The first bell rang—
sharp.
Violent.
Cutting through the throne room like a blade.
Then another.
And another.
Until the entire palace erupted in sound.
Alarm.
Panic.
War.
Below us, the king vanished into smoke.
Gone.
Just like that.
Coward.
My blood surged.
Hot.
Electric.
Alive.
"Of course he runs," I muttered.
Beside me, Raiden exhaled softly.
Not annoyed.
Amused.
"Who doesn't like a good chase." he said.
I didn't respond.
Because I was already moving.
I jumped.
The drop should have hurt.
Should have jarred something loose.
But it didn't.
My body absorbed the impact like it was nothing, boots hitting marble hard before I rolled forward and came up already in motion.
The first guard didn't even get a chance to react.
My fire flashed—
Flames met flesh—
He dropped.
The second came from the right.
I didn't slow.
Didn't hesitate.
Ice formed instantly along my forearm, sharpening into a blade extension as I drove it forward—
Clean.
Precise.
He fell with a choking sound.
Too easy.
Far too easy.
Good.
The third lunged—
faster.
Better trained.
I twisted, his blade slicing past my ribs by inches—
and then—
darkness moved.
Raiden.
Shadows surged across the floor like something alive, snapping upward and through the man before he could even finish the strike.
He collapsed mid-motion.
Dead before he hit the ground.
I didn't look back.
Didn't need to.
The thread pulsed.
Aligned.
More guards flooded in.
Dozens.
Then more.
Boots thundered across marble.
Steel drawn.
Shouts filling the chamber.
The throne room transformed in seconds.
From polished luxury—
to battlefield.
I moved forward.
Toward the throne.
Toward where he had been.
Because he was still here.
Still somewhere.
I could feel it.
That smug, untouchable presence.
And I would rip it out of him.
A guard slammed into me from the side.
Too close.
Too fast.
I let my body shift.
Just slightly.
My claws slid free.
Not fully.
Just enough.
I caught him mid-strike—
and drove my hand forward.
The impact was solid.
Wet.
He dropped instantly.
I barely registered it.
Another came.
And another.
And another.
They kept coming.
Good.
Behind me—
lightning cracked.
Sharp.
Controlled.
Raiden moved like something carved from storm and shadow.
No wasted movement.
No hesitation.
His strikes were efficient.
Precise.
Deadly.
Lightning flickered in small bursts—never wild, never uncontrolled—just enough to end a fight before it began.
But it was the shadows—
Gods—
The shadows were worse.
They didn't strike.
They consumed.
Wrapping.
Piercing.
Dragging.
Ending.
We moved together.
Without thinking.
Without speaking.
Instinct.
Pure.
Perfect.
Balanced.
A blade came at my back—
I shifted—
but Raiden was already there.
The man never reached me.
I stepped forward—
cutting through another before he could regroup.
We didn't collide.
Didn't interrupt each other.
We flowed.
Through.
Around.
With.
Like we had done many times before.
Like this is what we were meant for.
Fire burst from my hand—
wild—
brief—
controlled just enough to catch two guards advancing too close together.
They screamed.
Fell.
I didn't watch.
Didn't slow.
Water pulled from the air—
froze mid-motion—
shattered outward into sharp fragments that cut through another wave before they reached us.
My breath came faster now.
But not from fear.
Not from exhaustion.
From something else.
Something deeper.
Peace.
Gods.
That was the terrifying part.
In the middle of all of it—
the blood.
The steel.
The chaos—
I felt…
steady.
Centered.
Like everything finally made sense.
Like this—
this was balance.
Not just light.
Not just darkness.
Both.
Working together.
A heavy strike slammed against my scaled arm
Hard.
Strong.
I slid back half a step—
caught—
and pivoted.
My tail snapped into existence behind me without thought, slamming into the guard's legs and taking him down.
I followed through.
Ended him.
No hesitation.
No pause.
More.
They just kept coming.
At least a hundred now.
Maybe more.
Filling every entrance.
Every corridor.
Every space.
Surrounding us completely.
Steel raised.
Shields locking.
They thought numbers would matter.
They were wrong.
Raiden stepped beside me.
Close.
Too close.
His arm brushed mine as he shifted his stance.
Lightning flickered faintly across his fingertips.
The shadows pooled at his feet like something waiting.
"They're getting desperate," he said.
"They should be."
My voice didn't sound like mine.
Colder.
Sharper.
He glanced at me.
Something like approval flickered there.
Then—
we moved again.
This time—
faster.
Harder.
No restraint.
I let more of it surface.
Claws fully extended.
Wings snapping out just enough to shift momentum—
to lift—
to strike—
to reposition mid-fight.
I tore through them.
Not clean anymore.
Not controlled.
Efficient.
Brutal.
Necessary.
Raiden matched it.
Gods.
He matched it.
His form shifting slightly—
not fully—
but enough.
Shadows deepening.
Movement blurring.
Lightning cracking more frequently now—but still controlled, still precise.
He wasn't losing control.
He was choosing exactly how much to use.
That was more dangerous.
A shield wall pushed forward.
Organized.
Trained.
I smiled.
Bad idea.
I drove both hands forward—
water surged—
froze—
expanded—
and shattered the formation in a single violent burst.
Raiden moved through the opening instantly.
Finishing what I started.
Time blurred.
Minutes.
Seconds.
Didn't matter.
Only movement.
Only survival.
Only—
him.
I felt him constantly now.
Through the thread.
Not separate.
Not distant.
There.
With me.
Matching.
Balancing.
Eventually—
the numbers thinned.
The shouting weakened.
The steel slowed.
Until—
finally—
silence began to bleed back into the room.
Not clean.
Not quiet.
But—
ending.
Bodies covered the marble.
Blood soaked into cracks of stone.
Weapons scattered.
Broken.
Forgotten.
And in the center of it—
we stood.
Breathing hard.
Covered in it.
Alive.
The doors at the far end burst open again.
I turned—
ready—
but paused.
Revik.
Muir.
Both of them looked just as bad.
Blood-streaked.
Clothes torn.
Breathing heavy.
They stopped short.
Took in the scene.
The bodies.
The destruction.
Then—
us.
Standing in the middle of it.
Together
.
Revik let out a low whistle.
"…Well," he muttered.
Muir just stared.
Processing.
Calculating.
And then—
slowly—
he shook his head.
I didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Because something in me knew—
this wasn't over.
Not even close.
And somewhere—
in the shadows of the palace—
the king was still breathing.