The grand hall of the throne room was silent as death itself. Haldrek stood before the gathered nobles, his presence casting a shadow over even the most arrogant among them. His white robe, now stained with blood and streaked with black from the ritual, hung heavily on his broad shoulders. The piercing cold in his eyes swept across the Velmire family leaders, freezing them in place. The memory of what they had just witnessed—the impossible ritual of Zahul—still lingered in their minds like a nightmare. None dared to speak.
The air was thick with tension as Haldrek began to speak.
"The abominations are spreading through Vördrheim," he said, his voice deep and commanding, echoing through the icy chamber. "Ezrael, the dragon god of war, has tainted what was once harmless. Beings created to serve, to assist, and to sustain life have been twisted into weapons of destruction. Five towns—towns under my protection—are under siege. The people are dying, their homes turned into slaughterhouses. And you," he gestured to the Velmires, "will clear them out."
The nobles shifted uneasily, their pride clashing with their fear. They were pillars of nobility, masters of bloodlines forged in chaos and war, yet in Haldrek’s presence, their so-called dignity felt like brittle ice on the verge of shattering.
Haldrek’s icy gaze swept across them. "You will go not out of loyalty or respect. I know you too well for that. You will go because you fear me. And because I command it."
Lord Valen Velmire, the Silver Lion, took a step forward, his polished armor glinting faintly in the torchlight. He bowed slightly, his voice measured. "We will comply, Your Majesty. The Velmires do not shirk from duty or battle."
The others nodded in agreement, though their expressions were tight with suppressed disdain. They held their noble postures, their training in aristocratic composure keeping them from showing too much weakness. But Haldrek could see the fear in their eyes, the way their hands tensed at their sides.
Haldrek turned his back to them, pacing toward the window that overlooked the snow-covered peaks of Vördrheim. "You will divide your forces and cleanse these towns. The scourge cannot be allowed to spread further."
He raised his hand, his voice cutting like a blade. "The towns are as follows: Krythgard, nestled in the shadow of the cliffs. Mornhollow, near the edge of the Pines. Drelskov, a fishing village on the frozen shores of the Blackglass Sea. Varrowstead, hidden within the crags of the Ashen Divide. And finally, Kalthaven, at the foot of the Emberglow Land."
The room was silent, save for the faint crackle of the torches. The names hung heavy in the air, each one carrying the weight of lives in peril. Haldrek turned back to face the nobles, his icy glare settling on Lord Gorvhan Velmire.
"And you," Haldrek said, his voice low and deliberate, "are coming with me."
Gorvhan’s pale face grew even paler. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but the words died on his tongue. The room felt colder, the weight of Haldrek’s presence pressing down on him like an avalanche. He nodded quickly, his head bobbing like a nervous bird. "O-of course, Your Majesty. Whatever you command."
‘Dammit! Why me?! I mean, it’s better than being around the noble family leaders. They hate me right now since I conducted a tournament for Haldrek’s cause, because I was so scared. The other noble leaders didn’t even know, and it’s because of me that I dragged them into this.’
The other nobles cast brief glances at Gorvhan, some smirking at his misfortune, others relieved that they were not the ones singled out. But none of them dared to speak.
Lord Valen cleared his throat. "We will split up," he said, addressing the other nobles. "It’s the only way to handle this efficiently."
Lady Verena Velmire, the Blood Queen, smirked faintly, her crimson lips curving into a grin. "Splitting up also means less competition for glory, doesn’t it?"
"Or survival," muttered Tyros Velmire, the Silent Blade, his voice barely audible. His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable as he adjusted the hood of his cloak.
"Enough," Valen snapped. "We have our orders. Let’s move."
‘Damn Gorvhan dragged our family into this, he couldn’t grow a backbone against King Haldrek. If Haldrek talks to me with disrespect, I will show him I’m not a pushover. I’m only agreeing to help because the other leaders are. I don’t want them to be put in jeopardy. But would he even do anything to us? He’ll need us.’
The nobles exchanged curt nods, their pride preventing them from showing any further hesitation. As they turned to leave, they muttered among themselves, their voices fading as they exited the throne room.
"Try not to die out there, Verena," Tyros said dryly, disappearing into the shadows.
"Likewise, dear cousin," Verena replied, her tone dripping with venomous amusement.
And with that, the Velmire leaders scattered, each heading toward their assigned town. The hunt for the abominations of war had begun.
Krythgard – Valen Velmire, The Silver Lion
The snowy cliffs of Krythgard loomed over the small mining town, their jagged peaks casting long shadows over the bloodstained streets. Valen strode into the town square, his silver armor gleaming even in the dim, overcast light. His blade, Ashfang, rested on his shoulder, its edge glinting with a faint orange hue as if still holding the heat of dragon fire.
The abomination revealed itself as he approached the center of the square. It was a grotesque amalgamation of stone and flesh, a failed golem meant to assist miners in their work. Its body was a hulking mass of cracked stone, its veins pulsing with molten red energy. What had once been a docile creature now roared with mindless rage, its massive hands, once used for excavating rock, now smeared with the blood of townsfolk.
Valen wasted no time. "Come, beast," he growled, raising Ashfang. "Face me."
The golem charged, its molten core glowing brighter as it swung one of its massive fists. Valen sidestepped the blow with practiced ease, his movements a perfect balance of strength and precision. He brought Ashfang down in a sweeping arc, the blade biting deep into the creature’s stone arm. Lava-like blood sprayed from the wound, hissing as it hit the snow.
The golem roared, swinging wildly, but Valen was relentless. He ducked under another blow, driving his blade into the creature’s molten chest. The heat was unbearable, but Valen held his ground, twisting the blade as the golem let out a final, deafening roar. Its core shattered, and the abomination collapsed in a heap of stone and ash.
Valen wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath visible in the freezing air. "One down," he muttered, sheathing his blade. "Four more to go."
Mornhollow – Lady Verena Velmire, The Blood Queen
The Whispering Pines surrounding Mornhollow were eerily quiet, the usual sounds of wildlife replaced by the faint, wet squelching of something moving through the shadows. Verena stepped into the town, her crimson robes billowing around her. Her hands glowed faintly with the power of her blood magic, and the scent of iron filled the air.
The abomination emerged from the woods—a humanoid mass of vines and thorns, its body writhing with unnatural life. Once a harmless forest guardian, it had been twisted into a predator. Its elongated limbs ended in sharp, thorny claws, and its face was a grotesque tangle of vines, its hollow eyes glowing faintly green.
Verena smirked. "Oh, you’re going to bleed beautifully," she purred.
The creature lunged at her, its claws slicing through the air. Verena raised her hand, and a crimson shield of blood magic formed in front of her, deflecting the attack. With a flick of her wrist, she sent a tendril of blood snaking toward the creature, wrapping around its limbs and tightening like a vice.
The abomination screeched, thrashing against her magic, but Verena only laughed. She raised her other hand, and the blood tendril tore the creature’s limbs from its body in a spray of green sap. The abomination collapsed, twitching, as Verena stepped closer, her eyes alight with sadistic glee.
"Through chaos, we find strength," she whispered, driving a dagger into the creature’s chest. The abomination let out one final shriek before falling silent.
Drelskov – Tyros Velmire, The Silent Blade
The frozen shoreline of Drelskov was eerily quiet, the icy waves of the Blackglass Sea lapping gently against the jagged rocks. Tyros Velmire moved like a shadow through the desolate fishing village, his black cloak blending almost seamlessly with the surrounding darkness. The scent of blood hung thick in the air, and the once-bustling harbor was littered with the mangled remains of fishermen and townsfolk. Their boats, now splintered wrecks, bobbed aimlessly in the water.
Tyros crouched low, his sharp eyes scanning the fog that rolled in from the sea. He had heard the whispers before arriving—of a creature unlike any other, a horror born of twisted experimentation. The abomination did not keep him waiting.
From the gloom emerged a towering figure, its grotesque form illuminated by the faint glow of bioluminescent pustules dotting its bloated body. It was once a creature of the sea, engineered to help fishermen haul in their catches. But now, it was a monstrosity. Its skin was a sickly gray-green, stretched tight over a hulking frame. Where its face should have been, there was a gaping maw filled with rows of needle-like teeth. Its elongated arms ended in jagged claws, and its legs were twisted, malformed stumps that dragged heavily across the ground, leaving trails of viscous black ichor.
Tyros watched silently as the creature lumbered toward him, its grotesque body twitching with unnatural spasms. The Silent Blade lived up to his name—he unsheathed his weapons, a pair of curved daggers, without a sound. Their edges shimmered faintly with poison, a gift from the Velmires’ alchemists.
The abomination let out a guttural screech and lunged forward, its claws raking the air. Tyros sidestepped, his movements impossibly fast and fluid. He ducked under a swipe, slicing one of his daggers across the creature’s exposed side. A spray of black ichor erupted from the wound, sizzling as it hit the icy ground.
The abomination roared, swinging wildly, but Tyros was relentless. He ducked under another blow, driving his blade into the creature’s molten chest. The heat was unbearable, but Tyros held his ground, twisting the blade as the golem let out a final, deafening roar. Its core shattered, and the abomination collapsed in a heap of stone and ash.
Tyros wiped the sweat from his brow, his breath visible in the freezing air. "One down," he muttered, sheathing his blade. "Four more to go."
‘Ehhh. I hate this. I feel like Ezrael could bombard us any moment, sending abominations just to tease. Will we survive? It’ll be a fight against dragon gods and vessels, lives will be lost. Maybe even this side of Kyrrin.’
Varrowstead – Verena Velmire, The Blood Queen
Verena’s crimson robes billowed around her as she stepped into the narrow canyon of the Ashen Divide. The jagged rock formations loomed high above, their sharp edges casting sinister shadows over the small, burning village of Varrowstead. The scent of smoke and charred flesh filled the air, and the screams of the dying echoed off the canyon walls.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
The abomination stalking the village was a grotesque fusion of man and insect. It had been created to assist farmers, its original form crafted to act as a pollinator and harvester. Now, it was a nightmare. Its body was slender and insectoid, its thin, elongated limbs tipped with razor-sharp claws. Its head resembled that of a locust, with bulging, multifaceted eyes and mandibles that dripped with venom. Its thorax was segmented and pulsating, and a pair of translucent wings buzzed loudly as it hovered over the burning rooftops.
Verena raised her hands, channeling her blood magic. A crimson aura surrounded her, and tendrils of blood snaked through the air, writhing like living things. The abomination turned toward her, its mandibles clicking loudly as it let out a high-pitched screech.
“Well,” Verena said with a smirk, “you’re certainly uglier than I expected.”
The creature lunged at her, its claws slicing through the air. Verena raised her hand, and a barrier of blood formed in front of her, deflecting the attack. She retaliated with a whip-like tendril of blood, wrapping it around the abomination’s leg and yanking it to the ground.
The creature thrashed, its wings buzzing furiously as it tried to free itself. Verena stepped closer, tightening the tendril until it severed the limb entirely. The abomination screeched in pain, ichor spraying from the wound.
“You’re not so fearsome now, are you?” Verena taunted, her voice dripping with mockery.
The creature lashed out with its remaining limbs, but Verena was already moving. She extended her arms, and two more tendrils of blood shot forward, piercing the abomination’s thorax. With a cruel twist of her fingers, she tore the creature in half, its body collapsing in a heap of twitching limbs and viscera.
Verena wiped a speck of ichor from her cheek, her expression one of satisfaction. “Through chaos, we find strength,” she murmured, turning away from the carnage.
…
Malgorn Village was a somber sight. Smoke rose from the chimneys, and the village seemed untouched by the chaos plaguing the rest of Vördrheim. But as Valen Velmire accidentally approached the outskirts on his way back to the palace, his instincts told him something was wrong.
The first thing he noticed was the bodies—dozens of them, scattered across the snow-covered ground. They were not human. These were once harmless creatures, engineered to assist with pest control and crop maintenance. Now, they were grotesque humanoid squirrels, twisted and misshapen. Their bodies were elongated and sinewy, their fur patchy and matted with blood. Their faces were warped, their black, beady eyes bulging unnaturally from their sockets. Their mouths were filled with jagged, yellowed teeth, and their clawed hands were stained with gore. The sight was disturbing, their corpses lying in unnatural positions, as though frozen mid-twitch.
The villagers were all safe, hugging onto each other, saying:
“The dwarves..”
“They saved us…”
Some of the villages had enchanted weapons and armor, gifted to them by Gridd and the dwarves himself. Some of the villagers were covered in blood, finishing off a monster.
‘Hm. They’ve already been dispatched. Is that why that psycho Haldrek didn’t inform us of this village? Seems dwarves have helped this defenseless village and turned them into combatants.’
Valen stepped carefully over the bodies, his hand resting on the hilt of Ashfang. The Silver Lion was no stranger to horrors, but there was something particularly unsettling about these creatures. The air was thick with the acrid stench of decay, and he could hear faint voices coming from the center of the village.
‘Disgusting creatures..nothing but vile.’
As he rounded a corner, he saw them: dwarves. At least two dozen of them, clad in heavy armor and bristling with weapons. Their weapons were unlike anything Valen had ever seen—masterfully forged and adorned with glowing runes, each one radiating an aura of power. At their center stood a stout, imposing figure: Gridd Ironbeard, the known leader of the Ironbeard Clan.
In Gridd’s arms was a child. No, not just a child—a dragon hybrid. Xyenn and Yuuna’s child. The infant’s scaled tail flicked lazily, its golden eyes gleaming with an unnatural light. Its small, clawed hands clutched at Gridd’s armor.
Valen’s expression twisted into one of disgust. He stepped forward, his voice cold and commanding. “What in the name of the gods is that thing?”
Gridd turned to face him, his expression unchanging. “Buzz off, noble. Ye’re not touchin’ the lad.”
Valen’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. “You know who I am, dwarf? Do you know the family I represent?”
“Aye,” Gridd replied with a grunt. “Velmire, right? Cutthroats and connivers, the lot of ye. Don’t mean I care. Hosts dumb tournaments. Who doesn’t know ye?”
Valen narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “That creature is a threat. You’re harboring darkness, dwarf. I’ve been forced and tasked to eliminate monsters. I won’t leave extra’s hanging around, I don’t want to hear Haldrek’s rage in my eardrums. Hand that demonic baby over.”
Gridd’s eyes flicked to the child in his arms, then back to Valen. “Darkness or not, he’s a babe. Ye’ll not lay a finger on him.”
The other dwarves shifted, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. The air grew tense, the faint hum of enchanted steel filling the silence. Valen could feel the power radiating from their weapons, but he was undeterred. He unsheathed Ashfang, the blade glowing faintly with an orange hue.
“I’ll not let it grow into something worse,” Valen said coldly. “Stand aside. It resembles the monsters here. And you’re harboring the monster.”
Gridd didn’t move. “Ye’ve got gall, damn noble. But if ye think I’ll let ye harm him, ye’ve lost yer mind.”
Valen stepped forward, his blade raised. The dragon hybrid looked up at him, its golden eyes locking onto his. For a moment, there was silence. Then, faster than Valen could react, the infant’s tail lashed out. It struck Valen’s forehead with pinpoint precision, the sharp tip piercing his skull.
For a split second, Valen stood frozen. Then his head exploded in a shower of gore and brains, his body crumpling to the ground. The dwarves recoiled in shock before erupting into laughter.
Gridd looked down at the hybrid, his expression one of mild surprise. “Huh. Didn’t think ye had it in ye.”
The infant cooed softly, its tail curling back around its body. Gridd shook his head, smirking. “Well, guess that’s that. Velmires always were a bit too high an’ mighty for their own good.”
“Snowfall.”
Gridd and the dwarves gasped looked up, seeing snow pour onto Valen’s body.
Valen’s body began to rise and be reformed, and he looked as good as new.
“W-What was that?!”
Haldrek was ascending down upon everyone wearing his white robe, saying, “If I hadn’t activated my godly gift Snowfall in time, your soul would’ve been lost forever with Death. You are all ordered not to harm the hybrid baby. If anyone refuses to comply, it will mean instant retaliation on my end. That baby is to be protected at all costs. Do you understand, fool?”
Valen gritted his teeth, saying, “Yes.”
“Good. Leave. There are more villages and towns that are about to be overrun, go.”
Valen gave one last look at Gridd and the dwarves and the hybrid baby before taking off.
Haldrek gave Gridd a look, then said, “Giving villagers weapons and armor…for free?”
“Yep. We dwarves of the Ironbeard look out for those who need it.”
“Mm.” Haldrek then vanished off into the distance.
A dwarf approached Gridd, saying, “Did Haldrek just defend the baby?!”
Another dwarf added, “That’s gotta be a fluke. Right?!”
Gridd explained, “Haldrek knows he needs Yuuna and Xyenn. If he touches this hybrid lad, then he’ll be facin’ then in battle.”
‘I hope those two brats are doing alright…this baby is getting stronger ... .when dragonkin children of vessels aren’t supposed to have a vessel's power…only his traits…times are changin’.’
…
The gentle hum of magic filled the stillness of the ship’s lower deck. Illyana sat cross-legged on the floor, her serene smile never wavering as she cradled Yuuna’s head in her lap. Yuuna, for all her manic energy, had finally passed out, her arms loosely sprawled across Illyana like a child clinging to her mother.
Illyana’s glowing hand hovered just above Yuuna’s tangled hair, exuding a soft, golden light. The light rippled and shimmered, flowing down into Yuuna’s body as it worked to soothe her restless spirit. Despite the chaos of the others above deck, Illyana remained unfazed, humming a soft, melodic tune that seemed to calm everything around her. The other Tyrants had long since learned not to question her strange ability to bring peace in even the most absurd of situations.
Yuuna stirred faintly in her sleep, murmuring something incoherent, and Illyana giggled softly. “Rest well,” she whispered. Her touch was as light as a feather, and her magic flowed like a gentle stream, washing away any tension. Even in the midst of their journey, Illyana found joy in these small moments of peace.
Meanwhile, above deck, the sound of gritted teeth and strained muscles filled the air as Mertha and Sethrak locked hands in an intense arm-wrestling match. The sheer force of their struggle caused the thick oak table beneath them to creak and groan under the pressure. Around them, a small crowd of soldiers had gathered, cheering and shouting bets as the two combatants refused to back down.
“I got my gold on that big brute!”
“I got mine on that dragonkin!”
“Add another 100 gold coins!”
“Aye, aren’t we supposed to be standing guard?”
“That’s boring! We gotta let loose, we’re with a goddess and her Tyrants and vessel! What do we really need to stand guard for?!”
Mertha’s muscular frame was hunched forward, her biceps bulging with raw power. Her stoic expression remained firm, but there was a slight grin tugging at the corner of her lips. Sethrak, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair, his face calm and collected, though his arm trembled slightly from the strain. His arrogance refused to let him show any sign of true struggle.
“You’re not bad, dragon boy,” Mertha said, her voice steady and low. “But you’re not making me break a sweat yet. Hear those knights cheering for me?”
Sethrak smirked, his voice dripping with condescension. “Sweating is for the undisciplined. I prefer to win with elegance.”
Mertha chuckled, her grin widening. “You talk too much. Elegance this, elegance that! Gross..”
“And you grunt too much,” Sethrak shot back, his calm demeanor intact. “Do you always sound like an ox when you’re trying to win?”
Mertha’s grin turned predatory. “You’re about to find out what an ox can do.” With a sudden surge of strength, she tries to slam Sethrak’s arm down onto the table, the impact of the force shaking the entire deck.
Nearby, Zyphira leaned against the ship’s railing, a bottle of Frostfire Mead in her hand. She had been trying for the past fifteen minutes to get Kivorn to drink with her, and to her growing frustration, the elf showed no signs of intoxication despite downing three bottles himself.
“You’ve gotta be cheating, Kivorn!” Zyphira exclaimed, her voice slurring slightly as she pointed an accusatory finger at Kivorn. “Nobody drinks this much mead and stays sober! You’re just pretending, aren’t you?”
Kivorn, who sat slouched against the railing with his usual half-lidded expression, let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “I’m not pretending,” he said, his voice as slow and tired as ever. “Elves... don’t get drunk.”
Zyphira stared at him, her jaw dropping. “What do you mean, ‘elves don’t get drunk’? That’s impossible! Everyone gets drunk!”
Kivorn lazily swirled the contents of his bottle and took another sip. “Our bodies are too... refined,” he said, pausing to yawn mid-sentence. “Alcohol doesn’t affect us the way it does you other races. It’s part of the blessing of the Dragon God of the Elves, Vael’tharion. He gifted us with clarity of mind so we could always remain vigilant.”
Zyphira blinked, then burst out laughing. “Clarity of mind? You? You’re half-asleep all the time!”
Kivorn shrugged. “Clarity doesn’t mean enthusiasm.”
Zyphira groaned, slumping against the railing. “You’re no fun. I can’t believe I’m stuck with a drinking buddy who can’t even appreciate a good buzz.”
Kivorn took another sip of his mead, his expression unchanged. “I appreciate it. Just not the way you do.”
At the bow of the ship, Xyenn sat cross-legged on the deck, the enchanted map spread out before him. The glyphs etched into the parchment shimmered and shifted, rearranging themselves every time he thought he was beginning to understand them. His brows furrowed in concentration as he muttered to himself.
‘I’m so confused! Dammit all!’
“What the hell are you even saying? This doesn’t look like a map. It looks like someone spilled ink on a piece of paper and called it art!” He jabbed a clawed finger at one of the swirling symbols. “Is that supposed to be a mountain? Or a giant snail? Ugh, I hate magic.”
He leaned back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Okay, Xyenn, think. You’re a powerful vessel. You’ve fought king Haldrek, you can figure out a stupid map.”
He stared at it for a long moment, then slammed his fists down on the deck. “WHY ARE YOU MOCKING ME, PIECE OF PAPER?!”
‘Oh my goodness. I look insane..right now.’
Off to the side, Draeven stood awkwardly, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt as he watched Xyenn spiral into madness. He wanted to help, but the thought of approaching the dragon hybrid—a warrior who exuded strength and confidence—made his stomach churn with anxiety.
“Come on, Draeven,” he muttered to himself, clenching his fists. “You can do this. Just walk over there and offer to help. He’s not going to bite your head off... probably. You’re part of the team. You’re supposed to be brave, like everyone else. You can’t just stand here forever.”
He took a hesitant step forward, then stopped. “But what if he laughs at me? Or worse, what if he doesn’t even notice I’m there? Ugh, I’m such a mess...”
Before he could talk himself out of it again, Xyenn suddenly turned to him, his eyes wide and slightly manic. “You,” he said slowly, pointing a clawed finger at Draeven. “Do you know how to read enchanted maps?”
Draeven froze, his face turning pale. “Uh... y-yes?”
Xyenn’s expression softened slightly, though his frustration was still evident. “Good. Get over here and help me before I lose my mind. Pleaseee.”
Draeven hesitated for a moment, then hurried over, kneeling beside the map. As he began to decipher the glyphs, he glanced nervously at Xyenn. “Um... so... what’s your favorite food?”
Xyenn blinked, caught off guard. “Huh? What did you say?”
“Your favorite food,” Draeven repeated, his voice trembling slightly. “I-I just thought it’d be nice to, you know, get to know each other.”
Xyenn frowned, but after a moment, he shrugged. “I dunno. Roast venison, maybe. With some good spices.”
Draeven’s face lit up. “Really? Mine’s honey-glazed rabbit! It’s so good, especially when it’s cooked over an open fire. Oh, and bread. I love bread. Do you like bread?”
Xyenn stared at him for a long moment, then chuckled softly. “Yeah, I like bread.”
Draeven beamed. “That’s awesome! Hey, uh... do you wanna be bros?” He bowed slightly, sticking out his hand.
Xyenn hesitated, then reached out and shook Draeven’s hand. “Sure, why not.”
‘This Draeven…hidden under wraps, eyes glowing red and smoke coming from under the wraps…what is he? But he seems cool. I'm really really moving up in the world. That’s another one added to my friends list.’
As soon as their hands parted, Draeven silently pumped his fist in celebration, his face glowing with pride.
The celebration was short-lived, as Mertha’s towering frame loomed over them. Her muscular arms were crossed, and a wide grin spread across her face. “Looks like you two seem buddy-buddy,” she said, her voice filled with amusement. “Good. Let’s get to work.”
Xyenn raised an eyebrow. “Work?”
‘Oh god. Out of all times, here?! Now?! This oaf!’
Mertha leaned down, her grin turning predatory. “Don’t forget, dragon boy. We still have a deal. I’m going 100% this time. Remember what you promised me, Xyenn.”
Xyenn remembered the day they first trained, then remembered he promised to make sure Mertha got the killing blow on Haldrek, and to help her have her own kingdom. He knew Mertha was always haunted by her clan and family's loss, and she was the leader of the clan. He noticed also Mertha is someone who wants to be of help any way she can, he noticed from when she instantly cooked him food, and instantly tried her hardest to train him, and how she blamed herself for what happened with Haldrek. Mertha was the one to want to try and work harder so she wouldn’t have a repeat of before.
Xyenn chuckled, and said, “Hell yeah! Bring it. I’ll kick your ass this time. Won’t we Draeven?” Xyenn bumped Draeven playfully with a grin.
Draeven stumbled over, “Y-Yeah! I think…? Mertha is very strong at 100%…she’s using Yuuna’s mana at 100%.”
“We’ll still win. We’ll both go all out.”
“You don’t wanna…wake Yuuna up and merge with her?”
Mertha scoffed at Draeven, “Oy! That’s overkill! Don’t give him ideas!”
Draeven hid behind Xyenn.
Xyenn, still grinning, replied, “Don’t need it. I’ll get stronger the more I train without being merged with Yuuna, right? Even if we lose the fight, I’m getting something out of this. We both are.”
“Xyenn…”
‘If only I had that confidence…maybe I can gain it by staying good bros with him!’
Mertha then turned to Kivorn, who was leaning lazily against the mast. “Kivorn! Make the arena.”
Kivorn let out a long sigh, rubbing his eyes. “Why does everything have to be so loud?” He grabbed his staff and tapped it against the deck, muttering a spell under his breath. Vines erupted from the wood, weaving together to form a massive dome with a raised platform in the center.
Mertha stepped onto the platform, her hands glowing with dark pink energy as she summoned jagged spirit gauntlets around her fists. A jagged halo of the same color appeared above her head, crackling with power. She pointed at Xyenn and Draeven. “Both of you. Come at me.”
Xyenn cracked his knuckles, stepping into a fighting stance. Draeven, though visibly shaking, managed to steady himself and stand beside him.
Watching from the sidelines, Sethrak smirked. “This should be entertaining.”
Zyphira cheered, raising her bottle. “Get her, Xyenn! I’m on your side! If you win, I’ll let you taste my mead! And maybe even give ya a kiss on the—.”
FWIP!
Yuuna, even in her sleep, lashed her draconic tail out at Zyphira, and started choking her.
Zyphira said, “Ow! Ow! Ow! You don’t even have any memory of him! And you’re still jealous?!”
Illyana waved at Xyenn and Draeven, saying with a smile, “Good luck you two, don’t let up, okay?”
Xyenn and Draeven nodded at her.
Draeven was ready, he was definitely being watched. He has to go all out as well.
Illyana smiled, gently cradling a still-sleeping Yuuna, said again, “Good luck!”
High above, Gorran watched through a small hole in the dome, his hand resting on Xenith’s hilt. He said nothing, his brooding gaze fixed on the combatants below.
Mertha slammed her fists together, the energy around her fists flaring. “Don’t hold back. I won’t.”
Xyenn walked forward, smiling, “I won’t. I couldn’t wait for this rematch, Mertha.”
Draeven walked with him, saying to himself, “I’m actually walking beside Xyenn like we’re bros!”
Kivorn and Sethrak stood on the side leaning against the vine wall, and Sethrak said, “This is the first time Draeven has been like this.”
“Yep…looks like he found another bro.”