Chapter 9 - THE FALL OF THE TYRANT
Elara was the first to recover. She wiped a line of blood from her lip and stood up, her emerald eyes burning with absolute clarity.
Aldric scrambled for his dropped scepter, but Elara was faster. She leaped across the platform, her boot slamming onto his hand, crushing the bones beneath her weight. Aldric screamed in agony as the magical scepter rolled off the edge and plunged into the magma below.
With the scepter destroyed, the siphoning machinery stalled, but the damage was already done. The ancient chains binding Ignis-Vael began to snap one by one under the immense pressure of the ancient beast’s waking power.
“You’ve ruined everything!” Aldric wept, clutching his broken hand as he backed toward the edge of the platform. “I made this kingdom great! I gave them peace!”
“You gave them a lie built on torture and murder,” Elara said coldly, pointing her sword at his throat. “You sacrificed your own child for a crown you were never worthy to wear.”
Aldric looked past her, his eyes widening in sheer, absolute horror.
Behind Elara, a colossal eye opened inside the dark abyss of the vault. It was a massive orb of molten gold, larger than a house, pulsing with ancient, terrifying wisdom. Ignis-Vael had awakened.
The ancient dragon’s giant head rose slowly from the magma, the broken siphoning drills falling from his chest like tiny splinters. He didn't roar. He merely exhaled a breath of superheated air that melted the steel iron bridges around the platform.
Ignis-Vael looked down at Aldric. The ancient beast recognized the scent of the bloodline that had tortured him for three centuries.
“No... please...” Aldric whimpered, dropping to his knees. “I am the King of Oakenvale!”
Ignis-Vael paid no head to his title. With a single, swift motion, the massive dragon opened his jaw. He didn't even use fire. He simply swept his massive snout across the platform, knocking Aldric off the edge.
The king let out one final, terrified scream before disappearing into the sea of molten lava below.
The tyrant was gone, swallowed by the very power he had tried to enslave.
Elara stood alone on the melting platform, facing the ancient father of dragons. She didn't raise her swords. She simply sheathed them, lowered her head, and placed her bare hand against the gigantic snout lowering toward her.
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Ignis-Vael closed his golden eye, sensing the pure, uncorrupted bloodline of the ancient shifters flowing through her veins. He let out a low, resonant hum that stabilized the trembling earth, cooling the magma and sealing the dangerous fissures across the chamber.
The catastrophe had been averted.
