Chapter 8;- The War Of Vengeance

A heavy silence filled the throne room, thick with the weight of an unspoken truth—Sebastian had lost.

Not just a battle, but his throne. His power. His very claim to the kingdom.

And yet—he refused to accept it.

His golden eyes, once filled with condescension and arrogance, now burned with something far more dangerous—hatred. Humiliation twisted his features as he clenched his jaw, his breathing uneven. He was not used to being powerless. Not used to being backed into a corner.

But a caged beast was always the most desperate.

His fingers curled around the hilt of his rapier. His knuckles turned white. His pride screamed for retaliation, for blood, for vengeance.

Rhaegar sat on the throne, his throne, watching Sebastian with a calm, unreadable gaze. His presence alone felt like a storm looming over the horizon, waiting to unleash its wrath.

And that was what made it unbearable.

Sebastian knew that he was being dismissed. That Rhaegar had already decided his fate, as if his struggle—his reign—had been nothing more than a brief inconvenience.

Unacceptable.

He took a slow, measured breath, then—he laughed.

The sound was dry, bitter. Unstable.

"Oh, cousin," Sebastian drawled, wiping the blood from his split lip with the back of his hand. "You think you've won, don't you?"

Rhaegar didn't respond. He didn't have to.

The weight of his silence said enough.

Sebastian let out another chuckle, his body still aching from the brutal fight, but his mind racing with cold, calculating thoughts. He wouldn't let it end here.

"Did you think reclaiming this throne would make you victorious?" He shook his head, his eyes gleaming with something dark, something vengeful. "No, no, no—this isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Lucian, who had been leaning casually against a pillar, rolled his eyes. "Oh, here we go."

Sebastian's gaze snapped to him. "Shut up, Lucian."

Lucian smirked. "You know, for someone who just got his ass handed to him, you sure are running your mouth a lot."

Sebastian ignored him and turned back to Rhaegar, his expression shifting into something eerily calm.

"You should've killed me when you had the chance," he said.

Rhaegar's fingers tapped lazily against the armrest. "Should I?"

Sebastian grinned, but it wasn't his usual arrogant smirk. It was something twisted, something filled with pure spite.

"Yes."

And then—he took a step back.

Not in retreat. Not in fear.

But in preparation.

"Because now, Rhaegar—" his voice turned to a low whisper, laced with something dangerous. "I'm going to burn this entire kingdom to the ground."

Lucian's smirk vanished. "Oh, that doesn't sound good."

Sebastian reached into his coat, and before either of them could react, he threw something onto the ground.

A small, metallic sphere.

It shattered.

And then—smoke exploded into the air, thick and suffocating, engulfing the room in an instant.

Rhaegar immediately shot up from the throne, eyes narrowing as the dark fog clouded his vision. The scent of sulfur and burning metal filled his lungs. Sebastian had planned this.

A distraction.

"Find him," Rhaegar ordered, his voice sharp, commanding.

Lucian had already drawn his sword, his silhouette barely visible through the smoke. "On it."

But it was too late.

By the time the smoke began to clear—Sebastian was gone.

The Declaration of War

Sebastian stormed through the hidden corridors of the castle, his heart pounding, his mind spinning with cold, seething rage.

This wasn't defeat. Not yet.

Because Sebastian had always known that the moment Rhaegar returned, things would change. He had anticipated it, prepared for it.

And now?

Now, it was time for war.

He shoved open a concealed door, emerging into the moonlit gardens where his remaining loyalists were waiting. Their eyes widened as they saw their king—injured, furious, but very much alive.

"We move," he ordered.

A knight stepped forward hesitantly. "Move, Your Majesty? But the capital—"

"Forget the capital," Sebastian snarled. "Rhaegar thinks he's won, but he's made a grave mistake. He let me live."

The knights exchanged uneasy glances. They had seen Sebastian in many moods—arrogant, smug, overconfident—but never like this.

Never this hell-bent on vengeance.

"Spread the word," Sebastian commanded. "We ride for Veldrith. The war begins now."

The Kingdom Trembles

By dawn, the entire kingdom was in chaos.

The news had spread like wildfire—Sebastian had escaped.

And worse? He had declared war.

Messengers arrived in the capital breathless, relaying reports of Sebastian's forces gathering in Veldrith, an army forming at an alarming speed.

The people of the kingdom, who had barely begun to process the return of their rightful king, now found themselves caught in the storm of an impending war.

Fear gripped the streets. Merchants shut their stalls. Families boarded their doors. Soldiers rushed to reinforce the city walls.

Because they all knew—Sebastian was not one to accept defeat quietly.

And when he returned, he would come with fire and blood.

Rhaegar's Response

Rhaegar stood in the throne room, watching the city below. The distant sound of bells ringing in warning echoed through the halls.

Lucian leaned against the window, arms crossed. "Well, that was fast."

Rhaegar didn't answer. He had expected this. Sebastian was too proud to vanish quietly into the night.

"He's making his move," Lucian continued. "And from what I hear, it's a big one. What's the plan, oh mighty king?"

Rhaegar turned to him, his expression cold, unwavering.

"We give him the war he wants."

Lucian grinned. "Oh, I like the sound of that."

But Rhaegar's gaze darkened as he turned back to the city. His kingdom. His people.

This wasn't just a war for the throne anymore.

This was personal.

Sebastian wanted vengeance?

Then Rhaegar would show him what true vengeance looked like.

The sky darkened as storm clouds gathered over the battlefield, casting an ominous shadow across the vast plains of Veldrith. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a warning. The heavens themselves seemed to hold their breath as two armies prepared for the inevitable clash—one fueled by vengeance, the other by righteous fury.

The banners of Rhaegar Crowne's forces whipped violently in the wind, the sigil of the black dragon gleaming against a sea of armored warriors. Knights, mercenaries, and soldiers—men who had suffered under Sebastian's rule, men who had lost their homes, their families, their dignity—now stood united behind their true king. Their armor glinted under the fleeting rays of sunlight, their swords and spears raised in solemn readiness.

At the center of them all, Rhaegar stood tall.

Draped in a black and crimson cloak, his obsidian armor seemed forged from the night itself, etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with a dark, ethereal glow. He looked like a specter of death, a god of war incarnate. Beside him, Lucian adjusted his gauntlets, his sharp gaze scanning the enemy ranks.

"You'd think they'd look a little more confident," Lucian muttered, nudging Rhaegar's arm.

Rhaegar didn't respond immediately. His golden eyes flickered over the enemy forces—Sebastian's army. Thousands stood in formation, clad in royal blue and gold, the colors of a ruler who had already lost his throne. But something was wrong.

They were hesitant.

Even from a distance, it was clear—the soldiers were afraid.

Their hands gripped their weapons too tightly. Their shoulders were tense. Some exchanged nervous glances, whispering.

And why wouldn't they?

Their king—the man they had sworn loyalty to—had been humiliated. Beaten. Reduced to a pathetic, vengeful shadow of himself.

And worse?

Their opponent wasn't just any man.

It was Rhaegar Crowne.

The legend. The nightmare. The man who had returned from the dead with a power that could shatter empires.

Lucian smirked. "See that? They know they're screwed."

Rhaegar remained silent, his gaze shifting to Sebastian.

The fallen king stood at the front of his army, his arrogance barely masking the sheer desperation in his eyes. He wore extravagant golden armor, a poor attempt to project strength and grandeur. But no armor could conceal the truth.

He was losing.

Not just the battle—but his grip on his own forces.

Sebastian raised his sword high, his voice booming across the battlefield.

"Men of Veldrith!" he called. "We fight for honor! For glory! For the throne that is rightfully ours!"

His soldiers gave a half-hearted battle cry. Unconvincing.

Sebastian's jaw clenched. He turned to his generals, his voice lower, harsher. "What the hell is wrong with them?"

One of the commanders hesitated before answering. "Your Majesty… they fear him."

Sebastian's eyes darkened. "Fear who?"

The commander swallowed. "Rhaegar."

Sebastian's grip on his sword tightened. Of course.

Of course they feared him.

They had all heard the stories. The man who had been betrayed, executed, and yet still rose from the abyss itself. The man who had broken through the castle gates, slaughtered his way through Sebastian's best men, and nearly killed him with a single strike.

They had seen Rhaegar's power. They had felt the sheer terror of standing against him.

And now, they had to do it again.

Sebastian forced a smirk. He would not let this end in humiliation.

"Then let them fear him," he said. "Fear makes men reckless. If they fear him, they will fight harder."

He turned back to the battlefield, his voice ringing out.

"We march forward! No retreat! Any man who flees will be executed!"

The soldiers stiffened.

They knew the truth.

Sebastian would rather kill his own men than accept another defeat.

The War Begins

The horns screamed across the battlefield.

Sebastian's army charged.

The ground trembled beneath the stampede of thousands. The clash of metal against metal filled the air as war descended upon the plains of Veldrith.

Rhaegar unsheathed his blade—the Black Blade.

The moment it left its sheath, the air around him seemed to distort. The sword pulsed with dark energy, a remnant of the abyss itself, its edges lined with an eerie, consuming void.

Lucian grinned as he drew his own weapon, a sleek silver rapier that reflected the chaos of the battlefield. "Finally. I was starting to get bored."

The first wave of enemy soldiers reached them.

Rhaegar moved like a phantom.

One moment, he stood still—the next, he was cutting through them like a storm of blades.

His sword moved with terrifying precision, ripping through armor like paper, severing limbs, cutting men down before they could even scream. Blood painted the ground, and in mere seconds, dozens had fallen at his feet.

Lucian fought beside him, moving with effortless grace, weaving through enemies like a dancer in the midst of a deadly performance.

"Come on, is that all you've got?" Lucian taunted, dodging a clumsy strike before running his blade through a knight's throat. "I expected more from the so-called royal army!"

Sebastian, watching from a distance, felt his stomach twist.

This wasn't a battle.

This was a massacre.

His men were falling apart. His forces were being slaughtered faster than he could issue commands.

And Rhaegar—Rhaegar was unstoppable.

For the first time since the war began—true fear gripped him.

But he refused to run.

No.

Not again.

He turned to his personal guards. "With me."

And with that, Sebastian charged toward the battlefield, toward Rhaegar, toward the man who refused to stay dead.

The Inevitable Clash

Rhaegar saw him coming.

A cruel smirk played at his lips.

"Finally," he muttered.

Lucian cracked his knuckles. "Took him long enough."

Sebastian closed the distance, his golden armor shining even amidst the chaos. He raised his sword, eyes blazing with desperate fury.

"Rhaegar!" he roared.

Rhaegar lifted his blade, eyes meeting his former cousin's.

"Sebastian."

And then, with a crash that shook the battlefield—they clashed.

Their blades met in an explosion of force, sending shockwaves rippling across the battlefield. The sheer impact cracked the ground beneath them, sending dust and debris into the air.

Sebastian gritted his teeth as he pushed against Rhaegar's strength, but it was like trying to move a mountain. His arms trembled under the pressure, his golden armor groaning as the force of the clash threatened to buckle it inward.

Rhaegar stood unwavering, his golden eyes burning with quiet fury.

"You look surprised, Sebastian," he said, his voice calm—too calm.

Sebastian snarled and shoved him back, lunging forward with a flurry of rapid strikes. His sword blurred through the air, each movement aimed with deadly precision.

But Rhaegar did not retreat.

He parried each blow effortlessly, his movements faster than human eyes could track. His blade, the Black Blade, hummed with dark power, its very presence distorting the air around it.

And then—he struck.

A single, precise counterattack.

Sebastian barely had time to react before pain tore through his side. He stumbled back, eyes widening in horror as he looked down—blood dripped from a deep gash in his armor.

Rhaegar rolled his shoulders. "You're slower than before. Too much feasting? Too much lounging in my throne?"

Sebastian's face twisted with rage.

"Shut up!"

He charged again, but this time—he wasn't alone.

His personal guards surged forward, a dozen elite warriors in gilded armor, each one wielding weapons infused with magic.

Lucian whistled. "Oh, great. The royal lapdogs finally decided to join in."

The first soldier lunged at him, only for Lucian to sidestep effortlessly, driving his rapier through the man's throat.

"Oops. Clumsy." Lucian smirked, shoving the body aside.

The others attacked in unison, their weapons glowing with enchanted energy.

Rhaegar met them head-on.

His movements became a storm—a force of nature, a blur of steel and shadow.

One warrior swung a massive axe at him. Rhaegar ducked under it and cleaved through his chest with a single swing.

Another came from the side, aiming for his blind spot.

Rhaegar caught the incoming blade with his bare hand.

For a brief moment, the battlefield fell silent.

The soldier's face twisted in horror as he realized what had happened. His sword—a blade that could cut through stone—was frozen in Rhaegar's grip, unmoving.

Then, with a mere flick of his wrist, Rhaegar shattered the weapon into shards.

"Pathetic," he muttered before driving his sword through the man's stomach.

Lucian, meanwhile, was laughing like a madman.

"Come on, is this the best your so-called 'elites' can do?" he taunted as he danced between his opponents, dodging, weaving, and slicing through them like they were nothing.

Blood splattered across the field.

Sebastian was breathing hard, watching his best warriors fall like insects.

No. No, this couldn't be happening.

He had an army. He had power. He had planned for this.

Then why… why did it feel like he was already losing?

Rhaegar turned his gaze back to him, stepping over the bodies of Sebastian's fallen men. His golden eyes held no mercy.

"Do you see it now, Sebastian?" he asked softly.

Sebastian tightened his grip on his sword, his body screaming in pain, but his pride refusing to break.

"I will not bow to you!" he spat. "I am the rightful king! I built this kingdom! I rule it!"

Rhaegar tilted his head. "Do you?"

He lifted his sword and pointed beyond Sebastian—toward the battlefield.

Sebastian turned.

And his heart stopped.

His army—his mighty force, his thousands of soldiers—were breaking.

Some had dropped their weapons, fleeing into the forest. Others hesitated, looking around in confusion, their morale shattered.

The sight burned into his mind like a wound. They were deserting him.

"Cowards!" he roared. "I will have you all executed for this!"

But his words meant nothing. Not anymore.

Because they had already made their choice.

They would rather run than die for him.

Sebastian's breaths came in short gasps, his world crumbling around him.

And Rhaegar?

Rhaegar just stood there. Watching.

"You see, Sebastian," he said, "a kingdom built on betrayal… never lasts."

Sebastian's eyes burned with fury.

He wouldn't accept this.

He couldn't.

With a furious cry, he charged forward—one last desperate attack.

Rhaegar didn't move.

Not until the very last second.

Then, with a single swift motion, he dodged Sebastian's strike and drove his fist into his chest.

The impact was inhuman.

Sebastian's ribs cracked. His body lifted off the ground before crashing back down, skidding across the dirt. His sword flew from his grip, landing several feet away.

He lay there, coughing blood, his vision blurring.

Above him, Rhaegar approached, his boots crushing the blood-soaked earth beneath them.

He crouched down, looking at Sebastian as if he were nothing more than an insect.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Rhaegar asked softly. "To face me? To prove you were stronger?"

Sebastian could barely breathe. His chest felt like it had been caved in.

He lost.

The truth was undeniable.

And yet—he still couldn't accept it.

With the last of his strength, he forced himself to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth.

He laughed. A weak, broken sound.

"You… you think this is over?"

Rhaegar narrowed his eyes.

Sebastian smiled, his lips stained red.

"I am not the only one who fears you," he whispered. "You are powerful, Rhaegar. Too powerful. And that… is why they will never accept you as their king."

Rhaegar's gaze darkened.

Sebastian's grin widened.

"The other kingdoms," he rasped. "They will come for you. You think this war was the end? No, cousin… this was only the beginning."

His words hung in the air like a curse.

Lucian stepped forward, his usual smirk gone. "Do we kill him now?"

Rhaegar stared at Sebastian for a long moment.

Then—he turned away.

"No," he said. "Let him live with this failure."

Sebastian flinched. That… that was worse than death.

He could already feel it—the shame, the humiliation, the knowledge that he had lost everything.

Rhaegar stepped toward the remnants of Sebastian's forces. The ones who had not fled.

He raised his sword.

"Your king is defeated," he declared. "You have two choices—swear loyalty to me, or suffer his fate."

The soldiers dropped to their knees.

The war was over.

Rhaegar Crowne had won.

The Aftermath

As the sun began to set, the battlefield was silent.

Bodies littered the ground, blood soaking the earth, the banners of the fallen laying tattered in the wind.

Lucian sat on a rock, inspecting a small cut on his arm. "Well. That was fun."

Rhaegar stood at the top of a hill, overlooking the ruins of Sebastian's army.

His expression was unreadable.

Lucian looked at him. "You okay?"

Rhaegar didn't respond immediately.

Then—he smirked.

"Let them come."

Lucian raised an eyebrow. "The other kingdoms?"

Rhaegar nodded.

"Sebastian was right about one thing," he said. "This war was only the beginning."

And with that, he turned, walking toward the city he had just reclaimed.

The city that now feared him.