Zevros set his stance, his resolve now bound entirely to the king's will. His right arm rose slowly, deliberate as a predator readying its strike. "If the king decrees their end—then I shall be his blade," he declared.
Heat shimmered faintly around his wrist as he gathered his strength, the air itself curling in anticipation. Then, with a sharp swing of his arm, he unleashed it—a surging bubble of compressed wind. It tore forward, scattering soldiers like leaves in a storm before barreling toward Ralphie.
Ralphie braced, crossing his arms as steel rippled over his hands and feet. Planting himself firm against the floor, he absorbed the strike head-on. The impact burst outward in a violent rush, the gale splitting to both sides and roaring through the chamber. Soldiers staggered, some thrown into pillars, others scrambling desperately for cover—but most were simply cast aside, helpless against the force.
"Shanya, grab him—now!" Ralphie shouted over the chaos, straining as he redirected the brunt of the pressure.
"You got it, pal!" Shanya barked back, sprinting into the storm. Her gauntleted fist shielded her face as she closed in on Temoshí's still body. But just as she reached him, a deafening crash froze her in place—the king's colossal battle axe slammed flat against the marble floor, the shockwave rattling through the throne room like thunder.
The battle axe slammed flat into the marble, and the entire throne room buckled under the impact. The floor cracked in jagged lines, dust bursting up from between the tiles as a thunderous shockwave rolled outward. The chandeliers overhead swayed violently, their chains groaning, while soldiers were knocked back as if the very air had been struck.
Shanya threw an arm up to shield her face, boots skidding against the polished stone as the pressure tore past her. She was strong, fast on her feet, but even planted firm, she felt her balance ripped from under her. The force was suffocating, like a storm collapsing in on itself.
And then—silence.
When she looked up, the king stood over her, his frame casting a shadow that swallowed the space between them. His sheer size dwarfed her, his posture radiating an immovable weight that made every inch of him feel like a mountain. Broad shoulders squared, axe embedded in the stone at his side, he didn't need to move to make his presence known. The air seemed to bend around him, heavy with the raw authority of a man who had ruled, fought, and crushed rebellion long before any of them stood here.
The king tore his axe free from the fractured floor with a screech of steel against stone, his grip steady, his posture towering. His glare swept across the intruders, sharp and merciless, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"You barge into my throne room. You lay waste to my guards, scar my palace walls—and then, with audacity beyond reason, you demand that I return what belongs to my judgment?" His voice rolled through the chamber like thunder, shaking even the banners that hung high above.
The weight of his fury pressed down on the room itself. Soldiers hugged the walls, their gazes locked to the floor, unwilling to draw attention to themselves. Even Zevros, loyal and resolute, stood stiff under the force of the king's anger, jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides.
The king stepped forward, and the ground trembled with the weight of his stride. His shadow swallowed Shanya whole, the axe at his side gleaming in the torchlight, its edge thirsting for a command.
"You speak of captains, of comrades—as though your bonds give you the right to trample my law," he thundered, each word crashing like a hammer. "But this kingdom is not bound by the whims of pirates. Here, my word is law. And my law has no place for your loyalty, your cause, or your captain."
The silence that followed was suffocating. The king's presence hung over them like a storm, daring any of them to open their mouths and challenge his decree.
Shanya looked like a child before the king, her stature and resolve paling in comparison to his towering form. She knew full well the weight he carried—how powerful, how menacing he could become when roused. And now, watching the growing irritation twist his features into anger, she realized just how far he was willing to go. Once, she had stood with the Desert Fangs at his side. Now, she stood against them. Against the kingdom itself.
The king's voice thundered across the room once more. "If loyalty to a fallen captain is the path you choose… then you will fall with him!"
With a single hand, he swung the massive battle axe as though it were no heavier than a cane. The air shrieked at the motion, the sheer force pulling at the walls and shaking the chandeliers above. A crimson aura bled from his body, wrapping the axe in burning streaks of energy—Reinforcement made manifest. The swing didn't just cut air; it commanded it. A violent gale erupted, ripping forward in a cone of destruction that shattered pillars and sent loose banners tearing from the walls.
Shanya's heart slammed in her chest. She had no choice. With a sharp inhale, she drew her broadsword, bracing both hands on the hilt. The steel glinted as she met the wave head-on.
The collision was instant and deafening. Her blade screamed under the weight of his swing, sparks erupting as metal clashed against aura-wreathed steel. The shockwave detonated outward, a dome of compressed air and scarlet light bursting through the chamber. Soldiers were thrown like ragdolls, furniture reduced to splinters, the floor itself cracking under the impact.
Shanya held, gritting her teeth, boots carving deep lines into the marble as she was pushed back. Her arms trembled violently against the sheer pressure, every muscle burning as if she were trying to hold back a mountain.
Then the axe's might overwhelmed her.
Her sword slipped just an inch—and that was enough. The force slammed into her chest like a battering ram, tearing her from her footing. She was launched backward, body smashing through the throne room wall in an explosion of dust and stone. She tumbled into the corridor beyond, crashing across the floor until she skidded to a painful halt, her broadsword still clutched weakly in her hand.
In the throne room, the king lowered his axe, the red aura still burning faintly along its edge, his glare locked on the hole she had carved through the wall.
The dust still hung in the air, the jagged hole in the wall a stark reminder of the king's overwhelming strength. Silence pressed down on the throne room until the king's voice cut through it, deep and commanding.
"Enough of this farce." His words rolled like thunder, each syllable leaving no room for argument. His gaze swept the chamber before settling on one of his men.
"Kadesh."
The soldier snapped to attention, fist to chest. "Your Majesty!"
The king's eyes shifted to the unconscious form of Temoshí lying on the floor, then to the restrained figure of Venos, tied up behind him. The old man's arms were bound, his posture slumped but defiant even under the bonds. The crimson aura still flickered faintly along the king's battle axe.
"Take their captain," the king commanded, voice cold and absolute. "Lock him in the deepest cell in our prison. At dawn, bring him to the execution grounds. If he lives to see the sun rise… he dies beneath the desert's judgment."
Kadesh's gaze flicked to Venos, and the king added with chilling finality:
"And the old man as well. He, too, will remain imprisoned until his fate is decided. Pirates who enter my hall do not leave with their heads held high. Not one of you."
A tense hush filled the room. Soldiers stiffened, knowing well the dread of the execution grounds—the cursed sands beyond the palace walls where only the condemned were dragged and left to perish beneath the relentless sun.
Kadesh gave a sharp nod. "As you command, Your Majesty." He motioned to the guards, who moved toward the unmoving captain and the bound Venos, boots pounding the fractured marble floor as they prepared to lift them both.
The king remained still, towering and unyielding, his aura of authority pressing down over everyone in the chamber.
Ralphie's eyes followed the soldiers dragging Temoshí across the fractured marble, Venos bound behind the king. Even restrained, the older man radiated defiance—and Ralphie's chest tightened with frustration.
"Damn it… I can't get after them!" he muttered, jaw tight. He spun on his heel, sweeping a reinforced leg outward to knock a soldier off his feet, the impact sending him skidding into a cracked pillar. Another guard lunged with a spear; Ralphie kicked the shaft aside, then launched a spinning heel strike that sent the man sprawling backward.
He pivoted on one foot, the other delivering a series of rapid, reinforced kicks that sent shields clattering and weapons flying. "Figures… that guy's got it," he muttered, eyes flicking to the corridor where his companion was already sprinting after Kadesh and the fleeing captain.
Ralphie's legs moved like precision machinery, each kick calculated to keep the soldiers at bay while carving a path through the throne room. A flying spear came his way—he blocked it with a reinforced shin, then swept it out of the attacker's hands with a swift low kick. Another soldier tried to close in from the side, but Ralphie's jump spin delivered a crushing kick to the chest that sent him sliding across the marble.
"Your loyalty… that gunslinger," Zevros muttered, eyes narrowing as he followed the figure sprinting down the corridor. "He's gone after them. What should we do?"
The king's gaze swept the throne room, unwavering and commanding. His voice cut through the tension like steel.
"Leave them be," he said, tone absolute. "The one pursuing them is skilled enough. Let him do as he will. Kadesh and the men here will handle the rest. We need not waste our strength chasing shadows when the outcome is already within our control."
Zevros's jaw tightened, but he did not question the command. He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the king's order. The remaining soldiers shifted, holding the line and keeping the intruders in check, their focus entirely on the throne room chaos.
The king's presence dominated the space, his posture rigid and unwavering. Every person in the chamber could feel the weight of his authority—any hesitation or defiance would be met with immediate, uncompromising force.
To be continued...