Morgana advanced like an inevitable execution.
Her father's sword descended in a brutal arc, cutting through the air heavy with smoke, mana, and blood as the storm raged outside Arven Manor. The Duchess raised both hands instantly, and the shadows around the upper balcony condensed into a pulsating black wall that intercepted the blow at the last second.
The impact shook the entire structure.
Windows shattered.
Fragments of glass were hurled down the corridor as the storm wind violently surged into the main hall. Rain began to pour in through the shattered openings, splashing water onto the bloodied marble.
But Morgana did not retreat.
She struck again.
And again.
And yet again.
Each impact caused the Duchess's shadows to tremble violently, as if the entire ritual was beginning to lose stability under the mounting pressure.
The Duchess slid a few steps back across the ruined balcony. For the first time that night…
She seemed truly cornered.
