The Witch's Cursed Daughter

103. The Final Step

Standing side-by-side with the first prince, the pairing that had begun the entire four-year affair, Voster's narrowed eyes peered at the hysterical black-haired princess. Watching her thrash around as her magic was pulled away from her left a bitter taste in his mouth. The Allancient was fading, as if its entire being was being erased, since magic created and sustained its existence. A familiar warmth met his shoulder, comforting him in a silent yet accustomed squeeze.

Julian lifted his hand away from Voster as he met Wen's gaze, knowing the events that were about to follow. Striding forward, Julian ascended a couple of steps to meet Illea, who noticed his presence with a deathly glare.

"You!" Illea's emerald eyes were wild with rage; her teeth bared as she stretched out a grey-skinned finger with the little strength remaining within her body. "All you needed to do was die!"

"The same could be said to you, dear sister," Julian replied, his anger simmering softly behind his eyes as he battled the disappointment he felt looking at Illea's manic disposition. This was the person who had caused the deaths of many on this battlefield, caused Evianna harm, yet he regarded her indifferently.

"Dear sister, dear brother," Illea scoffed, tracing her arms through the air as if her fingers were searching for strings controlling the Myrde's power. "You are not my brother. It is a travesty that you were born! Your whore of a mother seduced my father, ruined him, and drove our mother to death!"

The pity that had made a home for itself in Julian's chest dropped to the base of his stomach as anger, which had been suppressed, reignited. "Your mother died because the Emperor is a cruel, greedy man who corrupts anything he touches," he bellowed.

"Say what you like; you're just after the throne. You and he are the same!"

"We are not!" Julian refuted, his black aura becoming rigid and sharp as he fought back the urge to attack her. "I never had any intention of wearing a crown on my head. Your brother drove me to it."

"Elder brother?" A puzzled expression crossed Illea's face, and then she noticed a pair of green eyes beside Julian. Realising Wen was there, her hope soared, Illea's fading features glowed with life as she cried out to him, "Elder brother, kill him! Give me his head!" With expectant eyes, she waited for Wen to make a move. After a few seconds and nothing had happened, Illea's voice screeched, "Elder Brother!" The first prince stepped forward and placed his hand across the front of their half-sibling as if creating a barrier with his arm, announcing that he would not be harmed. Upon seeing this, the princess again broke down into hysterical bawling with thunderous ferocity, screaming, "Wen!"

"I'm sorry, sister, but you became a monster," he whispered in response, unable to look away from the girl he could not remove from his heart.

With no one left to defend her and betrayed by the one she thought would always be on her side, Illea's emotions raged like a hurricane, swallowing her from the inside. As the first hints of orange and pink tainted the bluing morning sky, she lifted a sword that had found itself at her feet as the owner fell in her honour. Holding the sword, her stance seemed confident but surreal, the fading of her skin the same shade as the steel, Wen watched with regret that he couldn't prevent this fate. Without a word or further crying, Illea charged at Julian, swinging the blade with practiced strokes. The second prince met her in combat, wary of getting to close to the Myrde's magic.

As the two engaged in a duel, Voster, who was observing the fight, speculating all outcomes, heard the muffled sound of odd footsteps approaching. Turning to his right, his face offered the hint of a smile as Romile and Davore bobbed into sight atop Saryne's back. As they drew closer, they saw the fight between Julian and Illea; unsure of what to say, their dismount was silent. Romile assisted Davore with her broken wrist, and Voster's Elixir was put to use in mending the broken bone. He wasn't surprised to find that the use of magic was challenging in such close proximity to the Myrde; however, it was still focussed on extracting the remainder of the Allancient's energy, which gave him time to move without much threat.

Pushing Julian back, Illea fought to catch her breath. No matter how talented she was with a weapon, she had always relied on magic for both offence and defence. Looking over the faces that were spectating as if she were an exhibit, Illea noticed the rusty-coloured hair she adored.

With her lips curled in a gut-curdling smile, she preened, "Romile, help me! They're trying to kill me."

A laugh of surprise left Romile's mouth. Looking at her beautiful face, her angelic features, and black hair, all of which were almost entirely grey, he too noticed sympathy trickling down his spine.

Shaking his head, Romile sternly replied, "No, princess."

Unable to comprehend her abandonment, Illea dropped all pretences; her crying became childlike as she faced those who wanted her dead. Summoning all the remaining magic within her, closing her eyes, Illea released the energy in a single breath, causing an explosion of raw magic. Without time to react, Julian watched the wall of intense magical energy come closer as if time had slowed. At that moment, he found himself being thrown backwards as Wen used all his strength to knock him back and down the steps; as he hit the ground, Voster created a shield that encircled him, Romile, Davore, and Saryne.

Still in shock, the group called out to Wen, who spread his aura, covering the dome of energy like an electrified blanket. The powers of Illea and Wen pushed at each other, eating away and challenging the dominance of the other. Wen grunted as Illea's magic overwhelmed him; with a yell, he leaned his back against the dome, heels pressing into the stone floor, teeth clenched as he focussed on controlling his aura. Absorbed in his surroundings which blocked out the pain, Wen glanced down at the group still calling out to him. From where he stood, the sky was breath-taking; the dawn sun had begun to poke its edge over the horizon bringing a new day.