The sound of Lady Seraphine's clashing blade grew fainter as Prince Azeal pushed higher up the rocky ridge. The incline was brutal, slick with frozen mud and the blood of those who had tried to flee the mountain. Azeal did not look back. He could not look back. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the silver-blue embers of King Aetheron and Lord Kaelor dissolving into the uncaring sky. His lungs burned, and his muscles screamed under the weight of his armor, but the pure, unadulterated rage humming in his veins acted as a dark fuel.
At the mid-point of the ridge, the terrain narrowed into a treacherous, rocky choke point. This was the final defensive line protecting Draeven Zareth's command camp. Standing there to greet him were not standard foot soldiers, but the elite Brute Generals of Tharzakir.
There were three of them—colossal warriors standing over seven feet tall, clad in jagged, reinforced iron plating that made them look more like moving fortress walls than men. They carried massive, dual-handed executioner axes that dripped with a toxic, corrosive green slime.
"The little prince has run away from his playpen," the central general mocked, his deep voice vibrating through the rocky canyon. "You die here, boy. Your crown belongs to Zhalver."
Azeal didn't even slow down his pace. His eyes were entirely bloodshot, fixed on the summit above them. The blue flames of the Star Fire Sword roared back to life, the temperature around his blade spiking so high that the falling sleet turned to steam before it could touch the metal.
"Move," Azeal whispered, his voice dangerously calm.
The three Brute Generals laughed, a harsh, clanking sound, and charged down the narrow path simultaneously. The central general swung his massive executioner axe in a terrifying downward stroke meant to split Azeal in two.
Azeal moved with an agility born of desperation and survival. He sidestepped the heavy blow, the toxic axe embedding itself deep into the solid stone where he had stood a millisecond before. Using the embedded weapon as a stepping stone, Azeal launched himself into the air.
High above the general, Azeal spun in a fluid arc and brought the Star Fire Sword down with the full force of his momentum. The celestial blue fire sliced through the heavy iron shoulder plating of the first brute like a hot knife through butter, severing his torso completely. The general didn't even have time to scream before his body fractured into dark, ash-like embers.
Before Azeal could land, the second brute executed a vicious horizontal sweep with his axe, catching Azeal across the ribs. The impact shattered the outer layers of Azeal's royal armor, sending him crashing violently into the jagged stone wall of the cliffside.
Azeal coughed up dark blood, the breath completely knocked from his body. His vision blurred, and for a terrifying second, his grip on the Star Fire Sword loosened.
"Finish him!" the third brute roared, raising his axe to decapitate the fallen prince.
Through the haze of pain, Azeal saw the image of his father's final moments. He saw the empty, hollow armor left in the mud. A surge of raw, forbidden strength exploded within him. He grabbed the hilt of his sword with both hands and thrust it forward just as the brute leaned in.
A massive beam of pure, concentrated blue starlight erupted from the tip of the blade, piercing straight through the brute's chest plate and obliterating his heart. The third general collapsed forward, his heavy axe clattering harmlessly against Azeal's boots as his body turned to dust.
The remaining general, horrified by the absolute ruthlessness of the young prince, hesitated, lowering his stance.
Azeal pushed himself up against the blood-stained cliffside, using his sword to stabilize his trembling legs. His armor was cracked, his side was bleeding profusely, and his breath came in ragged, painful gasps. But when he looked at the final general, his eyes carried the terrifying, cold light of an executioner.
"I told you," Azeal rasped, wiping the blood from his lips as he stepped forward, his burning sword dragging across the stone, leaving a trail of melted rock behind it. "To move."
With a final, desperate burst of speed, Azeal closed the distance. The remaining general swung wildly, but Azeal parried the strike with a deafening CLANG, shattering the brute's iron axe into a hundred pieces. In the same motion, Azeal spun and drove his blade deep into the general's throat, silencing him forever.
The choke point was clear. The path to the summit lay open. Bleeding, exhausted, but fueled by an unquenchable thirst for vengeance, Prince Azeal took his first heavy steps toward the peak where Draeven Zareth stood waiting.