«CHAPTER– 9&10»
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"The Third War has begun?" Thailra muttered in disbelief as she brushed her teeth, her eyes fixed on the book.
She spat out the toothpaste, rinsed her mouth, washed her face, and stepped out of the bathroom.
Her phone buzzed, and she set the book down on the table before walking over to it.
Picking it up, she saw a message from Daniel.
A smile slowly curled on her lips as she read it—he was asking her out to the cinema tonight.
She swayed slightly, brushing her hair hurriedly, then rushed to the mirror and cupped her face in her hands.
She couldn't believe Daniel could fall for this ugly face.
She chuckled softly, her gaze dropping to her neck, where a necklace with a silver stone pendant rested.
She rubbed the stone gently, smiling widely.
She smiled brightly and picked up her phone to text him back. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the book glowing.
She turned toward it, walked over, and picked it up, watching as a tiny light began to spread across its cover.
The Tale of the Ashkaroth, was boldly inscribed on the cover, glowing with an intense, almost blinding light.
Thailra's eyes widened in shock as the book suddenly leapt from her hands, forcing her to stumble backward in fear.
The pages began flipping on their own, and the book floated in midair. Doors and windows slammed open and shut violently around her.
She raised her arm to shield her eyes from the searing brightness, heart racing as the chaos swirled around her.
The book faced her, and the silver stone around her neck began to glow brightly.
Slowly, almost irresistibly, the book started pulling her closer and closer.
"Ahhh!" she screamed, struggling to run toward the door, but the force was far stronger than her strength.
She was dragged toward the book, her body trembling as it began to vanish into its pages. Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head frantically.
"No! No! No!!" she cried, her voice breaking.
And then, with a final, desperate scream, she disappeared entirely into the book.
The glowing light faded, the book snapped shut, and it vanished without a trace.
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«ONE THOUSAND YEARS BACK,
ASHKAROTH, ALBATON PALACE»
"Mummy!!!"
Thalira's back slammed against something solid, and she groaned, nearly bursting into tears. Still in her nightgown, she pressed a hand to the floor to push herself up—only to clutch a cold, brittle human arm.
Her eyes went wide as she slowly turned her head toward what she was holding, realizing she was lying atop a mound of thousands of human skeletons.
Horror froze her for a moment, and then her gaze darted to the walls, where giant spiders crawled with eerie precision, and rats scurried across the floor in chaotic swarms.
Then, a slow, earth-shaking groan of a beast rent the air.
Thalira turned toward the sound, only to freeze as her eyes fell upon a monstrous figure—a human-like beast, massive and chained at the wrist, the heavy iron links dragging behind him.
Jagged horns crowned his head, and blood dripped from his tattered clothes, dark and glistening in the dim light.
He was backing her.
Had she just traveled a thousand years into the past?
Could it be that the beast standing before her was the same Duncan Tharagon—the demon prince—she had read about in the story?
Duncan's gaze fell on her, one piercing bloodshot eye locking onto hers, a deadly smirk curling his lips.
Thalira's eyes widened in disbelief. It was indeed him—Duncan Tharagon, the demon prince.
"Blood of Jesus!!!!"
A terrifying scream tore from her throat, and her body went limp as she fainted, collapsing onto the cold, skeletal-strewn floor.
Duncan's lips curled into a savage smile.
With terrifying speed, he lunged toward her, seizing her and dragging her up with inhuman force. His claws sliced through the air, sharp and deadly, poised to tear her apart.
His eyes burned with a predatory gleam, his lips slick with blood.
He sank his teeth into her neck—and suddenly a maddening force hurled him toward the wall, brutally and mercilessly.
Thailra's body lifted into the air as Duncan groaned like a beast and turned toward her.
The silver stone tore its way free from her necklace, floating beside her as lightning burst from it, crackling and striking the four corners of the cave.
Duncan couldn't believe his eyes—she had the Silver Stone.
Who exactly was she?
He tried to stand, but he couldn't.
The sheer weight of the stone's power pinned him to the ground. Maddening lightning struck again from the Silver Stone; this time it slammed into his chest.
Blood filled his mouth as he groaned in pain.
The horns on his head vanished, and his claws slid back, replaced by a human body.
He vomited thick black blood, staining his white clothes as he struggled once more to stand—but he couldn't.
Instead, lightning struck him again and again, crashing into his forehead in rapid succession.
Each strike remained tethered to the Silver Stone, which sparkled angrily as it began to draw him closer.
His eyes shifted from ocean blue to deep silver as he was pulled to stand before the stone.
In that moment, he lost all control of himself.
He carried the floating Thailra in his arms as lightning struck relentlessly, arcing from his forehead to the Silver Stone without mercy.
Outside, the sun and the moon began to draw together—the eclipse had begun.
In the Avialyn Forest, Iskaria stood frozen, staring at the unfolding scene.
Alaric Ashcroft had failed her; he had not succeeded in retrieving the Beast Seed.
Now, the Eclipse of Souls was starting.
As the sun and moon met in the sky, her eyes widened. She narrowed them slightly, gripping her staff tightly as she stared into the chaos above.
It was supposed to be a false eclipse—the sun obscured by a black shroud, not a true alignment. Yet the moon had appeared.
Who is the moon?
Her eyes widened as she shifted her gaze toward no particular direction.
"The Silver Stone is alive?" she murmured, her lips curling into a dark, chilling smirk.
The Dominion of Souls had appeared.
Inside the cave, a book appeared in midair, drifting as it circled them.
Its pages flipped endlessly, and with each turn the Silver Stone shone brightly, mirroring the same silver glow in Duncan's eyes.
THE DOMINION OF SOULS was boldly inscribed on its cover as it continued to orbit them, pages fluttering without end.
Meanwhile, in the heart of the war, Varokron shoved away the soldier he had killed, his sword still lodged in the man's heart.
He struck again, this time driving the blade into the soldier's forehead, before lifting his gaze to the sky in turmoil.
The sun and the moon were slowly converging.
His eyes widened.
Could it be? Had Prince Duncan finally found a queen—and with it, his freedom—now that the Silver Stone had been confirmed alive?
Another soldier rushed toward him, and Varokron continued to fight, his mind and heart restless.
Even if he killed the king today, it would not make him the next to sit on the throne—because Prince Duncan was still alive.
Atop Mount Ashkrot stood Alaric Ashcroft, gripping his staff tightly as he stared at the sky.
His hold tightened as day slowly bled into night.
A disaster was unfolding.
They had failed to obtain the Seed—the very thing that could have helped them turn the tide of the war.
The moon had appeared.
Who exactly was this moon?
Its presence meant the Silver Stone was glowing somewhere, and they had to find it before the eclipse ended.
He gritted his teeth, his grey eyes fixed intently on the sky.
Inside the cave, lightning now surged from his forehead to Thailra's chest, sparking with full intensity.
Her eyes snapped open, shining brilliantly.
Outside, in the sky, the sun and moon merged—and in that instant, darkness swept over the city. The Silver Stone's glow vanished.
The lightning stopped.
Everything froze.
The Silver Stone fell to the floor, now just an ordinary stone. Duncan staggered, still clutching Thailra tightly—she remained unconscious.
He glanced around the cave, his eyes landing on the mountain of skeletons.
His once-dirty white attire now sparkled, and his hair had grown longer than before.
He stared at the chains binding his wrists. With a single pull, one chain shattered into pieces, clattering to the floor.
His lips curled into a smirk.
Adjusting the lady in his arms, he strode toward the cave entrance. With a single punch, the door shattered, crashing heavily to the ground.
He glanced down at Thailra and smirked. In a flash of lightning speed, he vanished, teleporting out of the cave.
The Dominion of Souls fell to the floor beside the now-ordinary stone.
Its pages were empty, not a single letter remaining—it was nothing more than an ordinary, BLANK—BOOK.
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Meanwhile, at every corner of the village, hundreds of bodies lay scattered across the ground.
Some with their heads torn from their bodies, others with chests ripped open, all marked by the sharp, savage scratches of beastly claws.
The air was thick with the stench of blood and fear.
Smoke curled from the burned-out huts, the faint crackle of dying fires echoing through the empty streets.
Birds circled overhead, their shrill cries piercing the eerie silence.
Cries of children, desperately tugging at their parents' bodies to wake them, rent the air.
Their small forms were streaked with dirt, and their hair hung in tangled, disheveled strands.
"Mama… Papa…" they cried, their tiny fingers smeared with blood as they clutched at the lifeless bodies.
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Darkness engulfed the battlefield.
No one could see their opponents, and in the chaos, soldiers struck down both enemies and allies alike.
King Valgor didn't lower his sword for a moment.
His armor held strong against every blow, but his focus was unwavering: to kill Varokron and end everything himself.
He groaned with effort as he fought anyone who came near.
A soldier lunged from the shadows, eyes wild with panic.
Valgor struck first, his blade slicing through the man's armor and sending him sprawling into a heap of bodies.
Another came, then another, until the King was surrounded, yet he moved with unyielding focus, each strike calculated, each defense absolute.
Sweat and blood streaked his face.
His breaths came hard and ragged, yet his resolve never faltered.
His mind was fixed on one goal: to reach Varokron, to end the war himself. Every scream, every clash, every shadowed strike that came at him was only a test of his will.
A soldier lunged from the shadows, jagged steel flashing.
Valgor sidestepped, bringing his sword down in a crushing arc that split the man's chest.
Blood sprayed across his armor, but he did not flinch. Another came, swinging wildly. Valgor caught the jagged edge, twisted, and drove the blade through the man's shoulder, yanking it free with a wet, satisfying snap.
The screams of the dying filled the blackened air, but Valgor pressed on.
Every soldier that approached fell to his blade: one's head toppled with a precise strike, another's leg shattered as he kicked it from beneath him.
Each move was swift, lethal, unstoppable.
Steel clashed against steel in a chaotic symphony of death.
Valgor's sword sang as it cut through jagged blades, parried strikes, and shattered armor.
He spun through the melee, swinging in wide arcs that sent enemies flying, crushing bones and tearing flesh with every hit.
Just then In a blur of motion, a sword pierced his heart from behind.
Pain exploded through him, and blood gushed from his mouth. His knees buckled, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
He clutched his bloodied sword with trembling hands, every breath a struggle.
Around him, the battlefield faded into shadow—he saw no one, only the cold, unforgiving light of the moon, shining down like a witness to his fall.
"How does it feel to be killed by your own seed, Valgor Tharagon?" a deep, chilling voice hissed from behind him.
Valgor's eyes widened. Even in the face of death, he recognized the voice—it couldn't be real.
"Dun…can?" he muttered, blood filling his mouth.
"Even at the moment of your death, you're surprised that the son you caged was freed, huh?" Duncan said in a deadly voice.
"How could you chain your own son for more than fifteen years—without remorse? I warned you, didn't I? Once I was freed, you would be my first prey. I would pierce your heart with your own sword." His grip tightened as he drove the blade deeper, merciless and unyielding.
Valgor coughed violently, blood filling his mouth as he clutched his sword, his hands trembling with fading strength.
"So your aim in this battle was to kill Varokron?" Duncan continued coldly.
"I'll do you a favor—bury you with his head placed upon your chest, Father. Let that be the last promise from your son." He shoved the sword forward without mercy.
More blood spilled from King Valgor's mouth.
Then, with a heartless motion, Duncan yanked the blade back and twisted it, cutting his heart into pieces.
"The… Serpenthis goddess… laid a curse on me—for wiping out their clan. A snake killed your mother, and they couldn't provide the antidote in time. That's why she cursed me. The curse… my seed… the son it brought… was destined to become a bloody beast. I caged you because I had to save my people as their king. And I made sure I would never forget you—I always sent people to your chamber… to quench your taste," King Valgor muttered breathlessly, blood pouring from his mouth.
Duncan withdrew his sword without mercy.
Valgor collapsed to the floor, his armor clanging as his head fell lifelessly aside.
Blood dripped slowly from his sword.
"Iskaria Venmora… Alaric Ashcroft… Varokron Drakmor," Duncan muttered, a dark, dangerous smirk curling his lips.
"It's been a while. High time I paid them a surprise visit to hell."
With that, he vanished.
The paused war roared back to life, steel clashing once more as the eclipse began to fade and light crept back into the sky.
King Valgor's blood continued to flow across the ground, silent and final.
Meanwhile, far from the battlefield, Varokron was retreating, summoning his dragon.
Instantly, a massive red dragon appeared, its tail sweeping through the soldiers, sending them flying in disbelief—some struck their heads against the jagged rocks, others tumbled off the cliffs.
Varokron mounted the dragon as the sky brightened, the eclipse vanishing as if it had never been.
With a powerful beat of its wings, the red dragon soared out of the scene, Varokron glancing back at the chaos below, watching the battle continue.
He was carried swiftly to his chamber in the Avialyn clan.
Leaping down from the dragon, he sprinted inside—only to stop dead. The crown prince sat motionless on his throne, calm and unyielding.
His eyes widened in shock, and without a second thought, he slashed his sword forward, pointing it directly at Duncan.
Duncan's lips curled into a savage, cold smile.
Around them lay the carnage of Varokron's army—soldiers scattered across the floor, chests ripped open, a mountain of bodies bearing silent witness to his fury.
Varokron's throat tightened.
He swallowed hard, trying to steady his trembling hands as he kept the sword raised, confronting the unstoppable force before him.
"Surprised to see me here, huh? Nice room, indeed," Duncan said, his voice dripping with cold amusement.
"The man you wanted to kill so desperately is dead… killed by me. I paved a clear road for you to become the next king of Ashkaroth. Don't you think, Varokron Drakmor?"
He picked up a golden cup filled with blood and raised it to his lips. A long, deliberate sip sent a shiver down Varokron's spine.
On the table before him lay over fifty human hearts, each placed carefully on a plate.
Duncan picked up a knife, slicing a path through one of them before bringing it slowly to his lips.
He stared at it for a moment, his smirk deepening like lightning in the dark.
Varokron didn't see it coming.
In an instant, the knife flew through the air and lodged itself in his mouth, stuck in his throat.
His sword clattered to the floor as he clutched at his neck, gasping for breath, blood spilling from his mouth.
Duncan picked up another knife, carving a path through a human heart.
Using a fork, he held it up and brought it to his mouth, chewing deliberately, nodding slightly in grim satisfaction as blood slid from the meat.
Finally, his eyes shifted toward Varokron, who looked pale and trembling.
Varokron's vision blurred.
Panic clawed at him as he struggled to breathe, the knife lodged in his throat making every gasp a battle.
His hands clawed at the floor, trembling, slick with his own blood.
Duncan didn't flinch.
He lowered the fork, letting the dripping knife fall with a wet thud to the floor. His silver eyes glinted in the dim light, sharp as a predator's
Duncan stepped closer, the soft crunch of his boots on the bloodied floor echoing ominously.
He crouched slightly, tilting Varokron's head back with one gloved hand. The prince's eyes widened in terror.
"Look at you," Duncan said, voice cold as winter. "A leader without power, a master without control… a fool choking on your own hubris."
Duncan's hand tightened around the his throat, lifting him just slightly from the floor.
"You three killed my mother, didn't you?" Duncan growled, his voice low and beastly, his fierce gaze locking onto him.
Varokron froze, paralyzed by sheer terror, his body trembling uncontrollably under the weight of Duncan's gaze.
He peed on his body INSTANTLY.
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