My Regalia revolved around a single theme, darkness. Or perhaps, more precisely, nothingness.
Its first manifestation was the black rose, a symbol of decaying life.
With it, I could reshape the world's shadow, bending reality in subtle, unseen ways.
But more than that, I could persist, move forward even after failure.
This application, however, was something else entirely.
Within every being, god or man, monster or mortal, there flows a current of blood.
The body, even beyond flesh, still follows systems. My Regalia allowed me to seize them. Corrupt them.
Taint them fully until I became something more than a plague. I embraced it.
The Black Death staggered back as the river, now black with my mana, soaked into my skin.
Slowly, it began to mirror my own condition.
I cracked my neck and shaped the dark water into a perfect clone. It lunged forward, mirroring my stance.
The Black Death tore through it with ease and reached for me, but I had already moved.
Spinning behind it, I slashed down, severing its arm. A torrent of water struck its side, launching it across the field.
I followed through, driving my blade into its chest.
Beams of white light surged from its eyes, but I weaved between them, ducking low, relentless.
Leaving my sword lodged in its torso, I slipped around to its back and latched on.
Swirling mana gathered across its spine as water spun into a violent vortex.
Then came the detonation.
A haze of force burst outward, and the Black Death convulsed. Its body unraveled into mist, leaving behind nothing but rot and ruin where it had stood.
I stumbled forward, collapsing into the river. The black water cradled me, folding over my form like a grave.
There, beneath the surface, I found peace, however fleeting. A moment of clarity.
Then came the darkness. Not the kind that frightened or haunted. This was deeper. Older.
A primordial silence that whispered in the marrow of my soul.
[Nicholas had emptied himself entirely. Every ounce of strength, every trace of will, spent.]
I reached out, blindly, trying to hold onto anything. A voice. A shape. Something to remind me I was still alive.
[But the end is inevitable. That truth had begun to bloom within him, cold and vast.
And yet… the world laughed at it. Reality refused to let the story end.]
In that abyss, I saw something move.
A great bird, forged of black flame, falling through an endless sky. Its wings were cracked and scorched.
Yet even as it fell, it burned brighter. Its light was not golden, nor holy, but dark, brilliant, and absolute.
The image twisted, and I understood. It was not falling.
It was descending.
A phoenix of shadow, reborn not from fire, but from the ash of oblivion.
The flames seared across my chest as my heart began to beat again, slow, then faster, then faster still. A rhythm unlike any before.
I rose.
The river flowed around me as I stumbled toward the shore. My back felt heavy, unfamiliar.
And only when I lifted my gaze to meet Nicole's eyes did I understand.
I had wings.
Black, feathered, vast, and smoldering at the edges.
Nicole smiled faintly, rubbing her chin with quiet amusement.
"Little brother," she said. "It seems you were just brought back to life."
Before I could respond, black roses began to fall from the sky. Like snow and ash, they drifted gently to the ground, silent and haunting.
My lips trembled, and at last, I surrendered to the dark.
I hadn't expected my body to reject another application of my Regalia so violently. The toll was heavier than I imagined.
It seems I'll need to recover that artifact from my past life, or grow strong enough to truly wield this power without it.
For now, it's wiser to focus on rebuilding my status as king… and dismantling the Golden Authority, piece by piece.
After some time submerged in the darkness, I managed to force myself into a waking state.
When my eyes opened, Mirabel was lying across me, softly snoring. The sun had already begun to rise, casting golden light across the horizon.
I sighed and slowly sat up, careful not to disturb her, stretching my sore limbs.
I definitely didn't expect to summon the wings of darkness so soon.
It seems I'm evolving in more ways than one.
The wings of darkness are meant to be used sparingly.
They grant me the ability to return from death, but only if my death is absolute, undeniable.
The effect won't trigger if I survive through conventional means or magic.
In other words, I must die in a way that cannot be reversed through ordinary resurrection.
Its limits remain vague, but one thing is certain: unless my wounds are truly fatal, death will not take me.
Not that the ability is all that impressive. At best, it's like accelerated regeneration, useful, but hardly worthy of reverence.
I suspect it will improve with time, yet anything fueled by faith feels hollow. To rely on that... would be to condemn myself.
I made my way to the bathroom and stripped down, studying my body in the mirror.
Most of my wounds had healed, but the illness still clung to me like rot.
Black cracks traced along my skin, subtle veins of corruption, pulsing with unnatural life as they steadily drained my own.
I sighed and turned on the water, letting it scald. Steam thickened the air, swallowing me as I stepped into the shower.
In the time I spent away from the kingdom, searching for the truth behind the Golden Authority, I came to understand many things.
Gabriel... he was one of the only true angels I've ever met. He would have faked his death and ascended, returning to Heaven.
His report would spark a conflict greater than anything imagined, a war between Heaven and Earth.
And I would not be a bystander.
To change the course of that war, I must defeat Fertical.
The Golden Authority will play a pivotal role, Heaven's foot soldiers sent to wipe out anything in their path.
Their first targets would be two major kingdoms: Uthopia in the far south of the central continent, and Camelot to the west.
Camelot, located on a solitary western landmass, is overrun with dragons, demons, and creatures far more ancient.
It's the only kingdom brave, or foolish, enough to remain there.
King Arthur once held the monsters at bay using a massive sealing spell, but it cost him everything.
He was placed in eternal slumber, resting beneath the throne he once ruled.
It's a tale eerily similar to the creation of Anstalionah.
This forest too was once a breeding ground for powerful beasts. But the first king, Nighdallah, purged them all, carving the land into order.
The central region became our capital.
If the war is to come, as it must, I will see to it that Anstalionah becomes a target.
To initiate such a bold move, I should probably begin with a visit to the Church.
I turned off the water, stepped out, and reached for a towel. As I opened the door, I paused.
Mirabel stood in the hallway, watching me with a tilted head and an unreadable smile.
"Ah, you're awake," she said cheerfully. "You've been asleep for an entire week."
I froze.
[Nicholas was troubled. Such a duration hinted at irregularities, ones even his eyes couldn't see.]
I stepped back, tightening the towel around my waist.
[He knew something wasn't right. Mirabel was not one to act so casually, especially not while delivering such news with a smile.]
She grinned wider, baring her teeth. "No need to worry about me. Saint Satire came to visit you."
[Nicholas was truly afraid.]