"PREPARE!"
Diana's voice cut through the throne room like a blade through flesh.
Her team moved instantly.
Thorne's twin blades sang as they left their sheaths, jade eyes locked on the demon king. Sylva's spear spun once, twice, momentum already building. Rowan's massive shield materialized in his hands, a wall of living wood and iron. Ivy's bow rose, arrow nocked, string drawn. Ashwood's staff blazed with verdant light, runes spiraling up its length.
All five landed in formation around Diana—a crescent of warriors, weapons ready, eyes sharp.
And across from them stood Torkh.
The Blood King hadn't moved from his throne. His wings remained spread, casting shadows that seemed to writhe with their own life. His yellow eyes tracked each warrior with the calm assessment of a predator sizing up prey.
But something had shifted.
When Diana first crashed through the ceiling, Torkh had been seated, languid, almost bored. Now he stood at the base of his throne, wings half-unfurled, one hand resting on the armrest.
Ready.
He smiled.
"How rude," he said softly, his voice carrying effortlessly across the ruined throne room. "You break into my home, shatter my ceiling, interrupt my work—and you don't even introduce yourselves."
Diana's sword left its sheath—black steel with a green edge that pulsed like a heartbeat.
"I am Princess Diana Genever V of the Kingdom of Bardona," she said, her voice ringing with authority. "And you, demon, are an abomination that must be purged."
Torkh tilted his head, genuinely curious. "Bardona? Never heard of it."
He took a step forward, boots clicking against marble.
"Though I suppose that's not surprising. This universe is so… vast. So many little kingdoms. So many little princesses."
His smile widened.
"Tell me, Princess Diana of the Kingdom I've Never Heard Of—do you bleed green like your hair? Or red like everyone else?"
Diana's grip tightened on her sword.
Behind her, Ashwood's staff flared brighter. His eyes were distant, analyzing, calculating.
"Princess," he said quietly, urgently. "The signal—it's coming from him."
Diana's eyes narrowed. "What?"
"The gate signature. The anchor point. It's emanating from—"
Torkh moved.
One moment he was standing by his throne.
The next, he was fifteen feet closer, wings still folded, hands still empty.
He hadn't flown. Hadn't run.
He'd simply… moved.
Rowan slammed his shield into the ground. "HOLD!"
Roots erupted from the marble floor, thick as tree trunks, coiling toward Torkh like serpents. Ivy's arrow flew, silent and certain. Thorne blurred forward, blades spinning. Sylva's spear became a streak of silver light.
Torkh raised one hand.
Blood seeped from the walls. From the ceiling. From the cracks in the stone. From the corpses of the Memory Eater's victims still rotting in the corners.
It coalesced mid-air into chains—dozens of them, crimson and dripping, faces screaming within each link.
The chains met the roots. Wood splintered. Blood sprayed.
They intercepted Ivy's arrow. The arrowhead buried itself in a screaming face that ate the projectile whole.
They wrapped around Thorne's blades, yanking him off-balance.
They coiled around Sylva's spear, stopping her momentum cold for the first time in her life.
And through it all, Torkh stood still, hand raised, expression bored.
"Stage Two," he said, almost disappointed. "All of you. Competent, well-trained, loyal."
His yellow eyes fixed on Diana.
"But the princess… you're different."
Diana felt the weight of his gaze—like being studied under a magnifying glass.
"Stage Three, Level Four," Torkh continued. "Same stage as me, technically. But…"
He smiled.
"I'm Level Five."
The temperature dropped.
The blood chains multiplied—dozens became hundreds, filling the throne room like a crimson storm.
"Thorne, Sylva—fall back!" Diana shouted. "Rowan, Ivy—defensive positions! Ashwood—"
"I know!" The old mage's staff blazed brighter, symbols flaring. "Princess, I need thirty seconds to—"
A chain shot toward him like a viper.
Rowan intercepted it with his shield. The impact rang like a gong, but the chain rebounded harmlessly.
"Work faster!" Rowan bellowed.
Diana's roots erupted from the ground—massive, black, covered in green thorns. They tore through marble, wrapped around Torkh's blood chains, tried to reach the demon himself.
Torkh's chains multiplied faster.
They cut through roots like paper. They wrapped around Thorne's ankle and slammed him into a pillar. They coiled around Sylva's arms, forcing her to release her spear or have her shoulders dislocated.
"Princess!" Thorne shouted, blood running from a gash on his forehead. "We can't—"
"I KNOW!" Diana roared.
Her eyes blazed emerald.
From her armor, she pulled a small object—a crystalline white rose, no larger than her palm. It pulsed with light so pure it seemed to hurt the darkness around it.
Ashwood's eyes widened. "Princess, no! That's—"
"I know what it is!" Diana snapped.
She crushed the rose in her fist.
Light exploded from her hand—pure, white, overwhelming. It poured into her body, flooding her veins, igniting her essence like oil meeting flame.
Her green hair lifted, glowing. Her eyes burned like twin suns. Her roots doubled, tripled in size, becoming massive serpents of wood and thorn that tore through stone foundations.
The pressure in the room shifted.
Torkh's smile faded.
"An artifact," he said, genuinely impressed. "Life-aspected. Royal-grade, if I'm not mistaken. You're burning years of accumulated life energy for a temporary boost."
Diana's voice echoed with power. "You wanted to see if I bleed green or red?"
She raised her sword.
"Let's find out what YOU bleed."
She moved.
Not running. Not flying.
Blurring.
Her sword carved a green arc through the air. Torkh's chains rose to intercept—she cut through them like mist. His wings snapped open—she was already past them. His hand reached to block—
Her blade met his chest.
CRACK.
The black armor covering Torkh's torso shattered like glass.
Beneath it—
A red gemstone. Massive. The size of a fist. Embedded directly into his flesh, pulsing with dark light that seemed to drink the surrounding air.
And inside the gemstone—
An eye.
Not Torkh's yellow eyes. Something else. Something vast and terrible, staring out from within the stone with an intelligence that predated kingdoms.
"ASHWOOD!" Diana shouted, holding her blade against the gemstone. "ANALYZE IT!"
The old mage's staff blazed. His eyes went wide.
"The signal—it's coming from the gem! The gate anchor—it's inside him! Connection point: Evil Zone! Coordinates unknown but—"
Torkh snarled—a sound of pure, unfiltered rage that shook dust from the ceiling—and his hand closed around Diana's wrist.
"You shouldn't have done that."
He twisted.