ACT 20: NO MERCY, NO THRONE.

THE MEETING OF THE FACTION HEADS

 A Storm of Thrones and Thunderous Wrath

 The grand hall of the Obsidian Citadel trembled under the weight of Krelious Furious' rage. The air, thick with the scent of smoldering torches and the metallic tang of unsheathed blades, crackled like a storm about to break. The faction leaders stood in a semicircle around their king, their faces etched with tension, their armor reflecting the flickering firelight like the scales of restless dragons.

 Krelious Furious, his crimson cloak billowing as if alive with his fury, slammed his gauntleted fist onto the war table. Maps and goblets rattled. "How dare he?" His voice was a blade dragged across stone. "In my own halls—under my roof—he declares war upon us all! This insult will not stand!"

 Akermos, the scarred warlord with eyes like flint, bared his teeth. "We should have slit his throat the moment he spoke. Letting him leave was a mistake." His hand hovered over the hilt of his axe, muscles coiled for violence.

 Zielan, the silver-tongued strategist, stroked his beard. "Killing him would not have solved our problems, Akermos. It would have ignited a wildfire. His allies are already mobilized—this was no spur-of-the-moment defiance."

 Nealon, the youngest of the chiefs, scoffed. "Our problems? We have none. The throne is secure. The factions are united." Her naivety was a spark in a room full of gunpowder.

 Akermos turned on her, his voice a growl. "Open your eyes, Nealon. Enemies surround us like wolves in the dark. If Kazima declared war, it's because he believes he can win. And that means he's not alone."

 Dainen, the grizzled general, exhaled through his nose, his weariness a living thing. "Not a moment's rest. Endless fucking wars. When does it end?"

 Krelious' gaze swept over them, his golden eyes burning with apocalyptic wrath. "Enough talk!" The command shook the hall. "This 'little war' will be crushed before it begins. We will make an example of them—carve their defiance into the bones of every race who dares covet my throne!" He gripped the edge of the table, the wood splintering under his fingers. "I will not yield my crown to any upstart, any god, or even the Creator himself. The throne belongs to the Rulers. It will remain ours—forever."

 A chorus of loyalty erupted:

 Zion, the zealot, knelt, his voice fervent. "Yes, my king! It shall be as you decree."

 Nealon, chastened, bowed her head. "I stand with you."

 Dainen and Tavis echoed in unison, fists to chests. "By your will."

 Krelious turned to Dainen, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Mobilize the armies. When the battle comes, show no mercy. Leave none alive—not their soldiers, not their families. Wipe their name from existence."

 Dainen's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "It will be done."

 Then, the king's next order froze the room: "And bring me Kazima's head."

 Zion recoiled. "My king—! His head? Surely—"

 Tavis stepped forward, his voice urgent. "The head of a lowly god would only defile your halls!"

 Krelious turned on them, his expression so venomous the air itself seemed to curdle. "Did I ask for your opinions?" The silence that followed was suffocating. "Shut your mouths. Obey."

 The two men swallowed hard. "Yes, my king."

 Krelious locked eyes with Dainen. "His head. Understood?"

 Dainen's nod was grim. "Understood."

 KRELIOUS' BED CHAMBERS.

 A King's Rage and a Queen's Fear

 The doors to the king's private chambers burst open as Krelious stormed inside, his fury a living shadow. Sted, his queen, rose from the edge of their bed, her emerald gown pooling around her. Her smile faltered at the storm in his eyes.

 "My king," she began, her voice tentative, "how was the—?"

 Krelious crossed the room in three strides, his hand closing around her throat. She gasped, her fingers scrabbling at his wrist as he lifted her off her feet. "You," he hissed, "dared to intervene. You begged me to spare Kazima. Explain yourself."

 Sted's lips parted, her breath ragged. "I—I don't understand… Please, you'll hurt the baby!"

 For a heartbeat, the king's grip tightened—then he released her. She crumpled to the floor, coughing, her hands flying to her bruised neck.

 Krelious loomed over her, his voice a whip. "You carry my heir—the future of our race—and yet you plead for the life of a traitor?"

 Sted's voice was a broken thing. "Forgive me… But killing him before the factions would have made you more enemies!"

 The king's boot slammed into the floor. The entire citadel shuddered—tapestries swayed, chalices toppled, and somewhere deep in the fortress, stone cracked. His roar shook the walls. "ENEMIES? I am drowning in them! My own brother betrayed me! Spies lurk in every shadow of the Cronoverse and beyond! And you fear making more?"

 Sted trembled, tears streaking her cheeks. "I only wished to spare you the weight of a lowly god's blood. Your anger… it consumes you. Let go of the past, my king."

 Krelious stared at her, his chest heaving. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—doubt? Grief? Then it was gone, buried beneath the ice of a ruler who could not afford weakness.

 The Weight of a Kingdom's Fury.

 Krelious, still trembling with the remnants of his rage, felt the heat of his anger ebb as Sted's words seeped into his mind. Her voice, soft yet unyielding, was a balm to the storm inside him. He exhaled sharply, his broad shoulders sagging under the weight of his own recklessness.

 "Yeah… you're right," he admitted, his voice rough but quieter now. "I shouldn't have lost myself to anger in the halls."

 His gaze flickered to her swollen belly—a stark reminder of the life they were bound to protect. Guilt twisted in his chest, sharp and unrelenting. He reached for her hand, his calloused fingers brushing against her delicate skin.

 "I'm also sorry, my queen," he murmured, his tone laced with remorse. "For taking it out on you." His grip tightened slightly, his next words a command wrapped in desperation. "But don't you dare do anything so reckless again. Your goal—your only goal—must be to protect yourself and our child. Should anything go wrong…" His voice cracked, the unspoken horror lingering between them.

 Sted's lips curved into a gentle smile, her eyes shimmering with forgiveness. "Yes, my king," she whispered. "And I forgive you."

 Then, in a heartbeat, the air between them shifted. Lust darkened her gaze, her breath hitching as her fingers moved with purpose. Clothes fell away in a whisper of fabric, her body bared before him like an offering. Before Krelious could protest, she pushed him down onto the bed, her touch igniting a fire he couldn't deny.

 "I have still not forgiven you, Sted," he growled, though the heat in his voice betrayed him. A smirk tugged at his lips, his resolve wavering. "Don't think for one second that sex will make me change my mind."

 But their bodies had a language of their own. Lips met in a searing kiss, tongues clashing with pent-up hunger. Sted's hands roamed his chest, stripping away the last barriers between them. When skin met skin, Krelious groaned, his control unraveling. He rolled her beneath him, his mouth descending to her breasts, sucking and teasing until her moans filled the chamber.

 Then, with a growl, he flipped her onto her stomach, his hands gripping her hips possessively. There was no more pretense—only the raw, primal need that bound them together. The bed creaked beneath their fervor, their bodies moving in a rhythm as old as time itself.

 The Domainverse: A Dance of Shadows

 Meanwhile, in the labyrinthine alleys of the Domainverse, Martha moved like a wraith, her steps silent but urgent. She cast a glance over her shoulder, her voice cutting through the tension.

 "Come, Zerich," she called. "I'll show you all a way out of here. Follow me—and hurry."

 Zerich's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. The weight of command settled on his shoulders as he motioned to his men. "Yes, Martha," he replied, his voice low but firm. "Come, men. Stay vigilant—every step could be a trap."

 Kazo, ever the skeptic, leaned in close, his whisper laced with unease. "Sir Zerich… are you certain it's wise to follow her? Even if she let us stay at her bar, trust is a luxury we can't afford."

 Zerich's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Relax, Kazo," he said, though his eyes gleamed with something darker. "She can't harm us. And besides…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Following her might finally give me the chance to fulfill my… promises."

 Kazo's jaw clenched. "Sir, I know your appetite for beautiful women is… considerable. But we're on the run. Now isn't the time for distractions."

 Zerich's amusement vanished, replaced by a flash of irritation. "Don't you dare lecture me about my behavior again," he snapped. "I made a promise. And I will keep it."

 Kazo exhaled sharply but nodded. "Understood, sir." As he fell back into formation, he muttered under his breath, "I just hope this fool of a commander doesn't lead us all to ruin."

 Ahead, Martha paused, her voice sharp with impatience. "Zerich! You're falling behind."

 Zerich's smirk returned, his tone dripping with false sweetness. "I'm coming, my sweet Martha."

 Martha whirled on him, her eyes blazing. "'Sweet'?" she echoed, her voice laced with venom. "Listen here, Zerich. Don't get cozy with me, or I'll personally inform the soldiers of your location."

 Zerich chuckled, though his gaze turned calculating. "You wouldn't. You're helping us escape."

 Martha's smile was icy. "I could say you kidnapped me. That you did… unspeakable things. That you forced me to lead you to safety."

 Zerich's amusement faded. "That would be blackmail," he pointed out, though a flicker of unease crossed his face.

 "I know," Martha purred. "So if you want to avoid that… I suggest you fucking stay away from me."

 For a moment, silence hung between them. Then Zerich inclined his head, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. "Alright, Martha."

 Kazo, watching from the shadows, allowed himself a grim smile. "Good," he muttered. "Maybe now he'll focus on what actually matters."

 NEXT CHAPTER ✓

 ACT 21: THE WEIGHT OF BETRAYAL.