Rain poured quietly over the shattered Pungence Estate. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of scorched stone.

  In the middle of the yard, Mr Baby lay on his side, sipping lazily from his bottle as thunder rumbled above. His wide eyes reflected the chaos stretching to the horizon. He sighed softly and said,

  "Unnu deserve an award, fi real. Attack Pungence yard? Yuh must have some serious guts, man."

  Lightning flickered in the distance. The sky rumbled.

  Elsewhere in Yilheim, Eliana shot out of the portal like a meteor, slammed into a Cushion Field midair, and crashed onto the ground. Her breathing was sharp and uneven. When she lifted her head—she froze.

  Before her stretched a vast, dimly lit hall filled with Unbounds from every race. Swords drawn. Bows notched. Rifles aimed. The air reeked of mana and Bravo. She could feel their power—raw, predatory, alive. Power that rivaled Richard’s… and surpassed it.

  An elf stood before her, arms folded, towering ten feet eight, his long hair braided and glinting in the low light. Beside him was Omfry, expression cold. Not far away, Jeriana sat holding baby Zelion close to her chest. Katos was nearby on the floor, bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. Sandra stood near Daiel. And sitting casually in a wooden chair was a small human man.

  He turned his head and looked straight at Eliana.

  The moment their eyes met, realization struck her like a spear. She had walked into the lion’s den.

  A voice echoed in her mind—calm, feminine, and edged with annoyance. Sylestine.

  "You made bad choice, Eliana. Not even I can help you now. You better not die—you haven’t fulfilled your end of our contract."

  Eliana’s gaze drifted down. Richard lay sprawled on the ground, chest heaving, barely conscious. Beside him was Valerius—motionless, pale, barely breathing.

  At the far end of the hall stood a throne carved of stone. Seated upon it was a twelve-foot-tall Valphraxsis man—skin a deep orange hue, eyes gold, a foxlike tail covered in orange and white fur swaying slowly behind him. His long orange-white hair gleamed like fire, and the white streaks in his beard glowed faintly in the torchlight.

  His voice rumbled through the hall, low and deep.

  "Out of the way. Let me see our guest."

  The crowd shifted instantly, parting before him.

  This was Koby-Ann, leader of the Tertius Division of the Orken Unbound. The Orken Unbound was split into four divisions: Primus, Secondus, Tertius, and Quartus.

  Koby-Ann’s eyes studied Eliana with intrigue.

  "Come on, Richard, were you really running away from her? Who is she?"

  Sandra’s voice came firm and flat.

  "That is the princess of Ignir."

  Koby-Ann chuckled, his sharp teeth flashing.

  "Looks like we were graced by royalty."

  He rose slowly and gave a mocking bow.

  "How may we be of service to you, my lady?"

  Eliana stood tall, the glow of restrained power flickering faintly in her eyes.

  "Who are you people?"

  Koby-Ann smiled as he approached, boots echoing against the floor.

  "I am Koby-Ann, leader of the Tertius Division of the Orken Unbound."

  He stopped in front of her. Eliana’s hand shifted subtly behind her back, magic gathering in her palm—but Koby-Ann’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and cold.

  "I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Princess or not, make the wrong move and your head flies. Look around you. You’re outnumbered… and outclassed."

  He turned to the crowd and shouted,

  "Comrades! What should I do with her?"

  The hall erupted instantly.

  "Give her to us! Yeaaa!"

  "We’ll take turns!"

  "Elves are already divine! Think of the pleasure I would get from royal blood!"

  "There’ll be nothing left of her when we’re done!"

  "Give me some princess booty!"

  Jeriana shook her head, disgusted.

  "Men… a bunch of savage animals."

  The noise grew deafening until Koby-Ann raised one massive hand. The room fell silent.

  He turned back to Eliana, a malevolent grin spreading across his face.

  "You hear that, princess? They all want you."

  He reached for her hand.

  Eliana’s eyes flared gold. She slapped his hand aside and said coldly,

  "Touch me, and you die."

  The crowd erupted again.

  "Ooooooooh!"

  Koby-Ann laughed, his voice echoing across the hall.

  "We’ve got a feisty one."

  He leaned close, grin widening.

  "I like them feisty."

  From somewhere in the crowd, a voice shouted,

  "Give her a good slap to put her in her place, boss!"

  Laughter roared again, echoing through the chamber, shaking the walls as Eliana’s fury began to rise like the coming of a storm.

  ---

  Koby-Ann frowned, his golden eyes narrowing.

  He said coldly, “How could you say that? Havazar—kill him.”

  Havazar, a towering Lycan stepped forward without hesitation. The man who had spoken froze in terror, but it was too late. Havazar’s massive hand clamped over his head—

  CRACK.

  He squeezed until the skull gave way, bones collapsing inward like crushed stone. The body slumped lifelessly to the ground.

  Eliana’s mouth fell open.

  Is this… how they treat their own people? she thought, horrified.

  Koby-Ann turned back toward her, wiping blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. His expression shifted—no longer cold, but disturbingly fascinated.

  “Comrades,” he said, raising a hand for silence, “let us appreciate… exquisite beauty.”

  He gestured grandly toward Eliana, pacing before her like an artist showing off a masterpiece.

  “Look at this face,” he said, voice thick with reverence. “The symmetry—impossible. That jawline, sharp enough to shame a sculptor. Those lips…” He paused, letting his gaze trace the air before her. “Ooooh thise lips, even without touching you cam feel them. Soft as sin. The kind of lips that make saints doubt heaven.”

  The crowd murmured, uneasy laughter echoing through the hall.

  Koby-Ann continued, eyes gleaming. “Her skin—moonlit even in the dark. That glow isn’t just light, it’s defiance made flesh. And her eyes…” He leaned slightly forward, smile widening. “Ah, those gorgeously splendidly exquisite blue eye, like blades hidden in silk. They don’t plead. They dare.”

  He snapped his fingers sharply, pointing at Eliana with manic delight. “This, my friends, is art. Flesh sculpted by the gods themselves. The kind of beauty men start wars over, and fools die trying to possess.”

  A voice from the crowd shouted, “Boss, didn’t you say you’d make her head fly?”

  Koby-Ann frowned without breaking his gaze. He jabbed a finger at the nearest man. “Don’t make me kill you,” he said, voice smooth as oil. “I was lying, Bobby. Can’t you tell when someone’s lying? I was only trying to frighten her—so she doesn’t do anything that’d give me a reason to kill her. It’d be a shame to let beauty like this disappear.”

  He smiled, slow and dangerous. “Don’t worry—I’m not going soft. There are other ways we can discipline her.”

  Then he looked at Eliana again. “Now, princess…”

  Before she could move, Koby-Ann vanished.

  He reappeared right in front of her, pressing a cloth over her mouth and nose.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “No more magic for you.”

  Eliana gasped—too late. The scent hit her senses like fire and fog. Her vision blurred, her knees weakened, and darkness swallowed her.

  Koby-Ann’s deep voice rumbled through the silence. “Now… back to business.”

  He turned toward Richard, who was still breathing heavily. “You’ve done well, Richard. Honestly, I thought all of you would die. But you’ve achieved what no one has ever dared. The Supreme Boss will be proud.”

  He scanned the room. “Where is Dreados?”

  Richard exhaled, his voice hoarse. “Dreados failed. He was beaten by that princess over there. I couldn’t believe it. His presence vanished—he must be dead.”

  Koby-Ann raised a brow. “Really? Wow. I didn’t expect that. But even so, that doesn’t explain why you were running from her.”

  Richard’s tone tightened. “She attacked me in my weakened state. The Elvhein was difficult enough to deal with—I even lost my eyes.”

  Koby-Ann laughed softly. “Hah. Then I sent the right man. Omfry and Dreados wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

  He glanced around. “Where are the others? There were three of them.”

  Omfry shrugged. “We were supposed to capture them too? I thought it was only the baby and this one.”

  Koby-Ann sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You people really annoy me. Oh well… at least you got the two most important ones.”

  Omfry asked, “When will the Supreme Boss be coming?”

  “I don’t know,” Koby-Ann said, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ll lock them up in Pentagon’s Hole until he arrives.”

  He turned to his men. “Someone dose this boy with Calethrin.”

  A soldier stepped forward carrying a syringe. He knelt beside Valerius and tried to inject it—

  SNAP.

  The needle broke clean against his skin.

  The man froze. “Boss? There’s… a problem.”

  Koby-Ann’s head snapped toward him. “Are you telling me you can’t use a syringe? A simple syringe? Havazar—kill him!”

  Without hesitation, Havazar swung his arm.

  SWISH.

  The man’s head separated from his body. Blood splattered across the stone.

  “Someone give me another one,” Havazar said.

  He was handed a fresh syringe. He tried again—another snap. The needle shattered like glass against Valerius’s skin.

  “Boss,” Havazar said, astonished, “he was right. The boy’s skin is unbelievably hard.”

  Koby-Ann frowned. “How is that possible? He’s unconscious—he can’t fortify himself.”

  “Must be an innate trait,” Havazar muttered. “Give me another one.”

  He fortified the syringe with Bravo, the air humming as energy wrapped around it—then pushed it into Valerius’s arm.

  This time—it went in.

  ---

  In Heful, rain fell softly over the ruins. The city still trembled with the echoes of war.

  Pungence knelt beside Eryndor. The young man lay unconscious, sprawled over the bodies of Mercy and Ziraiah. They were drenched in a pool of their mingled blood. Ziraiah’s skull was crushed; Eryndor’s body torn in half.

  Pungence’s voice trembled. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…”

  He reached into his bag, pulling out an elixir—then stopped.

  Something… pulsed.

  He felt it—Ziraiah’s heart, faint and uneven, beating irregularly beneath the ruin of her body. Then, a second rhythm joined it—Eryndor’s heart, matching her beat perfectly.

  Pungence froze. “How…? How are they still alive?”

  The air thickened. All at once, the blood clotting around their wounds hardened instantly—like molten iron cooling. Their hearts began to pound louder, echoing like drums through the soaked earth.

  BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

  Pungence could hear them clearly.

  Eryndor’s eyes snapped open. He rolled to his side and screamed—

  a guttural, raw sound that tore through the rain.

  Beside him, Ziraiah’s neck clotted over. Her skull—crushed beyond repair—stirred faintly, as if something deep within her refused to die.

  Then, Eryndor raised his right hand. His entire body shook. As his arm came down, Pungence saw it in slow motion—

  and his blood ran cold.

  He knew what would happen if that hand struck the ground.

  “Damn it,” he hissed. His aura burst outward—fortifying everything within a kilometer radius.

  The moment Eryndor’s hand hit—BOOM!—a violent pulse erupted.

  The two began to sweat the Calethrin from their systems. Steam rose from their skin, mixing with rain. Their veins turned black, then red again. The toxins were being purged as their Body Reconstruction began.

  Eryndor screamed louder, the sound echoing through the ruins.

  Ziraiah lay still—silent. She couldn’t feel anything. Her brain was still reforming. But Pungence felt it. Every cell in her body was rebuilding. He didn’t understand what he was witnessing.

  Juvian, Isabela, and Zeliona turned toward the sound.

  “Eryndor?” Isabela’s voice cracked, eyes wide with disbelief.

  Zeliona sat on the ground, Juval’s lifeless body in her arms. The shockwave of Eryndor’s strike reached them—howling through the streets. The wind slammed into them like a storm.

  They tried to advance but could barely stand. Isabela shielded her face, augmenting her body, every step a struggle. Juvian summoned a stone barrier—it shattered instantly under the force. Zeliona formed a rear shield of light, her magic trembling.

  From afar, Isabela squinted through the storm.

  “Eryndor… is doing this?” she whispered.

  The hurricane of wind intensified. The only thing keeping them alive was Pungence’s fortification.

  And then—Ziraiah’s neck pulsed.

  A faint shimmer appeared where her head should have been.

  Bone sprouted, knitting into a skull; muscles layered over it, nerves tracing beneath the surface. Pungence’s eyes widened in awe and horror.

  I thought they could only regenerate limbs… but their heads too? What sorcery is this?

  Eryndor screamed, veins bulging, sweat and rain dripping down his face. The sound was unbearable.

  Ziraiah remained motionless—no consciousness yet.

  Minutes passed.

  Ten minutes of chaos.

  Then—Ziraiah’s head was whole again. She was bald, her face raw and pale. Her lungs expanded for the first time. She gasped—and screamed.

  The reconstruction wasn’t finished. Her body still writhed with reforming energy.

  She slammed her fists against the ground, each strike sending new shockwaves across the ruins. Combined with Eryndor’s blows, the wind pressure doubled—

  the hurricane howled.

  Juvian and Isabela were thrown backward, crashing into a barrier of cushion Pungence had placed to protect them. Zeliona’s shield shattered, and she, too, was swept into the air, caught safely in another cushion field.

  At the center of it all, the reconstruction continued.

  Eryndor’s right hand fully reformed, fingers twitching. His broken left arm snapped back into place with a sickening pop, then sealed. His lower half followed—bone first, white and wet, then muscles winding, veins pulsing, nerves glowing faintly beneath translucent flesh. Finally, skin formed—smooth, whole, alive.

  Ziraiah’s stomach sealed, her hair regrew in dark waves.

  Then—silence.

  She drew her first calm breath.

  To Be Continued...