The Trial of Twilight

Daphne paused, feigning deep contemplation in the face of her adopted daughter’s and student’s questions. Her mind, however, raced frantically, desperately searching for an excuse to muddle through.

Firstly, Daphne herself was utterly clueless about the situation. She hadn’t known before attempting it that the Soul-Mirror would forcibly drag others’ souls into this very space.

Secondly, Daphne realized she was responsible for the current predicament. If she, the instigator, appeared flustered and helpless, wouldn’t that squander the dialogue opportunity the mirror had created?

Observing Gwynevere’s reactions, Daphne surmised they couldn’t yet discern her true form. After all, Gwynevere had seen both Daphne in her half-blood form and Ellenore Perkin as the Grand Chantress; she would have recognized her instantly if she could truly see.

This allowed Daphne to leverage the mystery created by her concealed appearance, posing as the one in control. In reality, she knew nothing, and her true power was far inferior to the two before her; she was merely a novice.

But being a novice wasn’t terrifying; appearing to be one was.

After a long period of contemplation, Daphne straightened her posture, and the stars shimmered brilliantly along the edges of her nebula-shaped body.

“A trial,” she slowly uttered.

Her voice, deliberately deepened and amplified by the influence of the nebula, transformed from its usual light and sweet tone into something ethereal and mysterious, echoing repeatedly through the stark white space.

“A trial?” Verilia exclaimed, surprised.

An unknown, great entity, in an empty, mysterious domain, had summoned a chosen few to test them. This sounded akin to the divine stature of a god. In the stories she had read about the gods, the fates of mortal heroes often took a turning point at such junctures. Could the nebula beyond the mist be one of the gods?

Gwynevere’s state of mind was calmer. She had experienced the moment Vatitaya bestowed her blessing, and this experience, equally mysterious and unknown, made it impossible to rule out the possibility of the other party being a deity or their avatar.

“What do you wish to test us for? And why?” the Saintess inquired after a moment of thought.

“Qualification,” the entity beyond the mist intoned once more.

Gwynevere was about to press for what kind of qualification, but she suddenly noticed the environment undergoing a drastic change. The white background began to flip, square by square, transforming into a profound black, like the boundless expanse of the universe.

Verilia let out a shriek, for she discovered that even her nebula body had vanished. Gwynevere’s situation was similar. She could perceive everything around her, feel her own existence, yet she could neither see nor touch herself. It was as if she had become an observer, unable to intervene or participate, only to watch.

The entity beyond the mist offered no explanation. It seemed to gaze at them, yet also to peer into the distant beyond, its purple starlight still shining brightly. But soon, Gwynevere realized that no explanation was necessary. Those profound black expanses were not merely black.

****

The dim night persisted until the crimson, eerie second moon ascended high into the sky. Only then did the darkness slowly recede in the blood-colored glow, facing another normal, bright moon from afar, each suspended on opposite sides of the heavens.

It was a moon composed entirely of Bloodcrystal, a cursed, evil moon: the Morrslieb Moon.

Along the coastline, crimson lightning descended from the blood-stained clouds. Hideous, terrifying figures slowly emerged from the sea mist, as Chaos Daemons once again appeared upon this land, the ancient nightmares returning with a vengeance.

Khorne’s Bloodletters, blood-red with horns, lived only for slaughter. Tzeentch’s Horrors, with their iridescent blue scales, feathers, beaks, and bestial feet, prided themselves on deception and arcane arts. Nurgle’s Plaguebearers, corpulent, putrid, and festering with maggots, spread pestilence throughout the world. Slaanesh’s Daemonettes, alluring and supremely beautiful, pursued only spiritual ecstasy and pleasure.

Gwynevere and Verilia witnessed these creatures, previously confined to legends, stepping onto the Nocartia Continent’s soil. The world, under the massive daemon invasion, was reduced to a fiery wasteland.

Plagues and rat infestations ravaged the lands in turn. Long-dormant Greenskins and Beastmen swarmed from the deep forests. Chaos Warriors marched south from the frozen wastes, and Undead hordes crossed the towering snow-capped peaks to tread upon the living’s territories.

Innumerable catastrophes unfolded simultaneously. The forces of order ultimately faced extinction under the onslaught of evil Chaos, meeting a tragic end.

Amidst her shock, Gwynevere instinctively looked westward towards the coast. She saw a burning red sunset eternally frozen above the horizon, its twilight hues and the blood moon’s glow collectively painting half the sky crimson.

It was an eternal twilight. This was the End. The night would never fall, nor would the dawn of another day ever break.

Only at this moment did Gwynevere and Verilia realize this was an illusion, yet it was so vividly real, as if the future was upon them.

“Qualification.” The entity, suspended in mid-air, coldly gazing down upon all beings, repeated the word in a low voice. All of this was the vision it wished them to see. “The qualification to contend against the Twilight of the End.”