Chapter Title : Throne of Macedonia
The air above the Moon's surface quivered.
Dust hung motionless in the low gravity, trembling in place from the echo of battle. From the fractured terrain, Alexander the Great rose slowly, blood seeping from the edge of his mouth, his armor scraped and cracked from the last blow.
He clenched both swords tightly in his hands now, muscles straining, veins bulging along his forearms like iron ropes.
His breath was heavy but steady.
"I know I can't defeat you even in this body you possess ," he said, eyes narrowed on the approaching figure.
"But I can make damn sure you never see this world again."
He exploded forward.
Flash—Flash—Flash.
Alexander blurred in and out of space, moving faster than the human eye could register—zigzagging left to right, his trajectory unpredictable, even chaotic. He was closing in, every flicker of his form a whisper of war.
From Lord Arcade's perspective, Alexander was a kaleidoscope of colors his aura shifting from red to gold to white. No fixed signature. No pattern. Just pure martial precision.
And then—impact.
Alexander was already in front of him. Both swords raised high. His fingers twitched, and then—he brought them down with all the strength a human could harvest .
All his strength surged into the strike. His grip cracked the hilt, his body locked in a perfect downward arc. And then—
SHRAAAM!!!
A monstrous arm erupted from thin air between them.
Towering. Brutal. It shielded Arcade in an instant. The arm was made of pure red ice, a jagged crystalized horror that hissed vapor like boiling frost. The wind howled as the pressure shifted, revealing both warriors standing amid the dispersing vapor.
But something was wrong.
Alexander's body began to burn—yet no flame touched him.
His skin sizzled, his armor hissed. His expression twisted in rage.
"Red Ice… You thief," he spat.
"That's Kenzo Madagascar's technique. You stole it. You're not a god—you're a collector. A sick bastard who harvests the dead."
Arcade tilted his head with a subtle, cruel smile.
"Stolen? No. Collected… yes, definitely."
"It seems all the abilities I consumed before my death are finally synchronizing."
The monstrous arm moved again, stretching toward Alexander. Its fingers morphed into a massive red-ice fist, cracking the ground beneath as it launched forward.
BOOOOOM!!!
Alexander clashed with it head-on, sword against fist. The collision ripped through the Moon's terrain, vaporizing everything nearby. Alexander was blasted back, but landed on his feet, barely sliding.
"This ice… it's stronger than diamond. Is it made of carbon?!" he gasped.
"It burns—hot and cold at once. What the hell did you create, Kenzo Madagascar ?"
Arcade chuckled, raising another hand.
"Let's test something else…"
His fingers folded into a sigil and he muttered:
"Creation Order: Requiem of the Fallen Star."
From his palm, a small black orb formed—compact, dense, radiating gravitational force. The meteor began to spin, threads of dark flame swirling around it. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he hurled it forward.
But Arcade manipulated space itself, concealing the meteor tiny form from the visible plane.
Only a ripple of gravity betrayed its approach as it got closer and closer to Alexander.
Alexander turned slightly—eyes narrowing.
"Something's off—" and then
BOOOOOOOM!!!
It was too late.
The concealed meteor struck him dead-on. It exploded mid-air hitting him and locking on to his body , launching him into space. As his body flew upward, the meteor materialized in full form against him—giant, layered in obsidian fire,Alexander was slammed against it, his body pinned like a crucifix against the meteor's core.
The heat and force consumed him burning and destroying almost everything within him.
But then…
A whisper. A defiance. A legacy.
"Throne… of Macedonia." He whispered even through the pain.
The heavens twisted.
A domain erupted into existence crimson and black with gold spears lining its borders. Ethereal banners waved in a nonexistent wind. At its center sat a towering iron throne, cracked and ancient, forged in the likeness of conquest itself.
The moon's surface disappeared.
Lord Arcade was encased inside the Throne of Macedonia.
The meteor he had summoned dissolved into dust, erased from by the domain..
Atop the throne, Alexander the Great sat his body mangled, one arm missing, half his skin charred to the bone. Blood dripped from the exposed musculature of his ribs. He breathed heavily.
This was a last resort technique, a miracle carved from legend.
He slumped forward.
Arcade stood, his eyes slowly taking in the surroundings.
"You've done well, Alexander," he said.
"This domain… it's regal. Poetic. You've evolved."
He began to walk forward.
"But you do realize you're going to die, don't you?"
Alexander trembled, trying to rise—but his body screamed in agony.
"I… I won't let you win…"
Then, he spoke once more—his voice dry, but filled with conviction
"Solarius. Lunaris."
A beam of radiant light descended. Then another.
Two warriors emerged—one wreathed in gold with the sun for a head, the other bathed in blue-silver light with the moon as his crown. Their forms shimmered like deities made flesh.
Solarius and Lunaris.
Embodiments of Day and Night. Eternal protectors of the Macedonian throne.
Arcade's eyes widened for the first time.
"What… is this?"
Solarius took a step forward, sword raised. Lunaris followed, his crescent blades in hand.
The battlefield had shifted again.
Alexander might fall—but not without invoking the wrath of kings and cosmos alike.
End of Chapter