"For you to take the Throne and remove your filthy love, shaming our Na!" Henry spat, his voice raw with conviction. His words hung in the air like smoke after a firestorm—thick, suffocating, and impossible to ignore.
"...filthy?" Lara repeated softly, her tone deceptively calm. She tilted her head slightly, blue hair spilling over one shoulder like water frozen mid-flow. Her golden eyes glimred—not with tears, but with sothing far more dangerous. Disgust? Betrayal? Or perhaps pity. "Such words coming out of 'your' lips, Father." The title dripped venom as she said it, each syllable sharper than any blade could ever be. "Then what about what you did to Atlas's mother? What was that?"
Her voice hardened, cracking like ice under pressure. "What you condoned between and Atlas when we were re children? What was that?" She stepped closer, her boots making no sound against the marble floor. Shadows clung to her form, stretching unnaturally long as if the darkness itself feared her wrath. "How you manipulate all and everything with your sweet words, adhering whatever you please. What was THAT Father?"
Henry remained silent, his jaw clenched so tightly it might shatter. Every accusation hit him like a hamr blow, chipping away at the carefully constructed façade he'd worn for decades. Regret flickered in his gaze, fleeting and faint, before vanishing beneath layers of labored indifference.
"Oh, Father," Lara murmured, shaking her head slowly. "If you think my heart is filthy for loving soone truly..." Her hand shot out, gripping the hilt of her sword where it had embedded itself into the wooden armrest of his throne-like chair. With a single fluid motion, she yanked it free, splinters flying like tiny stars in the dim light. "...then I don't know what I should call 'you.'"
She leaned in, their faces impossibly close. Her breath brushed against his cheek, cold and sharp, carrying the tallic tang of unspoken threats. "If you weren't a king and not my father..." Her voice dropped to a whisper, low and lethal. "...I would have cursed death upon you a thousand tis. And if sothing happens to my brother..." She straightened abruptly, stepping back with deliberate slowness. "...this statent will not remain a curse. It will beco my Obligation."
Silence
The room fell utterly still, save for the faint crackle of dying embers in the hearth. Henry stared at her retreating figure, his fingers twitching involuntarily toward her back. Words clawed at his throat, desperate to escape—questions simple and human. How was her day? Did she eat enough? Were there wounds that needed tending? But they stayed trapped behind walls of pride and fear, buried under years of manipulation and mistrust.
In the end, nothing ca out except silence. Heavy, suffocating silence that weighed down the space between them like chains forged from regret.
When the door clicked shut behind her, Henry slumped back into his chair, exhaling sharply through gritted teeth. He rubbed absently at his ring finger, now bare and cold without the insignia ring he'd passed down—not to Lara, whom he once envisioned ruling, but to Atlas, who seed destined to fall.
"...Atlas, my son..." he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling despite himself. "I am sorry. It was necessary. Your death will beckon my death as well. That much I can do for a proper apology."
His gaze drifted to the window, where moonlight spilled across the city like liquid silver. Sowhere beyond those glittering rooftops lay the Dark Continent—a place of nightmares and legends, where his youngest child ventured unknowingly toward doom. Yet even amidst guilt and despair, Henry found solace in one certainty. One brutal, unyielding truth.
"Your sacrifice will not be in vain," he whispered, his voice steady now, edged with grim resolve. "Your loss will make her stronger. More fierce. So much so that even the Empire, and all the other kingdoms, will fear her. And an era of peace shall be bestowed under her rule."
Lara's Quarters – Hours Later
Bandaging wounds that hadn't fully healed, Lara drank potion after potion, wincing as the bitter liquid burned its way down her throat. Each swallow felt like swallowing shards of glass, yet she forced herself to continue. Healing wasn't optional; stopping wasn't an option either. Not now. Not when every second counted.
She adjusted her armor piece by piece, checking for cracks or weaknesses. Her hands moved thodically, almost chanically, though tremors betrayed her exhaustion. Days without sleep stretched into nights without rest, yet fatigue barely registered. Adrenaline coursed through her veins like wildfire, fueling her determination.
Packing supplies into her infinite storage system, she paused briefly to glance around the room. Everything was packed neatly, ready to go. Weapons polished until they glead, potions stacked ticulously, gear repaired to perfection. Nothing left to chance. Nothing overlooked.
And then, finally, she stopped. Standing before a massive painting mounted on the wall, she allowed herself a rare mont of vulnerability. The portrait depicted Atlas—his expression unreadable, his posture regal yet distant. A crown rested lightly on his brow, though it seed more like a burden than an honor.
"...in those tis of utter loneliness," she whispered, her voice softer than silk, stripped of its usual edge. "Only you were there." Her fingertips grazed the canvas gently, tracing the outline of his face as if trying to morize every detail. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over—but she blinked them away fiercely.
"...I will save you, brother. It's the last thing I'll do."
Knock! Knock!
"I'm busy!" Lara snapped, turning away from the painting. Her voice carried enough authority to silence most intruders, but this ti, the visitor didn't retreat.
"Your Highness Lara, it's —Sansa..."
.
.
.
Near the Gates of the Dark Continent – Night
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
"We have so romance going on here," the shadow muttered, its voice dripping with mockery so thick it could choke a lesser man. The demon stood just beyond the salt line, cloaked in darkness that seed alive—writhing and twisting like smoke caught in a storm. Its eyes glowed crimson, twin embers burning brighter than any star, while its horns curled skyward like twisted thorns piercing the heavens.
Atlas already felt sweat trickling down his spine, cold beads forming despite the oppressive heat radiating from the creature before him. His 'truth eyes' painted the scene vividly—red and dark swirling together into sothing monstrous yet oddly srizing. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not here. Not now. He rembered this part perfectly—the ga had scripted it differently. A demon encounter after being exiled through the eastern gate, not this godforsaken southern route littered with traps he hadn't foreseen.
But there was no ti for doubts. Only action.
"Stop!" Atlas barked, raising a hand as the captain drew her sword, her warriors following suit. Their blades glead under the moonlight, trembling slightly in their grips. Fear rolled off them in waves, choking the air like poison gas.
"LOOK!" Atlas shouted again, louder this ti, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade slicing silk. "He's not crossing the border. Which ans he can't enter. Don't be fucking fools and charge blindly into his trap!"
The captain hesitated, her gaze darting between Atlas and the demon. Then she saw it—the faint shimr of the salt barrier separating them from certain death. Her breath hitched audibly as realization dawned. She relaxed marginally, though her grip on her sword remained firm. Even she could sense the danger lurking beneath that casual stance. From the number of horns jutting out of his skull to the cruel curve of his grin, this wasn't an ordinary demon. No, this one bore titles within its own kind. Nas whispered in dread across realms.
She glanced at her n, imagining what might've happened if the salt circle hadn't held. There would've been nothing left but ash and screams swallowed by eternal night. Nothing.
"Ooohhh..." The demon chuckled, low and guttural, like rocks grinding against each other. "I thought you chickens would co running at like pecking idiots... But what the actual fuck? Where the hell did you dimwits get this salt?"
Its clawed finger pointed directly at Atlas, accusing, taunting. And when the guards flinched visibly, the demon threw back its head and laughed—a sound so grating it made teeth ache and souls shiver.
"Hahahahaha... comprendey. Spot on." It sneered, its horse-like voice echoing unnaturally, amplifying terror tenfold. The fake prince and the guards tried valiantly to stand tall, but their quaking feet betrayed them. They couldn't speak. Couldn't even breathe properly. All they could do was stare, frozen in place, as the sheer aura of the demon reeked of death itself.
Only two figures remained steady amidst the carnage: the captain and Atlas. Both standing still, both suppressing their fear with iron wills forged in fire and blood.
"...what's the plan here?" the captain asked finally, her fierce gaze locked onto the demon. Her tone carried authority, though it wavered ever so slightly. "...isn't there sothing in your book?"
Atlas didn't answer imdiately. Instead, he stared hard at the figure before him, mories flooding back. mories of gas played late into the night, fingers flying over controllers, mapping strategies for encounters exactly like this one.
"...wait until sunrise," he said at last, his voice calm but edged with steel. "It's not the original—it's a shadow. That kind of high-level demon doesn't leave its territory unless absolutely necessary. Shadows are re projections, spawned when bored or restless. They vanish before dawn."
The captain turned to look at him, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. For all his bravado, Atlas lacked sothing essential—fear. Was it because he'd faced such horrors before? Or was he simply treating this as sokind of ga.
"Whatever," she growled under her breath, shaking off her thoughts. "Matters not. I have nothing except your word to go on. GUARDS!" she barked suddenly, snapping everyone out of their stupor. "Don't fear. Until morning. That's the ti limit God has given us. Stay strong. That demon is nothing to be feared..."
Her words hung suspended in the air, heavy with false reassurance. And then—
Splash!!
One of the empire's warriors collapsed instantly, a wooden branch protruding grotesquely from his chest. Blood sprayed outward like a macabre fountain, painting the ground crimson. His lifeless body hit the dirt with a dull thud, sending shockwaves rippling through the group.
"Ohhh hahahahaha..." The demon cackled madly, leaning casually against the invisible wall of salt. "You dimwitted, idiotic humans. I may not be able to cross this line or use my mana there, but who says I can't throw things?"
***
Throw so stones mate.
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