Fate's Slave - Shadow Slave X Honkai Star Rail-Chapter 478: Doomsayers

Sunny’s question seemed almost mundane after everything that had just been revealed, as though he had abruptly remembered that ordinary concerns still existed in a universe populated by dead Gods, Divine Curses, and conceptual camouflage. Clara blinked once, her expression softening from solemn recollection into something closer to her usual gentle composure.

"Mister Svarog is undergoing upgrades. Deep beneath the settlement. As a precaution."

Sunny stared at her for a moment, processing the words, then blinked again, slower this time.

"Precaution against what, exactly?"

Clara folded her hands in front of her dress, fingers interlacing with quiet neatness.

"In case the situation on Jarilo-VI deteriorates further. Mister Svarog calculates that the probability of large-scale destabilization is no longer negligible. He determined that expanding his processing capabilities and physical resilience would improve long-term survival outcomes."

Seele snorted faintly, though the sound carried more exhaustion than mockery.

"So he decided to upgrade himself in the planet’s basement?"

"In the planetary mantle, more precisely. There is an extensive network of geothermal caverns and pre-Eternal Freeze infrastructure beneath Belobog. The facility Mister Svarog selected extends nearly to the outer core."

Sunny’s eyes widened a fraction, the implications settling into place with uncomfortable clarity. His shadow sense had behaved strangely in this area, stretching downward into darkness so vast it felt less like depth and more like absence, a hollow that swallowed perception rather than resisting it. He had assumed interference, shielding, perhaps some kind of ancient barrier. The idea that the Robot Settlement quite literally sat atop a vertical expanse reaching toward the planet’s molten heart explained everything in a way that was both satisfying and deeply unsettling.

"That explains why I couldn’t map the whole area. I thought something was blocking me. Turns out it was just... a few thousand kilometers of nothing."

Clara tilted her head, clearly not grasping the full extent of what that meant for someone whose senses extended through shadow rather than space.

Seele crossed her arms.

"You’re saying your robot dad dug himself a bunker all the way to the core. That’s not paranoid at all."

Clara coughed into her fist.

"Well, you know. That’s just how Mister Svarog does things?"

None of them laughed. The silence that followed was not awkward so much as heavy, weighed down by everything they had just discussed and everything that remained unsaid. Eventually, Clara guided them toward the door with quiet politeness, her movements precise and careful in the way of someone accustomed to hosting guests despite rarely having any.

Outside, the air carried the familiar chill of the Underworld, dry and metallic, tinged with the faint scent of machinery and dust. The lights of the settlement glowed softly in the distance, warm against the perpetual gloom.

Clara stopped at the threshold.

"Thank you for visiting. It was... pleasant."

Seele shifted her weight, scratching the back of her neck as though embarrassed by the sentiment.

"Yeah, well. Try not to get Cursed by any more Gods while we’re gone."

"I will do my best."

Sunny turned to leave, already halfway through planning the next dozen things he needed to investigate, exploit, or avoid, when something inside him abruptly seized. It was not pain, nor fear, nor even intuition in the usual sense. It felt more like a hook catching on the fabric of his thoughts and yanking hard enough to halt him mid-stride.

He stopped so suddenly that Seele nearly walked into him. He turned, voice oddly bright.

"Ah, I’ll talk to you later, Seele. I have some things I have to do."

She stared at him, suspicion flaring instantly.

"What things?"

"Important things. Like cheating Destiny."

"That tells me nothing."

Sunny gave her his most disarming smile, which unfortunately resembled the expression of a raccoon caught stealing from a pantry.

She squinted at him for several seconds, clearly weighing whether to press further. Then she exhaled sharply through her nose, irritation winning over curiosity.

"You’re an idiot."

Violet light flickered around her, fragile as butterfly wings yet sharp as shattered glass. Illusory butterflies bloomed into existence, their wings torn and translucent, leaving behind a trail of afterimages that stretched into the distance like echoes of motion rather than motion itself. In the span of a heartbeat she was gone, her presence collapsing into nothingness as though she had never been there at all.

Sunny watched the fading trail for a moment, then turned on his heel and jogged back toward Clara before she could retreat inside.

She looked surprised to see him again.

"Did you forget something?"

"Actually, yes! Could you make one of your weaker robots wrestle with me?"

Her brows knit together in polite confusion.

"...Wrestle."

"Preferably one that won’t accidentally crush my spine?"

Clara considered him for a long moment, clearly attempting to determine whether this request fell under harmless eccentricity or imminent self-destruction. Eventually, she nodded and summoned one of the smaller utility automatons from a nearby work area. It was roughly human-sized, built for hauling scrap and performing maintenance rather than combat, its limbs sturdy but not particularly fast.

A few minutes later, a rough circle had been drawn on the ground in chalk. The automaton stood inside it, posture neutral, optical sensors glowing faintly. Opposite it stood Sunny, clad in the Mantle of the Underworld, onyx armor flowing over his body like liquid stone frozen mid-cascade. The helmet remained unsummoned, leaving his face exposed, though the rest of him looked less like a person and more like a statue carved from night.

Clara watched from the sidelines, hands clasped together, expression hovering between concern and bewilderment.

"Be...gin?

Sunny lunged forward immediately, shoulder slamming into the robot’s chest. The impact produced a dull metallic thud, followed by the screech of metal scraping against stone as he drove it backward with surprising force. The automaton attempted to stabilize itself, servos whining, but Sunny twisted sharply at the last moment and shoved it across the boundary line.

It stumbled out of the circle.

Sunny stepped back inside, grinning.

"Out of bounds. That’s one."

The robot reset, stepping back into position. Clara opened her mouth as if to ask something, then closed it again when Sunny attacked a second time. The sequence repeated. Push, pivot, displacement, reset. Over and over, with methodical persistence that suggested neither training nor rage but something closer to deliberate exploitation.

After the seventh repetition, Clara finally spoke.

"May I ask why you are doing this?"

Sunny wiped imaginary sweat from his brow, still smiling.

"I’m cheating the Daemon of Choice! Don’t you know? I’m something of a scam artist."

Clara stared at him, visibly trying to parse the sentence.

"...I don’t think Nether operates according to game rules."

"Everything operates according to rules. You just have to find the ones nobody else is abusing."

She looked neither convinced nor impressed, merely more confused than before.

He slammed the robot out of the ring again.

After several more rounds, Sunny slowed, rolling his shoulders as though loosening muscles that did not technically exist beneath the armor. Then he glanced toward Clara, curiosity brightening his eyes.

"So, what were Shadow’s Hands like?"

The question landed like a stone dropped into still water. Clara’s posture stiffened, the faint color draining from her face as memory resurfaced with unpleasant clarity. For a moment she said nothing, her gaze unfocused, as though she were no longer standing in the settlement but somewhere far colder and far darker.

"Death was... a skeleton cloaked in shadows. ’They’ carried a scythe. A very traditional depiction, if one ignores the scale."

Sunny tilted his head, listening intently while absentmindedly shoving the robot aside again.

"Their limbs were excessively long. Not frail, but elongated in a way that suggested reach rather than weakness. ’They’ were hunched, though not with age. It resembled a predator lowering itself before striking. Every movement conveyed anticipation rather than decay."

A faint tremor passed through her hands.

"Being near ’Them’ felt like standing at the edge of a cliff while gravity decided whether to remember you."

Sunny’s grin faded slightly, replaced by something more thoughtful.

"And the other one?"

Clara hesitated.

"Curse was... different. Less defined as a singular figure, more as the culmination of a role. ’They’ were the pinnacle of Doomsayers."

Sunny blinked.

"What’s that supposed to mean? And you mentioned Priestesses earlier too."

Clara gathered herself, composure returning in measured increments.

"Curses are a form of Sorcery. Doomsayers are practitioners who specialize in invoking them. They do not attack directly. Instead, they weaponize probability, entropy, resentment, decay, and all other forms of negativity inherent to existence."

Sunny shoved the automaton again, nodding along as though this were a perfectly normal lecture to receive while bullying machinery.

"They are often accompanied by Netherwings. These are draconic entities formed by the accumulation of Curses over time. Curse, however, was not merely followed by such a being. ’They’ were a Netherwing ’Themself’."

She paused, eyes distant.

"Their wings covered the sky of the Shadow Realm. Not metaphorically. Literally."

Sunny winced appreciatively.

"Okay, that’s metal."

"Priestesses serve as a counterpart to Doomsayers. Where Doomsayers enact Shadow God’s authority through indirect means, Priestesses deliver it through violence. They embody Peace and Solace as imposed states, ending suffering by ending the sufferer."

Sunny frowned slightly, processing that.

’They don’t say something corny like: ’Your Nightmare is over’, or anything, right? Yeah, who would do that?’

"They were said to serve those blessed by Shadow directly. Just like how Divine Shadows served Shadow God."

Sunny scratched his cheek.

"Uh... just Priestesses? No Priests?"

Clara smiled faintly, the expression carrying an unexpected hint of dry humor.

"Shadow God was a sexist."

Sunny made a face that suggested he had just discovered an embarrassing family secret.

"Of all the cosmic horrors to inherit traits from..."

Clara continued, either not noticing or politely ignoring his distress.

"In any case, Curse embodied both Doomsayers and Netherwings simultaneously. A living convergence of accumulated malediction. Despite what happened during my incursion, I was able to learn the True Name shared between the two."

Sunny’s attention sharpened instantly. He didn’t even know True Names could be shared... though, maybe because that was because they were part of a larger whole?

"Oh?"

"Hand of Shadow."

He stopped pushing the automaton mid-motion.

"Could you write the runes for that?"

Clara nodded, stepping forward. With a graceful sweep of her foot, she traced complex symbols into the dust, each line precise despite the awkward medium. The characters seemed to resist casual interpretation, shifting subtly depending on how one looked at them, as though language itself were uncertain which meaning to prioritize.

Sunny stared down at the inscription, eyes widening as comprehension unfolded in layers.

Clara asked quietly.

"You see it too, don’t you?"

He nodded slowly.

"Servant of Death, and... Wings of Ruin."

The translations shifted again in his mind, fracturing into deeper interpretations that felt less like words and more like conceptual echoes.

"Blooming Wilter, Shattered Sky."

Sunny straightened, gaze drifting briefly inward as he considered his own True Name. Lost From Light. The memory of its four hidden translations stirred uncomfortably, like a door he preferred not to open unless absolutely necessary.

He pushed the thought aside before it could fully form.