The gates to the Valemourn royal prison cracked under Ryle's kick, the stone groaning before shattering into dust. The alarm hadn't even sounded yet.
But it wouldn't matter.
The shadows moved first—vampiric guards emerging from the gloom, fangs bared, weapons drawn.
Ryle didn't slow.
In a single breath, the Hemlock blade was unsheathed, its cursed edge humming with violence. He vanished in a flash of purple light, reappearing behind the first group.
Limbs fell. Heads rolled.
Not a drop of blood touched him.
Another wave charged—twenty elite enforcers of the Blood Crown, said to rival knights of the 12 Noble Houses.
They didn't last five seconds.
Ryle's movements were cold, methodical—each slash a statement of intent. He wasn't just cutting down enemies. He was sending a message:
No one keeps Thea from him.
The deeper he went, the darker the halls became. Blood dripped from the ceiling, enchantments pulsing against the stone. He ignored them all. His eyes burned gold with fury. His footsteps echoed like war drums.
And then, he stopped.
Behind the final iron door—runes glowing faintly—he felt it.
Her.
He ripped it open.
Thea lay chained against the wall, blood trailing from her lips, her hair matted, her armor torn. But her eyes… those teal eyes shimmered with hope the moment she saw him.
"Ryle… you're here?" she whispered.
He knelt by her side, carefully cradling her as if she were made of glass. His hand hovered above her bruised face, trembling.
"I'm here," he said, voice cracking.
She smiled weakly. "Took you long enough."
Ryle's jaw clenched. "I'm sorry."
But before he could free her chains—
A cold, oppressive wind swept through the chamber.
From the darkness beyond the cell walked Elizabeth Valemourn, her presence swallowing the room. Regal, elegant, terrible.
"You're too late," she said, voice like ice breaking. "The Noctis Vitae is already in his hands."
Ryle slowly laid Thea down.
"No," he said. "It's not."
In a flash, he lunged—Hemlock steel swinging with primal fury. The blade cleaved through Elizabeth's legs, severing them clean from her body.
She didn't flinch.
The limbs turned to mist, then reformed in the blink of an eye.
"You really think that would work on me?" she hissed.
They clashed.
A whirlwind of blood and steel engulfed the chamber. Magic exploded against stone, shadow and flame colliding midair. Ryle flew like a storm, every strike backed by dragon fury. Elizabeth retaliated with elegance and vicious precision—her nails like blades, her aura suffocating.
"You think you're powerful?" she mocked, eyes glowing red. "You're just a human."
Ryle's eyes blazed golden. His claws shimmered purple, extending into crackling blades of raw power.
"I'm more than that," he growled.
Behind him, an immense aura shaped like a dragon's head coiled upward—its eyes gold, its fangs bared.
Elizabeth's eyes widened.
"Dzoavits."
The name came from her lips like a curse.
Her body shuddered—and then she screamed.
Black veins tore through her skin. Her limbs twisted, bones cracking. Her arms split into long scorpion-like legs. Her lower body stretched, becoming an insectoid horror. Wings of blood erupted from her back, and her voice became a chorus of whispers and screams.
She was no longer a queen.
She was a monster.
A creature born of corrupted royalty and forbidden magic.
The battle shifted violently.
Elizabeth's speed tripled. Her claws poisoned the air itself, and her blood magic created walls of needles. She wrapped the arena in venomous webs, dark illusions, and gravitational fields.
Ryle was pushed back.
Wounded.
Bleeding.
But still standing.
And then—
Two lights flashed across the prison sky.
Twinlight.
The swords Thea had carried for so long, now flying to his hands of their own accord—responding not just to loyalty, but to love.
Ryle caught them both.
The blades pulsed, glowing brighter, cleaner, purer.
He whispered, "You should've stayed royal."
The two swords spun together, fusing into a brilliant, pure white blade—a Hero Sword untouched by corruption, forged in the flame of bond and pain.
Elizabeth hissed.
Their final clash shook the entire prison. Walls cracked. Magic howled.
Ryle soared upward, his dragon aura roaring behind him, and drove the Hero Sword into Elizabeth's chest.
"This is for her."
Elizabeth screamed—not in pain, but in fear—as light consumed her.
Her monstrous form writhed, disintegrated, and turned to ash, swept away by wind that wasn't there.
Silence.
The Hero Sword split once more—Twinlight falling beside Thea.
Ryle collapsed beside her, breathing hard.
"I got you," he whispered, brushing her cheek.