Sovereign's Vow
Author: Sunless Rain
Chapter 5 – The Sovereign's Vow
"Lord, I have received the report from the assets we sent," said Neptuneus.
BURNING_ONES straightened slightly. "What did you find?"
Neptuneus replied, "It is a war between Demons and Humans."
"Demons… and Humans?"
"Yes, my lord," Neptuneus said. "Their strength ranges from ten to twenty-five, with a few reaching level thirty."
He remained seated upon the obsidian throne as silence fell over the vast chamber. A storm of emotions churned within him—confusion, fear, despair… yet beneath it all, a stubborn flicker of hope lingered.
Transported…
The memory of the strange glitch—the brief tear in reality—returned to him. Nothing had felt certain since that moment: the descent, the unfamiliar world… and now, war.
His fingers pressed lightly against his temple as he forced his thoughts into order.
The guardians stood in quiet formation. Their presence filled the chamber, yet his mind remained distant, searching for clarity.
Beyond these walls waited a foreign sky, an unfamiliar sea, and a world he did not yet understand.
And he would have to face it.
After a long silence, BURNING_ONES closed his glowing eyes.
When he opened them again, the uncertainty had softened. The full path ahead remained unclear—but a direction had begun to take shape.
Thought replaced chaos.Purpose followed.
He rose slowly from the obsidian throne.
His gaze fell upon the guardians gathered before him.
They were more than constructs or silent wardens of the guild. In this world, they felt… alive, in a way that went beyond commands or magic.
They were echoes of his guildmates—fragments of the companions who once stood beside him.
In a way, they were family.
Their eyes met his without hesitation.
Not fear.Not doubt.Trust.
A quiet weight settled in his chest. An instinctive sense of responsibility took hold.
Whatever had happened… whatever force had brought them here…
They were together in this.
And that meant he could not remain lost.
BURNING_ONES straightened.
Something within him settled. The storm of doubt faded, replaced by clarity.
These guardians were not merely servants.
They were remnants of something greater—careful creations shaped by countless hours of effort, imagination, and pride. Silent proof that those days had truly existed.
The last living trace of the people who once stood beside him.
His chest tightened.
Before the silent witnesses of the throne room, BURNING_ONES made his vow.
No matter what world this was.No matter what trials lay ahead.
He would protect them.He would carry forward what had been entrusted to him.
And the name they once raised together would never be forgotten.
The strongest guild in Eryndor—the Paragons—would not fade.Not while he still stood.
This was his duty.This was his burden.This was the Sovereign's Vow.
BURNING_ONES looked at them—each face turned toward him, waiting.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then he spoke:
"We do not know this world. The skies are unfamiliar. The lands beyond these walls… unknown."
His gaze swept across the guardians.
"But that does not change who we are."
A brief pause.
"I, Paragon of the Brightest Light—BURNING_ONES—swear this vow. What was built here will endure. What stands today will grow stronger."
He rose to his full height, eyes hard with resolve.
"We will uncover the secrets of this world.We will carve our place within it.That is our course."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then—
A single guardian stepped forward, kneeling with head bowed.
"We hear and obey!"
Another followed. Then another.
Steel met stone as one by one, the guardians knelt, the sound echoing like a rising tide through the chamber.
Voices filled the hall, but not all in unison. Some were measured, echoing the solemnity of the vow. Others burst out in spontaneous shouts of jubilation, laughter threading through the thunderous tones.
"Glory to the Sovereign!""Hail the Paragons!""Eternal is the Vow!"
A cheer erupted from the back:
"For the Paragons! Forever!""Long live the Sovereign!"
And here and there, a guardian could not contain themselves, raising their arms and shouting with pure joy:
"Woooooo!""Hahahahaha!""Let's goooo!"
The mixture of solemn chanting and jubilant shouts filled the chamber, reverberating against the obsidian walls, shaking the floor with energy.
BURNING_ONES stood at the center, eyes blazing with resolve, feeling the living pulse of those around him.
No longer lost.No longer uncertain.A ruler, crowned not by fate… but by will, and by the unbroken devotion of those who stood with him.
The hall throbbed with life, each shout, cheer, and chant carrying the Sovereign's Vow into the air—a living testament to loyalty, unity, and unyielding purpose.
And as the echoes faded, they did not vanish. They spread. Through the halls of black stone. Across silent corridors and watchful gates. Into the deepest chambers and the highest spires.
The vow did not remain within the throne room.It took root.
Thus, the entire floating fortress stirred to life—every nook and cranny bursting into motion. Preparations surged across its vast expanse, each cog turning with purpose, all in anticipation of the day they would step forward, declare their presence, and carve their dominion into this new world.
On the beach of the Sarangani Peninsula
Two human soldiers stood back-to-back, bodies trembling, breaths ragged from the brutal clash they had just survived. Around them, the beach was a graveyard—humans and demons alike strewn across blood-soaked sand, the tide creeping in to claim the fallen.
A low, sharp huff reached their ears. They turned—and saw a demon, standing just beyond the carnage. Instinct overrode pride; they lowered themselves to the ground, shrinking against the chaos. This was not an enemy they could face. Yet neither dared look away.
The demon wrenched his sword free from the chest of a human general. The body collapsed with a wet thud, blood pooling across the crimson sand. The general's lips trembled, a faint, dying whisper escaping:
"…mon…ster…"
The demon ignored it. He stood tall, legs bent in an unnatural, backward curve, cloven hooves sinking into the soaked earth. Dark veins pulsed beneath ash-gray skin, curling like living things, and jagged horns extended from his temples, framing eyes that burned like embers in the dusk.
Then he paused. His gaze swept the battlefield—and it found a lone figure advancing.
The man walked forward, larger than any human had the right to be, . With a single flick of his blade, he cast aside the blood of the demons he had slain, moving calmly, deliberately, unhurriedly. Even at a distance, his eyes were locked onto the demon.
One of the soldiers swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper. "Who or what is that?"
The other squinted, breath catching. "…a Celestari."
"You mean… the Emperor's Angels?"
"The Emperor? And his so-called angels?" The man snorted, a harsh, derisive sound. "Do not dare compare them to the divine. They are abominations—creatures that defied the Creator's design. To call them angels is outright heresy."
The words echoed faintly over the blood-soaked sand, swallowed quickly by the distant roar of waves. For a heartbeat, silence held sway—the soldiers' eyes fixed on the figures before them.
The Celestari and the demon closed the distance, and the ground seemed to shiver beneath their charge. The demon swung first, a wide, savage arc meant to cleave through anything in its path. The Celestari met the strike with a calm parry, letting the force drive him back a step without faltering.
The demon roared and followed with a flurry of strikes, each heavier than the last, swinging with raw strength meant to crush bone and sand alike. The Celestari twisted, ducked, and sidestepped, deflecting blades with precise angles, letting the momentum of the demon's fury carry past him rather than meeting it head-on. Sparks flew where steel met steel, reverberating through the sand, scattering blood and shards of shattered weapons.
The demon lunged low, trying to sweep the Celestari off his feet. He jumped over the swing, rolling on the wet sand to absorb the impact, and came up behind the demon in one fluid motion. He struck at the demon's side, but the creature twisted violently, barely evading the blade. The force sent him sprawling, sliding across the mud.
The fight became a deadly rhythm of attack and counter. The demon's raw power forced the Celestari to retreat step by step, each movement calculated. He shifted weight, redirected momentum, and delivered strikes aimed not to overpower but to destabilize, exploiting the slightest opening.
A swing caught the Celestari's side, tearing through cloth and flesh. He gritted his teeth, spinning around the demon in a swift pivot. He brought the edge of his blade across the demon's leg, buckling the joint. The demon roared, stumbling, but swung backward with sheer force, forcing the Celestari to leap clear.
They circled, breathing heavily, eyes locked. The demon attacked again, slower now, strikes heavy but predictable. The Celestari feinted left, then struck low, slicing across the demon's side. The creature collapsed partially, struggling to rise, but the Celestari pressed forward, slashing at the shoulder and forcing it fully onto its knees.
Strength against mastery—and mastery won.
Finally, the demon fell fully to the mud, exhausted and wounded, chest heaving, blade slipping from its fingers. The Celestari stepped forward, blade rising, poised for the final strike.
Then—a presence descended upon the battlefield.
It was not seen, not heard, but felt deep in the bones. Not a gaze, but many. Muscles seized as if gripped by invisible hands. The clash of steel, the screams, the roar of the waves—all faded, muted beneath something vast, incomprehensible. Cold seeped in, deeper than wind or steel, stripping away strength, pride, certainty. In that moment, he was exposed, laid bare before something far beyond understanding.
Breath caught in his chest, each inhale a ragged effort. His mind screamed to act, but the world had slowed.
"I… I cannot move…" he whispered.
The demon, ragged and bleeding, twisted its head and took a shallow, hissing breath. With a sudden, desperate shove, it pushed against the Celestari's frozen form, sending him sprawling a few feet backward. The Celestari's boots sank into the sand, but he could not respond. He could not swing, could not shift, could not even blink fast enough.
Seizing the chance, the demon scrambled to its feet, chest heaving, claws and blade slick with blood. Without another glance, it turned and fled, sliding across the mud, limping but driven by sheer instinct, disappearing toward the distant tree line.
The Celestari remained frozen, body trembling, blade half-raised, chest heaving violently. Every muscle screamed for movement, every instinct for pursuit—but he could not. Seconds stretched into eternity before the frozen grip loosened, and he staggered upright, boots sinking into the sand, breath ragged and harsh.
The battlefield returned in fragments—the wind, the screams, the distant roar of the sea—but the moment had passed. The demon was gone.
abominations, beings that defied the Creator's design. To call them angels is heresy."
The words echoed faintly over the blood-soaked sand, swallowed quickly by the distant roar of waves and the creaking groans of the dying battlefield. For a heartbeat, silence seemed to hold sway—the soldiers' eyes fixed on the figures before them.
The Celestari and the demon closed the distance between them, and the ground seemed to shiver beneath their charge. The demon swung first, a wide, savage arc aimed to cleave through anything in its path. The Celestari met the strike with a calm parry, letting the force drive him back a step without faltering.
The demon roared and followed with a flurry of strikes, each heavier than the last, swinging with raw strength meant to crush bone and sand alike. The Celestari twisted, ducked, and sidestepped, deflecting blades with precise angles, letting the momentum of the demon's fury carry past him rather than meeting it head-on. Sparks flew where steel met steel, and each clash sent reverberations through the sand, scattering blood and fragments of shattered weapons.
The demon lunged low, trying to sweep the Celestari off his feet. He jumped over the swing, rolling on the wet sand to absorb the impact, and came up behind the demon in a fluid motion. He struck at the demon's side, but the creature twisted violently, barely evading the blade. The force sent him sprawling forward, sliding across the mud.
The demon swung again, faster this time, but his movements grew wild, desperate. The Celestari stepped in closer, keeping his footing firm, weaving between strikes. A flick of his wrist sent the demon's blade tilting just enough for a glancing strike to graze his shoulder, drawing blood. The demon hissed in pain but refused to relent.
The fight became a deadly rhythm of attack and counter. The demon's raw power forced the Celestarito retreat step by step, each movement calculated. He shifted his weight, redirected the demon's momentum, and delivered strikes aimed not to overpower but to destabilize, exploiting the slightest openings.
A swing caught the Celestari's side, tearing through cloth and flesh, and he gritted his teeth, spinning around the demon in a swift pivot. He brought the edge of his blade across the demon's leg, a precise cut that buckled the joint. The demon roared, stumbling, but swung backward with sheer force, forcing the Celestari to leap clear.
They circled, breathing heavily, eyes locked. The demon attacked again, slower now, his strikes heavy but predictable. The Celestari feinted left, then struck low, slicing across the demon's side. The creature collapsed partially, struggling to rise, but the Celestari pressed forward, slashing at the shoulder and forcing it fully onto its knees.
Each blow, each dodge, each measured movement carried weight, yet the Celestari never wasted effort. Strength against mastery—and mastery won.
Finally, the demon fell fully to the blood-soaked sand, exhausted and wounded, chest heaving, blade slipping from its fingers. The Celestari stepped forward, blade rising, poised for the final strike.
Then—a presence descended on the battlefield.
It was not seen, not heard, but felt deep in the bones. Not a gaze, but many. Muscles seized as if gripped by invisible hands. The clash of steel, the screams, the roar of the waves—all faded, muted beneath something vast and incomprehensible. Cold seeped into him, deeper than wind or steel, stripping away strength, pride, certainty. In that moment, he was exposed, laid bare before something far beyond understanding.
Breath caught in his chest, each inhale a ragged effort. His mind screamed to act, but the world had slowed. "I… I cannot move…" he whispered, voice trembling.
The demon, ragged and bleeding, twisted its head and took a shallow, hissing breath. With a sudden, desperate shove, it pushed against the Celestari's frozen form, sending him sprawling a few feet backward. The Celestari's boots sank into the sand, but he could not respond. He could not swing, could not shift, could not even blink fast enough.
Seizing the chance, the demon scrambled to its feet, chest heaving, claws and blade slick with blood. Without another glance, it turned and fled, sliding across the sand, limping but driven by sheer instinct, disappearing toward the distant tree line.
The Celestari remained frozen, body trembling, blade half-raised, chest rising and falling violently. Every muscle screamed for movement, every instinct for pursuit—but he could not. Seconds stretched into eternity before the frozen grip loosened, and he staggered upright, boots sinking into the sand, breath ragged and harsh.
The battlefield returned in fragments—the wind, the screams, the distant roar of the sea—but the moment had passed.