Arthur stood motionless at the base of the basalt cliff, a dark sentinel surrounded by a sea of bone and ash. The ground was a graveyard of colossal creatures, their skeletal remains twisted into unnatural shapes, picked clean and bleached by years of harsh sun and scalding wind. Silence engulfed the Badlands, an oppressive quiet that seemed to press down from the jagged peaks above. Even the air felt thick with anticipation, as if the land itself were holding its breath, awaiting the outcome of this moment.
Arthur’s massive body was coiled with readiness, every muscle beneath his obsidian-scaled armor tense, radiating with the destructive energy that had become his hallmark. His molten-gold eyes, narrowed to slits, swept the cliffside. The harsh, sulfuric scent of the terrain stung the back of his throat, but it was a familiar challenge, one he met without flinching. There was no warmth in him, no hint of fear or compassion. He was a being whose alignment bent only to power and survival. If something waited for him here, he would meet it head-on or grind it into the dust beneath his feet.
The eerie silence was shattered by a shift in the atmosphere, a vibration that resonated through the ground and traveled up Arthur’s massive frame. He felt her before he saw her—a presence so potent that even his neutral, hardened core registered it as a threat. The energy was predatory, ancient, and calculating, radiating from the heights above with a suffocating intensity.
A shadow detached itself from the cliff, slow and deliberate. The figure emerged into view: a towering, bat-like form, draped in black feathers that shimmered as if forged from molten obsidian. Her wings stretched wide, each movement casting sparks that fizzled out before touching the ground. Eyes the color of searing coals fixed on Arthur, gleaming with a cold, unsettling intelligence. She was formidable, regal, and exuded a confidence that spoke of battles fought and won.
The world seemed to pause, as if acknowledging her arrival. Even the wind dared not blow.
A silence, unnatural and suffocating, wrapped the jagged landscape. Not even the wind dared whisper through the cracked stone. Arthur’s eyes narrowed, senses stretching beyond the visible. He felt the pull of something ancient and calculating, a presence hidden in the shadowed recesses of the cliffs. The system’s voice echoed in his mind:
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Analyzing\\u2026
Second Child of Volcranax detected.
Designation: Elyra, the Silent Stalker.
Danger Level: High. Engage with caution.
A rumble of disdain vibrated deep within Arthur’s chest, powerful enough to send loose stones skittering across the ground. The system’s warnings were superfluous; he knew a threat when he felt one, and this was no ordinary beast. This was something more—a predator that had staked her claim on the Badlands long before his shadow darkened its surface.
Suddenly, the air grew denser, charged with a feral energy that coiled around Arthur like a noose. A voice, sharp as obsidian and cold as the void, sliced through his thoughts. "You trespass on sacred ground, beast. Do you come to kneel or to die?"
Arthur’s roar tore through the air in response, a sound so deep and fierce it seemed to fracture the very sky. The energy within him flared, rippling through his obsidian skin as the destructive beams orbiting his horns hummed with anticipation. His tail slammed into the ground, sending a tremor that split the bones beneath him and sent a cascade of smaller rocks tumbling from the cliff.
His response was a roar, a guttural sound that tore through the silence and fractured the stone underfoot. "I bow to no one," he rumbled, his voice a promise of obliteration.
Then, something tried to pull him into a mental world. He didn’t need the system to know who was the cause.
His horns shone as he let himself be pulled.
*
Foll𝑜w current novℯls on ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm.
From the top of the cliff, a shape emerged. Elyra, the Silent Stalker, unfurled her massive wings, each feather a blade of molten darkness that dripped with liquid fire. Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, met Arthur’s gaze with a look that spoke of centuries of dominance. She tilted her head, the motion almost imperceptible, but enough to convey her amusement.
"Hello, little Drake," Elyra hissed.
"So, this is what you look like," Arthur roared. "You look small. Weak. Something I can swallow in one bite."
"You speak as if your strength alone is enough," Elyra hissed, her voice seeping into his mind like poison. "But power without cunning is nothing but noise. You are noise, Drake."
Arthur lunged, claws digging trenches into the earth as he charged the cliff. The beams orbiting his horns flared, firing bolts of destructive energy that scorched the rock face. Elyra leaped, wings slicing through the heavy air with the force of a hurricane. The blast missed her by a hair, leaving a molten scar in the stone.
She hovered above him, wings casting massive shadows across the landscape, embers trailing like falling stars. "You seek power, but you tread on hallowed ground," she whispered. The distance between them closed in an instant as she dove, talons extended, slicing through the space where Arthur stood just moments before. He sidestepped with a swiftness that belied his size, the ground erupting where her claws met it.
Arthur snarled, tail lashing out with seismic force. It struck her mid-flight, sending her reeling back with a snarl of her own. She stabilized mid-air, eyes narrowing with a mixture of irritation and interest. The fight was no longer a mere territorial dispute; it was a test, a clash of wills and might.
"Why do you come here, Drake?" Elyra’s voice was a song woven with malice and curiosity, echoing directly in his mind.
Arthur’s molten eyes narrowed, a flicker of strategy hidden behind his rage. "To take what’s mine."
Arthur’s eyes tracked Elyra as she circled above, her wings cutting through the dense, sulfur-laden air. He waited, muscles coiled, not just for her strike but for an answer. A flicker of strategy sparked in his mind. He needed to understand what he faced—not just her power, but her nature. In the brief lull, his voice, rough and resonant, boomed across the cracked expanse.
The words hung in the air as the two titans sized each other up, neither willing to yield an inch. Elyra’s wings beat once, twice, and then she was airborne again, circling high above him like a vulture waiting for its prey to fall. The molten feathers trailing behind her flared with a sudden intensity, dripping like liquid fire onto the cracked earth below. Each drop hissed and spat, igniting small bursts of flame.
Arthur watched her, unmoved. He felt the heat, tasted the sulfur, but it was nothing compared to the roiling fire within him. The Cursed Crown in his grasp pulsed, absorbing the ambient energy and fueling his core. The tension between them was palpable, a coiled spring ready to snap.
"Why are you not bound like the third child?" The question hung in the air, sharp and probing, as if daring Elyra to respond.
For a moment, silence. Then, the corners of her eyes crinkled, and an audible ripple of amusement echoed in Arthur’s mind. Elyra’s wings tilted slightly as she glided down to perch on a jagged outcropping, molten feathers still trailing embers that hissed and crackled on the stone below.
"So," she began, her voice laced with a mocking lilt, "you’ve met my brother. The mute brute with more brawn than brain." She let out a low, melodious laugh that resonated through the canyon. "Did he even put up a fight, or did you leave him a whimpering heap?"
Arthur’s eyes narrowed, the subtle tension in his stance deepening. Elyra tilted her head, eyes gleaming with pride and malice. "I am not like him," she continued. "Chains are for those who cannot think beyond their primal urges, who don’t know how to wield true power. The third child is strong, yes, but he is a hammer looking for a nail."
The wind shifted, carrying the sharp tang of molten rock. Arthur’s mind processed her words, calculating the nature of the being before him. She wasn’t just another force to be crushed; she was cunning, a strategist who thrived on intelligence as much as raw might.
"You speak as if you’re the only one who matters," Arthur rumbled, his tail sweeping behind him like a living whip, knocking aside a pile of cracked bones.
Elyra’s eyes blazed, her wings flaring wide as she drew herself up, exuding an aura of supreme confidence. "I am the Silent Stalker, the mind behind Volcranax’s legacy. While the others are bound by instinct and fury, I wield reason, strategy. That is why I am not chained." Her gaze locked with Arthur’s, daring him to question her dominion. "It’s why I command the sky and the fire within it."
A growl built within Arthur’s chest, a mixture of respect and defiance. The second child of Volcranax was proud, perhaps too proud, but it was a pride backed by centuries of ruling this desolate expanse with both strength and guile. It was clear now: defeating her would not be like subduing the third child. This battle would require more than sheer force—it would demand a strategy to match her own.
Elyra’s wings twitched as she sensed the shift in his stance, a signal that he understood the true weight of the challenge before him. "So, Drake," she whispered, her voice seeping into his mind like smoke, "do you think you have what it takes to bring down the one who hunts in silence?"
Arthur’s response was a roar that split the heavens, a declaration that he would not only meet her challenge but crush it. Elyra’s grin widened, her wings beating once with the force of a hurricane as she took flight again, molten feathers dripping in a blazing arc. The dance of predator and prey had begun, but in the Badlands, titles meant nothing; only power decided who ruled and who fell.
"If you truly believe that," Elyra’s wings beat powerfully. "Come find me."
And then, the mental world shattered.