Capítulo 35: Yo! Don’t you dare touch my comrades… or this kingdom.”
Commander Thorian stood amidst the aftermath of the battle, surveying the scene with a grim expression. The battlefield was littered with debris, remnants of the fierce fight that had just concluded. His sword, shimmering with the remnants of his Crystal Shard Aether, was still drawn, but his focus was no longer on the fallen enemies. Instead, his gaze fell upon Vice Commander Alda, who was leaning heavily against a nearby wall, her body beaten and bruised from her own grueling fight.
He rushed to her side, his brow furrowed with concern as he saw the extent of her injuries. Blood stained her armor, and her breaths were labored, but despite her condition, Alda met his gaze with a weary smile.
"You did it," Thorian said, his voice filled with relief as he knelt beside her. "You won."
Alda chuckled weakly, wincing as the movement sent a sharp pain through her ribs. "Took me long enough, but yeah. Still in one piece."
Thorian placed a hand on her shoulder, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I'm glad you made it through, Alda. I knew you could handle it. You're strong, and I'm proud of you."
Alda managed a small grin, though her exhaustion was evident. "Thanks, Commander. But… I think I'm going to need a few days off after this."
Thorian laughed softly, a rare sound in the midst of the chaos. "You've earned it. Take all the time you need."
As the two shared a quiet moment of respite, the focus shifted far from the battlefield to the Vaebreta Citadel, a place shrouded in darkness. The citadel loomed like a sinister fortress, built from black stone that absorbed any light that dared approach it. The sky above it was perpetually covered in storm clouds, swirling with dark energy, as if the very air was cursed. Shadows seemed to dance along the walls, and the towering spires of the citadel pierced the sky like jagged fangs.
Deep within the citadel's inner chamber, a robed man stood before an ominous altar. His face was obscured by a hood, but his voice carried a weight of anger and disappointment. The room around him was dimly lit by the eerie glow of dark magic, casting flickering shadows on the cold stone walls. This was Malcorys, the master of the dark forces that had ravaged the Vaebreta Kingdom.
He clenched his fists in frustration, his dark energy swirling around him as his voice boomed through the chamber. "Nythera, Morvyn, Selvaya, Kaelor… all of you have failed me!" His voice was laced with fury, each name spat with venom. "Pathetic. Each one of you… mere tools that couldn't complete the simplest tasks."
The robed man's aura flared violently, casting long, twisted shadows across the room. His anger radiated outward, the temperature of the chamber dropping as his frustration reached its peak.
Malcorys then paused, his lips curling into a sinister smile as his tone shifted. "But no matter… it seems it's time for me to handle things personally." He let out a chilling laugh, a sound that echoed through the citadel's halls, sending shivers down the spine of any who heard it. "Yes… it's time for me to join the battle."
As his laughter filled the air, Malcorys raised his hand, summoning an orb of dark energy that pulsed with power. But there was something more behind his laughter—an eerie confidence, as if he had something else planned. Something far more devastating.
Meanwhile, back at the battlefield, Commander Thorian helped Alda to her feet just as a commotion caught their attention. The distant sound of footsteps echoed, growing louder, until suddenly Commander Viktor arrived, flanked by Zalthor and Lucien. They all bore the marks of battle, but Viktor's energy was as vibrant as ever, his presence commanding the attention of all.
"Well, well," Viktor said with a wide grin, surveying the scene. "Looks like I missed quite the fight."
Thorian gave him a nod. "You came at the right time, Viktor. Things are far from over."
Zalthor and Lucien stepped forward, still recovering from their earlier battle. "Commander, the situation is worse than we thought," Zalthor said, his voice tinged with urgency. "There's something… someone… coming."
Before Thorian could respond, a sudden pulse of dark energy surged through the air, and the ground trembled beneath their feet. The sky above the battlefield darkened, and a chilling wind swept through the area. Without warning, a shadowy figure descended from the sky, landing with a thunderous impact that sent shockwaves rippling through the earth.
Malcorys had arrived.
The robed man stood before them, his presence overwhelming. His dark energy coiled around him like a living thing, pulsating with malevolent intent. His hood obscured most of his face, but his eyes glowed with a sinister light, locking onto Thorian and his companions.
"Ah… the so-called heroes," Malcorys sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "You've been quite the nuisance."
In an instant, Malcorys raised his hand, gathering dark energy in his palm. The air crackled with power as he unleashed a devastating attack, aimed directly at Thorian, Alda, Viktor, Zalthor, and Lucien. They all barely dodged the attack, rolling to the side as the ground exploded where they had stood, sending debris flying in all directions.
"That was close," Viktor muttered, his playful tone gone, replaced with a seriousness that matched the gravity of the situation.
Thorian's eyes narrowed as he faced Malcorys. "This ends now."
But Malcorys merely laughed, his dark aura intensifying. "You fools… you have no idea what you're up against."
Without hesitation, Malcorys raised both hands to the sky, gathering all the dark energy around him into a massive, swirling vortex of power. The sheer size of the energy was terrifying, a dark sphere growing larger with each passing second, absorbing the very light around them. The earth shook violently as the energy spiraled higher, crackling with destructive force.
"I'll destroy everything," Malcorys hissed, his voice laced with pure malice. "The Vaebreta Kingdom will be nothing but ash!"
Thorian, Viktor, Alda, Zalthor, and Lucien watched in horror as the dark energy gathered to an immense size, ready to unleash devastation on an unimaginable scale. It was clear that this attack would level the entire kingdom if it was allowed to be released.
Just as Malcorys prepared to unleash the attack, a flash of silver light cut through the air with blinding speed. In an instant, before anyone could comprehend what had happened, Malcorys screamed in agony.
His arms had been severed—cleanly, effortlessly.
The dark energy that had been gathering dissipated into the air, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Malcorys staggered backward, his eyes wide with disbelief as he looked down at the stumps where his arms had once been.
Everyone on the battlefield stared in stunned silence, unsure of what had just happened.
Then, from the shadows, a familiar voice spoke, its tone deeper, more serious, and filled with annoyance.
"Yo," the voice called out, and all eyes turned to see a figure stepping out of the shadows. "Don't you dare touch my comrades… or this kingdom."
The voice belonged to none other than Nizara, but there was something different about him—his presence was heavier, his aura more intense. His eyes burned with a fierce resolve, and his sword still glistened with the blood of his fallen enemies.
Malcorys, now powerless and trembling, stared at Nizara in disbelief, his mouth opening to speak, but no words came out.
Nizara took another step forward, his gaze never leaving Malcorys, as the battle unfolded with an air of finality.
*To be continued...*
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