*
*
*
Far beneath the waves of the ocean, silver eyes opened—calm, ancient, and fully aware.
The depths did not tremble in fear.
They responded.
A slow, deliberate movement parted the dark waters as a colossal figure emerged from the abyss—not bound, not broken, but sovereign. The ocean itself seemed to bow around her, currents shifting to make way for her ascent.
A vast white dragon revealed herself, her scales shimmering with a blend of pure white and deep crimson, like snow stained by ancient war. Each movement was graceful yet overwhelming, her presence commanding the very sea as though it were an extension of her will.
Her wings unfolded slowly beneath the water, vast and powerful, stirring the currents into spirals of glowing energy. Her gaze lifted upward—toward the surface, toward the eclipse.
She had not been summoned.
She had chosen to awaken.
A low, resonant voice echoed—not spoken aloud, but carried through the water, through the world itself.
"So… the children have begun their war."
Her massive tail shifted, sending a powerful ripple through the ocean floor—not destructive, but intentional. Controlled.
A warning, not an attack.
The Great—Giantica.
Her colossal form drifted slowly within the deep, her white and crimson scales glimmering faintly beneath the dark waters like living embers. Ancient. Watching. A force that did not need to announce itself to be feared.
She lifted her gaze toward the distant sky, her ancient eyes piercing through the depths. Even from below, she could see it—hundreds of dragons soaring above, releasing torrents of fire into the darkened heavens.
The sky was wrong.
Twisted.
The eclipse unstable, Giantica exhaled slowly, a deep, resonant sigh that stirred the surrounding waters.
"The Eclipse… and the Moon are in danger…" Her eyes hardened, narrowing with quiet fury.
"Who is the fool that dared tamper with the destinies of those children…? Who is the idiot?"
The distant roars of the dragons echoed faintly through the ocean, their vibrations rippling across the deep. Giantica's gaze remained fixed upward, unblinking, calculating.
Then, her voice emerged—not as sound, but as a presence that moved through the very fabric of the sea, ancient and absolute.
"Iskaria Venmora… you have taken far more than you can bear. How dare you!" Giantica roared.
Her voice thundered through the ocean as her massive tail slammed violently against the water, sending colossal waves surging upward before crashing back down with devastating force.
Her scales blazed brilliantly, shifting into a radiant crimson glow.
Then, lifting her great head toward the sky, she unleashed a terrifying torrent—fire entwined with ice—spiraling upward in a violent fusion of opposing elements.
The very air seemed to distort under the force of it.
Her transformation deepened.
The once white-and-red shimmer of her scales darkened into a deep, burning red—ominous, wrathful, alive with ancient fury.
Her silver eyes bled into crimson.
Cold, Merciless, Awakened.
She flexed her neck, the movement slow yet powerful, before spreading her massive wings. With a single, commanding beat, she launched into the sky—rising swiftly from the depths, cutting through water and air alike.
Higher and higher she soared, her colossal form ascending until she broke fully into the open sky, heading straight toward the distant swarm of dragons that hovered above, setting the land ablaze.
Below them, forests burned.
Creatures fled.
The earth suffered.
Giantica's eyes burned crimson as she flew toward them, her presence alone bending the air around her. From her mouth, a visible stream of heated breath escaped—glowing red, searing the atmosphere itself as she advanced.
And with every beat of her wings— doom followed.
Giantica pierced the smoky sky, her wings slicing through the wind like blades. Below her, the dragons circled recklessly, their claws tearing into the forest and villages, flames devouring homes and livestock, screams of terror echoing across the land.
With a roar that shook the heavens, she descended into their midst. Fire and ice erupted from her maw, a torrent of heat and frost that collided with the enemy dragons in a violent storm.
One dragon lunged at her from the side, claws outstretched, but Giantica's tail whipped around with unstoppable force, smashing it into the ground. Flames licked its scales, melting them into molten streams.
Another dragon dove from above, its jaws snapping, but she twisted midair, coiling her body with deadly precision, her fire striking its chest. The dragon shrieked as its wings burned, spiraling out of control before crashing into the charred remains of a village.
Her wings beat with unrelenting power, stirring the air into a hurricane of fire, ice, and wind. Each dragon that dared to approach found itself engulfed in her wrath—flames turning scales to molten rock, ice freezing fire into jagged shards that pierced them mercilessly.
Houses already ablaze beneath the dragons fell faster now, but she did not falter, her fury laser-focused on the beasts threatening the villages. Each death was precise, deliberate—no mercy for the marauders who dared set her lands aflame.
Smoke and fire billowed around her, but Giantica remained unscathed, her white and red scales glowing with the intensity of her rage, her eyes crimson, burning with judgment.
The dragons that had dared toy with fire and destruction now became nothing more than burning corpses spiraling from the sky, and with each one that fell, the villages below felt a glimmer of hope return, even through the chaos.
Her roar echoed across the valley, a promise that those who threatened her lands would pay in flame and ash.
Giantica twisted through the smoky sky, wings slicing through the heat and ash as she circled the marauding dragons. Her crimson eyes glinted with fury, every beat of her wings sending shockwaves across the burning villages below.
"You dare burn what is mine?!" she bellowed, her voice vibrating through the air and the hearts of every dragon in her path. Flames and ice erupted from her maw, striking two dragons midair, tearing through their scales as she roared her wrath.
"You think you can set fire to my lands, terrorize my people, and escape unscathed? You are nothing but insects under my wings!" She twisted midair, her tail smashing into a dragon that lunged at her from behind.
Its screech was cut short as molten fire seared its chest.
"You will learn what it means to challenge Giantica!" Her roar carried over the skies, drowning the screams of villagers below.
Another dragon dove toward her, spitting fire, and she met it head-on, letting her icy breath freeze the flames before she tore through its wings with a swipe of her talons.
"Do you hear me, vermin? Ashkaroth is mine to protect, and no pyre you set will go unanswered!" Her fire shot across the sky, striking a trio of dragons hovering over a burning farmhouse.
They thrashed violently, twisting in the air, but her fire and ice tore them apart before they could retreat.
Her massive tail lashed again, sending another wave of scorching water mixed with ice down onto dragons attempting to flee, drowning and freezing them in place.
"You will burn, you will fall, and you will regret ever touching my lands!" Giantica's voice boomed as she unleashed a final, devastating combination of fire and ice in a wide arc.
Dragons collided midair, screaming, their scales melting or cracking under the sheer force of her assault.
Her fury was relentless, her words and attacks a single, unbroken storm of wrath. The villages below may have been scarred, but the dragons that dared defy her would not survive to tell the tale.
"Not so fast, Mother Dragon!" a deep, commanding voice echoed from behind her. Giantica snapped her head toward the sound, eyes narrowing at the audacity of the speaker.
The glint of a dragon mark on his scales immediately betrayed his origin—Morazona. Prince Kealric's dragon, Darak.
"Accolades for the slaughter of those powerless creatures you just burned, great Giantica," Darak continued, his voice dripping with defiance.
"Truly, they were no match for you. But you see… both of us are forged in the blood of Morazona. We are the ones who can match your brutality, Mother Dragon."
A sleek silver dragon streaked through the smoke beside him—Sullivan, Princess Arabella's dragon, scales glinting like molten silver under the firelight.
Together, they hovered defiantly, twin storms of fire and frost ready to strike.
Giantica's chest heaved, and then, a booming, earth-shaking laugh erupted from her throat—louder than thunder, deeper than the ocean.
The very ground beneath the villages trembled as her laughter rolled across the skies, a sound both terrifying and awe-inspiring.
"I see… Morazona's creatures," Giantica said coldly, her voice deep and piercing, eyes locked on them with lethal intent. "Once I am done with you both, your kingdom will burn to ashes!"
"F*ck you, Giantica! You'll die by our hands—tonight, right now!" Sullivan roared, unleashing a torrent of ice from her maw. Beside her, Darak spewed a roaring wave of fire.
Together, they lunged at Giantica, a deadly fusion of frost and flame.
Giantica met them head-on, releasing a colossal, maddening surge of fire and ice from her mouth, the air around her twisting and cracking under the raw power of her assault.
*
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CHAPTER 47&48.
Duncan was relentless.
With a feral roar, he lunged, claws and teeth bared as he swung his sword in a deadly arc. The blade tore through the air, flames trailing like living serpents, forcing Kealric to somersault away, narrowly avoiding the strike.
The palace trembled under their clash.
Chandeliers shattered, floors splintered, and walls groaned under the strain of their power. Magic collided with magic, steel with steel, each blow shaking the ground beneath them.
Kealric's sword glowed brighter as he thrust forward, igniting the air with a burst of pure golden light, but Duncan countered effortlessly, shadows wrapping around his blade like armor.
"Your arrogance will be your undoing!" Duncan hissed, his voice thick with rage.
The two warriors twisted and lunged across the hall in a deadly dance of fury, each strike echoing like the roar of an earthquake.
Sparks, fire, and shadows collided, painting the room in a violent dance of light and darkness.
With a guttural roar, Duncan surged forward, his black-flamed sword spinning with lethal speed. In a heartbeat, he slammed the hilt into Kealric's chest, the impact driving him backward with bone-jarring force.
"F*ck" Kealric gasped, golden energy flaring around him in a desperate shield, but Duncan's clawed hand shot forward, locking onto his shoulder.
With inhuman strength, he yanked Kealric closer, grinding his arm against the jagged obsidian blade.
"Thailra belong her and to me!" Duncan snarled, his voice a deep, rumbling growl that shook the marble beneath their feet. He tightened his grip, dragging Kealric across the hall like a predator showcasing its prey.
Kealric's golden aura flickered, strained under the weight of Duncan's assault. His legs kicked, trying to push back, but the sheer ferocity of Duncan's advance pinned him, bone against steel, flesh against shadow.
Duncan's eyes, molten and merciless, locked onto Kealric's with a predator's precision.
"Feel this, Morazona prince—the price of trespassing!" he hissed, slamming Kealric's chest into a crumbling column.
Dust and splintered marble erupted around them as Kealric grunted, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of Duncan's assault.
Duncan's gaze flicked toward the open door, where Thailra lay inside. With a final, searing strike, he sent Kealric flying like a ragdoll, hurling him far across the hall.
Duncan heaved and stumbled through the door.
Thailra was still unconscious. He lifted her into his arms, intending to disappear, but couldn't.
Glancing down at her, he tried again—but felt so weak that he sank to his knees, blood trickling from his nose, his breath ragged.
He couldn't feel his powers anymore.
The silver stone—his source of strength—was gone from within him. What was happening? Could their bond have failed? Had he failed to protect his moon? If the bond had truly broken, the Earth Goddess would curse him.
His beastly, inhuman form vanished.
Now he was just like any ordinary prince—powerless, his muscles weak. He had failed. He had failed to protect his moon. Their destiny to rule Ashkaroth together had crumbled.
The Earth Goddess had commanded him to marry her, but he hadn't obeyed. He had waited instead—waiting to capture the people who had murdered his mother.
He had failed.
Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. Would he really stand by and watch Iskaria take over Ashkaroth? She had finally won. He shut his eyes, haunted by the memory of his mother's face.
"I'm disappointed in you, Duncan," her voice seemed to echo in his mind. He gently laid Thailra on the floor and clutched his head as her words repeated over and over, relentless and unforgiving.
"Ahhh!!!" he screamed, the sound tearing from his throat, raw and full of anguish.
"Hand her over to me. She's bound to me, Duncan Tharagon—the powerless demon prince of Ashkaroth. She's mine now. You can't fight me, because the moment I snap your neck, it'll be the end of you. If you don't want to die, hand her over," Kealric's voice hissed from behind him, a dark smirk curling across his bloodied lips.
His hair was disheveled, his chest and arm streaked with blood.
Duncan lowered his hands, then slowly clenched his fists, his breath coming in heavy, ragged bursts.
"Then I'm ready to die, Morazona prince," Duncan said, forcing himself to stand, though his muscles weakened with every passing moment.
Kealric let out a dry, cruel chuckle, his gaze flicking from Thailra to Duncan.
"Then I'm ready to give you, your death," Kealric muttered. In an instant, he lunged, his hands seizing Duncan's throat.
He slammed him into a shelf, then rained blow after blow down on him, repeatedly smashing his head against the wood. Kealric laughed, a chilling sound, clearly reveling in the cruelty he inflicted.
Duncan's face was streaked with blood, but he endured every strike, welcoming them in silent defiance.
He deserved more than this.
Then, Thailra's finger shifted, her hair shifted from black to —White.
*
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*
The massive gates of Albaton Palace burst open, and more than a thousand Morazona and Avialyn soldiers poured into Ashkaroth's grand halls.
Albaton's own soldiers were already waiting, swords and shields at the ready, bracing for the onslaught.
Their battle cries echoed through the air like thunder. From her chamber, Lady Semina watched, draped in a black robe with the hood pulled low over her head. A dark smirk spread across her lips.
"Hold!" Captain Harlan shouted, and Albaton's soldiers froze, eyes locked on the approaching enemy.
"Hold!" he bellowed again, his gaze unwavering.
"Now!" His final command cut through the tension—and the deadly battle erupted.
Swords clashed against swords, but as Albaton's soldiers cut into their enemies, the flesh before them healed instantly, reforming as if nothing had happened.
Their eyes widened in disbelief, unable to comprehend the unnatural resilience. The Morazona and Avialyn soldiers pressed the advantage, gaining the upper hand.
Still, Captain Harlan fought on, relentless and determined.
The clang of steel and the roar of battle filled the grand halls, but even amid the chaos, a few of Albaton's soldiers found a fleeting moment to speak.
"Captain Harlan… what's happening?!" one of the younger soldiers shouted over the clash, his sword trembling in his hands as he parried a strike. "Their bodies… they heal! Every cut, every slash—it's like they're… invincible!"
Harlan gritted his teeth, swinging his sword in a wide arc to deflect another enemy blow.
"I see it! This is no ordinary enemy! Stand your ground, men! Focus on defense—strike only when you can!"
Another soldier, blood running down his arm from a barely healed wound, gasped, "But Captain… our swords, our weapons—nothing is stopping them! How can we fight something that doesn't bleed?"
Harlan's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he parried a vicious strike from an advancing soldier of Morazona.
"Then we fight smarter! Look for weakness, exploit openings, don't rely on brute force alone! We may not stop them with strength, but their arrogance can be their downfall!"
A veteran soldier gritted his teeth, blocking a flurry of attacks, "Captain… I've never seen anything like this in all my years! Their magic—our steel—it's useless against them!"
Harlan's voice rose, cutting through the war cries and the clamor of battle: "Then use your wits! Protect the palace! Protect the people! Even if we cannot win by strength, we must survive this long enough to find a way!"
The soldiers exchanged determined glances, renewed courage flaring in their eyes.
Though fear gnawed at them, Harlan's leadership kept their resolve intact, and they pressed on—swinging, parrying, and ducking in a deadly dance with the soldiers who seemed to heal faster than they could strike.
Amid the chaos, Harlan's mind raced. Something unnatural was at play—something far beyond what Ashkaroth had ever faced.
And as he fought, one thought burned hotter than the fire around them: They must find the source of this magic… or Albaton will fall.
The clash of steel and shouts of battle echoed through Albaton Palace like a living storm. Sparks flew as swords met enchanted armor, and the stench of blood and smoke thickened the air.
Captain Harlan swung his sword with precision, deflecting a strike aimed at his side.
Around him, Albaton soldiers fought desperately, blocking relentless waves of Morazona and Avialyn attackers.
Yet every time a sword landed, the enemy soldier's wound healed instantly—flesh knitting together before their eyes.
"Hold your ground!" Harlan roared, parrying another strike. "Do not let them overwhelm the gate!"
One soldier, breathing heavily and bloodied, slashed at a foe only to see it shrug off the blow, growling.
"Captain… it's useless! They can't be killed!"
Harlan's eyes scanned the battlefield, calculating.
"Then we do not kill them! We trap them! Push them back toward the hallways—funnel them! Use the palace itself as a weapon!"
Another soldier shouted, ducking under a swinging blade, "But they keep coming, Captain! Every time one falls, two more take its place!"
Harlan slammed his blade against an enemy's staff, forcing the soldier backward.
"Enough! Focus on coordination! Form walls, lock arms, and strike in pairs! If brute force cannot fell them, precision will—hit the joints, the neck, the weak points! Don't fight their regeneration—fight their arrogance!"
The soldiers gritted their teeth, repositioning. Shields clanged, spears jabbed, and the palace's marble floors shook under the intensity of the assault.
Every corridor became a choke point. Soldiers were thrown aside like ragdolls, yet others filled the gaps, refusing to falter.
Above them, the sounds of battle mixed with the distant roar of dragons and the crackle of fire from the outside, adding to the chaos. Dust and smoke filled the halls, and visibility dropped to mere feet.
A veteran guard shouted from the wall, "Captain! They're pushing toward the throne room!"
Harlan's jaw tightened. "Then we hold the throne room at all costs! If they reach the heart of Albaton, everything is lost!" He swung his blade, cutting through a regenerating soldier with a precise strike to the temple.
The foe staggered for a moment, their arrogance cracked—but only momentarily.
The fight continued—unceasing, merciless, and chaotic. Every strike was met with regeneration, every blow a test of endurance. The Albaton soldiers' strength was slowly drained, their bodies battered and bruised, yet their resolve held.
Harlan ducked under another strike, rolling to his feet, his sword raised. "Do not let them break us! For Albaton! For the Prince!"
The soldiers answered with a unified roar, forming a wall of steel and determination, desperately holding the palace against an enemy that should not exist.
The battle had no end in sight—only a grinding, relentless fight of wits, steel, and courage against an unstoppable, regenerating force.
Lady Evelyne dark smirk deepened.
Lady Evelyne's dark smirk deepened as she watched the relentless clash unfold, her eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction.
From her vantage point, she observed every falter, every hesitation, and every strike that bounced off her soldiers' unnaturally resilient bodies.
"Impressive… but predictable," she murmured, her voice like silk draped in venom. "They fight with courage… yet they cannot comprehend the true power at their feet. Fools"
Meanwhile, in Morazona, Giantica appeared in the sky, unleashing torrents of fire that ravaged the town and surrounding villages—merciless, heartless, and utterly devastating.
"Then taste my wrath as well!" her voice thundered as she surged toward the palace, unleashing torrents of fire that consumed everything in their path.
The flames tore through the grand halls, reducing stone and steel to blazing ruin. King Leonthuis Varemont, seated upon his throne with his ministers gathered around him, was swallowed by the inferno—there was no escape, no mercy, only fire.
Far beyond the palace walls, deep within the forest, Queen Seraphina ran with her daughters, their breaths ragged, their steps frantic.
Then—A deafening roar echoed behind them.
They turned.
Their eyes widened in pure horror as a wall of fire surged through the forest, devouring everything in its path, racing toward them with unstoppable fury.
"God, have mercy!" Queen Seraphina screamed, her voice breaking as she grabbed her daughters, urging them forward.
And they ran.
*
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CHAPTER 49&50
Aurelia, Helena, and Cassandra battled Arabella, but they were no match for her.
She fought with the raw force of her witch powers, clutching a black sword wreathed in dark smoke. Her hair floated weightlessly around her, and her feet barely touched the ground.
"I never wanted a fight, but you all left me no choice," Arabella said, lunging toward Aurelia. Aurelia raised her sword to block the attack, but the sheer force lifted her off her feet, slamming her into the side of a nearby wall. Blood gushed from her nose as she hit the stone, dazed and staggering.
"Lia!!" Cassandra and Helena shouted, turning to rush toward her—but an unseen force yanked them backward, holding them in place.
Their eyes widened in shock as Arabella's lips curled into a dark, ruthless smirk.
Their swords trembled in their hands, veins bulging across their skin as the force continued to drag them backward.
"I never wanted a fight, but you three left me no choice. And mark my words—you will regret it. In your next miserable lives, you will die a thousand times before the memory of this fades," Arabella muttered, her voice cold and merciless.
With a violent surge of power, the force hurled them toward one another, their heads smashing against the wall.
Helmets and armor pieces clattered to the floor as blood streaked their faces. Their breaths came in ragged, heavy gasps, but Arabella hovered, her hair floating like a dark halo around her, the black smoke from her sword swirling violently in the air.
Every movement she made sent ripples of energy through the place, shaking the walls and throwing shards of debris across the floor.
Aurelia, Helena, and Cassandra struggled to rise, but Arabella's power pinned them like prey beneath an unstoppable storm.
Sparks of dark energy crackled from her sword, striking the ground with each motion, sending waves that rattled their bones.
"You can claw, you can scream, you can try to fight—but nothing will save you," Arabella hissed, her silver eyes gleaming with cold fury.
Aurelia gritted her teeth, swinging her sword with all her strength, but Arabella twisted midair effortlessly, the black smoke from her blade parting the strike as if it were nothing.
Helena and Cassandra lunged together, but Arabella's hands flicked subtly, and an invisible force slammed them back into the shattered walls again.
Blood dripped from their faces, their armor battered, and their breaths shallow, but Arabella's lips curled into a cruel, ruthless smirk.
"F*ck you!" Aurelia screamed out.
*
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*
NEXT DAY, 8PM.
Duncan was bound to a chair in the open field like a condemned criminal, his face battered beyond recognition, his hair hanging loosely over his features.
Seated above him was Iskaria, her presence cold and commanding, while Lady Evelyne stood beside her, both gripping their magical staffs as power crackled faintly around them.
To the right stood Alaric, Veydrath, and Lady Semina, their staffs held firmly, lightning dancing along their lengths as the air around them pulsed with restrained energy.
On the left stood Dracula, Arabella, Kealric, and Thailra.
Thailra remained still—unnaturally so. Her silver eyes were distant, unfocused, as though she were staring into nothingness. Her mind… her very soul… was no longer her own.
Her hair, now pure white, cascaded down to her knees, shimmering faintly, while her robe gleamed with an ethereal glow—untouched, almost divine.
Yet within that stillness—She was no longer herself.
Across the palace, lifeless bodies of soldiers lay scattered, blood pooling in every corner of the once-grand halls.
Not a single palace guard had survived.
Thunder roared across the sky, lightning splitting the heavens, while distant dragon cries echoed like omens of ruin.
In the open field, Morazona and Avialyn soldiers stood in five perfect lines—unharmed, unmoved. Not one had fallen.
Duncan's eyelids fluttered open.
At first, his vision was blurred, the world spinning in fragments of light and shadow. The brightness struck him sharply, forcing his eyes shut again as he steadied his breathing.
Moments later, he opened them once more—slowly this time.
His gaze lifted.
Shapes formed, figures became clear, then—His breath froze.
His eyes widened.
Her.
His Moon.
There she stood among them—still, distant, untouched… yet completely out of reach. A surge of raw energy ripped through him.
"Thailra—!"
Duncan's body jerked violently as he struggled against the bindings, his muscles straining, veins rising beneath his skin. He pulled, twisted, fought with everything left in him—but the ropes held firm, glowing faintly with the unmistakable mark of Iskaria's magic.
Unbreakable.
His chest heaved, fury and desperation burning through him as his gaze locked onto her again.
"Little moon…" he rasped, his voice hoarse, broken—but filled with something far stronger than pain.
But Thailra did not move, did not blink, did not respond and in that moment—Duncan realized something far worse than defeat.
He had not only lost the battle—He was losing her.
"You truly tried—seeking out your mother's killers," Iskaria said with a dark, mocking laugh. "And yet, here you are… utterly pathetic. I hear you're powerless now."
Her eyes gleamed with cruel amusement.
"But I know the Silver Stone still resides within you. We're here to take it—and when we're done…" her smile deepened, "we'll feed what remains of you to my vultures."
A low, chilling laugh escaped her, echoed perfectly by Lady Evelyne beside her.
Duncan strained violently against the bindings, his muscles tightening, his breath ragged—but the more he fought, the weaker he became. The magic ropes pulsed, draining him, feeding on his resistance.
Still—he didn't stop.
His eyes burned with fury, Dracula watched him for a moment, silent, unreadable then slowly shifted his gaze to Thailra.
She stood there, unmoving.
Unblinking, her silver eyes fixed on nothing—cold, distant, empty.
Frozen.
Dracula swallowed hard, something uneasy flickering beneath his calm exterior… before he looked away.
"Whatever you've done to her—undo it!" Duncan roared, blood spilling from his mouth as his body strained against the bindings.
Iskaria's laughter rang out, loud and merciless, echoing across the field.
Kealric's lips curled into a dark, ruthless smirk, while Arabella remained utterly unreadable, her expression void of emotion. Lady Semina only watched with quiet satisfaction, her smirk deepening as she took in the scene.
"You may have lost your power," Iskaria said slowly, her voice dripping with mockery, "but it still lies buried deep within you. And we will take it."
Her gaze shifted toward Thailra.
"She will do the job."
A dark chuckle escaped her lips as she leaned back slightly.
"And do you know what happens next?" she continued, her eyes gleaming with cruel delight. "Once we've taken what we need… we'll dispose of you both. After all—what use are you to us once you're empty?"
Duncan's body shuddered violently against the magical ropes, his arms straining as if trying to tear the bindings from his very flesh. Every movement seemed to feed the ropes, tightening them with unyielding force.
Blood dripped from his lips and nose, but his eyes—burning with fury—never left Thailra.
"You won't… touch her!" he spat, his voice ragged and defiant despite the pain. "I… will stop you, even if it kills me!"
Iskaria's laugh was sharp, slicing through the tension like a dagger.
"Oh, how touching. The mighty Duncan Tharagon, reduced to spittle and blood, still daring to threaten me." She stood, her staff pulsing with crackling energy, while Lady Evelyne mirrored her, their combined aura sending a wave of pressure across the field.
Kealric stepped forward, dark energy crackling around his fists. "You think this changes anything?" he said, his voice low and menacing. "Even bound, even broken—you are nothing against what comes next."
Arabella's gaze remained locked on Duncan, her eyes cold and unreadable, though a faint shimmer of dark smoke curled from her fingertips.
Thailra, however, was the true terror in the center of the scene.
Her silver eyes—still fixed on nothing—glimmered faintly with raw power. White hair billowed like living silk around her, glowing faintly in the darkening light.
The rope binding Duncan to the chair stretched taut as if sensing the energy emanating from her, holding him down as the field seemed to vibrate with anticipation.
"Step closer," Iskaria said, her voice low, deliberate. "Let her feel it. Let her understand whose will dominates this field."
The soldiers of Morazona and Avialyn shifted into perfect formation behind them, silent, implacable, their eyes glinting with expectation.
Above, the thunder rolled again, echoing the tension below, as though the sky itself trembled in fear of the coming act.
Duncan's breath came ragged, sweat and blood mixing as he stared at Thailra, the girl he swore to protect, now twisted into a weapon against him.
His chest heaved, and a low growl escaped his throat, a promise that he would not fall quietly.
Iskaria smiled, a dark and dangerous glimmer in her eyes. "Soon, Duncan… soon, everything you love will belong to me, and there will be nothing left of you."
The ropes tightened, the air shimmered, and the moment stretched, heavy and dreadful, as all eyes fixed on Thailra—the key, the weapon, and the ultimate threat to Duncan's very soul.
The field held its breath. The storm was far from over.
Iskaria's lips curled into a cruel smile as she stepped closer, her staff glowing faintly with dark energy. "Thailra, go to him. Extract the silver stone from his body. Every last fragment. Do it now."
Thailra's eyes flickered, a shadow passing over her face. She nodded slowly, her voice quiet but firm.
"Yes, Mistress."
With that, she began to move toward Duncan, her white hair flowing like liquid light, her rope sparkling and trailing behind her.
Her steps were almost ethereal, gliding across the ground as if she were weightless, yet every movement radiated lethal intent.
Duncan's gaze followed her, unblinking. His chest heaved as he struggled against the magical ropes binding him to the chair, but he remained silent.
He knew the truth—there was no silver stone left inside him. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, watery and haunted, as he tried in vain to free himself.
He said nothing, letting his stare speak the dread and desperation that words could not convey. His hands clawed at the ropes, the strain only making them dig tighter into his wrists, but still, he remained pinned, powerless yet defiant.
Thailra hovered closer, her hands extending toward him, the power she carried humming faintly in the air.
Iskaria's lips curled into a dark, cruel smirk, the glow of the flames dancing across her features.
Balls of fire hovered on Thailra's palms, pulsing with raw, destructive energy. Veydrath and Alaric exchanged a brief, wary glance before returning their gaze to her, fully aware that whatever came next would be catastrophic.
Thailra lifted her silver eyes toward the storm-darkened sky, her voice ringing out over the field.
"I, Thailra Alvarez, daughter of Gulvan and Quinet of Tulsan, take the audacity to wield the power of the great Silver Stone! I claim the authority to destroy it, and the audacity to extract it from any body in which it resides! I am granted the power to control it, to protect it—and today, I shall extract it from this body before me! Great Goddess of Earth, stand with me, as you have promised!"
Her proclamation shook the very air.
Soldiers froze mid-step, the wind whipping around them as the sky darkened further, thunder rolling across the horizon like a warning drum.
Then, with a sweep of her hands, Thailra hurled the flaming spheres toward Duncan's chest.
They collided with his body in a blinding explosion of fire and energy, sparks flying in every direction.
Lightning crackled from the storm above, striking him relentlessly as the magical ropes tightened, burning into his skin.
Each strike seemed to siphon away what little strength he had left, forcing him to gasp and strain against his bonds.
"AHHH!!" Duncan let out a maddening cry before finally losing consciousness as the Silver Stone was ripped from his body.
Thailra held the glowing artifact, letting it float above her palm. She turned toward Iskaria, who met her gaze with a wide, triumphant smile.
Veydrath and Alaric's lips curled into matching expressions of dark satisfaction, their eyes gleaming with approval.
"Good. Pass it to me," Iskaria commanded. Thailra bowed slightly and guided the Silver Stone to hover before her mistress. Iskaria exchanged a dark, satisfied glance with her sister.
"Finally… we have the Silver Stone," Lady Evelyne said, a wide, triumphant smile spreading across her face.
Veydrath and Alaric's eyes gleamed with disbelief and excitement. Even Arabella and Kealric couldn't suppress their smiles, while Lady Semina and Dracula's lips curved into subtle, knowing smirks.
"Ten can be fooled by one, don't you think, Iskaria Venmora?" a voice rang out.
All eyes widened as they shifted toward Thailra, her lips twisted into a ruthless, unyielding smirk. The triumphant smiles of Iskaria, Lady Evelyne, Veydrath, and Alaric faded in an instant as the Silver Stone vanished into a swirl of black smoke, leaving only emptiness where it had hovered moments before.
Gasps and curses ripped through the ranks of the Morazona and Avialyn soldiers.
"The Silver Stone—where is it? How dare you betray me!" Iskaria screamed, thrusting her staff forward. A blazing ball of energy shot toward Thailra, aimed to strike her down—but it stopped mere inches from her, frozen in place.
All eyes widened in shock. Iskaria herself could hardly believe it.
"I didn't betray you," Thailra said, her voice calm but ruthless. "I simply did what was right—destroying the Silver Stone."
In an instant, the energy reversed, spinning violently back toward Iskaria. The ball struck her chest brutally, mercilessly, and she staggered backward. Black blood pooled at the corners of her lips as she gasped.
"Sister!!!" Evelyne screamed, her face contorting in horror.
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TBC