The Battlefield of Kings
The throne room, once a place of royal decree, became a stage for something far greater—a duel between fate and ambition, between fire and shadow.
Tara moved first.
Her flames roared to life, spiraling around her like a phoenix reborn in fury. With a single motion, she launched a wave of fire toward Shree Yan, a tempest meant to reduce even gods to ash.
But Shree Yan did not move.
Instead, his shadow stretched.
A darkness deeper than night rose from his feet, coiling like a living entity, swallowing the golden inferno before it could touch him. The flames vanished, consumed by an abyss that held no mercy.
Tara's breath hitched. That abyss… it was not just power. It was a void.
Shree Yan tilted his head. "Is this all?"
His voice was bored, as if she were nothing more than an insect flickering against a storm.
Tara gritted her teeth. "Don't mock me!"
She struck again, her hands weaving symbols in the air, summoning the ancient flames of the Sun God himself. The golden fire twisted into a spear, shimmering with divine radiance. A weapon forged to burn even the undying.
Shree Yan watched, unbothered. He raised a single hand.
And then—darkness surged.
Like a thousand shadows converging, his power devoured the light itself. The fire spear trembled, struggling against an abyss that did not fight, did not destroy—it simply erased.
And in that moment, Tara understood.
This was not just power.
This was an existence that should not be.
Her heart pounded as Shree Yan stepped forward, his red eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
"I do not fear fire," he whispered, "for I have already burned."
And then—the battle truly began.