Nephis opened her mouth slightly, her breath forming small clouds in the freezing air as she took in the heavy atmosphere. She was kneeling in the snow, her legs trembling from both exhaustion and the cold. After the relentless battle, the weight of the situation pressed heavily on her shoulders. Yet, her thoughts weren't on her own condition—they were on the monstrous corrupted tyrant lying lifeless before her.
The Antartic winds howled, biting at her exposed skin, but she didn't flinch. Her mind was occupied, replaying every detail of the battle that had just ended. The field was quiet now, the grotesque corpses of fallen nightmare creatures scattered across the bloodstained snow. She could feel the heat of her divine flames slowly dissipating, leaving behind a dull ache that resonated through her body.
"Curious," she thought as she focused her gaze on the memory that had materialized after the tyrant's defeat. The familiar voice of the Nightmare Spell resonated faintly in her mind, announcing her reward:
Memory: [Sin of Guilt]
Memory rank: Transcendent
Memory tier: V
Memory type: Weapon
Memory description:
"Long ago, a naive servant dedicated her life to a queen, believing herself to be special—better than anyone else. She came bearing a strange gift, one steeped in forgotten knowledge..."
Nephis felt a faint smile tug at the corners of her lips. She couldn't help but think how similar this memory was to Sunny's Sin of solace . The only difference was that while his sword was a vivid green jade, hers gleamed with a deep, icy blue. Even the size and craftsmanship were nearly identical. It was as though the two weapons were counterparts—complementary halves of the same story.
But Sunny, with his unique ability to decipher enchantments, had pointed out two key differences in their effects.
The first was Hideous Guilt:
"The more guilt and remorse the wielder feels, the sharper and deadlier the blade becomes. It reveals truths that can shatter the bearer's mind."
The second was Cursed:
"This sword 'depresses' its wielder."
Sunny had mentioned that the curse on her sword differed from the one on his. It was difficult to translate, he had said, as the word "depresses" could carry several meanings. Still, it was an intriguing—and alarming—addition to the weapon's abilities.
Nephis ran her fingers along the edge of the blade. She had never encountered a memory that bore such human-like flaws, but at the same time, the weapon's potential was undeniable. Its strength was enough to endure her divine flames and, surprisingly, even amplify them. Though she hadn't tested it extensively, that ability alone made the sword invaluable.
"Sunny wields his cursed blade," she thought, "so why shouldn't I wield mine?"
Besides, she wasn't the type to succumb easily to despair. The faint whispers emanating from the sword were barely audible, nothing more than a quiet murmur in the back of her mind. If it became unbearable, she could always discard the memory and rid herself of the voices entirely.
Yes, it was a good weapon. How bad could it really be?
For several minutes, Nephis weighed the pros and cons of using the Sin of Guilt. Her thoughts spiraled deeper until she felt an unfamiliar presence in her PTV. As the princess of Valor, she had been given one of the most advanced vehicles, though it still didn't compare to the one Sunny had.
The visitor was none other than Morgan, her adoptive sister. Morgan, as always, radiated an aura of effortless elegance and authority. With her signature calm demeanor, she approached Nephis and spoke in an even tone.
"Nephis, we need to talk. It's important."
Without hesitation, Nephis followed her. Soon, she found herself in a room surrounded by three saints of Valor, Morgan, and a master of the clan. The air was tense, thick with an unspoken gravity that hinted at the severity of the situation.
Morgan began explaining the recent events. It seemed that an ambush planned by Valor against the Song clan had gone horribly wrong. The Song ascendents had not only anticipated the attack but had turned it into a counter-trap. They had employed a nightmare creature, controlled by the saint known as Beast Master, to launch their retaliation.
The ambush had devolved into chaos. The nightmare creature had broken free from Beast Master's control, slaughtering soldiers from both clans indiscriminately. By the time it was finally killed—at the cost of a Valor master's life—the battlefield was littered with the corpses of soldiers from both sides.
The description of the scene was strange, unsettling. The losses, though significant, were not strategically devastating. Both sides had suffered equally: a Valor master had perished, but so had a Song master. Yet something about the report didn't sit right with Nephis.
As Morgan finished speaking, Nephis clenched her fists. The war between Valor and Song was far from over, and the Antartic wasteland offered no respite. Every day brought new dangers, new complications. And with each passing moment, the cost of survival seemed to grow heavier.
The biggest problem was that, with this event, the battle that had been destined to occur had accelerated drastically.
Though confident in their ability to win, Nephis knew this fight would be anything but easy. The only solace she had was that Sunny was by her side. The Song clan was a formidable force, but the Valor clan did not carry the lineage of the God of War simply because they knew how to wield swords. There was much more to their power than mere martial skill.
Everything should have been fine.
Unfortunately, it wasn't.
—
At this moment, the situation had escalated at an unprecedented speed. In just a matter of days after the sudden attack, the strongest forces of both clans had gathered in one place. Even a third faction, supposedly acting as a mediator, had arrived.
The government was represented by the old saint known as Wake of Ruin, leading the neutral force. Beside him stood Soul Reaper Jet, Kai, and Effie, all prepared for whatever might happen.
Opposite them were the three saints of the Song clan, accompanied by a group of ascended warriors and six reflections of their saints—powerful nightmare echoes that significantly boosted their threat level.
Among them, Nephis assumed, was Mordred. Sunny had already warned her to be cautious of him. Not only was he one of the first ascended to receive a divine aspect, but his reputation and abilities made him extremely dangerous. Nephis knew very well what it meant to face someone with that level of power.
On their side, the Valor clan was no less prepared. Saint Madoc, Morgan's uncle, stood ready alongside Saint Tyris and the legendary Summer Knight.
The saint from the government, with his deep and commanding voice, proposed a duel between champions to resolve the conflict without further bloodshed.
Unsurprisingly, the Song clan refused the offer. After all, they held the numerical advantage
Nephis observed the battlefield from her position at the vanguard. The icy winds of Antarctica could barely cut through the intensity of the flames that surrounded her, but inside, something else burned—a mixture of anger, resignation, and a deep pain that didn't come from her body but from her soul.
She had killed before, many times. On the Forgotten Shore, in nightmares, and on battlefields. But today was different. Every life she took weighed heavier than the last. This wasn't a fight for survival or to protect those she cared about. No, this was a massacre orchestrated by forces far beyond her control.
Everything had started with a single arrow—a simple arrow that had ignited the chaos. The once-white snow had turned crimson within seconds, and now the battle roared around her like an unstoppable storm.
Nephis had learned to disconnect from her emotions when necessary, but today, the voices were impossible to ignore. With every swing of her sword, the Sin of Guilt, the number of the dead grew, and the whispers in her mind grew louder.
Murderer.
Monster.
How many more will you kill before you stop?
Sunny was on the opposite side, facing the Nightmare Creatures pouring from best master.
Nephis was alone, but she didn't let herself think about it
A red-haired master stood in her way, clad in armor adorned with the insignia of the Song clan. His gaze was filled with determination as he raised his sword to meet her. His stance and movements betrayed his experience, but Nephis was far beyond him.
He didn't hesitate, unleashing a flurry of strikes aimed at her chest. Nephis evaded the blows with fluid grace, her blue jade sword gleaming in the dim light of the battlefield. The master pressed forward, launching a series of precise attacks, but she parried each one effortlessly.
Their eyes met for a brief moment. His piercing blue eyes were full of life—but also fear. Not of her, but of the inevitability that his time was running out.
Nephis found her opening and took it. Her sword pierced his armor, driving deep into his abdomen. The master's hands trembled as he dropped his weapon, futilely trying to stem the blood pouring from his wound.
"I didn't want this," Nephis thought as the man fell to his knees before her.
The light in his blue eyes dimmed, his face frozen in a mix of horror and resignation. He seemed to be asking himself how his life had come to an end here, in the relentless cold of Antarctica.
Nephis turned away as his body hit the ground. The Sin of Guilt glowed with an eerie blue light, and the whispers in her mind grew louder.
"Murderer."
There was no time to linger. More enemies approached, and Nephis raised her sword once again. Every movement was deliberate, every strike lethal. But with each life she took, the weight on her chest grew heavier.
The battlefield around her was chaos incarnate. The screams of combatants filled the air, mingling with the clash of weapons and the explosions of power unleashed by the aspects of the Ascended. The biting cold of Antarctica mixed with the searing heat of the fight, but to Nephis, the world felt frozen.
A group of Ascended tried to encircle her. With a swift motion, she unleashed a wave of white flames from her aspect, engulfing them in fire. Some were incinerated instantly, their bodies reduced to ash, while others screamed as the flames consumed them slowly.
The snow, once pristine and white, was now stained red. The bodies of the fallen littered the ground, and Nephis stood at the center of it all, surrounded by her divine aura.
To the enemies still standing, she was a vision of terror: a warrior drenched in blood, her gray eyes burning with determination, her body cloaked in inextinguishable flames.
An Ascended fired an arrow that struck her shoulder, piercing her flesh and shattering bone. The pain was sharp, but Nephis didn't flinch. The flames that surrounded her burned the arrow to ashes, and the wound healed itself within seconds.
The man who had fired the arrow grinned, thinking he had made a significant impact. His grin vanished as Nephis closed the distance between them in an instant. Her blade sliced through him, and he fell to the ground, lifeless.
Every swing of her sword was perfect, every move a calculated act of destruction. But each time her blade connected, the whispers of the Sin of Guilt grew louder.
"Are you really saving anyone, or are you just feeding more death?"
Nephis clenched her teeth, pushing the voices aside as she cut down another enemy. Her sword glowed with a cold blue light, and the flames of her aspect continued to burn around her. But every strike was draining her—not physically, but emotionally.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the battle began to subside. The screams faded, and an eerie silence settled over the battlefield.
Nephis stood amidst a sea of corpses. Her hands trembled, and her body was soaked in blood that wasn't hers. In the distance, the saints continued their clash, their powers shaking the very ground, but Nephis couldn't tear her gaze away from the carnage around her.
The snow, once pure and white, was now a landscape of death and destruction. Bodies lay scattered everywhere, the blood-soaked ground a testament to the brutality of the fight. Nephis stood alone at the center, her divine aura flickering like a dying flame.
The whispers of the Sin of Guilt reached their crescendo.
"Murderer."
Nephis closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. When she opened them, her gaze was cold, calculating, and devoid of hesitation.
"Today, I am a monster," she thought. "But I am a monster with a purpose."
And so, with her resolve renewed, she prepared to fight again.
The battlefield was silent. The snow, stained red, bore witness to the devastation. The screams that had once echoed now lingered as faint memories. At the heart of it all, surrounded by the destruction she had wrought, stood Nephis.
That day, all who survived understood why the name Changing Star could also mean Star of Ruin.