🕖 7:00 p.m. – Firefly Forest, Elven Territory (East of Vert)
The night was seizing the sky, and the moon hovered proudly above the knights as they marched into the woodland depths. The Firefly Forest, known for its glowing canopy and savage inhabitants, stretched with trees reaching five meters or more. Vines hung like chains. Giant insects crawled. Predatory beasts watched silently. Nocturnal birds weaved melodies that mingled with the sound of hooves and carriage wheels rolling over damp earth.
General Ralf led his battalion eastward—only twenty minutes from the Fortress of Elendor—when disaster struck.
Rain of arrows bathed in essence and dripping with venom fell from above, from the flanks—an unrelenting barrage.
Ralf shouted with clarity and command:
—Take cover! Find the enemy and counterattack! Medics, fall in! Protect the wounded!
Chaos.
Soldiers screamed. The medics scrambled. Some survived—others weren’t so lucky.
The arrows ceased.
Ralf and the high-ranking officers gathered quickly for an emergency council. Examining the arrows, their craftsmanship, and the embush tactics… the conclusion became clear:
Elven warriors.
The question wasn’t who was attacking.
It was why?
The Elves of Vert were allies—ever since the Color Kingdoms Treaty. Yet here they were… assaulting the Noir army.
Colonel Disk broke the silence:
—We can’t waste time arguing. Either we act, or this forest becomes our grave.
—They have the advantage here —Ralf muttered.
Colonel Len spoke:
—Mages, scan the treetops. Use detection spells. Another unit—cloak our sword squads with stealth enchantments.
Ralf nodded.
—Good. We begin the counteroffensive… now.
🕖 7:00 p.m. – Rocky Path, West of Vert – "The Cauldron"
Far west, King Zareth and his forces ascended the rocky trail known as the Cauldron—a steep route winding toward the Snow-Crested Peaks. An hour remained before reaching the summit.
The path earned its name for its shape: viewed from above on a Winged Nemegryph—a mythical lion-like bird—it resembled a giant hollow cauldron. At its base, nestled in greenery, lay a humble elf farming village.
Nearing the summit, a sudden screech pierced the sky.
Wyverns burst forth—led by a lesser dragon who hovered with arrogant poise.
—Foolish humans dare trespass my humble domain? Turn back now… or suffer the consequences.
Zareth halted.
Everyone followed.
Metal boots clanked against gravel as Zareth dismounted. He stepped forward—his expression unreadable, yet his presence… feral and unshakable.
He faced the dragon and spoke with deep, calm conviction:
—We must pass.
The dragon laughed mockingly:
—Ha! Who do you think you are, miserable hu—
He couldn’t finish.
Zareth’s fist, in a blur, crashed into the dragon’s chest—obliterating him.
The wyverns fled instantly.
Without a word, Zareth returned to his horse.
His forces marched on, reaching the summit of the Cauldron.
New recruits gasped at the surreal vista.
Mountains gleamed white. Trees shimmered like ivory. Snowflakes cascaded endlessly.
Zareth raised his hand.
—Blue essence. Shields. Now.
The mages obeyed instantly, casting protective spells:
- Crystal Veil- Frostskin Blessing - Winter Ward
They advanced into the snowy night, the path lit by essence torches and joined by flickering spirits of light that danced beside them.
🕢 7:30 p.m. – Celebration Hall of Tenebrae
The Ceremonial Hall glowed like a prism of dreams.
Inside, floating tables overflowed with delicacies. Banners shimmered with stitched runes. The ceiling dome, made of enchanted crystal, mirrored the night sky and pulsed with soft light.
From the outside, the hall looked modest—but within, it was an enchantment: able to host the entire kingdom.
People streamed in. Children danced and chased illusions. Musicians played upbeat, joyful tunes. Neirox von Noir, beaming, greeted everyone—children, adults, elves, beastkin. No titles. No separation.
Unity. Joy. Pure harmony.
Even those in the streets joined the celebration, music ringing through every alleyway.
But then—
Scarlett crashed through the dome like a comet.
Shatter!
Music stopped.
Voices hushed.
Glass glittered like stardust in the air…
🔙 Earlier – 6:30 p.m. – Forgotten Street
The second round began.
The stranger lunged forward with a thrust that tore through the air like lightning—ripping apart the street, doors, walls.
Scarlett countered with a flawless block, deflected mid-air, and spun downward in a dive.
She shouted a fiery incantation: > Crimson Rift!
Her sword flared, wrapped in red essence, and with both hands she swung—tearing the street in half.
—AHHRGHHH! —she screamed, unleashing her fury.
The stranger blocked, and the battle exploded.
Metal clanged. Sparks flew. Stone shattered. Walls groaned. A duel of mystical brutality and blistering speed.
Scarlett’s squad could barely follow the motion with their eyes. The women fought like twin meteors, colliding across rooftops, flying over alleys, cutting through the city like flame.
Punches. Slashes. Dashes. Leaps.
A recital of destruction. Beauty in chaos.
But then—something cracked.
Scarlett was gasping. Slowed. Her aura dimming.
—I'm losing strength… —she whispered.
Her eyes lost their fire.
She slipped.
The stranger kicked with vicious strength—sending Scarlett flying, trailing behind her a scarlet streak like a burning comet.
And the stranger followed—ascending skyward, blade pulsing with violet darkness.
Over the palace. Over the dome.
She spoke a word:
> Eclipse Vortex.
Her rapier ignited in forbidden violet essence.
The final blow struck.
Scarlett crashed through the glass—a violent storm of shards, sparks, and magical residue.
🕢 7:30 p.m. – Present Time
The stranger descended slowly, lifted by wind spirits she summoned with violet essence.
Below—
Broken tables. Shattered glass. Injured civilians. Screams echoing. Plates overturned. Lights flickering.
Scarlett lay battered on the marble floor.
The stranger stood victorious, one foot planted firmly on Scarlett's chest—laughing like a villain, her voice echoing across the hall.
And Neirox…
Frozen.
Wide-eyed.
Unable to understand what had just begun.
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