Mel's expression softened, guilt washing over him as he looked down at Rue's tear-streaked face. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper. "Rue… I didn't mean to make you feel like that. I thought… I thought if I acted strong, you wouldn't worry."
She sniffled, her grip still tight on his shirt, refusing to let him pull away. "But you don't have to act strong with me," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I want to help you, Mel. I don't want you going through all of this alone."
His eyes softened, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. For a moment, all his defenses crumbled as he held her close. "I'm sorry," he murmured, resting his chin on her head. "I don't want you to be hurt because of me. But I promise… I won't hide from you anymore."
Rue relaxed in his arms, the tension between them easing as he finally let her see the weight he'd been carrying.
He gently took her hands in his, meeting her gaze. "I'm going to fight him. Don't worry—I'll come back safe," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. He settled her into her chair with a soft smile, gave a small wave, and flew out the window.
As he disappeared, Rue wiped the tears from her eyes. "He really knows how to make me emotional." She sighed, turning to a framed photograph of Mel, Dorian, and Elowen. Her fingers brushed the edge of the frame, and she whispered, "I just hope they don't hurt each other. I wish I wasn't always the one waiting, always the 'damsel in distress.'" She buried her face in her hands, frustration mixing with the ache of worry.
A knock on the door pulled her back, and Ruecrix entered with a warm smile. "Hey, my little cyborg." She walked over and settled onto the bed. "Where's Mel?"
Rue sniffed, quickly wiping her face. "Why do you care? You hate him now anyway," she muttered, maneuvering herself back onto her bed.
Ruecrix sighed, shaking her head. "I don't hate him, Rue. I love you, and that's why it's complicated. Watching what you went through… it's hard not to feel anger toward him, especially after everything. He made choices that led to your kidnapping, to you getting hurt."
Rue nodded, her voice soft but resolute. "I get it. And there were times I… hated him, too. But…"
Rue's voice trailed off, her gaze drifting to the window. "But he's trying to make it right. I can see it—he carries so much guilt. He hides it, but… I know him too well."
Ruecrix placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, nodding. "I get it. Maybe I don't agree with him, but I can see how much you both mean to each other. And, for whatever it's worth, I do want to understand."
Rue smiled softly. "Thanks, mom. I don't need you to forgive him, but just… don't close yourself off to him either. He's more than the mistakes he's made."
Ruecrix took a deep breath, glancing at the photograph. "You know, the three of them are more alike than you think—Dorian, Elowen, and Mel. I just hope he knows what he's getting into. Bimoth… he's no ordinary challenge."
Rue's hands gripped the edge of her bed. "I know. That's what scares me. Mel's putting himself on the line for everyone he's hurt, and I'm terrified it'll be the one fight he can't walk away from."
Ruecrix wrapped an arm around her. "Hey, don't go assuming the worst just yet. Mel is strong—and not just in the way you'd expect. I think he might surprise us all." She tilted her head with a smirk. "Besides, if he doesn't, you and I both know he'll never hear the end of it."
Rue let out a soft laugh. "True." Her expression softened, and she looked out the window. "Come back to me, Mel."
In Slesan Empire
The Slesan Empire is an imposing and vast dominion, known for its strong military presence and ancient, rugged architecture. Set among jagged mountain ranges and lush, mist-covered valleys, the empire's landscape is both beautiful and intimidating, with dense forests, powerful rivers, and a cool, shadowed atmosphere that lends itself to mystery and secrecy. Stone fortresses and towering citadels, crafted from dark iron and slate, are scattered across the landscape, blending seamlessly with the natural terrain and showcasing the empire's unity with its surroundings.
The capital city, Citadel Slesor, lies in the heart of the empire, a formidable stronghold encased in massive stone walls with towering spires that pierce the clouds. The streets are lined with flags bearing the empire's emblem—a serpent entwined around a sword—symbolizing its fierce resolve and unyielding strength. Lanterns and braziers light the city at night, casting an amber glow that adds to its haunting charm.
As Mel walked through the stone-paved streets of Slesor, he marveled at the architecture and the sheer presence of the place, unaware of the curious and suspicious eyes following him. A group of men, armored in dark steel with green and silver accents, caught sight of him, murmuring among themselves.
One of them, a burly man with a jagged scar across his cheek, narrowed his eyes. "Oi, who's that?" he muttered, elbowing the man beside him. "I haven't seen him around here before."
The others looked on, sizing Mel up with furrowed brows and crossed arms. "Doesn't look like he's from Slesor," another sneered, his voice low and skeptical. "We don't take kindly to strangers just waltzing through our city."
"Especially one walking like he owns the place," a third man added, cracking his knuckles. "Who does he think he is?"
They approached Mel, their heavy boots echoing against the stone as they closed in. The leader of the group stepped forward, his voice dripping with challenge. "You lost, stranger? Or just stupid enough to think you're welcome here without invitation?"
Mel glanced around casually before turning to find Bimoth towering over him. Without a hint of fear, Mel smirked. "Quite the dramatic entrance," he said, his tone light.
Bimoth narrowed his eyes, a faint smirk of his own forming. "Melanthius, you actually came alone? Are you out of your mind?"
Mel shrugged, cracking his neck with a calm confidence. "Didn't think I'd need an army to face you. That's what makes me a better man, don't you think?" His smile widened, taunting.
Bimoth's jaw clenched, a growl slipping through his teeth. "Fine. Follow me."
Without another word, he turned, striding forward, and Mel fell in step behind him, shadowed by a few of Bimoth's knights who kept their eyes fixed on him with open suspicion.
As they moved through the streets, the citizens muttered in low, disapproving tones:
"Who does he think he is, strolling through here like that?"
"That's him? Doesn't look so tough."
"He's lucky Bimoth hasn't crushed him yet."
Mel held his head high, ignoring the barbed words and narrowed glares around him. Yet the weight of the crowd's judgment seemed to press in from all sides, as if the whole city itself wanted him gone.
They walked through the looming castle doors, shadows stretching across the walls as they entered. Inside, the clang of steel rang through the halls as they passed a training area where children sparred with a fierce intensity. Mel's eyes narrowed, watching them. "Who are they?" he asked.
Bimoth barely turned, his voice low. "My nieces and nephews," he replied coolly, striding deeper into the castle.
As they entered a dimly lit room where several knights were lounging, playing cards, and exchanging steely glances, Mel noted the way they eyed him, contempt flaring in their expressions.
"These are the kids' parents," Bimoth added. Mel could feel the weight of their judgment, but he held his ground, his expression unfazed.
Finally, they stepped into a large, pristine white room with polished stone floors and walls lined with racks of weapons—spears, swords, and other brutal instruments of war.
"This is where we'll do it," Bimoth said, gesturing to the room with a sweeping hand. "Here are the rules. We'll use weapons, but there will be no interference. No one enters, no one leaves until one of us surrenders… or falls."
"That's fine by me." Mel confirmed as Bimoth ripped off his shirt, his muscles bulging, cracking his neck with a smirk. Mel's eyes widened slightly, muttering a "whoa" under his breath before looking down at his own shirt. "Rue got me this. I'd better not rip it or get it dirty." He carefully removed his white, three-button shirt, neatly hanging it on the weapons rack. "I don't need a weapon," he added, his expression darkening.
Bimoth strode towards him, eyebrow raised. "Why not?"
"Because I killed the Wild Storm Spider with one," Mel replied, a grin spreading across his face, eyes gleaming. Bimoth grabbed his collar roughly.
"Are you saying you could kill me?" Without warning, Bimoth's fist swung forward, connecting with Mel's jaw. The punch's sheer force sent Mel flying, crashing into the wall with a bone-rattling impact that left a crater. As Mel fell, the wall behind him repaired itself with a technology that felt eerily familiar to that of the Auroria Dominion. Mel staggered to his feet, his nose bleeding and face bruised.
Bimoth didn't give him a moment to recover, leaping high into the air and slamming his fist down towards Mel. Mel sidestepped at the last second, and Bimoth's fist collided with the ground, causing a thunderous rumble that shook the room. Bimoth noticed Mel's expression—one of pure exhilaration and awe.
"Is that… excitement?" Bimoth muttered, puzzled.
"This is what I need!" Mel shouted, bracing himself for another blow. Bimoth's fist crashed into him with a resounding boom, but Mel only grinned, absorbing the impact.
"You're a strange one," Bimoth said, before Mel caught him off guard, grabbing Bimoth by the neck and flipping him over with a swift rain aikido move. "Bimoth, you're…" Mel began, the words almost a growl.
But before he could finish, Bimoth grabbed his collar and slammed another punch into him, only for Mel to counter with a punch of his own at the exact moment. Mel's voice cut through the clash.
"My executioner!"
Bimoth raised his eyebrows, slightly taken aback as he staggered from the force of their colliding punches. "Why is he just absorbing these hits?" he thought, just as Mel's swift Cloud Kick landed squarely on his face. Though Bimoth wavered for a moment, he quickly recovered, slamming his foot into Mel's chest to create some space.
Mel only laughed, his grin widening with a fierce energy. "I should thank you for this fight." He turned toward the weapons rack, rifling through it and scattering the various weapons across the floor.
"What are you doing?" Bimoth tilted his head, watching as Mel discarded even the most powerful weapons like they were trivial objects.
"Timeout!" Mel called as he continued tossing weapons aside, some clattering toward Bimoth, who dodged them effortlessly. "I've heard legends about Merlin's mastery of weapons, but this… what on earth is he doing?" Bimoth thought, his intrigue piqued. Just then, Mel's eyes lit up.
"Found it! Time in!" Mel announced triumphantly. Bimoth charged, only to feel something slice across his face—a sharp sting that left a thin line of blood near his eye. When he looked up, he saw Mel holding an old, rusted chain. Just a chain. Yet Mel spun it in a dangerous arc, smirking as if he'd uncovered a treasure.
"Out of all the weapons here—a sword, a staff, sais, daggers, everything—you pick the least formidable. A rusty old chain used by the ancient kings of Slesan to bind traitors?" Bimoth scoffed, wiping the blood from his face.
Mel twirled the chain with a glint in his eye. "Guess that makes it fitting, doesn't it? Besides…" he grinned, his tone dark, "sometimes the weapon doesn't need to be sharp to do real damage."
"Timeout?" Bimoth repeated, raising an eyebrow. Shrugging, he walked to the scattered weapons and selected a staff topped with a heavy, spiked mace. "Alright then, if you're going with the weakest weapon, I'll go with the strongest one that fits me." He spun the mace effortlessly, his muscles tensing as his body glowed with an eerie green energy. "My magical power? Titan strength. No matter who I face, I'm always the strongest in the room. It's how I claimed the Slesan kingdom when I was only 13."
Mel's eyes widened, a bead of sweat slipping down his forehead. "How am I supposed to beat that? I can't overpower him!" But he steadied his grip on the chain just as Bimoth closed the distance between them in a blink. The mace slammed into Mel's jaw with a bone-shaking force, and though the impact rattled him, Mel held his ground, twisting to kick the sharp end of his chain up, slicing Bimoth across the chest.
Mel was slammed hard into the floor, his jaw dislocating on impact. With a grimace, he snapped it back into place, stifling a groan as he pushed himself up. Bimoth, breathing deeply to slow the blood pouring from the slash across his chest, glared at Mel, the pain only sharpening his focus. Their eyes met in a moment of mutual respect: Bimoth, relishing the chance to teach Mel a lesson; Mel, thrilled by the raw punishment.
Outside the door to the white room, a crowd of onlookers gathered, straining to catch any sound from within.
"Huh? Who's gonna win? What kind of question is that? Obviously Bimoth," one man scoffed, crossing his arms.
"Bimoth's power is absolute—he's always stronger than his opponent," a woman murmured with admiration. "They call him the ultimate king."
At that, an old man, the castle's groundskeeper, chuckled. "Ah, you young folks don't know the half of it. Back in my day, Bimoth was just one of many warriors like him."
The crowd burst into laughter. "What are you talking about, old man?" someone teased him.
Unfazed, the groundskeeper leaned on his cane, his eyes gleaming. "Strength always comes naturally to Bimoth, that's true. But there was another who stood above all, Shimoth Grandem—Bimoth's uncle. And the only man who ever bested him? Merlin Shadowbane. This match is one for the ages, yet the king himself ordered me to keep you all from watching it."
The murmurs rose to excited whispers as the crowd tried to imagine the clash happening just beyond those doors.
In the stark white room, Mel leaped into the air, spinning his chain with expert precision, managing to wrap it around Bimoth's thick neck. Just as Mel tightened his grip, Bimoth grunted, grabbed the chain, and yanked Mel down with a monstrous force, slamming him back and forth against the ground like a ragdoll. Dust rose with each impact, and Mel, barely catching his breath, coughed—but he was grinning.
"There's a reason I tossed all those weapons around, you know," Mel wheezed, the fire of battle blazing in his eyes. "This is my domain!"
As Bimoth swung him down once more, Mel twisted midair, reaching out to snatch a sword lying on the floor. With a burst of force, he pried himself free from Bimoth's grasp and flipped backward. Landing gracefully, he then launched himself upward, shouting, "Cloud Fall!" The speed of his dash blurred his form as he barreled toward Bimoth, blade gleaming. He struck, the sword cutting deep across Bimoth's chest in a swift, precise motion.
Bimoth staggered back, feeling the blood seeping through the wound, and his eyes narrowed in a mixture of anger and respect. "I didn't take you for someone who could improvise like that."
"You thought wrong," Mel taunted, spinning the chain and letting the sword dangle from it as if it were part of a deadly meteor hammer.
Outside the room, the onlookers grew more animated, pressing their ears to the walls and whispering among themselves.
"Did he just take a swing at the king and survive?" one young man muttered, his voice laced with awe.
The groundskeeper smirked, nodding slowly. "This is what real combat looks like—adaptability, power, and heart. Not like the scrapping you young pups do in the training pits."
Inside, Bimoth straightened, brushing blood off his chest with a dark grin. "Impressive. But you're still out of your league." He raised his mace-staff, channeling a surge of green energy through it, making it hum and pulse with raw power.
Mel took a steadying breath, letting his body adapt to the rhythm of the fight. "I've fought a legend before, Bimoth. Your kingdom, your rules—bring everything you've got."
Outside the room, the crowd flinched at the sounds that erupted from within—boom—bam—slice—crack—thud—bang. Each echoing impact left the onlookers tense, as if the room itself might shatter from the sheer force of the battle.
Then, a deep, unsettling silence settled over the hall.
A few moments later, the door creaked open, and Mel and Bimoth stepped out, battered and bloodied. Mel's arm hung at an odd angle, broken, while bruises and cuts covered his body, his clothes soaked with blood. Bimoth, equally wounded, bore a raw, deep cut around his neck and a slashed mouth, his own attire dark with blood and ripped in places. Both men looked like they had been to the edge of hell and back.
Without a word, they walked through the crowd, side by side, silent and solemn. The tension in the hall was thick as the two warriors shared a glance, nodding in mutual respect. No words were needed.
Bimoth turned and strode toward his throne room, his steps steady despite the brutal toll of the fight. Mel, breathing heavily, made his way out of the castle. As he reached the open air, he took a long, deep breath, savoring the calm that followed the storm. With a slow exhale, he let the weight of the battle slip away, if only for a moment.
"Wait! King Melanthius! Tell us, please—who won?!" a young voice called out, and the crowd around murmured, leaning in eagerly.
Mel turned back, a tired but genuine smile crossing his face. "Well," he began, "Bimoth and I agreed to keep that little detail to ourselves. This wasn't about winning or losing—just me needing a reminder of my limits. Let that be your lesson: sometimes it's about the fight, not the victory." He gave a light chuckle, then added, "And remember—stay in school, kids."
With a wave, Mel launched himself into the air, leaving the Slesan Empire behind as he flew toward the Auroria Kingdom, the crowd watching in silent awe.
Later, Bimoth lay sprawled on a massive bed, his battered body slowly being stitched up. The old groundskeeper chuckled as he inspected the bruises and cuts. "I know he's the son of Merlin Shadowbane, but these wounds are something else. You'll need at least two weeks' rest, King Bimoth."
Bimoth sneered, his gaze fixed out the window. "Listen, old man, I'll tell you this once. I won that fight."
The groundskeeper's eyebrows shot up. "Well, of course you did. No one doubted you for a second. So why do you look so… upset?"
Bimoth's expression hardened, and he clenched his fist. "Because I won by using my other magic," he muttered.
The groundskeeper paused, then nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Ah… you mean Last Stand."
Bimoth sighed, frustration clouding his face as he watched the towel being soaked and pressed against a fresh cut. "Yes. I was on the brink, barely holding on. Melanthius pushed me like no one has. I had to activate it. It gave me that final surge—boosted all my stats, made my hits fierce enough to turn the tide. But there's no pride in winning that way."
He closed his eyes, his voice dropping. "It felt like a coward's move. I'd rather have lost than used it."
The groundskeeper laid a hand on his shoulder. "Sometimes, survival isn't cowardice. It's another chance to grow stronger. But if Melanthius is this fierce already… you may need that strength again."
In Auroria, Mel lay sprawled on the floor of Rue's room, his body wrapped in a cast and countless bandages. Despite his bruises, he grinned and let out a deep sigh, clearly content.
Rue, lying on her bed, watched him with a mix of curiosity and exasperation. "How can you be so happy after losing?" she asked, rolling over to the edge of the bed to peer down at him. "And why are you lying on the floor?"
Mel chuckled, his gaze distant. "Because the ground feels real, Rue. Solid. I need that after a fight like this."
Rue shook her head, her lips twisting in a smirk. "You're strange, Melanthius."
"Maybe," he replied, his smile widening. "But it's the first time in a long time I felt like I'd hit my limit, you know? I wanted that. To know where I stand… and to feel every bruise and scrape from it."
She raised an eyebrow, trying to understand. "So, getting tossed around by Bimoth was… fun?"
"Not exactly fun," he said with a laugh that turned into a wince. "It was just good to get some consequences." He sighed and then reminisced.
Flashback
In the white room, Mel lay slumped against a wall, his body battered and bleeding profusely. Across from him, Bimoth lay on the ground, struggling for breath, his body faintly pulsing with green energy. Deep cuts marred his skin, and he clutched them tightly, attempting to slow the bleeding. "Could've won if it weren't for that Last Stand move," Mel muttered, coughing up blood as he slid down the wall. "Should be illegal to use that."
Bimoth's chest heaved with labored breaths as he looked at Mel, a faint tremor in his exhausted form. "I've only ever used Last Stand against the King of Slesan. Didn't think anyone else could survive it… but that chain—" Bimoth grunted and glared at him. "And don't think I didn't notice your hidden cloud techniques in there. You crafty bastard." He ripped a piece of cloth from his pant leg and wrapped it around his neck to stanch the bleeding.
Mel smirked, though he was in no better shape, cradling his broken arm. "So, how'd you end up as king of Slesan?"
Bimoth leaned his head back, a distant look crossing his face as he recalled his past. "Funny enough… I was just a scrawny kid back then. Some nobles from Slesan hurt Rue, and I—" He hesitated, then continued. "I unlocked my titan strength. Didn't even know it was there. Just felt this… shift. My body transformed, my pupils vanished, and my hair turned white as snow. I went after the king—he was cruel, the worst ruler Slesan had seen—and I defeated him." He sighed heavily. "But killing him didn't give me any satisfaction. I haven't smiled since. And after that, no one was strong enough to stop me."
Mel went silent, his mind drifting back to when he nearly killed Maren in a rage, his hand gripping Excalibur with murderous intent. "I get it," he said softly. "I had people who stopped me. My friends. Otherwise, I don't know what would've happened."