«CHAPTER 53&54»
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Iskaria's eyes burned with something far deeper than anger now, fear, raw, unfiltered, but she refused to yield.
"No…" she whispered, her voice trembling before rising into a furious scream. "No! I did not come this far to fall to you!"
Dark energy erupted from her staff, spiraling violently into the air, forming a massive vortex above her. Shadows twisted, screaming as they took shape—ancient, corrupted power drawn from forbidden depths.
Evelyne stepped forward without hesitation, her staff blazing to life as she joined her power with her sister's.
"We finish this now, sister!" she snapped, her voice sharp with desperation.
Alaric and Veydrath stepped forward, their expressions hardened with resolve as they joined forces with Lady Semina, their staffs raised and crackling with power—ready to face whatever was to come.
Above them, Giantica let out a thunderous roar that shook the very heavens.
With a powerful beat of her colossal wings, she ascended high into the sky, her massive form disappearing into the storm as she departed.
The sky trembled in Giantica's wake.
For a fleeting moment, her absence felt louder than her presence—like the calm before something far worse. The storm above did not fade; it deepened, churning violently as if the heavens themselves awaited the final clash.
Then—Everything erupted.
Iskaria screamed, slamming her staff down as the vortex above them unleashed its fury. A torrent of corrupted energy tore downward, splitting into streams that lashed across the battlefield like living whips.
"ATTACK!!!"
Her command shattered the silence.
Alaric and Veydrath surged forward, lightning and fire exploding from their staffs, tearing through the air toward Thailra. Lady Semina moved in tandem, her magic coiling like venom as she broke off toward Dracula.
Evelyne didn't hesitate.
She launched herself beside Iskaria—both women moving as one—straight for Duncan.
And Duncan—Stepped forward to meet them.
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«Duncan vs Iskaria & Evelyne»
Their staffs came down at once, Duncan raised his blade, the collision was catastrophic.
A shockwave erupted outward, splitting the ground beneath them as dark energy and silver light clashed violently. Sparks exploded in every direction, the air screaming under the force.
Iskaria struck again—fast, relentless—her staff carving through the air with lethal precision. Evelyne followed, her attacks sharper, quicker, aiming for his blind spots.
They moved like assassins.
Duncan moved like judgment.
He twisted, parried, deflected—each motion effortless, each strike of his blade sending ripples of power through the battlefield.
Evelyne lunged—Too fast for a normal eye, but not for him. He caught her staff mid-swing, the blade locking against it with a shriek of metal and magic.
With a brutal twist, he flung her sideways, she crashed hard, rolling across shattered stone.
"Stay down!" he snapped coldly.
But she didn't, she rose again—bleeding, furious—and charged. Iskaria seized the opening, dark energy erupted point-blank into Duncan's chest—BOOM.
The explosion swallowed him whole.
For a heartbeat —Victory then the smoke cleared, he was still standing.
Unmoved, Iskaria's breath hitched, Duncan's eyes lifted slowly, glowing faintly.
"You're done running," he said.
And this time—He attacked.
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«Thailra vs Alaric & Veydrath»
Lightning screamed toward her, fire followed and Thailra didn't dodge, she walked through it. The attacks bent around her—distorted, erased—like they had never existed.
Alaric gritted his teeth. "She's absorbing it—don't stop!"
Veydrath roared, slamming his staff down. The ground beneath Thailra exploded upward, jagged spikes of earth and energy tearing toward her.
She raised her hand, everything stopped, suspended, frozen in place, then—shattered. The entire assault collapsed into dust.
In the same instant— she moved, a blur of white, she appeared in front of Veydrath.
Too close.
Too fast.
His eyes widened—Her staff struck.
CRACK.
It slammed into his ribs with devastating force, lifting him off the ground and sending him crashing across the battlefield. Alaric roared, launching himself forward, his staff igniting with a massive surge of lightning.
"FACE ME!!"
He swung.
She caught it.
Barehanded.
Lightning surged through her arm—wild, destructive— and died, her fingers tightened, the staff cracked. Alaric's expression shattered with it.
"No—"
She drove her knee into his chest.
The impact folded him, then she flung him aside like nothing, both men lay broken, struggling to rise—But still trying.
Still fighting.
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«Dracula vs Lady Semina»
Ice met venom.
Dracula moved like a shadow, his form flickering in and out of existence as Semina's magic lashed toward him in sharp, lethal bursts.
She was fast, precise, deadly, but he was worse, he appeared behind her.
Too close.
Too sudden.
Her eyes widened— she spun, staff blazing he caught it mid-swing. Frost exploded outward from his grip, racing up the length of her staff, freezing it instantly.
Her hands locked to it.
"Let's see how long you last," he murmured softly. She screamed, releasing a pulse of energy that shattered the ice and sent him sliding back. Blood trickled from her lips—but she smiled.
"I won't fall that easily."
"Good," Dracula replied, his smirk widening.
"Because I'm just getting started."
He vanished again and this time— she didn't see where he went.
Duncan's silver blade moved like liquid, slicing through the twin attacks of Iskaria and Evelyne. Sparks flew as dark energy collided with pure light, throwing both women back—but they recovered instantly.
Iskaria's eyes blazed with raw fury. "You cannot stop us, Duncan! You'll die here, just like your precious mother!"
Evelyne spun, swinging her staff in a deadly arc, aiming for Duncan's head. He ducked, the staff grazing his shoulder, leaving a shallow, burning cut. He responded with a strike, but it was precise—not lethal, just enough to remind them: he was the one in control.
Iskaria summoned another surge of dark energy, massive, coiling like a living serpent around Duncan. He pivoted, spinning inside the coil, and unleashed a counterstrike of silver lightning from his blade.
The energy tore through her magic like glass, scattering fragments across the battlefield.
Evelyne screamed, rushing him again. Duncan met her head-on, parrying her strikes, but the force behind her blows was relentless. Each clash left scorch marks on the ground, each impact rattled the air like a thunderclap.
Duncan's eyes glowed silver.
He struck forward, sending a wave of energy through the ground beneath them. The stone cracked and splintered, and Iskaria barely leapt aside as the blast surged past her. Evelyne stumbled, but recovered, her body trembling with fury and exhaustion.
"Iskaria! Now!" she yelled, pushing forward.
Two swirling attacks—blade and staff—descended upon Duncan. But he twisted, moving with preternatural speed, the tip of his sword grazing Iskaria's side, drawing blood.
Her scream was drowned in the roar of the storm, and she stumbled, her magic faltering for the first time.
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Alaric roared, striking with a lightning storm of unimaginable scale. Veydrath sent torrents of molten fire in tandem. The blasts converged on Thailra like a hammer of destruction.
She didn't flinch.
The attacks collided against her like raindrops against steel, each one dissolving into nothing. The air around her shimmered, distorting the fire and lightning until they bent back, harmlessly toward the ground.
Alaric's eyes widened in disbelief. "Impossible!"
Veydrath growled, hurling the last of his energy in a concentrated beam. It tore through the sky like a meteor—but Thailra's staff struck it midair. The beam splintered and evaporated before it could reach her.
With a single motion, she propelled herself forward, faster than the eye could track. Veydrath barely had time to raise his staff before she was there. Her white hair whipped like silver blades, slicing the air, her staff striking with surgical precision.
Veydrath's chest caved under the blow. Alaric lunged, trying to stop her—his staff clashed against hers, and for a moment, the force shook the earth beneath them. Then Thailra twisted, sending him flying into a jagged wall of shattered stone.
The battlefield around them became a blur of lightning and silver—Thailra moved, struck, and vanished before anyone could anticipate.
Each motion left scorched earth in its wake.
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Dracula's form shimmered, appearing in multiple places at once. Lady Semina's magic slashed, trying to pin him—but he always shifted, always avoided, always struck.
With a wave of his hand, icy chains erupted from the ground, latching onto her staff. She screamed, forcing her magic outward to break free, but the chains only froze her movements further.
"Do you tire so easily?" Dracula murmured, appearing above her. His shadow engulfed her form. She swung blindly, magic exploding from her fingertips, but it met nothing. He had already vanished.
When he struck, it was merciless.
He didn't kill—yet—but he crushed, battered, and burned with frost that burned like fire. Lady Semina's arms shook; veins popped as she poured every ounce of her power into the fight, yet Dracula only smiled.
Finally, he unleashed a concentrated pulse of ice and darkness directly at her chest. She screamed, forcing her staff to absorb it—but it sent a shockwave through her body, knocking her to the ground.
Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, and her hands trembled.
Dracula landed gracefully beside her, staff clutched casually in his hand.
"You can do no more," he said softly.
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Iskaria's eyes burned with desperation, her voice hoarse but commanding. "Duncan… come closer. Let's see how you fare against true venom!"
Evelyne joined her, murmuring incantations that made the air itself tremble. The ground cracked and split as thousands of snakes, black as tar and glimmering with toxic venom, erupted from the earth, writhing and hissing.
They surged forward like living shadows, coiling in spirals, fangs dripping with acid that sizzled the shattered stone beneath them.
The battlefield became a writhing sea of serpents, the hiss of a thousand mouths deafening. Soldiers fled in terror, screaming, as the snakes struck at anything that moved.
Duncan didn't flinch.
His silver blade pulsed with energy, arcs of lightning leaping from the tip. Each strike sliced through the snakes, but they were endless—each severed head replaced by three more.
Evelyne cackled. "You can't cut them all! You'll be consumed!"
He stepped forward, lightning surging along the blade. With a single, sweeping strike, a blinding arc of silver light ripped through the mass of serpents, vaporizing hundreds instantly.
The air shimmered, the heat and venom twisting and evaporating in the wake of his power.
Iskaria's jaw dropped as he moved forward—methodical, unstoppable, each step cleaving a path through their assault.
"You… you can't possibly—!"
But Duncan's silver eyes were cold, unwavering. "I've already faced death… I will not falter."
With a controlled roar, he cut through the remaining snakes, the ground smoking beneath him.
Evelyne shrieked, barely avoiding the arc of his blade, and stumbled, blood streaking her forehead from a grazing strike.
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Alaric and Veydrath had vanished, blending into shadows to strike without warning.
But Thailra moved as if the very air betrayed their presence. Each footstep was precise; each motion calculated.
Lightning and fire erupted toward her from where they hid, but she twisted midair, her staff slicing through the invisible space where they struck.
Sparks flew, fire and lightning fizzled midair, and their invisibility was shattered as her strikes tore through them, leaving gaping wounds across their bodies.
Blood sprayed, their magic faltered, and they staggered, screaming in pain.
Alaric tried to rise, gripping his staff with shaking hands, but Thailra's silver hair whipped forward like blades. One strike to his chest lifted him off his feet, his body slammed into jagged stone.
He coughed blood, staggering to remain upright.
Veydrath roared in frustration and lunged blindly—his staff glowing with molten fire—but Thailra disarmed him mid-swing, slashing across his torso.
Blood gushed from multiple wounds, his invisibility gone. He coughed, eyes wide in disbelief as he staggered under the onslaught.
"Still fighting?" she murmured softly, almost mocking. Her staff rose again, crackling with power, ready to strike once more.
They tried to flee—too slow.
Each strike from Thailra landed with merciless precision, a blur of white and silver that left the battlefield scorched in her wake.
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Lady Semina, broken but unyielding, struggled to stand as Dracula hovered above, shadows swirling around his form.
Her staff lashed out, attempting to bind him with spikes of venom and magic—but he shifted effortlessly, ice forming on his hands like deadly claws.
With a casual flick, piercing shards of ice shot toward her, embedding into her skin, slicing through muscle, tearing at her eyes.
She screamed, clawing at the shards, vomiting blood, but still she tried to strike back.
Every movement was met with relentless precision—Dracula appeared where she could not block, each strike leaving frost-bitten wounds, blood freezing on the edges.
The ground beneath her fractured as he descended, a storm of ice spiraling around his form. He struck her midair, sending her crashing into the stone, coughing up blood, her vision blurred.
She tried to summon magic, venom lashing outward, but his icy claws shattered the energy before it could leave her hands.
"Do you tire so easily?" he murmured, voice soft but deadly. His shadow engulfed her, pressing her to the ground.
Frost and darkness ripped across her body, leaving her arms shaking, blood mixing with frost as her defenses collapsed.
Semina's screams echoed, raw and broken. Dracula's eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction, each movement deliberate, his cruelty measured.
He leaned close, whispering as he watched her struggle, "You can do no more."
Her body quivered. She was alive… but barely. Every ounce of her magic had been drained, every strike against him nullified.
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The battlefield was no longer recognizable.
Stone shattered, earth torn asunder, fires ignited by Thailra's strikes leapt into the sky, lightning crackling like screaming serpents.
Smoke and ash swirled, cutting visibility to mere shadows of the combatants.
Iskaria's lips were pale, blood streaking her cheek. Her staff, scorched and splintered, pulsed with corrupted energy as she barked orders.
"Evelyne! Push him! Do not relent!"
Evelyne's eyes glimmered with unhinged fury.
She hurled herself forward, limbs striking with precision born from desperation. Every strike she made sang with lethal intent—but Duncan moved like a storm incarnate, each swing of silver lightning slicing through her attacks as if they were made of paper.
Sparks and black venom collided in the air, sizzling like molten steel on stone.
He pivoted effortlessly, catching Evelyne's staff again, spinning her through the air. She crashed into a fractured pillar, shards of stone embedding in her shoulders. She rolled, blood dripping from multiple wounds, but rose instantly, her grin maniacal.
"You can't stop the storm!"
Duncan's eyes glowed a brighter silver, his movements blurring beyond sight.
Each strike carved arcs of light through the battlefield, cutting through snakes, shadows, and raw magic alike.
He didn't pause—he was judgment incarnate.
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Alaric and Veydrath, bruised and broken, tried to regroup. Lightning and fire flared in tandem, but Thailra anticipated every motion. Her white hair whipped across her face like silver blades.
Veydrath's molten fire strike met her staff midair.
The energy erupted violently, hurling molten shards into the sky. One shard impaled his shoulder, melting bone and armor alike.
He screamed, swinging blindly, but she was already behind him—her staff crashing across his skull with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed the cracked stone beneath her feet.
Alaric's lightning blast struck her like a hammer—but it recoiled against an invisible barrier of her sheer speed.
Thailra's staff slammed into his chest, and for an instant, the air itself seemed to shatter. He was lifted and thrown, cracking multiple bones against jagged stone, his scream echoing across the battlefield.
Every strike from her was surgical, merciless. Every move left destruction in its wake.
They were no longer fighting—they were being annihilated.
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Lady Semina, kneeling, barely able to summon magic, felt Dracula's shadow descend upon her like a black hurricane.
His claws, tipped with ice like poisoned daggers, tore through her defenses with chilling efficiency. Every breath she drew rattled with pain, every heartbeat a hammer of agony.
She swung her staff wildly, shards of venomous magic exploding outward, but he moved through them like a ghost. Frost ripped her arms, flesh burning as ice formed inside veins.
He pressed closer, whispering with lethal calm, "You can fight… but you cannot win."
Her body quivered violently, each muscle screaming in pain. Frost mixed with blood, her arms trembling as she forced a final spell. Dark spikes erupted, slicing the air—but Dracula's shadow shifted instantly, warping reality itself.
Each spike shattered midair, leaving jagged ice fragments that embedded into the stone around her.
He struck again, claws slicing along her ribs, sending shards of ice deep into muscle. Her scream echoed, raw, ragged, and broken. Yet still, Semina struggled, forcing her staff upward, summoning what little energy remained.
"Enough," he whispered. Then with a sudden motion, faster than the eye could track, he tore her staff from her hands, shattering it against the stone.
Frost and darkness engulfed her, and she collapsed, gasping, blood dripping, every ounce of power drained.
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Iskaria roared, dark energy coiling around her like a living serpent, hissing with fury.
"Duncan! Face me! Face the venom of a thousand deaths!"
She swung her staff, unleashing a massive storm of snakes that surged forward, black and glimmering with acid. The earth itself seemed to writhe under their weight. Fangs snapped, poison sizzled, and soldiers fled in terror.
Duncan didn't flinch.
He stepped forward, silver blade pulsing like the heart of a sun. Lightning leapt from the tip, arcs of silver slicing through the writhing mass of serpents. Hundreds evaporated instantly, venom turning to smoke under his controlled fury.
Iskaria's eyes widened, disbelief breaking through her fury. "No… this is impossible!"
"You… cannot win, Iskaria, I waited for this day" Duncan said, voice cold and absolute, silver energy dancing across his blade.
He surged forward, cutting through the serpents with a single motion, leaving scorched earth and shattered stone in his wake.
Evelyne screamed, charging again—but his blade met hers with a crack that resonated like thunder, sending her flying. Blood streaked her face as she slid across jagged rock.
The storm around them twisted violently, dark energy and silver lightning colliding, shaking the very air.
The battlefield itself seemed to scream, caught between destruction and annihilation.
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Thailra moved like a specter, unseen until she struck.
Each attack she made was devastating, tearing through Alaric and Veydrath's defenses as if they were illusions. Bones shattered, blood erupted, screams filled the air—but she pressed on.
There was no mercy.
There was only precision.
Even as they tried to flee, her strikes were relentless. Every inch of ground around her burned, every motion leaving carnage in its wake.
The battlefield was no longer a war—it was a slaughter.
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Dracula hovered above Semina's broken form, shadows spiraling, ice and darkness entwined. Every movement he made was deliberate, every strike measured to crush and humiliate, yet never to kill—at least, not yet.
Semina's body quivered violently, but she remained alive.
Barely. Every ounce of power had been drained, every magical assault nullified. Her body was a testament to sheer survival against impossible odds.
Dracula's eyes gleamed, cold satisfaction in his gaze. "You are spent. You can do no more."
Semina shivered in place, frost and blood dripping across her body. She tried to speak, but only a hoarse whisper emerged.
The battlefield stood still for a heartbeat—then chaos erupted anew.
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The battlefield had become a graveyard of shattered stone, scorched earth, and twisted metal.
Fires hissed, smoke choked the air, and the screams of the wounded echoed like distant thunder. But above all, one presence dominated: Duncan.
His silver eyes blazed like molten steel, every step radiating unyielding judgment.
Iskaria roared, dark energy coiling violently around her staff, venomous serpents striking endlessly. Evelyne charged beside her, wild and unhinged, their combined assault a tidal wave of fury and hatred.
Duncan did not flinch. Not once.
With a single, fluid motion, his blade split—silver lightning arcing across both swords. Two gleaming edges pulsed with raw, unstoppable energy. His eyes locked onto them, cold, merciless, absolute.
"Enough," he said, voice like steel wrapped in fire.
He surged forward.
Iskaria's dark energy surged up to meet him, massive coils of corrupted power smashing into him—but Duncan made a twin blades and struck with impossible speed, slicing through the storm like it was nothing.
The energy shattered midair, hissing, writhing, and vanishing in sparks of silver and black smoke.
Evelyne screamed, lunging with deadly precision—but Duncan met her head-on, twin swords spinning, arcs of lightning tearing through the air.
Her staff shattered against the first strike, her body thrown back by the force. Blood streaked her face, but she rose again, claws at the ready, hatred in her eyes.
He did not hesitate.
With ruthless precision, Duncan pierced.
One blade through Iskaria's chest, another through Evelyne's.
The silver steel sank deep, piercing heart after heart, igniting a storm of pain and terror.
Iskaria's scream was raw, primal, as blood gushed from her mouth, her hands clutching the blades in a desperate, useless attempt to stop them.
Her knees buckled, and she hit the stone, trembling violently, eyes wide with disbelief and horror.
Evelyne mirrored her sister, crimson streaming down her lips, hands shaking as she tried to hold onto the impossible.
But the twin blades did not waver.
They were judgment incarnate, unstoppable and merciless. Her knees hit the ground, the world tilting, her body trembling with the knowledge that this was the end.
Iskaria and Evelyne lay kneeling, clutching his blades in a final, futile plea. Blood poured from their mouths, down their chests, staining their hands and the stone beneath them.
Iskaria burst into a dark chuckle, her face smeared with blood, her palm trembling on the sword.
"You may have won this time, Duncan… but in the next life, I will. Your mother deserved more than a mere snake bite. You may have gotten what you wanted, but beware my new vengeance, Duncan Tharagon," she spat, blood dripping from her mouth.
Duncan pressed the sword deeper. Her eyes widened in shock as more blood gushed from her lips. Lady Evelyne was already dead, her body lying lifeless beside her.
"And I am more than ready for your vengeance," Duncan muttered, his voice cold as steel. "Next time, it won't just be a sword piercing your heart—you'll beg for it."
With ruthless precision, he thrust the sword out of her chest, then raised it high, bringing it down again and again on her head with brutal force. Piece by piece, her body was separated. Her limbs, torso, and head fell to the stone floor, lifeless.
Beside her, Lady Evelyne's body remained still, a silent witness to the carnage.
The battlefield was silent, save for the dripping of blood and the echo of Duncan's merciless triumph.
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The battlefield trembled under Thailra's fury.
Every step she took scorched the earth, every motion shattered stone and bone alike. Alaric and Veydrath, already battered beyond recognition, attempted to mount one final assault—but they were no match for her.
Lightning and molten fire erupted simultaneously from their staffs, desperate and furious, yet Thailra moved like a living storm.
Her silver hair whipped around her face like razor-sharp blades, slicing through the air with surgical precision.
Every swing of her staff carved arcs of pure destruction; every strike tore through armor, bone, and flesh alike.
Alaric's staff shattered mid-swing, splintering against her force.
She struck him in the chest before he could react, her staff driving through bone with a sickening crunch, lifting him into the air.
He screamed, blood spraying like fountains, as she spun him around and slammed him into a jagged pillar.
The impact sent shards of stone flying, embedding into his chest and shoulders. He hit the ground, coughing blood, every bone in his body screaming in agony.
Veydrath charged blindly, molten fire surging from his staff—but Thailra's eyes glinted with cold, merciless intent.
She sidestepped with impossible speed, her staff slicing across his torso like a blade through silk. He screamed as ribs shattered and blood erupted in a torrent.
Before he could even stagger, she grabbed him by the neck with one hand, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.
"Beg me for mercy," she whispered, her voice calm, almost seductive in its cruelty.
Veydrath could only choke, coughing blood, eyes wide with terror. With a sudden, brutal motion, she slammed him into the ground repeatedly, each impact cracking stone and sending shockwaves across the battlefield.
When he tried to rise, she struck his spine with the edge of her staff, vertebrae splintering under the force.
He fell, broken, gasping, utterly defeated.
Alaric crawled toward her, desperation and fury mingling with fear. Thailra twirled her staff once, striking the ground—and the earth itself erupted.
Spikes of jagged stone pierced his limbs, impaling him through shoulders and thighs. He screamed, writhing, but she did not pause. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped his neck effortlessly, the sound of bone breaking echoing like a death knell.
The battlefield fell silent—except for Thailra's breathing, steady, controlled, and utterly inhuman.
She surveyed the ruin she had wrought: Alaric and Veydrath broken, blood pooling beneath them, their bodies mangled beyond recognition.
Not a single strike of theirs had landed, not a single ounce of resistance had survived her onslaught.
Her silver hair glinted in the fading storm-light as she raised her staff, lightning crackling along its length, fire licking its edges. Every motion left devastation in its wake.
The remaining soldiers dared not move; even the air seemed to shrink from her presence.
The war was over.
There was no mercy.
There was only Thailra.
___
Lady Semina struggled to rise, her body trembling, frost and blood streaking her arms. Every ounce of her magic had been drained, her defenses shattered.
Dracula hovered above her, shadows swirling like living darkness, ice forming on his hands like deadly claws.
"Do you tire so easily?" he murmured, his voice calm, cold, and utterly merciless.
She swung her staff desperately, summoning the last shards of venomous magic—but Dracula shifted effortlessly, warping through space.
The ice on his hands erupted outward, wrapping around her staff, then latching onto her arms with unbreakable force. Her scream echoed, raw and broken, as shards of ice pierced her flesh.
Dracula's eyes glinted with icy intent.
With a flick of his wrist, an enormous blade of pure ice materialized, sharp and cold enough to cut through stone. Semina's eyes widened in terror as he swung it with precise, fatal speed.
The icy blade struck cleanly, severing her head from her shoulders in a single, fluid motion.
Blood and frost sprayed across the battlefield, her scream cut abruptly in a haunting silence. Her body crumpled lifelessly to the ground, frost creeping across her limbs as the life drained from her.
Dracula lowered the ice blade, his expression unreadable, shadows curling around him. The air felt heavier, darker—every survivor of the battle staring in disbelief at the sheer, cold finality of his strike.
Silence fell over the battlefield.
Lady Semina was gone.
Duncan stood, breath heavy, as Thailra began walking toward him. He watched her closely—her robes still sparking from battle, yet not a single bloodstain marring them.
Dracula stood nearby, silently observing, his own breath heavy, shadows curling faintly around him.
Then, without warning, Thailra broke into a run and leapt into his arms. Duncan wrapped his arms around her tightly, as if his entire life depended on holding her. In that moment, she was all that mattered.
Dracula looked away, rubbing his chest, but a gentle smile lingered on his lips.
"I love you so much, Duncan. I love you so fucking much!" Thailra sobbed, clutching him desperately.
Duncan buried his face in her neck, letting his tears soak into her shoulder. When he finally pulled back slightly, he cupped her face in his hands, gazing at her with quiet, fierce intensity.
"I really don't know how it happened, but I want to spend the rest of my days on this Earth with you… Little Moon," he whispered, tears streaking his face. Without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed her. Thailra responded instantly, her arms wrapping around him as if to anchor herself to this moment.
"Oh, please…" Dracula muttered, turning away, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
Then, suddenly, a book appeared, hovering in the air. Its cover gleamed with an otherworldly light, and on its back, the words The Tale of Ashkaroth were etched in shimmering script.
The pages flipped rapidly, as if eager to tell the story, and Giantica's distant roar echoed across the skies. The brilliance of the book was blinding, forcing Dracula to shield his eyes with his arm.
Thailra and Duncan stood together, hand in hand, as a gentle pull began to draw them toward the floating tome. Slowly, they started disappearing into the glowing pages, their forms blending with the magic that radiated from it.
Together, they had saved the great land of Ashkaroth.
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TBC
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