In the endless planes of the in-between a domain shrouded in darkness, looming like an ever present shadow. covering the special gateway, in front of it stands a figure dressed in black shadowy trench-coat with a comedy mask covered over his face.
One step.. Two steps.. slowly the masked man approaches his way through the darkness portal, a moment later he enters into the place only described in notes and
old history legends of the past.
A home of eternal night with an incomprehensiblely large blue moon floating high above the sky, silently shining across the entire realm of what is known only as the evernight.
This realm stretched beyond comprehension—an endless, universe-sized dominion where no dawn had ever broken. Its skies were an abyss of velvet black, not empty but alive with a slow shimmer of dying stars, as though entire constellations drowned in slumber. Planets of shadow orbited unseen suns, each one bleeding faint trails of pale light that dissolved into the void. It was a kingdom of silence, a cathedral built on the ruins of a forgotten day.
Here, night was not absence, but substance. The darkness breathed, coiled, and pressed down with the weight of eternity, whispering through the void like the remnants of dreams. Beings of nightmare thrived within it—monsters born from fear itself. They slithered, stalked, and drifted across this eternal dusk: colossal wolf-shapes with too many eyes; serpents whose scales reflected the memories of those they devoured; shadow-born titans whose forms dissolved into clouds of shrieking faces. Each creature was not merely flesh, but the embodiment of the Evernight's truths: that all lights fade, all warmth dies, and that night is the womb of both terror and divinity.
And presiding over it all was Astrada, the Evernight Goddess.
Her beauty was terrifying, sublime. She appeared draped in cosmic robes woven from the void itself, their folds shimmering with fragments of stars, moons, and planets, as though her very form carried the heavens' funeral within its fabric. Her skin was pale as starlight, traced faintly by the runes and tattoos of the First Sage—marks that told not only of wisdom, but of eternal dominion. Her long, flame-tinged hair, once mortal ginger, now flowed like living fire dimmed to a blood-red ember against the infinite black. Her eyes were twin abysses, deep blue galaxies threaded with streaks of white and shadow, carrying the weight of dreams and annihilation alike.
When she moved, the Evernight shifted with her, as if the very realm bent in reverence. The two rings on her left hand gleamed faintly, burning with hidden power, while the three golden anklets upon her right foot chimed softly—each note a tolling bell in the endless cathedral of night. To behold her was to feel both devotion and dread, a beauty that did not ask to be worshipped but demanded it, simply by existing.
…
Tonight, she drew the attention of the mask, an enigmatic figure and one who she watched closely for some time bidding for this moment, while walking towards the castle mask notices two nightmare creatures; large muscle bound four eyed titan with six arms and two tails, with the second creature being much smaller having a pair of wings & having a more slender build.
Still walking up calmly he quietly manifests two black colored tarot cards in his right hand covered with intricate designs, the two creatures waste no time in lunging in for a duel attack, one from the left side of the mask and other from the right side of him.
In an intense downward Claw strike with the exerted force of cannon, the six armed nightmare creature slams down cracking & unearthing ground underneath it in all directions.
BOOM!!!
Loud echoing thoom goes off, mask quickly back steps dodging out the nightmare creature way with ease, he bounces step after light step moving with unnatural levels of acrobatics and speeds, while in his other hand black traces of hollow energy gathers rapidly through his arm down into his fingertips.
From the left side of him, wing creature tries to cleave the mask head clean off his shoulders swinging from both directions horizontally using its sharp wings as razor edged blades, although not giving the creature a second to breathe he blocks its attack with the two black laced tarot cards he had held in within his right hand, throwing them up in the air creating shadow cards expanded outward into two wall sized shields that block its attack from both angles of him.
CLING!! CLANG!!
The attacks land on the cards, like metal grating against metal sparks fly off into the air flashing for only a second or two, six-armed nightmare creature appears from behind him, trying to slip up and sneak attack the mask utilizing its four arms to plunge its clawed hands throughout his back outward from his guts.
When it goes to rip through the mask body its four hands feels like they've been dragged through muddy water, almost instantly the creature realizes its hands simply phased out of his body missing completely, in one swift motion three of its muscular arms are chopped off at the elbow dropping down to the ground.
Blood gushes out profusely spilling across the steps leading up to the evernight castle doors, ear curdling scream rattles out loud around the area then instantly abrupt silence follows after, the head of nightmare creature drops then rolls in front of its beastly ally, while mask is about 10 meters away in front of it glaring with calm intensity.
Black Hollow energy radiates quietly off his body, his right hand covered in wet slippery blood dripping down from his fingertips, swiping his right side of him splashing its blood onto the ground, mask looks back up to the winged creature and asks in quiet methodical tone "do you want to join your friend?. " The creature creaks it head to side looking with eyes of burning anger and rage.
" I think that is a yes then." His Comedy mask curling up into slight smirk .
Creature dashes forward at inhuman speeds its body flashing through eternal darkness fangs and claws flaring brightly, leaping then coming down into arc motion with both hands aiming to take off the mask arms simultaneously, its body freezes up midair completely confused it hears low tone voice echoing in back of its head with the word "drown." replaying back.
Nightmare creature falls to ground choking on its own blood flaying and swinging its body around trying to hit at the mask, but to no avail it misses one strike after another, eventually the flaying stops and in another echoing word it hears again before it could even process its own death " detonate. " The nightmare creature's head explodes instantly like a pop balloon filled with water.
Everything goes quiet for a second, blood still dripping from bottom steps and ground now reforming itself back to its original shape, mask lets out a small little laugh, his comedy mask curled up into a slight smile. Walking up the steps he takes notice of an oppressive aura of darkness wrapping around his body almost making him somewhat tired.
…
Opening up the doors he enters into the evernight castle, its sheer presence a contradiction to natural order. No mortal hand—or even divine hand of lesser standing—could have conceived it. The structure sprawled across an entire continent of shadowstone, its walls climbing so high they seemed to pierce into the ocean of stars above. Towers coiled like titanic spires of black crystal, each one carved with silent faces whose eyes bled faint streaks of moonlight. Bridges of obsidian glass stitched together impossible heights, suspended across gulfs where gravity held no claim. The castle was not built—it was grown out of the Evernight itself, a cathedral of darkness solidified into form.
The interior swallowed expectations whole. The great hall was vast enough to fit cities within it. Its pillars were colossal, formed from single veins of midnight crystal, inscribed with shifting celestial patterns that refused to remain static—constellations rearranged themselves as though the stars were alive and watching. The floor was a reflective abyss, a polished mirror of black glass that showed not one's reflection, but the faint ghost of one's dreams, flickering with haunting clarity at each step.
Hanging above was no ceiling, but a firmament of false sky: swirling galaxies sealed into eternal orbit, fragmented moons drifting across its boundless arch. Chandeliers of suspended starlight hovered midair, their radiance pale, cold, and reverent—offering illumination that did not banish the shadows but deepened them. Each corridor branched infinitely, some descending into caverns where screams echoed from things unseen, others ascending into chambers where silence pressed against the ears until thought itself was smothered.
It was a realm within a realm—a fortress, temple, and mausoleum, all crafted for one nightly sovereign: Astrada, the Evernight Goddess.
…
He stood still as he entered the grand hall, posture unbroken, his breathing steady, his expression veiled beneath the sculpted mystery of his comedy mask. Where others might falter, collapse to their knees, or drown in awe, he did neither. His eyes scanned every surface, every shifting constellation carved into stone, every shadow that bent unnaturally against the geometry of the grandiose castle.
Inside, his mind remained disciplined, yet ceaseless. He noted the scale first—so deliberate, so impossibly vast that its very design seemed intended to reduce visitors into irrelevance. Then the architecture—living stone, adaptive patterns, structures that could not exist outside of a dream. It was artistry married to terror. He filed each detail away, constructing a mental lattice of meaning: the floor as a mirror of dreams, the pillars as cosmic record-keepers, the floating galaxies as a reminder of control over creation itself.
A lesser man would have been swallowed whole by awe. He, instead, sifted through it calmly, as though dissecting the anatomy of a living god's palace. His demeanor never broke, but behind the mask, his thoughts turned sharper: This place was built not merely to house its goddess, but to embody her essence. A fortress of worship. A statement that none may stand here without kneeling to the evernight.
And yet, he did not kneel.
The Mask moved forward, measured, silent. Analytical. Respectful, perhaps—but never reverent. The castle watched him as much as he watched it, shadows coiling along the edges of his boots, whispering testaments of those who had entered before and never left. But he remained unshaken, his calm presence itself a defiance against the suffocating grandeur.
A moment later, the mask walks into Astrada's throne room. The room itself was endless yet enclosed, its walls carved from polished shadowstone that glimmered with faint, ghostly constellations. Suspended high above was no ceiling but a void of starlight, galaxies turning slow and mournful, their pale glow drifting down like falling snow. The air was heavy, perfumed faintly with something sweet and smoky—like incense burned at the edge of forgotten temples. It carried a sensation that slipped past logic, settling deep into the chest, whispering of serenity.
At the far end rose the Throne of Evernight, a towering seat carved from obsidian and adorned with veins of silver that pulsed like living veins of moonlight. Upon it sat Astrada, the Evernight Goddess.
She was beauty shaped by divinity—impossibly tall, yet graceful, her flowing robes a storm of darkness embroidered with constellations that shifted as though alive. Her ginger hair, dimmed into smoldering ember-red, spilled over her shoulders in waves, catching the faint starlight like molten fire in a sea of black. Her eyes, deep blue threaded with streaks of white and shadow, fixed upon him—not as a ruler upon a subject, but as eternity upon a fleeting spark.
She did not move at first. She did not need to. The throne itself seemed an extension of her body, the shadows in the chamber bending subtly toward her, as though all darkness had chosen its center.
When she spoke, her voice was low, melodic, reverberating like a hymn sung through countless dreams.
"Mask…" Her words slid past his ears and seemed to lodge directly within his mind. "You stand in my night and do not kneel. How curious."
The Mask halted before the steps of the throne, posture straight, hands folded calmly behind his back. He did not flinch at the weight of her gaze, nor at the subtle tremor that pulsed in the floor beneath him. His voice, when it came, was smooth, analytical, and deliberately measured. "Magnificence does not demand surrender. It demands acknowledgement. I am here to see, to understand—not to bow."
Her lips curved—not a smile, but the suggestion of one, like a crescent moon breaking from the clouds. She leaned forward on her throne, the starlight sliding across her tattoos like the turning of ancient scripture. "Ah… but what is understanding, if not the beginning of surrender?"
The words pressed against him like velvet. The Mask did not move, but in the silence that followed, something within him shifted. The scent of incense deepened. The air thickened, yet grew strangely calm. A heaviness settled on his chest—but it was not oppressive. It was soothing, like being covered in a blanket after endless wandering.
For the first time in uncounted years, he felt calm.
Memories stirred.
The faint laughter of someone long gone. The warmth of a hand clasping his own beneath the stars. A voice—soft, familiar, alive—speaking words he had buried beneath layers of discipline and duty. The sensation washed through him in waves, unbidden, tearing cracks into the stone walls of his resolve.
His jaw tightened beneath the mask. His fists curled slightly behind his back. He knew this was not natural; this was her doing. Her allure was not simply beauty—it was sovereignty, a dominion over night, dreams, and the quiet ache of memory. And still… for a fleeting heartbeat, he almost let himself sink into it.
Astrada rose then, descending from her throne. Each step echoed with a sonorous chime, her anklets ringing softly, each note reverberating in the marrow of his bones. She stopped before him, close enough that the drifting fabric of her robes brushed the tips of his boots. Her eyes—galaxies burning within endless blue—locked onto his.
"You wear a mask to hide from the world," she whispered, her voice silk against the silence, "but here, in my night, there is nothing to hide from. Remove it… and let yourself remember."
The Mask stood rigid, his calm a fragile fortress. His mind clawed to remain analytical, to disassemble her words, to pierce her illusions. But her presence seeped past reason, bypassing walls, bleeding into the old scars he had forgotten how to feel.
For the first time since stepping into the Evernight, his breathing faltered.
Stepping back for a moment he looked up to her, his emotions beginning to show bit by bit under the veil of his comedy mask.
Then abruptly he stops, following that motion he says to her " this scent that you have waving through the air is quite potent and it seems to have me revisiting old memories." Astrada, hearing his measured words, lets out a soft chuckle velvet-thin and low, her calm silk like voice weaving through the chamber, slowly she begins to float closer, the folds of her robes trailing like living shadows. Her height diminished with each step until she seemed almost human, stopping only an inch or two taller than him—close enough he could feel faint coldness around her.
Her hand, pale as carved starlight and traced faintly with glowing runes, rose toward him. With unhurried grace she rested her fingertips upon the side of his mask. The contact was light, almost reverent, yet carried with it the weight of inevitability.
"You have seen much," she murmured, her breath carrying the fragrance of night-blooming flowers, both calming and intoxicating. Her voice was not merely sound but a thread of thought weaving directly into his mind. "I know what you have endured, Mask. The victories. The betrayals. The nights where silence was heavier than steel."
Her fingers began to slide along the curve of the mask, as though testing its edges. She tilted her head, ember-red hair spilling like fire across her shoulder, and whispered directly at the seam between mask and skin:
"I could show you what might be… and remind you of what already was."
The Mask's composure wavered. His body remained motionless, disciplined, but within, memory after memory flickered—phantoms of his youth, fleeting touches, the ache of all he had lost. Her voice guided the images, as though she had sifted through the deepest chambers of his heart and was now reciting them back, not to torment, but to soothe.
For a moment, his breathing faltered again. The calm he felt was not the emptiness of suppression, but the warmth of release—an almost forgotten peace threatening to take root.
And Astrada's hand lingered on his mask, a quiet invitation to let her unseal what he had kept hidden from the world.
Part-2 coming soon.