The storm had no mercy. It lashed the city in sheets of silver, lightning clawing at the sky as though the heavens themselves raged against what was about to unfold.
Elara stood in the command hall, her shadow long and sharp against the glow of the monitors. The last fragments of Varrek's transmission echoed in her mind. *Bend the knee… or I will break your bloodline.*
Her blood. Alive. Weaponized against her.
Kain waited at her side, silent but restless. His gloved hand rested on the hilt of the blade strapped across his back. He had seen her win wars with fire and precision, but never had he seen her shaken like this.
"Boss," he said at last, voice steady but low, "give the order. The men are ready."
Elara's cold gaze flicked toward him. "Ready?" Her voice was a whisper sharpened by steel. "They think they're ready for this storm?"
Kain hesitated. "Then what do we do?"
Her hand hovered over the controls, trembling only once before steadying. She activated the outer defenses. Across the compound, steel gates groaned shut, turrets hummed to life, and shadows of her soldiers moved into position like pieces on a board she had mastered long ago.
"We bleed them," she said. "Every step they take toward me will cost them dearly."
Lightning split the sky, and the battle began.
---
The northern sector erupted with fire. Enemy soldiers surged through the storm, neon-lit armor flashing as they advanced under the cover of rain. Gunfire crackled, thunder boomed, and the steel city became a war drum.
Elara descended from her office, cloak sweeping behind her as she entered the heart of the compound. Her presence alone was enough to silence her soldiers for a moment, their fear dissolving into grim determination. The Phantom Queen fought with them tonight.
Kain barked orders, rallying the squads. Explosions shook the walls, and sparks rained from the ceilings, but Elara kept walking — calm, deliberate, unbroken.
Then she saw it.
Through the chaos, through the storm, the hooded figure emerged. They moved like no other — swift, precise, cutting through her soldiers with a blade that shimmered red in the rain. Lightning revealed their face once more, and her chest tightened.
Her child.
Alive. Deadly. Unrecognizing.
Varrek's voice boomed through the loudspeakers, mocking her. "Do you see now, Elara? Even blood is not loyal to the damned. Fight them, and you destroy what little remains of you. Yield, and you may yet keep them breathing."
Her soldiers faltered, glancing at her, awaiting her command. Elara's lips curled into a bitter smile.
"The storm takes all," she said, and drew her weapon.
---
The clash was brutal. Fire met steel, lightning split the night, and the compound became a theater of chaos. Elara cut through enemy ranks like a phantom in flesh, her blade gleaming with every strike. Yet her eyes never left the figure cutting toward her — the ghost of her past, her blood made into an enemy.
At last, in the center of the compound yard, they stood face to face. Rain poured between them, the storm a curtain of silver. The hood fell fully back, and their eyes locked — hers sharp with fury, theirs cold with purpose.
For a heartbeat, silence. The world narrowed to two souls.
"Elara of the Fallen Council," the figure said, their voice carrying the echo of youth twisted by Varrek's poison. "Your empire dies tonight."
Her grip tightened on her blade, but her heart trembled. That voice… it was not the newborn's cry, not the whisper of innocence, but something grown in shadows.
"I had a name for you once," she whispered, the storm nearly swallowing her words. "Before they tore you from me."
The figure's eyes flickered — confusion, just for an instant — before hardening again.
Varrek's voice thundered once more, dripping with cruelty. "Strike her down, and you will be free of her chains!"
Elara raised her weapon. The storm screamed. Her soldiers watched, breathless.
And then… her blade lowered.
"I will fight armies. I will burn cities," she growled, eyes locked on her child. "But I will not kill my own blood. Not for you, Varrek. Never for you."
The figure lunged, blade flashing red, and Elara braced — not against the storm, not against death, but against the agony of fighting the only piece of herself she had ever lost.
The night became fire and steel.
And the Phantom Queen bled not for her empire — but for the ghost of a child returned as an enemy.
---