***Midhold, Royal Embassy***

***Celes***

I crack my knuckles and use the chance to address my parents with a low voice, even though it’s rude to act like this during a ceremony of this significance. We still have time while the priest holds his sermon. “Mom, dad, I’ve to tell you something important, and for once you have to listen to me.”

They look at me, clearly displeased at my demeanour, so I raise a hand to stop them before they can get themselves worked up. “I think all of us know that there is a high possibility of things getting out of control. Our enemies have already tried a few things, but this opportunity is just too good for them to ignore.”

I return my attention to the crowd and the priest. “Once things go to hell, I want you to grab Ireth and Nicosar and retreat towards those who we know are loyal to us.” I indicate the Cygnus family, the Hjavars, and the Andros who gathered in a corner of the hall, not straying too far from each other.

“You are acting like this place could turn into a war zone any moment,” my mother replies with a worried expression.

“You would rather not want that to happen. But as Angrod put it, if they force us, the gloves are coming off. I need to know that you two are safe. Don’t worry about me. I promise that I’ll be fine, no matter what happens.”

It's not like I distrust the combat prowess of my parents. But times have changed and I have come a long way. I have an adult body now, and I could probably defeat both of them if I had a reason to. Reaching down, I straighten the blue dress I put on. I am just glad that I don’t like this particular piece since it’s surely going to be reduced to shreds if there is fighting.

“I think that you are overly careful. We have a bunch of guards in place to keep order.” Katrine gestures at the men and women who are positioned at the entrances and other strategic positions.

I smile. They may be enough to quell a small uprising, but not what I expect to happen. “Just grab Ireth and Nicosar once it starts. I am sure that Angrod didn’t give them a single warning.”

***Midhold, Royal Embassy***

***Lord Tulhelm***

“Tongord, is everything ready?” I whisper to my attaché while I study this prince who has aspirations to become the king of two united kingdoms. King of the world? What a preposterous thought!

“I should be.” He looks around, seeming agitated. “I just hope that the clerk gets on with it. I have a feeling that the glamour that was put on us won’t hold much longer. And I itch to pay that little brat back for what he did to me.”

I turn and look at him. “Just don’t underestimate any of them. Their bloodline isn't feared without reason. The ritual might’ve strengthened us and saved your life, but he did that a few years ago. There is no telling how strong he became in the meantime.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Tongord shakes his head. “I spend every second of my existence in agony. My life is a burning hell thanks to him, and only complete mental exhaustion can grant me the gift of unconsciousness. I’ll use this chance to take him down, even if it means throwing my own life away. It’s not like it’s worth much at this point.”

Seeing that there is no point in arguing with him, I choose to remain silent. If it weren’t for the fact that the Meltheims have my daughter, I wouldn’t even be here. That’s not to say that I approve of Angrod becoming king. It just means that I wouldn't normally risk my neck by opposing two royal houses otherwise.

***Midhold, Royal Embassy***

***Angrod***

A few minutes into his sermon the priest arrives at the important part of his speech. A young acolyte of Seria’s faith joins him on the stage, handing over a golden crown which was made with my horns in mind. “...and if there is someone who believes himself a better king. He may challenge our future king now, or remain silent forever!”

The priest looks over the crowd, searching for a contender only for a mere moment, clearly not expecting anyone to truly speak up.

Just as the priest intends to finish the coronation, someone interrupts him.

“I will be a stronger king! I challenge Angrod of Tirna!”

Murmurs spread inside the big hall as everyone tries to locate the rude voice which disturbed the ceremony. The crowd parts and reveals two people who are standing with their heads held high.

I recognize Markorn and a guy who can't be anyone other than Seredorn.

Seredorn strongly resembles my father. He holds himself upright with a walking stick and his left leg is missing from the knee downwards. Clearly an old injury, maybe even dealt by my father himself. My mother never explained the details of Seredorn’s self-imposed exile, but now it’s clear why the man gave up on the throne.

With our traditions and laws, it’s highly unlikely for an invalid to stay in charge for long. At best, he would have had to fight an endless row of challengers who saw a weakness in his injury.

The priest is shocked but keeps playing his role, uttering his part of the ritual to confirm the challenger’s validity. “And with which right are you challenging Angrod?”

Markorn steps forward. “I am Markorn of Tirna. Son of Seredorn of Tirna, the previous king’s brother!”

The priest grinds his teeth. He clearly doesn’t approve of this breach of protocol, marring the end of his beautiful speech. He turns to face me. “Then the challenge is legal! You are the challenged party, Angrod of Tirna, you have the choice of weapons and location.”

“Right here, right now! Everything is allowed, but I have something to say before this starts.” Stepping forward, I push the priest aside. “Step back and stay out of the way, old man. It’s for your own good.”

Smiling, I turn back to the crowd, making sure that they can see my teeth. “Some time ago, I had a similar situation with Odlef Meltheim, who is now an enemy of the realm. Back then, I warned him that if he kept pushing me, I would do away with everyone and everything he loves. I instructed him to give this warning to his compatriots, so I think all of you had warning enough!”

I point at Markorn and his father. “I will find who is responsible for this, and once I am on the throne, I will wipe out your families and take away your lands. This rebellion, this sneaking around and conspiring behind the crown’s back ends now! I tell you this so that you know that you can stay right here and fight alongside your challenger! Stepping back into the ranks of nobles won’t save you! I will take on all of you. Your heads will be piled in front of my father’s grave to honour the sacrifice he made in the name of protecting you! You worthless filth! Now is the day on which you have to decide. Either you are with me, or against me. There is no middle ground!”

A deadly silence encompasses the hall as I make my declaration.

Seeing that the message came across, I wave my hand at the crowd. “Anyone who is free of guilt and doesn't want to have a part in this has twenty seconds to run. I won’t take responsibility if you get caught up in the fighting afterwards.”

When I step down from the raised platform with the throne, the crowd starts moving. Some people try to increase their distance from us as I approach Markorn. Others creep closer while a minority holds their position, clearly not believing what’s happening. The confusion is palpable, but I am glad to see that Katrine and Arthur are pulling my mother and Nicosar away from me and towards our allies.

The royal guards are readying their weapons, but unwilling to make the first move.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Rose drawing her daggers and Celes readying herself.

Seredorn limps to the side with a sly smile on his face. “You just made a big mistake.” By pressing a button on his walking stick, he releases a hidden rapier from its sheath, turning it into a weapon while keeping the hilt as a crux.

I stop a few feet in front of Markorn. The stupid idiot is grinning at me like he already won. He has no clue what I am capable of. Celes and I were biding our time in this world, afraid that doing something too obvious might cause Seria to interfere. But we decided to go all out, which is no small deal when someone can rely on the honed knowledge of several lifetimes. Skills and knowledge which were forged through life and death.

My opponent acts first, giving in to the impatience of his youth. Markorn explodes forward with a surge of mana and disappears. I teleport, reappearing directly in front of Seredorn, who is clearly waiting for his chance.

His eyes widen when I pop up out of nowhere right in his face.

“Hi, uncle!” Focusing mana into my left hand, I stab it directly into his chest.

He opens his mouth with a surprised look on his face, but no scream comes out.

I feel a mighty power inside Seredorn. Obviously, he underwent the same treatment as Markorn. It was the correct decision to go after the weaker party. He clearly didn’t expect me to come after his life, with Markorn being the challenger.

Retracting my hand, I take the rapier from Seredorn’s loosening fingers and shove the corpse away from me. Five seconds into the fight and my side already claimed the first kill.

Some of the bystanders are gaping, unable to comprehend that I truly intend to turn a duel into an all-out slaughterhouse. While the rest of the hall is too shocked to react, Markorn is still standing at the point where I was before.

Realizing that I pulled a teleport of my own, he turns around and looks at me, taking his time to understand the situation. His eyes wander from my bloody hand to his father.

Then Seredorn crumbles behind me and I start walking towards Markorn. The mana inside my next opponent wavers, swirling and twisting. His soul must be in great turmoil to show such obvious signs of emotional stress.

I grin and throw the beating heart of his father directly into Markorn’s face.

It lands on his cheek with a wet ‘smack’ and drops to the ground. Still unable to comprehend the situation, he stares down at the beating heart to his feet.

“Ah, I forgot!” I raise the hand which is covered with my uncle’s blood, tracing the blood’s connection back to its origin. “Rise and dance.”

Seredorn’s corpse twitches, green mist wavering from his nose and mouth. With an eerie moan, it rises, finally breaking the silence. Dead eyeballs searching, it locks onto the nearest target and shrieks, launching itself with its remaining leg at a surprised man.

Using the distraction, I charge forward and strike Markorn’s face.

‘Krack!’

A tooth flies out of his mouth and I feel his fighting aura waver. An opening! Feeling my way through the weakness in his magical defence, I get a hold of some muscles in his right arm. Taking what I can get, I slice at them with telekinesis.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

***Midhold, Royal Embassy***

***Celes***

I ignore the screams as people try to get away from Angrod’s zombie.

Some nobles are trying to get away, while others are fighting each other or with the royal guards. Things went chaotic quickly as soon as Angrod showed the seriousness of his declaration. Some of the members of the Royal loyalists and the opposition are fighting each other, using the chance to settle old grudges.

Walking through the panicking crowd, I intercept one of the men who are trying to interfere with Angrod’s battle.

Reaching out, I take a hold of his wrist and pull, bringing my forehead forward at the same time. The elf’s skull collides with one of the protrusions on my left horn and yields.

Without stopping, I keep walking as I shove the dead body away from me, heading towards the two men who are clearly neither panicking nor trying to flee the scene. Instead, they are watching the battle with as much attention as waiting hyenas.

They are surrounded by a group of followers who are apparently acting as bodyguards, but that’s not the only thing that makes them stand out. They are shrouded in a distinct magical aura which was hard to make out as long as the crowd gave them cover. But now that the ranks around them have thinned thanks to the nobles who fled I can clearly make out the glamour around them.

Noticing my approach, one of their minions steps forward, performing a hand sigil for some fire spell. “Dragon’s Breath!”

I close my eyes and stop my breath as liquid fire washes over me. Instead, I concentrate on my mana circulation, layering one sheet of mana over the other. Flowing out from my centre, my energy floods through my inner pathways and collects just at the surface of my skin. But instead of allowing the power to escape, I pull it back, making sure that my defence is as dense as possible.

By imaging my body as a single unit, I do not move my muscles, but the energy which is gathered within me.

Skipping forward, I reach out, right into the man’s face. His flesh is like chewing gum when I dig my index and middle finger into his eye-sockets. My thumb travels into his open mouth, ignoring the flame which is spewing forth.

Forming a fist, I break teeth and bone, then pull and let go, throwing him without much effort. There is no need to watch his body go splat on a wall far behind me.

Then another man is in front of me, a spell on his lips.

Not bothering with the small fry I shove him into another minion, caving in his chest in the process. Doing so, the last remains of my dress flake away as burning bits and pieces, revealing the black body-suit which is a part of the adventurer-armour which Angrod gave me.

Having freed a path, I advance on the pair, readying myself for a serious fight.

***Midhold, Royal Embassy***

***Angrod***

Infusing power into the blood on my hand, I cast a hex and flick it towards Markorn, sending a spray of little droplets in his general direction. Sensing the danger, he blurs and disappears. Two unlucky nobles get hit instead, their clothes and flesh sizzling where the hex latches onto them, quickly spreading and corroding their bodies.

They scream as their flesh bubbles and separates from their muscles and bones.

Something hits me right in the chest, taking my breath away! I am thrown upwards and impact the ceiling, penetrating it. Before I impact the ceiling of the next floor, my organic armour deploys and prevents further damage. I fall down again, together with a ton of debris.

Markorn is already waiting and thrusts a hand towards me, but I teleport behind him.

Another part of the ceiling dents in, caused by some kind of shock-wave which was released from his palm.

I grab his shoulder and convert a sizeable part of the mana which I stored within myself back to electrical energy. Touching my other hand to the side of his chest, I ensure that the current flows directly into his heart.

The surge of power shakes both of us and with the desperation of impending death, he grabs my hand and tries to throw me over his shoulder, but I hold onto him with all my might.

With a last ditch effort, he manages to shove me away and I notice that several men and women are closing in on us.

While Markorn is too busy with recovering, I cast another curse to use the time I gained in the most efficient manner. Red circles form beneath me, turning into bands of chaotic energy. Throwing my hands out to my sides, I release the spell and the bands flow away from me, searching for suitable targets on random trajectories.

Markorn and other combatants around us notice this and dodge, unwilling to learn what this new magic can do.

One of them is not so lucky.

A red band latches onto him, coiling around his legs and body like a snake. There is no obvious damage, but everyone doubles their efforts in escaping the curse as the man starts screaming in terror, then proceeds clawing the flesh off his own face.

Sometimes it's enough when the enemy believes that something horrible is happening to him.

Screaming, Markorn dodges past the band that’s following him and throws himself at me. He rightly observed that my own spell is staying away from me, therefore he chose to make this up close and personal.

The impact of his body takes both of us down and we roll over the floor.

We come to rest with him on top and he starts raining blows down on me, with his remaining good hand. Thankfully, the worst of it is absorbed by my armour.

Fighting this fight in a normal way would be my end. Being so close to him, I can sense the incredible power that’s bottled up in his body. They charged him so full of energy that he is close to the breaking point. No wonder that he can’t control his powers properly.

Unfortunately for me, that might be enough for him to win. He is a young man who is using a nuke as a club.

I retaliate by digging the pointed claws of my fingertips into his chest, but he grabs and breaks my hand with a little too much ease for my taste.

Feeling the pain, I welcome it, trying to find a place between my emotions and a calm serenity. Pain is only that. It doesn’t rule me.

Instead of trying to regain my distance, I pull him closer, entangling myself with my opponent. I tear and rip at his mana with my will alone. At the same time, I pour the energy which I steal from him into healing myself.

Thanks to my efforts, his aura flares and loses some of its brightness.

This is no stupid duel with rules. At this point, it’s no longer about brawns and skills. I will show the bastard a real fight with life and death on the line. There is a reason why everyone with a small amount of brain fears soul magic.

Pitting pure will and mental power against each other raises the stakes to completely new levels. Life and death don’t matter when someone’s very own soul is on the line.

Sparks of pure energy fly back and forth between us. He stabs a hand through my ribs and destroys something important.

I don't care. All my concentration is focused on attuning myself to his energy. With a hand, I claw my fingers into his face and eyes. An animalistic scream escapes him and he tries to snap my neck by slamming my head into the ground again and again.

He almost manages it, but I reinforce my body further by using the same fighting aura as him. It's a rough, wasteful method. That's why I hate using it. My skill in this type of magic is nowhere as good as his version and still worlds apart from Celes, but it’s enough to prevent me from being taken out.

I waste the mana which I am siphoning off from him, but it keeps him from killing me outright.

Suddenly, something within him loosens and I slip past his defences. I rip and tear! Then I throw him to the side and roll on top of him. He goes limp and his hands fall to the ground.

Too late, I realize that one of Celes’s hairpins is sticking out of the side of Markorn’s head. Well, that could be the reason why the fight went out of him so suddenly.

But that doesn’t matter right now! With a savage grin, I get to my knees and pull his soul out of him.

“Hahaha! You are mine now!” I scream as green mist coagulates into an orb within my palm. I promised him that I wouldn't make this fast. Somehow, I get to my feet. I am a bloody mess and I don't have an ounce of mana left. A ghostly, green figure is struggling within the orb in my hand. It's a splitting image of Markorn. Just that his broken body is now lying to my feet.

As I rise, I can feel my energies being restored as the power leaves Markorn’s body and flows into me, joined by the power of those who are dying all around me.

The fighting between the royal camp and the traitors is still going strong. It's a party of death and pain, no longer a coronation ceremony.

I chuckle darkly, revelling in the madness. It's been a while, and even if I dislike pointless slaughter, I have been missing it! The perfect environment for a soul mage. I will teach them why armies retreat when a necromancer is fighting for the other side.