The battlefield felt like a living nightmare. With Malakor dead and the allied forces of Valestryx and Lysvaen breaking through the flanks, Draeven Zareth's army was losing ground. But the execution of his son did not make Draeven retreat; it drove him into a cold, lethal state of absolute madness.
Tearing through the front lines himself, Draeven Zareth finally stepped into the heart of the battlefield. Clad in heavy, dark armor that seemed to absorb the ambient light, he carried a massive, jagged staff that crackled with a sickening, toxic purple sorcery. His eyes were bloodshot with pure fury as he looked across the field and locked his gaze onto King Aetheron and Lord Kaelor Draven.
"Aetheron!" Draeven's voice boomed over the clashing of swords, cold and dripping with venom. "You took my son! Tonight, I will ensure your entire lineage dies in the dirt of Solthera, just like your father did!"
Hearing those words, King Aetheron's breath hitched. He remembered that dark day from his youth all too vividly—the day Draeven had used his forbidden, soul-ripping magic to slaughter the old King of Solthera.
"We finish this tonight, Draeven!" Lord Kaelor roared, drawing his broadsword and stepping shoulder-to-shoulder with his king.
The two veteran warriors charged forward, their movements perfectly synchronized from decades of fighting alongside one another. King Aetheron swung his golden blade in a powerful overhead arc, while Lord Kaelor swept low to take Draeven's legs.
But Draeven was a master of dark combat. He slammed the base of his staff into the ground, unleashing a violent shockwave of purple energy that shattered the stone battlements beneath their feet. The impact forced Kaelor back, but Aetheron pushed through the blast, his golden sword clashing violently against Draeven's staff.
SPARK!
Bright gold and toxic purple sparks flew into the air. "Your father was weak, Aetheron, and so are you!" Draeven snarled, twisting his staff and using its hidden blade to slash across Aetheron's shoulder armor, drawing dark crimson blood.
"Ah!" Aetheron gasped, stumbling back, but Lord Kaelor re-entered the fray instantly. Kaelor's heavy broadsword delivered a relentless barrage of strikes, forcing Draeven to defend. Kaelor managed to slice through Draeven's shoulder plate, leaving a deep wound.
Roaring in pain, Draeven's patience snapped. He decided he was done playing with steel. He raised his left hand, and his veins turned completely black. The very same ancient, forbidden death-magic he had used to murder the previous king began to swirl around his fingers like a nest of dark vipers.
"Kaelor, move!" King Aetheron screamed, recognizing the glowing black smoke.
But it was too late. Draeven thrust his hand forward, shooting a concentrated beam of soul-corrupting magic straight through Lord Kaelor's chest armor. Kaelor froze, his eyes widening in agonizing shock as the dark spell began to wither his life force from the inside out. He dropped his sword, collapsing heavily into the mud.
"Kaelor!" King Aetheron roared in pure heartbreak. Blinded by grief, Aetheron lunged at Draeven with everything he had left, driving his golden blade deep into Draeven's side.
Draeven screamed in agony, but the dark magic had already consumed his senses. Before Aetheron could pull his sword free, Draeven grabbed Aetheron by the throat with his blackened hand. The toxic purple energy flared violently.
"Go join your father," Draeven whispered psychotically.
With a brutal twist of his power, Draeven unleashed the final burst of his lethal magic directly into King Aetheron's chest. The great King of Solthera gasped for air, his vision fading to black as his grip loosened from his sword.
As the two heroic rulers of the old generation fell lifelessly into the blood-soaked mud of the battlefield, Draeven stood over them, panting heavily, bleeding from his side, but laughing like a madman. He had taken his revenge. Solthera's leadership was broken, and the path to the palace was completely open.