The ground trembled, as though it could sense the currents of power that rippled through the air. Arthur’s massive shadow stretched long and dark across the cracked earth as he advanced, driven by a pulse that resonated through his core. It was a call, not of words but of intent, leading him through the sulfur-laden fog that clung to the earth like a heavy veil. The Cursed Crown in his grip pulsed, a rhythmic beat that quickened with each step, as if sensing what lay ahead.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Caution: An intelligent presence lies ahead. Threat level high.
Current Stamina Drain: +10%.
Arthur barely spared a glance at the system’s warnings. The sense of foreboding only served to sharpen his focus. He was in territory unfamiliar to him, and everything around him screamed danger. But this was what he thrived on. Danger meant power, and power was his to claim.
Through the fog, a shape loomed—an imposing volcanic pillar, twisted and blackened as if scorched by ancient fires. Its surface was lined with cracks, each one pulsing faintly with a deep red light, a haunting reminder of the molten veins that lay beneath the rock. But it wasn’t the pillar itself that drew his attention. Rusted chains, thick as his limbs and coiled with a menacing aura, lay wrapped around its base, binding it in an iron grip. They were old but powerful, each link radiating an energy that Arthur recognized immediately: the bloodline of Volcranax, the ancient progenitor whose power coursed through the very core of the Badlands.
A deep rumble emanated from his chest as he took in the sight. The presence he had sensed—the cunning, predatory intelligence—seemed to hang in the air around this place, thickening it with an unseen threat. The chains, with their runes and sigils etched into the metal, exuded a restrained might, pulsing in time with the Cursed Crown in his grasp. His Analyze skill flickered to life, illuminating the structure in his mind’s eye, confirming his suspicions with a ping of confirmation.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Object: Chains of Mentality
Description: A binding forged from the essence of Volcranax’s bloodline. Contains an intelligence ward and anti-tampering measures. Current binding status: Active.
Visit frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓ for the b𝘦st novel reading experience.
Detected Subject: Elyra, Second Child of Volcranax.
Arthur’s slitted eyes narrowed. The chains seemed to confirm it—Elyra, the one who had taunted him with her power and intellect, was restrained within this place. Yet the air felt too still, too heavy, as though it were holding its breath.
But if she was bound, that meant she was within his reach. There was a thrill in the notion, a sense of control that stirred something primal within him. If he could contain her, she would lose her advantage—the freedom of flight, the cunning tactics honed from years of hunting under the cloak of darkness. Here, wrapped in chains, she would be vulnerable, stripped of her dominion over the skies.
The Cursed Crown flared, reacting to the chains, drawing energy from the oppressive silence around them. Arthur raised it, feeling the dark power gather, thickening in the air as he prepared to unleash it. He let the energy coil within him, a weapon ready to strike. But as he focused on the chains, his mind churned with a subtle question that refused to fade.
In the mental landscape where they had exchanged words, where she’d taunted him, Elyra had been unbound, a free spirit mocking him from a place of power. Could she truly be chained here?
The thought lingered, a whisper of doubt that pressed against the certainty of the system’s report. But Arthur brushed it aside. He was here to claim his power, not to second-guess his senses. The Cursed Crown vibrated, eager, hungry for release.
Yet, just as he gathered his focus, a sound broke the silence—a laugh, soft and mocking, like the hiss of steam escaping from fractured stone. It was a laugh he recognized, an echo that seemed to slither into his mind with chilling familiarity.
"Did you truly think I would lie in wait, bound and helpless? Such naivety…"
The voice was unmistakable. Elyra’s words cut through his concentration like a razor’s edge, dripping with scorn. The chains before him, so solid and intimidating just moments before, seemed to flicker, their aura wavering. Arthur’s focus broke, and a realization dawned on him with a chill that ran through his massive frame.
It was a trap.
The chains, the pillar, the system’s confirmation—it was all part of a carefully laid snare, woven from the very intelligence he had once dismissed as lesser. Elyra’s laugh echoed again, this time closer, circling him like a shadow that defied the light.
The mist around him thickened, wrapping around his legs, his tail, weighing him down. He growled, snapping his jaws as he tried to shake off the illusion, the oppressive feeling that clung to him. But the air was different now, heavier with a presence that made every breath feel like swallowing hot ash.
Elyra’s form materialized from the mist, her wings folding around her like a shroud, her eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction. She watched him with a knowing smile, her voice a whisper that resonated in his mind.
"So predictable, Drake. Like the others, you think strength alone can conquer anything." She tilted her head, the embers in her feathers flaring brighter as if feeding off his frustration. "Did you honestly think the Silent Stalker could be captured by mere chains?"
Arthur’s response was a guttural roar, a sound that split the stillness and sent shockwaves through the ground. The illusion shattered, the chains and pillar vanishing into wisps of smoke. The real landscape returned, harsh and unforgiving, with no sign of bindings or restraints.
Elyra laughed again, circling him with a slow, deliberate grace, each beat of her wings stirring the ash beneath them. She was mocking him, savoring the spectacle of his misstep. Rage bubbled within Arthur’s core, the heat of his Destruction Pulse simmering beneath his scales, but he held himself back, eyes locked onto her form as he calculated his next move.
"Your tricks won’t save you from the power I wield," Arthur snarled, his voice a promise of destruction.
"Power?" Elyra’s laugh was sharper this time, a mocking edge cutting through her tone. "Power is not raw strength alone, beast. Power is knowing when to strike, knowing where to set the trap." She let her wings flare wide, molten feathers dripping from her frame in a dazzling display of dominance. "And you, with all your brute force, walked straight into my web."
The weight of her words pressed into him, an uncomfortable truth laced with venom. She wasn’t like the third child, whose chains and mindless rage had been a predictable challenge. Elyra was more than just a fighter; she was a strategist, and she had maneuvered him into a position of vulnerability without raising a claw.
"Enough talk," Arthur growled, stepping forward, every inch of his body coiled and ready for battle.
Elyra’s eyes flashed, her wings beating once, twice, as she lifted into the air. She drifted higher, her gaze never leaving him, her expression dark and unyielding. "Very well," she whispered.
With a sudden shift, Elyra vanished into the mist, her form dissolving like smoke into the heavy air. Arthur’s gaze snapped around, his senses flaring as he tried to pinpoint her location. The silence that followed was suffocating, a silence that defied even his roars.