There’s a savage kind of justice in watching him fall apart.
His swings grow sloppy and wild where they once carved with precision, reckless where they used to cut with calculation. The cracks are showing now, every misstep widening them. Every missed strike is proof he’s slipping. Every ragged breath is a victory.
And I drink it in.
Marcus drives him back with brutal precision, every strike a hammer blow ringing with finality, forcing Maximillian to retreat with every step. Each clash of steel reverberates through the hall like a death knell, merciless and unrelenting.
I cut him off every time he lunges, my dagger flashing like a promise he can’t ignore. There’s nowhere left to slither. Nowhere left to hide. The net is closing, and he knows it.
A bloodied Victoria, eyes blazing, hurls herself forward, fury giving her a feral strength. Her boot connects square with his chest, the impact cracking through the corridor like thunder. Maximillian’s body whips backward, slamming into the floor hard enough to rattle the beams overhead, dust sifting down like ash after an explosion.
For a heartbeat, the great Maximillian lies sprawled, not a king, not a phantom. Just a man brought down by the girl he thought he could break.
We fall on him together, a pack striking as one. His body thrashes beneath us, but there’s no grace left in it, just desperation. Marcus drives his knee into Maximillian’s chest,the force grinding bone against stone. I seize his wrist, muscles straining as I force his claws flat against the floor, refusing to let him carve free.
Victoria takes the other arm, her grip iron, her snarl vibrating with the hatred of blood betrayed. Her eyes burn, her whole body shaking with the need to tear him apart herself.
“Go on,” Maximillian hisses, lips curling back to bare fangs still stained with blood. His voice scrapes the air, venom clinging to every word. “Kill me. It won’t matter. You’ll never have what you came for. Your families will remain stone until time itself erodes them. You may end me, but my victory will haunt you for the rest of your cursed lives.”
His eyes burn, fever-bright, even pinned to the floor. “And someone else will rise in my place. They always do.”
The words slither under my skin, cold and poisonous, but I hear the desperation under the threat. He wants to infect us with his hopelessness, leave us bleeding long after he’s dust.
“Hold him,” Victoria snaps, already moving before either of us can answer. She swings a leg over and straddles his chest, pinning him beneath her weight.
Her eyes catch the light, no longer blazing with fury, but glinting with something colder, sharper. Focus. Dangerous and unyielding.
She leans down, her voice dropping to a low, commanding murmur that carries more weight than any shout ever could.
“Look at me, brother.”
The words strike like a blade, and even Maximillian stills.
He thrashes beneath us, muscles straining, but it’s useless. Her power is already wrapping around him like chains. I feel it before I even see it, pressing into the air, heavy and electric, raising goosebumps along my skin.
It’s not glamour, or smoke and mirrors, or pretty illusions. No, this is something older, rawer. Power ripped straight from blood and will. Brutal. Primal.
She was compelling him.
Maximillian resists, every vein in his body standing out as he thrashes against the invisible chains. His spine bows, tendons straining so hard they look ready to snap. His eyes blaze, red bleeding into the whites until they’re nothing but fury and rivers of blood. Blood tears streak down his cheeks, sliding hot and dark over his temples. His nose bursts, crimson running, and still he fights her. Every ounce of his power, straining to shake her hold.
But Victoria doesn’t yield. Not an inch. Her voice is steady, her stare unflinching, her will a vice. Where he rages, she anchors. Where he bleeds, she binds tighter.
And for the first time, Maximillian looks like he’s breaking.
“Tell us,” she orders, her voice slicing through the air like a sword. No hesitation. No mercy. Just command.
Her gaze pins him, unrelenting, her words laced with power sharp enough to draw blood. “Who cast the spell? What was used? Every detail.”
The demand thrums in the air, heavy, electric. And even Maximillian, trembling and defiant, can’t pretend he doesn’t feel the weight of it.
His mouth trembles, lips peeling back as if against invisible hooks dragging them wide. Still, he fights it, every muscle rigid with refusal. But Victoria’s grip holds, merciless.
And then the words spill out. Names. Ingredients. Rites. Each syllable wrenched from him like flesh torn from bone, the truth ripping free with every ragged breath. His voice cracks, his defiance bleeding out with the secrets he swore to keep.
By the time the last of it leaves his mouth, his body buckles, spent and trembling. The predator, gutted by his own truth.
When it’s done, the silence is louder than the fight ever was. Maximillian sags beneath Victoria’s hold, a worn out body leaking blood and breath.
