Princess Virethiel's eyes burned with a silver flame as she surveyed the unraveling capital. The Crogs were everywhere now—feral shadows with twisted flesh, crawling across rooftops like parasites, flooding the streets with snarls and shrieks that scraped the soul. Chaos had bloomed like a wound, wide and wild.
"I'll deal with these wretched beasts alongside the Royal Guard," she said, her voice cold as river ice. Her black combat suit clung to her like liquid shadow, rippling with every step. "Lonor. Eldrin. Take care of those two."
"As you command, Highness," replied Eldrin and Lonor in perfect unison.
Another Crog lunged at her.
She moved like the night wind—silent, swift, final. Her hand pierced clean through the creature's chest with surgical grace. She tore it free without hesitation, gore steaming in the cold air, and dashed toward the next pack with unholy precision.
"There are many," she murmured, green eyes narrowing. "But not nearly enough."
Ahead—two elven children, frozen mid-step, terror pinning them to the earth like nails. Their mother ran to reach them, but fear had made her legs useless. Too far. Too slow.
A Crog closed in, claws raised, hunger gleaming in its fractured jaw.
Virethiel blurred past sound.
Her hand sliced through the beast mid-leap. The Crog didn't even scream—just folded in half around her fist and died.
The mother gasped, clutching her children, too stunned to speak.
"Highness…"
"Get inside. Lock the doors. This street no longer belongs to the living," she said, stepping between them and the rising tide.
They fled without protest, vanishing into their home like breath into frost.
Virethiel turned. Mana gathered at her lips, coiling like thunder behind her teeth.
When she spoke, her voice became a force of nature.
"I am Princess Virethiel. Evil forces have invaded to seize our Tree of Life. But we do not fall. Not now. Not ever. Remain in your homes. Stay hidden. The fewer casualties we suffer, the stronger we become. Do not leave unless death calls you by name. We will end this—together."
Her call rang across the capital—echoing from the towers to the alleys, down to the last cobbled street. Even deep beneath the earth, in the white silence of the castle's safe room, her words arrived.
The chamber was pristine—white walls veined with protective runes, beds lined with untouched silk, rows of preserved herbs, folded robes, clean water stored like silver tears.
Elif clung to her mother. "Father…"
Tears slid down her cheeks like melted crystal.
"Don't worry, dear," Elena whispered, her voice shaking as she wrapped Elif in her arms. "Your father is out there. He will protect us. He always has."
Icariel sat nearby, silent. His eyes were narrowed, body still—but inside, his thoughts churned like a storm fed by blood and guilt.
"Their first strike… it was too powerful. These things aren't just soldiers. They're wolves sent to find the throat. And I said this place was safe…"
"Voice," he asked inside his mind, almost bitter. "What should I do?"
"This is the safest place for now. Stay alert. If danger approaches—escape. You are no good to anyone dead."
"Fine… I'll stay."
He forced a calm smile and turned to Elif. "Don't worry. Teacher's strong. He'll kill them all."
Elif gave a shaky nod, but her fingers clenched tighter around her mother's robe.
Across the city, the people listened. Some locked their homes, others sat in silence, holding one another as the sounds of war howled like wolves outside.
CLANG!
Grinis lunged at Eldrin—her black dagger met his golden spear in a shower of sparks.
"As long as we gut the few of you that matter," she spat, "the rest won't reach the Tree. You'll all rot before dawn."
"I don't think that's happening," Eldrin said coolly, his tone razor-sharp. A swift sweep of his spear forced her back.
"Tch…" Grinis hissed, eyes narrow as slits of night.
A blur tore through the sky above them—the grey-skinned monster smashed into the earth, cratering the ground between them.
Lonor landed a heartbeat later, his movements smooth, precise, deadly.
"Eldrin," he said, voice flat, "I'm relocating. If all four of us fight here, the homes and castle will collapse."
"As you wish, Beast. Kill him quick."
"Gladly."
Lonor seized the monster by the skull and leapt into the air, vanishing across rooftops like a phantom pulling its prey into the void.
Eldrin turned back toward Grinis with a smile sharp enough to cut bone.
"Looks like it's just you and me now."
Grinis cracked her neck, unbothered. "Good. You're the only one I need to kill."
She lunged.
BOOM!
Steel screamed against steel. Sparks split the air like fireflies made of fury.
"She's fast… and strong. That dagger, her reflexes… No. Not just trained. She's a superhuman."
Grinis ducked low, her blade slicing toward his throat. Eldrin twisted just in time—the dagger kissed his cheek.
"Dammit…" he growled. "I'll end this quickly."
Clang. Clang.
Blades met at blistering speed. Eldrin feinted—a thrust aimed at her chest.
Grinis scoffed. "Predictable."
She sidestepped.
But her eyes widened too late.
The feint was real—but not the weapon.
Eldrin dropped his spear mid-lunge. His left bracer shifted—reforming into a hidden dagger that slid into her left shoulder, right through her armor.
"Got you," he whispered.
Grinis gasped. "You… bastard…"
Eldrin retrieved his spear as the dagger slid back into his armor. "Aw. The rainbow's bleeding."
"You'll regret this."
He spun his spear lazily. "Maybe. But your head looks better rolling."
—
Far from the city, deep in the ancient forest, Lonor landed hard—his boots cracking the mossy floor. The trees around them loomed like gods carved from time, watching in silence.
He hurled the monster down with violent grace.
"Get up," Lonor said. "I know your kind. You're not done. Don't waste my time."
The creature rose, slow and smiling.
"You live up to your reputation," he said, brushing dust from his shoulder. "They say you're as dangerous as Aelar, the Warleader. Seems they were right."
Lonor's eyes darkened.
"You know a lot for someone who shouldn't."
The grey creature smirked. "Beat me, and I'll share more."
"Gladly," Lonor replied.
He lunged—fist first. The grey warrior spun his black spear, intercepting—but Lonor twisted past the blade and slammed his fist into the creature's gut.
"Gah—!"
The monster staggered, spear falling.
But he recovered fast—seizing Lonor and launching him skyward, only to meet him midair with a brutal kick to the skull.
Lonor crashed down, blood trailing from his lip.
"Not bad," he muttered. "To invade this realm… you'd have to be."
The creature lifted his spear again. "You haven't seen anything."
A red aura flared—bright, blazing, alive.
Then—bam—he appeared right in front of Lonor.
WHAM!
His fist drove into Lonor's stomach like a hammer from hell.
"Faster…" Lonor wheezed. "Stronger…"
"You can't win the normal way," the monster said, voice cold and certain.
"What do you mean?"
The monster grinned, revealing rows of jagged, inhuman teeth.
"I'll share the secret—since you'll die anyway."
He stepped forward.
"The more you hurt me… the stronger I become. That's my gift. It's how my race was made."
"Go on," he mocked. "Feed the monster."
Lonor stood still.
Then… he smiled.
The monster blinked. "Wait—why are you smiling?"
A chill slid down his spine.
"Thank you," Lonor said. "For telling me."
Black aura exploded from him—dense, suffocating. It twisted around his body like a storm of shadow and teeth.
His form began to change.
Muscles bulged. Skin darkened, speckled. His face reshaped, bones snapping like dry branches into a jaguar's snarling visage. A tail coiled from his spine. His tunic shredded, leaving only his black pants intact.
When the storm cleared, Lonor was no longer human.
He was older than reason, crueler than instinct, and far deadlier than any god that ever watched.
His voice now rumbled like stone dragged through blood.
"You made a mistake," Lonor said, eyes glowing. "Telling me your secret."
A drop of sweat rolled down Tornem's cheek.
[End of Chapter 44]