Fenrir landed a fierce punch on Wraith, sending him staggering backward. A streak of blood trickled from Wraith’s mouth, and he wiped it away with a bloody smirk. “Even with only half your strength, it seems I still don’t stand a chance, Fenrir.”
Fenrir chuckled, his eyes flashing with a fierce glint. “You’ll never be strong enough to defeat me, kid. It took the lives of your father and brother to put me in this state. Do you really think you can face me alone?” Fenrir’s voice dropped, an edge of anger darkening his tone. “The wounds they left still ache to this day, and I’ve been itching to settle the score. Pity they died before I could have my revenge. But here you are, son of Damon IgnisVorn, ready to take a beating in their place.”
Wraith’s smirk faltered at the mention of his family. His eyes hardened, hatred darkening his expression. “Today, you’re the one who’s going to pay, Fenrir. But I won’t kill you—I’ll make you, my puppet. Your strength and bloodline are too rare and too strong to be wasted.”
With a roar, Fenrir leaped toward Wraith, forming a crackling pillar of lightning in his hand. He hurled it at Wraith, but just as it was about to strike, a figure blurred in front of Wraith, taking in the lightning effortlessly. When the light cleared, a woman stood before Fenrir, unharmed, with a twisted smirk on her face. Fenrir’s eyes narrowed in shock—he’d never seen anyone take a hit from his lightning pillar and remain standing.
“Am I getting old?” he muttered under his breath, sizing her up. This woman had moved faster than his eyes could track.
Wraith, visibly annoyed, growled, “I was handling Fenrir, Nyra. Why are you interfering?”
Nyra tilted her head, eyes rolling with a playful malice, her lips curling into a taunting smile as she lazily swirled her tongue. In a slow, mocking tone, she drawled, “Orders from the Queen, sire. She wants you to take care of other matters.”
Wraith clenched his jaw, giving Fenrir one last glare. “Leave him alive. We need him.”
Nyra’s grin grew even darker, and in a voice like a slow, creepy whisper, she promised, “I’ll restrain myself, sire.” Wraith, a smirk on his face “You bitch, you think you stand a chance against the mighty Fenrir, you’re still standing because of the regeneration powers from the Queen, so hurry before he turns you to dust”.
With a final reluctant glance at Fenrir, Wraith turned and disappeared into the dark fog. Fenrir squared his stance, realizing that his real opponent was now Nyra, who stood watching him, her expression dripping with sinister amusement, and the twisted aura around her.
Fenrir sized up Nyra, who looked as though she was reveling in some twisted ecstasy, her eyes half-rolled back, and her lips curled into a wicked smile. She met his gaze with a mocking glint in her eye, not an ounce of fear or respect.
"I've never seen you before. Who are you, girl?" he growled.
She laughed softly, a dark sound that grated against the chaos around them. "I'm Nyra," she purred, "and that's all you need to know."
Her complete disregard for him—the legendary Fenrir—rattled him. She didn’t care who he was or what power he wielded. Her blade flashed in an instant, and though he moved to evade, her strike was too quick. A shallow cut appeared on his arm. Nyra lifted her blade, admiring the droplets of his blood as she slowly licked them, her grin spreading wider. “I’m going to devour you.”
For the first time in years, Fenrir felt a spark of true excitement—and danger. She was fast, He knew he was stronger, but her speed and immunity to his lightning attacks unnerved him.
Without wasting another second, he lunged forward, his fist a blur, aiming to end this swiftly. But Nyra moved like a shadow, slipping out of his grasp and retaliating with another slash that he narrowly dodged, though not without earning another cut on his shoulder.
Meanwhile, Talon, Ilara, Darius, and Kaelan were fighting their own battles, surrounded by a seemingly endless wave of enemy forces. With friendly troops mixed into the melee, they couldn’t unleash their full strength without endangering their own soldiers. The battlefield had turned into a deadly trap, and Fenrir could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He had to end this fight before they see any losses.
Summoning his full power, Fenrir roared as pillars of lightning erupted around them, forming a pentagon that locked Nyra in place. Within seconds, he launched a devastating lightning attack that barely gave her a moment to react. She twisted to evade, but the lightning grazed her, searing her left hand and scoring a mark across the left side of her face.
Fenrir smirked, satisfaction in his voice. “So, there is a limit to how much lightning you can take.”
Nyra’s smile faded and she thought to herself, what kind of a monster is he even with all this regeneration I’m damaged, without Queen’s regenerative powers I would have turned to ashes, her amusement replaced by a deadly rage as she touched the scratch on her face. Her eyes burned with fury. In an instant, she unleashed a dense, dark smoke that spread around Fenrir like a thick shroud, obscuring his vision. Within the smoke, he saw shadowy shapes forming—a swarm of blades crafted from the dark mist. They launched toward him like a thousand daggers, slicing through his defenses. He braced himself, shielding his body with lightning, but the sheer number overwhelmed him, leaving him bloodied with countless cuts. But his regenerative powers surpass any others and in an instant, he recovered,
The fight raged on, each of them trading vicious blows. Fenrir knew he had to find a way to stop Nyra, or the relentless assault might prove fatal. But as he watched Nyra through the smoke, his warrior instincts sharpened.
Fenrir leapt high to escape the onslaught of smoke-forged blades, planning to shift into his dragon form mid-air. But just as he was about to transform, a powerful gust cleared the battlefield, dispersing the thick, oppressive fog for miles. Into the scene swept Lara, riding the wind with an aura of crackling lightning. She landed with a fierce grace in front of Nyra, and without hesitation, unleashed an enormous web of lightning threads, covering almost half a square kilometer. Nyra tried to dodge, but the area was too vast; she was caught in the electrifying onslaught, and the bolts tore into her, leaving her badly injured and forced down to her knees.
Fenrir landed beside Lara, patting her shoulder proudly. "Well done, kid."
Lara, blushing with a smile, replied, "Thanks, Papa." Lara she’s nineteen and has been raised by her father and loved by Varghr mercenaries.
Nyra gasped for breath, the injuries slowing her once-fluid movements. Fenrir observed her, puzzled. "Why didn’t my attacks slow her down earlier?" he asked.
Lara nodded toward the remnants of the black fog. "Your attacks did hurt her, but she recovers quickly from that fog. It’s a source of energy for them. If we can clear it from the battlefield, our enemies will be weakened.”
Fenrir let out a hearty laugh. "You truly are my daughter." He turned to leave. "Go ahead, Lara. I’ll let Talon and the others know."
Just as Fenrir about to move, the black fog started to seep back into the battlefield. Emerging from it was a group of six figures, each radiating a dark, formidable power. Sensing the danger, Lara aimed to finish Nyra quickly, but a powerful slash from a massive scythe cut through the air, narrowly missing Lara yet slicing through hundreds of soldiers on both sides. Nyra used the distraction to retreat back to the six newcomers.
The slender figure in the center, wearing a black coat, stepped forward. His pale skin contrasted with glowing green eyes, and his thin frame seemed to vibrate with a sinister energy. He grabbed Nyra by the throat, lifting her effortlessly into the air. She choked and struggled, but he only squeezed harder, his voice cold with disappointment.
"Why are you so weak? You can’t even complete a single task," throwing her aside like discarded waste. Nyra dropped to her knees, gasping for air.
Fenrir and Lara stood together, wary of this powerful newcomer and his entourage. The man in the black hood addressed them in a disturbingly polite tone. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vaelen, the leader of this group. I’m here to collect you both. Cooperate, and I promise to make this quick."
Before either of them could react, a sinister aura surrounded them making them lose a second of their concentration and taking the advantage Vaelen moved with impossible speed, appearing before Lara and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Fenrir, too shocked to move, found himself pushed back by a second figure—a dark-skinned man with eyes that shifted from black to purple. With a wave of his hand, the man opened a black rift in the fabric of space, hurling Fenrir into it before he could resist. The portal snapped shut, leaving Lara alone with Vaelen.
Lara’s eyes glazed over, turning a dark violet as she fell still, unmoving. Her mind was clouded, her will be overridden. Vaelen’s voice was low but commanding. "Kneel."
Obeying without question, Lara dropped to her knees as if she were nothing more than a puppet.
Far across the battlefield, Talon sensed Fenrir’s presence vanish. Anxiety gripped him as he fought his way through waves of enemies, desperate to reach his last known location. But the sheer numbers around him made it impossible to break through.
Vaelen turned his attention back to Nyra, who was still nursing her wounds. “Where did Sir Wraith go?”
Nyra, still in pain, managed a weak response. “The Queen sent him to track down the other commanders of Varghr and eliminate them, one by one.”
Vaelen nodded. “Understood. Rathor,” he addressed the dark-skinned man, “take Kara, Nero, and Nyra with you to assist Sir Wraith. Myself, Celeste, and Edik will oversee things here.”
With a nod, Rathor opened another black rift. Kara, the scythe-wielder—a young, muscular man with dark red hair and a long-bloodstained Scythe—stepped through, followed by Nyra, now fully recovered. Nero, a figure covered in black tattoos with fiery orange hair and a formidable build, entered next. Lastly, Rathor himself stepped through, closing the portal behind them.
As the rift sealed shut, Vaelen turned his eerie green gaze back to Lara, still kneeling in submission. “Now, my dear,” he whispered, “it’s time to test how far your father’s blood can take you.”
Vaelen approached Lara, his eerie green eyes locking onto hers. “Lara, my dear,” he said softly, almost like a father addressing his child, “I have a task for you. Go to Darius and bring him to me alive. I know you won’t disappoint me.”
He extended his hand, and with his pinkie fingernail, he made a small, deliberate cut across his palm. Dark, viscous blood seeped out, glowing faintly with a sinister aura. Placing his hand at Lara’s lips, he let the blood drip into her.
Lara’s lips were soon stained with the dark liquid, and she savored it as though it were nectar, her expression twisting into a mixture of ecstasy and submission. As she consumed the blood, something shifted in her. The black fog that had begun to thicken across the battlefield seemed to be drawn toward her. It spiraled and coiled around her body, flowing into her like a living entity.
Her skin began to change, transforming into a light silver sheen that reflected the dim light of the chaotic battlefield. The white lightning threads she had once emanated turned darker, crackling as they shifted into black and violet tendrils of energy.
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Vaelen stepped back, a wicked smile on his lips. “Magnificent,” he whispered, watching as Lara ascended into the air.
Lara rose slowly, her now-black and purple lightning threads spreading out like a storm, crackling with destructive force. The threads stretched across the battlefield, covering nearly two square miles. The sheer power of her transformation devastated everything within reach, indiscriminately striking down soldiers on both sides. Screams filled the air as the energy ripped through armor and flesh alike, leaving nothing but chaos in her wake.
Far across the battlefield, Darius stood amidst a swarm of enemies, his blade flashing with precision as he cut down foes effortlessly. He moved with the grace of a seasoned warrior, protecting the soldiers under his command while dispatching his enemies with calm efficiency.
Lara’s darkened gaze locked onto him. She raised a hand, her blackened lightning swirling around her like a storm’s wrath, and with a sudden burst of speed, she leaped forward.
The air crackled violently as Lara descended on Darius, her first strike a concentrated blast of black lightning. Darius sensed the attack just in time, pivoting and raising his shield, which absorbed most of the blow but sent him skidding several feet backward.
He looked up, eyes narrowing as he recognized the figure before him. “Lara?” he called out, disbelief and confusion in his voice.
But there was no response. The silver-skinned, lightning-clad figure before him was no longer the Lara he knew. Without hesitation, she attacked again, her movements swift and relentless.
Darius parried her strikes, his weapon clashing against her lightning-coated fists. The power behind each blow forced him to retreat step by step, even as he studied her movements. “This isn’t you,” he growled, trying to reach her through the haze of corruption. “Whatever happened to you, fight it!”
Lara’s only reply was a burst of violet lightning aimed directly at him; her face devoid of emotion. Darius gritted his teeth, steeling himself for the fight ahead. He knew he couldn’t hold back—not against this version of Lara. Not if he wanted to survive.
Darius sensed the impending attack from Lara, and not wanting the soldiers around him to be collateral damage, he emanated Reikon tightly, his blade humming with resonance. With a deep breath, he unleashed a powerful wave of sound that rippled outward, sending soldiers from both sides flying over two miles away. The battlefield was momentarily clear, leaving only him and Lara in the immediate vicinity.
As the black and violet lightning pillar surged toward him, Darius planted his feet firmly, raising his blade and shield to meet the attack. The crackling energy collided with him head-on, creating a deafening explosion of light and sound. When the dust settled, Darius stood unscathed, though his stance had shifted slightly from the sheer force.
“Lara Fenrir!” he bellowed, his voice echoing across the battlefield. “What are you doing? Are you betraying the Varghr, Snap out of it!”
But there was no response—only the cold, dead stare of her corrupted eyes. She launched herself at him again, her attacks growing faster and more ferocious. Darius dodged and deflected with precision, moving like a shadow amidst the storm of lightning strikes. He could see it now—Vaelen’s influence, dark and insidious, coursing through her veins.
"She’s not herself," he muttered under his breath, anger boiling in his chest. He recognized the signature of Vaelen’s necromancy all too well.
Vaelen. His long-lost brother.
It had been 25 years since they’d last seen each other. Darius had spent countless nights searching for him, trying to find and bring him back from the darkness. But every lead led to dead ends—or worse, atrocities Vaelen had left in his wake. Recently, rumors of Vaelen’s presence in Solgard had reached him, and they described a man who was no longer human, a being shrouded in darkness.
When Darius learned of Vaelen’s alliance with Kaelthor in the attack on Frostpeak Highlands, he joined Aldric Storme and Fenrir’s forces, keeping the truth to himself. He had hoped to handle Vaelen alone, to avoid dragging his comrades into his family’s cursed history. Now, with Lara under Vaelen’s control, he realized the cost of his silence.
"If only I had told Aldric and Fenrir earlier…" he thought bitterly.
Lara’s attacks grew even stronger, her rage ripping apart the earth itself. Lightning bolts carved massive craters into the battlefield, and the ground trembled as though it might collapse entirely. Her power was devastating both their forces and the enemy’s.
Darius hesitated, his grip on Reikon tightening. "I can’t kill her," he thought. Lara was just a kid—a spirited, cheerful soul. She reminded him of what they were fighting for. And then there was Fenrir. He owed the dragon his life. To strike down his daughter would be a betrayal he couldn’t live with.
But the situation was growing dire. Lara’s attacks were starting to wear on him. Despite his considerable power, Darius wasn’t invincible. And if he didn’t act soon, more lives would be lost.
“Lara!” he shouted again, his voice cracking with desperation. “You’re stronger than this! Fight it! Don’t let him control you!”
Still, there was no response—only another barrage of black and violet lightning. Darius tried to use his sound waves to disrupt the necromancy, creating a resonating hum that could shatter spells. But Vaelen’s grip on her was too strong.
And then she gathered her energy for a final, massive attack. Darius recognized the technique—it was one of Fenrir Lumen’s signature moves. The pillar of lightning she unleashed was nearly identical to her father’s power, only darker and far more destructive.
Darius gritted his teeth, gripping Reikon with both hands. "I can’t hold back anymore," he thought. "I have to end this."
As the lightning pillar roared toward him, he focused all his energy into the blade. Reikon glowed with a brilliant blue light, its hum turning into a deafening crescendo. With a mighty swing, he released a sonic wave that collided with the pillar, creating a shockwave that shook the battlefield.
The clash sent both Darius and Lara flying backward. Darius landed hard, coughing as he forced himself back to his feet. Across the battlefield, Lara was on her knees, her lightning flickering erratically.
“Lara,” he called out again, his voice softer now. “I’ll get you out of this, no matter what it takes.”
But he knew that Vaelen was watching. And he knew his brother wouldn’t let Lara go so easily.
Darius, still reeling from the aftershock of Lara's devastating attack, was caught off guard by two figures lurking in the shadows. Edik emerged first, his movements swift and calculated, Edik with a body covered with scars, exposed flesh, and patches of decaying, diseased tissue, Pale, almost translucent skin with visible sores and signs of extreme corruption and Hollow, glowing eyes that exude malice, A tattered, dark cloak that emphasizes a sense of dread and decay. Before Darius could react, Celeste materialized behind him, her presence cold and malevolent. With a fluid motion, she conjured her Bone Prison, jagged spears of ivory erupting from the ground and piercing through his body. The sharp edges bound him tightly, leaving him immobilized and bleeding from multiple wounds. Celeste, has short, platinum-white hair styled elegantly, her skin pale, giving her an eerie presence, she is clad in bone-themed armor with ornate carvings. The armor is dark and gothic, blending metal and skeletal designs, giving her an otherworldly and sinister look. She wields a large staff like weapon adorned with sharp, bone-like protrusions and skull motifs.
Edik followed, stepping forward and placed a hand on Darius’s chest. A wave of paralyzing energy coursed through Darius’s body, locking his muscles in place. He strained against Edik’s paralysis poison, his heart pounding, but he couldn’t move a single limb.
As he hung there, trapped and vulnerable, a familiar voice echoed across the battlefield.
“Little brother…”
Vaelen stepped forward, his presence commanding and sinister. His once-human features were now warped by darkness—his skin pale as death, his eyes glowing a malevolent green. His long, black coat billowed in the wind, and a faint aura of necromantic energy surrounded him like a shroud.
“You could have ended this battle in an instant,” Vaelen said, his tone almost mournful. “One blow, and we’d all be fallen. But as always, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You can’t harm your comrades, can you?” He leaned closer, his voice dripping with venom. “You’re as pathetic as you’ve always been.”
Darius’s eyes burned with fury, but his mouth refused to obey. Paralyzed by Edik, he could only glare at his brother.
Vaelen continued, his expression twisting into a mocking grin. “If only you were as merciless with your so-called allies as you are with your enemies. You would be unstoppable. But no, you have to be the noble one. The righteous one. Tell me, Darius, what has your precious ‘nobility’ earned you?” He paused, his voice softening to a mockery of tenderness. “Nothing but pain. And it pains my heart, my dear little brother, to see you like this.”
Darius tried to speak, tried to channel even a sliver of Reikon, but the bone prison and the paralysis held him fast.
Vaelen straightened, turning his gaze upward. “Lara.”
From above, Lara descended, her darkened lightning crackling faintly around her as she landed gracefully at Vaelen’s feet. Her once-vivid eyes were now hollow, devoid of emotion. She knelt before Vaelen like a loyal servant, her head bowed.
“Good girl,” Vaelen murmured, placing a hand on her head and ruffling her hair like she was a prized pet. “You’ve done well. You’re going to be the finest addition to my collection.”
Darius’s heart ached at the sight. Lara, the vibrant and playful soul who had brought laughter to others, was now nothing more than a puppet under Vaelen’s control.
Vaelen looked toward the horizon, where the first faint light of dawn was breaking through the darkness. “The sun will rise soon,” he said. “Let’s end this for today.”
With a wave of his hand, he turned and began to walk away, his black coat trailing behind him. Edik and Celeste followed, their footsteps echoing in the silence. Celeste raised her hand, and the Bone Prison lifted into the air, carrying Darius like a trophy. He floated behind them, his body pierced and bound, helpless to stop them.
As they disappeared into the distance, the battlefield lay in ruins. The ground was scarred from Lara’s lightning, and the cries of wounded soldiers echoed faintly in the air. Darius’s heart burned with anger, sorrow, and a deep resolve. Though he couldn’t act now, he vowed silently that this wasn’t the end.
In the snowy peaks where the frigid winds howled and the darkness seemed alive with menace, Wraith stood victorious amidst the shattered remnants of Ragnar's group. The black fog he commanded swirled around him, its oppressive presence seeping into every crevice of the battlefield. Ragnar, bloodied and broken, lay defeated at his feet. Wraith, his face stoic and unyielding, turned his gaze away from Ragnar.
As he prepared to leave, a shimmering portal crackled open behind him. Emerging from the vortex were Rathor, Kara, Nero, and Nyra. Rathor stepped forward with a mocking bow, his tone laced with false humility.
“Sire, it seems you’ve finished Ragnar and his group,” Rathor said, a sly smile playing on his lips. “You didn’t seem to need our help. Apologies, sire, for underestimating your strength. It was foolish of us to think you’d need assistance from peasants like us.”
Wraith, his patience already worn thin, glared at Rathor. “Stop your act, Rathor. I know you’re not here to assist me. You’re here to keep an eye on me. Don’t forget,” he added, his voice a low growl, “I am still the king. Your powers exist in this realm because I allow it. Without me, you’d be nothing more than a fleeting shadow.”
Rathor, unfazed, chuckled softly. “Of course, sire. I am but a fledgling in the presence of your greatness.” He gestured toward the horizon, where the first hints of dawn were beginning to break. “If you’re finished here, allow me to escort you to Rhae’s group. We can strike before the sun rises.”
“Whatever,” Wraith muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. “Do it quickly.”
Rathor opened a new portal shimmered to life. The group stepped through, arriving near Rhae’s position. The black fog enveloped the area, obscuring Rhae groups movements. As Rhae’s group began to push through the fog, and Rhae desperately trying to reach Wraith, the first rays of sunlight pierced the horizon. The light cut through the darkness, forcing Wraith and his group to retreat.
With a swirl of fog, they vanished, appearing within the grand royal palace in Kaelthor. The halls, adorned with obsidian and dark black and crimson banners, echoed with their footsteps as they made their way to the Throne Chamber. Rathor opened another portal to Vaelen group on main battlefield and Vaelen and the others entered the portal and set his foot inside the Throne chamber,
Inside, the Queen sat regally upon King’s throne. Her silver hair flowed like liquid moonlight, and her dark tiara glinted with an unearthly brilliance. Dressed in an elegant black off-shoulder gown, she exuded a mystical, almost divine aura and her beauty. Upon seeing Wraith, she rose gracefully, her movements like a dancer’s.
“My king,” she said, her voice smooth. She approached Wraith and kissed him, who pulled her into a more deep, possessive kiss. His arm coiled around her waist, drawing her close. When she finally broke free, she bowed slightly, a playful smile on her lips.
Wraith strode toward the throne and seated himself, his imposing presence filling the room. Vaelen stepped forward, bowing deeply. “My queen, my king,” he began, his voice reverent. “We have captured my brother Darius, and I’ve secured a new acquisition for my collection—Lara Fenrir, the only daughter of Fenrir Lumen. If nurtured properly, she could surpass even Fenrir in his prime. She is a remarkable specimen.”
Wraith scoffed, a mocking grin tugging at his lips. “Fenrir in his prime? You wouldn’t have lasted a second against him at his full strength. You have my late brother and father to thank for weakening him all those years ago. Without their sacrifice, Fenrir would have obliterated you.”
Vaelen bowed his head. “My apologies, sire. And indeed, I am eternally grateful for their sacrifice. With their efforts, we caught Fenrir off guard and banished him to another realm. Now, we possess his daughter, a weapon to wield against our enemies.”
Wraith leaned forward his gaze sharp. “While you were busy with your parlor tricks, I defeated Ragnar and his entire group. And Rhae I didn’t get to her in time, but they’ll regroup soon enough. Ensure that neither Rhae nor the remaining Varghr commanders make it to the main battlefield tonight and what of Talon, Ilara, and Kaelan?”
Vaelen hesitated before replying. “We couldn’t engage Talon. Our efforts were focused on Darius, Fenrir and Lara. But rest assured, sire, we will cut off all communication between Talon and the other Varghr forces. Tonight, we’ll strike again and ensure their annihilation.”
The Queen, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. Her voice was commanding yet melodic. “That will be all, Vaelen. You may leave.”
Vaelen bowed once more. “As you command, my queen.” He turned and exited the chamber, followed by the others, leaving Wraith and the Queen alone.
The Queen approached Wraith, her eyes glinting with a mix of admiration and ambition. “The pieces are falling into place, my king,” she said softly.
Wraith smirked, leaning back on his throne.