Flashback
Bimoth sat in silence, his white pupils fixed on the wall, an unsettling intensity radiating from his gaze. One of his brothers glanced up from the card game, noticing the shift in his demeanor. “Bimoth, you’re awfully quiet. Got something on your mind?” he asked cautiously.
Bimoth slowly rose to his full, towering height, his presence immediately commanding attention. “I don’t know,” he rumbled, his deep voice laced with unease. “But something feels… off.”
“You know, Bimoth,” one of his brothers said, shuffling the cards idly, “you’re the only one who inherited Uncle Shimoth’s titan strength. Shimoth and Merlin fought once, just like you and Melanthius did. So why don’t you ever tell us who won between you two?”
Bimoth’s gaze flicked toward him, unreadable, before he leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Why does it matter?” he muttered, reaching for a bottle of wine.
Before he could pour, another brother snatched it from his grasp with a smirk. “Kids shouldn’t play with this stuff,” he teased, earning a faint glare from the massive young king.
“Just saying,” one of his brothers scoffed with a smirk, leaning back in his chair. “What the hell makes you so special? A scrawny, whiny kid who used to piss his pants at the thought of a fight somehow ended up taking over this entire kingdom.”
Another brother chuckled, shaking his head. “Still can’t wrap my head around it.”
Bimoth’s gaze flickered briefly to their wrists, noting the faint markings—7K, the symbol of the Seven Deadly Kingdoms. His jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back as his brothers continued laughing, their attention shifting back to their card game.
Present Day – Bloodthorn
Bimoth stood before Dorian, who lounged arrogantly on his throne, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. “So,” Dorian sneered, his tone dripping with derision, “your brothers wear the mark of the Seven Deadly Kingdoms. And what? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
Bimoth said nothing, his towering frame looming silently as his gaze fell downward.
Dorian leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into something sharp and venomous. “You came to me saying if we united, I’d solve your problems. But you want the Seven Deadly Kingdoms to stay out of your life? What a joke. To wage war against them is idiotic. Do you even think about the weight of what you’re asking?”
He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, his sneer deepening. “You’re just a kid—a kid lucky enough to inherit titan strength from your uncle. You think that makes you special? You think you can walk in here and make demands of me?”
Dorian’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Let me make this clear. If I hear you mutter another word about the Seven Deadly Kingdoms, I’ll march straight into Slesan myself and crush it under my heel. Now, get out of my sight.”
Bimoth stood motionless for a moment, his face a blank slate. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall as Dorian’s laughter followed him.
In Solstice City, Mel navigated the bustling streets, the car filled with the chatter of Lance, Elowen, Clyde, Rue, Anita, and her date, Spencer, as they headed to Clarice’s house. Mel glanced at Clyde through the rearview mirror, his voice steady but firm.
"Alright, Clyde, here's the plan," Mel began. "When we get there, you’re going to say, ‘Hey, you look nice,’ give her a hug, smile for a few pictures, and then we’re out of there. The last thing I want is for Terrence to show up and make this a disaster."
Mel and Clyde stepped out of the house, making their way to Clarice’s dorm room. Clyde fidgeted with his sleeves as they climbed the stairs, the nerves practically radiating off him. Mel gave him a reassuring pat on the back before stepping aside as they reached the door.
Clarice opened it, her face immediately lighting up at the sight of Clyde. “H-hey!” she greeted, her voice filled with warmth.
Clyde froze for a moment, his eyes widening as he took in her dress. He wiped the sweat from his brow, forcing himself to find his voice. “Hey, you… you look really nice,” he managed, his words sincere but tinged with nervousness.
Clarice glanced down at the dress, a soft blush spreading across her cheeks. “Oh, thanks! It’s my mom’s old dress—she sent it to me from Penam,” she explained, her smile growing brighter.
Clyde hesitated, then leaned in for a hug. Clarice didn’t miss a beat, stepping forward to wrap her arms around him in a warm embrace.
Mel watched them for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His gaze shifted to the ground as he let out a quiet breath. “This is nice,” he thought to himself before turning to head down the stairs, leaving the couple to follow behind him.
“I don’t mind sitting inside all day,” he told himself, as if trying to believe it. Once everyone piled into the car, Mel started the engine, the soft hum filling the silence as they drove off into the evening.
As they pulled up to the grand hall in Thorncairn, the rhythmic pulse of music vibrated through the air, blending with the sounds of laughter and chatter spilling out into the night. The building was adorned with shimmering fairy lights draped across its entrance, casting a warm, golden glow that beckoned them inside.
The music grew louder as they approached, a lively melody accompanied by the stomping of feet and the occasional cheer. Inside, the dance floor was alive with swirling colors and movement. Couples twirled and spun in perfect harmony, their outfits catching the light as they laughed and leaned into one another. Some groups were locked in playful dances, clapping and stepping in time with the beat, while others swayed more intimately, lost in the rhythm.
The walls were lined with long tables of refreshments, and a chandelier overhead cast a dazzling glow across the crowd, creating an almost magical atmosphere. It wasn’t just a party—it was a celebration of life, energy, and connection.
“You kids have fun. I’ll be back to pick you up at midnight,” Mel said with a chuckle as he parked the car.
“Thanks, Mel!” Clarice said with a grateful smile as she and Clyde stepped out of the car, Clyde giving Mel a thumbs-up in thanks.
“Don’t forget—twelve sharp!” Lance called out with a laugh, hopping out of the car with a carefree wave.
Spencer fumbled nervously with his jacket as he exited with Anita, nearly tripping over his words. “T-twelve o’clock! Got it, Sir! I’ll be ready!” Anita giggled at his formality, pulling him along by the arm as they headed toward the building.
Elowen was the next to hop out, her excitement bubbling over into a bright laugh as she glanced back at Mel.
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Rue, however, hesitated, climbing into the front passenger seat from the back. She glanced at Mel, her expression soft with concern. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” she asked gently. “I can stay and keep you company if you want.”
Mel shook his head, his smile reassuring despite the tinge of sadness in his eyes. “It’s fine. Really, I’ll be okay,” he said, meeting her gaze.
Rue placed her hand lightly on his for a moment, her green eyes full of warmth. “Alright… but we’ll hang out tomorrow, okay?” she said softly, giving him a small smile.
Mel’s lips curved into a genuine smile, and he nodded. “Yeah, sounds good.”
Rue lingered for just a second longer before stepping out of the car. She closed the door behind her with a quiet click and waved before turning to join the others.
Mel drove off, the hum of the car engine filling the silence. A few moments later, he pulled into his dorm parking lot and walked inside. He exhaled a long breath, the weight of the evening settling on his shoulders. Mel shut the door behind him and headed for the mini fridge, cracking open a soda to soothe his nerves.
He flicked the light on and froze, his eyes locking onto the figure sitting casually in his room. Bimoth.
“BIMOTH!” Mel yelped, choking on his soda as he spit it out in surprise, the liquid splattering across Bimoth.
Bimoth barely flinched, his expression unreadable. “Calm down,” he said in an eerily calm voice, as if his presence in Mel's room wasn’t a major disruption.
Mel, eyes wide in shock and irritation, scrambled to find something to defend himself with. He lunged, tossing a net over Bimoth’s form with a swift motion.
“Calm down?!” Mel seethed, his hands shaking in frustration as he grabbed a shoe from the floor and held it firmly against Bimoth’s neck. “What the hell are you doing here?!”
Bimoth remained unphased, his gaze unwavering. “Relax, Mel. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
Mel’s grip tightened on the shoe, pressing it harder against Bimoth’s neck, his frustration boiling over. “You came to Solstice City once for a fight, you won. Then you came to the forest, and I won. Our last fight... well, that never even finished!” Mel’s voice grew louder, a mix of irritation and confusion. “How can I trust you after all that? We’re rivals by heart, Bimoth!”
Bimoth remained unfazed, a steady calmness in his expression. Mel pulled the shoe back and paced in agitation. “But my brothers… I think they’re going to betray me,” Bimoth continued, his voice softening. “Your friend Dorian? I think he’s scared of them. I don’t know what he’s really after, but I can’t tell who I can trust anymore.”
He looked down, shoulders sagging as the weight of his thoughts pressed heavily on him. “If my brothers turn on me, I’ll be alone. My kingdom isn’t even that big. Hell, it’s not even really mine. The people only like me because of my strength, because they know I’ll protect them... But I don’t want to be alone, Mel.”
Mel paused, his frustration flickering into something softer as he let out a defeated sigh. He dropped the shoe to the ground, his shoulders slumping. “Damn it, lonely people are my weakness,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“I don’t want to get tangled up in the Seven Kingdoms’ mess again…” Mel groaned, rubbing his temples.
Bimoth’s eyes widened slightly, a surprised look crossing his face. “Wait... again? You... you took down the Punarean Kingdom? You’re Fox Bearrington?”
Mel scratched his head awkwardly, a sheepish grin forming. “Yeah, well... it was a bit of a fluke, but... yeah, I did.”
Mel slumped into his rolling chair, spinning idly as he stared at the ceiling. Bimoth, rummaging through Mel’s mini-fridge, popped open a soda and took a sip. “What are we gonna do about this?” Bimoth muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t want to spend my whole life being hunted by the Deadly Kingdoms.”
Mel stopped spinning, letting the chair creak as he leaned back. “I don’t know,” he admitted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I’m used to going in swinging, but…” He glanced at Bimoth, a small smile forming. “You seem really lonely. Wanna team up? Take this on together?”
Bimoth froze mid-sip, raising an eyebrow at Mel. “Together?” he repeated, incredulous. “If you’re seen with me, the Auroria Dominion will be in danger. Rue will be in danger.”
The mention of Rue made Mel pause, his smile fading as he looked at the ground. Silence filled the room for a moment before he stood and walked to his closet. “That’s why I’ll be…” He slid the door open, revealing a familiar costume hanging neatly inside. Bimoth’s eyes widened as they fell on the fox outfit, the mask resting on a hook beside it.
“This crazy mother…” Bimoth thought, staring at the absurd sight.
Mel pulled the costume from the closet, holding it up with a mischievous grin. “Fox Bearrington,” he declared, his voice carrying a playful defiance.
At the party, Spencer and Anita swayed to the rhythm of the music, their smiles growing as the energy of the room enveloped them. Anita stepped closer, her playful confidence shining through, but Spencer instinctively took a small step back.
“You’re really scared Mel’s going to hit you or something?” Anita teased, her laughter soft but infectious. She gently guided Spencer’s hands to her waist, her movements smooth as they fell into sync with the beat.
Spencer swallowed hard, his nerves evident. “He’s really intimidating,” he admitted, glancing away with a sheepish smile.
Anita rolled her eyes with a playful smile. “He’s sweet, you know,” she said as they moved together, the music guiding their steps. Spencer blushed but managed a small smile, letting himself relax just a bit as they danced.
Meanwhile, back in Mel’s room, chaos had its own rhythm. Mel adjusted the fox costume, pulling the mask snugly over his face, while Bimoth stood to the side, inspecting the jaw mask Mel had crafted from his webs.
“Why do I have to wear this?” Bimoth grumbled, holding up the mask. His towering frame, still an imposing 8 feet tall, made his frustration even more palpable. “They’ll recognize me from my aura alone, no matter what I wear,” he added, scratching his head with a sigh.
Mel glanced at him and shrugged, adjusting his own mask. “Then don’t wear it. They just don’t need to know who I am,” he muttered, his voice slightly muffled by the mask.
Bimoth rolled his shoulders and sighed, tossing the mask onto a nearby chair. “Fine. But if this whole ‘Fox Bearrington’ thing doesn’t work, don’t blame me.”
“By the way,” Mel began, his voice slightly muffled by the fox mask as he stared down at the floor, “has Dorian been planning anything... about me?” His tone carried a weight of uncertainty, the drooped ears of the costume only adding to the somber image.
Bimoth leaned back, folding his massive arms as he took in the sight of the melancholy fox before him. “Not really,” he said with a shrug. “He spends most of his time sitting in that throne of his, barking orders and talking to the kings and queens.”
He paused, scratching his jaw thoughtfully. “Though, I will say, he’s only united the younger rulers so far—the ones around our age. Probably because they’re easier to intimidate.”
Mel let out a weary sigh, the sound muffled behind the mask. “Figures,” he muttered. “It’s always about power plays with him.”
"Also, we’ve got to tread carefully if we’re doing this," Bimoth warned, his deep voice steady. "The kingdom’s knights are weak, sure, but I’ve got five older brothers. They’ve got kids—nieces and nephews—who follow their every command without question. And they were all trained by the same groundskeeper who trained me."
Mel raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident in his tone. "Trained? All you really did was kick and punch me. Didn’t seem like you were exactly well-trained."
Bimoth’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained calm. "I was trained in Thutses," he clarified, leaning forward. "I didn’t use it against you because I had to rely on Last Stand."
Mel rubbed his ankle, grimacing at the memory. "Right," he muttered, "the technique that lets you steal your opponent’s physical strength and add it to your own."
Bimoth leaned back, his jaw tightening as he processed Mel’s words. “I doubt the 7k’s care about me defending my kingdom. But you?” He pointed at Mel. “They’ll want to hunt you—or rather, Fox Bearrington. Punarean Kingdom was under Lust’s territory. Whoever rules Lust probably has a personal vendetta against you now.”
Mel rubbed the back of his head, frustration evident in his posture. “Great. Just what I need. So what’s your plan? Because if you go through with this, you’ll lose everything. Your kingdom, your brothers, your family—every last one of them will turn on you. They’ll betray you and try to kill you any chance they get.”
Bimoth’s expression remained stoic, but Mel pressed on, his voice softening. “You’ll be truly alone. No allies, no family. And if you keep pushing away everyone who tries to help you…” He trailed off, his thoughts drifting to Maren and Dorian. The weight of their faces and their choices lingered in his mind like ghosts. “You can’t face this alone. No one can.”