Chapter 8: Back to the past (1)

"THEY'VE BREACHED THE OUTER CITY!"

A soldier burst into the throne room, clutching his stomach split open, blood pooling at his feet. His golden armor was cracked, its runic engravings flickering, their power waning. His face was smeared with blood, impossible to tell if it was his own. One eye had been punctured.

He collapsed onto all fours, coughing blood onto the gilded floor. With a final effort, he raised his head toward the six figures seated on their thrones around a circular table.

"The… Swarm… They've breached… the outer… city walls… No survivors… All… massacred…" His voice faltered as he clutched his head, then fell lifeless to the ground.

One of the figures stood a woman draped in gold. She approached the fallen soldier, cupping his face gently before closing his remaining eye with her fingers.

"Thank you for your service." Tears streamed down her face as mana surged from her hands, enveloping the body in golden light. The corpse dissolved into motes of radiant energy, rising into the air before fading into nothingness.

Another figure a hulking giant covered in battle scars and glowing red-hot chains—slammed his fists onto the table, shaking the room.

"It's only a matter of time before they get here! Where the hell is Sivarus?!" he roared, rising to his feet.

He raised his hands to strike the table again only for a blade to press against his neck. He glared at its wielder, rage burning in his eyes.

"Calm yourself," the woman said softly, her katana unwavering. "Or I might separate your body from your neck."

She wore dark, form-fitting armor beneath a tattered hooded robe, its inscriptions barely visible. Though her face was partially obscured, her beauty was undeniable—her eyes glowing an eerie, dangerous blue.

The giant gritted his teeth, fists clenching. "You wanna fight, bitch?"

"That's enough," the golden-clad woman interjected. "We can't afford to fight among ourselves. Not now."

The giant Rufus growled but reluctantly returned to his throne, knuckles white with tension. The hooded woman sheathed her blade and sat back down, eyes closing in silent focus.

"When is he coming back?" Rufus snarled. "He's been gone for weeks. We need that time crystal now if we want any chance of surviving."

A voice, serene yet synthetic, cut through the tension.

< We cannot give up hope on the hero. >

All eyes turned to the speaker a woman of ethereal beauty, her silver hair cascading like liquid metal. Her pupil-less white eyes only amplified her otherworldly grace, yet her voice carried the unmistakable cadence of machinery.

Rufus's fury reignited. "Says the robot bitch! Why are you even here? Isn't your kind the one wrecking the world, turning it into a wasteland? Shouldn't you be out there with your machine filth?"

An oppressive force suddenly filled the room. Another figure stood a small, disheveled man in a tailored suit, thick glasses perched on his nose. Despite his scholarly appearance, the aura radiating from him was anything but academic.

"Enough, Rufus," he said coldly. "Angela has stood with us against the Mechanicus Swarm time and again. She has proven her loyalty, and you dare insult her?"

Rufus sneered, his hair erupting into flames as he shrugged off the pressure. "Oh, defending your precious metal wife now, huh? You all forget she's not one of us. She's the spawn of the devil outside, the one who slaughtered the gods, the one who turned us into livestock to fuel their machines! If we lose, we all die—except her."

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

The command came from the final throne. A woman in a white dress embroidered with wreaths and leaves sat regally, her presence commanding silence. When she opened her eyes, the room stilled—where irises should have been, one held the symbol of an hourglass. The Mark of Time.

"As Lunara said, we cannot afford infighting. We need each other. And we must have faith in Sivarus."

As if summoned, the doors burst open once more. A lone figure stood in the threshold, head bowed.

"SIVARUS!" they cried in unison, leaping to their feet.

The man looked up, his green eyes brimming with unshed tears. Gaunt to the point of emaciation, his robes hung loosely over his frame. An eyepatch covered his left eye, etched with the sigil of magic. Sivarus the greatest mage Valtheer had ever known.

With a heavy heart, he spoke.

"I've succeeded in creating it."

From his pocket, he withdrew a black stone.

The group surged forward, surrounding him. This was it—the weapon that could turn the tide against the Swarm.

"Wait… What's wrong, Sivarus?" Lunara asked, cupping his face. "This is monumental. Null-Magic will let us fight back!"

Sivarus met their hopeful gazes with despair.

"Because none of us can wield it." His voice cracked. "I created it, but we all possess magic. Only a null vody, someone devoid of mana, can use it. And no such person exists anymore. They would have died long ago."

A crushing silence fell. They had the weapon but no wielder.

Then, Sylvea spoke, her voice resolute.

"Then we find someone who can."