Damon's rage had solidified into an unstoppable force. His Crimson Blood-Red eyes burned with an incandescent, terrifying glow that filled the Obsidian Suite. He was a statue of lethal focus, still clutching the Scepter of Night, which now felt like a secondary concern to the fleeing Dragon and his defiant human bride.
Draven did not hesitate. He had the Ebon Wood key in one hand and Isolde's wrist in the other. He exploded out of the damaged suite, not with the flickering grace of a Vampire, but with the heavy, ground-shaking momentum of a charging beast.
They slammed into the hallway, moving toward the grand marble staircase. The Citadel guards were already pouring in. Draven did not draw a weapon. He didn't need one.
The first two guards were mid-caste Vampires they moved fast, but not fast enough. Draven met them head on, focusing his entire Volcanic Strength into two brutal, powerful blows. He struck the first guard with his armored forearm, the impact a sound of cracking stone that sent the guard flying into the opposite wall, instantly incapacitated. He countered the second guard's kick with a devastating, short range blow from his fist his skin, naturally harder in his war state, acting like granite. The guard dropped without a sound.
"Faster, Isolde!" Draven commanded, never slowing. His large, heavily built frame was already struggling with the tight turns and slippery marble floor.
They hit the sweeping Grand Staircase. The vast, open space was a death trap, perfect for Damon to utilize his speed advantage.
Damon was behind them. He moved not as a runner, but as a phantom. One second, he was thirty yards away at the top of the stairs the next, he had flickered across the distance, a Crimson blur of motion.
He appeared directly in front of Draven and Isolde, blocking the path down.
Draven reacted on instinct, releasing Isolde and unleashing his Brute Strength. He drove his shoulder forward, channeling all his momentum and internal Thermal Energy into a crushing tackle, aiming to overwhelm the Vampire's speed with sheer, unforgiving mass.
Damon didn't block the hit he evaded. He was a blur of motion, vanishing one instant before Draven connected. Draven's powerful charge hit nothing but air, and the Dragon Prince slammed into the thick marble banister with a devastating crack.
Damon reappeared immediately behind Draven, his movements too fast for the eye to track. He didn't use a fist he used his hand like a pressurized knife, aiming a precise, lightning-fast strike at the unprotected hinge of Draven's neck armor.
Draven felt the blinding, concussive force the focused speed of the Pureblood. The impact was like a hammer forged in ice. It wasn't enough to kill him, but the strike was precise and stunning. Draven stumbled, his vision blurring, the key to the Moon Gate clattering from his momentarily paralyzed fingers.
"You cannot win with brute force alone," Damon hissed, his voice slicing through the ringing in Draven's ears. He was moving constantly, a crimson and black whirlwind around the Dragon.
Isolde saw the key fall. The Ebon Wood skipped across the marble floor toward the edge of the stairs. She didn't hesitate. She scrambled after it, keeping her eyes locked on the prize, ignoring the blinding duel happening yards away. She knew she was not built for fighting she was built for running and strategy.
Damon, still moving faster than human comprehension, saw her move. His footwork adjusted a fraction of his attention peeled away from the Dragon. He knew the key was the only escape.
He extended his hand toward Isolde, his Crimson eyes burning with the intent to manipulate. He didn't need to lock eyes the proximity and his absolute power were enough for a general suggestion.
Stop. Retreat. Drop the key.
Isolde felt the invisible weight of his command. It hit her like a wave of pure, hypnotic control, threatening to lock her muscles. She instinctively crushed the small, dried leaves of the Iron-Leaf Rue in her palm. The raw, minty scent flared, and she pushed her chaotic Witch power against the psychic pressure.
The mental static worked. The command fractured, but the raw force of Damon's power was still too much. She stopped, falling to her knees, paralyzed by the residual shockwave, but she did not drop the key.
This fraction of a second was Draven's opportunity. He saw Damon distracted, his focus slightly fragmented by the Rue's unexpected resistance.
Draven, roaring with pure Dragon fury, charged, not at Damon, but at the marble wall near him. He unleashed a savage, close-range wave of Internal Heat and Volcanic Strength, not to burn, but to shatter.
The marble wall exploded into jagged shards and thick dust. Damon, unable to match the brute strength and distracted by Isolde, had to speed-flicker backward, away from the concussive chaos, regaining his distance.
"Isolde! Now!" Draven yelled, pushing past the smoke and dust.
Isolde seized the moment, snatching the Ebon Wood key from the floor. She scrambled down the rest of the stairs, Draven covering her escape with his formidable, rock solid back.
They fled into the long, silent corridors leading to the south wing the location of the Moon Gate. The corridor was a maze of tall, silver portraits and velvet draped consoles, all designed to slow a large, non-Vampire pursuer.
Damon returned to the chase, his pace terrifyingly fast. He was gaining on them, not running but gliding, his form a clean black silhouette against the distant torchlight.
Draven knew the corridor favored Damon's speed. He came to an abrupt stop, planting his feet wide, his heavy frame an unmovable obstacle.
"Go! I will slow him down!" Draven commanded, pushing Isolde forward.
Isolde didn't argue. She knew he was buying her seconds. She turned and ran, the sight of the Dragon Prince standing alone against the blur of the Vampire Prince etched into her mind.
Damon approached Draven, his Crimson eyes burning with finality. He slowed, assessing the Dragon's wounds, and the grim, determined set of his mouth.
"You are a creature of brute strength, Draven," Damon said, his voice cold and steady, even at this speed. "You cannot outmatch Vampire speed."
"But I can crush your perfect toys," Draven replied, and with a guttural sound, he brought his massive, hardened fist down onto a magnificent, priceless marble statue nearby.
The statue exploded into dust. Draven then picked up the heavy, silver framed portrait from the wall and hurled it with all his Dragon power down the corridor toward Damon.
Damon used his speed to counter, but instead of dodging entirely, he spun and struck the flying frame with a lightning-fast kick. The silver frame crumpled and deflected, but the action cost him a valuable fraction of a second, an expenditure of energy he did not want.
Damon returned his gaze to Draven. "Your death is inevitable."
"Not tonight," Draven growled, the internal Thermal Energy of his lineage surging through him. He moved with a speed he didn't know he possessed, launching a relentless, concussive combination of strikes fists and forearms, powerful blows meant only to stagger and delay.
Damon was forced into defense. He danced backward, his movements a blur, deflecting the heavy hits with practiced ease. But every block, every deflection, was a drain. Draven's brute force was like hitting solid rock.
Then, Draven saw his chance. Damon, using his speed to evade a heavy kick, was forced momentarily close to the wall. Draven didn't follow with a punch. Instead, he slammed his full weight and strength backward into the wall, sending a powerful concussive shockwave through the ancient stone.
The ceiling above Damon shuddered, and a massive, heavy chunk of decorative plaster and rock crashed down.
Damon vanished in a Crimson blur of speed, dodging the falling debris, but the momentary distraction was enough.
Draven turned and ran, using the dust and the chaos as his final cover. He found Isolde waiting near a large, unremarkable stone pedestal the disguised Moon Gate.
"Now, Isolde," Draven said, breathing hard. "The moment of truth."
Isolde took the Ebon Wood key. Her hands were steady, her focus absolute. She pressed the carved rune into the smooth stone of the pedestal. A cold, blue light flared, and the solid stone melted away, revealing a dark, tunnel entrance beneath the wall.