The Sovereign Court, a hall once meant to echo only with verdicts and decrees, now howled like a battlefield.
Smoke curled up toward the shattered dome, where veins of goldstone cracked apart, glowing as if the very foundations of power resented the war within.
Kaelen's laughter rang across the chamber, his black-fire blade sweeping wide to cut through half a dozen Sovereign Guards who charged him in a desperate phalanx. Armor split, bodies burned to cinders.
Arcturus thundered forward before Kaelen could strike again. His twin swords of golden flame blurred, a tempest of arcs that carved sigils into the air with every swing. He slammed into Kaelen, sparks erupting as their blades locked, their voices roaring over the chaos.
"You twist the Veil to your will, Kaelen," Arcturus snarled, "but you'll never wear the crown. The throne was forged for those who can endure it—"
Kaelen's grin was carved from madness. "Endure? I am what it fears. I am what it remembers."
The clash detonated, throwing them apart again.
All around, chaos widened:
House Deymar warlords fought with brutal discipline, their crimson halberds slick with blood.
House Althorin's paladins countered, shields glowing with golden inscriptions, yet faltering under the endless Veilspawn pouring from ruptures.
The cultists screamed hymns as they sacrificed themselves, exploding in fountains of green flame that consumed entire noble retinues.
Darric and Lyra, trapped among the spectators, fought desperately to survive the storm. Darric shield-bashed through cultists, his warblade flashing as he tried to push toward Kael, who he knew was somewhere deep in this chaos. Lyra loosed arrow after arrow, each Sovereign-forged shaft punching through armor and spell alike.
But neither could close in. The Court was a maze of collapsing marble, writhing shadows, and noble blood.
At the heart, Kaelen raised his staff high, and black fire gathered like a storm. He slammed it down, shouting a word the Court had not heard in centuries:
"Abyssmarch!"
The marble floor cracked wide. From the chasm clawed forth something worse than spawn—a colossal figure of chained bone and molten eyes, a forgotten executioner of the old Sovereigns. It rose, dragging its scythe, and its roar shook the entire chamber.
Gasps of terror broke even from the warring nobles.
Arcturus's eyes narrowed, his aura exploding brighter than ever before. "Then I'll burn the abyss itself to cinders!"
He leapt, his body a comet of gold, both swords raised. He struck the giant executioner in a blinding crash, golden fire cracking bone and searing chains, while Kaelen surged forward to meet him once more.
The duel of Sovereigns was no longer theirs alone—it was the spark to an inferno that threatened to swallow the entire kingdom.