Veyne had spent the minutes since the trial began taking everything in. Runes crawled along the doors and floor—an integrated seal. He couldn't break out without risking his life. Worse, the ward had severed this chamber from other dimensions; he could not summon from afar. Someone had planned for every contingency. He was trapped.
Elaina launched. Veyne barely dodged her first strike and stumbled back. In a heartbeat he was cornered. Fighting head‑on wasn't his style, but it was the only choice left. If he could kill enough of them, maybe the barrier would crack.
"You stopped me calling my legions from outside," he said coolly. "But you didn't stop the ones I brought with me."
Five purple vortices tore open around him. From each stepped a skeletal colossus—nine feet tall, shadowed bone, one missing an arm. They fell into stilted attention. Veyne drew an ornate bone shortsword from a smaller portal and readied himself.
"N—no, this wasn't planned! We sealed him and destroyed his castle—he should be powerless!" Brother Matias stammered.
"Hold steady," Theiton barked.
Veyne's lips twitched. He turned his attention to the Matias's throne and activated his blood crown. A black‑red shockwave washed over his seat; the boy convulsed as the magic assaulted him. Elaina lunged in a blur—red and purple energy streaking from her blade. Veyne parried and danced, letting her blows chip at his defenses. The skeletons plodded toward the weaker delegates, crushing where they could. Experienced councilors threw up barriers that held them off.
Veyne grinned. "Perfect." He slipped between the skeletons' legs and ordered them at Elaina. With a single, furious swing she severed all five in two, bones clattering across marble. Confidence flashed across her face—then Veyne's voice boomed.
"Shiad‑nafic‑toosax‑niada!"
A roar answered from the sky. Outside the Council compound, Necrothrix screamed and battered the halls with lightning, fire, and ice. Wave after wave struck the complex, unable to penetrate the center chamber's divine core—but the impact rattled every column.
Inside, blood seeped beneath Veyne's armor. Elaina's assaults had been relentless; his summons had bought time, not safety. Physical combat was not his strength—he relied on his legions. Still, he had one plan left.
The chamber groaned. From outside, the enforcers organized to handle the dragon. The council bickered behind their shields. Veyne focused. A molten sphere swelled in his hand, heat rippling the air. The room flushed orange.
"He's going to burn us all!" someone cried.
"Elaina—kill him now!" Theiton snapped.
Elaina pivoted. "Father, imbue my blade!" she shouted. She shifted her grip, shouldering the heavy sword like a spear. Red lightning crawled along the steel; Theiton sank a palm into a golden circle and wreathed the tip in divine light.
"Now!" he cried.
Elaina hurled the blade. Veyne hefted his magma sphere and met it. The sword bored through the molten orb, slicing it clean. Before the blade reached his chest, Veyne muttered, "One step closer," and detonated the collision. The blast rocked the hall; walls cracked and rubble flew.
Elaina scrambled up, birthing a new weapon—an electrical whip spun from her sword's strap. She charged. At the door lay Veyne—face up, armor shredded, a cavernous wound goring his torso. For a breath the chamber fell silent.
"Elaina—confirm!" someone called.
"He's dead," she said, checking his pulse and mana. A relieved murmur ran through the hall. Theiton's smile softened into triumphant satisfaction.
"Excellent. Remove the stain. Lower the barrier," he ordered. Celebrations stirred; some wept in relief. Marie remained stone‑faced, eyes hollow. She opened her mouth, but Theiton's look shut her down.
Elaina moved to report outside. Theiton approached the corpse with the studied curiosity of a man inspecting an old enemy. "After all this time, all that remains is a skeleton," he muttered, stepping closer.
Then Elaina's shout cut through. "Father—look out!"
Bones surged. Veyne's skeleton rose, runes glowing across every inch. His bones contorted, fangs and claws forming from splintered ribs. "My final backup is my own corpse," Veyne rasped—his voice a tinkling of ancient metal and dying breath.
He was quicker than any expected. Before Theiton could react, Veyne leapt, shredding flesh and bone. The chamber erupted in chaos. Elaina screamed and dove at him, hatred fuelling her strike. Veyne kicked her back and saw his chance—the barrier had a hairline fracture. With raw force he smashed the door free, sacrificing his right arm in the attempt, then tore through the corridors toward the main gate.
Outside, the sight that met him froze his blood: the fallen carcass of Necrothrix lay smoking at his feet. "Too late," he thought. A spear of lightning impaled him from behind, shattering bone. Elaina, berserk and furious, hammered another strike—there was no mercy in her motion. Veyne's skull and spine glowed purple; with a grotesque wrench they detached, flying in a desperate, fumbling attempt to survive.
He tasted failure—one hundred and fifteen years, ending in a hail of hatred. Memories slammed through him: his first kill, exile, raising his first soldier, the days he built Duskhold and earned S rank.
"—so it's true they do flash befo—" he began.
Elaina crushed his skull between both hands mid‑air. The sound of bone shattering was final. The Lich King—Veyne Moregrove—was ended.