CHAPTER 89: VS. DEMON KING YATARO

And standing over the body of the fallen "Vampire Lord", which was now dissolving into a shimmering illusion, was a hulking, black-armored figure.

The real Ragnar Vhagar.

His trap had not just been for my army.

It had been for her.

The ruse was revealed. The hunter had become the hunted.

And my last, desperate hope was now caught, alone, in the center of the enemy’s web.

The world, which had been a blinding, searing white, slowly bled back into shades of gray and brown.

I blinked, spots dancing in my vision.

The flash had been absolute.

It was not a spell.

It was a device.

A cruel, brilliant, and utterly unexpected trap.

My mind, which had been soaring on the glorious wings of victory, came crashing back to the hard, dusty earth.

I looked towards the battlefield.

My beautiful, perfect trap for the Vampire Lord had been turned inside out.

And at its center was my most precious asset.

My Umbra.

She stood frozen, her hand still outstretched from the killing blow that had turned out to be a lie.

The holy light from the orb had scattered her shadow magic, leaving her exposed and disoriented.

Her living cloak of darkness, usually a writhing serpent of power, was now just a faint, flickering haze around her.

She was vulnerable.

From the swirling dust and fading light, two figures emerged, moving with a speed that was terrifying.

The werewolf, Fenris, was a blur of black fur and fury, his yellow eyes burning with predatory glee.

The dhampir, Reina, was a crimson-streaked phantom, her fists already glowing with a destructive energy that promised a swift and messy end.

BOOM!

The ground cracked under their synchronized charge.

The wind shrieked as they closed the distance, a perfect pincer movement designed not to kill, but to capture.

Umbra, her senses still scrambled by the flash, tried to react.

She raised her obsidian blade, but she was a fraction of a second too slow.

CRACK!

Fenris’s claws, reinforced with alchemized steel, slammed against her sword, the impact a sharp, metallic explosion.

The blade was torn from her grasp, sent spinning through the air.

At the same instant, Reina was behind her.

BOOM!

The dhampir’s fist, not aimed to kill but to disable, connected with the back of Umbra’s knee.

The impact was a focused detonation of force, and a visible shockwave ripped through my precious Ogre’s leg.

She let out a soft grunt of pain and stumbled, her balance broken.

Before she could fall, Fenris had her in a hold that could restrain a raging behemoth.

She was caught.

It was over.

And then, I saw him.

The decoy Vampire Lord, the one Umbra had stabbed, dissolved into a shimmering mist of pink smoke. An illusion.

From the crumpled, empty suit of black-plated Living Mail armor nearby, a figure rose.

It was not a slow, clanking movement.

It was a fluid, silent unfolding, like a nightmare taking shape.

The helmet came off, tossed aside with a contemptuous clang.

The man who stood there was tall, pale, and radiated an aura of power so immense it felt like a physical pressure, a gravitational pull that bent the very air around him.

His eyes, the color of freshly spilled blood, locked onto mine from across the battlefield.

He smiled.

It was a smile full of fangs and absolute, soul-crushing victory.

The real Ragnar Vhagar.

My blood ran cold.

The trap had never been for my army.

It had been for her.

For my Umbra.

He had seen my greatest strength, and he had turned it into my greatest weakness.

I felt a tremor run through my old bones, a feeling I hadn’t experienced since the day the System changed the world.

It was fear.

Pure, unadulterated fear.

"Well, old man," his voice echoed across the wasteland, calm, confident, and utterly terrifying. "That was a valiant effort. A lovely little assassination attempt. Ten out of ten for style. Zero out of ten for execution."

He began to walk towards me, his long, dark coat swishing with each deliberate step.

My remaining forces, my brave goblins and imps, tried to form a line to stop him.

He didn’t even look at them.

"Let’s talk terms, shall we?" he said, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "New terms. My terms."

He stopped about twenty feet away, his red eyes drinking in my despair.

"You will surrender your Domain. You will surrender your True Core. You will surrender yourself. And your... pet," he gestured dismissively towards the captured Umbra, "will become my personal property. A trophy. A testament to your failure."

My rage, hot and sharp, flared for a moment, overwhelming the fear.

"Never!" I roared. "I will die before I allow you to..."

"Oh, you’ll die," he interrupted, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "But your death can be quick and painless, or it can be a very long, very educational experience in the many, many ways a Demon King can be unmade. The choice is yours."

He had me. He had me completely.

My army was broken.

My greatest weapon was in chains.

My perfect plan was a pile of smoldering ash.

But I had one last move. One last, desperate, insane gambit.

I drew myself up, forcing a calm I did not feel into my voice.

"You are a conqueror," I said, my voice shaking only slightly. "You value power. You value rare assets."

I pointed a trembling finger at him.

"I challenge you," I declared. "A duel. One-on-one. You and me. No minions. No tricks. Just two kings, settling this conflict with their own strength. If you win, you get everything. If I win, you let me and my subordinates go free."

It was a fool’s hope.

A madman’s plea.

He was a monster of physical power. I was a strategist, an old man.

But it was the only path I could see that didn’t end with Umbra becoming his slave.

He was silent for a long, agonizing moment.

Then, that terrible, fanged smile returned.

"A duel," he mused, tapping a long, pale finger against his chin. "How delightfully dramatic. How wonderfully... heroic."

He looked up at the sky, at the hateful, burning sun.

"I accept your challenge," he said.