Hatred filled the dome, seeping from every surface.

  Everything within it mirrored the twisted nature of the Devourer who had shaped it.

  The walls, made of writhing strands of dark energy, pulsed with a dim purplish glow. Though weak, the light revealed just enough to show that nothing beyond the dome could be seen. The ground, once cloudlike, had hardened into uneven stone. Sharp rocks jutted at random angles, proof of the illusion that had cloaked this land long before the trio’s arrival. Wide, jagged spikes—stalagmites of blackened rock—rose across the terrain, radiating the same savage, untamed energy as the rest of the place.

  Bones littered the floor around a towering throne of vertebrae and skulls. Skeletons sprawled in twisted postures: some reached toward unseen exits; others clutched their skulls, as if trying to block out memories they could no longer bear. Even stripped of flesh, their fear lingered; empty sockets seemed to scream. Withered roots and long-dead flowers crawled through their remains, having consumed the last of the life in them.

  Above them, three spine-like pillars loomed over the throne, completing the scene—a vision torn straight from a nightmare.

  Anyone of weak spirit would have collapsed, their will corroded by the sight alone.

  And in the middle of it all, leaning on a bony armrest, sat the one responsible for this massacre: Vor’Lathen—the Devourer who had stolen the Valkyrie Skadii’s life, her soul, and her form.

  Her coat was made for war—thin enough for movement, thick enough to ward off the cold. Black gloves, worn but cared for, flexed lazily at her sides. Black hair framed a quiet, unreadable face, though a faint, knowing smile lingered there, fighting against Skadii’s once-stoic expression.

  A battle dress fell just below her knees at the front and brushed her ankles behind, allowing her to move with ease. One leg crossed over the other, the motion graceful yet restrained, a whisper of elegance that didn’t belong to her.

  A fitted scarf hugged her neck, its tip bearing a discreet symbol—the mark of the Valkyrie she had devoured. Practical boots completed the ensemble, each piece chosen for function, not beauty.

  She leaned back, calm and assured, letting the devastation around her emphasize her dominance. One look at that faint smile made it clear: she owned everything here—every bone, every ruin, every soul.

  At last, the trio stood ready for battle—one unlike any they had faced before.

  The first to draw her weapon was Stella. Fury burned in her chest, but she held it tight.

  Through endless mock battles with her father, she had learned the truth: losing control was a sign of weakness. One lapse, one outburst, and defeat would follow.

  Taking a slow step forward, Stella met Vor’Lathen’s gaze—hatred meeting amusement.

  Her pace quickened. Then she broke into a sprint, the air parting around her as she charged across the Devourer’s domain. She leapt, pulling Catharsis to her side and bringing it down with all her strength.

  “Heh.”

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  Vor’Lathen smirked. Raising one hand, she caught the attack as if swatting aside a leaf.

  Shock flickered in Stella’s eyes as the blade met a faint blue shimmer—a barrier shielding the Devourer.

  “Try to make me leave my throne,” Vor’Lathen said coolly. “Then I’ll take you seriously.”

  The mockery was deliberate, meant to draw anger. But Stella merely tightened her grip.

  “Don’t worry,” she replied, a smirk forming. “This won’t take long. It’s time for you high-and-mighty beings to taste death.”

  The Devourer’s smile faded. Her eyes flared blue at the insult.

  “Don’t forget about us!”

  May and Deveralna appeared at her sides, attacking in unison.

  “Hmph.” Vor’Lathen barely glanced at them.

  May’s fiery kick met the barrier and bounced off. With a flick of her wrist, the Devourer blocked Deveralna’s strike as well, switching hands with effortless grace.

  “If I were you,” Deveralna warned, gathering crackling energy, “I wouldn’t block this.”

  The lightning sphere struck the shield—nothing. No crack, no sign of strain.

  Vor’Lathen dismissed the attack with a casual sweep of her hand.

  Deveralna leapt back, a bead of sweat trailing down her cheek. This is absurd. That was only a fraction of my power, but still… we may have underestimated her.

  She caught May’s eye. They shared a silent agreement. No more testing.

  May’s hands ignited, fire gathering at her fingertips, while Deveralna’s glow intensified with white lightning. Both leaned forward, ready to strike again.

  Seeing them take her seriously, Vor’Lathen straightened, her gaze sharpening.

  “Ngh!” Stella still pressed against the barrier, her muscles trembling from the strain.

  Vor’Lathen tilted her head, expression almost pitying.

  “Weak,” she said coldly. “You are weak.”

  A flick of her wrist sent Catharsis flying back. Stella stumbled, boots grinding against the rock.

  When she looked up, May and Deveralna had already struck—fire and lightning colliding against the blue barrier.

  Vor’Lathen raised both hands to meet their assault, leaving her front momentarily exposed.

  Stella’s eyes narrowed. She needs her hands to block…?

  Recalling every exchange, she realized the pattern. Whenever Deveralna attacked, the Devourer switched hands. So that’s it.

  She spun Catharsis and lunged forward. Vor’Lathen was focused on the others—on fire and lightning crashing against her defenses.

  Stella charged through the distortion, thrusting her blade with everything she had.

  Cling!

  The sound rang out. The Devourer’s grin returned. A trap! Stella realized too late.

  “You thought I needed my hands to block?” Vor’Lathen clapped, the barrier flaring around her. “Such na?veté. What a gullible little girl.”

  Her laughter echoed across the dome. “Your disappointment is almost worth the effort.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  Deveralna’s attacks stopped abruptly. Her wings spread wide, and in a flash, she vanished—reappearing behind Stella.

  Crack.

  Vor’Lathen’s laughter died. A hairline fracture crept through her shield.

  “...How?” she muttered.

  The answer came with another series of explosions as May’s punches pounded against the barrier.

  Crack. Crack.

  Each blow widened the fracture.

  Panic flickered in Vor’Lathen’s eyes. This wasn’t her plan. She was supposed to toy with them—break their spirits, then claim their remains.

  But then a light surged behind Stella.

  Deveralna was gathering power, arcs of lightning crawling across her arms. The air thickened, ozone stinging the senses.

  The lamia smiled—wild, exhilarated.

  Electricity converged between her palms, forming a sphere of pure plasma. Stray arcs struck the ground, lighting the dome in searing white.

  “Here—eat this!” she shouted, bracing herself with her tail as she unleashed it.

  A beam of plasma tore forward, devouring everything in its path.

  Stella stayed until the last second, driving her blade against the weakening barrier before leaping away.

  “Damn you!” Vor’Lathen roared, forced to abandon her throne.

  The field shattered. The beam hit. Everything in a straight line vanished—the throne, the pillars, the skeletons, even part of the dome itself—erased in blinding light.

  When it faded, Vor’Lathen knelt amid the ruins, venom dripping from her words.

  “You… got me good, humans.”

  Her eyes gleamed with fury as she straightened, tugging her glove tight.

  “I’ll answer your eagerness,” she said, raising her chin with cold arrogance. “If it’s a fight you want—then a fight you shall have.”