He extended his hand, his dark eyes sweeping over the gathered monarchs, daring them to refuse. The tension in the room thickened, the weight of his demand hanging like a stormcloud over their heads.
A tall king with a sharp jawline and an air of confidence stepped forward, his dark crimson cloak trailing behind him. He extended his hand firmly. “The Dapan Empire stands with Bloodthorn,” he declared, gripping Dorian’s hand in a show of solidarity before stepping to his side.
Moments later, a young queen, barely older than twenty, rose from her seat. Her golden crown gleamed under the chandelier’s light as she moved gracefully toward Dorian. “Wocuria Kingdom will join you,” she announced with a serene yet decisive tone, placing her delicate hand in his. She took her place on his other side, her poibsed demeanor adding contrast to the brooding intensity surrounding Dorian.
The sight of monarchs aligning with him sent ripples of unease through the remaining leaders. The room buzzed with whispers, and the divide between those willing to pledge allegiance and those hesitating grew ever more apparent.
Dorian now has 10 kingdoms standing on his side and at this moment, only a few kings and queens were left. “Dorian, is this really how you turned out? What about your friends? Was I not a good enough influence on you?” Draven asked, his dragon scales gleaming in the light. Dorian took another drink. “Maybe if you didn’t show so much favoritism to Melanthius and Elowen, then I’d like you.”
“What? I never showed them favoritism!” Draven walked up to him but was stopped by three knights. Dorian looked up at King Kraven and tilted his head. “Well? King Kraven? I heard Drachenwald kingdom is going under with finances. Might as well.”
Kraven smirked and put his middle finger up. “Kid, not enough money in the world, can buy what I’m leaving my son.” His wings flapped in defiance. Dorian growled and turned to Kamara. “What about you? After your late husband was found with a card dug in his neck and dead, you must be struggling. There’s a man going around killing kings in Aurora, what would your husband have done?” He asked with a grin.
Amara stood abruptly, her chair shattering beneath the force of her ice-fisted punch. “Don’t you dare use him for your personal gain!” she screamed, her voice raw with anger. “Your father was a good man—he would’ve never done this. Are you out of your mind?!”
Before she could even catch her breath, Dorian’s figure flashed in front of her, his hand raised in a swift, punishing motion. Amara froze, her heart pounding as the familiar flicker of panic surged through her. She braced herself for the blow—but then, in an instant, the air shifted.
Mel appeared between them, his half-broken shield—marked with the word “SHIELD”—held high, its battered surface barely clinging to its former strength. The room fell into stunned murmurs, Dorian’s eyes widening in disbelief.
Amara blinked in shock, then felt Mel gently place his robe over her head. “Don’t cry,” he whispered softly, his voice laced with an almost tangible tenderness that grounded her.
The tension in the room crackled as three knights charged at Mel, but before they could reach him, Elowen descended from above like a hawk swooping in for the kill. With a powerful punch, she sent all three knights sprawling into the air, their bodies flailing as they crashed back to the ground.
She landed smoothly, her gaze momentarily catching King Liam’s. His arms were crossed, a cold smirk twisting his lips. The sibling rivalry between them hung in the air like a charged storm cloud, palpable and unspoken. Elowen’s rage was clear—revenge for her father burned in her chest—but as she stood there, her fists clenched, she realized this wasn’t the moment for that battle.
Without a word, she turned away, the weight of her decision sinking in. There would be other times.
"Dorian, what happened to you?" Mel bit his lip, frustration clear on his face as he pulled out his nailed bat, swinging it idly in his hand. "Never mind, I’m not here for you," he admitted, his tone hardening with a dismissive edge.
Dorian furrowed his brows, his curiosity piqued but annoyance still simmering beneath the surface. Before he could respond, King Bimoth’s voice boomed from behind Mel, his imposing presence unmistakable. “King Melanthius, I’m ready for our third battle,” Bimoth declared, slinging his massive arm forward, aiming a powerful punch at Mel.
But Mel’s face remained unreadable, the disinterest on his features unshaken as the punch came closer. Before it could land, a burst of motion from the side caught everyone off guard. Arid appeared from the shadows, his hands weaving through the air. Vines shot out, coiling around Bimoth’s arm, yanking it away from Mel’s path with astonishing speed. In the same fluid motion, Arid planted a swift kick to Bimoth’s chest, sending him stumbling backward, though Bimoth regained his stance almost immediately.
"What the—?" Bimoth’s mind raced, confusion mingling with disbelief. ”He’s as strong as Melanthius…” he thought, unable to hide the shock that flickered across his face.
“I’m here to save Amara,” Mel confessed, his voice steady but laced with a sense of urgency.
Flashback:
Mel snatched the letter from Elowen’s hand, his expression flickering from calm to surprised as he read the words. “Oh! Amara! She was my S.B.C.B.F.—Sophomore Black Card Best Friend,” he muttered, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips as the memory flashed in his mind.
His fingers moved quickly across the letter, his eyes scanning the text. But as he reached the final lines, his face fell into a frown, and his heart skipped a beat. “What the—?” he breathed, the words in the letter sending a wave of dread through him.
Amara’s letter read:
Mel,
I hate to ask this of you, but I need your help. I don’t know who else to turn to, and I know you’re the only one who can make a difference.
Your friend Dorian has invited several kingdoms from Aurora to the Bloodthorn Dominion. There’s a dark plan brewing—one that could shake the entire realm. His influence is growing, and I’m starting to believe he may have more control over this than any of us realize.
I’m caught in the middle of something much bigger than myself. Dorian’s intentions are far from noble, and I fear the worst for my people. My father’s death, the political schemes, and the kingdom’s instability—it’s all leading to something catastrophic.
I’ve tried to do this on my own, but I can’t fight this battle alone. I need your strength, Mel. You’re the only one I trust.
Please, I need your help before it’s too late.
-Amara
Mel’s heart raced as he finished reading, a deep sense of urgency settling within him. He looked up at Elowen, who had been silently watching. “Arid, Elowen, We need to go, now.”
Present
Dorian growled, his frustration palpable, and drew a gleaming dagger. Without hesitation, he slashed at Mel, who raised his broken shield to block the blow. The shield shattered into fragments on impact, scattering pieces across the floor.
“Just talk to me!” Mel shouted, leaping back to create distance. But Dorian vanished into a swirl of bats, reappearing behind Mel in an instant. His fist connected with Mel’s back with bone-crushing force, driving him to the ground. Mel gasped, blood spewing from his mouth as he collapsed onto his hands and knees.
One of the kings who had pledged loyalty to Dorian saw the opening and charged at Mel, his weapon raised high. “Finish him!” the king roared. But as he closed in, Mel’s fist crackled with dark lightning, and he swung with all his might. The punch landed squarely on the king’s chest, sending him hurtling across the room. Lightning danced along his body as he convulsed midair, finally crashing into the far wall with a thud.
Mel struggled to his feet, his breaths heavy, the black lightning still crackling along his arm. “I guess this is the perfect time to give this magic a test drive,” he muttered, shaking off the pain. His eyes scanned the room, blazing with determination.
Elowen stepped forward, her voice cutting through the chaos. “If you’re a king or queen who doesn’t want to join Bloodthorn and plans to keep your status, get the hell out!” she yelled. Her command echoed like a thunderclap, and those who hadn’t aligned with Dorian—including Kamara and Kraven—began making their retreat. The castle doors slammed behind them as they fled.
Liam, however, lingered. He stood, brushing off his cloak with a smirk. His gaze lingered on Elowen. “I’ll see you later, Ellie,” he said with a sly grin, before turning on his heel and leaving.
Now, the room held only a few: Kraven, Draven, Bimoth, Mel, Arid, Elowen, Amara, Kamara, and the kingdoms still loyal to Dorian. The tension in the air was thick as Mel turned back to Dorian, who was already preparing for another strike.
But before Dorian could land his blow, Mel’s body flickered and transformed into a streak of black lightning. In a flash, he reappeared behind Dorian, startling everyone, including himself. Mel looked down at his own hands, confusion written all over his face.
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“Uh... okay?” he muttered, glancing around as if trying to process what had just happened.
Meanwhile, Arid and Bimoth squared off, their intense standoff crackling with unspoken tension. Arid glared up at the towering king, his frustration boiling over. Despite being the same age, Bimoth’s regal stature and imposing presence loomed over him like a shadow.
“I’m so pissed off!” Arid shouted, gripping his vine-encrusted bo staff tightly. “How come everyone’s becoming kings at such young ages, and I’m not? It’s so unfair—it pisses me off!”
Bimoth’s response was swift and brutal. His massive fist crashed into Arid, sending him spinning through the air like a ragdoll. But Arid wasn’t one to back down easily. While airborne, he twisted his body mid-spin and struck back, landing three precise blows on Bimoth with his staff. Each strike crackled with nature’s fury, the vines lashing out like whips. Bimoth grunted in pain as the attacks found their mark.
“How did I get so unlucky?” Bimoth thought, clenching his jaw as he steadied himself. “First I had to fight Merlin’s son twice, and now the descendant of Mother Nature?! This is insane!”
Fueled by frustration and determination, Bimoth roared, raising his strength to new heights. His muscles bulged as he charged forward, delivering a thunderous punch that Arid deflected with his staff. The two exchanged rapid blows, each strike shaking the ground beneath them.
Vines and raw power collided in a dazzling display of strength and skill, neither willing to give an inch. The room reverberated with the sounds of their battle, the clash between nature’s force and brute strength captivating everyone watching.
Elowen expertly dodged a series of attacks, her movements graceful yet calculated. She was mid-strike, taking down an opposing king, when another lunged at her from behind. Before she could react, a sharp slash cut through the air, and the attacker staggered back, clutching a gash across his face. Draven stood there, his dragon wings gleaming, the edge of one dripping with fresh blood.
“Hey, Elowen,” Draven said, his tone almost casual despite the chaos around them. “How’ve you been?”
Elowen glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving into a slight smile even as she continued to dodge and incapacitate her foes. “Hello, Draven. I’ve been fine, thanks. The break’s been… interesting.” Her voice remained calm, despite the mayhem surrounding them.
On Dorian and Mel’s side, the tension crackled in the air—quite literally. Dorian lunged at Mel, teeth bared in an attempt to sink into him, but Mel vanished in a streak of black lightning, reappearing behind him.
“How are you doing that?!” Dorian snarled, spinning around to try again, his frustration mounting as he sought to steal Mel’s power.
“I—don’t—know!” Mel shouted back, his voice clipped as he teleported each time Dorian came close. The bursts of lightning illuminated the room in sporadic flashes, leaving scorch marks in their wake as Dorian’s frustration grew with every failed attempt.
The battlefield seemed to twist and distort around them as Mel’s erratic bursts of black lightning kept him a step ahead, while Dorian’s rage burned hotter with every miss.
“I can’t forgive you for what you’ve done, Dorian,” Mel said, his voice firm but pained. “But it’s not too late. You can still change!”
Dorian launched himself into the air, dagger poised for a downward strike. Mel gritted his teeth, pivoting sharply to deliver a spinning hook kick aimed directly at Dorian’s jaw.
“You think a kick to the jaw will make me vulnerable just because it worked before?” Dorian sneered, raising his arm to block the strike. With a burst of speed, he countered, landing a brutal punch to Mel’s face that sent him flying. The force of the blow slammed Mel into a stone wall, leaving a jagged crater as debris rained down around him.
Nearby, Arid tumbled into the same area, rolling to a stop near Mel, while Elowen staggered backward under the force of another attack.
“They’re too strong!” Elowen muttered through gritted teeth, her eyes locking onto a masked girl among Dorian’s knights. The girl stood motionless, hands tucked casually into her pockets, an aura of menace radiating from her. “That girl—be careful around her,” Elowen warned, her voice low but sharp with urgency.
Mel coughed, sliding down the wall to the ground, his body aching but his resolve unshaken. Wiping blood from his mouth, he locked eyes with Bimoth, who stood nearby, a conflicted look flickering across his face.
“Bimoth,” Mel began, his voice rough but cutting. “Are you really going to stand by Dorian? He’s becoming exactly like the former Slesan king you fought so hard to defeat. Is this what you wanted? All of this… because you’re jealous of me?”
Mel’s words lingered in the tense air, cutting through the chaos as the battlefield seemed to freeze, every eye on Bimoth. Finally, the towering king broke the silence, his voice a low growl. “Melanthius, are you going to stand up and fight? Or will you die here, crushed under Dorian’s knights?”
Mel, still catching his breath, wiped the blood from his lip and shot him a determined glare. Before he could respond, Arid pulled him and Elowen into a tight huddle. “Alright, listen up!” Arid panted, glancing nervously at the formidable enemies closing in. “They’re kicking our asses out here! No one told me Dorian had an entourage of jacked-up kings and knights like this!”
Elowen rolled her eyes, leaning on her knee to steady her breath. “He doesn’t. Bimoth just wants revenge because he thinks I stole Rue from him! He’s insane!” Mel muttered, glaring over his shoulder at the looming king.
Elowen groaned, exasperated but focused. “Alright, enough! Look, I’ve beaten Dorian before. Remember the warden hunt game? I knocked him unconscious and won. It felt like the lightning of Camelot surged through me or something!” She paused, gulping in air as her adrenaline surged.
Arid blinked, nodding. “Oh yeah, you also beat me half to death during that game,” he muttered, his voice tinged with mock indignation.
“What I’m saying,” Elowen continued, ignoring him, “is maybe we need to switch opponents. Stop playing their game and throw them off balance!”
Elowen nodded eagerly, clapping her hands together. “Break—!” Her rallying cry was abruptly cut off as Dorian slammed her face-first into the wall with a venomous snarl.
“Do you think this is a game?” Dorian growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Elowen grunted in pain but quickly retaliated, driving her elbow into Dorian’s stomach and forcing him back. She staggered upright, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth. “It’s called strategy,” she snapped, her tone defiant.
Dorian smirked as he sidestepped her next swing, his eyes gleaming with cruelty. “Careful, Arid,” he called out mockingly, casting a glance toward the boy squaring off against the masked girl. “That one? She fights based on lineage. The stronger your bloodline, the stronger she becomes.”
Elowen took the moment to deliver two quick strikes to Dorian’s side with her sword, forcing him to refocus on their fight. “Shut up and pay attention to your opponent!” she growled.
Arid, now facing the masked girl, gripped his staff tightly, his expression serious. “Is that true?” he asked, his voice calm but curious. “You get stronger based on lineage?”
The girl didn’t answer. Her attuned eyes examined him, revealing the magical aura that surrounded him: a massive, majestic tree, its roots entwined with life and chaos. It loomed large and vibrant, a symbol of his heritage. To her, it was both beautiful and overwhelming.
Without warning, she hurled a goblet at his face, following it up with a sharp punch. Arid ducked the goblet and intercepted the punch with his staff, sidestepping gracefully. “You’re clever,” he admitted, studying her stance. “Fast, too.”
The girl’s response was a sharp movement. She dropped low and swept her leg toward his feet. Arid anticipated the move, lifting his leg to avoid it, but she transitioned fluidly into a capoeira half-moon kick. Her leg glowed faintly with magic as it connected, sending Arid spinning through the air.
He crashed to the ground with a grunt, coughing as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. “What the—? People still do capoeira?!” he exclaimed, wiping his lip with the back of his hand.
Unfazed, he spun himself around on the ground, launching into a fluid back handspring infused with his own power. The movement left a crackling trail of vines in its wake, a clear demonstration of his strength.
The girl paused, her eyes narrowing as she reassessed him. Her stance remained steady, but her focus sharpened. “This is going to get interesting,” she muttered, settling back into her guard.