«CHAPTER– 15&16»
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"Carlos… does it truly mean what you claim, or is it just a name—someone I remind you of?"
Duncan's eyes drilled into her, piercing through her very soul.
Her eyes widened, heart hammering, and his smirk deepened.
"Your lover?" he added, his voice low and dangerous.
Thailra swallowed hard, hot, invisible beads of sweat sliding down her face.
"Carlos is not a name. In Tulsan, it means… gentle," she said, swallowing hard. Duncan scoffed and stepped back, releasing his grip.
She immediately grabbed the blanket on the floor to shield herself—but as she lifted it, it disintegrated into ashes.
Her eyes widened in shock, and she instinctively pressed her arms across her chest.
He regarded her with a cold, deadly stare.
"Should I go to Tulsan to see if this 'Carlos' truly means what you claim? If it turns out to be a lie…" His voice dropped, each word sending maddening chills down her spine.
"It's won't be my seed I'll spill inside you"
Thailra's heart pounded in her chest. She swallowed hard, meeting his unblinking gaze, the room heavy with tension and unspoken threat.
Before she could react, her back slammed against the wall, Duncan caging her in place.
She swallowed hard, her arms frozen at her sides, unable to move, as if he were controlling her very body.
This was not the Carlos she knew.
The Carlos she remembered had always been calm and gentle, the kind of person she could talk to without fear.
"You made the move last night, and I want it to happen again. I want to hear you say that word again—I miss hearing it," Duncan said, lifting her chin and locking eyes with her.
"Kneel," he commanded.
"What?" Her eyes widened. She swallowed hard, praying it wasn't what she thought—kneel? But how?
"Go on." Duncan's hand trailed from Thalira's shoulder to her neck and then to her head, tangling his fingers in her hair.
His touch sent a shiver down Thailra's spine—something she couldn't explain. She wanted to pull away, but her feet remained rooted to the ground.
Duncan's eyes fell on Thailra's lips.
"Let's see what those pretty lips of yours can do. Consider it your punishment for lying, even though you knew the consequences."
"I should kneel?" Thailra whispered, her voice barely audible but carrying a tone of defiance.
"You heard me," Duncan answered, his voice deep and commanding. The smirk on his face remained, making Thailra's skin crawl.
"I never lied to you! Carlos… really meant… gentle…" she stammered, forcing herself out of his grasp and stepping back, her heart pounding as she swallowed hard.
Duncan stared at her savagely—so small, so fragile, yet utterly tempting and irresistible. His presence was cruel, a fate she couldn't escape.
Run, Thailra. Run before it's too late, her mind screamed.
Before she could turn, Duncan grabbed his sped to her and grabbed her neck like a vice, drawing her close. Thailra's chest slammed against Duncan's broad chest, a gasp escaping her lips.
"Fine" Duncan's gaze bore into her, sending a chill down her spine. "I'll make you"
In the next moment, Duncan crashed his lips hard against Thailra's. It wasn't a kiss; it was as though he were sucking the air out of her lungs, making her struggle under his hold.
It was madder than the kisses they had shared before.
Forcefully shoving his tongue into her mouth, he pinned her against the wall behind him, trapping her there. His teeth nibbled her lips, sucking and ravishing them.
She struggled against his hold, her lungs begging for air desperately.
She tried to push him away, but the demon grabbed both of her hands and pinned them behind her, then continued ravishing his lips as if it were his last meal.
Finally, Duncan pulled away, and Thailra's gasp resonated in the space as she drew in several huge breaths.
Her chest heaved, eyes watery as they stayed shut until she caught her breath. However, when she opened her eyes again, shock rippled through her system.
The gentle rustling of fabric echoed in the room, followed by Duncan's's robe dropping softly and pooling on the floor.
Right before Thailra, Duncan stood náked, his tall, imposing frame looming over him.
"What are you..." Before she could finish, Duncan shoved his thumb into her mouth, pressing it down her throat.
His action silenced her, and his skin grew hot.
"Fûck."
Thailra heard Duncan curse under his breath as if he found something exciting.
Then his thumb caressed Thailra's lower lip, running along the small bruise she had inflicted at the corner of her mouth—a sight that oddly indulged Duncan.
Duncan pressed his lips against Thailra's again, this time gentle yet passionate. His tongue shoved in, exploring her mouth.
Thailra remained frozen, eyes shut, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles whitened.
Her body strangely urged him to respond, to kiss back the firm, hot lips that moved against his.
He could feel Duncan's hárdness pressing against her ass. Fucking hard; the thought of its size made her mind go wild.
Thailra could feel her own wetness, straining against her legs.
Her lips quivered, her body screaming to give in as if her were under a spell.
No! This won't happen again.
Before she could process her thoughts, a moan slipped from her lips. The firm lips pressed against her were doing strange things to her body.
Fûck! She was burning hot; she might go insane.
Duncan tilted his head to the side for more access. He deepened the kiss, his tongue dancing in Thailra's mouth.
He groaned into it.
Not being able to hold it any longer, Thailra cursed inwardly, throwing caution to the wind. She responded to the kiss, moving his lips against Duncan's and leaning closer.
As Duncan finally released her hands, Thailra immediately tangled her fingers in his black hair, drawing him closer greedily.
She wanted more! More!
Duncan took his nipple, pressing it with his fingers, making Thailra moan loudly into his mouth.
More!
But then Duncan pulled away, locking those icy yet mesmerizing eyes on her.
A whimper tore from his lips, that strange sensation wracking his body. His lower body ached. He wanted to feel it again...
Thailra suddenly wanted Duncan's thick fingers driving in and out of him. Or perhaps... he wanted even more.
These thoughts flowed like a river, messing with his senses, clouding his sanity that urged him to run from this man.
Yet a spark of possessiveness surged within him.
"Look at you," Duncan growled, his voice soft and husky. "What a pretty little slût you are, little moon. I can smell your arousal. Fûcking aromatic."
Thailra whimpered in response.
Duncan's words did nothing but worsen her state. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, dripping down her face.
Her chest rose and fell in rapid rhythm.
"Say it," Duncan whispered in a husky voice in his ear, his hot breath fanning her face. "Say you want me to fûck you like a whore against this bed and make you scream my name instead of your lover's"
Arousal rippled through Thailra's system as Duncan pressed his lips against her neck. The hands that had tried to push him away now drew him closer.
"What are you doing to me?..." Thailra rasped. Was she under a spell? "I don't...fuck" Her voice trailed off as Duncan spun her around and pinned her upper body to the bed.
His hand gripping Thailra's disheveled hair, her ass up to him.
"Today, you'll learn about truthfulness, Little Moon." He said and thrusted so hard definitely hitting her womb.
"Carlos!. Carlos…mean gentle I swear!!" she cried out.
Another maddening thrust followed.
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«Two Days Later»
He was running wild.
The Crown Prince had completely surrendered to his demon form.
Duncan collapsed to his knees in the heart of Avialyn Forest, his massive frame trembling with uncontrollable force.
Dark energy pulsed violently around him, distorting the air.
Above him, birds dropped lifeless from the sky, their fragile bodies falling one by one onto the forest floor.
He gripped one of his horns tightly, struggling as though he could tear it from his own skull.
A guttural roar escaped his throat.
Blood dripped from his mouth, staining his chin and splattering onto the earth beneath him.
He had slaughtered hundreds before reaching the forest.
Yet the thirst remained unquenched.
It burned through his veins like poison, relentless and merciless, gnawing at his sanity. No amount of blood had satisfied it.
And it was driving him insane.
The wind howled through Avialyn Forest, bending the trees as though they feared him.
Duncan's breathing grew heavier, uneven, almost feral.
His claws dragged through the soil as he tried to steady himself, but the earth cracked beneath his strength. Dark veins pulsed along his neck, glowing faintly beneath his skin.
The thirst was changing.
It was no longer just hunger for blood.
It was something deeper.
A pull. A command.
His head snapped up suddenly, nostrils flaring. Through the metallic scent lingering in the air, another scent reached him.
Familiar.
Her.
His pupils narrowed into slits.
"No…" he growled, though he didn't know whether he was warning her — or himself.
Miles away, something in his chest tightened painfully.
The bond between them flared like a thread set on fire. It wasn't just rage consuming him.
It was imbalance.
His demon form was unstable — awakening too fast, evolving beyond what his body could endure. The slaughter hadn't fed it.
Because that wasn't what it wanted.
With a violent roar, he drove his fist into the ground again, the shockwave scattering leaves and splintering nearby trunks.
"Control it…" he rasped to himself.
But his vision blurred once more.
And this time, when he blinked—
He wasn't alone.
A faint silhouette stood at the edge of the clearing, unmoving, watching him through the chaos.
The forest fell eerily silent.
And Duncan slowly turned his head.
The silhouette did not move.
Smoke curled around Duncan's massive form as he slowly rose to his full height, towering and monstrous. His wings spread slightly, casting a long, distorted shadow across the clearing.
"Leave," he growled, his voice layered with something ancient and inhuman. The figure stepped forward.
It was Thailra.
The wind whipped her hair around her face, but she did not retreat. The forest floor around Duncan was scorched and cracked, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood, yet she stood there—small in comparison, but unshaken.
She held a silver sword, her eyes burning with a dangerous silver light. Behind her stood Alaric Ashcroft and Iskaria Venmora, smirking devilishly, their staffs gripped firmly as they stared at him.
Duncan couldn't believe his eyes. His legs weakened beneath him.
"Bring us his head, daughter," Iskaria commanded, her smirk deepening.
With maddening speed, Thailra lunged forward and slammed her palm against Duncan's chest.
Blood poured from his mouth—and from hers. Yet she did not falter. Pain surged through her, but she lifted the sword, determination blazing in her eyes.
Duncan shut his eyes, and the illusions faded. It had all been a trick of his own mind—an illusion born from restless thoughts that had haunted him for days.
Now, he stood alone in front of his mother's tomb, arms folded behind him, the breeze tugging at his hair and the folds of his cloak.
His ocean-blue eyes flashed as the wind swept across him, catching the fabric and his hair in a ghostly dance.
A storm of memories and unspoken fury churned behind his gaze, silent but intense, as though the very air around him trembled in response.
The wind whispered through the graveyard, rustling the leaves like a chorus of voices only he could hear.
Duncan's fists clenched behind his back, nails digging into his palms. His chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths, but inside, chaos roared like a storm.
Suddenly, a fierce wind swept through the graveyard, sending leaves swirling violently around him.
Yet Duncan did not blink, and even the dust dared not enter his eyes.
The leaves began to gather and twist, forming a human shape. Standing beside the tomb was his mother—the late queen.
Queen Ilyra Tharagon, clad in the white garments she had worn in death, appeared before him. Duncan's eyes fixed on her, wide and unblinking.
"How have you been, my son?" Queen Ilyra asked.
Duncan's eyes turned watery, glowing a pure, deep red, as he stared at her speechlessly, unable to form a single word.
Duncan's chest heaved, his breaths coming in ragged, uneven pulls. The forest seemed to hold its breath around him, as if even the wind feared to interrupt this moment.
"Mother… I…" His voice cracked, caught between anger, grief, and longing. "I've… I've failed. Everything… I've become—"
"Shh," Queen Ilyra's voice was soft, yet carried a weight that silenced the storm inside him.
"You have not failed, Duncan. The darkness within you is not your enemy—it is a part of you. But it must be controlled, or it will consume everything you love."
He dropped to his knees, head bowed, tears streaking his bloodied face. His red eyes flickered with both sorrow and fury, the demonic power inside him writhing like a living thing.
"I can't… I can't control it, Mother. It's too strong…" he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"Have you ever wondered how I truly died? Do you think it was just a simple poisoned snake that ended me?"
Duncan's fists dug into the ground, cracking the earth beneath him. His voice shook with rage and grief.
"Mother…" His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, yet it carried the weight of anguish, disbelief, and rising fury.
"What… what are you saying?"
Queen Ilyra's spectral form drifted closer, her eyes deep pools of sorrow and warning.
"Do not be naive, Duncan. My death was no accident. A mere poisoned snake… a fleeting chance… those are lies whispered to shield the truth."
Duncan's claws dug into the earth beneath him, the demonic power within him thrumming like a caged beast.
"Then… who?" His voice cracked, the question swallowed by the wind.
"The ones you trust," Ilyra replied, her tone sharp as the edge of a blade.
"The hands that shook mine in farewell, the voices that promised loyalty… they conspired. And I was taken from this world long before my time."
A red-hot surge of fury erupted through Duncan, his demon aura flaring violently, bending the shadows of the graveyard.
Birds scattered from the trees, leaves shredded by the invisible force of his growing wrath.
"You… you would not hide this from me," he growled, his teeth bared, voice trembling with barely contained rage.
"I will find them… every last one!"
Ilyra's gaze softened slightly, the weight of a mother's sorrow mingling with her resolve.
"Yes, my son… but first, you must master yourself. Control the storm within, or it will consume you before you can strike. Let your vengeance be tempered, your wrath guided… or even your power will betray you."
Duncan sank to one knee, chest heaving, crimson eyes glowing with an intensity that set the surrounding trees trembling.
The revelation burned through him, igniting a ferocious, unyielding determination.
"You possess something far stranger than the dark energy within you," Queen Ilyra said, her voice steady yet filled with an unshakable authority.
"It is up to you to separate the light from the darkness, Duncan."
He lifted his tear-streaked face to hers, lips trembling, eyes wide, staring at her wordlessly.
"And you carry a treasure far greater than the silver stone within you," she added, her gaze piercing into the very depths of his soul.
Duncan's chest heaved, his tears falling freely as his trembling hands clenched into fists.
The crimson glow of his demon form flickered with every heartbeat, raging and restless, yet her words cut through the chaos like a blade of light.
"What treasure could possibly be greater than the Silver Stone, Mother?" he asked, his voice breaking under the weight of desperation.
Queen Ilyra's form began to waver.
The leaves that had shaped her figure loosened, drifting apart as though caught in an unseen tide. Her body slowly dissolved into fine, shimmering ash, yet her smile remained—soft, knowing, and filled with quiet pride.
"It is for you to discover, my son," she said gently, her voice growing faint as the wind carried it away.
"Mother—"Duncan stepped forward instinctively
But she was already fading, her luminous presence scattering into the air like stardust. Within seconds, there was nothing left but the whisper of the breeze and the silent tomb standing before him.
The forest grew still once more.
Duncan remained where he stood, his ocean-blue eyes burning—not with rage this time, but with something deeper. Confusion. Longing. Resolve.
A treasure greater than the Silver Stone.
His jaw tightened. Whatever it was, he would find it.
And this time, he would not let the darkness claim him first.
The wind quieted, as though the forest itself were holding its breath.
Duncan lowered his gaze to the marble tomb. His reflection stared back at him from its polished surface—eyes no longer entirely blue, faint streaks of crimson flickering beneath the surface like embers trapped in the sea.
"A treasure greater than the Silver Stone…" he murmured.
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«—ASHDAN MARKET—»
Thailra stood quietly before a small wooden stall, her cloak pulled forward to shield her identity.
The hood cast a soft shadow over her face, though loose strands of her hair slipped free, falling gently along her cheeks.
Before her sat an elderly woman, her wrinkled hands carefully arranging bangles and bracelets upon a velvet cloth.
The jewelry shimmered beneath the afternoon sun—silver filigree, delicate gemstones, and finely crafted pieces that caught the light with every subtle movement.
Thailra's lips curved into a soft smile.
"Young lady, would you like to buy something? You've been standing here without moving or asking the price. It's affordable and would suit you perfectly. These are called Destiny Jewels," the elderly woman said, and Thailra turned her gaze toward her.
"Destiny Jewels?" Thailra asked, her silver eyes fixed on the array of bangles.
The elderly woman nodded, picking up a pair of red and blue bangles and holding them out. Thailra's gaze dropped to them, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
"This one is for protection," the woman explained, placing the bangles gently on the velvet cloth.
She then picked up two black ones, letting her hands hover over them before looking back at Thailra.
"This one brings good luck. The others," she continued, gesturing to the remaining bracelets, "each holds a different meaning. It is for you to choose the one you wish to carry."
She let the bangles fall softly onto the cloth, the subtle clink echoing like a whisper in the busy market.
"What about that silver and golden one?" Thailra asked, pointing toward the delicate bangles.
The elderly woman picked them up, a gentle smile curling on her lips. She held them for a moment before shifting her gaze back to Thailra.
Their eyes met, locking in a quiet, unspoken understanding, as if the bracelets carried a secret meant only for her.
"Once it loses its shine," the woman said, her voice low and steady, "it signals danger. It could mean the wearer is in peril… or that they are gone forever. Do you want it, daughter?"
Thailra swallowed hard, her fingers tightening instinctively.
"I'll take it… how much is it?"
Far from her, a figure stood with his hands folded behind his back, dressed in casual attire.
His long hair fell gracefully down his back, and his eyes remained fixed on her, calm yet unreadable.
It was Prince Kealric.
A moment later, another figure appeared beside him—Princess Arabella. She wore simple, casual clothing, her hair pulled into a neat ponytail, a small bow tied on her left arm.
Her gaze, too, was fixed on Thailra, sharp and unwavering.
"Then what next?" Arabella asked, her voice calm but edged with curiosity.
Prince Kealric's lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk, his eyes never leaving Thailra.
"She may wear another crown now," Kealric said quietly, his eyes never leaving Thailra, "but she was once mine. Piece by piece, I will restore her memories."
He paused, his smirk darkening as faint black veins became visible along his neck, pulsing subtly beneath his skin.
"And if that beast dares to stand in my way…" His voice lowered, cold and unwavering.
"I will have no choice but to wage war against Ashkaroth—and end him."
Arabella sighed softly, turning her gaze back to Thailra, who was now leaving the shop.
"She's too fragile for this"
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«THE CRIMSON—EMPIRE»
AVIALYN—CLAN»
The council chamber was ancient, its walls etched with the scars of centuries.
Lamps burned atop tall pillars, their flickering light casting long, trembling shadows across the room.
Between each pair of pillars, massive statues of dinosaurs loomed, their stone jaws agape, spouting streams of fire and water into the air in a display of both majesty and menace.
The roar of the cascading flames and the hiss of the water created a constant, eerie rhythm, like the heartbeat of the empire itself.
It was a place designed to awe, to remind all who entered that Ashkaroth was not governed by mercy, but by power—and that power was absolute.
At the center of the chamber stood a long, imposing table, its seats filled by the royal prime ministers clad in crimson.
At the head of the table sat a man dressed in white, the robes of royal leadership flowing around him.
His mouth and nose were covered, and a wide-brimmed hat rested atop his head, from which black smoke twisted upward, shrouding him in a dark, ominous aura.
Lord Veydrath, the leader of the Crimson Empire.
"Duncan Tharagon killed the king—and my brother—to claim the throne," Lord Veydrath said, his deep voice echoing through the chamber.
"My lord… shall we summon the armies? Encircle him, strike before he grows stronger?"One of them, a wiry man with eyes sharp as obsidian, finally spoke.
Veydrath's hand rose slowly, black smoke curling from beneath his hat as if it obeyed his will.
"Fools. You think armies can defeat a storm?" His voice dripped with venom, echoing off the stone walls.
"Duncan is no mere prince—he is a force older than Ashkaroth itself. To confront him without knowing the depth of his power is to invite annihilation."
A shiver of unease passed through the council chamber.
The ministers, once confident, now looked like shadows themselves—small, fragile, and trembling beneath the weight of Veydrath's words.
"He has found his Moon—the one destined to be the next Crown Queen. To capture Duncan, we must first find her. Once she is in our grasp, only then will Duncan Tharagon, the Beast of Ashkaroth, bow to our will. And only then will I claim the throne as the true ruler of the Great Ashkaroth," Lord Veydrath muttered, his eyes sweeping over the council.
"Do not underestimate him," one of the crimson-clad ministers whispered, his voice trembling.
"Duncan is not just a man—he is the embodiment of Ashkaroth's fury. Countless have tried to bind him, and countless have failed."
Veydrath's eyes glinted beneath his shadowed hat, black smoke curling like serpents around his head.
"Then we will not try blindly," he said, his voice low and sharp.
"We will strike where he is weakest—his Moon. Find her, and the Beast bends. Fail, and Ashkaroth itself will burn before my throne is seized."
They all nodded in solemn agreement.
"My Lord, you have a new letter," his informant announced, bowing as he extended the scroll toward him.
Veydrath took it without a word.
The scroll unrolled across the table on its own, while the informant stepped back, returning to his position.
The letter was from Iskaria Venmora. Beneath his mask, Veydrath's lips curled into a dark, satisfied smirk as he read its contents.
It was a single line, written in bold, black ink infused with dark magic.
"MAKE THE ECLIPSE TO KILL THE—MOON"
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«ALBATON—PALACE»
"I still can't believe that the Crown Prince has found his Moon—an ugly-looking wretch from Tulsan, whatever that village is called. How could he stoop so low as to choose someone like her to stand by his side?" Melissa, the late queen's personal maid, said bitterly.
Her friend, Sylara, immediately covered Merissa's mouth with her hand, her eyes widening in alarm.
They were alone in the royal kitchen—just the two of them.
Sylara quickly glanced toward the kitchen doors to ensure no one had overheard them.
"Have you lost your senses?" Sylara hissed.
"If the Crown Prince hears you spewing such trash, do you think you'll still be alive by the next full moon? He would tear you apart with his claws—there wouldn't be enough of you left to bury."
Melissa yanked her hand away sharply, her eyes flashing with defiance.
Sylara stared at her in disbelief, unable to believe the recklessness she was witnessing.
"Do you remember what happened sixteen years ago, when the queen died?" Melissa asked, lifting her chin as she stood before Sylara, her lips curling into a dark, knowing smirk.
"I was her personal maid. But do you know why no one ever questioned me?"
Sylara instinctively drew back, her face paling as she stared at Melissa in growing unease.
"What are you implying?"Sylara's throat tightened, her voice barely audible above the crackling hearth.
Melissa's smirk deepened.
"No one questioned me," she continued softly, almost lazily, "because no one dared to. Grief clouded the palace. The king was consumed by rage. The healers blamed the venom. And I"—she placed a hand over her chest—"remained the loyal, weeping maid at her bedside."
Sylara felt a chill creep down her spine.
"The Serpenthis clan was wiped out for failing to deliver the antidote in time," Sylara said carefully. "Everyone knows that."
"Yes," Melissa replied, her eyes gleaming. "That is what everyone knows."
The weight of her words hung heavy in the air.
Sylara shook her head slowly. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Melissa stepped closer, her voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "Tell me, Sylara… who prepared the queen's evening tonic the night the serpent bit her? Who dismissed the guards from her chamber? Who insisted she needed rest and refused entry to the physicians until it was too late?"
Sylara's breathing grew uneven.
"Melissa… you—" Sylara's eyes widened, and her palms flew to her mouth.
Melissa's lips curled into a ruthless, dark smirk—darker than freshly conjured blood. Sylara shook her head, trying to convince herself she wasn't seeing the truth.
"You planned everything," Sylara whispered, hot tears slipping down her cheeks.
"The snake… where did you get it? How… how did you do it?"
Melissa folded her arms, her devilish smirk deepening. She leaned closer, her face almost brushing Sylara's, her voice a low, dangerous purr.
"I'm the snake, sweetheart," she muttered, flicking out a black, serpent-like tongue as it slid across her jaw, hissing with a sound that sent chills down Sylara's spine.
Sylara staggered back, her eyes widening in shock.
Melissa's smirk darkened, heartless and merciless, as if the shadows themselves had lent her cruelty.
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