The ballroom had become a war zone. Blood stained the once-pristine marble floors, chandeliers swayed violently from the tremors of battle, and screams and snarls filled the grand chamber like the echoes of a battlefield.
The vampires fought with precision and lethal grace, their claws slicing through the air like razors. The Lycans countered with raw strength and savagery, their massive forms tearing through their opponents with relentless brutality.
Cyrus ducked just in time.
A silver dagger sliced through the air where his throat had been seconds ago. The moment he turned, Raphael was already striking again, his movements swift and precise, his snowy white hair barely disturbed by the chaos around them.
Cyrus blocked the next strike with his forearm, the force reverberating through his bones. He countered with a vicious punch aimed at Raphael’s ribs, but the vampire twisted away at the last second, gliding back like a phantom.
Their eyes locked.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then they lunged.
The clash was brutal—blades against claws, speed against strength. Cyrus slashed at Raphael’s chest, but the vampire dodged, delivering a lightning-fast kick to Cyrus’s side. Cyrus stumbled but recovered instantly, grabbing Raphael by the wrist and swinging him into a shattered banquet table.
Raphael was back on his feet in a heartbeat, his fangs bared. “You're not bad, for a mutt.”
Cyrus smirked. “And you're not bad, for a pampered prince.”
They collided again. Raphael's dagger flashed, aiming for Cyrus’s throat, but Cyrus caught his wrist mid-swing, twisting it sharply. Raphael countered with a knee to his stomach, forcing him to release his grip.
Cyrus snarled and lunged again, tackling Raphael through a column, sending a storm of debris crashing down around them. Raphael’s back slammed against the rubble, but before Cyrus could press the attack, Raphael struck out with unnatural speed, his fist connecting with Cyrus’s jaw hard enough to send him skidding across the floor.
Cyrus wiped blood from his mouth, grinning through the pain.
Neither was winning.
Neither was losing.
And neither was willing to back down.
Draven and Valerion clashed like titans, their battle shaking the very foundation of the castle. Every impact sent shockwaves rippling through the air, columns crumbling, chandeliers swaying wildly above them.
Draven’s massive Lycan form lunged, his claws carving through the air, but Valerion dodged with inhuman grace. His counterstrike was immediate—a brutal telekinetic force slamming into Draven’s ribs, launching him backward like a ragdoll.
Draven crashed through a stone wall, rubble raining down around him.
But he didn’t stay down.
With a feral snarl, he burst from the wreckage, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His claws tore across Valerion’s shoulder, the force sending the Vampire King staggering. It was a small victory, but it was short-lived.
Valerion’s eyes flared with cold fury.
Without warning, Draven’s mind was engulfed in searing agony.
He roared in pain, staggering, his vision blurring as an unseen force invaded his mind, slicing through his consciousness like a thousand blades. His body convulsed, his claws raking against the marble floor as he tried to fight it.
Valerion advanced slowly, his voice calm, almost amused. "A beast like you cannot comprehend true power."
Draven’s world became a haze of torment, his mind drowning in Valerion’s psychic onslaught. Memories twisted, pain laced every nerve in his body, and for the first time, something deep inside him screamed that this might be a battle he couldn’t win.
But he refused to surrender.
With a final, earth-shaking snarl, Draven fought back.
Through sheer force of will, he broke free of Valerion’s hold, the mental pain dissolving in an instant. His eyes, wild with fury, locked onto the Vampire King.
Then he attacked.
Draven launched himself forward with explosive force, tackling Valerion through a towering column, sending both of them crashing to the floor. Dust and debris filled the air as Draven straddled him, claws slamming into Valerion’s chest, tearing through the fabric of his robes.
Valerion grunted, but his expression remained eerily calm.
Then he moved.
With deadly precision, Valerion drove his knee into Draven’s stomach, sending the Lycan Alpha soaring backward. Before Draven could recover, Valerion was on him again, his fist colliding with Draven’s ribs hard enough to crack bone.
Draven growled in pain, but he wasn’t given a chance to retaliate.
Valerion was relentless. His next strike sent Draven skidding across the marble floor, blood smearing in his wake. He tried to rise, but Valerion was faster.
A telekinetic force slammed him down.
Then another.
And another.
Draven choked out a breath, his vision dimming as Valerion loomed over him, unscathed.
The Vampire King reached down and seized him by the throat.
Draven struggled, clawing at the iron grip crushing his windpipe, his massive form thrashing. But Valerion didn’t falter. His grip tightened.
"You think this is a game?" Valerion growled, his grip tightening. "You think you can walk into my kingdom and claim my daughter like some beast marking its territory?"
Draven’s eyes, still burning with the glow of his wolf, met Valerion’s gaze unflinchingly.
"I didn’t think," Draven admitted. "I felt."
Valerion bared his fangs. "Then allow me to make you feel agony before you die."
Draven’s lungs burned. His vision darkened.
Valerion raised his other hand—fingers curling into a claw, energy crackling around his palm.
Before he could deliver the final blow, a voice cut through the chaos.
"Stop!"
Azrael.
The command rang through the ballroom, sharp, clear. And for the first time, everything came to a halt.
All eyes turned to her.
Valerion did not release Draven, but his gaze flicked toward his daughter. "Do not interfere, Azrael. This creature has disgraced you."
Azrael’s heart was pounding, fury warring with something deeper, something she refused to name.
"I know," she said, her voice colder than the grave.
Draven's jaw clenched.
Azrael took a step forward, her golden eyes unreadable. "But I decide how he suffers for it.”