Unmasked Blades
962 Words
The throne room was deathly quiet. The taste of blood and magic lingered in the air from the last skirmish. The King stood tall at the foot of the steps to his throne, his crimson eyes glowing dimly in the flickering torchlight, locked onto the cloaked intruder still veiled in shadow.
His voice cut through the silence like a knife:
“Are you the one who attacked my son?”
A beat of stillness.
Then—
“No.”
The voice was firm, confident, and all too familiar.
From among the commanders stepped Thorne Velcrest.
The seasoned war leader. The man who had helped defend the borders of the vampire realm for nearly two decades. Commander of the Central District. Trusted by nobles and warriors alike.
A hush fell over the room like a shroud of ash.
All eyes turned.
Darien’s hand instinctively dropped to his sword. Lucien’s mouth opened—but for once, no words came.
Thorne stood with his hands clasped behind his back, expression calm. “I’m the one you’re looking for,” he said evenly. “I was the one who orchestrated the attack on the young prince.”
Gasps echoed.
“You—?” Elder Vaenn whispered.
“You lie,” General Kaelric spat. “This is madness.”
“Explain yourself!” barked one of the other Elders.
But Thorne didn’t flinch. He merely looked up at the King and said, “Because you’ve grown blind. You’ve let this kingdom rot behind the walls of your throne. And because that child—” he pointed toward the empty space beside the throne “—is a danger no one here understands.”
The King’s expression remained unreadable. Only the quiet clenching of his right fist betrayed the storm stirring within.
“You betrayed the blood,” he said. “You’ve condemned your name to the ashes.”
Before anyone could react—
Fwoosh!!!.
A rush of black mist tore through the chamber, and from the shadows behind the pillars appeared Elias, the Blood Forensics Mage. He emerged with Kenneth in his grasp—bloodied, bruised, his face pale, his eyes fluttering as if fighting to stay awake. One hand clutched a blood-drenched blade, the other held Kenneth upright by the collar.
“If you move,” Elias warned, “the boy dies.”
Kenneth’s chest rose and fell in short, shallow breaths.
“Try it,” Lucien growled, stepping forward, but Darien held him back.
“No,” Darien muttered. “The King’s not done.”
The King didn’t hesitate.
In a blur of motion, he stepped forward, vanishing from where he stood and reappearing mid-stride toward Elias, blood magic crackling in his palms.
Elias tensed—he knew what was coming.
But the King was fast.
Too fast.
Almost.
Thorne Velcrest was faster.
The clash was a thunderclap—swords and blood crashing together with explosive force. The very floor of the chamber cracked beneath them as they collided, exchanging a flurry of strikes too rapid for mortal eyes to follow. Sparks flew. Air ripped.
The King fought like a storm—fluid, overwhelming, merciless.
Thorne fought like a wall of steel—unyielding, calculated, brutal.
The entire room erupted into chaos.
The Elders leapt back as the shockwaves from their duel shattered the marble stairs. Generals brandished their weapons. Darien and Lucien rushed forward.
And then—
A portal opened.
Ripped through the ceiling like a wound of shadows, it screamed with dark energy. From it poured Blooddemons—dozens of them. Screeching, snarling, eyes glowing red as bloodlust devoured them from the inside out.
They fell upon the chamber like a pack of ravenous wolves.
Guards shouted.
Generals unleashed spells, swords, elemental attacks.
Lucien spun through the air, blade flashing in arcs of silver. Darien held the center, commanding knights, rallying ranks, giving orders and holding the line with sheer force of will.
But even in the madness—Kenneth stirred.
He opened his eyes. Slowly. Blearily.
He saw Elias still holding him, distracted by the c*****e.
Kenneth’s hand shot up and smashed into the mage’s face with a sharp elbow, knocking him back.
He landed hard on the floor, coughing, muscles screaming in pain.
Elias recovered almost instantly. “You’re more stubborn than I thought,” he muttered, voice cold.
Kenneth got to his feet, staggering but refusing to fall. Blood dripped from his lips.
He swung at Elias, a powerful blow for a ten-year-old.
But Elias caught it effortlessly.
Then slammed his fist into Kenneth’s gut, sending him flying across the chamber.
The young prince hit a pillar with a sickening c***k.
Still, he rose. Again.
He charged, fangs bared, instincts wild, emotion surging.
But Elias was already there.
The next hit sent Kenneth skidding across the floor like a broken doll, blood streaking behind him.
Again.
And again.
Elias pummeled him, throwing him like a ragdoll from one end of the chamber to the other.
“You’re not ready,” Elias said, calm and composed between hits. “You’re not strong enough. Not yet.”
Kenneth’s body convulsed from pain, muscles trembling. He tried to rise again. Failed.
Elias walked toward him slowly, drawing another dagger—this one glowing with blackened glyphs.
The fighting around them raged on.
But the room was beginning to notice.
Darien saw it, eyes widening. “Kenneth!”
Lucien shouted, “He’s gonna kill him—!”
The King tried to push past Thorne, fury lighting his every step—but Thorne blocked him again with a wall of shadow and steel.
Elias raised the dagger—
And Kenneth, through bloodied lips, let out a low, trembling growl.
He wasn’t done.
Not yet.
But before anything else could happen—
Darkness deepened.
- Writer
