CHAPTER 452: FIRE AND SHADOWS [PART-2]

Fire and Shadows [Part-2]

Leon moved forward, darkness creeping and twisting up over his boots like living ink, insinuating itself closer with an unsettling slowness. "A type you won’t live long enough to comprehend," he told her, and there was no cruelty in his voice, only the icily absolute certainty of fate.

"Who... who are you?" Loret croaked, the words barely making it across the tension that made the air between them feel heavy.

Leon’s smile grew sharper, icy and deadly, curving in cold amusement. "Future King of Vellore.

The proclamation fell heavier than any curse, overwhelming against Loret’s chest more brutally than ever the black spear might. Horror and incredulity contorted his face as he stumbled, his shaking hands at his sides. Then, with a smooth motion, Leon’s sword glittered into existence, black and purple light dancing along its length, hungry for the moment it would savor triumph.

"Goodbye, Commander," he whispered, a promise and a curse intertwined in that single phrase. His lips barely moved as he spoke the next words, but the power behind them thrummed like a pulse through the air: "[Getsur Tagon]."

A burst of power thundered from the sword. Darkness wrapped and unwrapped itself as a darkening crescent plunged forward, cutting through the chest armor of Loret as if it were paper. Blood exploded in a delicate, spuming spray, staining the stone below him red. The commander’s body twitched harshly once, then fell into disquieting stillness. His sword fell from his hand, spattering against the chill courtyard stones.

Leon drew breath, the sound low and deliberate, and incrementally dropped his sword. His golden eyes glinted with sinister calm. "You prattle too much," he said, the comment holding more force than any threat.

At his back, the battlefield waited in silence. Then the quiet was broken. A shriek of blood, the ring of steel on steel, and a tide of movement flowed forward. Nova, Captain Black, and Johnny cut through the Imperial ranks with merciless, calculated efficiency. Each blow was final, each movement cruel. The troops had no chance to respond, no hope to hold on to. By the time Leon turned around, the courtyard was strewn with the dead; not one Imperial guard was left alive.

The air was thick with smoke and the faint snap of flames. Light danced across the walls, casting off the red pools of blood and shattered armor. It was a tableau hewn from violence, and somehow quiet, nearly holy in its destruction.

Leon’s eyes went up, golden eyes fastening on Natasha. She was standing over Aurelia now, a black circle of hair around her wild, jagged face. Each breath she took was jerky and harsh, her chest heaving in ragged, frantic motion. Aurelia, the proud blonde who was no more, sat on the ground, shaking uncontrollably. Blood oozed from her wounds, a dark, shining puddle that spread beneath her. Her hands went up in a wild appeal.

"Please—wait—" Aurelia gasped, her voice shaking, splintering under the burden of fear and pain. "We can talk—"

Natasha’s voice sliced through the air, icy and thin, resonating with a still fury that raised the hairs on Leon’s neck. "You took everything from me." Every word was heavy, with a cutting edge that seemed to slice through the air between them.

Her hand rose, shuddering slightly, but the movement was purposeful. Water magic glowed along her fingers, bending and flowing until it coalesced into a liquid sapphire blade, reflecting the poor light and casting shards of color that fluttered like small flames. Her face remained tranquil, even serene, as if she had already come to terms with what would soon befall.

Leon did not blink. He did not lay a hand on his sword, did not take a step forward. He just stood there, his gaze holding hers, weighing her, waiting. There was a charge in the air, heavy enough to smother on, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Then, unheralded, the ground that held Natasha exploded in an outburst of raw, violent mana. The earth shook, small cracks webbing out from beneath her feet like a spider’s web, and a low, resonant rumble filled the courtyard, vibrating Leon’s chest.

"Natasha—!" he yelled, his voice cracking with urgency as the hard edge of panic at last broke through his facade of calm.

He tried to get to her, but a blinding flash of light exploded, scorched his vision. A column of burning crimson fire burst straight up like a living spear, engulfing the air she had just left behind. Fire hot on the air, charred earth and ozone burning scents filled his nostrils. The impact of the blast was sudden against his chest, stealing his breath, a savage BOOM echoing off the walls and ending the silence with its fury.

The shockwave struck Leon, pushing him a step back. Fire tore across the courtyard, warping metal and shattering stone, sending shrapnel and sparks in all directions. Smoke seemed to burn in the air, coupled with the bitter smell of charred stone. His chest was heaving as he struggled to remain upright, all his instincts screaming that this was no normal attack.

Out of the midst of the conflagration, a voice pierced the cacophony of fire—bitter, stinging, and loaded with power. It was a voice that weighed so much it caused the blood in Leon’s veins to congeal. "How dare you!

The fire reared like a living thing, curling higher and forming itself into a form of unimaginable strength—a woman, gold and burning, her shape lit by the hellish glare that surrounded her. Sparks nibbled her edges like teeth, and with each flash of her silhouette, she seemed to command to be obeyed.

Leon’s eyes narrowed, the familiar feel of his weapon anchoring him against the storm. "Who—" His voice hung a bit short, even as he attempted to regain control.

The figure moved forward, and the fire danced around her like a diadem of living flame. Her presence crowded over him, choking, unyielding, a chill determination amidst blazing heat. When she spoke once more, her voice was glacial, cutting through the fire, offering no space for debate. "Who dare shed blood within my court?"

Time ground to a halt. The courtyard, still shuddering from the first explosion, now caught its breath. Even the flames bowed, curving and twisting about her as if acknowledging her mastery. Leon’s heart pounded, the oppressive, insistent warning that this fight was far from over.

Every strand of him creaked in protest and expectation. He understood, with an assurance that cut more than the fire or the smoke, that this was by no means finished.