The throne room, once a symbol of the greatness and power of the kingdom of Demonia, now looked more like an arena of an impending catastrophe. The moonlight, penetrating through the huge stained glass windows, played on the crimson patterns of the mosaic, as if the sky itself was crying bloody tears for the fate of its queen. Victoria stood in the center, her hand clutching the hilt of a demonic blade, from which a barely noticeable pulsating glow emanated. Every moment, the weapon seemed to breathe, like a living creature waiting for the moment to break out.
"Here she is, the 'great' queen, surrounded by shadows and silence," Dreydus said, entering the hall with icy confidence. His voice echoed through the empty space. "You know, Victoria, that this is your last performance? Today, your power will die, and you along with it.
Victoria looked up, her gaze as cold as the winter winds of the mountain peaks. She straightened up, despite the pain the blade continued to bring her. Her silence irritated Dreydus, and he chuckled as he continued:
"And yet, how pitiful your path is. You hold the greatest weapon of our world in your hands, but even it cannot compensate for your weakness. You try to be Irfan, but instead you become only a buffoon's copy. Irfan would laugh at you, as I laugh now."
The word "Irfan" struck her mind like a hammer. The shadow of her father had hovered over her since the first day of her ascension to the throne. But she did not allow herself to waver. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her hand with the blade clenched even tighter. However, the blade responded to her power again, turning it against Victoria herself - the crimson glow became even more intense.
Dreydus did not stop. His words seeped into Victoria's mind like drops of poison.
"You are of no use to your people, your knights, or even to yourself. You make weakness seem like strength, chaos seem like order. But the truth is, you've already lost."
He came closer, his black cloak fluttering like a raven's wings. His face, cold and merciless as if carved from stone, twisted into a sneer.
"Tell me, Victoria, why do you still cling to this throne? You know that no one believes in you anymore. Not even you believe in yourself."
Her silence made Dreydus chuckle. He began to walk in circles, like a predator inspecting its prey.
"A queen who cuts up her subjects like a butcher. You know what the people call you, right? "The Crimson Shadow." Not a queen, not a savior, just a shadow. Even the darkness of the blade has become closer to you than your people.
Victoria finally spoke, her voice low but firm, like the rumble of distant thunder.
"Are you finished?"
Her simple sentence pierced the tense silence. Dreydus froze, surprised by her composure.
"No, Victoria. I'm just beginning. Your mistakes, your weakness - all of this has turned Demonia into a war-torn wasteland. You are not building a future, you are only digging a grave in which you will bury yourself and your people."
Victoria stepped forward. The light from the blade grew stronger, reflecting on her face, filling it with an ominous crimson hue.
"You love words, Dreydus. You live by them. But do you know what their weakness is? They mean nothing. They are dust. And like dust, they will disperse when the sword reaches your flesh.
She raised the blade, its glow becoming blinding.
"Raise your sword, Dreydus. Show me what your power is worth. You wanted to destroy me, didn't you? Try it."
Dreydus grinned. His hand reached for the hilt of his own weapon, and he drew a long sword, black as night.
"As you wish, Victoria. If this is your last request, I will not refuse you."
They stood opposite each other, two poles of power, two ideals, meeting in the ruined throne room. The moonlight turned crimson, as if the sky itself had decided to witness this duel.
Victoria took one last deep breath. Her hand tightened around the hilt of the blade, and her eyes met Dreydus's.
"For Demonia," she said, her voice like a stone falling into a bottomless abyss.
Dreydus chuckled.
"No, Victoria. For myself."
And their swords met, cutting the air and sealing the fate of the kingdom.
The sound of the swords clashing tore through the tense silence of the throne room like a bolt from the blue. Victoria's blade, imbued with demonic power, and Dreydus's weapon, cold as death itself, met in a fierce dance of light and darkness. Sparks fell on the marble floor, reflecting in the stained glass windows, which seemed to be watching the battle as well.
Victoria attacked silently, her movements abrupt and chaotic, but with frightening precision. Each blow was intended to crush her opponent. But Dreydus, despite her strength, moved with frightening grace. His sword slid, parrying the blows, as if he were waltzing rather than engaging in mortal combat.
"So this is your power?" Dreydus growled, blocking another blow. "Raw, uncontrollable, blind rage! You don't know what you're doing!"
His words penetrated deeper than she could have imagined. Victoria felt something inside her waver, like a blade vibrating from a collision with another. She attacked again, putting all her strength into this blow. But the blade seemed to act on its own—a crimson light enveloped her hand, and Victoria felt a sharp pain as her wrist twisted into an unnatural position.
She screamed, but did not stop. Her body moved in spite of herself, driven by the blade. Each movement became more and more awkward, like a puppet controlled by invisible strings. Dreydus smirked, stepping back, his voice sounding like a mockery.
"Look at you, Victoria. You can't even control your own power. This blade is eating you from the inside, and you don't even realize it."
Victoria tried to raise the blade for another attack, but her hand was shaking. Her breathing became ragged, and everything before her vision blurred. The next moment, Dreydus took advantage of her weakness and delivered a powerful blow that sent Victoria flying several meters. Her body hit the column with such force that the marble cracked.
She fell to the floor, trying to breathe, but every movement brought pain. The blade fell from her hand, and the crimson glow weakened. Victoria raised her head with difficulty, her eyes darting around the room, trying to find the weapon. But the blade lay to the side, as if taunting her with its inaccessibility.
Dreydus approached slowly, his steps sounding like the ticking of a clock, counting down the last moments of her life.
"That's it, Victoria. I was right all along. You are not a queen. You are a child playing with fire."
His words again penetrated deeper than she would like to admit. Victoria tried to rise, but her legs refused to obey. At that moment, her gaze fell on the broken wall. Beyond it, a view of the courtyard opened up, illuminated by the crimson light of the fires. She suddenly remembered where the Cathedral of the Trinity of Archangels was.
Lifting herself to her knees with difficulty, she whispered:
"This is not the end."
Dreydus chuckled.
"Oh, but this is the end, Victoria. You just haven't realized it yet.
But she wasn't listening to him anymore. Her own thoughts were ringing in her head, mixed with the voice of the blade, which was whispering to her: "You are weak. You are worthless. Submit."
Victoria, gathering her last strength, rushed to the side, grabbing the blade. But instead of attacking, she threw it at her feet, as if trying to separate herself from its influence.
She rose to her feet and, staggering, headed for the hole in the wall. Dreydus did not follow her. He only watched her disappear into the night.
- Run, Victoria. Run as long as you can. But the blade will find you.
Victoria went down to the courtyard, her body trembling, and her consciousness still tossing between reality and illusion. Her steps were uneven, but she continued walking. She was heading towards the Cathedral. She did not even think about why exactly there. Perhaps she was looking for answers. Perhaps she simply wanted to hide from herself.
The cathedral loomed before her, its massive doors looking like a gateway to another world. Victoria stopped before them, her hand touching the cold metal. For a moment, she felt a strange calm, as if the place itself had power.
She walked inside. The cathedral was empty, lit only by the dim light of burning candles. In the center, on a dais, lay Amalia's body. Victoria froze. Her legs did not move, and her heart skipped a beat.
"Amalia..." Her voice was almost a whisper.
She came closer, her eyes filled with tears. Amalia looked so calm, as if she were sleeping. Victoria knelt down in front of her body, feeling a soft sob escape from her chest.
"You were the light, Amalia. You were my hope. Why did you leave me?"
She closed her eyes, and at that moment the voice of the blade spoke again in her mind:
"She was weak, like you. Her death proves it. You can never be strong if you cling to the light."
But suddenly the darkness surrounding her consciousness began to dissipate. Light filled her mind, and Amalia's figure appeared before her, shrouded in radiance.
"You are mistaken, Victoria," a familiar voice rang out. "Strength is not in darkness. Strength is in overcoming it."
Victoria froze. Her gaze was fixed on Amalia's figure, shrouded in golden radiance, as if the very essence of light had decided to descend at that moment. She wanted to speak, but the words were stuck in her throat. The space around her seemed to disappear, giving way to an emptiness filled with only two souls: hers and Amalia's.
"This... can't be," her voice was weak, but filled with disbelief. "You... are dead. I saw it. You lie before me. This can't be real."
Amalia approached, her movements smooth as water, her features as soft and calm as Victoria remembered them in life. The priestess's eyes, however, radiated a new light - deep, all-consuming, capable of penetrating the most hidden corners of the soul.
"My physical shell has left this world, Victoria," her voice sounded like a melody, at once stern and gentle. "But my essence... my purpose - it remains. As does your struggle."
Victoria lowered her gaze, her hands clenched into powerless fists.
"Struggle? What struggle? I simply destroy everything I touch. This blade... it plays with me. It leads me to a place from which there will be no return. I saw what happened to you. It was I who brought about your death. My weak rule, my thirst for power...
Her voice broke. She closed her eyes, but she still saw the image of Amalia. Victoria tried to turn away, to hide from her condemning gaze, but all she felt was the warmth and light emanating from the priestess.
"No, Victoria, it's not you. Your weakness is not a defeat. This is your chance. Each of us faces darkness, and not everyone finds the strength to overcome it. This blade is neither an enemy nor an ally. It is simply a reflection of your soul."
Victoria raised her head, her eyes full of tears.
"But why? Why me? Why did this have to happen to me? I tried to do everything right. I only wanted peace, only safety for my people... And now my people are dying, my kingdom is burning, and I am turning into a monster."
Amalia knelt before her, her hand touching Victoria's shoulder. The touch was warm, reassuring.
"Fate does not choose those who are ready, Victoria. It chooses those who must." You think this blade controls you, but really it just amplifies what's already inside you. Your rage, your pain, your strength. They're all parts of you, and only you decide which part you become.
Victoria sobbed, her breathing heavy. She looked up at Amalia.
"Then why are you here? Why do I see you? You tell me of strength, of destiny, but you... you failed too. You were strong, and yet you fell. Why should I believe in myself when even you failed?"
Amalia froze, her eyes darkening for a moment as memories flooded her. She rose and turned away, her voice quieter but still firm.
"My death... was not a defeat. It was a choice. I could have survived, but my duty demanded a sacrifice. The Archangels gave me strength, but they did not allow me to use it without consequences. My weakness was not that I fought, but that I allowed myself to doubt. That moment was my undoing."
She turned to Victoria, her gaze growing stern.
- But you are different. You are not alone. You have allies, even if you cannot see them now. You must not fight only for yourself, Victoria. You must find within yourself what unites you with your people. The blade is only a tool. If you allow it to rule you, it will consume you. But if you bend it to your will, it will become your strength.
The priestess's words penetrated deep into Victoria's mind. She thought. Her gaze wandered over the vast emptiness of her inner consciousness. The vines that had tried to devour her before had retreated, but their presence was still felt. It was as if they were waiting for her next move.
- But how? How can I bend him if he is stronger than me?
Amalia smiled, her light growing brighter, illuminating all the emptiness around her.
- You must look within yourself, Victoria. Your strength is not in the blade, but in yourself. You already know the answer. You are just afraid to accept it.
Victoria closed her eyes. She felt the darkness and light inside her fighting for control. The blade's voice came again, whispering of power, of vengeance, of blood. But Amalia's voice remained, like an anchor that kept her from falling into the abyss.
When she opened her eyes again, Amalia was gone. But her words still echoed in her mind. Victoria rose to her feet. She looked at the demonic blade embedded in the ground of her mind. Its crimson light seemed less frightening now. It was waiting for her.
"You think you can defeat me?" she whispered, her voice filled with new confidence. "No. You are mine."
She reached out and touched the hilt of the blade. The vines stirred again, but this time Victoria did not flinch. She allowed them to touch her, but she was no longer afraid of them. The same light that once shone in Amalia's eyes.
"I am Victoria de Luna, Queen of Demonia. And I will not be anyone's plaything."
With these words, she tore the blade from the ground. Light and darkness united around her, creating something new, indescribable. Her inner consciousness began to disappear, returning her to the real world.
When Victoria opened her eyes, the world took shape again. Reality returned to her with all its brightness and ruthlessness. She felt the weight of the blade in her hand - now it no longer resisted, did not whisper its will to her. It was obedient, her tool. Her gaze, full of determination, met the eyes of Dreydus, who was already approaching with a blade sparkling with dark energy.
"Finally decided to return to the battle, Your Majesty?" he said sarcastically, raising the weapon. — Or have you been praying to your archangels for mercy all this time?
Victoria did not answer. Her silence was deafening. She took a step forward, raising the blade, which now seemed alive, its runes glowing crimson.
"Are you content to be a toy in the hands of a weapon?" he continued, rapidly closing the distance between them. "You have always been weak, Victoria. You are still weak."
Her blade met his blow, and the roar of the collision filled the throne room. Each blow was strong, distinct. Metal met metal, sparks flew in all directions, and the room was filled with the echoes of battle. Victoria moved differently — her movements became more confident, precise, as if she had found a new harmony with the weapon.
Dreydus, on the other hand, was furious and clumsy in his rage. His strength still surpassed Victoria, but he was losing control. Each blow he struck was aimed at breaking her physically, but Victoria, despite the pain and fatigue, continued to stand.
"You don't understand what you're doing, girl!" he screamed, bringing his sword down hard on her blade. "I'm trying to save Demonia! Save it from people like you, from weak leaders who think of mercy, not order!"
"Save?" Her voice was unexpectedly quiet, but with such steel that it made Dreydus stop for a moment. "You call burning cities and slaughtering innocents salvation? You are not a savior, Dreydus. You are a disease that Demonia must be cured of.
With that, Victoria delivered a sharp blow, forcing him to retreat. Dreydus growled, his demonic aura flaring up, surrounding him in dark flames. He charged at her, his blows becoming even more vicious. Victoria felt her strength fading, but she knew she couldn't retreat.
And then came the moment that changed the course of the battle.
Dreydus delivered a powerful blow, and Victoria didn't have time to dodge. His blade grazed her left arm, knocking her off balance. But instead of retreating, Victoria, with the last of her strength, twisted her damaged arm, changing the trajectory of the blow. Her blade cut through the air, and the edge passed right through Dreydus's eyes.
"Aaaaaah!" His scream echoed off the walls of the hall. He fell to his knees, clutching his face. His blood, mixed with the remnants of his magical aura, flowed down his cheeks. "You... what have you done?!"
Victoria stood before him, breathing heavily. Her clothes were torn and her face showed signs of pain, but her gaze was cold.
"I simply corrected your worldview, Dreydus," she said ironically, coming closer. "Now you may see the world as it is – in the dark."
He stood up, his dark aura growing, engulfing everything around him. The flames of demonic power consumed the furniture, the paintings, even the floor, which began to crack.
"You will regret this!" he roared, his voice full of hatred. "I will show you what strength means!"
Victoria, however, did not flinch. She watched his transformation with serene coldness. As his aura flared and he became more like a monster than a man, she only raised an eyebrow.
"Is that all?" Her voice was laced with sarcasm. "You swing like a tired blacksmith and yell like a hurt child. Dreydus, you were supposed to be the embodiment of discipline and order, but you have become a laughing stock."
His aura exploded and he lunged at her. But Victoria, instead of fighting, jumped aside, causing him to miss.
"And that's all you have to offer?" she continued with a smirk, looking at him. "Blind, clumsy, waving a power you can't control? I thought you were Demonia's finest strategist. And now you're just a shadow of your past."
Dreydus lunged at her again, his blows becoming less and less accurate. Victoria, moving with grace, easily dodged the attacks.
"You know, Dreydus, I've always wondered why people like you think chaos is order. Perhaps it's because you're afraid of real order. You're afraid of a queen who could destroy your ridiculous dreams of power."
Her words struck harder than her blade. Dreydus became more and more furious, his attacks less and less accurate. But Victoria did not lose her calm.
"You call yourself a savior, but in reality you're just another tyrant who's afraid of being forgotten. Well, Dreydus, I promise that your death will be unforgettable."
With these words, she raised her blade again, preparing for the final blow.
Dreydus, blinded by anger and pain, lost control of himself. His dark aura turned into a storm, burning everything around him. The floors and walls of the throne room were charred into ash, and the massive columns that supported the majestic ceiling cracked and crumbled under the onslaught of demonic power. His face, covered in blood, was twisted in rage.
"Victoria! You are nothing! You are only standing here because I allowed you to! All this time, you were nothing but a pawn!"
He swung his blade, releasing a wave of flame that headed straight for Victoria. But she, without flinching, directed her demonic blade forward. Its crimson light flared, absorbing and reflecting the fire wave back towards Dreydus. The explosion shook the hall, causing it to crumble even more.
Victoria did not miss the moment.
She approached Dreydus, her steps slow but sure. Her crimson eyes, like twin flames, looked straight into his blind hatred. The destruction raged around her, but she walked like a horror incarnate.
"You are weak, Dreydus," she said, her voice like an icy needle piercing the heart. "You always pretended to be a savior, but in reality you were nothing. Your words, your strength, are all an illusion. You are nothing without your orders and your jesters who obey you."
Dreydus stumbled to his feet. He tried to strike again, but Victoria parried it with such ease that it seemed mocking.
"Do you really think you can defeat me?" she continued, her voice filled with irony. "You called me weak? But look at you! You scream like a child who has lost his toy. Do you hope that your screams will make me flinch?" She struck, and her blade slashed across his armor, leaving a long, crimson mark. Dreydus roared in pain and charged again. But Victoria dodged and struck again, wounding his leg.
"You were always a fool, Dreydus," she said with a quiet grin. "You thought you could manipulate everyone around you, that your words would matter. But do you know what I've learned all this time? Words are worthless without power behind them. And your power is dust."
She paused, raising her blade above her head. Dreydus, battered and bloodied, tried to rise, but his strength was gone.
"You failed, Dreydus," she said, looking down at him. "You were just a stepping stone in my path. And now you are nothing."
He tried to answer, but his voice broke into a cough. Victoria, standing over him, allowed herself a small smile.
"And now, my dear false savior," she said, raising her blade, "disappear."
She raised her hand, preparing to deliver the final blow. But at that moment, the hall shook from another explosion caused by Dreydus's raging demonic aura. His figure disappeared in a cloud of ash and fire, and Victoria was forced to retreat.
When the dust settled, Dreydus lay motionless, his body engulfed in the remnants of dark energy. He was defeated, but not completely destroyed. Victoria, breathing heavily, raised her crimson blade. She knew that this was not the end.
"Next time, Dreydus, I will not leave you a chance for a pathetic attempt at survival."
With these words, she turned away from his body and headed towards the exit of the cathedral. Her footsteps echoed in the ruined room, and at that moment she knew that her journey was only just beginning.
The city of Shadaria Veila, immersed in chaos, was slowly beginning to regain its silence. The once bustling streets, decorated with banners, filled with the noise of trade and the voices of children, were now covered in blood and ashes. The flames of rebellion, which had flared up so brightly, began to fade, meeting the inexorable might of the disciplined royal troops.
The rebels, long confident of their victory, were now retreating, submitting to the harsh inevitability. Their formation, which had seemed indestructible in the morning, was crumbling under the onslaught of organized attacks. The royal knights, trained to fight to the last, met the enemy with cold but righteous anger. Every step they took away hope from the rebellion.
Reinforcements were approaching from all sides. The army, once divided between the borders of Demonia, was now rapidly surrounding the capital, sweeping away the rebels in furious battles. It seemed that the very land of Shadaria Veila responded to the call of the queen, supporting her power.
In the square in front of the cathedral, where once there were bustling markets, the rebel fighters, armed only with the remnants of their strength and despair, desperately tried to hold their positions. Their ranks were thinning with each passing moment, and the blows of the royal infantry broke through their defenses. Arrows flew through the sky like silent messengers of death, leaving the rebels no chance.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell thundered, sounding more like the last ringing of their dreams of freedom. Each stroke resembled a ritual retreat, an inglorious end to the ambitions of those who decided to challenge their queen.
In the very heart of the capital, at the ruined wall, where once stood the majestic gates, covered with iron and decorated with the symbols of Demonia, a scene unfolded that will remain in legends and fears. In the middle of the battlefield, among corpses and blood, a figure worthy of the darkest ballads rose.
Atop a pile of bodies, twisted armor, and frozen boulders stood Morgana Scarlett. Her armor, once gleaming in the crimson sunset, was now stained with the blood of her enemies. Her sword, once glowing with a demonic aura, now looked like an extension of her arm, emitting a faint light as if saturated with blood and death.
Blood ran from her face and neck, dripping from the tip of her blade onto the bodies of the fallen. The ice blocks scattered around her glittered in the dim moonlight, grim monuments to her rage. This was not a battlefield - this was the scene of a demonic triumph.
She stood still, her breathing even, almost soothing, as if she had not spent hour after hour in endless combat. Her eyes, glowing a faint red, looked up at the cloud-covered sky. Where the moon barely broke through the thick veil, her gaze was directed neither to gods nor archangels. It was the gaze of a man who knew that she was the very fate of her enemies.
There was not a single living enemy left around. The warriors of the Winter Alliance, once proud and confident of their victory, were now scattered like helpless dolls. Their ice met her fire, their wills broke beneath her power.
A light breeze carried the scent of iron and ozone. It seemed to be trying to carry away the evidence of bloodshed, but everything around them, from the silence to the broken earth, screamed of the scale of the tragedy.
Morgana stood there, like the embodiment of war itself. Her figure seemed not only real, but somehow different, unearthly. She was something more than just a knight. She was a symbol of fury and devotion, tearing at the very fabric of human fear.
"This is it," she whispered, raising the blade, looking at its crimson glow. "Your powers will not help them anymore."
Her voice was quiet, but in that silence was all the horror of her power. She lowered the sword, plunging it into the ground beside her.
Her lips curved into a barely noticeable smile, full of bitterness and triumph. She was not afraid of being seen. In this moment, she was not just a knight, she was an inevitability.
And in this inevitability, the city began to tremble. Shadaria Veila slowly realized that her queen would not give in. Not today.
From the roof of a ruined house that had survived the chaos, a dozen figures looked down on the burning city. There were no unnecessary words among them. Only the sounds of distant battles and the crackling of fire broke the silence of their camp. These people, the strongest among the disbanded royal guard, were not gathered here by chance. They stood shoulder to shoulder, like a single mechanism, precise and reliable.
One of them, dressed in black armor decorated with golden patterns and the symbol of royal power, rose closer to the edge of the roof. His face was hidden by a helmet with an elongated visor, but from his posture and the confidence in his movements, it was clear that he was a leader. Kantor Mortis, a name that once inspired awe and respect among even the highest ranking aristocrats of Demonia. Now he was the leader of those who remained true to their oath.
A man in a scarlet robe with the symbols of the royal guard approached them. It was a messenger, one of those who carried orders between units. He bowed before Kantor, then reported briefly:
"My lord, the main forces of the rebels have been suppressed. The royal troops are approaching the palace. The Ephernites continue to hold the central square."
Kantor nodded slowly. His voice, deep and powerful, broke the silence of the roof:
- Very well. Let the rest of the guards continue to fight. We are the last line of defense for Her Majesty. We are the ones who will never forget our oath. Even if our bodies are destroyed, even if our souls are lost in the abyss, we will remain loyal to the queen.
His words, filled with cold determination, echoed through the ruined streets. The guardsmen behind him straightened, their heads raised, and their armor gleamed in the moonlight.
Kantor turned to his squad. There was more than just confidence in his voice, but a strength born of decades of service.
- When we were disbanded, many thought that this was the end of the royal guard. But they were wrong. We are not needed as a symbol, if our faith remains. We have integrated into the army, but we have kept what is most important: the oath to protect the queen. Today we have proven that even in the midst of chaos and betrayal, we remain unwavering.
He stepped forward, allowing himself a moment to look at each of his subordinates.
"We are not an army. We are not infantry. We are guardsmen. Our task is not simply to defeat the enemy. Our task is to prove that the queen stands above all threats."
His hand, clad in a black glove with gold plating, rose, pointing at the palace.
"There, in the corridors of the palace, hides a traitor. A man who dared to challenge our queen. A man who allowed his greed and cowardice to threaten her life. Today, we will put an end to it. Today, he will answer to his people. We are going for his head."
The guardsmen nodded almost in unison. Their silence was louder than any shouts. They knew that they had no right to doubt.
Kantor, taking a last look at the city, turned to his men.
— We are her shield. We are her sword. And now we will be her justice. For the queen!
"For the queen!" the others echoed, their voices filled with determination, mixing with the echoes of the ruined city.
They began to descend from the roof, one by one, like shadows, slipping into the night. Their path was clear, as was their purpose. The traitor Arkin had to fall.