JensT - The Last Journey through the Darkness (Progressive Deathcore Version)

Erebus cut through the darkness, like a lone glow in the grave of night,
no star sang anymore, no voices reached out.
Lyra sat in the control module, in a glow of blue metal,
where the quivering shadows of the holograms whispered of all that fell and fell.

Echoes hit the walls of the hull, shadows swept past in the dust of time,
the last sighs of civilizations, left like coals in the embrace of the universe.
What was once infinite had shrunk to empty shells,
where only silence lived on—a cosmic, eternal torment.

And she sang for those who fell,
for dreams without homes or names,
for ring cities that burned and died
in the last, gasping flame of the stars.
The last journey through the sea of ​​silence
carried hope like a broken rod.
A light in the darkness, thinner than time,
but still—their only path.

Rhel stood still by her side, eyes dark as Karuun's tomb,
a tall and silent figure, with memories older than his name.
He said, "I know them in the darkness, those who were here before us,"
and the sector slowly opened, like a scar of forgotten loss.

The Tomb of Nadir—a spiderweb
of ring cities that have fallen silent.
The memorials of the Aexir
now burn like glass frozen solid.
And all the songs they had written,
burned out in a single scream,
when they met what awaits
where light can be carved.

And quietly she sang for the world
that has been swallowed by a dark demand,
for memories that slip away
in the ruins of time, the sea of ​​night.
The last journey through the depths of silence
where shadows grow, hunger, sloop.
A ship in the storm, no harbor —
just a cosmic, whispering name.

A scratch in the ether — clawing at time,
a cry in space that no one carried.
The creatures of the night awaken at
the places where all hope dies.
They eat cities, eat light,
eat memories until they burst.
They wander behind reality,
drink the last minute of time.

Panels died in pale thuds,
Erebus sank in the flow of power.
Lyra whispered, “We must flee,”
but the void held fast to the hull.
Shadows swept around the cabin,
stretching the room as if with pain,
and in her mind a voice sang
that came from the very heart of reality:

This has happened before.
This is happening again.
Nothing lasts, no one burns anymore
in the universe’s old glow.

Then a light burst through the fabric of darkness—
a ship forgotten by the pits of time,
an Aexir bulwark,
a being that should have been doomed.

A final spark of resistance
fired in its broken vertebrae and metal:
“Strangers, flee—they drink your time.”
Then silence. Then fall.

The hunger of the night creatures struck
against the fragile skin of the Aexir ship—
and reality itself gave up
in a black and writhing casket.

So she sang for those who fought,
the last ones left standing before the night.

Those who sacrificed their glow
so that someone else would understand
that the darkness is not empty—
it lives, breath by breath.

The final journey through the tomb of silence
is more than a journey;
it is a cosmic battle.

As the starlight returned,
pale and hesitant as a last breath,
Lyra turned her gaze
away
from the ruins they had left behind.

Rhel said,
“The Aexir did not die out.”
His voice was a funeral dirge.

“They were eaten by the night.”
And Erebus rode on
through the cold nausea of ​​the universe.

Chased by shadows, carried by hope,
a hope as fragile as the star's last body.

Thus space sings its melody,
a song of all that falls apart.
And yet, in its depths,
a small ship carries a glow.

The final journey through the sea of ​​silence
continues until darkness itself ends.