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Footsteps from behind break the moment. One final figure—the demon lord we freed from its collar—emerges from the shadows, stumbling in battered confusion. It stares at us through luminous eyes, shaking off the monarchy’s last vestiges of control. My chest tightens. Will it attack?

Malphas releases me, turning to face the demon lord warily. But the creature merely inclines its horned head, eyes flicking to the destroyed wards. A faint hiss escapes it, a sign of acknowledgment. Then it limps away, stepping over rubble, disappearing into the gloom. Freed from the monarchy’s thrall,it chooses not to fight us. My shoulders slump with relief.One less foe.

We stand amid the wreckage, hearts pounding. Stage two of our finale is complete: a direct confrontation with dark elf lords, a rival demon lord cornering us, and the partial unleashing of my Abyssborn heritage. The wards flicker overhead, crumbling further. The monarchy’s hold is shattered here.

Exhaustion weighs on me, my body screaming for rest. Yet Malphas and I remain upright, illusions fading. He glances at the swirling runes on my arms—the black lines receding like receding tide, leaving smears of darkness behind. His voice is hushed. “You wielded an abyss of power. Are you… all right?”

I let out a strained laugh, pressing a hand to my pounding chest. “I’m alive. Aching, but alive.”

He exhales slowly, slipping an arm around my waist to steady me. “We need to leave before reinforcements arrive. The monarchy has other strongholds, other forces. They might regroup. We can’t linger.”

I nod, though my heart aches at the thought of more fighting. “Then we limp out of here with our heads held high, I guess.” My gaze drifts to the collapsed pillars, the battered soldiers groaning in corners. “We’ve undone their central vow-casting site… that’s huge.”

He studies me, an intensity in his eyes that sets my pulse racing. “You saved me from an eternal cage,” he murmurs. “I—” He hesitates, raw emotion warring on his face. “Thank you.”

A small, weary smile tugs at my lips. “It was never just about saving you. I refused to let them own me either. They took everything from us. Tonight, we reclaimed a part of ourselves.”

He nods, stepping gingerly over rubble. The vow’s presence lingers in him as a half-formed bond, but the monarchy can’t forcibly enthrall him again without their anchors or this grandritual. He’s free in a way he hasn’t been for centuries. My chest warms at the realization. We did that.

Suddenly, an unexpected echo of footsteps resonates from the corridor. The battered demon lord must not be alone. Malphas and I tense, illusions flickering around his horns. A moment later, only the shuffle of a half-dead soldier collapses in the archway, moaning softly. No immediate threat.We might truly be at the end of this confrontation.

I exhale a shaky breath, turning to Malphas. “We should go. We have to confirm the vow is completely undone. Maybe that means returning to the Wildspont site or forging a new plan, but?—”

He silences me with a brief press of his clawed hand to my cheek. The contact is rough yet tender, and I see exhaustion etched in his molten eyes. “Yes. We’ll figure out the final step. For now, we’re free from these chains. That is enough.”

My throat constricts. “Enough for now, but… not forever.”

He nods, illusions flickering around him in a subdued dance. “We’ll stand together for the rest.”

We gather what scraps of energy remain, stumbling out of the battered ritual hall. Shards of obsidian crunch underfoot, the monarchy’s once-magnificent architecture reduced to smoldering ruins. On the threshold, I glimpse the night sky beyond—stars shining faintly, as though uncertain.We’ve won this battle, but the war might still rage.The monarchy isn’t destroyed, only fractured.

As we leave behind the charred corpses of lords and a shattered vow-casting dais, a fierce sense of triumph pulses in me. My entire body trembles from the aftermath of channeled Abyss power, but I walk unbroken. Malphas, though battered, holds his horns high, illusions swirling in quiet defiance.

We won, in a world that insisted we kneel. The vow is fractured, the monarchy’s wards flicker, and we face tomorrowwith free will—the greatest victory we could have hoped for. My soul still aches from the prophecy’s threat, but I hold onto hope: I channeled the Abyss without sacrificing my life. That means we can continue rewriting fate.

With the monarchy’s grand ritual site in ruins, we vanish into the night, leaving their stone serpents and broken wards behind. The next chapter of our rebellion awaits—the final stage of our fight to ensure we both remain free. If the monarchy tries to rebuild their vow, they’ll find Malphas no longer shackled to obey. And if destiny demands a final sacrifice, I’ll be there to defy it again, black runes blazing across my skin.

The hush of darkness folds around us, a hush filled with battered hearts and new possibilities. Step by step, Malphas and I walk away from the monarchy’s seat of power, certain we’ve shifted the balance of this entire realm. A swirl of illusions flickers around him, tinted with ephemeral starlight, marking the path we carve on our own terms.

18

MALPHAS

Istand at the threshold of the ancient colonnade, panting with the lingering pain of the vow’s remnants scorching my veins. The swirling illusions around my horns flicker erratically, fed by the adrenaline and defiance that have carried us this far. Each breath tastes of dust and ozone. Overhead, dark storm clouds roll across the sky, alive with flickers of lightning, as if the very atmosphere quakes in anticipation of what is about to happen.

The last of the monarchy’s forces gather on the cracked courtyard beyond. Shattered pillars and broken spires ring the space, remnants of an opulent stronghold undone by our relentless advance. Torches sputter in the whipping wind, revealing dark elf soldiers kneeling in battered lines, blood and sweat streaking their armor. Beyond them, a handful of robed figures try to salvage the monarchy’s ritual site, muttering incantations to reassert control. My illusions swirl in an ominous haze, but I’m dangerously close to my limit—if they push me further, I’m not certain I can maintain the power or remain standing.

Valentina steps beside me, sword clutched in her trembling fingers, eyes burning silver in the half-light. Her coat is tattered,exposing bandaged ribs and bruised flesh. Across her arms, the faint traces of black runes linger—the echo of the Abyss power she unleashed in the last confrontation. I see the way her jaw tightens and her breath catches, telling me she’s as near the edge as I am. Yet her stance radiates unwavering resolve. She meets my gaze, and I find a question there:Are we truly ready for the final blow?

I grit my teeth, illusions sputtering at my horns. “We finish this,” I say through labored breaths. “No more half-measures.”

Valentina nods, scanning the swirling mass of dark elf lords and straggling sorcerers who remain. Bodies litter the far corners of the courtyard—friends and foes alike. The monarchy’s banners droop from half-collapsed arches, frayed by fire and chaos. Everything smells of ashes and spilled blood. Yet a single dais stands intact at the center, runes etched deep into its obsidian surface. That dais, ringed by damaged wards, might be the monarchy’s last stand for re-binding me. I still feel threads of the vow in my chest, gnawing at my strength.If we don’t sever them completely, they’ll recover, and my freedom will be short-lived.

Lightning forks across the storm-dark sky, illuminating the dais. A tall, imposing elf stands at its edge—one of the monarchy’s highest lords, perhaps, garbed in resplendent armor. His features are sharp, eyes gleaming with scorn. Beside him, three more robed elves chant in frantic unison, weaving a barrier over the dais. Sigils swirl in the air, forming a dome of violet energy that flickers at the edges with raw power. If we let them complete that ward, they’ll clamp the vow back around me like a collar. My illusions roil in protest at the very thought.

Valentina sucks in a breath, stepping forward with unsteady courage. “That’s our target,” she murmurs. “The dais. We tear it apart, or they’ll reenslave you.”

I nod, gripping the battered hilt of my conjured blade—an extension of illusions and chaos flame that merges into a tangible weapon. My side throbs from reopened wounds, each heartbeat a reminder that I am not invincible. “We charge together,” I say. “If they rally, we might not get a second chance.”