Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 229: Nebula

”What is the meaning of this, First Sun, Malrik Wargrave?”

Cindralis’ voice echoed from above, calm and resonant, carrying neither anger nor perplexity. She had lived too long, seen too much, endured centuries upon centuries of change and destruction, to be swayed easily by emotions such as wrath or confusion. Her words held only authority, the detached steel of one who regarded herself as sovereign beyond reproach.

The atmosphere shifted. Energy spiked violently, heat climbing higher and higher until it seemed the very concept of hotness, the very definition of temperature, bent and bowed to the will of the one who commanded it. The air shimmered, space distorted, and the fabric of the Separate Dimension threatened to unravel beneath the pressure of powers colliding.

Through the haze of smoke, the drifting storms of dust and the shattered debris, Malrik Wargrave stepped forth. His movements were deliberate, calm, almost unnervingly so, as though madness itself had put on the cloak of serenity. Each of his footsteps echoed, carrying a weight of inevitability, each one sounding less like a step and more like a declaration, that nothing in this moment mattered except destruction.

Instantly, figures streaked forward, shooting through the haze like meteors, gathering in front of Cindralis and between her and Malrik. They weren’t summoned subordinates of hers, but the moment they arrived, they assumed their place instinctively, standing in opposition to the First Sun. Their intent was clear, they would not allow him to advance unchallenged.

Their auras detonated into explosive waves, thunderous and overwhelming, rising to tear open the skies themselves. The space around them quaked under their collective might as they formed a living wall, interposing themselves between Malrik and the floating sovereign above.

Their Life Ranks varied from Voidstar to Soulstar, each one powerful, a force of nature in their own right. They were men and women whose names alone carried weight across the Empire, whose existence had carved legacies. But in this moment, faced with the First Sun.

At Cindralis’ words, Malrik offered no reply. He did not so much as glance at her. His blue eyes fixed themselves on the dozen who dared stand in his way, and though he did not speak, the frost in that gaze was enough to make the strongest among them feel the instinctive pull of fear.

”First Sun,” one of them spoke, stepping forward with a boldness born of duty rather than certainty. His voice carried authority, yet beneath it quivered the faintest thread of unease. ”This is the Separate Dimension. It is not one of the Wargrave’s playgrounds where you may run amok as you please. Step back, or be put down.”

Malrik’s eyes did not acknowledge him. He might as well not have existed. He did not even regard the others standing firm beside him.

His lips parted, his voice cold, sharper than blades, glacial enough to render the very concept of ice laughable.

”Fall.”

The command was not shouted. It was not screamed. It was uttered with quiet certainty, and the world itself obeyed.

Astra energy billowed in waves, answering the First Sun’s command with absolute obedience. It did not resist. It did not hesitate. It obeyed.

Above, the clouds trembled violently. The sky itself quaked, then parted, torn asunder as though the heavens themselves bowed. From the rift descended twelve monumental pillars of pure, incandescent solar energy, golden-orange and blinding, collapsing downward with cataclysmic fury. They bore down upon the twelve subordinates with nothing but annihilation in their wake, descending like the wrath of gods.

The dozen cultivators froze, their eyes widening with primal terror as they stared up at the pillars of destruction descending upon them. Their Astra erupted from their Astra veins instinctively, their bodies screaming at them to defend, to act, to summon every shred of power they possessed into desperate shields and techniques.

But it was futile.

For before the sun, all shall be erased.

The pillars crashed downward, obliterating everything in their path. The air shrieked, the earth boiled, the sky tore, and the Separate Dimension itself seemed ready to burn their existence away. They couldn’t even scream, the heat was too great, consuming sound itself as it reached them.

”Spatial Collapse.”

The voice belonged to Cindralis, calm yet commanding, her authority undeniable.

Instantly, the fabric of space trembled. The space around the pillars cracked, fissures racing outward like spiderwebs, and then collapsed upon itself. Space shattered into fragments, shards of glass-like reality spiraling apart, ripping into nothingness. The twelve solar pillars disintegrated, ripped violently apart and detonated outward into a blinding infernal shockwave.

The explosion consumed everything. The land below liquefied, turning molten, the earth itself becoming lava. Searing heat scoured the entire battlefield, melting stone, metal, and matter indiscriminately. It was as though the ground itself had transformed into the heart of a volcano, ready to erupt and drown the world in fire.

Above, the dozen subordinates reappeared behind Cindralis, spared at the final moment by her intervention. Yet their relief was fleeting, for they had not escaped without scars.

Some of their bodies were torn apart, limbs missing, faces charred black, skin cracked and burnt. Their hair was singed, aflame in places, their robes reduced to smoldering rags. Blood stained what remained of their attire, dripping freely from wounds both external and internal.

Pain wracked them. The solar energy that had pierced their defenses still ran rampant within, tearing apart their organs and bones, a wildfire racing through their bodies unchecked.

”Thank you, Sovereign,” they said in unison, their voices pained but reverent. Suspended in the sky by her mastery of space, they were alive only because she had willed it so.

”Take the injuries as a lesson,” she said, her voice stern, authoritative, her eyes unwavering. ”Next time you face someone stronger than you, do not waste your lives on a suicidal mission. Your first duty is evacuation, protect the residents before you dare play the heroes.”

”Yes, Sovereign,” they replied, their tone filled with shame and respect.

But Cindralis’ gaze did not remain on them. Her black eyes were fixed firmly on Malrik, who stood below, staring back up at her.

It wasn’t reluctance that held her back from striking first. It wasn’t fear. It was recognition.

This was the Separate Dimension. Her domain. If she clashed with Malrik here, the destruction would be... unimaginable. Catastrophic. Cataclysmic. Ragnarokian. It would unravel centuries of construction, decades of balance, and the lives of all who dwelled here would be the price.

Her voice, low and resonant, rolled across the battlefield.

”It seems a Wargrave shall fall today.”

She knew Malrik would not retreat. His gaze told her everything, his overprotective obsession, his absolute willingness to burn down worlds for his siblings.

Malrik did not reply. He simply raised his katana. Solaris trembled, the blade humming with bloodthirst and radiant fury, yearning to carve apart the world. His knees bent, his muscles coiling, his body tightening like a spring ready to be unleashed.

But before he could move, something shifted.

He felt it. She felt it. Cindralis sensed it first.

Above, the sky cracked. A fissure ripped open across the heavens, widening with deafening force. It spread like a wound in reality, splitting wider and wider as though some monstrous beast from beyond the void sought entrance into her realm.

The crack exploded. The sky itself detonated with overwhelming force. Space trembled violently, its obedience to Cindralis faltering. For the first time in centuries, the Separate Dimension refused her command.

Then it appeared.

A star, impossibly vast, impossibly radiant, manifested in the heavens. Then it multiplied, splitting into many, weaving a tapestry of celestial brilliance. Around it, cosmic gases swirled in vibrant hues, painting the sky in colors unseen by mortal eyes. Gravity surged, multiplying tenfold, twentyfold, crushing the air itself. Radiation blasted outward in violent bursts, gamma rays, cosmic radiation, waves of blinding light, melding into a phenomenon so awe-inspiring that silence fell across the battlefield.

A nebula.

Through its churning brilliance, a figure stepped forth. He stood more than eight feet tall, his broad shoulders commanding the horizon. His golden hair shimmered like liquid flame, dancing to the rhythm of his creation. His golden eyes gazed down with contemptuous authority, as though the Separate Dimension itself was a toy beneath him. A crimson cape billowed furiously at his back, snapping like a flag of conquest.

In his hand, a spear thrummed with restless hunger, trembling as though eager to pierce through reality itself.

The Duke of the Wargrave Household. The Primarch of the Wargrave Bloodline. Father of the First Sun. Husband to Lily of the Abyss. Wielder of Ender. Possessor of the Nebula Affinity.

Azeron Wargrave had made an entrance.