"The item you requested!"
Pride knelt on one knee, presenting the Darkin halberd to Duke. "I have retrieved it for you!"
Duke lowered his head, carefully studying the weapon offered before him.
The halberd was roughly three meters long, with a sixty-centimeter blade and a two-point-four-meter shaft.
Its blade was broad and straight, with serrated, beast-like edges—jagged teeth made of metal.
At first glance, it resembled an enormous paper cutter: sharp beyond belief, yet far more durable. No one knew how Maesha, the former Aspect of Twilight, had forged such a weapon.
Even after enduring magnetic storms and bursts of pure energy, the halberd remained completely unscathed.
At the point where the blade met the shaft was a pulsing heart—still beating, likely strengthened by the fresh blood and flesh it had consumed.
The shaft itself was engraved with spiral grooves to prevent slipping when slick with blood. At its base, a carved leopard's head hinted at the identity of the Darkin imprisoned within.
Yet as Duke examined the halberd, he could hear his own heartbeat quickening—each thump growing heavier, like the pounding of war drums stirring a primal urge for destruction deep within.
"What a terrifying weapon," Duke muttered to himself. Though it had been powerless before Pride, to any ordinary person, this halberd would be a nightmare.
The body of the weapon could never be destroyed; as long as the weapon existed, the Darkin's spirit would never truly die. Their fleshly forms were merely temporary vessels—disposable shells used to wield their true bodies.
And these vessels could be discarded at any time.
Darkin instinctively sought to rebuild their physical forms, but every attempt resulted in abominations—twisted, corrupted flesh and bone, grotesque parodies of life.
Their "reconstruction" was not rebirth but theft.
They stole bodies—decaying, festering vessels that leaked pus and blood. Their muscles and bones strained and tore against each other, rebelling against the form forced upon them.
No matter how much blood and flesh they consumed, no matter how many times they rebuilt themselves, it was all futile.
The bodies they so desperately seized could never restore the glory they once had.
After slaughtering everything around them, they would inevitably crumble—both their bodies and their wills dragged back into the weapon that imprisoned them.
Back into their eternal cage.
"Duke!"
Taliyah's voice pulled him from his thoughts. The little sparrow looked at him with concern.
"Are you alright? You seemed... distracted."
She hadn't noticed she was now addressing him with respect—unconsciously elevating her tone. The man who could have wiped out Kennesser with ease now stood before her, utterly calm.
"I'm fine," Duke said with a small smile. "Just wondering who's trapped inside this weapon."
He weighed the thought of contacting the spirit within.
The creation of a living Darkin weapon was, in theory, simple: one merely needed to extract part of a Darkin's organ as a medium, fuse it into the weapon they once favored, and finally seal their immortal soul within.
Simple to describe, but impossible in practice.
First, one had to capture a Darkin alive, then extract its organs—a nearly suicidal task.
Darkin were once Ascended—Shurima's divine warriors whose flaws had been magnified by the Void's corruption, leading to their fall.
They were once the empire's pillars, radiant beings among whom the Sun itself shone a thousandfold during Shurima's golden age.
But after Azir's fall, the bloodline of the Sun was lost, and without his leadership, the Ascended began to decline.
Their lingering flaws grew monstrous, their noble forms decaying into beasts. The Void's corruption only deepened their descent.
When the Darkin were finally subdued, their organs were removed and forged into the weapons they had once wielded—serving as conduits to imprison their immortal souls.
The Ascended possessed terrifying regenerative abilities; their flesh refused to rot, and when bound with their undying souls, their remains became eternal.
Thus, the living weapons were born.
The immortal soul sealed within, the organ serving as its vessel—the weapon became both prison and body.
Anyone who touched such a weapon risked being overtaken. The Darkin's soul would invade, their flesh would merge with the wielder's, transforming them into a temporary host.
But to Duke, that wasn't the only possibility.
"The best outcome," he mused, "is symbiosis."
Like Kayn and Rhaast—locked in a constant struggle for dominance. Kayn sought to subdue Rhaast and bend the scythe to his will, while Rhaast coveted Kayn's body, eager to consume and corrupt him.
Neither side had triumphed.
Instead, they formed a twisted equilibrium—a reluctant coexistence.
The Darkin granted power; the wielder offered freedom. Two beings feeding each other's existence.
But most Darkin had long since lost the patience or sanity for coexistence.
Locked in eternal darkness for millennia, who wouldn't go mad?
Three days in isolation could shatter a human mind. Seven days could drive one insane.
The Darkin had been trapped for thousands of years.
They yearned for release—for even a moment of freedom. Yet none had ever considered a different path to liberation: coexistence.
Their methods of assimilation and corruption, however, sparked an idea in Duke's mind.
Perhaps by studying the Darkin, he could create something entirely new—a living armor, a biological exosuit of sorts.
Taliyah's worried voice broke his thoughts again. "What will you do with it?"
Her gaze lingered on the halberd in Pride's hands, anxiety flickering in her eyes.
Her grandmother, Babayan, had once said the best way to deal with a Darkin weapon was to bury it deep underground—where no light or soul could ever reach it.
"For research," Duke replied casually.
Taliyah shuddered. "Please don't, Mr. Duke! You don't understand what this weapon—"
"Dangerous?" Duke interrupted, already knowing her next word.
She nodded quickly.
"I understand it better than you think," Duke said, shaking his head. "In fact, aside from the Darkin themselves and their creator, I may be the only one who truly does."
He reached out, gently ruffling Taliyah's hair. "Besides, these weapons can't possess me."
"My soul has been tempered for a thousand years—it's immune to their corruption."
After consuming Uroa's potion, Duke had indeed gained a natural resistance to Darkin energy. Mortal souls were too fragile to withstand them—but Duke's had been destroyed and reforged countless times, now reaching an unbreakable state.
Combined with his immense magical power, he was completely immune.
"Really?"
Taliyah looked unconvinced.
"I'll prove it," Duke said.
He reached out and grasped the Darkin halberd.
To the touch, it felt strangely warm—not like metal, but like living flesh. Immediately, a surge of soul energy rushed through him, trying to seize control of his body.
But the instant it entered his soul, it shattered like waves crashing against an immovable wall—completely repelled.
A voice roared in his mind.
"An immortal soul… tempered through millennia!? Who are you!? Tell me your name!!"
Duke smirked. "When you demand someone's name, shouldn't you offer yours first? Has your long imprisonment made you forget who you are?"
A pause—then came a thunderous reply.
"I am Tayanari! Ascended of Shurima! Divine among gods! Eternal and unyielding!"
"And you are?"
"My name is Duke," he said evenly. "And you? A fool deceived by the former Aspect of Twilight, still calling yourself 'eternal'?"
At that, Duke already knew who he was speaking to.
Tayanari—the Ascended whose beast form was that of a leopard. Once deceived and toyed with by Maesha until death, his heart ripped from his chest and forged into this very weapon.
Pitiful. Tragic.
"Now you're nothing but a ghost clinging to your past glory, living out eternity in a cage," Duke said coldly.
Tayanari's voice faltered for a moment before rising again in fury.
"Give me your body!!"
Duke ignored the demand. "Azir has been revived. The blood of the Sun lives on. The Chalicar has chosen its new master."
Tayanari froze. "You—what did you say? Is that true?"
"Would I lie to you?"
"I'll give you two options," Duke continued calmly. "First, I throw you into the Void to rot forever. Second, you cooperate, and I'll bring you before Azir, the bloodline of the Sun, or even Nasus himself. Your choice."
"An Ascended never yields to threats!!"
"Then you'll never see Azir again," Duke replied. "Nor the Sun's heirs. Nor Shurima's rebirth."
"You—!"
"Well?"
He could sense Tayanari wavering. A drowning man would cling to even the weakest straw of hope.
"If you deceive me," Tayanari growled, "I will hunt you for all eternity!!"
Duke nodded. "Good. Then I'll study you later."
"For now, you'll be partnering with my son—the one who just pinned you to the ground earlier."
He opened his eyes, severing the connection before Tayanari could reply, leaving behind a trace of his magic as a safeguard.
"He's yours for now, Pride," Duke said. "If all goes well, this weapon will be your companion for a long time."
"Yes, Father!"
End of chapter....
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