Page 47

The chamber is ringed by tall spires, each capped by a humming crystal.

In the center stands a stone pedestal, thrumming with dense magic.

My vow resonates strongly there, a choking pull that threatens to bend my knees.

It’s the monarchy’s true anchor for my oath, the final nail in my coffin.

Runes swirl up the walls, weaving a tapestry of subjugation. I snarl at the sight. No more.

Three robed elves chant from the pedestal’s base, projecting wards around the anchor.

Their robes are emblazoned with the monarchy’s crest, eyes glowing with arcane zeal.

As we enter, they spin, arms raised to hurl bolts of conjured lightning.

The vow inside me flares anew, as if eager to reassert mastery.

I double over, illusions fracturing. Valentina steps forward, sword lifted.

A searing bolt arcs toward her, but she dives aside, rolling behind a fallen fragment of carved stone. Another bolt streaks at me, but I lash out with what illusions remain, dispersing it mid-flight. My horns pound, fresh blood trickling from my scalp. Time is short.

Valentina leaps from cover, hurtling at the nearest sorcerer.

He tries to conjure a barrier, but she’s too quick—her blade slams his staff aside, cutting him down with a resolute thrust. The second sorcerer roars, unleashing a tide of purple flame that washes over her.

She blocks part of it with her free arm, hissing as the scorching heat singes her clothes. Still, she pushes through, unstoppable.

The third sorcerer shifts his chanting, focusing on me.

The vow’s presence intensifies, nearly crippling me.

My illusions flicker out, darkness edging my vision.

No, I refuse. With a guttural cry, I channel chaos flame from my core, black sparks erupting around my horns.

The vow punishes me, but I lock onto that anchor pedestal.

If I break it, the monarchy’s direct hold ends.

I lunge forward, ignoring the arcs of purple flame scorching my wings.

My claws connect with the carved runes on the pedestal, raw chaos sparking.

The second sorcerer whirls to defend the anchor, launching a wave of force that slams me sideways.

I crash into a pillar, ribs screaming in protest. My wings sag.

Stars dance in my vision. Through the haze, I see Valentina slash the second sorcerer’s staff, neutralizing his spells.

She staggers from the recoil, hair singed, tears tracking down her soot-stained cheeks.

The third sorcerer tries to rally, but I force myself up, illusions swirling again.

Everything rides on this. The vow’s clamp tightens on my soul, but with the other anchors destroyed, it doesn’t fully incapacitate me.

I conjure a ghostly legion behind the sorcerer, illusions so realistic that he whips around, startled.

That half-second is enough. I hurl black flame at the pedestal, pouring the last dredges of power into the strike.

The runes across the stone crack in a spiderweb pattern, arcs of arcane lightning flaring outward.

The sorcerer shrieks as the backlash sears him, stumbling to his knees.

A deafening boom shakes the chamber. The anchor pedestal explodes, shards of basalt and crystal scattering.

My vow surges in a final violent attempt to subdue me, then collapses under its own weight, leaving a resonant emptiness.

My illusions flicker, free of the monarchy’s direct clamp.

I inhale, feeling the chain that bound me so thoroughly for centuries…

undone. Not fully gone, not while the vow remains part of my essence, but it’s severed from the monarchy’s immediate control.

Sweat drips down my horns, my entire body shaking. Valentina rushes to my side, pressing a trembling hand to my cheek. Her eyes brim with relief and fear. “Malphas, you… you did it. Are you still bound?”

I swallow, the vow a distant ache, no longer the collar strangling my every breath. “They can’t force me to kneel,” I rasp. My voice cracks from exhaustion. “But the vow’s threads remain in me. If we don’t perform the unbinding soon, they might reforge it eventually.”

Her jaw sets, determination glowing in her silver eyes.

“Then we move fast. They’re still out there—guards, maybe more sorcerers.

We have to handle the monarchy’s final stand or retreat to the Wildspont site for our own ritual plan.

But I see no sign of the King or his top generals. Maybe they’re deeper inside.”

I nod, scanning the destroyed anchor. Soldiers are surely converging on the antechamber after hearing the explosion.

My illusions stir in my mind, no longer strangled by forced compliance.

I can fight on my own terms now. My chest swells with savage satisfaction—the monarchy’s greatest weapon just turned fully against them.

But we’re not done. Another thrumming presence resonates deeper in the temple, likely where the monarchy’s high priest or the King’s chosen scion awaits. They’re prepared to recast the vow if they can, or at least kill us before we leave. We have to push on or fall back.

Valentina helps me stand straighter, her free hand trembling at the bandaged slash on her forearm. Her expression flickers with pain, but she steels herself. “Which path? Fight deeper inside, or run?”

My horns dip as I weigh our battered state.

But the vow’s partial freedom galvanizes me.

“This is the monarchy’s heart. If we flee now, they’ll regroup, chase us again.

We end it here.” My illusions are swirling, stronger than they’ve been in ages, no chain forcibly commanding me to hamper them.

“We press on. If the King or his High Sorcerer is within, we face them. Then we do the final unbinding—on your terms.”

She squeezes my arm. “Then let’s do it. Together.”

We turn to the archway leading deeper into the temple’s labyrinth, stepping over the bodies of the fallen sorcerers.

The air crackles with arcs of leftover magic, glowing runes fizzling on the floor.

Behind us, soldiers’ shouts echo, scrambling to reassert control.

No illusions hamper me now except my own exhaustion.

I let black flame coil around my horns, forging a barrier that might keep us safe from random arrows or spells.

We descend a flight of wide steps, torch sconces flickering along the walls.

The monarchy’s main sanctum awaits—the final stronghold.

My heart thrums with unstoppable adrenaline.

My vow’s bond is partially severed, enough that I no longer feel their direct commands.

It’s exhilarating, and also terrifying. If we fail now, we might not get another chance.

Valentina stands at my side, battered but unbroken.

We exchange a swift glance—no regrets. We descend into the gloom, illusions swirling in the air like phantom serpents.

Up ahead, I sense a violent swirl of arcane power, wards waiting to lash out at me.

The monarchy’s prepared with final defenses.

They still want Valentina dead. They yearn to restore my collar. We won’t let them.

Drawing a deep breath, I push on. Each step resonates like a war drum in my ears, heralding the confrontation we can’t escape.

My illusions shimmer brighter with every heartbeat, fueled by the taste of freedom.

In my mind’s eye, I see the vow’s fragile threads waiting for a final strike.

Valentina will attempt to sever them in her own unstoppable way. I must ensure she lives.

We march forward. Our battered armor rattles, swords stained with arcane gore. I ignore the vow’s lingering ache. The monarchy’s grand ritual site is ours to storm, wards or not. Valentina glances at me, lips curving in a determined line. I bare my fangs in a savage grin.

This is only stage one of our final stand, but we’ve already crippled their anchor. They tried to keep me leashed. They failed. I am no one’s slave, and soon, the monarchy will understand that truth—even if it costs me everything.

We press onward, illusions dancing in the torchlight, hearts pounding with the thunder of a rebellion centuries overdue.

The vow rattles, but I sense its hold weaken with each step.

Let the monarchy brace themselves. I’m done running.

Now, we meet them in the heart of their power and shatter their chains for good.

We march to the next battle, side by side, forging a path of our own choosing. Let fate tremble.