Fifteen.
The countdown began in Arthur's mind, spoken by a voice that sounded like tectonic plates shifting.
Arthur didn't fly. Humans cannot fly.
He simply kicked the air with so much force that the atmosphere condensed into a solid platform beneath his feet. A sonic boom shattered the remaining windows of the castle as he ascended, a blur of black lightning tearing through the smoke.
On the rising platform, General Vane was laughing, dragging Erika by the hair.
"Look at them scurry, Your Majesty! Like ants under a—"
Vane stopped. The hair on his arms stood up. The air suddenly tasted of ozone and ancient dust.
He looked down.
Something was coming up from the castle. It wasn't a spell. It wasn't an arrow. It was a void.
Fourteen.
Arthur slammed onto the magical platform. The impact didn't just shake it; it shattered the levitation runes. The platform crumbled instantly.
Vane's eyes widened. He saw the boy.
Arthur was covered in black mist. His veins glowed with a magma-red light, visible through his skin. His eyes were empty holes in the world. And in his hand, the Sword of Bellona was no longer heavy. It was singing. A high, shrieking note of pure destruction.
"You..." Vane stammered, stepping back, letting go of Erika. "What are you?"
Arthur didn't answer. He didn't have time for words.
Thirteen.
Vane roared, his survival instinct kicking in. "Gravity Crush! Maximum Output!"
He slammed both hands down. A column of purple gravity magic, strong enough to flatten a tank, crashed onto Arthur.
Arthur didn't dodge. He swung the sword upward.
Twelve.
The black blade met the purple magic. There was no resistance. The sword didn't just cut the spell; it ate it. The gravity wave dissipated into harmless gray sparks.
Vane screamed in terror. He scrambled backward, jumping off the disintegrating platform and using his own wind magic to fly toward his ship, The Obsidian Gallows, hovering just above them.
"Fire!" Vane shrieked to his crew. "Fire everything at him!"
Eleven.
The cannons of the Obsidian Gallows roared. A wall of incendiary iron rained down.
Arthur grabbed Erika's waist with his free hand. He looked at the incoming cannonballs. The world seemed to move in slow motion.
He kicked off a piece of falling debris.
Ten.
He weaved through the barrage. He deflected a cannonball with the flat of his blade, sending it spinning back into the ship's hull. He was faster than the explosions. He was faster than thought.
He reached the hull of the massive black ship.
Nine.
"Bellona," Arthur thought. "Take it all."
The devil in his mind laughed. Gladly.
Arthur swung the sword horizontally.
Eight.
A wave of black energy, shaped like a crescent moon, erupted from the blade. It was massive—easily three hundred feet wide.
It hit the Obsidian Gallows.
The shield generators flickered and died instantly. The reinforced timber, the iron ribs, the magical engine core—it didn't matter. The slash passed through the ship as if it were made of smoke.
Seven.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then, with a groan that sounded like a dying whale, the massive pirate ship split in half. The top deck slid slowly, agonizingly, off the bottom hull. Explosions blossomed from the severed engine, lighting up the night sky.
Six.
Arthur landed on a falling piece of the mast. He looked up.
Vane was hovering in the air, surrounded by the debris of his life's work. The Pirate General was pale, his mouth opening and closing in silent horror. He looked at his broken ship. He looked at the monster standing amidst the ruin.
"My ship..." Vane whispered. "My power..."
Five.
Arthur leaped from the mast. He closed the distance to Vane in a heartbeat.
Vane drew his serrated cutlass, his hand shaking violently. "Stay back! I am a General of Hades! I am—"
Four.
Arthur parried Vane's strike. The pirate's cutlass shattered into a thousand shards of steel.
Three.
Arthur's hand shot out, grabbing Vane by the throat. The momentum carried them both downward, plummeting toward the castle courtyard far below.
"Who are you?!" Vane screamed, staring into the black void of Arthur's eyes. "Who are you, boy?!"
Two.
Arthur's lips moved. The voice that came out wasn't his. It was a legion.
"Your death."
One.
Arthur swung the Sword of Bellona one last time.
It was a clean, diagonal cut.
Vane's eyes went wide. A thin line of red appeared across his chest, from his left shoulder to his right hip.
"Oh," Vane whispered.
The General separated.
Zero.
The power vanished.
The red glow in Arthur's veins went dark. The strength left his limbs instantly, replaced by a pain so intense it felt like his body was turning to glass.
He was falling.
He was holding Erika. She was screaming his name, but he couldn't hear her. The wind was rushing past his ears.
My heart, Arthur thought, feeling the muscle in his chest stutter and stop. It stopped.
He used the last ounce of his fading consciousness to twist his body in mid-air. He pulled Erika tight against his chest, turning his back to the ground.
Protect.
They slammed into the castle courtyard.
The impact threw up a cloud of dust.
Silence fell over Aethelgard.
The fireworks had stopped. The cannons had stopped. Even the fire seemed to hold its breath.
High above, the two halves of The Obsidian Gallows crashed into the Dragontooth Mountains, the explosion illuminating the night like a second sun.
But in the courtyard, there was no movement.
Erika coughed, pushing herself up from Arthur's chest. She was bruised, battered, but alive.
"Arthur?" she whispered.
She looked down.
Arthur lay on the cracked flagstones. His eyes were closed. The black sword lay just out of reach of his open hand.
"Arthur!" Erika shook him. "Arthur, wake up!"
He didn't move. He didn't breathe.
Leo and Maya came running from the West Wing, skidding to a halt as they saw the scene.
"Is he..." Leo choked out.
Erika pressed her ear to Arthur's chest. She listened for the rhythm she knew should be there.
Silence.
Erika pulled back, a wail of pure despair building in her throat. She grabbed his shoulders, shaking him violently.
"No! You don't get to do this! You promised!" she screamed, her tears falling onto his face. "You promised you'd guard me! Arthur!"
From the shadows of the ruined keep, a massive figure limped into the light. Conrad, battered and bloody, dragged himself toward them. He looked at the burning wreckage on the mountain. He looked at the severed body of General Vane a few yards away.
And then he looked at the boy who had done the impossible.
Conrad fell to his knees. He knew what the sword demanded. He knew the cost.
"He paid the price," Conrad whispered, bowing his head.
The Festival of Light had ended.