The Banquet of the End (Part 2: The Last Dance)

The Battle Against the Last Blade

The battlefield boiled with blood and dust.

Aldric advanced.

Lucas didn't retreat.

The first clash tore the ground between them, sending shards of stone flying.

The Spear of the Gods sang — a line of white light exploded from the impact.

Lucas dodged, but not completely.

The blade grazed his side.

Black blood sprayed, vaporizing as it touched the air.

The Abyss laughed, but there was a sharp tension in its voice:

"Look at him, little puppet... he dances better than he seems..."

Aldric didn't give him space.

He spun on his heel and launched another strike.

Lucas jumped back, the shadows exploding beneath his feet.

Aldric pursued — each swing of the spear tore trails of destruction through the ground.

Lucas responded.

A wall of darkness erupted from the ground, trying to block the advance.

Aldric tore through it like a bullet, splitting it in two.

They traded blows.

Fists of shadow against divine steel.

The ground cracked.

Columns toppled.

Dust rose in spirals.

Aldric struck a deep cut into Lucas's arm.

Lucas retaliated, grabbing the spear and trying to crush it.

The thunder of the Spear exploded in response, throwing Lucas backward.

He hit the ground, carving a crater.

He stood again, his gaze glowing like embers.

The Abyss stopped laughing.

"Kill him, little puppet..." it hissed, more hoarse now.

Aldric charged.

Lucas dodged — under, over, around — moving in a blur of shadows.

The whole field trembled.

They were two hurricanes colliding.

But then...

Aldric found an opening.

The spear pierced through Lucas's chest.

For a second — just one — the laughter stopped.

The Spear of the Gods struck deep.

Not into his body.

Into his essence.

The Abyss shuddered within him.

And then...

It exploded.

For an instant, the world stopped.

The Abyss burst from Lucas — not fluid, not playful.

It was pure hatred.

The Fall of the Captain

The Abyss coiled around Lucas like a living plague.

Tentacles of shadow ripped through the air.

From the ground, black roots erupted.

And Lucas's body... changed.

The shadow covered him.

First his feet.

Then his hands.

Then his entire torso.

Until there was no skin or flesh visible.

Only darkness, pulsing like a living thing.

The Abyss took form around him — cracked, boiling eyes, claws tearing at the space.

He turned to Aldric.

And for the first time, he didn't smile.

The voice of the Abyss broke the air like a nail through flesh:

"Now listen, little knight..."

"You won't die quickly."

"You'll feel every bone break..."

"And then, you'll beg for an end that won't come."

For the first time in the entire war, Aldric hesitated.

One step back.

A breath caught.

A soldier facing something no longer human.

And Lucas, or what was left of him, advanced.

With the hunger of a thousand starving shadows.

Aldric spun the Spear of the Gods in his hands.

Tried to steady his breath.

Tried to swallow the fear clawing at his throat.

Lucas moved forward.

Not running.

Not roaring.

Just walking.

Each step crushed the ground.

The shadows twisted the air around him, as if reality itself tried to flee.

Aldric struck first.

The spear cut the space.

Lucas dodged with a sharp shoulder move.

The black armor absorbed the impact as if the spear itself hated touching it.

The counterattack was instant.

Lucas moved like a living shadow.

Appeared behind Aldric.

A punch.

Not of flesh.

Of pure abyss.

The impact hurled Aldric meters away, tearing up the ground like a stone thrown into mud.

The knight staggered to stand.

Blood dripped from his mouth.

But he didn't give up.

He raised the spear again.

Charged.

Desperate.

Lucas let him come closer.

Let hope bloom.

And then...

Broke it.

In one move, Lucas grabbed the Spear of the Gods with his right hand — the divine metal sizzling under the touch of living shadow — and snapped it in two.

Aldric attacked with the broken shaft, one last gesture of fury.

Lucas dodged effortlessly, grabbed him by the throat.

Lifted him into the air like nothing.

The Abyss, laughing again — but now a broken, ugly laugh — whispered through Lucas's mouth:

"No one will remember your courage, little knight."

Lucas squeezed.

For a second, something inside him hesitated.

A forgotten memory. A remnant of the man who once loved, who once swore to protect.

The Abyss roared, its voice exploding like a blade tearing through stone:

"HESITATE AND I'LL SPLIT YOU IN HALF, WRETCH!"

With a dry snap, he crushed Aldric's neck.

The body fell, heavy.

Dead before it even touched the ground.

The kingdom's last hope faded.

The Purge of the Knights

Aldric fell.

The dry sound of his body breaking echoed like a death drum.

For an instant, the battlefield froze.

The knights, without their commander, hesitated.

Swords wavered in trembling hands.

Some stepped back.

Others tried to charge forward, faltering.

None of them truly believed anymore.

The Abyss, still trembling with fury, lifted its gaze to them.

It didn't smile.

It didn't laugh.

It just hissed, its voice sharp as broken glass:

"Join your captain."

The shadows answered the call.

They spread across the ground.

Slithering like hungry serpents.

The knights tried to run.

Tried to scream.

Tried to pray.

The shadows caught them.

First their feet, pulled down as if the ground had become a living swamp.

Then their hands.

Then their souls.

Each knight was torn apart.

Screams ripped the sky.

Swords fell, useless.

Helmets rolled like broken toys.

The shadows climbed up their bodies.

And began to devour them.

The knights' eyes went dark.

Their mouths opened — but no sound came.

One by one, they were dragged away.

And where they fell, the blackened soil absorbed their final memories.

The Abyss watched, without emotion.

Without mercy.

Only with the cold pleasure of fulfilling a sentence long overdue.

When the last knight was swallowed, silence returned.

The battlefield was dead.

And the shadow army — now even larger — marched toward the castle.

The Feast of the Damned

Lucas walked alone through the shattered streets.

Corpses hung from broken balconies.Sobs echoed in the alleys.Children cowered behind rubble, their eyes wide and hopeless.

The smell of burnt flesh clung to everything.

And ahead...

The castle still shone.

Music. Wine. Laughter.A bubble of ignorance floating over the abyss.

The Abyss whispered, dragging its voice like a dagger:

"They're dancing on the altar of their own end, little puppet..."

Lucas didn't smile.

He just moved forward.

The hall's door opened.

At first, no one noticed Lucas standing in the entrance, his eyes blazing like burning coals.

But the smell arrived first.

The stench of fresh blood. Burned flesh.

Conversations died.

A noblewoman screamed at the bloody footprints Lucas left on the royal carpet.

Guards rushed to protect them.

Lucas simply raised his hand.

Shadows slithered from the floor, wrapping around the guards. Crushing. Twisting. Devouring.

He looked at the feast laid before the throne and smiled.

"Feasted well today, didn't you?"

King Edrian stood, his eyes wide, pale as death.

Lucas raised his hand again.

One of the nobles was yanked into the air by black tentacles.

"But it's a feast missing human meat, isn't it? Let me fix that."

With a flick, the man's body was torn apart midair.

His remains splattered across the table.

Guests vomited, screamed, tried to flee.

Lucas sealed the exits with shadow chains.

No one would escape.

He walked to the queen.

She wept, clutching the young prince Alric, who trembled, his eyes pleading.

Lucas crouched and brushed his bloodied fingers across the prince's face.

"Don't cry. Not yet. There's much left for you to feel."

He grabbed the boy by the hair and dragged him to the grand fireplace.

One look. An echo of something long lost.

Clara.

Just for an instant, his hand trembled.

But shadows have no mercy.

And he continued.

When the flames crackled before him, the prince struggled.

Begged. Tried to claw at the stone floor.

"No... no, please...!"

Lucas stared without expression.

The shadows slithered like hungry serpents.

They grabbed the boy's arms and legs and slowly dragged him toward the fire.

He kicked, begged for help that would never come.

The queen tried to run, but Lucas snapped his fingers.

Shadows grabbed her by the neck, forcing her to watch.

The prince was thrown into the flames.

His agonized screams echoed through the hall.

His skin melted.

His eyes burst in the heat.

His bones cracked.

He writhed.

But Lucas just watched, indifferent.

When only a smoking body remained, Lucas turned to the queen.

"Your son died crying. Let's see how long you last."

The queen tried to resist, but Lucas pierced her mouth with black thorns, driving through her tongue and throat.

She collapsed into a twisted sack of meat, pure agony.

The Throne of Agony

The king collapsed to his knees.

Mind shattered.Body trembling.

Lucas grabbed him by the hair and dragged him outside.

The gates opened to a living hell.

The kingdom burned.

Homes crumbled.

Citizens screamed as shadows devoured them.

Children, elders, soldiers... no one escaped.

The king saw his people consumed. Burned. Torn apart.

He screamed.Begged.Sobbed.

Lucas held his face, forcing him to watch.

"See your legacy. See what remains of your great kingdom."

The king's hands shook, useless.

Without mercy, Lucas dragged him to the center of the ruined square, where a grotesque throne had formed:

Made of twisted bones, rusted metal, and pulsating flesh.

Lucas lifted the king like a broken doll and threw him onto the throne.

Living roots wrapped around him.

Burrowed under his skin.

Pulled him inward — but didn't kill him.

The king tried to scream.

The shadows tore out his tongue, silencing him forever.

His chest was torn open.

His still-beating heart exposed between blackened veins, pulsing like starving snakes.

He wouldn't die.

Never.

He would be the eternal monument to failure.

A king without a kingdom.

A body without a soul.

A mouth that would never tell its story.

Lucas turned, facing the burning horizon.

Beneath the armor of shadows, his chest tightened — a nameless pain.

But he crushed it, as he crushed everything else.

"And thus your bloodline dies," he whispered.

The shadows stirred around him.

The dead of the Abyss walked toward the throne.

But before devouring it, one by one, they knelt.

Without haste.

Without emotion.

As knights before their new king.

A dead child, too small to carry so much hatred, approached.

Her face was a mask of scars and sorrow.

She reached out and touched the king — and began to eat him.

Slowly.

Carefully.

The king gasped, unable to fight back.

The other dead, their mouths open too wide, followed.

Ten.Twenty.A hundred.

Claws. Teeth.

Hunger.

The Abyss laughed, its voice booming over the broken stones:

"Go on... greet your king."

The throne pulsed one last time.

From the cracked ground beneath it, a pit of pure darkness opened — deep, bottomless, like the throat of hell itself.

The dead dragged the king into it.

His screams were stripped away, piece by piece, until nothing remained.

The throne crumbled into black dust.

The pit sealed shut.

And the last breath of the kingdom vanished.

Lucas stood still as the wind carried the scent of death away.

The Abyss coiled around him, its cracked eyes boiling. Its voice staggered between laughter, sobs, and whispers like broken glass:

"HAHAHAHA... hear it, little puppet..."

"The world spitting its own blood because of you..."

The laughter turned into a whimper.Then a hiss.Then a silence that crushed the ears.

Then, very close, as if biting the air between them, the Abyss whispered:

"Let's rip the world, stitch it with pain, and wear its carcass!"

The shadows writhed.

The ground seemed to breathe.

And before vanishing behind Lucas's back, the Abyss added, with a childlike, broken voice:

"It's going to be so fun watching everything rot..."

The smoke rose.

The dust settled.

And where he passed, even silence didn't dare return.

...

Somewhere far away, in a forgotten battle between worlds, a blade cut through the void.

The armor of shadows cracked.

A fragment of a face appeared.

And across the ruined field, a muffled, trembling voice — but a mature one — broke eternity:

"Dad...?"

End of Volume 1[Continued in Volume 2 — The Light in the Abyss]