath steady but filled with frustration. His legacy, his dominance, everything he built—was slipping away.

He stepped forward, away from his Formicron, standing tall on the marshy outskirts of the battlefield.

"Tlandar!" his voice rang out.

Tlandar turned, gripping the twin blades Khalzir and Asharuk, his heart still racing from the intensity of the battle.

Ixtiel took another step, his boots sinking slightly into the damp soil.

"I will not be remembered as the warlord who fell on his knees. I will not be remembered as the man who surrendered."

His eyes burned with a fierce challenge.

"Face me. Warrior to warrior. Without machines, without armies."

Tlandar's fingers curled around his swords.

Akashma's voice crackled in his helmet. "Ignore him, Tlandar! His forces are finished—this isn't necessary!"

But Tlandar already knew his answer.

He stepped forward, leaving the cover of his army behind.

This would be decided by the blade.

The Clash of Wills

The marshland was uneven, soft beneath their feet, yet both warriors stood firm.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, Ixtiel moved.

A sudden step, a swift strike—his blade flashed toward Tlandar.

Tlandar reacted, meeting the attack with Khalzir, the force of the impact sending ripples through the marsh water at their feet.

Ixtiel fought with power, each attack calculated and forceful. Tlandar fought with precision, using fluid movements to redirect each strike. They moved through the marsh like two forces of nature colliding, neither relenting.

Ixtiel found an opening.

His blade struck against Tlandar's side, landing a glancing blow.

Tlandar staggered back slightly, feeling the sting of the attack, but he did not falter. His grip tightened on his swords, his breath steady.

And then he countered.

With a swift movement, he struck back, forcing Ixtiel to retreat step by step.

Then, the decisive strike came.

Tlandar's blade found its mark, landing a strong, precise hit. Ixtiel stumbled backward, his footing lost in the unstable ground.

His breath was heavy. His strength waned.

And for the first time, uncertainty flickered in his eyes.

Ixtiel, now wounded, staggered toward the edge of the battlefield, toward a more isolated section of the marsh.

He cursed under his breath, his voice filled with frustration.

"You think this is over? You think this is victory?"

Tlandar remained silent, watching as Ixtiel disappeared into the mist, moving toward a deeper, darker stretch of the wetlands.

Then—a shift in the air.

A rustling. A movement beneath the murky water.

A massive shape emerged from the shadows, gliding effortlessly through the reeds.

Then, in a swift motion, it took him.

The creature vanished back into the depths, leaving only silence.

The battlefield was still.

And with it, Ixtiel's reign had come to an end.

Tlandar exhaled, gripping Khalzir and Asharuk.

But this battle was won.

The Last Duel