Blood and Silence
1014 Words
The throne room trembled beneath the weight of two monsters.
Stone cracked. Pillars groaned. Magic rippled in every direction, slashing the very air like invisible blades.
The King and Thorne Velcrest clashed again—another earth-rending explosion of blood-forged might. The crimson streak of the King's aura surged against Thorne’s deep violet blaze, crashing midair in a collision that shattered the ancient stained glass above them. Colorful shards rained down like embers from a dying star.
“Your betrayal runs deep, Thorne!” the King’s voice thundered.
Thorne’s eyes gleamed with something feral—madness or conviction, none could tell. “Betrayal?” he barked back, launching a brutal downward arc of dark bloodflame from both hands. “You were blind to what was growing beneath your throne!”
The King met it head-on, slamming his palm forward. The air split with a deafening c***k as his counterwave obliterated the blast and sent Thorne hurtling into a wall.
But Thorne twisted mid-air, slammed his heel into the wall, and rebounded like a spear, fists already brimming with concentrated spellcraft. He roared—an unholy mix of magic and fury—as a massive glyph surged beneath him, pulsing with layered enchantments.
The King raised both hands and snapped.
The entire chamber froze for a breath. Then erupted.
Pillars collapsed. The floors split open. Guards who hadn’t yet evacuated were thrown back by the force of the spells being exchanged. Blood magic and elemental sorcery collided like divine instruments of war.
Outside the throne room, the rest of the battle raged.
Darien, Lucien, Aurelius, Sevrin, and Marek surrounded Elias in a semi-circle of burning resolve.
“You’re a slippery bastard,” Lucien muttered, blood streaming from a cut above his brow. “You realize we don’t do slippery.”
Elias didn’t respond. His eyes were glowing completely white, his hands pulsing with writhing red energy that hissed like it was alive.
Darien stepped forward. “This ends now.”
Elias smiled, lifting one palm. “Agreed.”
He vanished—and reappeared behind Marek.
“Watch out!” Sevrin yelled, too late.
Elias’s knee drove into Marek’s spine, launching the aggressive prince forward. In a blur, Elias ducked under Aurelius’s blade, caught it mid-swing with two fingers, and hurled it away. The weapon embedded in a stone column twenty meters away with a boom.
Darien threw out a dozen spectral daggers, each one formed of solidified blood magic.
Elias twisted, dodging seven, letting three graze his shoulder and one strike his thigh.
Lucien was already behind him, both hands crackling with energy.
“Let’s see you dodge this, freak.”
He unleashed a blood lightning wave that forked across the chamber—only for Elias to clap, dispersing the energy into red mist and slamming his foot into Lucien’s ribs, sending him crashing into a wall with a grunt.
“Too slow,” Elias whispered.
But the princes didn’t stop.
They regrouped, bruised and bleeding, forming a tighter circle. Kenneth, still recovering, stood behind them, shaking but upright.
He was panting, barely holding himself together—but his eyes were locked on Elias. Not with fear.
With fury.
Aurelius’s chest rose and fell. “Kenneth—stay back.”
“No,” Kenneth said, voice hoarse. “Not again.”
But Elias wasn’t interested in Kenneth. Not yet.
His eyes flicked to the throne room.
Then, he vanished again.
—
Inside, the King had begun to overpower Thorne.
The commander was heaving, his armor scorched, and his magic flickering with strain. The King stood above him, breathing heavily but steady—power still radiating from him like an inferno wrapped in regal flesh.
Thorne wiped blood from his lip.
“I always knew,” the King growled, “you were dangerous. But this? Attacking my son—?”
“You still don’t see it,” Thorne muttered. “You never did. And that is why you will lose.”
Then he smirked. “But don’t worry. I won’t kill you.”
The King’s eyes narrowed.
“I’ll just take what matters most.”
Before the words had even finished, Thorne vanished.
So did Elias.
Aurelius, braced for attack, felt the chill too late.
He turned—but Thorne wasn’t near him.
Instead—
“NO!” Darien screamed.
Thorne materialized beside Kenneth, one hand already raised.
Kenneth’s eyes widened, and he barely managed a single step back.
Too slow.
The dagger slid into his chest—twisting downward with brutal precision. Kenneth let out a soft gasp, more of surprise than pain.
Time stopped.
Blood soaked his tunic. His eyes dimmed. His knees buckled.
“No—no—no!” Lucien staggered forward, catching Kenneth as he collapsed.
Darien stood frozen, face pale. Sevrin roared in rage, drawing his blade too late. Marek was stunned into silence.
Even Aurelius faltered, his composure cracking.
The King… stared.
Everything—magic, fire, movement—halted in his presence.
Elias and Thorne stood side by side, blood dripping from Thorne’s dagger. Kenneth lay between them, cradled by Lucien, his small form limp, unmoving.
Thorne gave a slight bow. “You should have stayed blind, Your Majesty.”
And then—mist.
A scarlet fog enveloped them both.
When it cleared, they were gone.
No trace.
No echo.
Just Kenneth, lifeless in his brothers’ arms.
Silence spread through the throne room like death itself.
The King walked forward slowly, eyes on Kenneth’s body. He stopped a few steps away, his gaze unreadable.
Not rage.
Not despair.
Just cold, terrible stillness.
Darien’s voice broke, choked and raw. “He’s… he’s not breathing.”
Lucien whispered, “No. No. Not like this.”
The King said nothing.
Around them, the castle lay in ruins. Fire crackled in distant halls. The blooddemons were still being slaughtered by the army outside. The throne was shattered. The floor was broken. Everything had fallen into chaos.
But in that moment, nothing mattered.
Only the small boy with blood on his chest.
And the Kingdom that had just lost something it didn’t even understand.
- Writer
