The attacks came again from both sides—fast, deadly, relentless.
But Michael didn't flinch.
In a blink, Nox rose in a defensive arc, stopping both blades cold. Sparks danced in the air as steel screamed against steel. Then Ignis answered—cutting through the air like a flash of lightning. Javier barely blocked it with his second dagger, his arms shaking under the pressure.
But Orin… Orin only had one arm.
Michael's blade came for his heart, swift and precise. For anyone else, it would've been the end. But Orin wasn't just anyone—he was a man forged in war, shaped by countless battles. Experience ran through his veins like second nature. At the last second, he twisted his body, just enough to avoid a fatal hit.
Still, Ignis didn't miss completely.
The burning blade slashed across his torso. Blood poured from the wound, staining his clothes, splashing onto the ground in thick droplets.
"Father!" Javier's voice cracked with panic as he stepped back to check on him.
"Don't worry about me, brat," Orin growled, gritting his teeth. "It's just a scratch."
But it wasn't.
The crowd around them murmured, wide-eyed and tense. Even the guards who once charged in without hesitation now stood frozen. The air itself had shifted—thick with tension.
Michael was breathing harder now. His shoulders rose and fell heavily. Sweat clung to his brow. He still had both swords in hand—Ignis and Nox—but it was clear the fight was wearing him down. Facing two legends at once was no small feat, even for him.
And now… they were starting to get serious.
If this dragged on, he knew he'd be the one to fall first.
There was only one choice left—Šërēĺįťh.
The sacred language. The forbidden magic. The queen had banned its use long ago. But what was the point of rules when your life was on the line?
Michael slowly raised Ignis. The blade glinted in the light, humming with power.
Eyes locked on him from every direction.
Michael took a deep breath and began the incantation.
His voice was steady, low, and powerful—each word like thunder echoing through the air.
"Răšhën vën šhën, söl əshën rävēn, näl ömëth āł
Šhërën žhëşh, növë vēlh thēräl râl."
Bones to ash, none shall survive, none at all.
The world shall burn, in darkness they'll fall.
The words weren't just sounds. They carried weight. Power. Rage.
And as soon as they left his mouth, the ground trembled beneath him.
The heat exploded around him, rising like a tidal wave of fire. The air warped. The stone floor cracked. Flames curled around his body, licking at the edges of the palace. It was as if the entire world had turned into a furnace.
People screamed.
Many dropped to their knees, gasping for air, their skin burning just from the heat.
Even seasoned soldiers stumbled back, their armor glowing from the rising temperature. The once-loud crowd turned silent, some shielding their eyes, others frozen in horror.
Yet through it all, the queen sat still.
Majestic. Unmoving.
Her eyes, cold as ever, locked on him. She didn't blink. She didn't flinch.
She just… watched.
And then—right when the flames were ready to erupt and destroy everything—
A hand gripped Michael's wrist.
"Don't do it, son."
The voice was soft, calm, and heavy with pain.
Michael's eyes widened. That voice…
He turned his head slowly.
It was Ramius—his father.
Michael stared at him in silence, flames still dancing on Ignis. His arm trembled slightly, caught between rage and reason.
"Please," Ramius said again, firmer this time. "You've done enough."
Michael's jaw clenched. For a moment, it felt like the fire would swallow them both whole.
But then—he let out a long, shaky breath.
And lowered Ignis.
The flames vanished in an instant, sucked back into the blade like they had never been there. The heat faded. The floor stopped trembling. People gasped for air as the pressure lifted from their chests.
Silence fell across the palace again.
Michael stood still, his head bowed, eyes shadowed by his hair.
He had come close—so close—to destroying everything.
But Ramius had pulled him back.
"I think now's the time for you to go after your woman," Ramius said with a quiet smile, resting a hand on Michael's shoulder. "Leave the rest to your old man."
Michael's grip on Ignis loosened, his breathing still heavy. He gave a small nod before putting nox and ignis back in their sheath. He was now ready to move—but then, everything changed.
A silence, sharper than any blade, cut through the room.
The air froze.
And then—she stood.
The queen.
For the first time since the chaos began, she rose from her throne.
Every eye turned to her. No one dared to breathe.
Ramius took a step back, cold sweat forming along his temple. Even the soldiers in the room lowered their heads, their bodies stiff with fear. The tension was unbearable.
She moved slowly, yet every step felt like thunder. Her heels clicked against the marble floor with a rhythm that made hearts pound. Her gown flowed behind her like a river of shadows, regal and terrifying.
Michael watched her approach. His heart raced. His knees trembled. It felt like the walls themselves leaned away from her.
She stopped at the center, her presence swallowing the entire space like a black hole.
"I've been watching," she said, her voice calm but heavy with power. "Waiting. And what do I see?"
She slowly turned her head, eyes drifting over the four men before her—Michael, Ramius, Orin, and Javier.
"No one seems to acknowledge my presence. You fight without my permission. You use Šërēĺįťh without my permission." Her voice grew colder with each word. "Tell me, my children…"
She paused now, standing directly in front of Michael, her eyes locked on his.
"Am I a joke to you?"
Silence.
No one moved. No one dared to speak.
Michael's heart thudded violently in his chest. His body refused to move. Her gaze felt like it was cutting right through him.
For the first time in a long while, he was scared.
Not of death. Not of pain.
But of her.
The woman who ruled Runevale with an iron will and a frozen heart.
Right now, standing before her—Michael felt like a child again.
Powerless.
And the worst part was… she hadn't even raised her hand yet.
"Screw fear. Screw death. I've come too far… there's no going back!" Michael shouted, summoning every last drop of courage as he reached for Ignis, prepared to do the unthinkable—to strike the queen.
But before the blade even cleared its sheath, a sudden force slammed it back in place.
With just a swift, precise motion, the queen had raised her foot and pushed Ignis back into its scabbard.
Then, without a word, she stepped forward and placed a single hand on Michael's shoulder.
A simple gesture—yet his entire body buckled.
She pressed down.
Hard.
Michael's knees hit the ground, breaking the marbled floor. He struggled, muscles tensing, veins bulging, but it was useless. He couldn't move. She held him there effortlessly… with one hand.
"Damn it… how can a woman be this strong?" Michael gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his face. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't even lift his head.
Gasps rippled through the soldiers and the crowd alike. No one had ever seen Michael on his knees before. Not like this.
She didn't even look at him. Her attention shifted, cold and calculating, to the side.
"Javier," she said sharply.
He straightened immediately. "Yes, my Queen."
"Take some men and go after the princess," she commanded, her voice as calm as a whisper, yet louder than thunder in the hall.
Javier's lips curled into a slight smirk. "Should I bring her back dead or alive?"
The queen paused, then gave a quiet, unsettling smile. "I'll leave that… to you."
Without another word, Javier turned and left, his boots echoing across the floor. A handful of soldiers followed behind him in formation.
Michael watched helplessly, his body still pinned under her grip. A deep pit formed in his chest as Majesty's chances of escape grew smaller with each step Javier took.
The queen's hand still rested on him—not trembling, not heavy, just... final.