Bonds of Darkness: Swordmen's Redemption

Chapter Forty-Three: Armor

The Progenitor's guidance was like a beacon in the dark expanse of Y/N's mind, illuminating the choices laid out before him. He stood at the edge of a blade, one side leading to destruction, the other to creation. His destiny was his to shape, and the paths of the universe were wide and manifold.

The silence that followed was not empty but filled with the potential of countless futures. Y/N felt the burden of knowledge, a mantle he now bore as he contemplated his next steps.

"Do not fret over the paths ahead," the Aeon began, its voice a soothing balm against the tumult of Y/N's mind. "Such worries will only hinder you. Now, it is your perception of self that we must address—you see two entities within you, but I see a singular being struggling with acceptance. Embrace the duality of your nature, for in acceptance lies the path to unification."

Y/N's countenance was a canvas of conflict, his inner turmoil echoed in the furrows of his brow. "It's just... overwhelming. Everything you've revealed—it upends all that I thought I knew," he confessed, the enormity of the Aeon's revelations settling upon him like the weight of the heavens.

"And yet, you remain unbroken, merely in denial. The human mind is a crucible of imagination and emotion; to be overwhelmed is a natural response," the Aeon reassured. With a mere gesture, it summoned forth a memory—a fragment of forgotten history that unfolded around them like the pages of an ancient tome coming to life.

The environment shifted, the darkness receding to reveal a training ground of yore. Y/N recognized the scene, though blurred by the mists of time, an inner sanctum adorned with the roses of a bygone era. Two figures, garbed in armor that bore a striking resemblance to that of Igris and Alphen, engaged in a dance of steel.

The clash of their swords was a language unto itself, each stroke and parry a silent communication that Y/N, as a swordmaster, understood intimately. The knights' movements were imbued with the grace of Idrila's blessing—one of shield and one of fortified resolve.

With the Abyss' power coursing through him and the Phantom Bubbles at his command, Y/N tapped into the memory, listening to the echoes of the past. Among the whispers, one shone with undeniable clarity—the memory of an oath taken before Idrila, the Aeon of Beauty. These knights had transcended mortality to protect their realm, their love for their queen and their land fueling their ascent.

Y/N watched, a silent observer, as the knights' tale unfolded. Their acceptance of divine power was not for glory but for the preservation of all they held dear. It was a narrative that resonated with Y/N, a mirror to his own reasons for seeking strength—to live another day, to protect Jingliu and his companions.

He absorbed the scene, committing it to the Phantom Bubbles that served as vessels for these resurrected memories. Turning to face the Progenitor, Y/N found the entity observing him, its gaze penetrating even behind the arcane mask.

A chuckle escaped Y/N, a sound that seemed oddly out of place in the solemnity of their surroundings. "It must be convenient for you," he mused aloud. "With your power, you could have imparted these memories in an instant. Yet, you chose to immerse me in their lives instead."

The Aeon, with a motion that seemed to command the very essence of the void, dispelled the memory around them, plunging the space back into the familiar embrace of darkness. "Yet, it served to remind you of her, did it not? That alone makes it worthwhile," the Aeon replied, its tone resonating with a depth that suggested an understanding beyond mere observation.

Y/N could not deny the truth in the Aeon's words. The memories had stirred within him a longing, a connection to his past that he had not realized he yearned for. In the reflection of Igris and Alphen's devotion, he saw his own drive mirrored—a drive fueled by the bonds he shared with Jingliu and his friends.

The Progenitor's method, while indirect, had ignited within Y/N a renewed sense of purpose and a deeper understanding of the paths that lay intertwined before him. The way forward may be shrouded in the enigma of time and the cosmos, but Y/N knew that with acceptance and the guidance of the Aeon, he would navigate the journey that was his and his alone to undertake.

Y/N then took a grounding breath, channeling his essence into the chasm of shadows that stretched out before him. As if summoned by his will, the shadows began to coalesce, responding to the silent beckoning of his power. They were fragments of the Abyss, an extension of his being, and they moved with purpose towards their master.

Y/N's mind wandered to the stalwart figures of Alphen and Igris. Their armors, regal and resolute, sparked a vision within him of what a true Monarch's garb should be. Not just a protective shell, but a manifestation of one's soul, a declaration of intent to any who dared gaze upon it.

As the Progenitor watched, Y/N began to weave the shadows around him, drawing upon his memory and imagination. The power at his disposal was not just a mere conjuration but a profound creation borne from the depths of his spirit. The shadows were his to command, a canvas upon which to illustrate his innermost self.

He thought of the armor he desired, one that would exemplify his newfound status, his evolution. His hands moved with meticulous care, guiding the shadows as they fashioned themselves into a formidable armor. It was more than a suit of protection—it was an embodiment of his journey, each plate and segment a chapter of his tale.

The Abyssal energy coursed through him, shaping the shadows into form and substance. Claws of darkness caressed his frame, each tendril of shadow molding to his form, compressing into the solid form of armor. It was a process of creation, of bringing into reality the vision of strength and dominion he held within.

Before him, the shadows receded to reveal the result of his will—a suit of armor that was as much a part of him as his own flesh. The armor stood resplendent, a testament to the power Y/N had harnessed. It was a silhouette of sovereignty, each curve and angle a reflection of his resolve. The armor was like an extension of his being, a second skin that spoke of his connection to the Abyss and the monarchy he represented.

The armor's design was intricate, with flowing lines that resembled the elegant strokes of a calligrapher's brush, yet it was not without the menacing promise of protection. The helm was a masterpiece of shadows, with sharp angles that hinted at a crown, and a visage that concealed the eyes, giving nothing away of the monarch's gaze. The chest plate was layered, a fortress unto itself, with pauldrons that bore the semblance of mighty wings folded at rest. The gauntlets were clawed, a ready symbol of the power at the Monarch's disposal, and the greaves rose to meet a mantle that seemed to whisper with the voices of the void.

Y/N, now clad in the armor of his own conjuring, felt a surge of completeness. No longer was he a man torn between worlds, but a Monarch of his own making, his authority etched in the very shadows that clung to him.

With the shadows as his second sight, Y/N examined his new form. He felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him; this was his true self, his soul's armor manifested. He was content, the feeling of adequacy resonating through the silence of the void.

And so, Y/N stood, a Monarch amongst the darkness, his armor a declaration of his presence, his power, and his path forward. The Progenitor, the very essence of the concept of existence, observed in silence, a nod of acknowledgment to the Monarch Y/N had become.

End of Chapter