Aethrya planted her boots firmly on the cracked, ash-strewn ground of the Underworld, her stance defiant as she faced Sylvara. The oppressive, infinite expanse pressed down on her, the air thick with a miasma of rot, blood, and ancient dust that clawed at her throat with every breath. From the surrounding darkness, muffled groans reverberated—a guttural, haunting chorus of the undead, their shambling steps a relentless reminder of the battle unfolding behind her. J??ku and Riku were somewhere in that haze, lost in a sea of Sylvara’s cursed, reanimated husks, fighting for their lives. But Aethrya couldn’t spare a thought for them now. Her entire being was locked on the figure before her: Sylvara—her sister, once her cradle-mate, her companion in childhood games and whispered bedtime tales, now her deadliest foe.


    Sylvara’s lips twisted into a sneer, her silvery grey eyes glinting with a cold, predatory light. Her pale skin glowed faintly in the dim, unnatural sheen of the Underworld, and her dark hair spilled over her shoulders like a cascade of ink. She tilted her head, a sharp, birdlike motion, her gaze raking over Aethrya as if dissecting a curious specimen. Every gesture carried a lethal elegance, the poised grace of a hunting cat stalking its quarry. Crossing her arms, she purred, her voice a silken whisper laced with venom that sliced through the heavy air. “What’s wrong, little sister? You’re trembling. Is it fear in those eyes, or just the chill of this wretched place?”


    Aethrya’s fingers tightened around the leather-wrapped hilt of her scimitar, the rough texture biting into her palm until her knuckles whitened. Fury surged through her, a molten heat that set her trembling, though a flicker of doubt gnawed at the edges of her resolve. Was she afraid? She shoved the thought down, her jaw clenching as she met Sylvara’s gaze. “I’ve never been afraid of you,” she spat, her voice a low growl, the words bitter as ash on her tongue.


    Sylvara’s laugh cut through the air like a whip, sharp and mocking, echoing in Aethrya’s ears. “Oh, but you should be,” she said, stepping closer, her presence radiating a frigid, deadly energy that prickled Aethrya’s skin. “You’re weak, Aethrya. Always have been. Too weak, too pathetic to even kill a mortal.” Each word was a dagger, precise and cruel, aimed to pierce Aethrya’s heart. “And you know it. That’s why you’re so angry, so desperate.”


    Aethrya’s eyes blazed, her body quivering with barely contained rage. Sylvara’s taunts were an old weapon, honed to unravel her, but this time, something had shifted. Not anymore, she thought fiercely. I’m not that weak girl you remember. With an explosive lunge, she attacked, her scimitar slicing through the air in a silver arc aimed at Sylvara’s throat. But Sylvara flowed like a shadow, sidestepping with preternatural grace, the dust swirling beneath her feet as the blade cleaved empty space. She reappeared steps away, that disdainful smirk intact. “Really?” she purred, tilting her head. “I expected better, Aethrya. Much better.”


    Abruptly, Sylvara’s eyes narrowed, and with a flick of her wrist, she unleashed a torrent of black energy. It erupted from her fingertips, a writhing, serpentine mass that devoured the light around it, the air crackling with its malevolent force. Aethrya dove aside, the energy grazing past with a hiss that chilled her bones. It struck the ground where she’d stood, shattering the grey stone into a web of cracks, the surface blackening and crumbling as if scorched by an unholy flame. Noxious fumes rose, their acrid bite stinging her lungs. This was no mere necromancy—Sylvara’s power consumed life itself, a predator that drained essence, leaving only hollow husks. A mortal touched by it would collapse, their warmth snuffed out, their body reduced to a soulless shell.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    In the distance, Riku and J??ku battled on, their forms faint through the haze of dust and decay. Riku’s sword flashed, severing a creature’s arm with a wet crunch, but the limb hit the ground and twitched, its skeletal fingers clawing at the earth as if still alive. Damn it! he cursed inwardly, his muscles burning, his breath ragged. They never stop! Beside him, J??ku’s spear danced, piercing a rotting torso in a spray of dark, fetid blood. He yanked the weapon free only to face another lunging foe, its bony hands grasping for his throat. He drove the spear through its skull, but exhaustion weighed on him like lead. How much longer? Back-to-back, their faces streaked with sweat and blood, they fought a losing battle. “How many are there?!” Riku roared, decapitating another undead, its head rolling away, jaws still snapping. “Too many!” J??ku shouted, his voice hoarse over the clamor. “While Sylvara lives, this army won’t end!”


    Aethrya heard their cries, but her focus remained riveted on Sylvara. Her sister’s smile widened, her grey eyes gleaming with cruel delight. “Your mortal friends seem to be struggling,” she said, her voice an icy melody that stabbed at Aethrya’s heart. A strange waver undercut her mockery, hinting at buried memories. “I always knew you weren’t one of us, Aethrya. Too innocent, too soft. And now you dare to defy us, to ruin our plans. But when I complete this army for our father’s grand design, everything will change.”


    Our father’s grand design? The words jolted Aethrya, unfamiliar and ominous. What scheme did their father have, and how did it bind them to this nightmare? Questions flared, but she buried them, channeling her fury into her blade. She lunged again, her scimitar a whirlwind of silver, faster and fiercer than before. Sylvara parried, her grace unshaken, though a faint tension creased her brow. “Yes,” she hissed, weaving past a slash, “I feel your anger. Embrace it—it makes you stronger. But it’s still not enough.”


    Sylvara’s hand shot forward, pressing against Aethrya’s chest. A wave of icy, draining energy surged through her, hurling her back. She crashed onto the ground, skidding across the ash, the air forced from her lungs in a ragged gasp. Her body trembled as she struggled to rise, weakness seeping into her limbs. Sylvara advanced, her steps deliberate, her shadow swallowing Aethrya in darkness. “Tiring, aren’t you?” she purred. “Just like those mortals. Time betrays them all. You know, Aethrya, this war’s winner was decided long ago.”


    Aethrya’s eyes narrowed, her voice strained but defiant. “Is that so?” With a sudden burst, she unfurled her wings and launched forward, a blur of motion. Sylvara faltered, her eyes widening as Aethrya’s scimitar bit into her shoulder with a sickening thud. Dark, near-black blood welled, staining her pale skin. Sylvara staggered, her hand flying to the wound, fingers slick with her own blood. For a heartbeat, disbelief froze her features, then fury shattered her composure. Her eyes blazed, a feral growl rumbling from her throat as her body coiled, radiating menace. “So, you really want to fight,” she hissed, her voice a blade’s edge. Her fingers unfurled, and black energy swirled around her hands, crackling with dark sparks, a vortex of shadow pulsing with ruinous power.