CLEAVER OF SIN
Chapter 102: Carnage

Chapter 102: Carnage

Sinvaira.

As Wuthenya thought of this, her eyes narrowed, and a faint frown formed upon her lips. She had never encountered one before, but she had heard of them, from her father, Malrik, from the Elders, and even the Great Elders.

And if her suspicions were correct, then everything at this moment had just changed dramatically. She had heard tales, dark ones, that the previous Primarch, her own grandfather, had been assassinated by them.

Sinvairae were a higher class of Emovirae. No, calling them Emovirae was an insult in itself, Emovirae didn’t even deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as them.

According to information gathered since what was presumed to be their first appearance, though no one could say for certain if that had truly been the beginning, it was believed that Sinvairae were not born from the existence of negative and positive emotions like normal Emovirae. Instead, they were born from sins themselves.

No one truly knew how many of them existed, but based on the information accumulated over the centuries, at least five had been confirmed through rare and scattered sightings.

However, if one were to go by the number of sins known to exist in Crymora, then it was undeniable, their numbers certainly exceeded five.

Emovirae were graded on a classification system distinct from that used for monsters and beasts. They were ranked from Rank 1 to Rank 10, with higher ranks indicating increased power and more advanced intelligence.

But the Sinvairae were beings said to exist beyond even Rank 10. Their sheer power and innate intelligence placed them on a level that rivaled, or even surpassed, that of the Human race itself, a reality that was terrifying to contemplate.

The more Wuthenya mentally reviewed the information that the top brass of Crymora had painstakingly gathered over the years, the more bleak her situation became.

She was merely a Voidstar Life Ranker. That alone meant she could match various Rank 8 Emovirae in battle, but now... now a being that stood above the very peak of Rank 10 was targeting her. There was simply no miracle here. No twist of fate would intervene to save her.

Though she certainly possessed the talent to one day ascend to that level, in the present, it was still only that; potential.

But, Wuthenya felt no fear, despite her awareness that death stood before her. She was a Wargrave. She had brushed against death when she was only fifteen, just six months after her awakening. Since then, death had become her companion.

Just because her opponent this time hailed from ancient times, didn’t mean it changed anything.

A Wargrave dies in battle, with their weapon in hand and their back held straight. Not in bed. Not at home. Not surrounded by comfort.

"Impressive... You don’t seem afraid of me. Is it that you don’t know what I am? Or are you simply foolish?" the Sinvaira intoned, his eyes fixed on Wuthenya with a calm superiority. There was no urgency in his demeanor, this prey, to him, could be ended whenever he so pleased with a single attack.

"Why should I be afraid? Death comes for everyone, regardless of lifespan, age, nobility, race, or power," Wuthenya replied evenly. Her hands hung loosely at her sides, her posture unguarded, as though she had already accepted the outcome.

"As expected of a Wargrave... A bloodline of war and grave... Truly admirable," the being murmured with a small smile.

Wuthenya didn’t shy away from the conversation. In fact, she welcomed it. She knew her maid would likely call for help, though she didn’t know who might answer, it hardly mattered. Anyone was better than no one. At the very least, they might face this foe together.

"Tell me... what Sinvaira of Sin are you?" she asked softly. Her green hair swayed gently to the rhythm of the wind, fluttering alongside the leaves and grass like they were caught in a delicate dance of fate.

"Hoo... So you humans have gathered this much information? Impressive. Truly," the being remarked, evidently surprised by how much the humans knew, especially considering how infrequently the Sinvaira made appearances.

"The name’s Orvak, the Sinvaira of Carnage. Born from your race’s obsession with war, destruction, devastation, and of course... carnage," the being introduced himself with a faintly theatrical tone.

"I’m simply doing what I was birthed to do, Miss Second Moon," he continued, his voice low and smooth. "But do not mistake me for one who indulges in senseless violence. No, no. Carnage is only beautiful when done with precision... when it’s meaningful," he paused, his eyes settling upon Wuthenya with unsettling stillness. "Just like you. I will make you beautiful... a beautiful corpse."

Wuthenya did not flinch at the threat. Instead, a small smile played across her lips. Her blood was already boiling, her senses thrumming in anticipation. She was itching, aching, to taste the power of this ancient being. A creature that existed above the normal limits of classification.

Her fingers were already twitching, eager to summon her twin daggers. But she restrained herself. She remained still, gathering more information, trying to understand what she was truly up against.

Indeed, a great deal of destruction and death had plagued the world ever since the fall of the star fragment, an event that shattered the relative peace of the realm.

From humanity’s sudden awakening and evolution, to the beasts who evolved in tandem, and the subsequent war that followed, the death toll had risen into the millions. And even after the war was, in some sense, won, the unified world fractured into competing Empires due to the resurgence of various power and abilities

People crowned themselves kings and queens. Ambitions rose. And then came the carnage, humans warring among themselves, further fueling chaos. More death. More devastation. The intelligent Emovirae seized the opportunity, spreading chaos across every known Empire.

Some Empires fell, annihilated entirely, absorbed into stronger ones. While this served as a brutal lesson to the survivors, it also forged an unstable peace, one built on fear. The fear of war returning. The fear of the Sinvaira, watching from the shadows.

"To think your battle intent would rise just from hearing my name... Truly, your bloodline is worth studying," Orvak said with a grin.

"I take it you’re no longer stalling for reinforcements then," he added, voice steeped in calm arrogance.

Wuthenya was unsurprised that Orvak knew she was stalling. Beings like him weren’t just powerful, they were brilliant. After all, they couldn’t have remained hidden all these centuries without the intelligence to do so.

She said nothing. Her silence was her answer.

And yet, though she stood alone before a being of carnage, though death encroached on every breath, she remained still, her spine straight, her eyes calm, her blood screaming for battle.

She was Wuthenya Wargrave.

And if she was going to die...

Then she would do so standing.