Kael’thus stood at the edge of the battlefield, seemingly calm—but his eyes betrayed him.
They tracked every twitch, every flicker of movement from the opposing side. Quietly, he issued a string of coded instructions to his companions through subtle hand gestures and a low, almost inaudible murmur. But that calm cracked the moment he noticed Queen Elarya’s gaze shift.
She wasn’t looking at them anymore.
Her piercing emerald eyes now locked onto something behind them—toward the looming mountain shadowed by volcanic mist. Her pupils glowed faintly, the telltale sign of an activated observational skill. A frown etched across Kael’thus’s face.
"Bad news," he muttered, voice tight. "The Queen’s spotted Eyistha."
His own eyes began to shimmer with the same glow as he activated his tracking technique. Sure enough, in the far-off distance, riding a pale white wyvern across the volcanic ridges of Mount Erupta, was their hidden ace.
"Forget what I just said," he barked, urgency cutting through his voice like a blade. "Formation Six. Now!"
"On it. The others responded in unison and broke apart with surgical precision, each moving toward their designated position.
Formation Six wasn’t about winning. It was about stalling—buying Eyistha the time she needed to complete her mission. To unseal the chains on Vulkris, the sleeping terror above the fiery mountains.
Queen Elarya had already anticipated it.
"Not on my watch!" she declared, her voice ringing out like a thunderclap.
She raised her radiant spear high, and with a blink of silver light, it was gone from her hand—launched with incredible velocity toward the distant girl on the wyvern.
The spear tore through the air, glowing with deadly runes, aimed directly for Eyistha’s heart. The attack wasn’t just fast—it was lethal, designed to pierce magical barriers and natural defenses alike.
But the Dark Fate weren’t about to stand by and watch their plan unravel.
Dakulo, the Dwarven Mage, moved first. He charged ahead and slammed his massive, rune-inscribed hammer into the ground with a guttural roar.
A series of massive stone spires erupted from the ground in front of the queen’s spear, forming a wall that towered like a fortress. The clash was immediate—a concussive explosion of force echoed across Eterna Hollow as stone met elven steel. Dust flew. Debris rained.
The wall held—but not for long.
The queen’s spear tore through the center, slowed but not stopped.
"She’s too strong! Continue the sequence!" Dakulo growled.
From the high ground, Slarveon, the Naiad Marksman, let loose a flurry of arrows from her watery bow. Each arrow, forged from condensed high-pressure water, glistened like blue crystal in the red sky before transforming mid-flight into sharp, whistling bolts. They rained down on the spear with thunderous impacts.
Every single arrow could down a Night Stalker with ease—but Queen Elarya’s spear barely flinched.
Then Lannic stepped forward, his croaking voice muttering an ancient chant.
A towering tidal wave surged from behind, its surface glowing with an eerie, ghostly blue. The water spiraled upward, twisting like a serpent through the air—then, with a sudden crack, it solidified in mid-motion.
But this wasn’t ordinary ice.
This was Lannic’s cursed ice—his signature magic. A rare, enchanted frost capable of turning even the hardest metals brittle as glass. Anything it touched would lose its strength, becoming as fragile as snowflakes in a forge.
It swept forward like a glacier from the heavens, engulfing the spear. And as the corruption seeped into the spear, it finally halted; imprisoned in brittle, glittering corruption.
"Is that all you can do, Elven Queen?" Lannic sneered at his successful attempt at stopping the queen’s spear.
But Elarya said nothing. Her frown deepened. Her mind was racing.
She wasn’t just reacting—she was calculating.
Her spear still lodged in the enchanted ice wall, Elarya stood momentarily disarmed. Kael’thus and Raijen, the two melee specialists, seized the opportunity. They burst forward like twin comets—one cloaked in mana aura, the other in lightning.
Kael’thus’s Runesword shimmered with icy sigils. Raijen’s gauntlets crackled as thunder danced along his arms and legs. The wind howled in their wake.
CLANG!~PANNG!~CLANG!~
Metal and magic clashed against the Queen’s hastily conjured mana barrier. But she was never defenseless for long.
The spear, still frozen within the iceberg, began to glow. Intricate runes along its shaft pulsed, rejecting the corruption.
"What?!" Lannic gasped. "That’s impossible!"
The cursed ice cracked. Fractured. Shattered.
With a single wave of her hand, the spear flew back into Elarya’s grasp, drawn like a magnet by an invisible thread of mana.
She caught it mid-spin.
And in the same breath—parried both attacks from Kaelthus and Raijen.
With elegance that defied physics, she weaved between Kael’thus’s blade strikes and Raijen’s lightning-fast punches. Her spear danced like wind on water, delivering devastating counters with grace and precision. Her form, beautiful and lethal, seemed to bend the battlefield itself.
She was not just a royalty, but a battle honed fighter.
The stone ground beneath them fractured under the shockwaves.
Kael’thus gritted his teeth. "This is your last chance, Elarya! Drop your weapon. We’ll let you walk away!"
"Let me walk away?" she scoffed. "From traitors who betrayed their people for power? Do you take me for a fool, brother?"
Suddenly her spear flashed.
With a single blinding thrust, she broke through Kael’thus’s defense, sending his body flying backward. He slammed into the mountain wall with such force that a crater formed around his form, his sword barely clinging to his hand.
His emergency ring lit up—activating a defensive rune that softened the impact just enough to keep him alive.
Ironically, the ring was a gift from Elarya. One of her parting token from the last time he stood beside her... before his betrayal.
"Stand down, Kael’thus," she warned coldly. Her spear began to glow once again—this time with her full aura.
"Next time, I won’t hold back."
But Raijen wasn’t done.
The Voltstriker vanished—reappearing behind her in a blur of speed. His fist, charged with lightning, lunged toward her spine. Two illusionary clones flanked from the sides—one aiming a knee strike, the other a sweeping kick.
Queen Elarya reacted. Her sharp eyes failed to be deceived.
Spinning her spear, she unleashed a whirlwind of force that shattered the illusions and caught Raijen square in the chest. His crossed arms barely softened the blow.
He too was launched across the field, embedding into the stone wall beside Kael’thus. The twin craters carved a clear message into the terrain:
You picked the wrong queen to challenge.
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