The sky bled fire.
Aren Valen stumbled across the battlefield, blood soaking the remains of his Celestial Dominion Academy uniform. His breaths came ragged, each one a fight against the cold creeping into his lungs. Around him, holy symbols shattered midair—constellations collapsing like broken promises. Once-proud warriors lay strewn across the ruined earth, their divine blessings seared into ash.
He couldn't feel his left arm. His ribs were fractured, maybe even crushed. Smoke rose from a deep gouge along his side, and his vision flickered in and out of focus. The divine energies swirling overhead no longer acknowledged him. He had no constellation. No star-sigil. No guidance.
He was already dead. The body just hadn't caught up.
A golden figure emerged through the flames.
Lyon Dareth.
His so-called brother in arms.
His armor was pristine. Polished to the point it reflected the carnage around him like a perfect, mocking mirror. Light shimmered around his figure, a lion-shaped sigil roaring proudly behind him.
"Aren." His voice was calm, bored even. "Still alive, huh?"
Aren didn't reply. His mouth was dry. His muscles trembled. But more than anything, the betrayal twisted inside him like a blade.
They'd grown up together. Trained together. Sworn oaths under starlight.
The memories burned behind his eyes.
He saw himself at age eleven, kneeling on stone as Lyon extended a hand, helping him up for the first time after being beaten down in sparring. "You're family now," Lyon had said, offering him a rare smile. "Dareths don't abandon their own."
It was all a lie.
"I trusted you," Aren muttered, his voice hoarse.
Lyon raised his hand. A spear of light formed, humming with celestial judgment. "You were useful. That's all you ever were. A dog the gods forgot to put down."
Aren's legs buckled. He dropped to one knee. The others—his former teammates—stood behind Lyon, silent, complicit. Their eyes didn't even flicker. He'd fought beside them in the Trials. He'd taken hits so they could survive.
And now they watched like strangers.
The celestial envoy stepped forward next. Cloaked in robes of midnight, face obscured beneath a silver mask, it raised one hand and spoke in a voice that reverberated like thunder trapped in crystal.
"Judgment complete. Aren Valen, unchosen by the stars. Marked by void. His existence defies divine will."
The envoy turned its head slightly. "Eradicate him."
Aren laughed. Just once. Sharp. Bitter.
"I don't need your stars."
Lyon threw the spear.
White-hot agony.
His chest caved under the blow. The divine energy tore through his soul like it was made of parchment. He felt himself unraveling, not just physically but existentially—his fate threads cut from the loom of the constellations.
And then—
Nothing.
Aren floated in blackness.
He wasn't falling. He was drifting. There was no ground. No body. Just a shattered echo of who he'd been.
This was death. Not fire, not light. Just forgetting.
Until something moved.
A flicker. A soundless ripple beneath the void.
Then a whisper.
Not a voice, but a presence. Wrong. Ancient. Starless.
It coiled around his broken soul, not offering salvation—but hunger.
System initializing… Fatal damage detected.
Searching for vessel… compatible memory signature found.
Rebirth sequence authorized. Chrono-thread access granted.
System Activated: Starforged Parasite v0.1
Goal: Slay the gods. Rewrite fate.
He screamed.
Except there was no mouth.
Only light now—burning, twisting—too much—
He awoke gasping.
Cold air. Stone ceiling. Posters of constellations and academy duels.
He was back.
He blinked at the ceiling. His lungs worked. His limbs responded. His body was whole. He rushed to the mirror and stared.
Sixteen. Young. Eyes wide with fear.
"I… I'm back?" His voice was a whisper. "This was the year I first entered the academy…"
His legs gave out. He collapsed to the floor, shaking. Memories hit like a tidal wave. The betrayals. The pain. The years of humiliation. His family casting him aside for lacking a celestial mark. Lyon's sneer. The envoy's decree. His body breaking apart in light.
But now… this.
He was alive.
Not just alive. Reborn.
A ping echoed in his mind.
Synchronization with host: 7.4%. Warning: System is incomplete. Survival not guaranteed. Recommended action: Consume divine essence to evolve.
He stared at the message.
A system. Not a gift from the stars. No—this thing was buried, forbidden. He could feel it scratching against the edge of his thoughts. Hungry.
"Parasite," he muttered. "Of course I'd get a system that eats gods."
Still, his fingers tightened around the blanket.
He didn't care.
He would use it. Whatever it took.
Because this time, he knew what was coming.
He knew who to avoid. Who to expose. Where the forbidden archives lay. Where the hollow stars had first whispered to him before being silenced.
More than anything, he knew the face of the one who would kill him.
And Aren Valen was going to kill him first.
His first test came three days later. Astral Combat Hall—marble floors carved with sigil circles, where students summoned their chosen stars. This was the first public ranking exam. The moment students displayed their power.
Aren stood at the back, eyes distant.
He watched them step up one by one—Elandra Summonfire with her blazing falcon constellation. Marrik Thorne wielding spectral chains of his twin serpent stars. Liora Kelwin summoning her crown of aether roses.
Each display earned applause.
Then it was his turn.
He stepped onto the platform. The instructor gave him a wary look.
"Student Valen. Channel your constellation."
He said nothing.
Because there was nothing to call.
Not from the stars.
They never came for him.
He closed his eyes.
Mocking laughter from the crowd.
"Starless again, huh?"
"He's a fluke."
"Someone check the records. He must've cheated to get in."
He could feel their scorn crawling over him. Just like before.
But this time, something stirred in the pit of his soul.
Trigger condition met: Humiliation.
First Fragment Unsealed: Devourer's Grasp
His shadow lengthened.
A crack formed in the marble beneath his feet.
Dark tendrils whipped upward like void-born vines, wrapping around his limbs but not binding—empowering. His body lifted off the floor as if gravity momentarily forgot him.
The summoning disk cracked, then shattered.
Above his head, no constellation appeared.
Instead, a single dark sigil pulsed—a chaotic, shifting mass of lines that bled darkness like ink in water. It was not a shape that could be named.
It was something wrong.
The room went silent.
Even the instructor stepped back.
Aren opened his eyes.
No longer brown. Now a deep, unnatural red, pulsing with slow, steady hatred.
He saw the faces around him—terrified, confused.
One student stepped forward, a boy named Orren Flint—normally a bully, known for mocking weaker initiates. "What the hell are you?! That's not a real constellation!"
Aren's hand twitched.
Darkness leapt from his shadow and grabbed Orren by the throat.
Gasps echoed. Screams.
The system whispered.
Feed.
He resisted.
Barely.
The tendrils withdrew, dropping Orren to the floor, gasping.
"Enough," Aren said quietly, voice layered with something not entirely human. "Don't provoke things you don't understand."
Instructor Merros looked at him, pale. "Valen… where did you learn this?"
Aren turned toward him, and for the first time since his return, he smiled.
"I didn't learn it."
"I remembered it."