The Obsidian Covenant #1: The Rejected Mate's Ruin のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 91 - チャプター 100

POV: ViggoThe earth groaned. It was the sound of a tomb closing."Move!" Barzil roared from the front. Shoving Guller through the narrowing aperture of the airlock.The ancient observatory wasn't just crumbling; it was being erased. The deep charges Nergal had planted three centuries ago were detonating in a sequence designed to pulverize the evidence into dust. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The floor heaved beneath my boots. Throwing me sideways into a bank of sparking consoles."The structural integrity is critical!" Wolfy shouted over the din. Checking his datapad as he ran. "The main support arch is failing in three... two..."CRACK.Above us, the obsidian ceiling split. A slab of rock the size of a transport ship broke free. Plummeting toward the only exit.If it fell, we were buried. If we were buried, the truth died with us.I didn't think. I didn't calculate. I just reacted."NO!" I bellowed.I lunged forward. I didn't try to dodge the stone. I tried to catch it.I slammed my shoulder in

POV: BarzilLying to a King was treason. Lying to a God was heresy.But lying to a monster who wore the skin of both? That was simply survival.I stood in the center of the Celestial Spire’s throne room. My boots planted on the transparent glass floor that looked down upon the storm clouds.Behind me, the Vanguard stood in formation—Viggo a statue of suppressed rage, Wolfy a pillar of ice, Guller a shadow, and Neoma... Neoma was the void itself. Silent. Unreadable.Ahead of us, Lugal Nergal sat on his throne of bone. He was leaning forward. His milky eyes fixed on my face. Searching for a micro-tremor. A spike in pulse. The scent of deceit."Empty?" Nergal repeated softly. The word echoed in the vast, hollow chamber."Empty, Majesty," I lied. Keeping my voice flat and professional. "The facility in Sector 99 was a Pre-Fracture ruin. Structural integrity was critical. When we attempted to breach the lower levels, the tectonic instability triggered a collapse.""A collapse," Nergal muse

POV: NeomaShe walked like she owned the floor.Not just the floor of the barracks, but the stone beneath it, the air above it, and the very concept of gravity holding us all down.Commander Ishara didn't march. She glided. Her silver and blue uniform was tailored to a degree of perfection that made my nanoweave suit look like a sack. Her black hair was a sharp, geometric helmet that framed a face carved from ice and arrogance.She was beautiful. In the way a guillotine is beautiful."Quaint," Ishara murmured. Running a gloved finger along the edge of the comms console. She checked her fingertip for dust. Finding none, she looked disappointed. "You always did have a taste for the austere, Barzil. It borders on monk-like."Barzil stood by the window. His arms crossed. He was wearing his standard black fatigues, looking massive and immovable. But I saw the tension in his shoulders. The way his jaw muscle jumped. Tic. Tic."We prioritize function, Advisor," Barzil rumbled. "Comfort makes

POV: NeomaThe word hung in the air like a guillotine blade. Duel.It silenced the wind. It silenced the murmurs of the cadets in the stands. Even Viggo’s growl choked off. Replaced by a tense, vibrating stillness.I stood on the sand. Looking up at the observation deck. Ishara stood there, stripped of her blue velvet cape, looking like a silver needle ready to stitch my skin shut. She wasn't angry. She was bored. And that was terrifying."No," Barzil said.His voice was flat. Final. The Iron Warden stepping between the executioner and the condemned."This is not a negotiation, Advisor," Barzil continued. His golden eyes burned. "The Asset is a trainee. You are a High Commander of the Royal Guard. A duel violates the Code of Conduct regarding rank disparity.""The Code applies to soldiers, Barzil," Ishara countered smoothly. Leaning over the rail. "Is she a soldier? Or is she equipment?"She looked at me. Her grey eyes were cold mirrors reflecting my own insignificance."If she is equ

POV: GullerThe body could be hardened like steel, but the mind was glass.Strike it wrong, and it didn't just bend—it shattered. Exploding into a million cutting pieces that would tear you apart from the inside long after the fight was over.Barzil understood steel. He understood impact, torque, and the breaking point of bone. He had spent the last sixteen hours turning Neoma into a weapon of flesh.But Ishara... Ishara did not fight flesh. She fought ghosts.I sat in the Meditation Room, waiting. The air was thick with the scent of burning sage—acrid and sweet—and the metallic tang of Neoma’s exhaustion as she walked in.She looked like a war map. Bruises blossomed on her jaw. Her lip was split. Her gait was uneven. Limp. Step. Limp. She was holding herself together with sheer, stubborn will."I'm ready," she rasped. Dropping onto the cushion opposite me. "Barzil showed me the kill stroke. I know how she moves."You know how her body moves, I projected into her mind. My mental voice