The capital of the beast empire, Ul’kareth, was a city of obsidian spires and stone fangs carved from the black cliffs that overlooked the Bloodfang Sea.

Great crimson banners bearing the sigil of the god Vaeram, Lord of Chains—a chained sun bleeding into darkness—fluttered in the cold wind that whipped through the city’s high towers.

Here, demihumans of every breed prowled the streets: lion-headed generals, serpent-bodied mages, and panther-eyed assassins cloaked in shadows.

None of them were weak, as even the ones being bullied were at least five-star, star-formation realm experts.

This capital was a place of ruthless order, ruled not by law but by will, and above all was the one stronger than any other.

Emperor Tharagon Vaelix.

He sat upon a throne forged from the bones of fallen kings, his back straight, his fur-lined cloak flowing like black smoke behind him.

His features were sharp—wolfish, but carved from iron.

Golden fur laced with white curled around his face and jaw, and his eyes, glowing a sacred bronze, stared down with unwavering resolve.

He was no ordinary ruler.

He was a vessel.

A vessel of Vaeram.

He was the emperor as well as the leader of the Vaeram Order.

Two kneeling priests in crimson robes chanted softly beside him, their tongues forked and faces scarred with sacred brands.

The throne room was silent, with only the priests’ whispers audible until clawed footsteps echoed through the great obsidian hall.

The Grand Minister of Intelligence, Vos’Renn Tal’vak, stepped forward.

A tall, vulture-headed demihuman clad in a cloak made from crow feathers and chainmail, he moved like a shadow across the stone floor.

His talons clutched a sealed parchment, its script encoded in jagged runes.

He had been told this message came from their only planted agent in Simharia’s capital.

Silas.

He had been handed down a great task, and this report likely held the result.

He bowed before the throne, holding the message high. “Your Majesty. We have received it. The final report.”

The emperor didn’t speak. He raised one clawed hand slightly.

Vos’Renn rose and broke the seal.

He read.

Each word sharpened the smirk on his beak.

When he was done, he lowered the parchment with a low chuckle.

“It has happened,” he said, his voice a raspy hiss. “Simharia’s capital is in disarray. The walls are crumbling, panic spreading like rot.”

His grin spread as he continued. “Their royals—heretics who don’t believe in our god—are trapped, their armies divided. The King is holed up, and the people—ones still alive—are crying for help.”

A murmur went through the chamber.

Around the edges of the throne room stood the other high ministers—generals, warlocks, and spies.

Some were scaled, some horned, and others walked with taloned feet or bore tails coiled around their waists like living weapons.

A broad-shouldered tiger-beast, General Kargath, growled, baring fangs. “Then it’s time. We strike now and end the line of Simharian royalty before they can regroup.”

Another, a nine-tailed fox woman in battle robes—Mistress Saelith of Shadows—folded her arms. “Our spies reported the lockdown of the capital, which is probably because the royals of Simharia need time to recover. If we wait, we risk them regaining ground. But if we move now, quickly…”

Vos’Renn gave a low nod. “I’ve already dispatched a shadowclaw strike force. With your orders, the royals will not see the dawn.”

A long silence followed as every eye turned back to the throne.

The emperor had not moved.

But they all knew that it was time.

It was time to end the only kingdom left to be subjugated and finally fulfill their dream of having only one grand empire in the beast domain.

No matter what the Simharians do now, they won’t survive for long.

Then, slowly, the emperor opened his mouth.

His voice was like a blade dragged over stone—deep, grating, and final.

“Victory… is a gift from God. Not a matter of chance.”

He rose.

At his height, nearly three meters tall, his presence crushed the room.

The golden light in his eyes flickered as if something ancient and divine stirred behind them.

“Vaeram speaks in signs, leaving the interpretation to us, and this time, his message…” He held up the parchment. “Is asking for One Great Empire.”

He walked forward, each step causing the obsidian floor to groan beneath him.

“To fail now would be blasphemy. We do not wait. We end this.”

He raised his hand high.

“Send the dagger to the throat,” he growled. “Let the shadows fall upon Simharia. Leave no bloodline, no infant, no breath. The god wills it.”

The priests chanted louder, and the ministers bowed.

Vos’Renn, on the other hand.

Everything was working.

Silas, his subordinate, had done his part, and once all of this was over, Vos’Renn was sure Vaeram would reward him.

Maybe he would be granted the throne of the new kingdom that would rise in place of Simharia.

No one knew the truth, and they all believed in the single report they had received, not once believing that the kingdom they deemed inferior and unworthy of their attention could be planning to strike back.

Their overconfidence made them ignore it.

No one asked why their agent, who used to send reports daily, had only sent this message now.

After all, the incident was supposed to happen two days ago.

Why had he not informed them of this good news before?

It was because there was no good news in the first place, but none of them knew that.

No one noticed that the message, though encoded properly, lacked the personal markers that only Vos’Renn and Silas had once shared in secret.

Without them knowing, the web was spun, and now, the trap would be sprung.

……………………….

That evening.

Ul’kareth, the beast empire’s capital, roared with celebration.

The streets were lit with pyres of cold-blue flame, casting ghostly shadows across the obsidian walls.

Crimson silk fluttered between fanged archways, and black-armored warriors danced with blades in hand to the beat of war drums that echoed like thunder from the cliffside citadel to the Bloodfang docks.

Children with horns and fangs tossed petals into the wind, while winged demihumans soared overhead, releasing trails of glowing dust that shimmered under the darkening sky.

Victory feasts bloomed on every avenue.

Freshly hunted meat sizzled over open flames; goblets of spiced blood wine passed from claw to claw; and in the central plaza, where the statue of Vaeram loomed with its chained sun cradled in skeletal hands, hundreds gathered in fervent prayer and praise.

They believed the gods had spoken.

They believed the purge of Simharia’s royal bloodline was complete.

They believed their empire—one empire—was now inevitable.

Inside the grand obsidian palace, at the peak of Ul’kareth, the air buzzed with triumph.

Ministers, generals, high priests, and shadow commanders drank and boasted, surrounded by columns of flame and carved stone wolves with ruby eyes.

The grand hall’s floor was an intricate mosaic of conquered cities—a map of victories etched beneath their feet.

General Kargath laughed as he raised his third goblet. “The Simharian King? Cowering under rubble, I’d bet. If he hasn’t been beheaded already.”

Mistress Saelith leaned back, her tails flowing like silk in the firelight. “Let’s hope they scream when we get there. I enjoy cleaning up loose ends.”

Vos’Renn, standing near the emperor’s dais, chuckled softly. “There will be no loose ends. The Shadowclaws leave none. Even their ghosts will vanish.”

Above them, Emperor Tharagon sat silently on his throne, a slow, satisfied breath rising from his chest.

The golden light in his eyes dimmed with peace as if he had already tasted the fruit of his divine victory.

And for a moment, there was nothing but celebration.

But far above the clouds—

Where the eye could not see and the wind whispered without a witness—

A shadow loomed.

Alex floated there, suspended in the sky like judgment incarnate.

His body was no longer entirely human.

Midnight-black scales rippled across his arms and neck, each scale veined with violet light.

Horns curled from the sides of his head, sleek and menacing, and his eyes—now purple—reflected the entire empire below like twin mirrors of doom.

Wings spread behind him—vast, draconic, and pulsing with latent energy.

His hair danced wildly in the airless chill as space twisted subtly around his frame.

From this height, the capital looked like a toy city—a flickering ember waiting to be snuffed.

His lips parted.

And a soundless breath left his throat, fogging the space before his maw.

Then, his jaw opened wide.

Power surged.

A torrent of condensed destruction—his breath—ignited the atmosphere.

The clouds split like curtains as a beam of violet-white fire tore down from the heavens, screaming like the wrath of a god betrayed.

It wasn’t fire, but pure destruction energy. The very energy that could disintegrate anyone it touched, a burning cyclone of draconic essence that cracked the sky in two.

Birds vaporized mid-flight.

The clouds around it blackened, churned, and were then erased.

Thunder clapped without lightning, echoing across the continent as far as distant mountain ranges.

The wind, for miles, reversed direction—sucked toward the gravitational pull of that breath.

The air bent away from its path in fear as multiple air barriers shattered.

Below, in the grand hall of Ul’kareth—

The celebration halted.

A sudden silence fell over the palace as the torches flickered strangely, as muffled booms were heard.

The noise of the sound barriers breaking was coming down muffled.

One priest dropped his goblet. The liquids inside rose slightly against gravity.

General Kargath frowned, his fur bristling.

“…What is that?” He muttered.

Mistress Saelith tilted her head, activating her ability to see through things as one of her tails coiled tightly. “The sky… just turned purple.”

Outside the stained-glass windows, the light dimmed—not into night, but into a twilight of apocalyptic hue.

A deep violet glow bathed the palace, followed by a rising hum—a deep, low growl of energy converging on one singular point.

Emperor Tharagon rose sharply.

“Wards!” He barked. “Now!”

But there was no time.

The breath struck.

The heavens exploded.

The beam slammed into the heart of Ul’kareth like the hammer of judgment.

Towers disintegrated before they could fall.

Walls melted like wax.

Entire districts vanished beneath the light.

Screams rose for only a heartbeat before being swallowed by an ocean of energy. Obsidian crumbled. Stone boiled. Metal turned to mist.

And inside the grand hall, where the ministers had once stood in smug celebration—

They could only feel it.

The terror. The death. The divine fury.

The air began to peel away from their lungs.

Light, all-consuming, swept through the throne room windows like a tidal wave. And in the final moments—

In that impossible instant between breath and oblivion—

They saw it.

A being with violet eyes in the sky, staring down at them as if they were insects beneath his foot.

Then everything was engulfed in purple.

And the city of Ul’kareth—

—Was no more.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep