The throne room is dying.
Moonlight pours through a fractured ceiling. The cold air crawls in, carrying dust and the faint metallic taste of old magic. Ash drifts from the shattered banners. Every step crunches broken marble and blackened glass beneath my boots.
My sword feels heavy tonight. The glyphs carved down my arms glow, pulsing with the kind of heat that only hatred can feed.
He stands between the crumbling pillars, framed by the flickering light. His cloak is torn at the hem but otherwise perfect, catching the wind like a flag that refuses to fall.
The Emperor.
The man who broke everything I cared about.
I step forward. The stone shifts under my weight.
"The world will remember this day," I say, and the words feel right. Like they've been waiting for this moment. "The day Orion Myrelis slayed the Emperor. And I personally will remember this day too—the day I killed the fucking scum of the planet."
He lifts his chin, a smirk flickering. "Still angry about the girl, are we?" He lets it hang there, his voice quiet. "You should've left her out of this, Orion. She died because of you."
The rage is white-hot. It fills my lungs and steadies my hands. The glyphs of power flare on my skin.
I don't answer him. I just move.
I close the gap in three quick strides, blade coming up from my hip—an opening feint, then a real cut for his throat.
He's fast. Faster than any king has a right to be. His sword forms in his hand—a blade of icy lightning, blue-white and jagged, the air around it hissing.
Steel meets lightning. Sparks burst. My arms vibrate from the force.
He leans in close, and I smell smoke on his breath.
"Is that all?" he murmurs.
I shove him back, twisting my body. He stumbles, and my glyphs flare—strength, speed, memory. I spin, driving the next blow toward his ribs. He sidesteps, lets the blade pass, then pivots and slashes down. I parry, just in time. The edge of his sword leaves frost crawling over my knuckles.
He's relentless.
He comes at me, a flurry of cuts. His blade crackles—one swing wide, one thrust low, one quick jab at my collarbone. I block, deflect, step away, but each hit pushes me further across the ruined floor.
He wants me off balance.
Lightning flashes in the air above us, casting everything in harsh blue shadows.
He speaks again, just above the roar. "Blame me if you want. You always needed a villain."
I grit my teeth and break his rhythm, surging forward. My blade hums with glyph energy—I swing hard, aiming low for his abdomen.
This time, I connect.
He grunts. The wound freezes over almost instantly, but it's blood.
He stares at me, surprise flickering behind his eyes.
For a heartbeat, the only sound is both of us breathing, the wind, and the slow crumble of another pillar.
"Your turn," I growl.
He bares his teeth in a humorless smile, lifts his blade, and the room explodes with thunder.
The Emperor comes at me. No more words. Just fury.
He swings, and his blade is lightning. Blue-white arcs chase the steel, crackling with enough power to shatter bone. Each strike is a storm: downstroke, feint, a slice that explodes against my guard with a sharp bang of thunder.
The floor cracks beneath us. Tiles buckle and pop. Every block numbs my arms, every collision sends shockwaves across the city, but I hold fast, feeling the glyphs carved into my flesh burning hotter, pushing more strength through battered muscle.
We circle, feet grinding marble to dust. The Emperor's cloak whips in the wind from the broken windows, the ragged edge glowing in the flashes of his magic.
He feints left, then comes in low.
I sidestep—just barely—his blade grazing my thigh. Pain blossoms sharp and cold. Frost snakes along my leg. I grit my teeth and rip free, smashing my sword down at his exposed shoulder.
He pivots, twisting away, but I catch him across the back. A shallow cut, but enough to tear his cloak and draw blood.
He spins—rage burning in his eyes now. The room flashes red. Flames spiral up from his free hand, wreathing his sword in fire and lightning both.
He charges. I brace, glyphs surging for speed and defense.
His next blows are faster, heavier, fueled by elemental fury. My sword meets his over and over—steel screeching against magic.
Sparks and embers rain around us, swirling in the moonlit air.
He presses in, driving me toward a fallen pillar.
"You're slowing, Orion."
"Just tired of your voice," I spit, parrying another flaming strike.
He sneers and kicks at my chest. I stagger back, boots scraping tile, vision blurring as I slam into a column. Stone dust fills my mouth.
He follows, unrelenting.
His sword whips up, then down. I duck the first, block the second. My blade vibrates in my hands. Glyphs flicker at the edge of burnout.
He raises his arm, palm open.
A torrent of water bursts forth, slamming me into the wall. My back cracks against cold marble. I cough, struggle to breathe, force myself to my feet.
He's already moving, blade ready.
He swings—
I dive under, roll to the Emperor's left. Come up fast. My sword lashes out, aiming for his side.
He blocks, but the impact sends him reeling back. His boots skid on the wet floor.
I rush in, slicing high, then low. Our swords clash. Again. Again.
He's breathing hard now, blood trailing down his arm, staining the frost and fire clinging to his blade.
He glances at the ruined throne behind us. It's half-collapsed, pillars broken, the seat cracked in two.
"You ruined everything," he says, voice low, eyes wild. "All for revenge."
I hold my sword steady. "You ruined it yourself."
He roars, elemental power building behind his glare.
And a wall of flame and lightning erects in front of him.
For a split second, I see nothing but white and red fire. Heat scorches my skin. Thunder rattles my skull.
But I know the Emperor is behind that wall. So I'll crush it.
I break through the flames, sword held low.
The Emperor is there, just past the smoke, off-balance for the first time.
I don't hesitate.
I drive my shoulder into his ribs, slam him back into the base of the ruined throne. The stone cracks. He grunts, wind knocked from his lungs.
I swing, fast—a wild, desperate slash at his neck.
He parries, barely.
Our blades lock. Sparks fly in the dark.
I twist, wrenching his sword aside, and kick his knee out from under him. He drops to one side, just as I unleash a glyph-empowered downward strike.
My blade bites into his armor, cutting deep. The metal splits. Blood spills across the frost.
He snarls, fury and fear mixing in his eyes.
I step in, press the advantage. A rapid flurry: left, right, high, low. Every blow fueled by years of loss and a promise I made at her grave.
The Emperor staggers. I hammer him with another arc of raw mana—straight to the chest. It hits, hard. He crashes through a pile of shattered pillars, landing in the wreckage.
He doesn't get up right away.
I'm breathing hard, vision swimming, but I don't stop.
I leap over the rubble, blade raised to end it.
He tries to rise, to block it. Too slow.
I swing with every last ounce of strength—
Steel carves through ice and lightning both. Splitting his blade.
My sword sinks into his side, deep enough to hit bone. Blood pours down his torso. He collapses to one knee. I stand over him, sword pressed to his throat.
His breath is ragged. His eyes burn with hate—and something else. Something almost like fear.
The silence stretches. The throne room is rubble. Moonlight spills down, and for a moment, it's just the two of us. I can taste victory.
Finally, he looks up at me.
He's bleeding, gasping. I see fear in his eyes.
I want to savor it. I want this to be justice.
But nothing in this room is clean.
He meets my eyes. His lips twitch.
"You almost had it," he whispers.
My grip tightens. I don't see his hand move.
A sharp crack—like shattering ice—echoes behind me.
Too late.
Pain explodes in my lower back. Cold, blinding. I stagger, sword slipping from his throat.
I look down.
"Lillia, forgive me."
An ice dagger, slick and blue, juts from just above my hip. My blood runs crimson across the frozen blade. Numbness crawls up my legs.
The Emperor surges up, summons a new blade, and sweeps my weapon aside. His sword—now sparking with lightning and rimed in frost—rises in both hands.
I try to bring my weapon up, but it's too slow.
He drives the point into my chest.
Agony tears through me. The world shrinks to a single, burning line.
He leans close, voice a whisper only I can hear.
"Peace was never yours to win."
He twists the blade.
The throne room spins and blurs. Cold fills my lungs. I fall.
Somewhere far away, I hear the sound of something crashing down—the last pillar, maybe, or maybe the memory of Lillia's voice.
I hit the floor and everything goes silent.