Realm Lord
Chapter 122: The King (6)

Chapter 122: The King (6)

The Ancient King’s back pressed harder against the obsidian throne as the three warriors closed in like wolves sensing wounded prey. His sun mask, once pristine and terrifying in its golden perfection, now bore spider web cracks that leaked thin streams of dark ichor. The hollow eyes that had stared with such malevolent confidence now seemed to flicker with something that might have been desperation—or perhaps it was merely the reflection of the lightning dancing around Aziel’s form.

"You should have let the corruption kill you," Arthur’s voice loud, carrying a hint of angered confidence. His shadow-wreathed blade pulsed with accumulated energy, the weapon now more void than steel, drinking in light and hope with equal voracity.

The king’s response was a snarl of fury that seemed to come from the depths of eternity itself. His ancient sword swept in a wide arc, trying to create breathing room between himself and his tormentors. But the weapon that had once moved with godlike speed now struggled against the accumulated damage and drain of their relentless assault.

Aziel intercepted the desperate strike with supernatural reflexes, his spear catching the ancient blade in a shower of sparks that illuminated the throne room like a thunderstorm. Electricity coursed down the length of both weapons, and for a moment the two warriors stood locked in a contest of pure power.

"Your time is over" Aziel hissed through gritted teeth, blood still streaming from his broken nose. Lightning crackled around the wound, the electrical energy working to numb the pain even as it pushed his mortal form beyond its limits.

The king’s strength faltered for just an instant—a moment of weakness caused by the cumulative effects of damage. It was enough. Aziel’s spear slipped past the ancient sword’s guard, the lightning-wreathed point punching through the king’s shoulder with enough force to pin him against his own throne.

Dark ichor sprayed across the obsidian stone as the king let out a roar of pain and rage. But even impaled, he was far from finished. His free hand shot out like a striking viper, fingers wrapping around Aziel’s throat with crushing force. The lightning-wielder’s eyes bulged as the king’s supernatural strength began to close off his airway, electricity dancing frantically around his form as his body fought for oxygen.

"Aziel!" Lara’s cry of alarm echoed through the chamber as she launched herself forward, both twin blades seeking the king’s exposed side. Her weapons carved deep furrows through whatever supernatural protection still shielded the ancient ruler.

The king’s grip on Aziel’s throat tightened, and she could see his face beginning to turn blue as his lightning flickered and dimmed. Desperation gave her strength as she twisted her blades deeper, trying to cause enough damage to force the ancient ruler to release his grip.

It was then that Arthur struck with the accumulated fury of his darkness.

All the darkness he had been channeling—it coalesced into a single moment of perfect, deadly focus. His shadow-wreathed blade cut through the leaving a trail of absolute void in its wake.

The Ancient King’s head turned toward the new threat, his hollow mask-eyes reflecting Arthur’s approach. For the first time since the battle began, something like recognition flickered in those golden depths—not of Arthur specifically, but of the fundamental truth that his reign was about to end.

Time seemed to slow as Arthur’s blade completed its deadly arc. The weapon passed through the king’s desperate attempt at defense as if his ancient sword were made of mist. Shadow met flesh, void met ancient power, and in that collision between mortal determination and godlike arrogance, mortality proved stronger.

Arthur’s blade pierced the Ancient King’s heart, sliding between ribs.

The effect was immediate and absolute. The king’s grip on Aziel’s throat loosened as a shudder ran through his ancient form. Dark ichor poured from the wound in Arthur’s blade like a river of night, but it wasn’t blood that was escaping—it was the very essence of the king’s existence, unraveling after countless years of unnatural persistence.

Arthur’s shadow-wreathed blade pulsed once, a final surge of energy that completed the work it had begun. The darkness spread outward from the wound like ink in water, consuming the king’s supernatural vitality with inexorable hunger. Where it touched, the ancient flesh began to decay.

The Ancient King’s mask tilted downward, those hollow eyes finally dimming as they looked upon the shadow blade buried in his heart. His ancient sword fell from nerveless fingers, clattering against the marble floor. The weapon that had carved through Kay’s arms as if they were made of paper now lay still and powerless, its edge dulled by the simple fact that its wielder was dying.

"Your reign... ends... now," Arthur managed to say through his exhaustion.

The king’s form began to collapse inward, the stolen centuries finally demanding their due. Cracks appeared across his robes, spreading like the spider web fractures in his mask.

Aziel collapsed to his knees, gasping for air as the king’s grip finally released entirely. Lightning still danced weakly around his form, but his face was a mask of exhaustion and pain. Lara staggered backward, her twin blades finally sliding free of the king’s dissolving form.

The Ancient King looked up one final time, his cracked mask reflecting the three warriors who had accomplished the impossible. In those hollow eyes, there might have been respect, or perhaps merely the ancient acknowledgment of a game well played and lost.

Then the mask cracked completely, falling away in pieces to reveal nothing beneath but shadow and memory. The Ancient King’s form crumbled entirely, collapsing into itself until nothing remained but empty robes and the echo of power that had once seemed infinite.

Arthur’s shadow blade flickered and became normall steel once more as the king’s essence finally dissipated. The shadow armor around his form wavered like heat shimmer before dissolving around his body. The battle was over, the Ancient King was dead, and somehow—impossibly—they had won.

Arthur took a tired step back letting out a deep sigh as he closed his eyes for a moment, his brain a frantic mess in the wake of the battle. He opened his eyes again but something was wrong, he was in the throne room still but... he was alone, and somehow he was sitting atop the throne.