Renita leaned back, running her fingers through her hair, her mind clearly racing. “Aldara said the ones we fought were an elite group—the Red Coyotes. If they were that strong, there’s no doubt Camelot has more like them.” She frowned, her tone tinged with worry. “We can’t ignore this. They’re not going to stop coming after us.”

  The room fell into an uneasy quiet again, each of them lost in their own thoughts. The weight of Camelot’s shadow hung heavy over them, but within the silence, a determination began to grow—a silent agreement that something had to change.

  “We’re going to have to stop them,” Lance said firmly, his voice cutting through the silence.

  Renita raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed. “Stop them? With what, Lance? Arid and Cassius? Maybe Draven if we’re lucky? Let’s be real—the rest of us don’t have the magical power to even hold a candle to them.” Her words were sharp but grounded in reality.

  Lance opened his mouth, tempted to spout something inspiring like, ‘You don’t need magical powers to make a difference,’ but the words caught in his throat. This wasn’t a fairy tale. It wasn’t a story where sheer determination could win the day. They could really die out there—and for what? A noble sentiment?

  His silence lingered, heavy and uncomfortable, as the weight of their situation sank in.

  “I think we really need a ranking system for the strongest fighters,” Jake suggested, an ironic statement coming from the group’s weakest member.

  “Before I start, just know there’s no favoritism here, okay?” he added hastily, flipping open his notebook. “Let’s see… Arid and Cassius.” He tapped his pen against his chin thoughtfully. “Both are demigods, both are insanely strong…” He scribbled in his notebook. “I’ll rank them tied for number one.”

  Cassius rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “I mean, I think I’m stronger. I am older, after all.”

  Arid shot him a sideways glance, retorting under his breath, “Yeah, well, so was Richard, and look how that turned out for him.”

  Jake ignored the banter and moved on, tapping the next spot on the page. “Amara’s ice magic puts her in second place. Agreed?”

  Amara nodded slightly, her expression calm but confident.

  “Okay, third place… I’m thinking Dontai. Even though he’s not here, I heard he held his own against Mel in a match while they were half-asleep. That counts for something, right?”

  Jake scribbled the name before continuing. “Caius, Lumi, and Sera should share fourth place. We haven’t seen enough from them to say for sure, but they’ve all got potential.”

  He glanced at Rue, hesitating. “Princess… your dragon abilities are incredible, so I’m putting you in fifth. No offense, but we haven’t seen you fight much yet.”

  Rue raised an eyebrow but shrugged. “None taken. Yet.”

  Jake finished writing and held up the notebook for everyone to see. “These are all the magic users I know so far. What do you guys think?”

  The room was silent for a moment as everyone stared at the list, some nodding in agreement, others clearly itching to contest their placement.

  Cassius rubbed his hands together, a faint tension in his voice. “If Akoni were here, he’d be a huge help.”

  Jake tapped his pen against his chin, the rhythmic sound cutting through the heavy silence. “Does anyone think this is alright? Are we just going to let this go?” He looked around the group, but their hesitant glances and nervous fidgeting gave him the answer before anyone spoke.

  Meanwhile, in Camelot…

  King Liam sat tall in his gilded throne, his sharp golden eyes scanning the two figures kneeling before him. Richard and Bruno bowed their heads low, sweat dripping onto the cold marble floor.

  Bruno broke the silence first, his voice trembling. “We’re sorry, sir! I got drunk—I didn’t mean to start the fight!” His body shook, fear etched into every word.

  Liam leaned back, resting his chin on his hand with a disinterested expression. “Did you finish it?” His tone was cold, biting.

  Bruno hesitated, refusing to meet the king’s gaze.

  The silence lingered too long. Liam flicked his fingers, and Bruno let out a bone-chilling scream as his limbs contorted unnaturally. The pressure was unbearable, his very bones being squeezed by an invisible force.

  “I don’t care that you fought in another kingdom,” Liam said calmly, his lips curving into a sadistic smirk. “But you lost.”

  Bruno’s screams filled the throne room. “Please! I’ll do better! I swear!” he begged, blood trickling from his mouth.

  Liam released the pressure with a wave of his hand. Bruno collapsed, gasping for air, trembling on the floor like a broken puppet.

  “Now tell me,” Liam said, his voice dangerously low. “Who was strong enough to beat my lovely Red Coyotes?”

  Bruno spat blood onto the floor and stammered, “The members of Merlin’s old Steel Pact. Mark and Yasmine—the priestess of the stars. I—I didn’t recognize them at first, but it was them.”

  Liam raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Mark and Yasmine? That is funny.” He chuckled, leaning back in his throne.

  Richard, still kneeling but with his pride more intact than Bruno’s, spoke up. “Sir, I was defeated by Arid Rosethorn.”

  Liam’s brow furrowed. “Rosethorn?” He rubbed his jaw in thought, then grinned darkly. “So that little demigod is there too. No wonder Auroria Dominion is the strongest kingdom. They’ve got all the heavy hitters.” His laughter echoed through the room.

  “Effective immediately, you’re both banned from entering Auroria. That’s an order.” His voice cut like a blade, and both men nodded, bowing deeply before leaving the throne room.

  As the grand doors shut behind them, Liam pulled out a golden communication device. Holding it to his ear, he smirked. “So, you weren’t lying about the priestess being your mother. I guess Auroria really is dangerous, huh?”

  A voice crackled faintly from the device, and Liam’s smirk widened. “You want to get her? You’re more twisted than I am.” He chuckled, tucking the device back into his robe.

  Resting his elbows on the armrests of his throne, Liam stared into the distance. “Soon, I’ll destroy all seven deadly kingdoms,” he muttered to himself, his voice thick with cruel ambition.

  Liam’s Flashback

  The air in Camelot’s training arena was heavy with tension. A teenage Liam sat across from King Arthur, the man who had defined strength and power for all of Camelot. Arthur was a living monolith—his massive arms and towering frame commanded respect, and his broad back bore scars from countless battles.

  But what haunted Liam wasn’t his father’s physique. It was the tears glinting in Arthur’s golden eyes.

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  “You killed Merlin,” Liam said, his voice edged with accusation. He spun a dagger idly in his hand, his movements restless. “The strongest warlord in the world. How do you feel about that, Father?”

  Arthur didn’t respond immediately. He turned his back to Liam, his shoulders trembling. A single tear slipped down his cheek.

  Liam’s heart clenched. Seeing his father—a man who had always seemed invincible—reduced to this was unbearable. It was a betrayal of the very ideals Camelot stood for.

  “You’re weak,” Liam growled, standing abruptly. His grip tightened on the dagger as he stormed forward, anger clouding his judgment.

  Arthur didn’t turn. He didn’t defend himself.

  Liam plunged the dagger into his father’s back, the blade sinking deep.

  The hall was silent. Everyone saw what had happened, but no one moved. In Camelot, strength was law. If you killed the strongest, you became the predator.

  Liam stepped back, his chest heaving. His father’s towering frame collapsed, and with it, any remnants of the boy Liam had once been.

  Present

  On a jagged mountain top in Camelot, Aunt Abigail stood firm, her presence as unyielding as the stone beneath her boots. She was King Arthur’s sister, short but powerfully built, her muscular frame a stark contrast to her older brother’s towering physique. A single tear rolled down her cheek, quickly wiped away as anger hardened her expression.

  “Liam, you sadistic son of a bitch,” she muttered, glaring toward the horizon as if her brother could hear her. “You kidnapped your own sister and now you’ve got her fighting for Wrath? I don’t know where it all went so wrong with you.”

  She turned her attention to the three trembling men tied to jagged rocks nearby, their eyes wide with terror. “I’m going to ask you again. Who’s the King of Pride?” Her voice was low and steady, a calm before the storm. She gestured to her massive golden scythe, its blade gleaming in the sunlight. Etched along its shaft was the name Excalibur, shimmering in intricate runes.

  “You dropped Elowen off to Liam. I kidnapped you. Let’s face it—there’s no reason for you to stay loyal anymore. Your allegiance ends here.” She hefted the scythe, spinning it effortlessly. “Now tell me who the Pride King is, and I might let you walk away with your heads.”

  One of the men, pale and shaking, stammered, “I-I thought Excalibur was a sword!”

  Abigail gave a dark chuckle, twirling the scythe with one hand. “It’s not just one weapon,” she said. “Excalibur is a legacy—a collection of weapons passed down through our family. Elowen has the sword, the one Arthur left behind, and I have this scythe from our parents.” Her voice grew colder. “Now, answer the question.”

  She grabbed the closest man by his shirt, dragging him closer until her scythe hovered near his neck. “Who is the Pride King?” she asked again, her voice laced with deadly patience.

  The men exchanged terrified glances, their silence a fragile barrier against her fury.

  Abigail sighed, her grip tightening on the scythe. “Fine. You’ve chosen the hard way.” She raised the weapon, its golden edge catching the light.

  “Wait!” one of them screamed, his voice cracking. “I’ll tell you!”

  “No! You can’t!” another cried, shaking his head in panic. “Please, don’t say it!”

  But before the man could speak, their heads suddenly exploded in unison, a gruesome spray of blood and bone painting the rocks. Abigail shielded her face with her arm, her scythe dripping with crimson splatter.

  Lowering her arm, she knelt by one of the headless bodies, her sharp eyes narrowing as she spotted a strange mark seared into the back of the man’s neck. “What the hell is this?” she muttered, tracing the symbol with her finger.

  Realization dawned, and her scowl deepened. “This mark… It’s some kind of failsafe. It kills anyone kidnapped for interrogation. The Pride King is that paranoid?”

  She stood, frustration bubbling beneath her calm exterior. With a harsh kick, she sent the bodies tumbling off the edge of the mountain into the river far below.

  “Guess getting hostages won’t work,” she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain. She turned away, gripping her scythe tightly. “Wrath is more twisted than I thought.”

  Meanwhile, Donatello leaned against a jagged rock, his sharp eyes fixed on the massive form of the Lady of the Lake. Her colossal body rested in the water, her serene face mere inches from his. A faint, mischievous smile played across her lips as she regarded him.

  “Lady,” Donatello began, his tone calm but commanding, “since Melanthius is gone, I need you to help me with something.”

  The Lady tilted her head, her luminous eyes narrowing with curiosity. “What do you need, Donatello?”

  “I need to deal with the Gluttony Kingdom,” he said bluntly, his voice echoing across the water. “But I can’t destroy it outright. Not yet. Right now, I need it to be King Aldara’s main focus. If his attention is locked on Gluttony, it’ll give me the opening I need to take it down.”

  The Lady rolled onto her back in the lake, her movements fluid and alluring. The water shimmered with her radiance as she stretched lazily. “What do you require of me?” she purred, her voice both seductive and serene.

  Donatello smirked, his sharp grin betraying a hidden plan. “It’s already in motion,” he said cryptically, turning his gaze toward the horizon.

  Inside the Gluttony Castle

  In the dimly lit halls of Gluttony Castle, screams of merriment echoed as extravagant feasts were carried to tables, but not all was joyous. At the heart of the castle, King Mateo of the Naples Empire stood trembling, bound tightly in enchanted chains. His once-regal attire was tattered, and beads of sweat rolled down his face as he pleaded desperately.

  “Please, wait!” he cried, his voice trembling with terror.

  The queen of Gluttony loomed in the shadows, her face obscured by darkness, only the faint outline of her figure visible. Her presence was oppressive, each word dripping with menace.

  “Why is a king of Lust’s kingdom here in Gluttony?” she asked coldly, her voice like the strike of a blade.

  Mateo fell to his knees, the chains clinking as he sobbed. “King Charles sent me! He told me to investigate what was happening here! I wasn’t planning anything, I swear it! Please, have mercy!”

  The queen chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through the chamber like a predator toying with its prey. “Mercy?” she mocked. “Gluttony is known for its food. Let’s ensure we maintain our reputation.”

  She gestured with a casual wave of her hand. “Drop him in the fire,” she ordered.

  Mateo’s screams barely began before the flames consumed him, his body disappearing in an instant. The chamber fell silent save for the crackling of the fire, the stench of death mingling with the savory scents of the ongoing feast.

  The queen stepped forward, her face still veiled in shadows, and spoke to the silent room. “Let this be a lesson to all who think Gluttony is a kingdom of indulgence without consequence.”

  Days later, in Solstice City at the school, Cassius walked down the hallway, his knuckles cracking as he flexed his hands. Amara, leaning casually against a locker, turned her head toward him with a curious look.

  “I could be wrong,” she began, her tone light but teasing, “but I think you’re still hung up on sharing the top spot in the rankings with Arid.”

  Cassius shrugged, rolling his shoulder with a faint crack. “It’s not just that. It’s like Melanthius all over again,” he said, frustration lacing his voice. “Ever since the black cards lost to him, people have been treating me like a joke.”

  Amara sighed, mouthing the words along with him, clearly having heard this rant before. “You know I was in that fight too, right?” she reminded him, crossing her arms.

  “Yeah, but he barely tried with you. All he did was hit you with some rain balls. Meanwhile, he used those stupid hidden cloud kicks to take me down. Do you know how humiliating it is to lose to a guy who punches the top of your foot? That’s a vital pressure point!” Cassius rubbed his eyes, his frustration bubbling over.

  Amara raised an eyebrow and stepped in front of him, placing a hand on her hip. “Okay, but that’s not what’s really bothering you, is it?” she asked, her voice softening.

  Cassius sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. “No, you’re right,” he admitted quietly. “It’s not about the rankings.” He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he struggled to get the words out. “A few days ago, I went to the Astronomer Royal—Akoni’s kingdom. I wanted to talk to the king and queen… and I found out they’re dead. Murdered.”

  Amara’s eyes widened in shock. “What?!”

  “They’ve been dead for months, Amara. Months. Long before the school year even started,” Cassius said, his voice cracking. “And Akoni… he’s gone. He ran away.”

  Amara stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him in a comforting hug. “Cassius, you should’ve told me sooner. I would’ve understood better than anyone,” she whispered, holding him tightly.

  But Cassius didn’t hug her back. Instead, his body stiffened, and his voice wavered as he continued. “I couldn’t. Because…” He swallowed hard, his eyes welling up with tears. “Because all the evidence points to Akoni.”

  Amara froze, pulling away from him abruptly. “W-what?!” she stammered, her hands trembling as she backed up a step. “What are you saying to me right now?!”

  Cassius slid down the wall, burying his face in his hands. “I asked around,” he said, his voice muffled by his hands. “The people there said Akoni and a group of fighters stormed the castle. They killed the knights, and the king and queen were… they were beheaded.”

  Amara stood there, her hands shaking as she stared at him in disbelief. “No… no, that can’t be true,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fear and confusion.

  Cassius lifted his tear-streaked face, looking utterly broken. “I wish it wasn’t,” he said softly.