House of Horror Part II

Chapter 7: The Confrontation Between Azarukh and Damur

– Confronting Fire and Blood

Sheikh Shams al-Duhur emerged from the tranquil palace hall, his steps steady despite the thick fog that obscured the passageways. Beside him walked Zahrak, his obedient servant, silent as a long shadow, his eyes tracking every movement, every whisper, as if sensing danger lurking in every corner.

Shams al-Duhur advanced toward the chamber of the mighty Azarukh, the Fire King, his heart heavy with the news that had reached him, his eyes burning with anger and suspicion. He stopped before the door, took a deep breath, and spoke in a booming, calm voice, bearing the weight of truth:

"The Aam... the Blood King... is not dead. He stands now upon the palace roof, Azarukh."

A profound silence followed, and the earth trembled beneath the weight of the Sheikh's words, as if the walls themselves were listening, filled with fear.

Anger erupted in Azarukh's eyes, and heat surged from him like a volcano that had lain dormant for centuries. He burst from his room with incredible speed, flames shooting from his mouth in a terrifying display, moving through the air like the mythical firebird. He soared above the palace, flying over the burning rooftops, while fiery storms swirled around him, as if the sky itself had ignited in response to his fury.

The Sun of Ages paused for a moment, watching the magnificent and terrifying spectacle, and felt the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. Behind him, Zahraq whispered in a low, strained voice, “Sheikh… the battle hasn’t even begun yet… and what’s to come is far worse than we can imagine.” The wind howled through the towers, and flames painted an infernal picture above the palace, announcing that war between the Fire King and the Blood King was about to erupt, and that every moment of silence was merely the calm before the storm. – The sky is ablaze, and blood is flowing. Azarukh rose above the Palace of the Sun of Ages, a whirlwind of fire and fury erupting from his mouth like infernal flames consuming everything in their path. The black stone walls were still cut with blood, flowing mercilessly over the rocks as if dark veins were pulsating with life. Azarukh hovered in the air, his eyes ablaze, staring at Damur, the Blood King, the source of his terrifying roar that made the heavens tremble. Below him, Muhammad and Susan walked backward with hesitant steps, each movement heavy with fear, their eyes unable to leave the horrifying scene. Every flicker of fire, every spurt of blood, Their breath caught in their throats, and their hearts were heavy with unspeakable terror.

Suddenly, in a breathtaking leap, Azarukh Damur, who had been soaring through the sky, charged at him. Azarukh crashed into the stone walls of the palace, sending sparks flying and flames erupting from every corner until the palace seemed to come alive, burning and writhing in agony, as if the world itself had become a stage for true hell.

At that moment, Muhammad and Suzan reached the edge of the mountain, but the scorching horizon and the burning palace blinded them. They saw only darkness and fire, and they stumbled, falling from the mountaintop to the ground below, their screams piercing the air as their faces were buried in the sand.

For a few fleeting seconds, Muhammad and Suzan opened their eyes, as if bidding farewell to life itself, before closing them forever, leaving behind a haunted silence and a fading scream that dissolved into the scorching air, thick with the scent of blood and fire.

The sky still burned, the palace groaned under the weight of the flames. And the blood, King Azarukh flying over him, while Damur watched, ready for every step, as if the final battle of powers on Earth was not yet over, but was really about to begin.

Monday, Waiting and Planning

On Monday evening, Malik sat quietly in the living room, with Rovan and Dima beside him. Rovan held her mobile phone, her eyes sparkling with a hint of excitement and subtle amusement as she spoke to Awatif Hanem on voicemail.

She held the phone to her ear and said with a warm smile, "Hello, Awatif Hanem. We can't come today, but we can come on Friday, the tailor's day." On the other end came Awatif's voice, calm and direct:

"Well, Mila, have you brought the fabric?" Rovan smiled and replied confidently,

"Of course, in black... Sar named it Queen Novara's Dress. Sar is working on it in front of you, to customize it the way you always like it." Awatif paused for a moment and asked quietly,

"Where is Sar? And why didn't he name it Queen Awatif's Dress?" Rovan laughed lightly, her voice carrying a subtle warmth:

"Sar is currently busy customizing a dress for another client." "Do you want to talk to him now?" Awatif replied with a smile into the phone, but her voice remained steady: "No, we'll wait until Friday."

Rovan ended the call quietly and put the phone down. For a moment, everyone sat in a pleasant silence, each lost in their own thoughts, as the room embraced a temporary calm before the rush of the coming days.

The atmosphere in the room was filled with a mixture of anticipation and reassurance—a quiet moment in a world still teeming with turmoil, as if they were about to embark on a new chapter of events.