Lord of the realm

Chapter 210: Witch sisters

A force lance penetrated Morgana’s defenses and caught her in the shoulder, spinning her around. Blood sprayed, and she fell to one knee, struggling to maintain consciousness through the pain.

Katerina moved in for the kill, her hands blazing with gathered power.

"Goodbye, traitor," she said.

Then a blade of pure golden-red energy erupted through her chest from behind.

Katerina looked down in shock at the weapon protruding from her torso, at the origin aura that was already eating away at her body from the inside out.

"No," she whispered.

"No, what happened? Where did—"

"I can move very fast when motivated," Jaenor said from behind her, his voice cold and absolute.

He withdrew the blade, and Katerina collapsed, her body already beginning to disintegrate from the origin aura’s corrupting influence.

Elizabeth screamed, rage and grief combined, and launched everything she had at Jaenor.

He didn’t dodge.

Didn’t defend.

Simply stood there as her techniques struck him, and his own power absorbed them completely. His aura grew in size, surrounding him, radiating force that made her attacks seem trivial by comparison.

"Your sister died because she underestimated her opponents and overestimated her own capabilities," Jaenor said, advancing on Elizabeth with measured steps.

"You’re about to die because you betrayed everything you swore to protect."

"We were promised power!" Elizabeth shouted, desperation creeping into her voice.

"Real power, not the scraps the Covens doled out! We were supposed to be gods among mortals!"

"You were promised lies," Jaenor said.

"And you were stupid enough to believe them."

His blade formed again, the origin aura giving it a cutting edge.

"Any last words?"

Elizabeth’s response was to attack again, a final, desperate assault that threw everything she had remaining into one massive technique.

Jaenor’s aura folded around him, creating layered shields. The attack struck with tremendous force, enough to level a building.

When the energy cleared, Jaenor stood untouched. His shields hadn’t even been scratched.

Elizabeth fell to her knees, completely depleted of power, defenseless.

Jaenor looked at her with something like pity.

"You should think twice before you kidnap people whose friends they are."

His blade came down, clean and quick.

Elizabeth’s body fell beside her sister’s, and both began to dissolve as the origin aura consumed them.

Jaenor turned to where Morgana knelt, Rena supporting her.

"Are you alright?"

"I will be," Morgana said through gritted teeth.

"The wound’s clean. I can heal it once the immediate crisis passes."

"Good."

Jaenor looked around at the ongoing battle.

"Because we’re not done yet."

*

The battle was turning decisively in their favor.

Baren’s dragon form had broken the Black Orc formations completely. The disciplined warriors who’d been the legion’s backbone were scattered and demoralized, being hunted down individually rather than fighting as coordinated units.

Taeryn and Darian had cleared their section of the battlefield, leaving hundreds of corrupted soldiers dead behind them. Raelana was exhausted but alive, her barriers having saved countless lives.

The demons were fleeing now, those that remained. Three thousand had become perhaps three hundred, and those survivors wanted no part of continuing this fight.

Victory was close.

For now.

That was when she appeared.

The air itself seemed to shift, reality bending around a presence that defied natural law. Every combatant on the battlefield felt it simultaneously, a pressure that made breathing difficult, that suggested danger on a level beyond normal comprehension.

Jaenor’s merged power flared in automatic response, his instincts screaming warnings.

He turned toward the source and saw her manifesting perhaps fifty feet away.

She was tall—perhaps six feet—with a build that suggested both sensuality and terrible strength. Her hair was blonde, falling in perfect waves past her shoulders, catching light in ways that seemed deliberately calculated to draw the eye. Her skin was flawless, pale as porcelain, and seemed to glow slightly with internal light.

Her eyes were solid violet—no pupil, no white—and they held madness and hunger in equal measure.

She wore minimal clothing, designed to emphasize rather than conceal, but she carried it with such confidence that it became armor rather than vulnerability. Her every movement was deliberate, calculated to attract attention and provoke specific responses.

Lilinathara, Sin of Lust.

One of the Seven.

She looked at the battlefield, at the devastation Jaenor and his companions had wrought, and smiled.

"Well," she said, her voice melodious but carrying undertones that made the skin crawl.

"This is disappointing. I was told this legion was formidable. That they’d require significant effort to defeat. But you’ve cut through them like a hot knife through butter."

Her violet eyes fixed on Jaenor specifically.

"You’re even more impressive in person than the reports suggested. That merged power, the absolute control, it’s intoxicating."

She took a step toward him, and reality warped around her.

Not aggressively, but constantly, everything about her presence suggested that normal rules didn’t apply.

"I’ve been watching you, Jaenor Arkwright. Observing from a distance, studying what you’ve become. And I’ve decided something important."

Another step, and now she was close enough that he could see the flecks of darker purple in her violet eyes.

"You’re wasted on these mortals. Wasted fighting for people who fear you, protecting a realm that will never truly accept what you are. You should be with us. With the Seven. Becoming what you’re meant to be."

"I’m not interested in your offers," Jaenor said, his power gathering.

"And I’m especially not interested in becoming a vessel for your daemon lord."

"Who said anything about a vessel?" Lilinathara’s smile widened.

"Pride wants that, yes. He has his grand plans for resurrection and cosmic significance. But I’m more interested in simpler pleasures."

She moved close enough to touch him, one hand reaching up toward his face.

"I want you for myself. Want to see what someone with your power could become under proper guidance. Want to explore every possibility your merged capabilities suggest. Want to—"

Jaenor’s hand caught her wrist before she could make contact, his origin aura flaring as a warning.

"Don’t."

Lilinathara’s expression showed delight rather than offense.

"Oh, you’re fast. Good. I like fast. It makes things more interesting."

Her free hand moved in a blur, faster than most humans could track.

But Jaenor wasn’t most humans anymore. He caught that hand too, holding both her wrists, keeping her at arm’s length.

"I’m only going to say this once," he said, his voice dropping to something cold and absolute. "Leave. Now. Take whatever’s left of this legion and go. Because if you force me to fight another Sin today, when I’m already exhausted from killing three thousand demons, I’m going to be very irritated."

"And what happens when you’re irritated?" Lilinathara asked, genuine curiosity in her tone.

"I stop holding back," Jaenor said simply.

For a moment, they stood frozen, her wrists caught in his grip, his power radiating warning, both of them poised on the edge of violence that would devastate everything around them.

Then Lilinathara laughed, genuine amusement that transformed her face from predatory to almost childlike.

"I like you. I really do. You’re not afraid of me, not intimidated by what I represent. That’s... refreshing."

She stopped trying to pull her hands free.

"Very well. I’ll withdraw. Let you have your little victory over the traitor legion."

Jaenor released her wrists and stepped back, maintaining distance.

"But understand," Lilinathara continued, her tone becoming more serious, "this isn’t over. The Seven want you, one way or another. Pride for his vessel, me for my own purposes, and the others for theirs. Eventually, you’ll have to choose: join us or fight all of us simultaneously."

"Then I’ll fight," Jaenor said without hesitation.

"We’ll see."

Lilinathara’s smile returned.

"We’ll see how long that certainty lasts when the full weight of what we can do falls on you."

She began backing away, and darkness gathered around her, not the void Pride used, but something different. Shadows that suggested hidden pleasures and terrible costs.

"Until we meet again, Jaenor Arkwright. And we will meet again. That’s a promise."

With that, she vanished, not through a portal, but simply ceasing to exist in that location, edited out of reality by forces beyond normal comprehension.

The pressure lifted.

The sense of overwhelming danger faded.

And Jaenor stood alone in the center of a battlefield covered in demon corpses, his companions slowly gathering around him, all of them exhausted but alive.

"That was a Sin," Morgana said unnecessarily.

"Two Sins in two days. That’s... concerning."

"It’s more than concerning," Jaenor said quietly.

"It’s confirmation. They’re actively moving, and soon they will get to me."

He looked around at the devastation, at the bodies of corrupted witches and demons, and at the burning ruins of what had been a military force.

"We need to find Lady Maude," he said.

"She’s the third leader, and she escaped during the chaos. Until she’s dealt with, this threat isn’t fully eliminated."

"Later," Baren said, having reverted to human form and looking exhausted.

"First, we rest. We’ve been fighting for hours, and we’re all running on fumes."

He was right.