Only war awaited them ahead.
...Placing his hands on her shoulders, he gently pulled her in and leaned forward.
His heart was beating like a caged beast.
When their lips touched gently, it was as though the whole world was engulfed with heat.
And Sunny wasn't satisfied with that gentle touch. He was hungry for more. Wrapping his hands around her, he pulled her closer, until their bodies were pressed tightly against each other, with no space for anything except passion between them.
Nephis slowly raised her hands and embraced him, as well, responding to his kiss.
At the same time, their kiss grew more passionate, as if both had been starving for each other's lips for a long, long time.
And, intoxicated by the taste of her...
Sunny finally felt complete.
****
Somewhere else, a ruined fortress bathed in the light of a shattered moon. In the remnants of its main keep, a tall dais stood. There was no throne and no altar on the dais... instead, there was an iron anvil, and a man who stood in front of it, swinging a heavy hammer.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a lean, but mighty physique. Powerful muscles rolled under his glistening skin, and his sweat was evaporating in the unbearable heat of a crucible. His bare torso was painted in shades of vermilion by its angry light.
The man had dark hair and a thick, but dignified beard. The expression on his noble face was harsh and austere, and his grey eyes were as cold as tempered steel.
There was a sword taking shape under his hammer on the iron anvil. Eventually, the man put the hammer aside and quenched the incandescent blade in water. The reflection on its surface convulsed when it was pierced by the sharp tip, and was then obscured by rising steam.
A few moments later, the blacksmith pulled the sword out of the water and looked at it closely.
Then, the intensity of his gaze was replaced with contempt and disappointment. Gritting his teeth, the man tossed the beautiful blade aside.
It fell from the dais and flew down.
What waited below was a mountain of swords, each so masterfully crafted that many warriors would eagerly kill for the right to wield one.
The newborn blade landed on the top of the mountain and joined its countless siblings, laying there...
Abandoned, and forgotten.
Far away...
A vast hall cut in blue ice was drowning in darkness.
In the center of the hall, a tall throne stood, illuminated by the ghostly light of dancing flames.
A corpse of a breathtakingly beautiful woman was sitting on the throne, dressed in a regal red gown. Its hem spilled down the steps of the throne like a river of blood.
The woman's chest was pierced by a sword, which pinned her to the back of the throne.
Two dead youths stood on both sides of the throne, waiting in silence.
Then, the silence was broken.
Pieces of ice fell to the floor and shattered as the dead woman's hand slowly rose. Her pale, long fingers wrapped themselves around the blade of the sword. Soon, there was the sound of metal breaking.
In the next moment, the ice hall — and the entire mountain encompassing it — shuddered.
And someplace else...
A gaunt man was sitting in the dust, wearing a tattered spacesuit. The visor of his helmet was cracked, and the oxygen in the tank attached to his back had long run out.
Nevertheless, the gaunt man was somehow still alive.
He had been motionless for a while, but now, he finally moved.
Rising his head, he looked at a beautiful blue disk floating in the great darkness above him.
His cracked lips twisted into a smile.
"How curious."
That was what he wanted to say...
But, of course, no sound escaped from his lips, since there was no air to transmit it.
The man tried to sigh, but failed for the same reason.
He shook his head in dejection and moved his lips again.
If someone was there to read them, they would have read:
"...It's starting."
The war for the throne of humanity had begun.
[End of Volume Eight: Lord of Shadows]