Genres: Dark Fantasy / Mythic War / Slice-of-Life / Emotional / Romance / Comedy
It began as it always did—an old tale whispered through ruins, passed between broken tongues and burnt scrolls. The battlefield was known simply as the "Weeping Hollow," though it had long since dried. Once, it had been a divine river, said to flow from Heaven itself. Now it was nothing but charred soil and fractured stones.
On one side: the forces of Umbralis, clad in obsidian iron and led by a living legend, the Voidborn Demon Lord—Augustus. Towering and silent, his armor radiated an ancient, oppressive weight. His torso plate—jet black—throbbed faintly with runes etched in forgotten void script. His eye gleamed with a blood-red hue, almost liquid in motion, while his right eye was veiled behind an enigmatic scar, sealed to suppress a power none dared name.
Augustus was no ordinary Demon lord. He was a relic of cosmic extinction—a being whose voice, when used, echoed like the hollow scream of a dying star. His presence alone bent light subtly, as if reality itself refused to look upon him. His massive frame was further accentuated by the front-heavy leg armor that left only his calves lightly guarded—brutal in function, purposeful in design. The air around him shimmered with the pulse of void energy, making even seasoned generals shudder at his advance.
Behind him marched his legion—silent fleshless knights, void spawned beasts with eyes like dying suns, and titanic war bringers. Their war chants like thunder over the hills. They moved not by order, but by pressure—his presence enough to guide and command them, a harbinger of inevitable doom.
On the other side: Luminaria, an empire of light, guided by the paladin—Eleonoré, the Radiant Blade of the Skies. Dressed in war-garments woven of light and silver, as she rode at the front of Heaven's golden cavalry. Her eyes held conviction sharper than her blade, and hair beautiful and blinding. Songs of angels carried behind her, each note a curse and a prayer.
Both armies approached in perfect unity—the ground itself trembling under the synchronized weight of purpose. For generations they had clashed, never yielding, never relenting. Today was meant to end that.
The demon lord and the angel met alone in the center, swords drawn, forces holding back in a circle of reverent silence.
As they charged at each other with both swords nearing a clash, the sky...
had cracked.
A brilliant fissure tore across the clouds. The sun dimmed as a beam of pure, divine light pierced the battlefield. Screams faded. Marches halted. Even the wind ceased.
From the light, a hand descended—neither masculine nor feminine, cloaked in woven threads of Heaven and Hell both. Cradled in the divine palm was a child wrapped in cloth stitched from starlight and ash.
She was placed between them.
Aurené.
Their daughter.
Not born. Gifted.
The silence that followed was heavier than any war cry. Eleonoré's half-moon blade, which had known only purpose, now trembled, her knuckles white. She stared at the child, then at Augustus, her luminous eyes wide with a disbelief that war could never inflict.
"What… what unholy trickery is this?" Eleonoré whispered, her voice a thin, ragged thread, alien even to her own ears. "A demon's spawn and a blade of Heaven? It defies all law!"
A deep rumble vibrated through the air, emanating from the brilliant fissure above. It was a voice that resonated not in their ears, but in the very core of their warring souls—ancient, weary, and absolute.
"The new law."
Augustus remained as still as a mountain of obsidian, his visible blood-red eyes fixed on the infant. The void script on his chest plate throbbed with a faint, almost imperceptible tremor, as if sensing the profound paradox. He spoke then, a sound rarely heard outside the roar of cosmic battle, his voice a low, gravelly current that echoed like a distant, dying star, heavy with utter rejection.
"Impossible."
The divine light pulsed once more, wrapping Aurené in a fleeting, warm glow, before slowly beginning to recede. It left behind only the stunned adversaries, the thousands of frozen warriors, and the impossible child, caught between the sundered heavens and the charred earth.
as she vomited on Augustus's Chest Plate.