Chapter 75: One Last Chance
The Master knelt amidst the wreckage, blood and ash staining his once-pristine robes. His body trembled—not from the cold, but from a grief he couldn't name. Before him lay the lifeless body of Little 9, his head severed, his chest hollow. The last of his sons—gone. Killed by his own hand.
"I made them... raised them from dust," the Master rasped, cradling the broken figure. "And now… nothing."
A gust of unnatural wind swept through the shattered windows of the ruin, carrying with it a suffocating stillness. Shadows bled in from every corner of the room, distorting the light, coiling like smoke around the Master's limbs.
Then came the voice.
"You've grown weak."
It slithered into his ears, oily and ancient. The Master stiffened, fists clenching.
"You forced this," he snapped hoarsely. "You ordered me to break them. I built an empire for you, gave you power, loyalty—blood. I had no choice!"
"You had every choice," the voice countered, low and dangerous.
From the darkness, it emerged. The shadow—no longer content to lurk—coalesced into a monstrous form. Towering tendrils of inky blackness slithered across the walls like vines. It had no face, but the Master felt its eyes—piercing, hateful.
Suddenly, it struck.
A tendril shot forward and wrapped tightly around the Master's throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. His legs kicked wildly, his mouth open in a silent scream as the cold, burning tendrils crushed the air from his lungs.
"You forgot your place," the shadow hissed. "Let this remind you."
The tendrils tightened, then slammed him to the stone floor. Pain exploded through his ribs. Blood spilled from his lips. The Master writhed, gasping, but the shadow was not done. Another lash struck his back. Then another. The sound of cracking bone echoed.
"You disappoint me."
The Master coughed violently, struggling to rise. "I—I can fix this… Just give me time."
"You will not get time. You will act. Now."
---
Far away, the Queens stirred.
Within a forest clearing ringed by ancient trees, the wind shifted. The Blue Queen's robes fluttered as her eyes widened.
"He's done it. He's made contact."
The White Queen's lips tightened. "He touched the Master… truly touched him. The seal is weakening."
Without hesitation, they appeared within the girls' resting space, bathing it in light. Elara and Ariella sat up instantly, senses on alert.
"Elara… Ariella…" the Blue Queen whispered, "You must prepare. The Shrouded One is no more."
"What?" Ariella gasped. "How?"
"Killed by the Master," the White Queen said. "But that was not the end. The one who stands behind him—the true evil—now walks freely. We felt its power breach the veil."
Elara clenched her fists. "So it's him we must fight?"
The Blue Queen's eyes glimmered. "Not yet. First, the Master will come. The shadow commands it. This time… he will come for you."
---
That night, the girls stood beneath the moonlight, weapons drawn. They felt it—his presence—long before he arrived.
The Master stepped from the trees, tattered and trembling. But his eyes… they burned with something dark. Something not his own.
"You shouldn't have interfered," he said, voice layered with something deeper—fouler. "You killed my sons."
"You killed them yourself," Ariella snapped. "You raised them to be weapons and broke them when they defied you."
"I'll kill you both," the Master growled. "And then maybe—maybe—he'll forgive me."
He struck first—lightning from his palms, tearing through the trees. Fire spun around them, cracking the earth. But the girls had changed. They were no longer fragile or frightened.
Elara dodged the blaze and summoned a torrent of wind that threw the Master backward. Ariella called on the energy the Queens had gifted them—crystalline light burst from her fingers and seared through the shadows that clung to the Master's back.
He roared in fury, but it was fear that crept into his eyes. Every blow they landed seemed to unravel him further. Their strength was too great now. The bond they shared, the magic that pulsed between them—it overwhelmed him.
He tried to retreat, but Ariella hurled a dagger of light that slashed across his cheek. Blood poured freely. He barely stumbled into the trees, escaping with his life.
---
Back at the ruins, the shadows waited.
The Master collapsed before them, shaking, wounded, defeated.
"I tried—"
"You failed," the shadow roared. It struck again—not physically, but spiritually. A bolt of darkness pierced through his chest, freezing his heart for a heartbeat. He screamed.
The shadow loomed over him.
"You were given power, armies, immortality. And now you run like a dog."
"I need more time," the Master sobbed. "Just one more chance—"
"No," the shadow hissed. "You are no longer my only choice."
The air crackled with power. The shadow's form shifted—growing wings, claws, horns. Becoming.
"I will find another," it said. "And when they destroy what you could not, you will feel the weight of your failure. You have one last chance. Disobey me again, and your soul will be mine."
The Master lay frozen, eyes wide, heart racing.
Above him, the sky darkened further.
---
Deep in the ruins of the old mansion, where the ashes of Little 9 had once lain, a faint shimmer of magic sparked.
Beneath a pile of scorched rubble, the shabby-looking pot pulsed softly, slowly—like a heartbeat refusing to die.
It wasn't over.
Not yet.