The Damned Demon

Lysandra grimaced as a chill ran through her veins, a chilling presence seeming to seize control of her very being. She felt powerless, vulnerable – a feeling she despised more than anything else.

Rebecca stepped forward, her eyes blazing with fury. With a swift motion, she wiped away the blood that still lingered on her split lip, staring down at her crimson-streaked hand with disdain. Then, without warning, she lunged towards Lysandra like a predator closing in on its prey.

*THUD! *

The sound echoed ominously throughout the air as Rebecca's fist connected solidly with Lysandra's jawline, snapping her head to the side. A spray of red droplets splattered against the ground, painting them with crimson drops.

Lysandra tasted iron; it filled her mouth, and her vision blurred momentarily from the impact but quickly cleared up again, revealing Rebecca standing over her menacingly.

"That's for striking my face, you miserable bitch!" spat out Rebecca venomously, each word laden with loathing, "But we won't settle for merely one blow."

Her voice dropped several octaves, becoming sinisterly soft yet piercingly clear, "First, I will carve your pretty face until it resembles nothing but an ugly crone. And once I am done mutilating you beyond recognition…"

She paused dramatically, savoring the satisfaction of this moment.

"Then, oh yes, then," continued Rebecca slowly, relishing every syllable, "I shall compel you to deliver my son back into my arms."

But her victory was short-lived, for Lysandra's eyes ignited with a vengeful glow, burning away the icy shackles that tried to claim her from within. With a swift motion, she seized Rebecca's wrist, her grip unyielding, "I am going to make your son wish you weren't his mother," Lysandra vowed, her voice a lethal whisper.

"You dare!" Rebecca lunged at Lysandra as the two women once again locked themselves in a deadly battle, exchanging blow after blow with enduring will and ferocity.

The air around them crackled with raw, untamed power as they clashed relentlessly, neither willing to yield.

Meanwhile, on another front, amidst the tumult of the battlefield, where the air itself seemed to tremble with the clash of titanic forces, Rowena stood as a solitary bastion against the relentless onslaught.

Around her, the air was thick with the electric crackle of colliding mana, the ground beneath her feet scarred by the ferocity of the combat. Her figure shrouded in a mantle of indomitable will, faced ten Dragonblood Knights, each as strong as a Bloodborn Guard. They were the most feared title in the Draconis Kingdom after the king himself.

Drakar, his figure a menacing silhouette against the backdrop of chaos, watched with a predator's glee as he also kept putting pressure on her with his attacks, "Give up, Queen Drake. You can only defend yourself for so long until you can't," he taunted, his voice a scornful hiss that carried over the din of battle. His onslaught was relentless, a barrage of power aimed to wear down her defenses.

But despite his smug words, Drakar inwardly was disgruntled, especially when he glanced at the five corpses littered around Rowena. He had assigned 15 of his most powerful Dragonblood Knights to bring down Rowena, but she still managed to kill five of them before she got suppressed.

He also was injured and forced to spend a lot of mana to suppress her.

However, with his numbers advantage, it was easy to not give her the chance to attack and keep suppressing her until she didn't have the energy to. A simple but most effective tactic.

Rowena, her crimson eyes blazing with a fierce resolve, parried and countered, her movements a blur of grace and lethal precision. Her whip cracked like thunder, a fiery lash that seemed to singe the very air. But the sheer number of her adversaries, their coordinated strikes, and the constant pressure from Drakar above left her confined to a reactive stance, her opportunities to strike back fleeting and scarce.

However, she also couldn't help but occasionally glance at Flaralis as it engaged in a gruesome dance of survival against a horde of Drakebane Glaives. Each gleaming weapon hummed with lethal energy, designed to pursue its quarry till the fatal strike landed home. Given Flaralis' colossal form, evasion proved no simple task.

The sight made her heart skip a beat as she watched these metallic harbingers of doom finding their marks, inflicting painful wounds onto her dragon.

Yet, despite the injuries, Flaralis demonstrated unyielding resilience. It retaliated fiercely, obliterating five massive, draconian warships from the sky, sending chunks of wreckage plummeting around them. Its titanic jaws snapped shut mercilessly and breathed out flames, grinding and annihilating thousands of Drakar's finest warriors into oblivion under its crushing might.

Each victory came at a price, though, evidenced by the fresh trails of crimson trickling down Flaralis' armored hide. However, instead of succumbing to pain or fatigue, the monstrous figure seemed fueled by sheer determination. An indomitable spirit shone brightly within those eyes, though Rowena could see that Flaralis won't last long against the rest since the men Drakar brought were the best he had prepared specifically to take her and Flaralis down.

The small army of 1,000 she had called upon was also getting destroyed by the draconians until only a hundred were remaining, making her clench her jaw.

But all their efforts, including Flalaris, did bring down the initial 5000-strong draconian legion to a near 1000, though this 1000 was more than enough to defeat them easily now that she and her people were almost exhausted.

However, seeing Flaralis starting to struggle with its injuries and against the relentless assault of so many draconians made her realize she had to intervene before they harm it further.

She gritted her teeth and summoned every last bit of mana within her, crackling energy surging through her veins like liquid flame. With a mighty swing of her enchanted whip, she carved a swath of destruction through the ranks of the Dragonblood Knights, sending them tumbling to the ground like broken dolls.

Ignoring the pain searing through her own body, Rowena launched herself after Flaralis, determined to protect her companion no matter what. The air around her seemed to split apart as deadly projectiles rained down upon her, but she weathered the storm, pressing onward toward certain doom.

As she drew closer to Flaralis, she witnessed something unsettling - a colossal net woven from steel-hard threads hurtling through the sky, aimed straight for her dragon. It exploded into view, billowing out to span a dizzying hundred meters, snaking through the air and swiftly entangled Flaralis, dragging it down to the ground with devastating impact, causing the very earth to tremble and quake beneath the force. A vast crater opened up, swallowing the struggling creature whole.

Rowena wasted no time—she knew action needed to be taken immediately as she saw the draconians hastily preparing a bunch of Drakebane Glaives to deal the killing blow.

Mustering her magic reserves, she snapped her whip forward, generating a tremendous wave of raw energy that annihilated three Dragonblood Knights in front of her. Despite sustaining injuries from the remaining assailants, she pressed on, gritting her teeth against the relentless barrage of strikes pummeling her.

Swirling her whip skillfully overhead, she manifested a frightening vortex brimming with both blood and flames. Then, without mercy, she let loose the tempestuous spell toward the unsuspecting draconians arming their lethal weapons.

Panic gripped the draconians as this vortex commenced lifting them—and their sinister ammunition—skyward. Their screams filled the air as they helplessly watched their bodies distorted by the ferocious forces involved, tearing muscle from bone and reducing sinew to mere ribbons. Eventually, even their skeletons succumbed to the overwhelming pull, fragmenting alongside remnants of the destroyed Drakebane Glaives.

And in a surge of indignant wrath, Rowena did not cease her destructive rampage. Guided by her insatiable desire for vengeance, she steered the voracious vortex toward the remainder of Drakar's military regiment. All the while, she bore the brunt of countless blows raining down upon her battered frame, each one drawing forth new rivers of blood trickling from her lips. Still, she persevered, channeling her inner fortitude to fight through the excruciating pain, refusing to surrender.

"That's enough from you!" Drakar, seemingly incensed by her tenacity, bellowed a commanding roar, casting his lance in a reckless arc toward Rowena's back.

Anticipating the impending danger, she spun rapidly, forming a feeble blood barrier just moments before the impact. *Boom!*

Though the collision was deflected, the sheer intensity behind Drakar's attack left her breathless and wheezing, shattering the ephemeral wall meant to protect her vitality. Crimson fluid poured freely from her mouth, staining the blackened terrain beneath her figure.

With little respite afforded to her ravaged form, she began to fall until she crumpled beside Flaralis, who let out a doleful roar upon seeing her battered figure while struggling to free itself.

Drakar stood towering against the dimming sky, his triumphant grin slicing through the dusk. With a commanding gesture, he unleashed his decree, "Finish the bloodburners. And those two," he pointed at Rowena and her dragon, "restrain them. That dragon is a prize not to be squandered."

After seeing Rowena's dragon in action, he felt it would be a pity to kill it instead of trying to tame it first and make it his own even though it was considered impossible.

His men, cloaked in obedience and battle-worn armor, surged forward to carry out his will. Yet, Drakar's satisfaction was a fleeting shadow, snatched away as his gaze snapped to the carriage. Time seemed to fracture as a stray bolt of malice struck, the carriage splintering like a toy in the grasp of an angry god. From its shattered cocoon, Asher's lifeless form tumbled out, rolling to a jarring stop on the unforgiving ground.

Drakar's voice erupted like a volcano, "Lysandra, finish her off already!" His command cut through the chaos as he saw that it was Rebecca's stray attack that struck the carriage and could have killed Asher before he got the key. If he died, then all his plans would go down the drain!

Lysandra was also enraged as, for a moment, she felt as if she was about to lose her son forever since, without Asher, she couldn't see him again. She herself had been trying to be careful all this while to make sure her attacks wouldn't affect the carriage.

Seizing Rebecca's hair, she hissed coldly, "Are you mad? Your reckless abandon could have killed your king!"

Rebecca's smile was a crimson slash across her face, her hand also gripping Lysandra's hair. "Worry about your own skin," she taunted, her voice a serrated whisper, "But then, why do you seem so concerned about him? Don't tell me you warmed an enemy's bed at night while he was staying in your kingdom? I wouldn't be surprised if a bitch like you did that."

The insult was a spark to powder. "I will take your vile tongue!" Lysandra's fury detonated, hurling Rebecca aside like a ragdoll in the gale. With the grace of a tempest, she surged after Rebecca, determined to put distance between her and the prone figure of Asher.

As Drakar approached Asher's crumpled form, he sneered derisively, muttering under his breath, "What a shame. Your attempts at escape have done naught but prolong the inevitable."

Yet, as he stared down at the unmoving figure, a peculiar occurrence seized his attention. A fleeting emerald luminescence radiated from Asher's listless body, accompanied by wispy tendrils of smoke curling from his open mouth and nostrils. An odd mixture of curiosity and uneasiness flickered across Drakar's stoic features, though he felt he had no reason to worry after seeing him like this.

Unaware to Drakar, however, a silent transformation was unfolding within Asher's shell. His bones, hidden beneath lifeless flesh, were alight with a malevolent dark green hue, shifting, morphing, their very essence transmuting. With each passing second, they darkened, adopting the luster and hardness of the rarest black diamonds, their new form pulsating with a dark green energy.

Like a creeping vine in the dead of night, this energy slithered and wound its way through his skeletal structure. Each bone it touched hummed with a sinister vibrancy, as if awakening from a long, dark slumber.

And within just a moment, his entire skeleton gleamed with an ominous allure.