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.”

At Mel’s words, Bimoth looked up and closed his eyes, something he does when he has to make a decision.

At the masquerade, Elowen stood by the drinks, her fingers lightly grazing the rim of her glass as she sipped. Her gaze drifted out the window, captivated by the starry moonlight. The glow bathed the room in a silvery haze, but her thoughts were far away—on Mel, who couldn’t be there.

“You wanna dance?” a voice interrupted her reverie. She turned to see a boy with bloodshot red eyes, moving to the music like he was in his own world, high on something.

“No, thank you,” Elowen replied, stepping back to create some distance. Her voice dropped to a murmur as she looked away, “My dance didn’t show.”

Across the room, Rue leaned against the wall, sipping her drink and watching Elowen from the corner of her eye. Her brow furrowed in thought. “She’s so confusing. Does she like Mel? Or is it something else?” Rue tapped her glass absently, her mind racing. “Should I stay out of her way? Or…”

She sighed and took another sip, her thoughts tangled in a web of curiosity, jealousy, and uncertainty.

In Slesan, Bimoth sat in a dimly lit room with his brothers, the faint sound of shuffling cards filling the tense silence. His brothers leaned over the table, engrossed in their game, while Bimoth observed them, his fingers drumming idly against the wood.

One of his brothers finally broke the quiet. “So, Bimoth, we’re really out of money in the kingdom,” he said, tossing a card onto the table with a grim expression.

Bimoth sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, we are. It’s hard to make enough money while trying to keep this kingdom clean, away from all the corrupt stuff.” His voice carried a tinge of frustration, but his words were resolute.

Another brother scoffed, his glare sharp as he leaned forward. “Sometimes you gotta do corrupt shit for money, little brother.” He slid his sleeve down subtly, revealing a glimpse of a tattoo—a coiled ‘7K’—before pulling it back into place.

“Corrupt shit?” Bimoth asked, his tone growing sharper. “Like the Seven Deadly Kingdoms?” His gaze swept over the table, noticing how the air had shifted, the once-relaxed room now heavy with unspoken tension.

“What do you know about that?” one brother asked, feigning nonchalance as he focused on his cards.

Bimoth shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned forward. “I heard they make money based on their kingdom’s namesake. Lust, for example—trafficking, extortion, other unsavory things—”

Before he could finish, a glint of steel flashed through the air. A knife hurtled toward him, but Bimoth’s reflexes were sharp. He caught it effortlessly, holding it in his hand as his gaze locked with the brother who’d thrown it.

The room fell deathly silent, the only sound the faint creak of Bimoth’s chair as he slowly leaned forward, gripping the blade tightly. “That hit a nerve, didn’t it?” he said, his voice low and edged with warning.

Bimoth snapped the dagger in half, letting the shards clatter to the ground. His voice trembled with a mix of anger and pain. “Why? Why would you do this? You’re my brothers. I took you out of Auroria Dominion when you were drowning in debt, struggling to provide for your children. I gave you a kingdom! When the former Slesan king hurt Princess Rue, I was the one who stood up and took him down. I gave you a home—and this is how you repay me? With betrayal?”

One of his brothers scoffed, his voice laced with venom. “Shut up, Bimoth. Sure, you helped us—but then you joined Dorian. A king who cowers in fear of the Seven Kingdoms. You shouldn’t have done it. We were bringing in money for Slesan, but you’re too shortsighted to see the bigger picture. You’re reckless with money, always have been. And these kids—these children—trying to rule kingdoms like they know what they’re doing? It’s disgusting.”

His tone grew colder, cutting deeper. “You don’t know how to rule, Bimoth. None of you do. King Dorian sits paralyzed, too scared to make a move, and you’re no better.”

“Before you go through with this, tell me everything I need to know about the Seven Deadly Kingdoms,” Bimoth demanded, his voice steady as he stood his ground.

The five brothers rose in unison, their spears leveled at Bimoth’s throat. One of them stepped forward, his expression twisted with defiance. “We did what we had to do. I understand your strength, but even you can’t—!”

Before he could finish, his words faltered. His eyes widened in panic as he clutched at his mouth. He staggered back, unable to speak, though no blood flowed, no visible wound marred his face.

“Even I can’t what?” a voice called out, sharp and mocking.

All eyes turned upward. A figure loomed above them, clinging to the ceiling with eerie ease, the sharp gleam of moonlight catching the edges of a fox mask. The figure crouched upside down, the air of menace undeniable.

“Fox Bearrington,” one of the brothers muttered, fear creeping into his voice.

“It’s you,” one of Bimoth’s brothers growled, his finger pointing sharply toward the window. “You’re the one who took down Punarean. King Pierce sent two of Lust’s kingdoms here. Take a look.”

Bimoth turned to the window, his expression hardening as he saw two encampments stationed in Slesan. Each was a gate of one hundred knights, all clad in gleaming armor and wielding swords.

“So, this is revenge for me taking down Punarean?” came Mel’s muffled voice from behind the fox mask. His words hung in the air, but the brothers erupted into roaring laughter.

“YOU IDIOT!” one bellowed, his voice echoing in the room. “YOU REALLY THINK WE’RE FROM LUST?! WE’RE FROM WRATH, YOU DAMN FOOL! AND NOW YOU’RE GOING TO DIE, AND THIS KINGDOM OF YOURS IS GOING TO BURN TO ASHES!”

Mel froze, his mind racing. Wrath. His father, Merlin, was from Wrath. He clenched his fists, recalling the tales of its brutal warriors and relentless destruction. He tilted his head slightly, the fox mask giving him a menacing air.

“King Bimoth,” Mel began, his voice dropping into a low, commanding tone. “Are you ready to defend your kingdom? And then…” He crouched, hanging upside down beside Bimoth like a shadow. “…to leave it behind?”

Bimoth stood tall, a grim smile crossing his face as he reached under the table and pulled out a massive axe. “You goddamn right.”

Mel adjusted his black gauntlets beneath the fox costume gloves, feeling the weight of his raven talon tonfas in his hands. He lifted them, their sharp edges gleaming faintly. “When I use these,” he said with mock bravado, “people start begging for mercy.”

Of course, it was a bluff. The tonfas had only tasted battle against the Wild Storm Spider. But in this moment, confidence was a weapon in itself.

At the masquerade, the students swayed gently to the slow rhythm of the music. Clyde held Clarice close, his hands resting awkwardly on her waist. “Sorry for asking you so late,” he said, his voice soft and a bit unsure.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Clarice smiled, leaning in slightly. “It’s fine. You kind of made up for it,” she teased. “Besides, my brother wasn’t actually going to crush skulls. Probably just break fingers.” She laughed lightly, and Clyde joined in, though his chuckle was more nervous than amused.

Clarice’s smile faltered for a moment as a question came to mind. “Is Melanthius Shadowbane really your brother?” She hesitated, then added, “That’s a dumb question. Your real brother broke Princess Rue’s spine.”

Clyde sighed and shook his head. “Yeah, I resent him a lot. Mel just… stepped up. He recommended me for the program, even though I’m pretty sure everyone still gives me weird looks. He’s my brother from the Little Brother Freshman Program, not by blood.”

Clarice tilted her head, her expression softening. “Well,” she said with a gentle laugh, “I think he’s cool.”

In Slesan, Mel spun his raven talon tonfas with precision, deflecting a sword aimed straight for his face. The sharp clang of metal echoed as he blocked the blow effortlessly. "I need answers," Mel demanded, his voice distorted through the fox mask.

The knight ignored him, lunging again, but Mel countered swiftly, launching the knight backward with a strike from his tonfas. The knight crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Mel turned his gaze to the approaching swarm of knights, their armor glinting ominously in the moonlight. He twirled his tonfas, his stance firm as he glared at them. "Who’s the Wrath King?" he barked, his tone demanding clarity.

Instead of responding, the knights charged forward. Mel exhaled in frustration, releasing a dark wave of energy from the tonfas. The magic surged toward them like a storm, but he quickly reined it in, the power dissipating just before impact. He muttered under his breath, "Still getting used to these things."

As another knight closed in, Mel swept them off their feet with a swift motion and drove the end of a tonfa into their face, rendering them unconscious. His movements were sharp and efficient, but his patience was wearing thin. "I’ll keep asking," he growled, gripping the tonfas tighter, "until someone answers me."

Bimoth glared at his five brothers, his jaw tightening as he closed his eyes briefly. "I gave up my childhood to be a king," he said, his voice low but trembling with fury. "And the entire kingdom betrayed me?"

One of his brothers lunged, thrusting a sword toward his chest. Bimoth shifted hard to the side, his movement so forceful that the wall behind him cracked under the pressure.

"You were so young," the brother sneered, his tone laced with mockery. "Taking over a kingdom at fourteen. You should’ve joined us. What would Mom say?" He chuckled, his words cutting like a blade.

Bimoth froze for a moment, the memories threatening to pull him under.

"Got him!" another brother cried triumphantly as he moved to stab Bimoth in the neck.

But in a blur, Bimoth’s hand shot out, gripping the attacker’s face with unyielding strength. With a roar, he slammed him into the wall, the stone cracking on impact. Dust and debris fell around them as the others stared in shock.

"Mom was abusive," Bimoth said coldly, his voice like ice. "And all of you followed her blindly because you were too scared to grow up. No wonder your younger brother ended up stronger than any of you." His words were a brutal reality check, cutting deeper than any blade.

"You fucker!" they screamed in unison, their rage boiling over.

Bimoth didn’t flinch. He stomped the ground with a force that reverberated through the room, sending the table hurtling toward them. The massive weight of it crashed into their bodies, knocking them back as they scrambled to recover.

Bimoth stood firm, his eyes blazing with defiance. "You wanted a fight. Now, you’ve got one."

Mel parried and struck down the knights charging at him, his movements precise and relentless. “Where’s your king?!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. His eyes locked onto two kings seated on ornate thrones atop lavish carriages in the distance. Determined, he plowed through the ranks, leaving a trail of crumpled bodies in his wake.

One of the kings rose to his feet, cracking his knuckles with an air of smug confidence. “I am King Mateo of the Naples Empire. You must be Fox Bearrington. Under the banner of the Lust Kingdom, you’re a wanted man across all our territories,” Mateo declared, his voice booming with authority.

Mel’s rage flared, and he surged forward, aiming straight for Mateo. But before he could close the distance, the sharp flick of a lighter caught his attention. He turned sharply to see a soldier lighting the fuse of a cannon aimed directly at Bimoth.

In that split second, Mel faced an impossible choice: pursue answers or save Bimoth.

The cannon roared with a deafening boom, the cannonball hurtling through the air. Bimoth turned his head, caught off guard and unable to react in time.

Without hesitation, Mel launched himself into the path of the cannonball, crossing his tonfas just as the projectile reached him. With a metallic screech, he split the cannonball clean in two, the fragments crashing harmlessly to the ground.

Bimoth’s eyes widened in disbelief as Mel grabbed him and pulled him behind a nearby boulder. “They’re not playing fair anymore,” Mel growled, his tone filled with frustration. He scanned the ground, his sharp mind already piecing together a plan.

“You... you saved me?” Bimoth stammered, his voice laced with shock. Doubt and guilt churned within him as he watched Mel work. “Was I wrong about him? Did he really do everything he could to save Rue?”

Bimoth’s gaze drifted to the strange, spherical device Mel was assembling from debris on the ground. “That... that’s King Aldara’s tech,” Bimoth realized, his voice trembling. “He gave us some of it to help rebuild Slesan. What are you doing with it?”

Mel didn’t respond immediately, his focus unwavering. Sparks of black lightning crackled around his fists, and he pressed them into the device, his teeth clenched against the searing pain. The ball began to hum with energy, glowing ominously.

“Improvising,” Mel grunted through the strain. With a growl, he hurled the electrified sphere toward the enemy. It landed among their ranks and detonated in a blinding explosion, sending shockwaves through the battlefield.

Bimoth could only stare, a mix of awe and guilt flooding his chest as the dust settled.

“Fine, I’ll join Atlantis,” Bimoth announced suddenly, his voice ringing with conviction. Mel paused mid-construction of another makeshift bomb, raising an eyebrow beneath his fox mask. “Uh, actually, I said I’d be your friend and get you out of this place—”

Before Mel could finish, Bimoth smeared mud across his chest and hastily scrawled the word Atlantis on it. “No! I’m an Atlantean knight now!” Bimoth roared and charged headlong into the fray.

Mel’s eyes widened in panic. “DON’T SAY THAT! THEY’LL KNOW IT’S ME UNDER THIS COSTUME!” he shouted, but Bimoth was already too far gone, tearing through the enemy ranks like an unleashed force of nature.

Bimoth fought with reckless abandon, grabbing a knight by the leg and wielding him like a makeshift nunchuck, knocking down other soldiers in his path. His sheer power and chaotic fighting style left even Mel momentarily stunned.

“FOX!” Bimoth bellowed, his voice booming over the clamor of battle. “I’LL MAKE AN OPENING! GET THE KING!”

Mel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his mask. “This guy,” he muttered, but he couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at his lips. With a spin of his tonfas, he launched himself into action, trusting Bimoth’s wild rampage to clear the path.

Suddenly, King Mateo launched into the air with startling speed, driving his knees toward Mel’s torso. Mel raised his tonfas just in time to block the strike, the impact reverberating through his arms.

“Bring me his head!” Mateo growled as he pushed off Mel, landing deftly.

Mel tilted his head, his fox mask hiding his expression. “This is surprising. You’re actually strong. King Nathan wasn’t,” he remarked, dodging as Mateo lunged forward, thrusting his sword toward Mel’s head.

Mel ducked, sweeping Mateo’s legs out from under him with precision. “Nathan was a project,” Mateo muttered, hitting the ground but quickly recovering to grab Mel by the waist.

“A throw?” Mel anticipated, bracing himself, but before he could react, the second king, August, appeared out of nowhere, slamming a knee into the side of Mel’s fox mask. The force sent him staggering.

Grunting, Mel refocused and used his Rain Aikido, fluidly redirecting their combined momentum. Both kings went flying, crashing into the dirt.

“You okay, King Mateo?” August asked, brushing himself off as he stood.

“Yeah,” Mateo replied, dusting his shirt and glancing at Mel with newfound respect. “This Fox is better than I expected.”

Mateo’s eyes wandered to the battlefield, where Bimoth was gleefully using a knight as a human piñata. “Well, that rules Bimoth out as Fox Bearrington. Subtlety doesn’t seem to be his thing.”

King August stepped forward, leveling his gaze at Mel. “You’ve got a bounty on your head, Fox Bearrington. Tell us who you are, and we’ll spare you the pain.”

Mel sighed audibly, adjusting the mask. “No. Tell me the names of all the kings in the Seven Deadly Kingdoms, and you might walk away without getting hurt,” he snarled.

The two kings exchanged a glance before charging at him in unison. Mel sighed, sliding his tonfas into their holsters. “Guess I’ll have to use my aikido. Can’t let them figure out who I am,” he thought.

With effortless precision, Mel intercepted their attacks, redirecting their momentum and sending them crashing to the ground once more. The kings groaned, blood trickling from their faces as they scrambled to stand.

“He’s tough,” Mateo admitted, wiping the blood from his lip, his expression a mix of frustration and admiration.