### Chapter 10 – The Hunt of Shadows
The city of Draeven had become a theater of fear. Fires still smoldered in alleys, bodies marked with the monarchs' sigil littered streets, and the Veil's attacks had left the citizens trembling, paralyzed by anticipation. Every shadow could hold death. Every sound could be a scream.
Kael stood in the strategy hall, his silver eyes cold and precise, scanning maps marked with the Veil's known strikes. Selara circled the table, fingers tracing paths of carnage the enemy had carved. "They are clever," she said, voice low. "But clever is not enough when the hunter knows every step."
Kael's lips curved in a predator's smile. "Then we will lure them."
The trap was simple in theory but terrifying in execution. Streets were rigged with hidden mechanisms: floors that collapsed into pits of spikes, walls that dropped blades, and wells filled with poisoned water. But the **cruelty was in the choice**—entire districts were left as bait, citizens caught in the terror as the Veil took the bait unknowingly.
When the first strike came, Kael's soldiers were ready. The Veil, agile and cunning, found themselves funneled into a maze of death. Flames erupted behind them, gates slammed shut, and the air filled with the screams of the damned. Every path led to punishment: spikes, fire, and the screams of those unfortunate enough to be caught in the wrong alley.
Selara watched from a high balcony, eyes sharp, her lips curled in that cruel, satisfied smile. "Do you see?" she whispered to Kael. "Every movement they make, every choice they think they control… belongs to us."
The Veil, for all their skill, could not escape the **psychological torment**. Corpses were arranged in patterns resembling the monarchs' sigil, the remains of previous victims serving as warnings of what awaited them. Every step they took was punctuated by echoes of screams and the metallic scent of blood.
Kael descended into the trap himself, moving like shadow and steel combined. His boots struck the cobblestones in rhythm with the panic of the Veil. He cornered the intruder, a hand gripping the shoulder, voice cold, intimate in its menace. "Do you understand yet?" he asked softly. "Every choice, every breath… belongs to us."
Selara's dagger traced a slow, deliberate line across the intruder's arm, leaving a mark as much psychological as physical. "Fear is cumulative," she said. "Every scar, every pain… it teaches them obedience."
The Veil tried to strike back, but each move had been anticipated. Kael and Selara's cruelty was **calculated**, a perfect combination of physical torment and psychological domination. Traps forced them into positions where survival was impossible: pits of spikes, cages that tightened as they struggled, fires that licked their feet while eyes watched from the shadows.
By dawn, the Veil lay defeated, broken physically and mentally. Some were executed publicly, their bodies displayed in grotesque tableaux; others were left alive, mutilated and humiliated, their minds forever haunted by the inevitability of the Dark Monarchs' rule.
Kael and Selara stood together atop the palace balcony, surveying the city below. Every street, every alley, every terrified whisper confirmed it: Draeven's people now understood the **true extent of their cruelty**.
Kael's voice carried across the rooftops, silver eyes glinting. "Let this be a warning: defiance is not merely punished… it is perfected. And perfection is ours."
Selara pressed close, eyes reflecting the chaos below. "They will remember us," she said softly. "Not just in fear… but in **the marrow of their bones**."
The city shivered beneath them, trapped in a web of terror so complete that even the cleverest enemy could no longer imagine a way out. Kael and Selara had become not just rulers—they were **the embodiment of inevitability, cruelty, and death**, and Draeven had learned that no shadow could hide from the **Crown of Darkness**.
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