Lip fixed his bloodshot gaze on Acalia, who could barely remain standing, her lungs burning from the effort of catching her breath. A cruel, distorted smile split the vampire's face.
"If I cannot kill you all..." he hissed, aiming the vibrating mass of solid blood, "then I shall break your toys."
The air shrieked. The scarlet spear shot out with a speed that defied the eye, a comet of death destined for the sorceress's heart. Acalia saw the projectile approaching. Her eyes widened in terror, but her muscles, exhausted from the mental control, refused to respond. Time stretched into an eternity of silent horror. She knew she was going to die.
But Biel did not think. He did not calculate.
His body moved, driven by an instinct older than any magic. He threw himself into the trajectory, interposing his chest between death and his companion.
The sound was sickening. A blow both wet and dull.
The blood spear tore through armor, flesh, and bone, piercing Biel’s heart and erupting through his back in a crimson burst. The force of the impact dragged him backward, and he fell heavily into Acalia’s arms, who collapsed under his weight.
A harrowing cry—the sound of a soul breaking—escaped the throats of Xanthe and Sarah.
"BIEL!!" Acalia shrieked, her hands trembling as she tried in vain to stem the hemorrhage staining her own clothes.
The silence that followed was absolute, heavier than any stone slab. Biel coughed, and a thread of blood welled from his lips. His eyes, beginning to lose the spark of life, desperately sought hers. With a titanic effort, he raised a trembling hand and caressed Acalia’s cheek, staining it red.
"I... told you..." he whispered, his voice choked with fluid. "I... protect you."
His hand lost its strength. His arm fell limp against the cold floor. His chest stopped moving.
Acalia remained motionless, staring at the empty face of the one who had given everything for her.
And then, it happened.
It was not an external sound. It was an internal crack, like a glacier splitting in two. The Seal of Elaris, that divine barrier that had kept her heart frozen and safe for years, could not contain the magnitude of her sorrow.
It shattered into pieces.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!"
Acalia threw her head back and screamed. It was not a war cry. It was the howl of someone feeling, for the first time in years, every ounce of sadness, guilt, and fury in the universe hitting her all at once.
A shockwave of pure energy exploded from her body, tossing debris and dust in every direction. The ground beneath her knees cracked.
When Acalia stood up, she was no longer the same woman. Her hair floated as if she were underwater, and her eyes... her eyes were two supernovas of white light that cast no shadows, but rather erased them. An aura that oscillated violently between divine gold and absolute black enveloped her—a physical manifestation of her broken heart.
"You have gone too far, creature," she said. Her voice was not human; it resonated with a multiplicity of echoes, an authority that made the teeth of those who heard it vibrate.
Lip, the arrogant Vampire King, recoiled a step, and for the first time in centuries, he felt the cold terror of the prey.
"What... what kind of power is this?" he stammered, staggering, trying to gather the crumbs of his magic to defend himself.
Acalia did not answer. She simply raised an open hand toward him. The sky above the fortress, visible through the destroyed roof, seemed to split in two. A pillar of light fell upon her, fueling her aura until it became blinding.
"This is your sentence," Acalia declared with a terrifying calm. "Surrender and accept your end, or be erased from existence."
But Lip, trapped between his eternal pride and his mortal fear, let out a bitter and desperate laugh—the laugh of a king who refuses to see that his kingdom has fallen.
"Never!" Lip roared, the foam of madness staining his lips. "I am eternal! Death is for cattle, not for gods!"
With a cry of blind fury, the Vampire King charged toward her. His blood sword, vibrating with instability, sought to split the woman who dared judge him in two.
But Acalia did not move. She did not even blink.
When the crimson blade was inches from her face, she simply spoke a word that did not sound like a voice, but like a verdict:
"Vanish."
There was no need to name a skill. Acalia closed her fist, and the space around Lip collapsed. Her aura—that impossible mixture of golden light and abyssal darkness—enveloped the vampire like a living shroud. The opposing energies did not fight each other; they converged upon him, nullifying his existence atom by atom.
"No...! NO!" Lip shrieked, but his voice broke as he saw his hand—the one holding the sword—begin to turn into stardust and shadows.
"Your eternity ends here," Acalia whispered mercilessly, tearing his life force away and scattering it into the void.
The Vampire King tried to resist, clinging to his blood magic, but it was like trying to stop a tidal wave with his bare hands. His will was crushed. With a final howl that faded into a gurgle of horror, his physical form crumbled. No body remained, no ashes, no spirit. Lip was erased from history, dissolving into nothingness.
The silence fell over the ruined throne room like a hammer.
Acalia exhaled, and her divine aura vanished instantly, leaving her to fall to her knees, exhausted, mortal once more.
Xanthe and Sarah ran toward her, their faces stained with soot and tears. "You... you did it," Xanthe gasped, placing a trembling hand on her friend's shoulder, smiling through sobs. "It’s over, Acalia. We won."
But Acalia did not respond. She did not look at Xanthe. She did not look at Easton or Muskar, who stood watching his own hands, free at last.
Her gaze was fixed on the unmoving form lying a few meters away, upon a pool of blood that was already beginning to dry.
Acalia crawled across the floor. She had no strength to walk, so she dragged herself over the sharp stones until she reached him.
"Biel?" she called, her voice small, childlike.
Sarah stepped forward, kneeling beside the body. She placed two fingers on Biel’s neck, desperately searching for a rhythm, a beat, anything. She kept her fingers there for several eternal seconds. Then, she slowly withdrew them, shaking her head, her face twisted in a grimace of pure pain.
"There’s nothing..." Sarah murmured, her voice breaking. "He’s gone."
"No..." Acalia took Biel’s hand in hers. It was cold. Terribly cold. "No, no, no."
The sky above the fortress, which had begun to clear after the vampire's death, seemed to darken again, as if the world itself were in mourning. It began to rain—a fine, freezing rain that mingled with the blood on the ground.
Acalia pressed the limp hand against her cheek, staining her face with his blood. The pain of the broken Seal was agonizing, but the pain of the loss was a thousand times worse. She felt too much. She felt everything. And it was unbearable.
"Liar..." she sobbed, her tears washing the grime from her face. "You said you would protect me... You said you would be there..."
Xanthe covered her mouth to stifle a sob. Easton looked away, unable to look at the fallen hero. Muskar, the liberated prince, knelt in a sign of silent respect.
"How dare you leave me alone now?" Acalia cried out to the empty body, shaking him slightly, as if she expected to wake him. "Just when I can finally feel you... you leave."
No one dared to comfort her. There were no words for this. The group remained motionless under the rain, surrounding Biel’s sacrifice. The dark energy he had used to protect them still floated in the air, but it no longer felt warm. It felt like a ghost. Like a cruel reminder that victory had cost the highest price possible.
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