-Eclipse Princess-
The most brutal war Earth had ever faced was about to begin.
On one side, Shadow Monarch, Ashborn. The absolute ruler of death, the conqueror who turned his enemies into his eternal servants, a being whose very presence sent shudders of terror through the strongest of warriors.
On the other side, The Allfather, Odin. The god who had shaped entire civilizations, the master of wisdom and war, whose very name carried the weight of ages.
Every force that mattered had already taken notice.
The Counter Force, the Mage Association, the Dead Apostles, and countless other factions had anticipated this moment—the clash between these two unstoppable beings. It was supposed to be a war that would reshape reality itself, a battle that had never been seen before.
And yet… something was wrong.
Where was Odin?
Ashborn had already led the charge, his black-armored figure standing at the forefront of his legion, an unstoppable force of endless shadows, monstrosities, and forgotten souls.
He had torn through Odin's territory, decimating his worshippers and transforming them into his undead warriors. The skies above the battlefield had been swallowed by his darkness.
And yet, Odin did not come.
Instead, he sent Valkyries.
No Thor, no Tyr, not even the faintest whisper of Loki's trickery on the battlefield. Just silence—the cold, calculated ruthlessness of a god who only sent his handmaidens to die.
Altrouge Brunestud narrowed her crimson eyes, fingers tapping against the armrest of her seat.
Anyone familiar with the lore of the Nasuverse would immediately recognize her.
She was the Eclipse Princess, the True Ancestor, one of Heir of the Crimson Moon, and the legendary Vampire Princess—Altrouge Brunestud.
But unlike her weakened state in Tsukihime, where she bore the scars of her battle with her sister, this was a different time. A different Altrouge. One who had never suffered that defeat.
Here and now, she stood in her prime, untouched, unwounded, and far from the shackles of self-imposed limitation.
This was her at full power—the peak of her existence, when no force on Earth could dare to challenge her without facing utter annihilation.
Her silken black hair framed her delicate yet regal features.
Though petite in stature, there was nothing fragile about her presence—her very existence was overwhelming, an ethereal force of nature wrapped in an almost deceptively adorable form.
But it was her eyes that drew all attention.
Crimson. Luminous. Hypnotic.
Like two pools of liquid rubies, they shimmered with a brilliance that could ensnare souls, a gaze that held the weight of an ancient power lurking beneath the surface.
The kind of beauty that was both divine and dangerous—a perfect balance between an angelic princess and a predatory beast.
She was both.
A creature of impossible beauty, yet also a force of destruction incarnate.
However, despite her flawless, almost doll-like appearance, there was something off about her demeanor.
A subtle but undeniable tension marred her perfect face, her crimson gaze fixed on the distant battlefield.
Her delicate brows furrowed in a frown, a small but telling sign of displeasure.
Something felt off.
"This isn't like Odin… or the Shadow Monarch," she murmured, a gloved hand resting against her chin.
Suspicion laced her tone.
Her knight, Fina Blood-Svelten, stood at her side, arms crossed. "What do you mean, Princess?"
Altrouge scoffed. "Why would Ashborn bother engaging Odin's forces if Odin himself refuses to fight? And why would Odin only send his Valkyries? This isn't how they fight."
Rizo Waal-Strout chuckled, reclining lazily in his seat, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. "Princess, I think you're overthinking it. Odin is just a senile old fool, and Ashborn is a brute who only knows how to smash things. It's that simple."
"Did I ask for your opinion, Strout?" Her voice was cold, laced with irritation.
She knew Strout had a habit of running his mouth with half-baked thoughts, and once again, he was proving himself a damn fool.
Rizo only laughed harder.
"Ahem," Fina coughed into his fist before responding. "I believe this is a logical decision, Princess. Ashborn has no reason not to answer Odin's challenge. The Valkyries were an easy fight for him. Why wouldn't he respond?"
That should have made sense.
It should have been the natural response.
And yet…
Altrouge still felt uneasy.
Altrouge's frown deepened. "That's exactly the problem. This is too simple. Too clean. Too… unlike them."
She leaned back, glaring at the battlefield through the enchanted glass of her viewing chamber.
This should have made sense.
Ashborn answered a provocation.
Odin refused to show himself.
It was logical.
It was reasonable.
But something about it felt wrong.
She knew these two.
Unlike her knights, who only saw Ashborn and Odin as powerful warlords, she studied them. She investigated them. They weren't just players in the grand chess game of the world—they were the ones who could flip the entire board.
Their actions had patterns, their decisions had weight. Even when they fought with rage, there was always strategy beneath it.
So why did this feel… staged?
Why did it feel like both Odin and Ashborn were playing into a fixed script?
Her mind raced.
She had spent years gathering information, analyzing their moves, predicting their plays before they even made them.
No one had the luxury of watching their enemies twenty-four hours a day, but a well-placed spy could suffice. A few infiltrators in the right places, listening to whispers in their war camps.
Because let's be honest—who didn't have spies?
Who among the great factions wasn't filled with traitors?
The question wasn't if spies existed.
It was simply a matter of who could afford the better ones—who had the means to sniff out the moles before they ever became a problem.
Simple.
But right now, despite all of her preparation, despite all of her insight…
She was missing something.
And that alone sent a chill down her spine.
Yet, it wasn't just her. Every walk of life stopped in their tracks—watching, analyzing, drawn to the battle unfolding before them.
Their eyes were locked onto the battlefield, their focus unwavering. They had come here for one reason alone—to witness the power of the Shadow Monarch in his war against Odin. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with the weight of expectations. They wanted to see what he was capable of. They wanted to witness his full might unleashed against the Allfather.
Yet, for all their anticipation, for all their excitement—they never truly knew.
They thought they did.
They assumed he would pour every ounce of his energy, every resource, every soldier into this fight—to stand against Odin himself, to clash with the God of Gods in a battle that would shake the very foundation of the world. Even the great Alaya and Gaia believed so.
But was that really the truth?
Was reality always as it appeared to be?
If his every move was predictable, if his strategy had already been grasped by the world, by the divine, by the very will of the planet itself—how could he ever hope to conquer them?
No.
To conquer, one must step beyond expectations—beyond logic, beyond reason, beyond the grasp of gods and men alike. Victory did not belong to those who followed a script laid out by others. It belonged to those who shattered the script entirely.
Could the Shadow Monarch do that?
Could he break free from fate itself?
Only time would tell.