Samuel's POV
The wind howled through the jagged peaks of Oblivion, carrying with it the scent of ash and ancient secrets.
Each step I took on the cracked obsidian path echoed like a drumbeat, a reminder of the battles I'd fought and the ones yet to co.
I adjusted the straps on my Abyss Gauntlets, their void-forged steel still humming with residual energy.
The mory of my clash with Nelo Angelo was fresh, but my mind was already consud by thoughts of the Queen's Right Wing.
"They say she's the Queen's shield," I muttered to myself, eyes scanning the horizon. "If that's true, breaking through her ans I'm one step closer to the throne."
A sudden rustle in the shadows caught my attention. From the darkness erged a figure cloaked in tattered robes, face obscured by a hood.
"Samuel Gebb," the figure rasped. "The Harbinger of Destruction."
I tensed, readying my stance. "Who's asking?"
"A ssenger, nothing more," the figure replied, extending a parchnt. "The Queen's Right Wing awaits your challenge."
I took the parchnt, unrolling it to reveal a map marked with a single location: Skyreach Bastion.
"Tell her I'll be there," I said, crumpling the parchnt. "And tell her to be ready."
The figure nodded once before disappearing into the shadows.
I turned my gaze back to the path ahead. The journey to Skyreach Bastion would be treacherous, but the promise of battle fueled my resolve.
"Ti to see if the Queen's shield can withstand the storm."
With determination burning in my chest, I pressed forward, each step bringing closer to the confrontation that would shape the fate of Oblivion.
________________________________________
Skyreach Bastion, Throne of Stone and Silence
The gates of Skyreach Bastion lood ahead—twin towers of voidstone etched with runes older than ti itself.
The wind here didn't whisper; it howled, scread, cried out like a graveyard of gods.
I pushed the massive doors open with a single swing of my gauntleted fists. They groaned in protest—like the world itself wasn't ready to see what ca next.
And there she was.
Seated at the edge of a stone dais, legs crossed, a single obsidian wing folded behind her back like a dagger sheathed in patience.
Her armor shimred not with gold or elegance but with raw darkness—elegant, brutal, and rciless. The Queen's Right Wing.
"Samuel Gebb," she said, not looking up. Her voice? Silk wrapped around razors. "The Harbinger who broke Nelo Angelo in half and still had the nerve to complain about it."
I chuckled, slow and amused. "He wasn't that impressive. Bit too in love with his own sword."
She looked up.
Her eyes were pale athyst. No warmth. No cruelty. Just a soldier's stillness. "If you think this is going to be another flashy brawl where you show off your tricks... go ho."
"I don't have a ho," I said, stepping into the chamber. My boots echoed like thunder on marble. "I have quests, scars, and the scent of blood on my coat. That's enough for now."
She rose slowly. "You're cocky. But you're not lying. Good."
"I didn't co here for your approval."
She smirked slightly. "Then you must've co to die."
"I've already died," I said. "In three lives. In three worlds. I'm just here to finish what fate started."
That made her pause. For a heartbeat, the mask of indifference cracked. She tilted her head.
"You rember your past lives?"
"Vividly."
"And Roselle?"
A slow exhale. "She haunts every one of them."
Her gaze sharpened like drawn steel. "You still crave her?"
"I crave strength," I said coldly. "The kind I tasted with her. On the battlefield. In bed. In betrayal. But this—" I gestured to her—"this isn't about her."
"No," she said, stepping off the dais. "It's about ."
She unsheathed a pair of twin sabers—curved like crescent moons, humming with anti-light.
"I am Vaelira Duskheart. Right Wing of the Queen. Her blade, her silence, her will. To reach her, you pass through ."
"And if I break you?"
"Then you get an audience. But not her hand. Or her rcy."
I summoned the Oblivion Chains, letting them swirl around my arms like living serpents. "I don't need rcy. I need the Challenge."
We circled each other now, like predators who'd long since forgotten fear.
"You don't understand what she's becoming," Vaelira said. "Roselle... she's not the sa woman you once knew."
"Neither am I," I replied. "But I still plan on standing beside her. Or above her."
"You arrogant bastard," she muttered—but there was no hate in her tone. Just a warrior's respect.
"Say that after I've left you broken."
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
And just like that, she launched.
Fast.
A blur.
I activated Voidstep just in ti—reappearing behind her and swinging with my gauntlets. She ducked, spun, and slashed. The air whistled. Sparks flew.
For a mont, it was all motion and mory. I saw Roselle in her style—in the discipline, the fury, the silent wrath. They'd trained together, or maybe she'd been crafted by Roselle herself.
And yet... I wasn't the sa fool from the first life. Or the war-addled killer of the second. I was forged in vengeance now.
"Apocalypse Roar!" I bellowed, unleashing a shockwave that sent her skidding back.
Vaelira wiped the blood from her lip, smiling. "You're not bad. Still sloppy in the left-hand feints though."
"I'll correct it when I'm done stomping you."
We clashed again—her blades slicing through shadow, my fists wrapped in voidfire. The chains bit. Her sabers cut. But neither of us backed down.
Until finally—finally—we stood across from each other, both panting, bleeding, eyes wild.
"You want your audience?" she rasped.
I nodded. "If I have to crawl through fire to face her, I will."
She sheathed her blades. "Then go, Harbinger. But don't forget... just because the throne is empty doesn't an it wants to be filled."
I grinned, wiping blood from my lip.
"That's fine. I've always made the throne kneel to ."
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