Elron slowly awoke, pushing himself up from the top of the bed. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, his heart clenched at the sight before him—his mother was dematerializing before his very eyes. Her body, flake by flake, dissolved into faint, golden particles that drifted through the air. The sword that still impaled her chest filled him with unease, and without thinking, he yanked it free. To his shock, there was no blood on the blade.

  He focused on her, watching as more and more of her essence faded into a fine dust. But he couldn’t stay frozen forever—voices came from behind him.

  “You there! State your purpose!”

  Elron turned sharply, recognizing the approaching soldiers. These troops were not his own. Instincts took over as he flung himself at them with feral intent. The first elf, panicked, swished his short sword around wildly, but missed. Elron closed the gap and snapped the elf’s neck with a swift, brutal motion. The second guard charged, thrusting his blade forward in a desperate attempt to impale Elron. But Elron, with a cold grin, used the corpse of the first guard as a shield, catching the sword in the dead man’s body before hurling them both aside.

  His eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure. Before the second elf could flee, Elron seized him by the throat, lifting him into the air with one hand. The soldier kicked and clawed in a futile attempt to escape the prince’s iron grip. Elron only squeezed tighter, grinning as the elf’s windpipe collapsed with a sickening crack. He dropped the lifeless body to the ground like sack of wet meat.

  Breathing heavily, Elron glanced down at his hands, marveling at his newfound strength. It wasn’t just his grip strength that had changed—his entire physique had grown. His chest had broadened, his muscles bulged beneath his skin, and the armor that once fit snugly now hung awkwardly on his massive frame. With a few well-placed tugs, he tore the ill-fitting gear from his body, letting it clatter to the floor.

  “This is... strange,” he murmured, running his hands over his chest and arms, feeling the power coursing through him. He wasn’t just stronger—he felt lighter, faster, and deadlier than ever.

  But there was no time to reveal in it. Shouts echoed from the stairwell, reminding him of where he needed to go next. Grabbing his sword, Elron bolted down the nearest set of stairs. As he descended, he encountered both friend and foe, slipping past his own soldiers and ruthlessly dispatching those who stood in his way.

  Reaching one of the lower floors, he found over a hundred of his high elves gathered, struggling to force open a pair of massive double doors.

  “What’s our status?!” Elron barked.

  Maris, pushing through the crowd, replied, “They didn’t see us coming! We’ve secured the citadel, but we can’t seem to get into the throne room.”

  Elron sheathed his sword and strode toward the front. “Let’s change that.”

  His soldiers heaved in unison, straining with every push, but the doors barely budged, held by some unseen force. As Elron took his place at the center, he placed a hand on each door, feeling the resistance on the other side. His men followed his lead.

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  “Give it everything you have!” Elron shouted.

  With a tremendous shove, the doors gave way slightly, revealing a crack wide enough to see through. Elron glimpsed soldiers on the other side, bracing the doors with their bodies, desperate to keep them closed.

  “Heave! Ho!” Elron commanded, and his soldiers pushed again, widening the gap. Seizing the opportunity, they jammed beams into the opening, prying the doors further apart. Then, to his surprise, a pair of large glowing blue hands appeared above him—mage hands, aiding in the effort.

  With the doors pried open, Elron drew his sword and began slashing through the shields of the enemy soldiers on the other side. Imbuing his blade with wind and electricity, his strikes became blindingly fast, arcs of lightning crackling with each blow. Skulls, helmets, and shields were split asunder as he unleashed his pent up energy. It wasn’t long before Elron and his troops flooded into the throne room, engaging the defenders in fierce combat.

  Amid the chaos, Elron’s bloodlust surged as he locked eyes with a familiar figure—Chron.

  “You’ve grown, boy,” Chron sneered, locking blades with Elron.

  Elron spat in his face, snarling, “Fucking die!”

  He unleashed a flurry of strikes, each one more vicious than the last, but his frustration mounted. The confined space made it impossible to fight as freely as he wanted—unleashing his full power here could kill his own men. And then, things went from bad to worse. Sylphs descended from the ceiling, spinning like whirlwinds of death.

  Elron cast a fireball toward them, but Chron’s relentless attacks forced him to cast it recklessly, missing his targets. The assassins landed in the thick of the fight, their blades carving through both friend and foe alike. Elron, realizing he was surrounded, drew upon every ounce of power at his disposal. His sword crackled with all the elements he could summon as he became a whirlwind of destruction, fending off his enemies with wild abandon.

  But then, nothing.

  His mana step failed, and chance to dodge was gone.

  Glancing around, he spotted Holly, her hand glowing faintly. She had dispelled his magic.

  In the next moment, the Sylphs were upon him. He blocked a few of the strikes, and dodge some of the rest, yet it was too much. Blades stabbed into his body, and he slumped to the ground, bleeding from multiple wounds. They then dragged him to the far side of the throne room, barely able to stand.

  A cloaked figure stepped forward, amplifying their voice with magic. “We have your commander! Surrender now, or he dies!”

  Elron’s soldiers, seeing their prince held at knifepoint, hesitated. One by one, they dropped their weapons. The surrender spread like wildfire through the room, as Elron’s entire force threw down their arms and raised their hands up in defeat.

  Dragged to the front of the throne room, Elron knelt, his body trembling and blood pouring from his wounds. He glared at the figures before him—his hated foes, the late queen, and his former mentors.

  Vomiting blood onto the floor, Elron rasped, “You’re all... poison.”

  Then, from the shadows, a figure stepped forward. Elron’s heart stopped.

  “Slyra? What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

  Slyra glanced at Holly before replying coldly, “She’s my mother, Elron. You would have done the same.”

  Betrayal sank into his bones like an incurable wound. “You lied to me. To all of us,” he murmured.

  Slyra avoided his gaze. “Me spying on you didn’t cause this. Your end was always coming.”

  The queen approached, gripping Elron’s chin and forcing him to meet her gaze. “Betrayal’s a bitch, isn’t it?” she mocked. “I’ll let you live, but there’s something you need to do first.”