---
Viktor moved like a force of nature—his sword a blur, his fangs gleaming in the dim torchlight as he carved a path through the horde.
Beside him, Irina was just as ruthless, her twin daggers flashing like silver lightning as they struck down any Lycan foolish enough to get close.
Their movements were seamless, a perfect harmony of brutality and grace. They had fought together for centuries, side by side in countless wars, and tonight was no different.
Viktor blocked a powerful strike from a hulking Lycan, its claws scraping against his blade in a shriek of metal. With a flick of his wrist, he shoved the beast back just as Irina darted in, her dagger piercing its throat with deadly precision.
"Still keeping up, my love?" Irina teased, her voice smooth despite the chaos around them.
Viktor chuckled darkly, slicing through another Lycan's chest. "You wound me, Irina. Have I ever failed to match your pace?"
"Not yet," she admitted, ducking beneath the swipe of another Lycan before driving her dagger into its ribs.
But then—
A blur of movement. A mistake. A Lycan twice the size of the others barreled toward them, its claws slashing out before either could react.
Irina gasped.
Blood sprayed across the stone floor.
The queen staggered back, a deep gash torn across her side.
Viktor's world froze.
For a split second, everything else—the battle, the noise, the chaos—faded into nothing. All he could see was Irina clutching her side, her fingers stained red.
Then, something snapped inside him.
His entire body tensed, his fangs lengthening to lethal points. His red eyes burned with raw fury as he turned to the Lycan who dared lay a hand on his queen.
The beast barely had time to snarl before Viktor was on it.
With terrifying speed, he tore into the creature, his claws raking through fur and flesh. He drove his sword clean through its stomach, then yanked it upward, splitting the beast in half like a butcher carving meat. The Lycan's howl was cut short as Viktor grabbed its head and twisted with bone-shattering force—
SNAP!
The body slumped to the ground in a lifeless heap.
Viktor stood over the corpse, chest heaving, his fangs still bared in a murderous snarl. Blood dripped from his claws, pooling at his feet.
Then, he turned back to Irina.
She was still standing, but barely. Her wound was already trying to heal, but the Lycan's claws had been laced with something toxic—something that made her healing falter.
Viktor was at her side in an instant, his hands on her shoulders, his eyes searching hers.
"You need to go," he ordered, his voice rough with both concern and command. "Find the girls. Stay in the hidden chamber until this is over."
Irina's eyes flashed defiantly. "Do you take me for a fragile thing, dear husband?" she bit out, though there was the slightest strain in her voice.
"I am no delicate rose to be plucked and hidden away."
Viktor clenched his jaw. "You're wounded, Irina."
"And yet I stand" she countered, wiping the blood from her lips.
The battle raged around them, but in that moment, it was just the two of them—locked in a silent war of wills.
Viktor exhaled sharply, his hand brushing against her cheek for the briefest moment before he pulled away. "Then fight, my love," he murmured. "But do not let them take you from me."
Irina smirked despite the pain. "As if I'd ever allow such a thing."
Then, without another word, they both turned—back into the fray, back into the war that would decide the fate of their kingdom.
---
The palace was ablaze with the sound of snarling, snapping, and the clash of steel on steel. The Lycans—those abominable creatures—had breached the palace walls, unleashing a maelstrom of chaos and destruction.
The once-pristine marble floors were now smeared with blood, bodies of both vampire and Lycan alike littering the halls. Chandeliers lay shattered, their crystals scattered like fallen stars. The air was thick with the scent of iron and smoke, the flickering torches casting monstrous shadows on the walls.
The vampires fought with the precision and elegance of creatures born for battle. They were creatures of the night, wielding powers that defied the natural order.
Nikolai's blade flashed as he cut down another Lycan, his movements swift and ruthless. Beside him, Anastasia moved like a ghost, striking with deadly accuracy before vanishing into the shadows again.
Clarke's fangs bared in a snarl as a Lycan lunged for him. He dodged at the last second, driving his dagger deep into the beast's ribcage, twisting the blade before shoving the creature away. The king and queen fought side by side, their attacks synchronized, their power undeniable.
But for every Lycan they felled, more poured in.
The palace guards—once a proud, formidable force—had been reduced to a fraction of their numbers. The remaining warriors stood their ground, but it was clear they were outmatched.
And the Lycans were relentless.
They did not fight with honor or strategy—they fought with the raw, unhinged brutality of creatures born from nightmares. Their hulking forms moved with unnatural speed, their razor-sharp claws cutting through stone and steel like parchment.
The battle was tipping dangerously in their favor.
A monstrous Lycan, larger than the rest, threw back its head and let out a deafening howl that shook the walls of the palace. It was a call—one that sent a fresh wave of Lycans surging forward.
The vampires did not waver. They did not fall back.
They stood.
They fought.
---
A section of the wall collapsed, sending rubble crashing to the floor. Anastasia leapt over the debris, her sword flashing like a streak of silver as she cut down a Lycan in one swift, brutal motion.
Nearby, Nikolai and Clarke fought back-to-back, their movements in perfect sync. Nikolai's blade carved through the air with ruthless precision, while Clarke moved like a shadow, dodging and striking with deadly accuracy. But despite their efforts, the palace guards were falling, their numbers dwindling against the relentless tide of Lycans.
Then, the air shifted. A sudden stillness swept across the battlefield.
A towering Lycan stepped forward, its presence sucking the air from the room. It was larger than the others—a monstrous wall of sinew and malice, its glowing eyes filled with cruel intelligence.
Viktor's grip on his sword tightened.
He stepped forward, his powerful stance radiating authority. This was no mindless beast. This Lycan was different. This one had come for a purpose.
"You dare set foot in my palace?" Viktor's voice was calm, but his fury rippled beneath every syllable.
The massive Lycan sneered, revealing rows of jagged, bone-white fangs.
"We are here for something, Viktor," it growled.
" Something that belongs to us."
Before Viktor could demand answers, the Lycan struck.
A single, devastating punch to the stomach sent Viktor hurtling backward. His body crashed into the marble wall, cracking the stone with the sheer force of impact. His sword slipped from his grasp as he slumped to the ground, momentarily dazed.
The moment he fell, a blur of movement shot across the battlefield.
Queen Irina.
Her raven hair whipped behind her as she moved faster than the eye could follow, reaching her husband's side in an instant. Her hand gripped Viktor's arm, steadying him, her gaze burning with fury.
"Get up," she whispered, voice sharp as steel.
Viktor exhaled sharply and pushed himself to his feet, eyes locking onto the Lycan with deadly focus.
But then—the Lycans made their move.
From the shadows, three smaller Lycans stepped forward. Each one held a vial of dark, pulsing liquid.
The vampires froze.
The air grew thick with unspoken dread.
Because they recognized it.
They felt it.
Nikolai's breath hitched. Clarke's knuckles went white around his sword. Even Queen Irina stiffened, her body coiled like a predator ready to strike.
Because that liquid—that cursed, boiling black essence—
It was the Malovis.
A weapon lost to time. A vile, unnatural creation whispered about in ancient texts. A single drop could cripple even the strongest vampire, stripping them of their strength, their speed—leaving them vulnerable.
It hadn't been seen in centuries. It wasn't supposed to exist anymore.
Yet here it was.
Held in the hands of their enemies.
---
The Lycans hurled the vials.
Glass shattered—dark liquid spraying through the air like venom.
Clarke, Anastasia, and Nikolai barely had time to react before the Malovis struck them like fire searing flesh.
A terrible, unnatural pain tore through their bodies. Clarke *staggered, gripping his chest as his limbs trembled uncontrollably. Nikolai collapsed to one knee, his fangs clenched as his strength drained from him like sand slipping through fingers. Anastasia let out a strangled gasp, her usually swift, lethal movements turning sluggish—weak.
Their power was leaving them.
The Lycans closed in.
Eyes gleaming with the sick pleasure of victory. Claws unsheathed. Fangs bared, ready to deliver the killing blow.
"STOP!"
The command split the air like a thunderclap.
Viktor and Irina surged forward, their eyes blazing.
But it was too late.
The Malovis had already taken hold. Clarke, Anastasia, and Nikolai were helpless.Their bodies refused to move, betrayed by the poison flooding their veins.
The Lycans didn't hesitate.
They grabbed them—ripping them from their feet. Nikolai tried to struggle, but his limbs were lead. Clarke thrashed, but his strength was gone. Anastasia attempted to claw her way free, but her muscles wouldn't listen.
They were powerless. Completely, utterly powerless.
The leader—the same one who had sent Viktor flying earlier—stepped forward.
The air around him shimmered like heat rising from scorched earth. His body began to convulse, bones snapping and reforming with grotesque precision.
The palace filled with the wet, sickening sound of transformation.
Muscles twisted. Fur retracted. Claws shrank into fingertips.
And then—silence.
Where once stood a monster, now stood a man.
But he wasn't truly human.
His golden eyes still gleamed with something *inhuman, something ancient, something malevolent.*
And when he smiled, sharp teeth glinting in the dim torchlight—
---
"Well, well, well, Viktor."
The voice slithered through the chaos like a blade through silk. Low. Amused. Dangerous.
King Viktor barely had time to rise to his feet before the figure before him stepped into the dim torchlight, revealing sharp golden eyes and a smirk full of malice.
Neil
The name burned on Viktor's tongue like acid.
Neil's smile widened.
"Where are the rest of your daughters?"
Viktor's fists clenched. Beside him, Queen Irina tightened her grip on his arm, steadying him. The battlefield reeked of blood and smoke, but nothing—nothing—was more suffocating than Neil's presence.
"Neil," Viktor growled, voice low and menacing.
Neil let out a chuckle, slow and mocking. "Ah, so you DO remember me. Long time no see..."
A snarl curled his lip, but Neil only tilted his head, feigning innocence.
"How did you get your hands on The Malovis?" Viktor demanded, fury laced in every syllable.
Neil exhaled through his nose, amusement flickering in his golden gaze. "I have my ways."
"We've been at peace for centuries—"
Neil held up a single hand. "Shhh." The mockery dripped from his voice.
Then, he let out a low, humorless laugh. "Peace? What's that?"
Viktor's chest rose and fell with restrained rage.
Neil's smirk widened as his eyes flickered toward the palace halls, scanning, searching. "I came to pay you a little visit… and take what belongs to me."
Then, his eyes locked on a single door.
There was silence.
His entire demeanor changed. His smirk vanished. His muscles coiled with purpose.
"There."
His voice dropped to a lethal whisper as he lifted a hand, pointing.
The Lycan standing beside him hesitated.
Neil's eyes darkened. "Go down there. Bring me whoever you find." His voice was like a razor's edge. "Now."
The Lycan gave a curt nod before vanishing into the shadows, moving with inhuman speed.
"No, Neil!" Viktor's voice cracked with urgency. He took a staggering step forward. "Don't do this!"
Neil's gaze slid lazily back to him, but Viktor was desperate now.
"What is it you want?" he pleaded. "I'll give it to you."
Neil chuckled again, but there was no humor in it. Only hunger.
"Oh, Viktor." He stepped closer, towering over the weakened king. "Of course you will, it'll only be a minute".
---
The moment the door exploded inward, sending wood splinters flying, the guards inside sprang into action.
"Protect the princesses!" one of them barked, moving shoulder-to-shoulder with his comrades, swords gleaming in the dim candlelight.
The Lycans poured in, their snarls echoing off the stone walls, golden eyes locked onto the three sisters like prey. The guards clashed with them head-on, steel meeting claw in a chaotic blur. Snapping jaws. Roaring battle cries. Blood splattering against cold stone.
Natalia barely registered the clash of fangs and steel before Olga yanked her back. "Move!"
She didn't move.
She couldn't.
Her breath hitched. Her body froze—the same way it had in her nightmare. The snarling. The sounds of tearing flesh. The scent of blood. It was happening.
"Natalia!" Olga's grip tightened on her wrist, shaking her out of her daze.
Tatiana grabbed her other hand, pulling her into the shadows beneath the staircase. The air was thick with dust, cobwebs clinging to their hair as they crouched in the darkness, the battle raging behind them.
Olga's eyes darted wildly before landing on something.
A tattered tapestry. A wooden door.
Without hesitation, she shoved the old fabric aside, revealing a rusted padlock.
She kicked it. Once. Twice.
The lock rattled but held firm.
"Come on" Tatiana urged, voice trembling.
"I'm trying" Olga hissed back, jaw clenched.
A growl thundered behind them.
With a final kick the lock broke with a force.
"Now!" Olga yelled.
Tatiana hesitated for only a second before scrambling into the darkness. The tight space swallowed her, dust swirling in the dim light. But just as she crawled deeper
Her leg caught on something.
"Ahh!" she gasped, her voice muffled by the stone walls. "I'm stuck!"
Olga and Natalia froze.
Then—panic.
Olga dropped to her knees, reaching into the opening. "What? Where? Move your leg!" she whispered frantically, fingers fumbling for Tatiana's boot.
"I can't!" Tatiana whimpered, her breathing ragged. She tugged at her leg, but it wouldn't budge.
Natalia's eyes snapped toward the corridor. Footsteps. Heavy. Close.
She stiffened.
The sound grew louder. Closer.
"Hurry up, hurry up!!" Natalia pleaded, her voice b
arely above a whisper.
Tatiana squirmed harder, her face contorting in pain. "It's stuck!" she whimpered.
Olga's heart pounded. With a sharp breath, she clamped a hand over Tatiana's mouth, silencing her. The muffled sobs stabbed at her heart, but they couldn't afford to make a sound.
And then—
A growl.
Deep. Menacing.
To be continued...