Three years ago, in a dimly lit three-story apartment, Maren stood before the Crossbow Killers with a wicked sneer. “You lost to a girl?” he mocked, his tone dripping with disdain. “She claimed to be a Shadowbane? Now that is interesting.” He leaned closer, his piercing gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. “The Jester told me Merlin Shadowbane killed my father, Triton. How about we pay them a visit, huh?” His grin widened, sinister and full of intent.

Before anyone could respond, a deep voice echoed through the room. All heads turned as an older man stepped into the light. It was Titian, back when he held a high rank in the Magisterium. At the time, the Seven Deadly Kingdoms were still in their infancy, with only three kings ruling—Wrath, Envy, and Greed.

“I want to see this Shadowbane,” Titian said, his tone calm but commanding, carrying the weight of authority. His sharp eyes swept over the room before landing on Maren.

Without hesitation, the demigod straightened, his sneer fading into a smirk as he followed the older man out of the room. “Come on, Maren,” Titian added with a faint air of impatience, his presence radiating quiet power.

And just like that, the wheels of vengeance began to turn.

Present

The knight standing before Althara groaned loudly, his frustration evident. “That’s it?! That’s where the story ends? What happened with former King Maren and the Crossbow Killers?! You can’t just leave a tale hanging like that!” He rubbed his temples, exasperated.

Althara placed a hand over her chest, her expression pained. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice heavy with regret. “After that… Everything went wrong. It’s not my story to finish. That’s Carter’s job—wherever he is.” Her gaze dropped, as though the weight of the memories was too much to bear.

Back in the Auroria Dominion, the weight of Mel’s death and Elowen’s disappearance still hung heavily over Solstice City. Jake lay curled up in his bed, his body trembling as quiet sobs filled the room. He wiped at his tear-streaked face and whispered into the stillness, “Mel… what do I do? You’re gone. If I wasn’t so weak, I’d do something—I’d save Elowen from her brother.”

His gaze fell to the bracelet sitting on his bedside table, the one they had gifted Elowen for her birthday. She had dropped it when Michelangelo had taken her. Next to it lay Mel’s charm and the little cat charm he had given Elowen. Jake’s hands clenched into fists as he stared at the tokens, a mix of anger and hopelessness swirling inside him.

Pushing himself upright, he turned to the mirror on the wall. His reflection stared back, his face pale, his eyes red from crying. He focused on the faint magic mark etched on his eye.

“Why?” he muttered, his voice thick with bitterness. “Why am I the only one from Horace Groves without magic?!” His fists slammed against the desk, the echo of his frustration filling the room.

A sudden knock interrupted Jake’s spiral of despair, echoing through the small room. “Huh?” he mumbled, dragging himself toward the door. Just as he reached for the handle, the door burst open, slamming into him with enough force to pin him against the wall.

“Jake Knight? Am I reading this right?” a voice called out. A tall figure stepped inside, scanning the room. It was Mark, holding a crumpled piece of paper. “Doesn’t look like he’s here.”

Lucy followed close behind, her sharp eyes darting around the space. “This is the dorm listed for him. Are we sure we’re even supposed to be in Solstice City?”

“This is so illegal,” Yasmine whined, trailing in behind them. She flopped down on something low to the ground with an exaggerated groan. “I don’t even care if we find him. My feet are killing me.”

“Oh, Mother.” Lucy’s tone was flat as she pointed at the ground. “You’re sitting on him, I think.”

Yasmine glanced down, her eyes widening as she realized she was perched on Jake, whose face was scrunched in pain beneath her curvaceous figure. “Oh! My bad!” she exclaimed, springing to her feet and brushing off her jacket like nothing had happened.

Jake groaned and stumbled upright, wincing as he rubbed his sore, chubby stomach. “What… what the hell is going on?” he muttered, glaring at the unexpected intruders as he tried to regain his breath.

“You know who we are, right?” Yasmine began, crossing her arms. “The Steel Pact. We used to be the Blades and Blunts—Merlin Shadowbane’s gang back in the day. After he left, we were under Mel. But… well, you know he’s dead now, right?”

Jake nodded, his expression somber. “Yes, I know,” he murmured, rubbing his swollen, red eyes. “It’s been a few weeks now.”

Lucy plopped down on his bed, sitting in an unladylike, boyish posture as she rubbed her hands together, her gaze fixed on the floor. “Since Melanthius is gone,” she said quietly, “all of the Steel Pact’s old enemies might be crawling back out of the shadows. They want to have a sit-down with us.”

Jake frowned. “A sit-down?”

“Yeah, like some big negotiation or whatever,” Lucy explained, waving a hand dismissively. “But here’s the thing—we’re not like that anymore. We don’t do the fighting or the turf wars. That’s all old news. It’s stuff my brother Logan, second-in-command of the Blades, used to handle. But he’s been M.I.A. ever since Mel died.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she covered it with a deep breath.

Jake’s eyes darted between them, a sinking feeling forming in his chest. “So… what happens now? Why did you come to me?”

“Because Melanthius wouldn’t shut up about you,” Mark said, leaning in closer. “He kept going on about how smart and strong you were. And that scar on your eye—that’s a Horace Groves mark, right? Doesn’t that mean you’ve got magic?” He poked Jake’s eye for emphasis.

“Ow!” Jake winced, rubbing at his eye. “Not exactly. I don’t have a magic technique. At all.”

Mark froze for a moment, then groaned, clutching his head like the world had just ended. “What?! Then why the heck would Melanthius say you were strong?!”

Flashback

The Atlantean restaurant was bustling with life, its aquatic-themed décor shimmering under glowing blue lights. Mark sat across from Melanthius, tearing into his steak with the enthusiasm of a wild animal. Meanwhile, Mel methodically ate sushi rolls—strictly vegetarian—to avoid offending his fish-people allies.

“So,” Mark began, his mouth half-full, “if something ever happened to you—and I’m not saying it will—but if it did, who would you want leading us? I mean, I like that Lance kid who went toe-to-toe with Logan. He’s your student, right? That kid’s strong.”

Mel nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I trained Lance myself, but his temper is a problem. He’s too hot-headed.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Fair. What about your other student? Clyde, right?”

Mel shook his head, sipping his water. “Clyde’s got talent, but he’s too preoccupied with people comparing him to his brother. He’s not ready.”

Mark tilted his head, curious. “Then who?”

Mel smiled, a rare flicker of pride flashing across his face. “Jake Knight. He’s one of the smartest and strongest people I’ve ever met.” Mark blinked, caught off guard. “Jake? The chubby guy?” Mel chuckled. “Don’t underestimate him. You’ll see one day.”

Present

“H-He said that?” Jake asked, his voice trembling with disbelief.

Mark dropped into a chair, shaking his head. “Well, looks like Melanthius finally lost his mind. Sending us to this fat punk?” he sneered.

Jake flinched, his chest tightening as old, painful memories of being bullied came rushing back. “D-Do you mind… not calling me that?” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Mark, Yasmine, and Lucy exchanged puzzled looks. Mark leaned forward, his expression a mix of mockery and challenge. “Huh? You got a problem with me saying that?” he asked, his tone sharp. “What, can’t handle it? Gonna cry about it? Well, what’re you gonna do about it then, fat ass?”

Jake’s breath caught in his throat, his fists clenching tightly at his sides. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, as he stared at the ground, the weight of Mark’s words pressing down on him like a storm he couldn’t escape.

Flashback

Mel leaned precariously in his chair, his usual nonchalant demeanor on display. Jake sat beside him, chewing the eraser of his pencil and looking uneasy.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Hey, Mel?” Jake finally asked, his voice unsure.

Mel tilted his head toward him. “Yeah? What’s up?”

Jake shifted in his seat, struggling to find the right words. “Do you think that… without magic, you’d still be able to do all the things you do?”

Mel raised an eyebrow, then shrugged casually. “Well, I’d still be raised in Caldara Bastille, so I’d still meet Goldman and learn everything he taught me. I think I’d still be strong.”

Jake nodded but didn’t seem fully satisfied. “That’s not really what I mean,” he said softly. “Do you think you’d have enough bravery to face the scary people you fight? Like… Former King Maren?”

Mel chuckled, straightening his chair with a deliberate motion. “Are you asking if you’re strong enough to stand up to someone scary if they’re messing with you?”

Jake blinked in surprise, but Mel continued without waiting for an answer. “You do, Jake. You just haven't seen it yet.”

Present

Jake’s fist trembled as he clutched it tightly, Mel’s words echoing in his mind. His heart pounded, but for the first time, it wasn’t from fear—it was from determination.

“I do have a problem with it!” Jake growled, his voice uncharacteristically firm. “So stop doing it!”

Mark leaned even closer, his grin widening into a challenge. “Or what? Fat ass—”

Before Mark could finish, Jake swung a right hook, connecting solidly with his face. Mark didn’t flinch, but Jake stood his ground, his knuckles bleeding from the impact. “I said stop!” he shouted, his voice raw with emotion.

Yasmine and Lucy both froze, their eyes widening in surprise and—unexpectedly—admiration.

Mark rubbed his jaw, his grin never faltering. “You’re really gonna stand there and tell me what to do, huh?” He raised his fist, and Jake instinctively closed his eyes, bracing for the blow.

But the punch never came. Instead, Mark flicked Jake’s nose lightly, his laughter filling the room.

“You passed the test,” Mark said with a smirk.

Jake’s eyes snapped open, his confusion evident. “W-What?”

Mark straightened up and patted Jake’s shoulder. “Mel was right. You’ve got more guts than you think.”

“Did you really think a grown man would hit a kid?” Lucy chuckled, her tone teasing as she crossed her arms. “Nah, that’s my job.” She smirked before adding with a wry edge, “Besides, my father would never waste his time on a weak kid like you.”

Meanwhile, in Atlantis, Bimoth sat on a jagged rock at the entrance to the city, his massive form silhouetted against the glimmering ocean waters. His head hung low, his white-pupiled eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Mel… you died before I ever got the chance to apologize,” he thought bitterly. “I was jealous of you—jealous of how you were everything I couldn’t be. A true friend to Rue. A good person. You had no family, yet you built a kingdom full of people who loved you.” He clenched his fists, his heart heavy with regret.

The sound of clanking metal echoed in the distance. Bimoth looked up to see an army of knights marching toward Atlantis, their polished armor gleaming under the faint light. He stood, his massive frame towering over the rocky terrain.

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice sharp and filled with disdain, “you’re here to take over Atlantis because Melanthius is gone, right?” The knights didn’t answer, only charging toward him with their weapons raised.

Bimoth exhaled sharply, his frustration boiling over. “Fine. Come on, then.”

With a thunderous roar, he slammed his foot into the ground in a powerful sumo stomp. The earth quaked beneath him, sending a shockwave rippling through the battlefield. The advancing knights faltered, their charge broken as they stumbled and struggled to maintain balance.

Before they could recover, Bimoth moved. For someone of his size, his speed was unnerving. He dashed through their ranks like a tempest, his strength overwhelming and his movements precise, scattering their formation like leaves in the wind.

As the last knight scrambled away, disappearing into the depths of the ocean, Bimoth stood amidst the fallen, brushing the dust off his broad shoulders. He looked around at the chaos he’d created, scratching his head in thought. His voice carried through the eerie silence left behind.

“I’m no longer Bimoth, King of Slesan,” he declared, his tone resolute. “From this day forward, I am Bimoth, Knight of Atlantis.”

He turned and made his way to the edge of the city, where the ocean stretched endlessly, a vast, dark abyss below the cliffs. At the base of the cliffs lay the resting place of Melanthius, the casket submerged beneath the dark waters that shimmered faintly under the faint light. Bimoth stood at the edge, his gaze fixed on the spot where his king had been laid to rest.

The weight of his promise hung heavy in the air as he spoke, his voice low but steady. “I’ll take care of Atlantis for you, my king. No one will take what you built. Not while I’m here.”

The waves crashed against the cliffs below, almost as if answering his vow, and Bimoth clenched his fists, standing tall against the horizon—a silent guardian of the kingdom he now swore to protect.

On the outskirts of the Auroria Dominion, beneath the shadow of towering trees, Lance and Clyde trained relentlessly, their movements sharp and deliberate. Their faces were painted gold and black, a somber tribute to Melanthius, who had fallen in battle against Goldman. The air was thick with the sound of their exertion, the steady rhythm of their breaths, and the occasional scrape of Clyde’s scythe against the dirt.

Clyde twirled his scythe in a wide arc, performing the Hidden Cloud technique. His muscles flexed with each precise movement, his veiny forearms trembling from the strain. He pushed through the pain, repeating the technique tirelessly, aiming for 1,000 repetitions of ten different techniques. His focus never wavered, though his winces betrayed the toll it was taking on him.

A few feet away, Lance hung upside down from a sturdy tree branch, his legs hooked tightly. Each time he sat up, he threw two punches into the air, executing the Hidden Cloud technique with measured precision. Sweat poured down his face, but his determination burned brighter.

“I can’t believe he’s really gone,” Lance murmured between breaths, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Clyde tightened his grip on the scythe, his swings momentarily slowing. “It all happened too fast,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But there’s still a chance for Elowen. We can save her—but only if we get stronger. Strong enough to invade Camelot and take her back.”

He sniffled, his movements faltering for a split second before resuming with renewed resolve. Lance let out a bitter chuckle, sitting up and punching the air harder. “You know,” he said, his voice quiet, “I used to think… If there was ever a chance Mel turned evil because of his father, I’d be the one to stop him. I trained for that, prepared myself for it.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Looking back now, I realize how stupid I was. He wasn’t anything like Merlin. He was better. A thousand times better.”

Clyde stopped his swings for a moment, lowering his scythe. “Then we honor him by being better too. No excuses, no regrets.”

The two continued their relentless training, the memory of Mel guiding every swing, every punch, every breath.

In the heart of Transylvania’s towering castle, Dorian sat alone on his grand throne, the shadows of the dimly lit chamber cloaking him in darkness. He held a picture in his hand, one that depicted a happier time: himself, Elowen, and Melanthius, smiling and embracing like family. Though his face was veiled in shadow, the sorrow etched into his expression was unmistakable.

Behind him, Ashley approached silently, her ever-present mask concealing her face. Gently, she placed her hands on his shoulders, her touch both comforting and firm. “Are you alright, my king?” she asked softly, leaning forward to hug him from behind.

Dorian uncrossed his legs, the faint glint of a fang catching the dim light as he licked it absentmindedly. “I’m fine,” he murmured, though his voice betrayed him. “Just entertaining useless thoughts.” With care, he folded the picture and tucked it into his pocket, as though protecting a fragile memory.

He sighed deeply, the weight of recent events pressing down on him. “King Melanthius of Atlantis is dead. Princess Elowen of Camelot has been kidnapped and handed over to King Liam. Former King Maren of Atlantis is still hunting Michelangelo—now Goldman. And me? I was searching for him too.” His voice grew darker. “But now I’ve seen what he’s capable of. Strong enough to kill Melanthius… It terrifies me.”

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Goldman murdered my father, Maren’s father, and countless others. He’s a monster—a shadow that looms over all of us.”

Ashley listened intently, her quill moving swiftly as she jotted down his words. Dorian glanced back at her, his crimson eyes glinting with determination. “Ashley,” he began, his tone firm, “with your unique power—your ability to draw strength from one’s lineage, making you virtually unbeatable—and my vampiric abilities, we have a responsibility to act against the corruption that festers in this world.”

He leaned back in his throne, the weight of his thoughts heavy. “I’m a dictator, Ashley. That’s not going to change. But even I can see that there are far worse evils in the world of kings. The Seven Deadly Kingdoms exploit and profit on a scale no one else can fathom. With Atlantis left kingless, vultures are circling, trying to strip its riches. And yet, former King Bimoth is holding the line, protecting what’s left. That’s why he hasn’t returned to me.”

Ashley set her quill down and placed her hands on his shoulders once more. “Then let’s act, my king,” she said softly. “If the world is crumbling, let us be the ones to reshape it.”

Dorian nodded, a spark of resolve igniting in his gaze. “We will. For Mel, for Elowen, and for all who can’t protect themselves.”

In a filthy, cramped cage deep within Camelot, Elowen sat hunched over, her once radiant appearance reduced to a shadow of its former self. Her torso was wrapped in tattered sarashi, and her shorts, frayed and bloodstained, clung to her like remnants of a battle long fought. Dirt smeared her face, and her hair hung in tangled strands. She looked like a caged beast, wild and broken.

A shadowed figure approached the cage, their steps echoing ominously in the dimly lit chamber. Without a word, they tossed a piece of raw meat into the cage. Elowen lunged at it, devouring it with an animalistic hunger, her movements desperate and unrefined.

The figure chuckled darkly. “King Liam’s little champion,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “You’ve been making him a fortune in the Pride Kingdom’s fighting pits. Nearly a billion knight coins already. Quite impressive.” He held up a thick stack of cash, letting it catch the faint light before sliding it into his pocket. “Your brother… he’s a real lunatic, I’ll give him that. But even he’s better than my mother and father. And definitely better than my annoying sister.”

Elowen looked up, her glassy eyes struggling to focus on the figure before her. Recognition flickered across her face like a faint memory slipping through her grasp. “You… I know who you are…” she murmured, her voice wavering. “But… it’s like all I know now is fighting…” She clutched her head, her fingers digging into her scalp as if trying to drag out the fragments of her identity.

The figure smirked and pulled a slender needle from his coat. The liquid inside shimmered with a faint, fiery hue. “Ah, that’s the phoenix shot for you,” he said, twirling the needle between his fingers. “A lovely little concoction that strips away everything but the urge to fight. Makes you a perfect little weapon, doesn’t it?”

He crouched by the cage, his grin widening as he taunted her. “If your so-called friends come looking for you without Melanthius, it’s game over for them. You’ll rip them apart before they even realize what’s happening.”

His laughter echoed cruelly as he stood and turned to leave, the sound reverberating through the cold, empty space. Elowen sat trembling, her fists clenched and her breathing ragged, the fire in her eyes flickering like a fragile ember trapped beneath layers of despair.