Chapter 259: The Brink of the Void (3)

Beside Creed, Amara stood with equal poise, the frost-silk gown rippling around her slender legs like seafoam. Her chin was tilted upward, her sky-blue eyes burning with fierce, hungry anticipation.

To their right, Nicholas Grey calmly smoothed his tie, his silver hair fluttering in the updraft, while Emerald stood poised on the balls of her feet, her hand resting on the hilt of a shadow-dagger hidden beneath her skirt.

Up on the floating platform, Director Kaien lowered his arm.

"No shuttles," the Director proclaimed, his voice cutting through the screaming wind.

"No safety tethers. The threshold of the Starlight Realm requires mass, kinetic momentum, and the sheer force of your will to penetrate the outer atmospheric density. If you fear the fall... you do not belong in the stars."

Kaien raised two fingers, his eyes flashing with the cold brilliance of an executioner.

"Armor on."

SHING!

A sound like a thousand blades clearing their scabbards rippled across the grand pavilion!

Every single student who had come moved in perfect, synchronized harmony.

Spatial rings flared!

Along the southern tier, the burly vanguards of the House of Clubs tapped their dimensional bands, and in flashes of deep azure light, massive suits of interlocking, rune-carved plate mail wrapped around their limbs, their heavy tower shields slamming onto their backs with metallic thunder.

To the west, the agile scouts of the House of Spades flickered beneath shrouds of shifting purple and matte-black leather, their lightweight void-weave cloaks, throwing blades, and silenced wrist-crossbows snapping into place with lethal precision.

And in the center—the House of Diamonds.

Damien Blackthorne tapped his ring, his frame instantly encased in heavy, dark volcanic armor etched with glowing crimson runes, a colossal two-handed greatsword materializing in his gauntleted grip.

Nicholas Grey flicked his wrist.

In a flash of silver light, his tailored suit vanished beneath a magnificent, high-collared coat of reinforced mirror-silk lined with overlapping plates of flexible mythril scale armor, an exquisite, thin rapier that shimmered like liquid silver sliding smoothly into his left hand.

Amara turned slightly toward Creed.

Her lips curved into a sharp, breathtaking smirk. She tapped the sapphire ring on her slender index finger.

FWOOSH!

A blinding blizzard of pale blue frost erupted from her hand, spiraling around her silhouette!

The delicate frost-silk evening gown disintegrated into particles of glittering starlight, instantly replaced by her true combat regalia: a form-fitting suit of segmented, pale-blue dragon-scale armor that hugged her long legs and narrow waist with lethal grace.

High, reinforced combat boots gripped the transparent floor; sharp silver vambraces protected her forearms; and in her right hand, condensed from the swirling ice particles, appeared a slender, double-edged crystal rapier that hummed with bone-chilling sub-zero mist!

She shook her long, silky blue hair free, tossing her head, looking every inch the peerless, untamable battle-goddess of the Northern Bastions.

"Well, Walden?" Amara challenged, her icy-blue eyes glittering with electric thrill. "Still think I only know how to dance?"

Creed let out a low, deep chuckle.

He didn’t need to change his clothes. The Astral Vanguard Formal he had purchased from Master Vane was already woven from high-grade void-spider silk, reinforced with kinetic dampening runes and cut specifically for an apex combatant.

He simply reached into his dimensional ring.

Click.

Around his forearms, two sleek, midnight-black bracers made of hardened meteorite alloy snapped shut, locking his cuffs tight.

Around his boots, two reinforced greaves clamped over his leather soles, the subtle kinetic dampening runes humming to life.

He reached behind his right shoulder.

SCHWING.

His fingers closed around the bone-white shaft of the Pale Horizon.

With an effortless, casual flick of his wrist, Creed drew the artifact spear from its magnetic back-port.

The three-foot, pristine white spearhead hissed as it sliced through the air, catching the brilliant starlight from the rift beyond.

The weapon didn’t merely reflect the light; it seemed to drink it, a faint, translucent aura of pure spatial distortion humming along its razor edge.

Creed lowered the spear to a loose, low guard at his side.

Beneath the navy-blue headband pulled tight across his brow, the non-Euclidean slave brand pulsed once—not with cold agony, but with a wild, hungry resonance that matched the violent tempo of the primeval gateway.

Deep within his soul, the three slumbering cocoons of Lilith, Tierra, and Meredith gave a synchronized, eager twitch, their dormant consciousnesses sensing the boundless feast waiting beyond the clouds.

His Profound Realm Path of Freedom uncoiled in his tendons, shedding the weight of his flesh.

His Profound Realm Path of the Mountain anchored his core, granting his frame the unshakeable density of an iron pillar.

And hovering silently behind his retinas was the absolute, razor-sharp lethality of his Peak Realm Path of Killing.

He had no summons to shield him. He had no system interface to calculate his odds.

He had only his spear, his paths, and his will.

And for Creed Walden... that was more than enough.

Up on the high dais, Director Kaien’s voice echoed across the open heavens, carrying the weight of a thousand wars:

"THE GATES ARE OPEN."

BZZZZZZT!

The transparent force-field beneath their boots vanished.

Gravity reasserted its absolute authority.

Two thousand awakened bodies plummeted instantly into the five-mile void!

"YAAAAAAAH!"

Screams of pure terror, wild battle cries, and the deafening roar of burning thrusters erupted simultaneously across the night sky!

Students dropped like a shower of falling meteors toward the boiling cloud sea!

Vanguard fighters engaged localized gravity-parachutes; wind-users summoned howling twisters beneath their boots; and spellcasters deployed shining discs of light to ride the violent atmospheric slipstreams!

In the center of the freefall, Creed Walden did not deploy a parachute.

He dove.

He turned his body completely vertical, headfirst, his midnight-navy coat billowing behind him like a hawk tucking its wings for the kill!

The wind shrieked past his ears at five hundred miles an hour, tearing at his clothes, howling against his skin!

The sea of violet clouds rushed up to meet him like a solid wall!

To his left, Amara dove parallel to him, her crystal rapier held tight to her chest, her blue hair streaming like a freezing comet trail, her eyes wide and laughing in pure, unadulterated adrenaline!

To his right, Nicholas Grey descended with his mirror-silk coat flaring, his silver rapier slicing through the headwind with effortless, mathematical balance!

One mile down.

Two miles down.

They broke through the cloud ceiling in an explosion of swirling, luminescent mist!

Beneath them, the Starlight Realm expanded across the entire horizon—an endless, terrifying, and breathtaking primeval continent of glowing violet mountain ranges, shattered floating islands, bioluminescent crystalline jungles, and ancient ruined cities that had died before humanity was born!

And hovering dead center was the swirling, seven-ringed celestial portal of the rift!

Creed locked his eyes on the swirling sapphire vortex.

His lips peeled back into a wild, feral, and utterly ecstatic grin.

’Let’s see what this realm has to offer,’ Creed thought, the blood singing in his veins like a roaring furnace.

With a sharp intake of freezing air, Creed Walden channeled his Profound Realm Path of Freedom, adjusted his spear trajectory, and dove headfirst into the blinding maw of the Starlight Realm!