Celestial Remnant: The Eternal Ascension

The world trembled.

A sky once adorned with celestial light fractured, splitting apart like fragile glass. Damian Vance, Sovereign of the Celestial Order, felt the very foundation of his existence unravel.

Blood dripped from his lips as he staggered forward, the weight of betrayal pressing against his failing limbs. The once-pristine white of his battle robes was soaked in crimson, the divine sigils embroidered along the fabric flickering, powerless.

Surrounding him stood the so-called Celestial Lords, his most trusted allies—now his executioners.

"Damian Vance," a voice like ice rang across the shattered battlefield. "The heavens no longer need you."

Lucien Graves, the man who once knelt before him as his sworn brother, now pointed a blade toward his throat. A blade forged from the essence of fallen stars, designed to sever divinity itself.

Damian let out a ragged breath. So this was how it would end.

His power, vast enough to carve mountains and command the stars, was fading. His celestial core—the very source of his immortality—was shattered.

And yet…

Despite the pain, despite the betrayal, he smiled.

Lucien's expression flickered. "You find this amusing?"

Damian coughed, wiping the blood from his mouth. His gaze, still burning with defiance, locked onto his former comrade. "You're all fools if you think this is the end of me."

A murmur ran through the Celestial Lords. Doubt? Or perhaps fear?

Lucien's grip tightened around his blade. "Your reign is over. The heavens must move forward without you."

He thrust his sword forward.

Damian felt the cold steel pierce his chest, slicing through flesh and bone, severing what little remained of his celestial core.

A sensation colder than death itself overtook him.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling…

The heavens above shrank as darkness swallowed him whole.

---

Damian awoke to the scent of damp earth.

His body felt… different. Weaker. Mortal.

The sensation was foreign. He had once wielded power vast enough to command the celestial realms, yet now, even breathing felt like a struggle.

He blinked, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the canopy of an ancient forest. Thick, gnarled trees stretched endlessly in all directions, their roots weaving through the earth like serpents. The distant cries of unseen beasts echoed through the air.

A shiver ran down his spine.

He reached for his chest—where Lucien's blade had impaled him—but found only smooth skin beneath the torn remnants of his robes. No wound. No scar.

But he could feel it.

The emptiness where his celestial core once thrived.

Gone.

A hollow laugh escaped him.

"So, this is what it means to be human again…"

The mere thought was suffocating. He clenched his fists, only to feel the frailty of his mortal body. The absence of power gnawed at him.

But this wasn't the end.

He had fallen, but he was not broken.

His enemies had stripped him of everything, yet they had failed in one regard—they had let him live.

And that was their first mistake.

A Stranger in the Shadows

The sound of rustling leaves pulled Damian from his thoughts.

Instinct took over. He pressed himself against the base of a tree, his senses sharp despite his weakened state.

Footsteps. Light, measured, yet unmistakably deliberate. Someone was approaching.

Then, he saw her.

A woman, dressed in flowing midnight-blue robes, stepped through the misty forest. Her presence was commanding, each movement precise, as if she were a blade waiting to be unsheathed.

Her piercing silver eyes locked onto him.

Damian didn't need to ask. He already knew—she was dangerous.

She studied him for a moment before speaking. "You're not from here."

Her voice was calm, but there was a hidden edge to it.

Damian, still catching his breath, smirked. "Neither are you."

Her gaze flickered with something unreadable before she crossed her arms. "You look half-dead."

"I feel worse," he admitted.

She tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering behind her sharp features. "What's your name?"

He hesitated for only a second. His real name would bring too much attention.

"…Damian."

Her lips curled slightly. "No surname?"

"Lost it along the way."

She seemed to accept the answer. "Evelyn Blackthorne," she offered in return.

A name that carried weight. The Blackthorne family was infamous across the mortal and spiritual realms. Ruthless warriors, masters of forbidden techniques, and some of the deadliest assassins ever known.

And now one stood before him.

"Should I be worried?" Damian asked.

Evelyn smirked. "That depends. Are you worth killing?"

Damian chuckled despite himself. It had been a long time since someone had spoken to him like this.

"I suppose that remains to be seen."

Her smirk faded, replaced by something more calculating. She wasn't just here for idle conversation.

"I was tracking a group of Shadow Fang assassins," she said. "Their trail led me here."

Damian stiffened.

Shadow Fang. A notorious sect of killers, loyal to the highest bidder. If they were nearby, then…

"They're hunting something—or someone," Evelyn continued. Her gaze bore into him. "I wonder who."

Damian exhaled slowly. He didn't believe in coincidences. If the Shadow Fang were here, it meant only one thing—someone wanted him dead.

And they weren't finished.

A branch snapped.

Both Damian and Evelyn turned at the same time. Figures emerged from the shadows—five men clad in dark robes, their faces hidden beneath masks of bone.

"Well, well," one of them chuckled. "Fortune favors us today. Two for the price of one."

Evelyn's hand went to the hilt of her sword. "You talk too much."

The assassin merely tilted his head. "I'll enjoy carving that tongue from your mouth."

A Fight with No Power

Evelyn moved first.

Her sword flashed—a crescent of ice-laced energy slicing through the air. One of the assassins barely dodged in time, his robe tearing as frost crept up his arm.

Damian, still weakened, assessed the battlefield. He was useless in this state.

And he hated it.

A blade came for him. He twisted, barely avoiding the strike, but his reaction was sluggish—his mortal body too slow, too weak.

A fist slammed into his ribs, sending him sprawling against a tree. Pain flared through his body, raw and unfiltered.

Evelyn cut through another assassin, but more were closing in.

Damian gritted his teeth. This was humiliating. He was once a god among men, feared by celestial lords and revered by armies. And now? He couldn't even hold his ground.

But then—

A flicker.

A pulse.

Deep inside him, buried beneath his broken core, something stirred.

It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. A remnant of his power.

His eyes widened.

Maybe… just maybe, he wasn't as powerless as he thought.