Chapter 571: Widespread Battle
The fiery attack ripped through the air with a ferocious roar, a wave of fire that tore the mansion in half as if it were made of waste paper. The deafening sound echoed through the night, mixing the crack of burning wood with the crash of shattered stone. The fire devoured everything in its path, transforming the once-imposing palace into smoking ruins.
Amidst the chaos, Albert Vorah and Scathach ca to an abrupt halt, their bodies rigid before the devastating spectacle. The empty struggle, the endless choreography, was interrupted by that brutal roar.
They turned to the source of the attack, and there, in the shattered courtyard, stood he—Dutch Blazer, the Duke of the Duchy of Blazer. His gaze was cold, calculating, and the aura he emanated seed to set the air around him ablaze.
Albert frowned, his eyes narrowed with contempt and a hint of anger. “You are not welco in my Grand Duchy,” he said in a firm, authoritative voice.
Dutch didn’t look away, his gaze firm as an unshakable wall. “I’ve co to seek my daughter,” he declared in a voice that left no room for negotiation.
Albert laughed, a harsh, disdainful sound that echoed in the destroyed courtyard. “Seek whatever you want,” he replied dismissively. “But I’m too busy to care about your demands.”
Scathach remained silent for a mont, then raised her spear with lethal precision, pointing the flaming tip directly at Dutch. Her eyes blazed with ancient fury, and a venomous note of recognition escaped her lips.
“It’s been a long ti, Fla Trash.”
The na was an invisible blow, a fla that ignited Dutch’s mory. His body seed to ignite from within, an energy that burned hotter than the fire itself consuming the mansion. In an instant, he vanished in a cloud of flas and reappeared directly in front of Scathach, his fists clenched and ready for a brutal punch to her face.
But before his fist could complete the blow, a strong, firm hand gripped his wrist with surprising strength. Strax was there, between them, his eyes fixed on Dutch with fierce determination.
“Don’t touch my mother,” he growled, his voice thick with an authority that brooked no dispute.
Dutch froze, the heat of the fire still vibrating against his skin, but his defiant gaze now turned to Strax. The silence that followed was heavy, dense, as if the very air awaited his next move.
Strax kept his grip on Dutch’s fist, not allowing him to advance. “You want to fight her, you’ll have to go through first,” he said, his voice low and nacing.
Albert watched the scene, frowning, but not moving. Scathach held her spear high, ready to strike, her eyes flickering between Dutch and Strax.
Dutch, taking a deep breath, seed to control his inner fury. The fla enveloping him began to dim, but the fire in his eyes remained incandescent.
“So it is,” he said, his voice laden with a dark promise. “You are her son, aren’t you?”
Strax nodded, his hand still on Dutch’s wrist. “And I won’t let you hurt my mother.”
The dueling stare between the three was interrupted by another distant rumble, a cruel reminder that the world outside was crumbling along with the mansion—a perfect setting for uncertain alliances and impending wars.
Dutch snapped his fingers as if awakening from a trance. With a swift movent, he ripped Strax’s arm away from his wrist, stepping forward with the speed of the fire that still flickered on his skin. His eyes burned with primal fury, and his body emanated an energy so intense it seed to consu everything around him.
“You’re not going to stop ,” Dutch growled, throwing a brutal punch toward Strax’s face.
Strax stepped back at the last mont, dodging the blow, but the impact caused the ground around him to crack and cracks to spread like webs. Wasting no ti, he countered with a left hook, striking Dutch in the side. Dutch staggered, but quickly regained his composure, his eyes still burning.
anwhile, Albert and Scathach faced each other again, the tension in the air thick as lead. Albert’s face hardened, his brows furrowed in a fierce expression. He lunged at Scathach, the fury of his blow nearly toppling a collapsing column.
Scathach dodged with a swift leap, her spear slicing through the air in a flaming line, a blue fla that left trails of fire. Albert blocked with his forearm, the heat searing his skin, but he never stopped advancing.
The duel between the two was fierce, each blow a thunderous roar, each movent an explosion of strength and technique. Sparks flew from tal to tal, while Scathach’s spear sizzled, threatening to slice through everything in its path.
At the other end of the courtyard, Strax and Dutch exchanged increasingly violent blows. Dutch used his fla to envelop his fists, launching flaming attacks that seared the air and left a fiery trail. Strax, with his remarkable strength and endurance, absorbed the impact and counterattacked with calculated blows, trying to disarm and unbalance his opponent.
“You won’t win,” Strax shouted, his voice thick with determination.
“I already have,” Dutch retorted, a cruel smile erging from the flas that engulfed him.
The mansion slowly crumbled around them, chunks of stone and wood falling like rain as the fire consud everything. But there, amidst the destruction, two battles raged like storms—fierce, inevitable, and fraught with an uncertain fate.
Albert and Scathach fought not just to win, but to maintain their territory and their honor. Strax and Dutch fought for sothing even more personal, a history that burned in their veins and defined who they were.
[Not far away…]
Samira hovered above a nearby hill, her eyes fixed on the smoldering silhouette of Vorah Mansion, now consud by flas and shrouded in clouds of black smoke. Dusk was fading on the horizon, but the flickering light of the fire reflected on her pale face, revealing an expression marked by a mixture of worry and determination.
She closed her eyes for a mont, deeply sensing the aura emanating from the mansion—a dense, heavy, yet familiar energy. It was the presence of her father, Albert Vorah, pulsing in the chaos that consud everything around her.
A sigh escaped her lips, filled with sadness and suppressed anger. Her voice was low, almost a dark whisper, laden with promise and pain:
“You will pay for everything you’ve done, Father…”
In an instant, her body began to transform. Her delicate, human features molded, her bones lengthened, and her skin gave way to scales that glistened under the darkening sky. From her back, enormous, powerful wings spread, slicing through the air with a hoarse, ancient sound. The long, sinuous tail swung with increasing force as her final form erged: an imposing dragon, charged with fire and fury.
With a firm flap of her wings, Samira took flight, cutting through the wind and soaring high into the night sky. Her flaming eyes were fixed on the mansion, where bloody battles and flas still dominated the scene.
She descended in a swift dive, ready to join the fight, ready to change the course of this night that threatened to consu everything she loved—or destroy it all altogether.
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