Damn it, Nephis felt like a teenager. One single kiss had set her body ablaze, as if a fire had ignited inside her, and the hunger for more consumed her in a frustrating wave. But she knew there wasn't time for this.
After all, when two Ascended gave in to those impulses, things could last for hours... and when neither of them were ordinary Ascended, the results could be overwhelming.
Nephis, get a grip. You're in the middle of a war, for crying out loud.
And yet, the situation only seemed to worsen—or maybe improve, depending on how she looked at it.
Sunny was still lying in her lap, propping his cheek up on one hand while staring at her with those dark, piercing eyes. There was something in his expression that made her hesitate. Was that a pleading look? What is that idiot thinking now?
Before she could even speak, she heard him chuckle softly—a quiet, teasing laugh that made her frown in irritation.
—Too bad you can't see your face right now.
Nephis blinked, confused. What's wrong with my face?
That was the only thought that crossed her mind before she realized, with dawning horror, exactly what was wrong.
She had a smile plastered on her face—a real one, not the composed or neutral one she usually wore. And worse, her eyes betrayed her. They held a look so intense, so predatory, that it sent a shiver through her.
This is mortifying.
Heat surged up her cheeks, and just as she was trying to regain her composure, Sunny leaned closer. He was so close to her ear now that she could feel his warm breath against her skin.
—Your face looks beautiful when you're embarrassed —he murmured, his voice soft but filled with amusement.
Nephis wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow her whole. This can't be happening.
The next few minutes felt like an eternity. She couldn't move, frozen in her own humiliation, while Sunny basked in her reaction, clearly enjoying himself.
Finally, Sunny shifted, lifting himself off her lap and sitting next to her on the bed. Without a word, he placed his hands on her shoulders and began massaging them.
She would never admit it out loud, but she loved it.
She hadn't even realized how tense her shoulders were until she felt his hands working on them with gentle precision. It was soothing, and for a brief moment, it helped quiet the storm in her head.
After a few moments, Sunny stood up from the bed, his movements light and casual, as if he'd just won a small, private victory. He started heading toward the door, his pace slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.
But just before leaving, he stopped in the doorway and turned back to her with a mischievous smile.
—Pervert.
And then he left, leaving her alone in the room, the word echoing in her mind.
What the hell just happened? Nephis buried her face in her hands, trying to calm the fire that still burned in her cheek
Sunny, damn you.
Sunny lay on the small bed assigned to him in Antarctica. Despite the hardness of the mattress and the relentless cold that seeped through the walls, there was something oddly comforting about the fleeting moment of tranquility. Now he was practically a war hero, a symbol of hope for many—especially for the soldiers who had lost everything in this endless fight.
Alongside Jet, his companion and fellow survivor of Falcon Scott, Sunny had managed to rekindle the faith of the desperate. Stories of their return from the dead were spreading like wildfire, not only in Antarctica but across the world, thanks to communicators and global networks.
"The Devil of Antarctica and Soul Reaper Jet are alive."
That was the message echoing everywhere. Even the Valor clan hadn't missed the chance to capitalize on his fame. How could they? Although Sunny didn't wear the elegant ceremonial armor they preferred, and his induction into the clan had been somewhat overshadowed by Nephis, the story surrounding him was too impactful to ignore.
"The Child of the Outskirts, the young man who survived the Forgotten Shore, saving lives and battling nightmare creatures, now joins the Valor clan as the youngest Master in history."
And Sunny, of course, hated it.
There was nothing heroic about how he'd gotten here. He had been forced to challenge the Second Nightmare because of the mistakes and decisions of the Valor clan, running for his life and facing unspeakable horrors. His Second Nightmare wasn't a "simple challenge." Although everyone in his cohort had suffered through it, he doubted anyone else had spent a hundred years fighting in their dreams against a horse that was, quite literally, a terror.
Nightmare.
The stubborn bastard had been as relentless as Sunny himself. In a twisted way, Sunny respected him for it. But the resentment still lingered, as did the memories of those endless days. After that ordeal, he'd joined the Antarctic expedition, searching for more power.
And he'd found it. Just not in the way he had hoped.
The weight of the countless lives lost continued to press on his chest. The accumulated traumas of his past, the endless battles he fought, and the decisions he made were beginning to leave small but indelible scars on his mind. All of it was pushing him to his limits.
The only thing that truly gave him comfort was Nephis.
Every so often, he found himself silently thanking the version of himself from the past for mustering the courage to confess his feelings to her. He had always wondered how their strange relationship would work, given the nature of the Shadow Bond that tied them together: slave and master.
Although Nephis never abused that power, the bond existed, and they both knew it. It imposed an unspoken limit on them. Both were smart enough not to test its boundaries. And both were, without a doubt, the two most antisocial people he knew.
Although, to be fair, Nephis was even worse than him.
That thought drew a small chuckle from him. Despite everything, being by her side was incredibly comforting. Spending time with her, even during the simplest moments, helped him forget the chaos surrounding him—if only for a little while.
But there was something else.
Sunny had discovered that he enjoyed teasing Nephis. Not just because it was fun to see her embarrassed or annoyed, but because those moments made her stoic mask of untouchable elegance and power crumble. They revealed glimpses of the real Nephis, the person behind the "Star of Valor."
It wasn't that he disliked her usual attitude—it was part of who she was. She radiated strength and an undeniable charisma, and it gave her a unique charm. But those small, human moments were something only he got to witness, and that made them special.
Such a hopeless romantic.
Unfortunately, with Morgan and the entire Valor clan present, there was no time for anything more. The situation in Antarctica was too precarious. Rumors of an impending war between Valor and Song were becoming more concrete, and choosing Antarctica as their battlefield was pure insanity.
Sunny knew just how dangerous this place was. He didn't trust anything here.
What guaranteed that the Winter Beast wouldn't suddenly decide to descend upon another human base? The mere thought sent a shiver down his spine. That monster had left more than just a trauma—it had left a scar on his soul.
And if not the Winter Beast, then perhaps something worse. Another Category 3 Nightmare Gate could open, releasing a new corrupted titan. Even if the two clans joined forces—which Sunny doubted would ever happen—they'd still be doomed.
He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.
But that's not going to happen, right?
Sunny let out a deep sigh as he stared at the dark Antarctic sky. At least a month remained before Nephis would arrive with the reinforcements from Valor and Song. The wait was agonizing, but the thought of seeing her again kept him going. Just a few hours ago, she had shared theories and information she'd gathered over the past months. Each detail only added to the already unbearable weight pressing down on his shoulders.
Still, he had some time left to take care of a pending task: helping Imp, his fourth shadow, evolve.
The small imp was, without a doubt, his least favorite shadow. Annoying, noisy, and with a temperament so unpleasant that Sunny often wondered if Imp had been specifically designed to ruin his day. Yet, he couldn't deny its potential. Perhaps—just perhaps—it would all be worth it.
—
Morgan tucked a strand of her black hair behind her ear, a graceful gesture that hid the weight of her accumulated stress. She was exhausted. They had only recently arrived in Antarctica, and the cold, sharp as the edge of a blade, didn't help. Morgan hated the cold.
She let out a long sigh, heavy with frustration. Not only was she in charge of all Valor forces on this mission, but she also had to follow the directives of her uncle, the shadow leader of the clan, while Anvil remained hidden in his role as Sovereign. The magnitude of her responsibilities was starting to take its toll.
In the distance, she noticed Nephis, her adoptive stepsister... or something like that. At first, Morgan had dreaded the idea of having any kind of relationship with her, especially given who her brother was. But, to her surprise, Nephis was... oddly comforting.
The young woman looked like a marble statue—beautifully sculpted, of course, but with all the emotional depth of a rock. Smiling seemed to be a foreign concept to Nephis. Her mind was probably designed solely for strategizing and killing.
Elsewhere on the small ship stood Cassie, the blind seer. Morgan could never quite figure her out. Always so distant, with forced smiles and those unseeing eyes that seemed to look beyond the present. For a time, Morgan thought Cassie bore a personal grudge against her. But she doubted it—they hardly knew each other. Maybe she was just bitter about being sent, blind, to the most dangerous place in the world. A hard choice to justify.
Still, Morgan remained confident in their chances. Even with the Song clan looming on the horizon, she was sure they could achieve their secondary objective, one far more critical than defeating Song's forces: conquering the black pyramid.
"It can't be that hard, can it?"
She glanced up at the dark, oppressive sky. The eternal night that blanketed Antarctica gave the place a cursed air. She had once heard a scientific explanation for the phenomenon but hadn't paid attention. Morgan was never particularly fond of physics.
She sighed again, the frozen air turning her breath into a puff of white mist.
They had arrived in Antarctica.
The nightmare gates opened, unleashing an unspeakable terror. Morgan cast a sidelong glance as the creatures emerged, one after another. Three titans, each as colossal as a mountain, rose on the horizon. Their forms cast impossible shadows that seemed to devour hope itself.
The air around them reeked of death. Many of the newly arrived troops from the second evacuation army paled at the sight of the monstrosities. Some even collapsed to their knees, unable to withstand the overwhelming presence of the titans.
Fortunately, Saint Tyris had recovered, and alongside the saints from Valor, Song, and the government, she led the charge against these abominations. Despite the overwhelming odds, the united forces seemed to be making progress.
From a distance, Morgan watched intently. The cold grew heavier around her, as if Antarctica itself was reacting to the unfolding battle.
Soon, those towering figures would fall.
At least, that's what she hoped.
The battle had begun, and chaos engulfed the field like a dense and relentless fog. From her position, Morgan could see the nightmares emerging in endless waves, a torrent of grotesque creatures that seemed infinite. The snow, pristine and white just moments ago, had transformed into a landscape stained red and black—a mix of blood, ice, and shadows.
The nightmare gates opened one after another, spewing forth indescribable horrors. From the category 2 gates that unleashed swarms of minor creatures to a towering category 3 gate, whose presence was announced by a deep vibration in the air and an ancient, resonating roar. Morgan shivered as she saw a massive figure beginning to emerge from the largest portal—a corrupted tyrant.
There was no time for hesitation. As the commander of Valor's forces, Morgan acted with precision and efficiency. She issued quick orders, relying on Cassie, the blind seer, to foresee the enemy's movements and coordinate their efforts.
"Nephis, Fire Wardens, hold the front line," she commanded, her voice sharp as a blade.
Nephis, unshaken and focused, moved forward without hesitation, her sword gleaming with a crimson glow that cut through the darkness. At her side, Soul Reaper Jet and Effie took their positions, while the Fire Wardens prepared their ranged weapons in the backline.
Morgan watched as her adoptive sister and the other fighters pushed into the chaos. For a moment, she felt reassured. These were no ordinary warriors—they were humanity's elite, the embodiment of hope.
But then something caught her eye. A figure she didn't immediately recognize. At first glance, he wore neither the imposing armor of Valor's warriors nor the clan's insignia. Instead, he was dressed in dark silk, with a scarf or cape fluttering in the icy wind.
It was Sunny.
Morgan's first thought was disbelief. How could someone dressed so inadequately for the extreme cold hope to survive this battlefield? But then, as the first wave of creatures charged at him, she saw something that made her understand.
Sunny didn't need armor to prove who he was.
Sunny stood at the forefront, his breath visible in the freezing air, facing a sea of nightmare creatures. The snow beneath his feet was already stained with black ichor and crimson blood from the fallen. His jade-green sword, the Sin of Solace, pulsed with an ominous glow, as if feeding on the carnage. To his sides stood Nephis, Soul Reaper Jet, and Effie, their weapons raised and ready. Behind them, Kai and a group of Fire Wardens provided ranged support, their arrows raining down on the advancing horde.
This was not a battle where Sunny could rely on his usual tactics—shadowy ambushes and calculated strikes from the darkness. Today, he chose to stand in the vanguard, not for any tactical advantage, but because he wanted to face this head-on. For once, he wanted to be the one the enemy feared the most.
The creatures came in waves, their grotesque forms charging with mindless fury. The first to lunge at Sunny was a massive worm-like abomination with jagged fangs and writhing tendrils. Without hesitation, he raised the Sin of Solace and swung with precision. The blade cleaved through its thick, rubbery hide with terrifying ease, spilling foul, steaming blood onto the snow.
The battlefield became a cacophony of violence. Sunny's movements were precise, almost mechanical in their efficiency. A lizard-like nightmare with molten scales lunged at him, its claws aiming for his throat. He sidestepped with a Shadow Step, disappearing into the void and reappearing behind it. With a single thrust, he drove his sword through its spine, killing it instantly.
Nephis fought beside him, her alabaster skin stained with streaks of black blood. Her crimson dress was a blur of motion as she cut down nightmare after nightmare, her divine aspect flaring with radiant heat. Each strike of her blade was a statement of dominance, her every move calculated to perfection.
Sunny's four shadows joined the fray, intertwining with his body and weapon. His strikes became heavier, faster, more lethal with each additional shadow. The first shadow multiplied his strength, the second his speed, the third his endurance. By the time the fourth shadow enveloped him, Sunny was a blur of destruction.
He manifested tendrils of shadow that erupted from the ground, impaling a pack of skeletal creatures mid-charge. The black tendrils writhed and coiled, dragging the lifeless husks into the snow. Sunny could feel the strain on his essence reserves but pressed on.
The horde showed no signs of relenting. Every time a wave of creatures was cut down, another took its place. Sunny's movements became more erratic, his strikes more desperate. His breathing grew heavier, his body slick with the blood of his enemies. He felt his essence dwindling, but the blood weaver memory stitched his wounds, keeping him standing.
Jet and Effie fought valiantly, their skills unmatched as they held the line alongside Sunny and Nephis. Effie's laughter echoed across the battlefield as she shattered the limbs of her foes with her enormous spear , while Jet danced through the chaos with lethal precision, her scythe carving elegant arcs of death.
But even they had their limits. With a sharp whistle, Jet signaled for Effie and the Fire Wardens to fall back. The two women retreated to the rear, their weapons dripping with ichor. Kai, still in the backline, continued to let loose a hail of arrows alongside the wardens. Sunny and Nephis remained at the front, their figures like beacons of light and shadow amidst the chaos.
Sunny's vision blurred as the fight dragged on, his stamina waning. Yet his strikes remained unrelenting. He swung his blade in wide arcs, decapitating a pack of wolf-like creatures. He parried the charge of a hulking beast and countered with a thrust that pierced its chest. Each movement was instinctive, a perfect harmony of shadow and steel.
The snow beneath him was now a battlefield of corpses, the air thick with the stench of death. And yet, more creatures kept coming. Sunny's body screamed in protest, his wounds seeping despite the blood weaver's efforts.
For a brief moment, he caught sight of Nephis. Her blade burned with an intense heat, cutting through the nightmare creatures like a blazing star. Her expression was calm, focused, but her body radiated an aura of overwhelming power. She was breathtaking, a force of nature that seemed untouchable.
Sunny gritted his teeth and pressed on. His shadows surged with him, forming massive arms of blackness that crushed and swatted away the enemy. His strikes became more feral, each swing of his sword accompanied by guttural grunts.
At last, the waves of nightmare creatures began to falter. Their relentless assault slowed, their numbers thinning. And then, silence.
Sunny stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving with every labored breath. His armor was cracked and bloodied, his sword trembling in his hand. From afar, he must have looked like a demon, a shadowy figure drenched in the blood of his enemies, surrounded by a field of the dead.
And for the first time in a long while, Sunny allowed himself a bitter smile.
The Devil of the Antarctic had earned his name once again