CHAPTER 49: A BROKEN KING

"She is safe now... then why does it feel like there’s a weight pressing down on my chest?"

He sat on top of the massive gate of Selvaran, his eyes locked on the lone figure limping slowly toward the castle.

The wind brushed against him—cold, quiet.

He didn’t move.

Just sat there on the edge of the wall, staring down at the sleeping kingdom.

The lights were out.

Not a single torch burned.

The streets were still.

The people were asleep—peaceful, untouched.

Safe.

As if nothing had happened.

He took a slow breath, but it didn’t help.

The weight in his chest only grew heavier.

"Why won’t this feeling disappear?"

His hand clenched against his chest, as if he could rip it out—tear the weight away.

He didn’t understand.

No... he did.

He remembered this pain. This familiar pain.

It was the pain of failure. Of not being enough.

The same ache he felt as Arthur, but now it’s sharper. Deeper.

He turned his head.

Not fast. Not slow.

Like he already knew.

The blade came from the shadows—silent, aimed straight for his heart.

But Sylas moved before it could touch him.

His hand lashed out—grabbing the figure by the throat.

He stepped into the motion, dragging her into the moonlight.

No hesitation. No surprise.

Just a calm, steady grin.

"Maybe..." he whispered, eyes burning, "you can help me make this feeling go away."

She kicked. Struggled.

It didn’t matter.

He squeezed harder.

"So it was you who stabbed me, then," he said.

"The queen."

A short pause.

"So... you were the one crawling in the shadows."

Then—

A horn sounded in the distance. Its cry echoed through the night.

All the lights in the kingdom blazed to life.

Sylas didn’t flinch.

He just laughed.

Then louder—sharper—until it echoed across the wall like something unhinged.

He pulled her in front of him—slow, deliberate.

Didn’t even look at her.

Just raised both hands.

And then—

Crack.

Her neck snapped like dry wood.

She went limp in his grasp, lifeless.

Then he shouted,

"Domain."

The entire kingdom turned gold.

Swords rose from everywhere—out of the ground, from the rooftops, from the walls.

It was like the kingdom itself had awakened.

People started panicking.

Screams filled the air.

Fog began to consume the kingdom, rolling in from all sides like a living thing.

He lifted one of his hands and spoke,

"Your king needs you."

In that moment, the soldiers rose.

Thousands of them.

Golden armor gleaming through the mist.

They stood tall—ready to serve.

"Kill everyone. Kill anything that moves."

His tone was cold. Emotionless. Unhinged.

"Children. Mothers. Elders. I don’t care."

"Make sure nothing lives."

The soldiers scattered throughout the kingdom.

They stormed into homes, kicked down doors, and butchered without any questions.

Swords flashed in the dark. Blood sprayed the walls.

They cut down families huddled in corners.

They dragged bodies of the screaming villagers into the streets.

Blades tore through their bodies like paper.

Screams echoed across the kingdom.

It was sharp. Raw. Endless.

He shouted at the sky,

"Didn’t I say I would erase all your bloodlines?!"

Then he leapt down from the gate.

His boots hit the stone with a heavy thud.

He walked—slow, steady—toward the castle.

Her hair twisted in his fist, her body scraping across the stone like some kind of welcome offering. Excalibur gleamed in his right.

Beside him, the king of lions padded forward.

Its golden-red fur shimmered under the moonlight, swaying with each step.

"Kill them all," he said.

"Devour them all. Don’t leave anything alive."

And he kept moving—

Dragging her body behind him like a warning.

Like a promise.

He passed through the bloody road.

Bodies lined the path behind him—fresh, torn. Some still twitched.

He didn’t hesitate.

If they moved, he drove his sword into them.

No mercy. No pause.

Only the sound of sword sinking into flesh.

After a while, his domain ran out.

But it had lasted long enough...

Long enough to run the streets red.

Even without it, he didn’t slow down.

Any guard that tried to stop him—

He cut them down without mercy.

One swing. One step.

He cut them down one by one.

Each strike clean. Precise. Unstoppable.

Until he reached the castle gates.

There, the nobles stood waiting—draped in silk and fear.

At the center, the king.

Sylas grinned. Wide. Unhinged.

"Here," he said. "This one is yours."

He threw the queen’s lifeless body at the king’s feet.

Her head lolled to the side. Her hair soaked in blood.

Gasps filled the air. Rage followed.

"You monster! How dare you—how are you even alive?!"

Sylas chuckled. Slow. Cold.

"Aww," he said, tilting his head. "You don’t like watching your loved ones die?"

He stepped forward, dragging Excalibur across the stone floor.

Sparks followed.

"I’m going to keep you alive," he whispered,

"Just long enough to kill your son in front of your eyes."

The king shouted, "Kill this bastard!"

In that instant, they all exploded with power.

Energy erupted from every noble—crimson, gold, silver, flame, frost, lightning.

Their eyes glowed like gods reborn.

And Sylas smiled.

"Domain of the King."

The words cut through the chaos like a blade.

In a blink, their power vanished.

The air fell silent.

They stared at each other in silence, powerless—afraid—like they knew nothing could stop him.

Before they could act—

Sylas blinked.

One noble dropped to his knees. His throat split open.

They turned, eyes wide—

Sylas appeared behind another. A flick of the blade.

Gone.

Then in front of one.

A stab through the chest.

Gone.

Another tried to run.

Sylas was already there.

Head severed. Body dropped.

They screamed. Some begged. It didn’t matter.

He was everywhere.

One by one, they fell.

And none of them could even raise a hand to stop it.

Until only the king remained.

Frozen.

Alone.

Trembling.

Sylas stood before him now—his blade dripping, his eyes glowing.

"I said," he whispered, "I’d keep you alive."

He lifted him up and drove the sword into his shoulder—the one he picked up off the floor,

nailing him to the palace wall.

Sylas grinned.

"You stay right here."

He leaned in, voice low and mocking.

"Don’t run away."

"I’m gonna go kill your son now."

The king shouted, "Don’t! I’ll give you anything!"

Sylas turned his head. His eyes were sharp.

"Bring him back," he said.

The king went quiet.

From behind the door, the prince stepped out—shirtless, sweaty, a dagger pressed against Ana’s throat.

She was barely dressed. Her clothes torn.

Her eyes were blank. She was still unconscious.

That moment snapped something inside Sylas.

He didn’t scream. Without a word, he moved fast.

In less than a breath, he was there.

He grabbed the prince by the face and slammed him into the wall.

Crack.

Then the floor.

Then the wall again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Blood flowed onto the floor.

Every bone in his face shattered. All his front teeth broke.

Until the prince’s face was unrecognizable. Just broken meat.

His body lay on his back.

"This is for touching her with your filthy hands."

Sylas placed his foot on the prince’s spine.

And pressed down.

Crack.

Both arms snapped at once—twisting in opposite directions.

The scream that followed didn’t sound human. It tore through the halls, raw and broken.

He wasn’t done.

Sylas grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him onto his back.

The man gasped, limbs twitching—like even his fear was choking on itself.

"And this," Sylas said softly, voice shaking with hate, "is for the way you looked at her."

Then he drove the blade into the man’s face.

Straight through the eyes.

There was a sickening pop—like something wet being crushed underfoot.

His sight—his future—gone.

Sylas didn’t flinch.

Then—

Sylas tossed the body like garbage—hurling it out the nearest window.

It landed beside the king.

Then he walked toward Ana.

He picked her up gently.

His hand brushed her face.

Her eyes slowly opened. She was dazed. Like she had been dreaming of him.

Her fingers rose, trembling.

They touched his cheek, lightly.

Like she was afraid he’d disappear if she pressed too hard.

Sylas let out a soft smile.

"It’s me," he whispered. "Didn’t I promise I’d keep you safe?"

She didn’t answer.

She just threw her arms around his neck and started crying—loud, messy, broken sobs.

Filled with hiccups, gasps, and choked-out whimpers.

Tears soaked his shoulder.

But he didn’t move.

He just held her tighter, and let it happen.