Passage Between Palaces – Moments Later
The stone corridor was quiet—eerily so. Only the soft echoes of hurried footsteps filled the space, accompanied by the steady breathing of those who walked it.
Mariah walked at the front, her long cloak brushing the dusted floor. Behind her, her maid, Elira followed, every step light but alert. Two guards trailed them in silence—one a younger man with nervous eyes, the other older, calm and seasoned.
The air grew cold.
Mariah stopped.
Her maid stiffened.
A chill rolled through the hallway—not natural, not wind. The torches on the walls flickered violently, and the shadows… moved.
Elira turned, eyes narrowing. "Mariah—behind us!"
Five dark figures emerged, melting out of the stone itself like smoke becoming flesh. Four men and one woman, their faces hidden behind bone-like masks, their presence suffocating.
One of them—tall, lean, and quiet as death—appeared beside the younger guard with impossible speed. A dagger pressed against the guard's neck, too fast to stop.
The leader stepped forward, emotionless, and drove his blade through the other guard's heart without a word. The man crumpled in a gasp, lifeless before he hit the ground.
Elira reacted instantly. A burst of white light flashed in her hands—two glowing swords materializing with a crack of power. She shouted without turning, "Mariah—stay back! I'll protect you!"
Mariah spun, horror flashing across her face as she took in the scene—the guard falling, blood staining the stone, the creeping threat of the intruders.
Elira charged the assassins, blades raised high. The corridor filled with sparks and steel, every movement a dance of desperation and devotion.
The female intruder stepped forward, hands weaving strange patterns in the air—then cast a ripple of black light toward Mariah.
Before it struck—
A blur.
David.
He appeared in front of Mariah like a storm, his speed warping the air. With a single sweeping motion, he deflected the black ripple, his eyes locking onto the enemy. "They're after the Founders," he muttered. "They're not stopping."
Mark wasn't far behind. Sword drawn, he skidded to a halt beside Mariah, placing himself between her and the battle. "I've got you," he said firmly, glancing over his shoulder at her. "Don't move."
Mariah didn't answer.
She was still watching.
Watching her maid fight against impossible odds.
Watching David clash with supernatural speed against one of the masked intruders.
Watching Mark stand with his blade ready, breathing hard, facing danger without fear.
Her lips parted slightly. Not in fear—but in realization.
They were all fighting… for her.
And somewhere, deep in her soul, something began to stir.
---
Elira grunted as a vicious kick sent her flying backward. Her body slammed hard against the stone wall, a streak of blood trailing down her chin as she fell forward, landing just a few feet in front of Mariah.
She coughed, lifted her head, and raised a hand to shield Mariah.
Mark stepped in immediately, sword drawn.
David stood still as a statue beside him, his expression unreadable but his fingers twitching with restrained speed.
The masked intruders stepped forward silently. The tension cracked like lightning in the air.
Mark's voice finally broke it.
"Who are you?"
There was a pause. Then the female figure among them stepped forward slowly. Her voice was low, mocking.
"Child… You do not know us?" Her mask tilted as if in amusement. "Then you are a child."
Elira pushed herself up on one knee, spitting blood as she wiped her mouth.
"They're from the Badlands," she muttered. "Exiled children of the Guardian King… Edenites who joined the Silent One. They call themselves the Black Guild now."
The female tilted her head again. "Wow…" she said flatly, "Then you're old."
David smirked faintly.
Mark didn't move.
Elira steadied her breath, then rose fully to her feet. Her swords glowed dimly in each hand. "What is your mission here, exiled children?"
It was the masked leader who stepped forward this time. His voice was like dust grinding against stone—measured, emotionless. "We are not here for Amariah's war."
He paused.
"We are here for Mother Mariah… and her unborn child."
Mariah blinked—still, quiet, but her fingers curled tightly around the folds of her robe.
Elira raised her head defiantly. "Then you're here for the wrong person."
She hurled forward with a scream, blades flashing.
Mark and David charged beside her—one a streak of speed and lightning, the other a wall of fire and steel.
The hall exploded into chaos.
The intruders split instantly, aiming straight for Mariah in jagged motion.
But they never made it.
One of them was stopped by David, who collided with him mid-step, breaking the masked man's ribs with a sonic elbow strike.
Another swung low toward Mariah, only for Mark to intercept with a fiery arc of his sword, steel meeting steel in a flash of heat.
The female aimed a blast of shadow toward Mariah's heart—only to find Elira already there, intercepting it midair, spinning and driving her twin swords down in a flurry of blows.
Each time one intruder neared Mariah, someone was there. Her defenders—fighting as one, bleeding, shouting, protecting.
Still, the Black Guild kept pressing forward.
Still, they came.
And Mariah, unmoving, could feel the storm beginning to rise within her chest.
Something… ancient.
Something that had been asleep for too long.
---
The air crackled. The passage had become a battlefield.
Mark stood in front of her—breathing heavy, bleeding, but unmoving.
"Stay behind me." His voice trembled, but his feet held firm. Even with death in his eyes.
The Black Guild struck like ghosts—blades, shadows, and pulses of corrupted Edenite power tearing through the corridor. Elira fought like a tempest, David zipped through slashes with bleeding speed—but they were outnumbered, outmatched.
Mark took the brunt.
A dagger pierced his back.
Then another. And another.
He gasped, staggered, yet stayed standing.
He turned—eyes dimming—and hugged her.
"Forgive me," he whispered.
Blood stained her dress.
She caught him, arms trembling, lips parted in frozen horror. She looked into his fading eyes.
Then he was gone.
His body went still in her arms.
And the silence that followed…
Was broken by a scream.
Not hers.
The storm's.
From the far end of the passage, three figures arrived in a blur—Rex, the Guardian King, and the Huntress.
But they were too late.
Mariah's body erupted.
Light. Blinding. Cosmic. Alive.
Final Thunderclap awakened.
Across the island, skies tore open. Bolts of lightning descended from heaven, pure judgment crashing down indiscriminately. Amariah's soldiers. Edenites in the forest. Even the intruders who sought her child.
All turned to dust.
The storm's fury knew no ally. No friend.
Only wrath.
Mariah glowed—no, became—lightning incarnate. Her form flickered, brilliant and monstrous, her body no longer entirely physical, even the stone beneath her feet cracked and melted.
In her arms, Mark's body was absorbed, erased from existence in a current too powerful for death itself to hold.
His clothes fluttered to the ground like ash.
A bolt of lightning surged toward David—
Rex moved. Faster than thought. He grabbed David mid-sprint, pulling him and Elira to safety.
But not fast enough.
David screamed. His right arm and leg burned away, replaced by seared stumps. He collapsed, unconscious, twitching.
Rex turned toward Mariah, panting, eyes wide.
"Mariah!"
She didn't hear.
The storm raged in her eyes.
"Mariah, it's me!" He stepped forward. "Rex. Your brother."
She floated now, body trembling with more energy than any Edenite had ever held.
He ran.
Lightning struck near him—he flinched, but didn't stop.
Then—
He reached her.
He hugged her, arms wrapping around her pulsing form. His skin burned. His heart thundered.
But he held her.
"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm here. It's over. Let him go."
The storm flickered.
"Let him go, Mariah…"
Her power trembled—then shattered.
The light faded.
She collapsed into his arms, sobbing. Her fingers gripped his cloak tightly as she looked down and saw what remained—
Just a torn piece of Mark's clothing, smoldering on the stone floor.
She screamed again, but this time it was only grief.
---
The lightning ceased.
Silence fell across the island—heavy, broken only by the distant echoes of thunder rolling through the clouds, like fading weeps of a wounded sky.
The war, swift and brutal, had ended.
Amariah's forces were scattered, many reduced to nothing more than scorched silhouettes and smoking ash. The Black Guild was gone—no trace left. The forest near Salem smoldered. Villages were cracked, charred, flooded.
Mariah stood in Rex's arms, numb.
Her maid, Elira sat nearby, cradling David's unconscious form, wrapping his wounds with trembling hands. Blood stained her cheeks. But her eyes, even as they wept, were still sharp—watching the ruins around them.
The Huntress stared into the distance, where the storm clouds were still retreating toward the horizon like frightened beasts.
Then came the Edenites.
Soldiers. Healers. Survivors. Some limped, others carried their wounded kin. The flames that burned in parts of the island were put out by sand and power, and voices echoed in the distance—
"Check that side—there might be someone alive!"
"That's Jorah's pendant—he was here."
"There's a body over here. No—just bones."
Among them, the Guardian King stood like a statue—silent, his golden robe torn by the winds. He looked upon what was left.
Victory had come.
But at what cost?
And far behind them all, where the passage once held five intruders and one innocent soul—
Only a charred mark remained.
---