The armory sub-levels were a world away from the cold marble of the court. They were deep, damp, and smelled strongly of aged steel and protective, dark magic. Draven moved through the choking blackness, guided only by the detailed, stolen map from Nyx. The rough, dried leaves of the Iron-Leaf Rue were tucked deep into his pouch, a constant, sharp, minty scent that kept his senses heightened.
He moved with caution, calculating every step. He was no longer trying to be invisible he was using the Vampire overconfidence against them. They expected a Dragon to attack the walls, not to burrow through the service tunnels like a sewer rat.
The map led him down a winding, unused staircase that ended in a heavy, steel-plated door marked with ancient, sealed wards. This was the main barrier to the sub-levels.
Draven paused, his massive hand resting on the cold steel. He could use his thermal power... a flash of molten gold to melt the locks, but the heat would announce his presence with a scream. Brute force was his instinct, but strategy was the price of Isolde's freedom.
He pulled out the only tool he carried a small, hardened steel spike he had fashioned from a loose piece of rail. He worked the lock with agonizing slowness, his thick, powerful fingers moving with uncharacteristic delicacy. The lock clicked, the wards shivered, but the sound was contained. He was through.
The armory was vast, a cathedral of shadow dedicated to lethal purpose. The main chamber was filled with racks of archaic weapons, glowing with subtle, protective auras. But Draven wasn't here for the weapons... he was here for the Scepter of Night, which Nyx's map indicated was hidden in a secondary vault deep inside.
The deeper vault was where the real defense began. The passage was guarded by three Vampire soldiers. They were not the tired, low-caste patrols of the stables. These were high-strength guards, their bodies lean and coiled, their movements predatory, and their eyes a cold, unwavering grey.
They saw Draven the moment he rounded the corner.
"Dragon!" one hissed, the recognition immediate and laced with terror.
Draven didn't wait for them to draw their full power. He was heavily built and lacked the Vampire's blinding speed, so he had to control the opening seconds. He activated his own strength the molten gold heat surged, giving his muscles a terrifying boost of power.
He lunged forward, not toward the nearest guard, but toward the massive stone support pillar next to him. He slammed his shoulder into the ancient column, the impact a sound of crushing thunder. The pillar cracked deeply, dust and chunks of rock exploding outward.
The noise and the unexpected brute-force assault momentarily stunned the guards. The shock delayed their ability to engage their speed and mental attacks.
"Kill him!" the lead guard shrieked, his eyes instantly shifting from grey to a blazing, intense Blood-Red as he engaged his full power. The two other guards' eyes flickered to a slightly paler shade of red/pink.
The lead guard moved first a crimson blur of Vampire speed. He was aiming for Draven's throat, intending to end the fight before the Dragon could unleash his heat.
Draven anticipated the vector but could not match the speed. He relied on his enhanced strength and the Iron-Leaf Rue. The guard locked his Blood-Red eyes onto Draven's, attempting the mental manipulation.
Drop the weapon. Forget the Scepter. Submit.The command hit Draven's mind with the force of a hammer.
But the magical counter-agent worked. The Iron-Leaf Rue's power fought against the psychic attack, causing the command to splinter into confused, useless fragments of noise. Draven felt the force, but the control never took hold.
He roared, a sound of pure, volcanic fury, and swung his massive fist hardened by his strength in a devastating arc. The blow didn't connect cleanly, but the raw brute force sent the guard slamming into the far wall with enough power to crack the stone.
The two lesser-strength guards, their speed not matching their superior, attacked simultaneously. They relied on speed, flicking past Draven's bulk, slashing at his exposed limbs.
Draven focused his power. He didn't chase them he simply flared his body heat outward, a controlled burst of searing air designed to deter and wound, not kill. The blast hit the guards, searing their exposed skin and making them hiss in pain. Their eyes, though red, held fear.
He seized the nearest guard, ignoring the stinging slash across his own arm. He lifted the Vampire high over his head, an easy display of Dragon strength, and slammed him down onto the cracked stone floor. The impact was sickeningly final.
The final guard, terrified by the sheer, devastating brute force of the Dragon, tried to disengage and run for the alarm.
Draven moved to block the escape, his speed slow compared to the Vampire, but his powerful legs closed the distance. He tackled the guard, his weight and muscle a crushing force. He ended the fight quickly, securing his silent breach.
He stood panting, his knuckles scraped raw, the air smelling of ozone, dust, and scorched leather. He was wounded, but the mission was intact. He now had a clear path to the secondary vault.
The inner vault was sealed by a door of solid, enchanted Ebon iron. It bore no locks, only a series of complex, intertwined magical wards. This was the true obstacle. The only way in was through thermal power
Draven looked at the door. He didn't have the finesse of a Mage. He focused every bit of his remaining energy. He channeled the deepest, purest molten gold heat of his lineage, concentrating it into a single, focused point on the vault door.
The metal began to glow cherry red, then orange, then blinding white. The wards shrieked in protest, the air filling with a sickly, sweet magical ozone. The heat was immense. Draven felt the strain on his skin, the energy draining from his core.
With a final, shattering surge of power, the Ebon iron melted, sagging inward like wax. He plunged his body through the hole, collapsing inside the small, cool vault.
The Scepter of Night rested on a velvet pedestal a long, obsidian staff capped with a massive, dark diamond that seemed to absorb all light. Draven grabbed it, the cold, powerful metal a shocking contrast to his burning skin.
He had the Scepter. Nyx's goal was achieved. But the noise of the melting metal would travel. The entire Citadel would know the armory was breached within minutes.
Draven had his target. Now he had to move with speed, not back through the tunnels, but up. He had to deliver the weapon to Nyx and claim his price... Isolde's freedom. He was running on borrowed time.