Shining Star: Part Two

Astary and Tsuki traveled side by side through the serpent-shaped corridors, which twisted and interlocked countless times, forming a de facto anthill where every door looked identical and the metallic walls bore no signs or markinAgs. Yet, despite the disorienting layout, dozens of people in lab coats easily navigated through the argentine labyrinth, slipping in and out of rooms without a hesitation.

It’s absurd to assume that all of them are Essentias…there must be a trick! Determined to decipher the riddle she was walking on, the ’Shining Star' stealthily lowered her arm, releasing multiple rays of light from her glowing fingertips. They ricocheted at light-speed throughout the corridors, touching every surface of the underground structure, and seconds later, a golden stain materialized on her palm—a perfect map of the ’MIMT.' It doesn’t look like the Miraval Tree… She had hoped the obvious solution would be the right one. Nevertheless, Astary was a stranger to the concept of defeat. With her golden eyes fixed on her palm, she began calculating patterns, searching for fractal structures, and testing recursive paths, applying every algorithm she knew to unravel the secret of that asymmetrical labyrinth.

“It’s here,” Tsuki announced, snapping her back to reality. Astary looked up, facing a door indistinguishable from its neighbors.

With an annoyed gesture, she flipped open the small mirror she used for makeup, and after a faint glow, the golden stain transferred inside. Later…I guess. She bitterly declared a ceasefire, knowing the battle ahead would demand most of her mental strength. Then, both ladies stepped into a cold granite cave, lit only by flickering Magicbulbs scattered haphazardly across the rocky floor.

“You got lucky Mr. Blues forgot to turn on the Dungeon’s security system,” a husky voice rasped from the shadows. “Otherwise, you two would’ve been vaporized.” On a steel bench near the wall sat SS-Class ’Sinful Blade’ Verdan Anhogi, smoking a cigarette while grimacing at his students. “I’m disgusted by your lack of discipline. However, unfortunately, the school’s rotten administration insists on presenting so-called evidence before allowing any kind of formative punishment. So, for now, you’re free to go. Next time, I’ll make you feel the lesson—do you understand?”

”Yes, sir!” The girls stood at attention, their height difference clearly visible.

Mr. Anhogi snickered. “Pfft. I trust you little squirrels about as much as I trusted that filthy Paisano stuck in the trench with me during the Rouge Nox’s Requiem. After the Korinthian bombs had robbed the rain of its ancient duty, i spent hours telling that little guy my whole life story. I thought I’d finally found a friend, but when the bombardment ended…” He paused and gasped. “It turned out the yokel was dead the whole time—motherfucker!” For a few seconds, he was lost in his thoughts. “Aaaah, who cares!” He growled, hissing his cigarette out on his scarred arm. “The training starts when Mr. Blues wakes up. Get ready!”

After offering a final military salute to Mr. Anhogi, they delved deeper into the cavern, eventually reaching its main stage. There, the two ladies immediately drew the attention of the Class S boys, who began competing to decide who would be the first to approach the girls. However, neither Astary nor Tsuki paid them any mind, visibly disappointed to see that SSS-Class ’Hero’ Chad Rolandsson hadn’t even noticed their arrival, too absorbed in an intense conversation with his blood rival, SS-Class ’Nostalgic Reactionary’ Anicet Cosmatern.

The ’Hero’ wore his Ceramic-Woven Armor, gloriously known as the Teapot Armor—a surface of smooth white porcelain, plump in shape and adorned with golden filigree, which together formed the emblem the emblem of the 'HRE:' the Three-Headed Phoenix.

In contrast, Anicet wore his Obsidian-Woven Armor, infamously known as Black Anguish—a surface as rough as meteorite remnants, as black as the darkest night, and embedded with two glowing stripes of Ambered-Lava, which together formed the emblem of the Evernightmare Kingdom: the Flaming Cross.

The two ladies moved to get their prince's attention, but were soon stopped by a powerful voice calling out to them from the other side of the cave. “Finally, our Queens grace us with their presence. Let me guess, you were too busy debating which dress to wear in a dirty dungeon?” The princess of the Holy Rolandish Empire—S-Class ’Fullmetal Maiden’ Bradamanthe Rolandsson—stood tall in her Leather-Harmonized Armor. It was crafted from interlocking rings of monster hide, creating a sleeveless unitard that adhered perfectly to her physique but left her muscular arms bare for all to admire.

“Actually, Thea—you’re only half right.” Before either Astary or Tsuki could reply, a high-pitched voice cut through the chamber. “Tsuki is our Queen now,” said a girl stepping out from behind Bradamanthe, barely reaching half of the princess’s height. “As for Astary…well, I think she’s in need of a new title.” She placed a finger to her cherry lips, feigning deep thought. “Let’s see…how about Witch? A perfect title for the villainess for the heroine of this story.” S-Class ’Dust Symphonist’ Marquise Ælfgifu III Rougedior wore her hair in two immaculate pigtails, its color best described as desert sand—a shifting blend of every shades between red and yellow. That mirage-like hair, paired with smooth porcelain skin and features far too youthful for her age, made Ælfgifu resemble a living doll.

“Marquise Rougedior, I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends,” Tsuki chuckled, exchanging a sympathetic glance with her new ally. The ’Dust Symphonist’ had once been Astary’s rival for Chad’s love. After both her father and older brother perished during the Fall of Bloodmarch, and her sister refused the title, she was crowned Marquise De La Marche at just six years old, becoming a politically-interesting candidate for marriage. Nevertheless, every attempt to win the prince’s attention ended in a total failure, and the once-sweet girl soured into pure acid. Now, she found her solace in helping the enemy of her enemy.

“Witch?” Astary tilted her head slightly, offering both girls a confident smile. “Yes, I do like that. After all, in every book I’ve ever read, the villainess is always the best character. Beautiful, cunning, and competent, an independent woman who doesn’t beg for a man’s help but carves her own path to success—a role model for any modern girl.” She stepped closer to Ælfgifu. “Meanwhile, what do heroines teach young girls? To cry and wait for a prince—a man—to come and fix their problems. They’re pathetic self-inserts for pathetic failures, clinging to fairy tales because they can’t cope with their pathetic lives.” Astary’s golden glow flared, blinding her old nemesis. “Sorry, little princess, but this is real life—the villainess wins.” She sneered. “Which is why everyone prefers your sister to you, Elfy.” Cracks were now visible across the porcelain doll. She hasn’t changed a bit, still the same spoiled little girl, crushed under the weight of a crown she was never meant to carry. Ahh…I’m going to enjoy playing with her over the next four years. Who knows? With my generous help, Ælfgifu might even grow up a little bit.

As the verbal fencing match escalated, barb after barb, the Class S boys finally made their move. Excluding Chad and Anicet, four of them stepped forward, and the first to speak was a tanned young man with ocean-blue eyes. “Calm down, you two. It’s our first Dungeon Raid.” The young man wore an Archeosuit—an armor carved from fossilized bones of long-extinct subterranean horrors inlaid with gold and other precious metals—and draped over the golden bones, there was a long white robe designed to shield its wearer from the deadly Salstorms of his homeland. His name was SS-Class ’World’s End Architect’ Kafka Rustaveli—a Saeltish Nomad who claimed descent from Heroine Xoána, though no one had ever managed to prove or disprove his lineage.

At the sight of the Archeodux, Ælfgifu’s amethyst eyes lit up. She shoved Astary aside, eager to stand alone with the young man. “My Marquise, your beauty denies me sleep,” he said, pressing his pale lips to her porcelain hand. “Today, I ask for the honor of standing at your side—protecting this world’s most precious treasure.” Despite her best efforts to appear disinterested, joy radiated from every single one of her pores.

How can Ælfgifu be so stupid? Kafka doesn’t want her heart—he is aiming at her lands, wealth, and power! Astary cringed, seethed, and coped.

“Anyone know what we’re gonna fight in this Dungeon?” Asked a timid voice. The speaker was E-Class ’Recruit’ Armen Killjin—the farm boy who had been Astary’s neighbor during the Class Assignment. Compared to nearly two thousand years of selective breeding between nobles, Armen looked like a dog among a pack of wolves. His cloth uniform—provided by the Syrmashy Family—was two sizes too big, forcing him to tuck half of it into his belt, roll up the pants to avoid tripping, and constantly adjust his sleeves just to see his hands.

“Are you scared, little boy?” Bradamanthe teased, eyeing him like a lioness with her prey.

“N-No…I’m not afraid, Miss Rolandsson…just…” He tried to look tough, but it was hard when his head barely reached her chest. Then, without warning, she began patting his arms, checking the size of each of his muscles.

“I see you’ve been doing the exercises I suggested. Good job, little boy.” Armen looked like he’d eaten too many tomatoes.

“Shut up, woman!” A booming voice shouted from the back. “My teammate is following my training program—one for true men only—eating nothing but the rawest dinosaur meat! YES to pain, NO to carbs!” S-Class ’4th-Wall Breaker’ Mikhail Yazov had officially joined the show. Taller than Bradamanthe and bulkier than Chad, the son of the Minister of War wore nothing but military-grade pants, insisting that armor—and even shirts—only slowed him down.

Over his chest, on his right pectoral, an animated tattoo rotated slowly in a clockwise motion. It depicted a black crow and a black spider locked in an eternal struggle to devour each other, and within the dark circle formed by their stretched bodies, a 36-pointed star spun counterclockwise as a radiant emerald shone at its center. The outer circle represented the food chain—eat or be eaten—while the star symbolized the thirty-six major cities of the Emerald Lands with the emerald at the center commemorating its capital—Zavagrad. Together, they formed the emblem of the National Salvation Committee—Komitet Natsional’nogo Spaseniya—of which Mikhail’s father served as the honorary president.

The tattoo’s motion was made possible by thousands of microscopic and transparent ink nodes, each capable of shifting between color and invisibility according to a complex algorithm—all powered by Mikhail’s body heat.

“Shut up, man!” Bradamanthe bellowed. “If you want to walk back to your room with your spine intact, keep your filthy ideas away from my little boy.” Her muscular arms tensed as Mikhail cracked his knuckles, the air thicking with imminent violence. But before the storm could break, a red-skinned young man stepped between them.

“Stop,” he said, his voice calm yet commanding. “If you want to prove who’s strongest, my tribe has a tradition well-suited for that. Two warriors challenge each other in an activity that benefits the whole tribe, and the winner is the one who contributes the most to the collective good. In our case—this Dungeon Raid!” SS-Class ’Martial Critic’ Lunátawe Anùli—translated in Adamic as Shadow Eye—stood tall between the two titans.

He was a free warrior of the Aniyàta Wihtàwa, one of the oldest nomadic tribes of the Great Dune, and among the very few Dune Natives ever to attend Miraval Academy. His presence was the fruit of years of delicate diplomacy—helped by his friend Kafka—in a historic effort to finally integrate his people into the social fabric of the ’HRE.’

“Nice idea,” Bradamanthe said as she unsheathed her Valkyrie Claymore—a sword as tall and broad as she was. “Whoever kills the most monsters wins. What do you think, MAN?!”

“You’ve already lost, WOMAN!” Mikhail declared as the bulging veins across his naked chest glowed emerald.

*Whee-oo*! *Whee-oo*! *Whee-oo*! The siren blared, signaling the start of the test, and in an instant, the Class S students disciplinedly regrouped into a thick formation.

“Good morning, Asty. Didn’t see you join us,” greeted the ’Hero,’ now standing in line beside the ’Shining Star.’

“I’ve been here for five minutes, but you were too busy chatting with your boyfriend.” she coldly replied.

Chad frowned. “Anicet’s a great teammate to talk with. You know…it’s hard to find someone willing to speak frankly with his future Emperor. Besides, I thought you were feeling the same way about Tsuki. Exploring different viewpoints is the root of personal growth.” Astary offered him an awkward smile. The only thing her time with Tsuki had expanded was her vocabulary of slurs.

“Attention!” Mr. Anhogi’s bark signaled the arrival of Mr. Blues, who shuffled forward like a sleepwalker, stopping next to the ’Sinful Blade,’ whose rigid posture was in stark contrast to the ’Thermal Elegance’s’ slouched spine.

“I’ll keep this short,” he muttered after a light snore. “You’ll be divided into two teams of five. The objective is simple—exterminate all monsters from three designated areas faster than the other team.” He scratched his bald head. “The winning team gets the rest of the day off. But don’t worry, your grades will be based on individual performance and not team results—good luck.”

***

Astary’s team advanced into the depths of the Dungeon, a dark hallway of stone and silence where the air grew thinner with every step.

Shadow Eye led the group, though not without difficulty. As a young man who used to live under open skies and endless dunes, he was visibly uncomfortable in the confined space, and if hours spent in a classroom had been difficult for him, the Dungeon was slowly dragging the young warrior toward the edge of claustrophobia.

Bradamanthe and Armen took the rear. It might have seemed a meaningless role in a Room-Clearing Dungeon, but in Mr. Anhogi’s tests, one could never afford the luxury of letting the guard down.

Astary, serving as the team’s living torch, walked at the center of the formation, just behind Anicet, with her gaze fixed on the black cloak draping from his armor's dragon-shaped pauldrons.

At that moment, the ’Shining Star’ realized how little she knew about the Scion of the Evernightmare Kingdom. But she wasn’t alone in that. The ’Nostalgic Reactionary’ rarely interacted with anyone outside school hours, vanishing the exact moment the bell rang. And yet, sometimes, she had caught fleeting glimpses of this elusive creature in his natural habitat—reading alone in the park on rainy days, playing the violin atop the S-Tower under the moonlights, or in the academy’s private zoo, speaking to the animals as if they could understand him. After all those brief encounters, the Starfolk lady started to find herself quietly intrigued by that lonely prince who hailed from a land of everlasting darkness. Thus, fueled by the desire to pierce his personal Obsidian Curtain, with a quick succession of small steps, she made her way to his side.

“You look good in that armor, you know?” Astary tried to break the ice.

“Of course, it cost a lot.” His tone was a pleasure to hear—no matter how loudly he spoke, his voice always sounded like a cold whisper.

“You know it’s rude not to make eye contact when you’re speaking to someone,” she teased.

“Sorry.” He shifted his narrow eyes to meet her large ones, catching Astary off guard with his sharp features. His stern face resembled a wooden statue carved with a curved knife—so handsome, yet so lifeless—and she knew very well that blade’s name—loneliness. “But your beauty would blind me.”

For less than a fleeting instant, Astary's light flickered. “Wow, I didn’t think you were so bold. You know…you’ve always avoided us.”

“I’m not shy,” he rebutted. “I just prefer to be left alone. That being said, in our current situation, it would be negligent of me to avoid cooperation with my team.” She beamed, raising the intensity of her light in an attempt to free the prince from his shadows. However, for the first time, her radiant presence failed to shine someone’s life.

Like Astary, Anicet possessed a genetic ability passed down through the male bloodline of the Cosmatern Family. While she radiated light, his skin exuded darkness, coloring everything around him into lifeless shades of gray—everything, except her. His shadows and her glow canceled each other out, and for the first time in their lives, they looked like ordinary people.

“Everyone—STOP! I hear them!” Shadow Eye warned, and in an instant, the team snapped into a tight formation.

With a swift motion of his sharp black nail, Anicet sliced through the fabric of reality, opening a wound between this world and a darker one. “Vreau să-l oprești pe omul ăla!!” As he spoke these words, the Nixie Prince inserted his arm fully into the shadowy rift, extracting the legendary weapon of his ancestor, Hero Nagoe—’Bad Ending.’ The legendary spear featured twin blades, one at each end, and a shaft carved from obsidian, which was shaped like a dragon and sported glowing veins of Ambered-Lava that perfectly matched the Nixie Cross emblazoned on Anicet's armor.

”Lucky bastard.” Astary felt a twinge of jealousy as she opened her [Inventory]. Although using the weapons and armor of the Holy Heroes was an inalienable right for their reincarnations, her father had refused to spoil his daughter that much, settling instead for a more humbler option—a diamond bow crafted by the finest artisans of the Constellation. “Thea, stick to your role and stay back!” She barked.

The princess rolled her diamond eyes but obeyed. “Watch and learn, little boy. Soon, it’ll be your turn to fight.” The ’Shining Star’ concentrated her light upward, revealing the Dungeon’s first foe—its metallic skin gleaming silver beneath her glow.

“What is that thing?” Armen muttered, mesmerized by the rings of razor-edged teeth that rotated inside the monster’s wide mouth.

“It’s called Uncanny, an agglomeration of Mana that came to life after exposure to the Radiation of an Essentia.” The silver creature resembled an abstract sculpture of a human. Its limbs were far too thin for its height, twisted in illogical directions, and its head lacked all distinguishable features, no eyes, no nose, and no ears, only a vertical mouth splitting its face in half. “Be careful, it might use [Skills].” What a cliché for our first raid—the most overused monster in fiction. Astary snorted at the thought that her first Dungeon Raid wouldn’t even be worth remembering.

Shadow Eye stepped forward as twin tomahawks materialized in his hands while casting a challenging glance at the enemy. Once the two faced one another, the ’Martial Critique’ closed his eyes, entering a meditative stance. *HHRRRK–KOFF!* *HHRRRK–KOFF!* *HHRRRK–KOFF!* A violent cough, followed by cries of pain, shattered the silence. The young man’s body convulsed with spasms that rippled through every fiber of his muscles as bloody tears streamed from his twisting eyes.

It was a horrifying show, but, at least, it was a short one, and when Shadow Eye opened his eyes, there was no trace of hesitation left inside this young warrior. “I’ve simulated our battle 3,736 times, and died in the first 450,” he announced, spitting the leftover blood from his mouth. “The Uncanny lacks our five senses, but it can intercept our Radiation and decode it to anticipate our tactics.” He raised his twin stony axes, his bloodshot eyes overflowing with an unshakable resolve. “Anicet, Astary—stay back. This one’s mine.” After unleashing an untranslatable war cry of his tribe, Shadow Eye threw himself at the argentine-skinned monster, both tomahawks aiming at its neck.

However, the Uncanny was faster than it looked. Its thin arm melted and morphed into a thick metallic shield, deflecting the strike, while its left limb wrenched into a needle, curving toward the warrior’s exposed back.

“Useless!” Without taking his eyes off the monster’s throat, Shadow Eye deflected the backstab with one tomahawk, while the other swept low beneath the shield, severing the Uncanny’s forearm. The monster narrowly avoided decapitation with a hasty retreat, but the hunter gave his prey no time to breathe, and the scene soon repeated itself.

What followed was a brutal dance of precision and violence that lasted a couple of everlasting minutes. The young warrior executed flawless parries, masterful deflections, and calculated counterattacks, anticipating each of the Uncanny’s grotesque mutations with pinpoint accuracy, shocking the audience. “Wiyela!” He shouted as the exhausted monster finally exposed his neck and the tomahawk didn't miss. Its argentine head fell, evaporating into a silvery cloud as it touched the soil while Shadow Eye rejoiced for the victory. “Did you see what I’ve just done? I thought it’d be harder in real life, but it was just like the simula—”

*THUD!* *THUD!* *THUD!* A sudden succession of thunders shook the cavern as, one by one, thirty-six more Uncannies dropped from the dark ceiling, encircling the ’Martial Critic.’

As parodies of humans, each one was grotesquely unique—one had thousands of eyes embedded in its chest, another sprouted limbs from its back, and one wore a crown of noses atop its head. Yet, none truly resembled the Children of Adam, and perhaps that was why they wasted no time in attacking the Native student.

Shadow Eye’s [MinMaxxing] activated before he even realized it, running 3,736 simulations and dying in 2,603 of them. A terrible performance, no doubt about that, but even a single successful simulation would have been enough for him to find a way out of the encirclement. However, as he prepared to execute one of the winning scenarios, the Uncannies intercepted his Radiation.

In less than an instant, the monsters decoded the full extent of his Essentia’s capabilities, grimly understanding that, against such a high-level [Skill], there was no path to victory. Hence, all thirty-six Uncannies agreed to add one more seat to their direct trip to hell.

All together, they decided to self-destruct by overheating their Mana, detonating in unison and igniting the many sacs of magic particles present in the Dungeon’s air—unleashing a colossal burst of blue fire upon the ’Martial Critic.’

[MinMaxxing] triggered again, but this time, in all 3,736 simulations, he burned alive, and with no path to survival in hand, he could only scream as the final explosion scorched his skin—but this time, it was real.

The test's rules saved his life, which forced the Dungeon to immediately teleport any student whose [HP] hit zero.

***
UPDATE
***
FIRST ROOM CLEARED
***

“Well…that was anticlimactic,” Armen mumbled, trying to look tough beside his princess while doing his best to breathe through his mouth.

“His [Skill] gave him way too much confidence. Well…better to learn the lesson now than in a real battle.” Astary expressed her honest opinion.

“We have no time to waste,” Anicet cut in. “Let’s move on and try working as a team in the next area.” Without looking back, they stepped into the newly formed hallway.

WORLD'S END BLOG:
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