«CHAPTER 51&52»
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The force of the impact sent Iskaria crashing backward, her body trembling as dark blood spilled from her lips, staining her pale skin. Her staff slipped from her grasp for a brief moment before she caught it again, barely steadying herself.
Evelyne caught her just in time, fury blazing in her eyes as she held her sister upright.
"Who do you think you are?!" Evelyne roared, her voice trembling with rage. "You dare you little church rat!!"
A faint, dangerous smile curved her lips as she slowly lowered her hand.
"I told you both," she continued calmly, her voice echoing with something far older than her years, "I did not betray you."
A pulse of energy rippled outward from her body, the ground beneath them cracked. The soldiers—those perfectly aligned, untouchable warriors—staggered as the invisible force washed over them.
Some dropped to one knee, their so-called invincibility trembling under the pressure of her presence.
Dracula's lips slowly curled into a faint, knowing smirk.
Veydrath noticed.
His grip tightened around his staff, the crackling energy along its length flaring slightly in response to his rising suspicion. Ever since they had entered Morazona, Dracula had been… different. Unreadable in a way that unsettled him.
Which side was he truly on?
Iskaria's… or Duncan's?
Veydrath's jaw clenched as his eyes lingered on Dracula for a moment longer, studying him carefully, searching for any sign—any crack in that calm, composed façade. But finding none, he slowly looked away, his unease only deepening.
"Lovie" Kealric started walking toward Thailra, his steps gentle and steady.
The air seemed to still as he approached her, their hair brushing against each other, and her silver, ruthless eyes remained fixed on him.
Kealric stopped just a few steps away from Thailra. The world seemed to shrink around them. The wind died, the faint hum of magic softened, and even the soldiers held their breath.
"I'm not here to fight you," Kealric murmured, his voice barely audible, yet it seemed to echo inside every chest. "I'm here to remind you… that even in the darkest night, even when they take everything from you… you are still mine. You are still yourself. Still my moon."
"Kealric! Stay away from her! She's not the moon you once knew! She's different now! Stay away—come back here, right now, Kealric!!" Lady Evelyne's voice tore through the chaos, trembling with desperation and rage.
But Kealric didn't glance back.
"Mother is right, Kealric… stay away from her!" Arabella's voice quivered, thick with fear. "Do you see what she did to Aunt? She's no longer the Thailra—the Lovie you once knew! Stay away from her, please, Kealric… stay away! Her soul is no longer in Morazona… she no longer belongs here. Stay back, brother… please!"
Still, Kealric didn't look back. His steps were steady, deliberate, unstoppable, drawn toward Thailra by something far deeper than warning, far stronger than fear.
Alaric's grip tightened on his staff, his expression unreadable, every muscle coiled in anticipation.
Lady Semina remained silent, though her mind drifted briefly to her daughters—they had gone missing last night. Where could they be? She shoved the thought aside, forcing herself to focus on the chaos unfolding before her.
Iskaria stood firm again, but blood trickled from her nose—poisoned by her own magic—and her breaths came heavy, ragged.
Dracula remained silent, his gaze unreadable, observing everything with an unsettling calm.
Thailra did not move.
Her silver eyes remained fixed on nothing and everything at once—cold, ruthless, yet impossibly deep. Her white hair billowed around her like liquid moonlight, glowing faintly with an otherworldly energy that made the very shadows dance.
"Lovie… you are mine. Remember the promises we made in Morazona? That we would stand together, come what may, until death do us part. We are still alive… still bound as husband and wife. When your people abandoned you, I was the one who saved you, brought you to my home—and from that moment, we became more than allies; we became lovers, bound as one" Kealric extended his palm, his eyes soft yet insistent, his gesture a quiet command of love and devotion, urging her to trust him.
"This land, Ashkaroth, may have betrayed you, but Morazona welcomed you. You belong to me, Lovie. Please… take my hand. Come with me, together we'll rule Morazona"
Thailra's silver eyes didn't move.
The wind rippled through her white hair, lifting it like a halo of moonlight, yet her expression remained unreadable—icy, distant, untouchable.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. Even the soldiers—the perfect lines of Morazona and Avialyn—stood frozen, as if time itself had paused, waiting for her choice.
Kealric took a slow, deliberate step closer.
His voice softened, carrying a weight that cut through the storm, the magic, the chaos.
"Lovie… I will not fight you. I am not here to command you, nor to force you. I only ask you to remember who you are… who we are. All the nights we swore to protect each other, all the battles we endured, all the moments we lived together… they are still ours. You are still my moon, Thailra. Still mine."
A faint pulse of light shimmered around Kealric, golden and warm, brushing against the dark air like the promise of dawn.
It whispered of trust, of shared history, of unbroken bonds.
Then—something shifted.
Thailra's fingers twitched ever so slightly.
The energy around her surged, not violently, but with a quiet, tremulous power. Her silver eyes flickered—not at Kealric, not at the soldiers, not at Iskaria—but inward, as though searching for a spark buried beneath the ice of control.
Kealric's hand hovered, palm open, a silent plea.
He did not reach further.
He did not step faster.
He merely waited, every fiber of his being focused on her, willing her to remember, willing her to come back.
The storm above rumbled, lightning flashing in response to the tension below. Thunder shook the ground. Even the air itself seemed to hum with anticipation, electric with the possibility of salvation… or annihilation.
Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, Thailra's lips curved. Not a full smile, not yet. But the faintest trace of recognition, of memory, of the bond they shared—of love—passed through her gaze.
The soldiers felt it too.
Even the enemy lines faltered for the briefest moment, sensing the shift in power, the awakening of something ancient and unbreakable.
Kealric's chest rose and fell steadily, his eyes never leaving hers. "That's it… just a little closer, Lovie. Take my hand. Let me bring you home."
The air crackled.
Magic pulsed.
Time stretched.
Thailra's fingers closed around Kealric's hand. The moment her grip tightened, the air around them crackled violently.
"I belong to one man, and to one kingdom—Ashkaroth and Duncan Tharagon," Thailra declared, her voice cold and unwavering, echoing across the battlefield.
"Yes, I was betrayed by Ashkaroth, by my own people. But they did not kill me. A year spent in Morazona left my body scorched to ashes. And now you dare tell me to return to the very kingdom that pierced my heart with their poisoned arrows? One of you—one Morazona—must pay. I choose Morazon's heir… and the penalty for your kingdom's ruthless treachery is death!"
Before anyone could react, a surge of raw energy coursed through her.
Heavy lightning crackled above, splitting the air with deafening intensity, and the bolt struck Kealric directly on the head. His skull split under the force, and a maddening scream tore from his throat.
"Kealric!!!" Arabella and Lady Evelyne shrieked, their faces contorted with horror, eyes wide and unblinking.
Thailra released her grip. Kealric collapsed, sliding into his own pool of blood, motionless.
Alaric and Veydrath stared in disbelief, frozen by the sheer magnitude of what they had witnessed.
Lady Semina's eyes widened in shock, her hand trembling at her side. Dracula, however, smiled—a slow, wide, knowing smile that sent chills through the onlookers.
"Kill her now!!!" Iskaria bellowed, her voice sharp and furious.
Soldiers drew their swords in an instant, a synchronized roar echoing through the field as they charged toward Thailra.
The soldiers surged forward, a wall of steel and fury, their swords glinting under the storm-darkened sky.
But Thailra didn't move.
Not yet.
Her silver eyes glimmered like molten ice, unreadable, merciless, and alive with a power that no mortal could withstand.
The first soldier lunged, a spear aimed for her chest—but Thailra's hand flicked once, almost lazily, and a crackling bolt of lightning erupted from her fingertips.
The soldier's body convulsed violently before collapsing into ash, his scream swallowed by the roar of the storm.
Another charged from the flank, hoping to flank her, hoping to overwhelm her—but Thailra's hair, glowing like white fire, whipped around her like living blades.
It lashed out, slicing through armor and flesh with surgical precision. The soldier fell in two, his lifeblood hissing as it touched the scorched ground.
The field erupted into chaos.
Soldiers, trained and disciplined, realized instantly that this was no ordinary opponent.
Thailra moved like a force of nature, her steps gliding over the scorched earth as sparks of lightning danced across her palms.
Every swing of a sword, every charge, was met with unrelenting devastation.
A wave of energy pulsed outward from her, throwing back even the most coordinated attacks.
Alaric and Veydrath tried to counter with their combined magic, sending torrents of fire and lightning toward her—but the attacks fractured in midair, dissipating against an invisible shield of her will.
Iskaria screamed again, fury and disbelief twisting her features.
"Kill her! Don't let her live! She's not human!"
Thailra's head tilted slightly, her silver eyes cold and unyielding.
She moved, and the ground itself seemed to obey her. Lightning lashed from the clouds above, striking soldier after soldier.
Armor melted, weapons shattered, and screams rang across the field.
Even those who survived the initial onslaught could not advance. Every step they took was met with fire, electricity, or the lethal swipe of her hair—now sharp as blades, moving with terrifying intelligence.
One soldier leapt high, hoping to land behind her, but Thailra didn't even turn.
Her gaze alone was enough.
Lightning erupted from the ground beneath him, engulfing him in a blinding explosion of energy. When the smoke cleared, only a crater remained.
The battlefield had become her dominion.
No scream went unheard, no strike went unpunished. She was not just fighting—she was reclaiming, punishing, and dominating with every heartbeat.
Iskaria's army faltered.
Soldiers froze mid-step, fear gnawing at their resolve. Even Lady Evelyne's furious commands were drowned out by the raw, unyielding power of Thailra Alvarez—the Moon of Morazona, reborn as a storm of vengeance.
Above it all, her white hair floated like living fire, her silver eyes glowing with merciless authority.
Every breath she drew charged the storm, and the battlefield itself seemed to bend, crumble, and warp around her.
This was not a battle.
It was annihilation.
Arabella sank to her knees, her gaze fixed on her lifeless brother. Her body trembled violently as sobs wracked her, each breath shallow and ragged.
Memories of their childhood, of every shared moment and secret, flooded her mind, tightening her chest with unbearable pain as she cried out, helpless and heartbroken.
"Soldiers! I give you the command—kill Duncan Tharagon! Pierce his heart with your swords! That is the only way she will bend!" Iskaria bellowed, her voice slicing through the chaos like a blade.
The soldiers roared as one, raising their swords high, a deadly wave of steel surging toward Duncan.
The air was thick with tension, magic crackling and wind whipping around the field. Every soldier's eyes burned with obedience—and desperation.
But Thailra did not hesitate.
Her silver eyes narrowed, glowing brighter than ever, and the ground beneath her quaked.
A low hum, resonant and terrible, radiated from her very core, spreading outward like a shockwave.
Lightning arced from her fingertips, striking the first line of soldiers before they could even close the distance.
Armor melted, bodies were flung into the air, and screams of agony tore through the storm.
Alaric and Veydrath attempted to counter, hurling torrents of fire and energy toward her—but it was futile.
Thailra moved with supernatural precision, her white hair whipping like living blades. Every strike of magic, every swing of steel was deflected, incinerated, or obliterated before it could reach her.
The storm above raged in tandem with Thailra's fury.
Lightning struck at random, sizzling across the field, igniting the earth and sending columns of smoke spiraling into the air. Soldiers screamed as one after another, their perfectly disciplined lines crumbled beneath her onslaught.
Thailra's hair lashed out like living serpents, each strand sharp as a blade.
A soldier swung his sword at her flank, only to have his arm cut off, flying in a shower of sparks.
Another lunged from behind, but she pivoted with inhuman speed, hair coiling around his chest and crushing him as lightning erupted through the coils.
Even Alaric and Veydrath, masters of elemental magic, found themselves pushed back.
Fire met lightning, energy collided, and yet every assault they sent toward her was undone almost before it formed.
Sparks shattered midair, crackling against an invisible barrier that bent and twisted the attacks harmlessly into the ground.
Dracula stood at the edge of the battlefield, watching intently.
The faint smirk never left his lips, but his hands twitched slightly. He recognized what few others could: this was no longer merely a fight.
Thailra was rewriting the rules of battle itself.
"Impossible…" Alaric muttered, his jaw tightening as he raised his staff again, trying to channel a torrent of fire and lightning combined.
Veydrath mirrored him, eyes wide, hands trembling as he poured all his energy into the attack.
The blast collided with Thailra—but it was swallowed. Not deflected. Not repelled. Swallowed, absorbed into her very being.
The air around her shimmered, energy pulsing visibly as though the battlefield itself had become an extension of her body.
"Kill her! Don't let her live!" Iskaria's scream cut through the chaos. But even her voice was drowned by the roar of destruction that followed.
Thailra's eyes snapped toward the nearest line of soldiers.
With a thought, she sent a surge of raw energy outward. Lightning arced across the ground, striking soldiers in every direction.
Some exploded into molten ash, others were flung violently into one another, collapsing in twisted heaps. The air itself burned, and the screams of the living and dying became a symphony of terror.
Arabella continue crying.
The first wave of soldiers had been obliterated. Another pressed forward—but she was already ready. Hair whirled, lightning snapped, and in an instant, another dozen soldiers were gone. The air smelled of ozone and burning flesh.
No one could stop her.
No one could survive her.
Thailra Alvarez—the Moon of Ashkaroth—had risen, and nothing on the field could match her wrath.
Lady Evelyne swallowed hard, a cold dread creeping through her chest. Thailra stood before Duncan, still bound and unconscious, her arms folded as if nothing at all had happened.
Her silver eyes were fixed on Iskaria, whose hand trembled on her staff, a thin trickle of blood running from her nose.
Lady Semina's legs wobbled uncontrollably, and shame and fear overcame her—she had already lost control of herself. Veydrath and Alaric's faces were streaked with blood from their noses, their expressions taut with strain.
Arabella remained on her knees, eyes locked on her lifeless brother, her lips quivering with silent grief.
"You killed my blood—simply because we came to Ashkaroth to bring you back! My brother never stopped loving you! He treated you like a queen! The first time he brought you home, everyone opposed him because you are of Ashkaroth's blood—a foreigner cannot rule another kingdom. That is why the people of Morazona resisted him, why they would never accept you as his Moon. But after everything he sacrificed for you… after all he gave… you repaid him by splitting his head open?!" Arabella shouted, rising to her feet, her voice trembling with rage and grief.
"No, Arabella! You can't possibly be thinking of fighting her, do you? She'll crush you, and I will not lose another child! Stay where you are—that's an order!" Lady Evelyne cried, her fear plain in every word.
Arabella didn't spare her a glance.
Her face was twisted with rage, black smoke curling and coiling around her like a living shadow, a manifestation of her fury and grief.
Lady Semina exhaled slowly, a heavy, defeated sigh escaping her lips, her hands trembling at her sides.
"Arabella, my princess… you have to listen to your mother," Alaric urged, his voice tense but steady. "Your powers are far too weak to face her head-on. We don't yet understand what she truly is. For now… we have to lie low. Stay where you are, or risk losing another soul."
But Arabella was already consumed by rage.
Her eyes had turned abyssal black, her hair fell loose around her shoulders, and each breath came ragged and heavy, as if the storm outside had taken root within her.
"We have to do something to break her power," Veydrath interjected, urgency lacing his voice.
"If we let her go to fight Thailra, she'll never survive. Mistress, do something—cage her abilities! Thailra will split her head open just like her brother's if we don't act!"
Iskaria's lips curled into a slow, dark smile. She turned deliberately toward him, her gaze sharp and dangerous, the shadows of her power stretching like living tendrils around her.
"She might truly be the one to take her down," Iskaria said, her voice low and dripping with malice. A dark chuckle curled at the edges of her lips.
"Let her fight. We don't know what will happen next. Arabella… my dear, avenge your brother's death. Split her head open, just as she split your brother's. I'm with you."
The words hung in the air like a curse. Every eye widened in shock.
Lady Evelyne could hardly believe it.
Tears streamed down her face, stinging and hot. She couldn't fathom that such cruelty could come from her own sister—her own blood.
Arabella shot into the air, her body propelled by dark, crackling energy. She landed a short distance from Thailra, her abyssal-black eyes blazing, her hair whipping around her like living shadows.
Thailra's face remained utterly unreadable, her silver gaze cold and detached, as if she were weighing the world itself—or perhaps dismissing it entirely.
Dracula observed from the sidelines, his expression calm but calculating.
Every movement, every breath of both combatants, was noted.
He didn't act—yet.
He was waiting, patient and silent, for the exact moment when striking would yield the most devastating effect.
"If you truly wish to make her bow," Iskaria hissed, a dark smirk curling her lips, "then strike at the man behind her—her Eclipse. Kill him, and the Moon will surely kneel, little niece."
Lady Evelyne's fists clenched slowly, knuckles whitening with restrained fear. Alaric and Veydrath tightened their grips on their staffs, the air around them vibrating with raw energy.
"Kill the Eclipse! That is the only way to defeat the Moon!" Iskaria barked, her voice sharp and commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.
Arabella's eyes ignited with abyssal black fire. With a powerful leap, she soared into the air, magic coalescing into spheres of energy, glowing fiercely in her palms, ready to strike.
Arabella hovered in the air, her body tense, radiating raw power.
The spheres of magic in her palms pulsed violently, each one a coiled storm of destruction.
Her eyes, now abyssal black, locked onto Duncan—the one Iskaria had identified as the key.
Thailra remained perfectly still, her silver gaze unwavering, arms folded as if she were nothing more than a statue in the chaos.
The storm above mirrored the tension below, lightning streaking across the sky as though even the heavens feared what was about to unfold.
With a guttural scream, Arabella hurled the twin spheres toward Duncan, arcs of crackling energy tearing through the air.
The impact should have obliterated him, but even bound, he emitted a faint shimmer of resistance, the last trace of his Eclipse stirring unconsciously.
Thailra's silver eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
A hum of energy rippled from her form, and the very wind around her seemed to warp, creating a barrier that distorted the incoming magic.
The spheres struck, but instead of hitting Duncan directly, they were shredded midair, fragments of energy dissipating like mist.
Iskaria's lips twitched in disbelief, and Lady Evelyne staggered back, her face pale.
Even Alaric and Veydrath hesitated, feeling the raw, oppressive force radiating from Thailra.
Arabella's scream of fury split the air. "Thailra!!" She summoned another sphere, larger, denser, thrumming with dark energy, ready to strike with lethal precision.
Thailra finally moved.
It was almost imperceptible—a shift in her stance, a slight lift of her hand—but the effect was immediate.
Thailra finally moved.
It was almost imperceptible—a subtle shift in her stance, the faint lift of her hand—but the effect was immediate.
The air… collapsed.
A crushing force descended upon the battlefield, invisible yet absolute. The storm above seemed to freeze mid-roar, lightning suspended like fractured veins across the sky.
Arabella's final sphere trembled in her grasp.
Then—cracked.
A sharp, splintering sound echoed as the dense mass of dark energy fractured into jagged shards, dissolving into nothing before her very eyes.
Her breath hitched.
"No… no, that's not possible—!" She tried to gather more power—but nothing came, Thailra's presence smothered it.
Silenced it.
Erased it, slowly—deliberately—Thailra raised her hand, and from nothingness, a sword answered, It did not appear with light.
It did not blaze or roar.
It simply existed.
A long, elegant blade of pale silver, its surface etched with faint, shifting runes that seemed to breathe with ancient authority. The air around it bent unnaturally, as though reality itself dared not touch it directly.
A weapon not forged—but claimed, a weapon that did not belong to war—but to judgment.
Arabella's eyes widened, for the first time—fear broke through her rage.
"Y-you—what are you—?"
Thailra said nothing, she stepped forward.
One step.
Arabella tried to move—she couldn't. Her body locked in place, pinned by an unseen force far beyond her strength.
"Please—!" her voice cracked, the abyssal darkness in her eyes flickering. "I—"
Too late.
Thailra vanished, not with speed—but with absence, and in the same breath—she stood behind her, a single, clean motion followed.
The blade moved.
Silent. Effortless. Final.
A thin line traced across Arabella's body—and for a heartbeat, nothing happened. The battlefield held its breath, then—her body split.
Cleanly.
Perfectly.
Two halves parted, falling in opposite directions as dark blood spilled onto the shattered ground.
A hollow, broken sound escaped Lady Evelyne's lips. "...Arabella…"
Her knees gave out, she collapsed.
No scream, no strength left to scream. Alaric staggered backward, his staff slipping in his grip. Veydrath froze entirely, his face drained of all color, his mind unable to comprehend what he had just witnessed.
Lady Semina covered her mouth, trembling violently, her entire body shaking with raw, uncontrollable terror.
Iskaria said nothing, for the first time—her confidence shattered, and Dracula—smiled, a slow, quiet, satisfied smile.
Thailra stood still, her back to them all, the blade in her hand untainted, as though it had never touched flesh.
Slowly, she turned toward Duncan.
With a single, effortless motion, she drew her blade across the ropes binding him. They melted instantly, dissolving into nothing as though they had never existed.
For a moment, he did not move, then—slowly—his eyes fluttered open. His vision was blurred, heavy, unfocused until it found her.
"Thailra…" he whispered weakly.
Her lips curved into a gentle, almost tender smile. She glanced briefly at the sword in her hand before extending it toward him, offering it without a word.
Duncan's lips were pale, his body drained of strength—too weak to even lift his arm at first. Yet his eyes remained fixed on her face, as though she were the only thing left in existence.
"Your mother's killers… they stand right there," she murmured softly. "End this fight once and for all, Mr. Eclipse."
Hot tears slid silently down his cheeks. With effort, he rose from the chair, his movements unsteady. His gaze drifted across the battlefield—Thousands of lifeless bodies lay scattered across the ground.
Kealric—his head split open, Arabella—her body severed in two. The weight of it all settled heavily in his chest.
Slowly, his gaze returned to Thailra, then—to the sword, then—to the enemies standing before him.
And finally—back to the sword.
Duncan stared at the sword in her outstretched hand, for a moment, he did nothing.
The battlefield waited, the storm above rumbled, low and restless, as though it, too, anticipated what was about to unfold.His trembling fingers finally lifted.
Slowly… hesitantly… he reached for the blade.
The instant his skin made contact—the world broke.
A violent surge of energy exploded outward from the point of contact, sending a shockwave rippling across the battlefield. The ground cracked beneath his feet, dust and debris lifting into the air as if gravity itself had faltered.
Lightning roared,not from the sky—but from the sword. Blinding arcs of silver lightning coiled around the blade, crawling up Duncan's arm like living veins of power. His body jerked violently as the energy struck him, once—twice—again and again.
Each strike was merciless.
Each strike was awakening.
"AAAHHHHH—!!"
His scream tore through the storm, raw and unrestrained, echoing across the ruined field. His body convulsed as lightning descended from the heavens, striking him repeatedly, merging with the power already surging through the sword.
The sky answered him, thunder split the heavens apart. Bolt after bolt crashed down upon him, not to destroy—but to restore.
His back arched, his muscles tightening as power flooded through every inch of his being. The faint, dying aura that once clung to him reignited—first as a flicker—then as a blaze.
Light burst from his body, blinding and fierce, forcing even the strongest among them to shield their eyes.
The wind howled violently, spiraling around him in a vortex of raw energy.
His hair whipped wildly, lifted by the force, strands glowing faintly with silver light. The wounds across his body began to seal, slowly at first—then rapidly, as though time itself bent to his recovery.
The ground beneath him shattered further.
Cracks spread like spiderwebs, glowing faintly as energy seeped into the earth.
Again—lightning struck, and this time—he did not scream.
He stood.
Still, Moving, Enduring, Absorbing, his fingers tightened around the sword, and the sword answered.
The runes along its blade ignited, glowing brighter, resonating with him—recognizing him.
Accepting him, Duncan's breathing steadied. The chaos around him began to quiet—not because it ended—but because it bowed.
His head slowly lifted.
His eyes opened, they were no longer the same, no longer dim, no longer broken.
They burned—with power.
With purpose, with something ancient and absolute. A final bolt of lightning descended from the heavens, striking him directly—and instead of consuming him—it sank into him.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Sacred.
The storm above calmed, as though it had fulfilled its duty. Duncan stood at the center of it all, the sword resting firmly in his grasp, his body now radiating a controlled, overwhelming aura.
Not wild, not unstable, controlled power. Slowly, he exhaled, then his gaze lifted—locking onto Iskaria… Evelyne… Alaric… Veydrath.
No hesitation, no weakness, only judgment. Behind him, Thailra watched silently, her silver eyes calm, unreadable… yet faintly approving.
Duncan took another step forward, the ground trembling faintly beneath the weight of his presence, the air around him humming with restrained power.
"Iskaria Venmora… you sent a serpent into the palace to murder my mother in her own chambers—simply because she cast you out of Ashkaroth for your forbidden sorcery," he said, his voice low, cold, and cutting.
His gaze shifted, sharp as a blade.
"And you, Alaric Ashcroft… you turned your back on the throne because the king took your brother's life by accident. For that… you chose betrayal. For that… you chose blood."
A heavy silence fell.
The storm above seemed to dim in the face of his words.
"You all found the audacity to kill my mother," Duncan continued, his tone dropping further—darker, deadlier. "So now… everything ends."
A pause.
A breath.
"Now… or never."
The words sent a chilling ripple through them all.
Iskaria's grip tightened around her staff as she stepped forward, her expression hardening despite the flicker of unease in her eyes. Dark energy crackled violently around her, coiling up the length of her staff like a living thing.
Dracula shot into the air and landed beside Duncan with effortless precision, frost spiraling around his form. A sphere of ice formed instantly in his palm, dense and glacial, crackling with quiet, lethal energy. His smirk deepened, eyes gleaming with dark anticipation.
"Exactly the moment I've been waiting for."
In the same breath, Thailra moved.
A blur of white and silver—she appeared at Duncan's side, her presence calm yet overwhelming. She extended her hand, and from the very air itself, a silver staff materialized, humming with ancient power. She gripped it firmly.
Lightning answered, It struck relentlessly—again and again—coiling around the staff, dancing wildly as though bound to her will alone.
Across from them—their enemies froze, Breath caught, hearts stilled, for the first time, fear was absolute.
"Together… we end this," Thailra murmured, her voice low, final.
Then—she drove the staff into the ground.
A deafening crack split the battlefield as lightning erupted outward in violent veins, racing across the earth like a living force. The ground glowed beneath them, splitting, burning, surging with unstoppable energy as the storm itself descended to obey her command.
Power spread.
Fast, unforgiving, unstoppable, and in that moment—there was no escape.
A deafening roar tore through the heavens.
The battlefield shook.
All eyes lifted upward—and what they saw drained the very strength from their bones.
The sky itself seemed to split apart as a colossal shadow descended, vast wings tearing through the storm clouds, scattering lightning like fragile threads.
She came not as a creature—but as a force.
The Great Mother Dragon.
Giantica.
The air churned violently as she descended, dust and debris spiraling into the sky in a violent storm of her own making. The sheer weight of her presence bent the battlefield, forcing even the winds to bow.
She landed behind Duncan, Thailra, and Dracula.
The ground shattered beneath her. A shockwave rippled outward, knocking soldiers off their feet, tearing cracks deep into the earth.
Her massive form rose, scales shimmering white and crimson beneath the flickering lightning—ancient, untouchable, absolute.
Her silver eyes lifted slowly toward the heavens—and then she exhaled.
A catastrophic torrent of fire and frost erupted from her jaws, a blazing inferno intertwined with glacial destruction. The two forces collided and merged, surging forward like a divine judgment, consuming everything in its path.
The battlefield was swallowed, flames burned, ice devoured, nothing stood untouched.
Veydrath staggered backward, his legs trembling violently, his staff barely keeping him upright.
"T-this… this can't be real…"
Alaric's grip faltered, his face pale, blood still trailing from his nose as his entire body shook.
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TBC