Chapter 190
Leonard
I don’t know what kind of witch Cleopatra is, but it has to be the highest kind—the darkest kind.
The screeching and maniacal laughter of these creatures… it’s enough to drive a man insane.
I’m forced to shift back from wolf to man, claws and fangs replaced by grit and fists just so I can fight back with whatever strength I have left. But Deckard… he isn’t fighting anymore.
They gather around him like a cloak of shadows, clinging to him, whispering madness. They crawl over his skin, his face–but he doesn’t flinch.
He doesn’t scream.
He doesn’t even fight.
I’ve never seen anything like this. Deckard is just–still. Too still. And Freya and Cleopatra–gods, they’re locked in a brutal clash of power and sorcery, each one trying to tip the scale. But Deckard… I think he’s overwhelmed.
This evil is too much. I have to help him. I need to fight through it.
I push forward, teeth clenched, trying to slice and shove through the mass of winged nightmares. But it’s useless. The harder I fight, the more they swarm me, like they’re feeding on resistance. The more I struggle, the more they drown me.
Then i see light
A blinding light erupts from Deckard.
No sound. No warning. Just flame–pure, consuming,.
The creatures that covered him don’t even get a chance to flee. They burn instantly, turned to nothing but ash. And even the ash? Gone. Vaporized.
Deckard stands in the middle of it all, his body ablaze–but not burning.
He is the flame.
He moves slowly, but each step pulses with power. There’s a stillness to him now. A terrible calm. Like something inside him has awakened–and it cannot be stopped.
And as I watch him walk through the fire like a god risen from ruin, I know one thing for certain:
This is no longer just a battle.
This is reckoning.
The fire rises—a roaring pillar of flame shooting into the sky, burning away the swarm of bats and birds like they were nothing but smoke and feathers.
The creatures screech as they fall–charred, twisted, lifeless, raining down like scorched leaves in a storm. Some try to escape, flapping desperately into the open sky.
They don’t make it
The fire chases them, climbs after them like it’s hunting their fear, and devours them mid–flight. Even the ones that almost get away are caught in its scaring reach, burning up before they ever touch the clouds.
And Deckard…
He’s not the man I know.
His body is still, but his eyes–his eyes are pure flame, and there’s nothing human left in them. It’s like he’s been taken over by something deadly.
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe.
Don’t know I’m here.
1 sear through the chaos, reaching for Freya, grabbing her arm and dragging her to safety–anywhere away from the firestorm forming around
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7:52 PM ·
Chapter 190
The flames are consuming everything–stone, trees, the earth beneath our feet.
“Deckard!” I shout, my voice cracking through the heat.
No response.
He doesn’t hear me.
UTMAY
Cleopatra, that damned witch, turns and bolts–her old legs flailing, her face twisted in terror. She doesn’t get far.
The fire catches her mid–run, wraps around her like a noose of flame, and in an instant, she turns to a pi.
Nothing but a scream and a burst of ash where she once stood.
Then Deckard starts to move.
Slow. Controlled. Dangerous.
Each step he takes leaves fire in its wake. He doesn’t speak, but I know–I know–he’s searching for Darth.
And whatever part of Deckard still exists in that inferno?
Wants blood.
Would you like to switch to Deckard’s POV now as he hunts down Darth–or show what Darth is doing in hiding, watching this unfold?
My eyes scan the chaos–and then I see him.
Austin.
He’s wounded, crawling, barely able to move.
“Shit-“I lunge forward.
But it’s too late.
The fire gets to him first.
It swallows him in a wave of heat, and he vanishes–just like that. No scream. No chance. Just gone.
“Deckard is out of control!” I turn to Freya, panic and fury building in my chest. “What the hell do we do?”
The fire is spreading fast, curling around the walls of the castle, turning stone to molten ruin. If we don’t act now, this whole place–this entire city -will burn.
Freya’s face is pale, fear clear in her eyes. “We can’t control him,” she breathes. This… this is beyond my magic. He’s lost to it. He was pushed too
far!”
I grab her by the shoulders, “Then fucking think, Freya! There has to be something–anything–we can do to stop him before he takes the whole damn world with him!”
She hesitates, eyes flickering as she wrestles with something inside her.
“Well…. I don’t know. Maybe… I mean, I’m not sure it’ll even work-”
“Damn it womn, tell me what it is!” I shout.
“Ice,” she says finally. “It’s ice.”
I stare at her. “Ice? Freya, I don’t think any amount of ice can put out that fire.”
Her eyes lock with thine, desperate but determined. “Not just ice–ancient ice. The kind from the oldest bloodlines… the kind that’s not supposed to exist anymore.”
I step back, my mind racing.
“Then find it,” I say through gritted teeth. “Before there’s nothing left to save.”
I’m talking about his Luna,” Freya says, breathless. “She’s ice. Maybe maybe she can stop this. I’ve never seen anything like it, but it only makes sense She’s his balance. His opposite”
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7:52 PM S
Chapter 190
“You think she can calm him?” I ask, eyes narrowing.
“I don’t know if it’ll work,” she admits, voice trembling. “But if anything can reach him now… it’s her.”
“Should I go get her?” I ask, already turning, but I freeze.
My eyes catch Deckard moving through the wreckage like a god of fire. Slowly, I creep behind a series of pillars, motioning for Freya to stay close. We move quietly, shadows slipping between crumbling stone, watching him.
He’s not looking around anymore–he’s hunting.
Deckard is searching for Darth, and nothing in his path matters. The fire moves with him, scorching everything he passes. Walls collapse. Statues melt. The very ground beneath his feet cracks and sizzles.
Then I spot him.
Darth.
The bastard is trying to run–darting from one ruined corridor to another, desperate to escape the heat that’s now driving him out like smoke. I don’t know how he’s lasted this long.
And then I wonder–why aren’t we burning too?
I glance up and finally see it.
Freya’s protective magic forms a thin, glowing dome around us–barely holding back the inferno.
“Haven’t you done enough?!” Darth screams, his voice echoing through the collapsing ruins. “You’ve killed everyone–you even killed Ivar! That’s enough now! I’m your older brother and I order you to stop!”
I still can’t understand how he manages to sound authoritative when his voice is trembling with fear. He’s running, darting through debris like a rat, fast and panicked–restless. Exhausted. Cornered.
“Alright then!” he yells, chest heaving. “Why don’t you face me like a man–without your damn power!”
Deckard turns slowly, his eyes like burning coals, his voice cold and distant–like something otherworldly has taken over.
“Too late for that.”
We’re in trouble.
Deckard stalks toward Darth, fire cracking at his feet with every step. The heat curls the air around him. There’s no humanity in his movement anymore–only vengeance.
Darth, desperate, throws himself at Deckard, fists flying like a child throwing a tantrum. It’s pathetic. Weak.
This, he whispers, voice low, like death itself, “is for Amica.”
Wha: happens next… I’ll never forget.
Deckard’s form shifts, warping into something unnatural–half–wolf, half–man, but still engulfed in blazing fire. His claws erupt, long and glowing like molten steel. And in one swift, savage motion, he drives them deep into Darth’s belly, tearing through skin, flesh, and bone.
Darth’s scream is the sound of a soul being ripped from its shell.
Deckard twists his claws and rips upward, dragging out a steaming mass of gore–his guts spilling onto the stone,
Darth collapses, choking on his own blood.
The fire doesn’t stop burning.
And neither does Deckard.
Darth is still standing–barely. Blood gushes and dries up from the gaping hole in his abdomen. But Deckard doesn’t stop.
In one clean, ruthless motion, he slashes Darth’s throat with his blazing claws. The sound is sickening–wet and final. Then, without flinching, he grabs Darth’s head, tears it from his neck like it weighs nothing, and lifts it high like a trophy of wrath
This is monstrosity.
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Chapter 190
I stay frozen behind the broken pillar, Freya clutching my arm. Deckard’s eyes sweep the battlefield, glowing like hellfire, searching–hungry for more destruction.
I don’t even think he knows who we are anymore.
This isn’t the Deckard I know.
This is the dragon.
And I’m terrified.
Freya and I don’t dare move. The castle is burning around us and he is the storm at the center of it all. The fire isn’t just burning the place down- it’s devouring it, hungrily eating through every memory, every wall, every inch of what once stood proud.
We want to run to Amica, but even that is dangerous now. The flames could tear us apart before we reach her. I fear for her… and I fear for my life.
I hold my breath, unsure of what to do–when suddenly, a voice cuts through the fire.
Soft.
“My alpha?”
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