The Battle for the Throne continues with things getting more intense and even more chaotic...
Prince Ardan just finished dealing with Prince Calanthor. Making that two Princes down, with four left.
Ardan used a relic to defend against the combined forces of Eolande, Tathariel, and Faeril but even with that, Ardan was still at a disadvantage.
But just as the tide of battle seemed to be turning in their favor, a sudden betrayal shook the ground beneath them. Prince Faeril, the youngest of the feuding princes, had turned on his former allies, plunging a dagger into the back of Prince Eolande and leaving him to die on the battlefield.
Prince Tathariel's eyes widened in shock as he saw his comrade fall, and he turned to confront Faeril, his sword drawn. "You traitorous scum!" he spat, his voice trembling with rage. "How dare you betray us like this?"
Faeril grinned wickedly, his eyes glinting with malice. "I did what was necessary to win," he replied, his voice dripping with contempt. "You and Eolande were weak, and you would have led us all to defeat. Now, with your armies in shambles, I can claim the throne for myself."
Tathariel's grip on his sword tightened as he prepared to strike, but he hesitated, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. He had known Faeril since they were children, and he had never suspected that his brother was capable of such treachery. But now, as he looked into Faeril's cold, calculating eyes, he realized that he had been blind to the truth all along.
"Very well," he said, his voice cold and controlled. "If it is a battle you want, then it is a battle you shall have. But know this, Faeril: you will pay for your betrayal with your blood."
Tathariel was shaken by Faeril's sudden betrayal. He had never expected this from his youngest brother, and the sight of Eolande collapsing to the ground with a dagger in his back filled him with a cold, sickening dread. But even as his heart pounded with fear and shock, a part of him couldn't help but feel a sense of grim satisfaction.
He had suspected for some time that Eolande was working with Ardan and that he would eventually betray him as well. But with Faeril's sudden move, Eolande had been eliminated, lessening Tathariel's worries. Now, he only had to deal with Faeril and Ardan, and then the throne would be his.
As he charged at Faeril, his mind raced with calculations and plans. He knew that his brother was cunning and quick-witted, but he also knew that he had a weakness: his arrogance. Faeril had always believed himself to be the smartest and most powerful of the princes, and Tathariel knew that he could use that against him.
Their swords clashed again and again, sending sparks flying in all directions. Tathariel's muscles strained with the effort of holding Faeril at bay, but he kept his mind focused on the prize. He would not let his brother's treachery go unpunished, and he would not rest until he sat upon the Fey Throne.
As they circled each other, Tathariel's thoughts turned to Ardan. He knew that the eldest prince would be waiting for him, plotting his own moves behind the scenes. But Tathariel was ready for him. He had spent years preparing for this moment, studying the art of war and honing his skills in combat. And now, with Faeril's blood on his sword, he was more determined than ever to claim what was rightfully his.
"Your time is up, Faeril," he growled, pressing his advantage. "Your treachery has sealed your fate."
And with that, he struck, his sword flashing in the sunlight as he aimed for Faeril's heart.
But suddenly, the youngest prince reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, blackened shard of stone. It glinted in the sunlight, and Tathariel felt a chill run down his spine.
"What is that?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing.
Faeril smirked, holding up the shard for Tathariel to see. "This, dear brother, is a piece of a Demonic Relic," he said, his voice low and ominous. "Similar to what Ardan used earlier, but far more...sinister."
And with that, he plunged the shard into his chest, his body writhing in agony as black smoke poured out of his mouth and nostrils. Tathariel stepped back in horror as he watched his brother's form contort and twist, his skin turning black and scaly as horns erupted from his forehead.
"I am reborn," Faeril hissed, his voice now low and gravelly. "As a Halfling Demon, with the power of Necromancy at my fingertips. And you, dear brother, are no match for me."
Tathariel felt a cold sweat break out across his skin as he saw the evil glint in Faeril's eyes.
Then, he saw how the dead suddenly rose. Black smoke surrounded them and a sinister aura started covering the entire battlefield.
Even the fallen Princes couldn't escape Faeril's grip, for they too also rose up from the dead and became living corpses, seeking to devour all life in front of him.
Tathariel trembled. He knew that his brother was lost to him now, consumed by the darkness that had overtaken him. But even as his heart pounded with fear, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered a warning: be careful what you wish for. For even, the most powerful demons could be destroyed, if one had the courage and the will to do so.
Prince Ardan watched in horror as his brother transformed into a demon before his eyes. He had seen the darkness creeping into Faeril's soul over the past few months, but he had never imagined that it would come to this. Faeril was lost to him now, consumed by his own lust for power.
Beside him, Tathariel was tense and ready, his sword at the ready. They were both determined to end Faeril's reign of terror, even if it meant sacrificing their own lives in the process. But just as they were about to make their move, a figure appeared on the horizon, riding towards them on a white steed.
It was a man wearing a white cloak and carrying a staff, with a gentle but stern expression on his face. He wore a badge on his cloak that identified him as an Elite Member of the Demon Slaying Squad. Ardan and Tathariel exchanged a quick glance, then stepped back, their swords still at the ready. They knew of the Demon Slayers, but they had never seen them in action. They were not sure what to expect, especially since the one who arrived was supposed to be a healer instead of a combat specialist.
The man dismounted from his steed and strode towards Faeril, his staff held out in front of him. "I've come to deal with the demon," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Stand aside."
Ardan and Tathariel hesitated, unsure of what to do. But there was something about the man's presence that commanded their respect. They lowered their swords and stepped back, watching as he approached Faeril.
Ashton faced the halfling, his face was expressionless but his thoughts were loud.
'Well, I can't say I didn't see this coming.' He mused inwardly. 'The seed of evil in this kid's heart has bloomed into a sinister sprout.'
"Usage of Demon Relics are strictly forbidden, not just in the Battle for the Throne but also according to Fey Traditions. Prince Faeril's offense is unforgivable and he shall be eliminated with extreme prejudice." Ashton's authoritative voice echoed across the battlefield.
The demon prince snarled and lunged at the man, his claws flashing in the sunlight. But Ashton was quick, dodging and weaving with the grace of a dancer. He parried Faeril's blows with ease, then struck back with a fierce counterattack.
He's facing Faeril alone. The other Demon Slayers were dispatched to seal the entire battlefield to ensure that the demon won't get away.
The two figures circled each other, their weapons clashing in a shower of sparks. Tathariel and Ardan watched from the sidelines, their hearts pounding with anticipation. They had never seen anything like this before.
In the end, it was Ashton who emerged victorious. With a swift stroke of his staff, he dispelled the dark energy that had been consuming Faeril's soul. The demon prince's body dissolved into a cloud of black smoke, his screams echoing through the air before fading into silence.
Ardan and Tathariel stared in shock at the scene before them. They had lost a brother today, but they had also gained a newfound respect for the Demon Slaying Squad.
With a swing of Ashton's staff, he released a pulse of white light that also eliminated the corpses that Faeril raised earlier. When the white light touched them, the corpses turned into ash, scattering with the wind and not leaving a trace behind.
The corruption that spread across the battlefield was also cleared by Ashton.
After ensuring that there wasn't a trace of the demon left, Ashton faced the remaining Princes and addressed them:
ραпdα Йᴏνêl(сòm)
"Pardon our intrusion. The demon is gone, he won't be a threat anymore. You two can continue your fight. We will remain watching over the fight so that there would be no foul play after this."
And with that, Ashton and the rest of the Demon Slaying Squad blended into the surroundings once more, leaving the Princes to figure out how they should continue their fight.
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