Chapter 38: 38 The emperor of shadows

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38: The emperor of shadows 38: The emperor of shadows The floor, marked by streaks and cracks, was a heap of ruins.

Dark flames and poisonous mists rose from every corner.

Zaroth, now free of all constraints, was more than a mere tyrant.

“You have no idea what you are doing.

No one can stop Zaroth, the Emperor of Shadows!” His voice echoed from every corner.

Vibrating in the hearts of his opponents.

Trying to make them tremble.

His arms, swinging like boulders, unleashed waves of pure energy that shattered the floor.

Astaroth attacked again.

“I will not surrender, Zaroth.

This world has suffered enough!” The contact between Astaroth’s blade and Zaroth’s dark flesh generated a blast of energy that shook the entire room.

A blow landed in Zaroth’s side.

He let out a cry of pain.

Iskra struck with fire.

“You will burn, Zaroth!

Every drop of your essence will be reduced to ashes!” The flames tore through his flesh.

And in that instant, while Zaroth was busy defending himself on three sides, Malina emerged from the shadows.

She moved with the speed she had always had.

A speed that seemed impossible for such a compact body.

A speed that was not strength, but all the forces of street life converted into pure movement.

“This is the end, Zaroth.

Your end.” The dagger sank into Zaroth’s back, piercing his heart with surgical precision.

But his resistance was not enough to stop the fatal blow.

With a final cry of frustration, Zaroth fell.

His dark form trembled as death claimed him.

The throne room, now shrouded in silence, witnessed the end of a dark empire.

The silence that followed Zaroth’s fall had a quality unlike any silence the four rebels had ever heard.

It was not the silence of anticipation.

It was not the silence of fear.

It was the silence of something that had ended.

Of something immense that had ceased to exist.

And it had left a void that the air still did not know how to fill.

Astaroth remained standing.

His legs trembled.

The wounds of battle were beginning to show now that the adrenaline was fading.

But he remained standing.

He looked at Zaroth’s body on the floor.

He stared at him for a time he could not count.

For years he had imagined this moment.

For years he had wondered what he would feel when it finally happened.

And now that it had happened, he felt not what he expected.

Not triumph.

Not joy.

Something emptier.

Like when you carry a burden for so long that, when you put it down, your body doesn’t immediately know how to live without it.

Iskra had approached one of the columns.

She leaned against it.

The wind she carried with her had calmed.

It hadn’t disappeared.

Calmed.

Like after a storm, when the air stops and the world seems to have held its breath.

Eryndor leaned against the nearest wall.

His mind was already turning to what would happen next.

Zaroth was dead.

But Zaroth had built a system that wouldn’t fall with him.

There were the legions.

There were the faithful.

There were the power structures he had created, and they would look for someone or something to hold on to.

The battle had been won.

The war still raged.

Malina knelt beside Zaroth’s body.

Not with respect.

Not with pity.

With the curiosity of someone who has done something for the first time and wants to verify that it really happened.

The body was there.

Already cold, or starting to cool.

The enormous creature that had been Zaroth had been reduced to this.

Flesh and shadow on the black marble floor.

Zaroth had no answer to death.

No one had ever considered it a real possibility.

And now it was here.

As real as anything that had ever happened in that room.

Malina stood.

“It’s over,” she said.

Not with triumph.

With recognition.

“For now,” said Eryndor.

“Yes,” Astaroth agreed.

“For now.” They gathered in the center of the room.

The victory was real.

It was also incomplete.

And incomplete things demand attention.

But before that attention, for a moment, there was only the silence of the end of something that seemed never-ending.

A portal opened in the throne room, and at the same moment, Misael and Lilith arrived.

Misael, seeing Zaroth dead, prepared to kill all the rebels, while Lilith was shocked and paralyzed by the vision of Zaroth dead.

Then Kairan emerged from the portal, clutching her two katanas, Vezareth’s and Karmul’s, at her sides.

Kairan walked straight toward her father, ignoring Misael and Lilith.

A presence so dominant that every breath of the rebels seemed to grow heavier.

As if the very atmosphere awaited a final verdict.

The light emanating from him was no longer just a source.

But a pressure that sucked away every other energy around him.

Emptying all hope.

All resistance.

Misael followed a short distance behind.

His aura seemed not only to threaten, but also to caress.

As if death itself were preparing to enter the room with a terrifying sweetness.