Dohmenic

The door would've flown off the hinges had it not already been knocked down and flattened against the floor. Anyone in his way would've been throw aside or cut down, except his path already revealed a bloody massacre of dead Lathras. All of this was sign enough, but as if he needed more fuel, the pull in his heart had him moving faster than gravity should have allowed.

The Blithesome Miss save them all if his Leyla had been harmed even one bit.

Roaring, the Dralan saw red as he marched, sword in hand, through the doors to their chamber. The chamber wherein his Dralaq had supposed to been safe, protected by his men and his best friend.

Instead, what met him were dead guards and a scene right out of a nightmare; Callath constricted to the floor by three males, his female held back by another, and there, in the corner, left to fend for herself... His darling Leyla.

And right before her, was Phlague.

None of them heard him coming. Clearly, he had come at the very last moment, for all eyes in the room were directed at Phlague as the blade in his hand closed in on his Dralaq.

"Take your hands off my female."

The words boomed from his chest and rattled the walls in a way the war machines outside never could. Every person in the room felt it—the ice pouring into the room as his presence entered, pulsing, raging with the need to kill that which threatened his Dralaq; something so primal and feral, his eldest ancestors would have been proud to roar alongside him.

At the sound of his voice, all of them turned but one. Gasps came from the females, curses from his friend. But one male did not move. Instead, he felt his own icy power be met by another.

"At long last," Came his deep, curdling voice, slithering quietly as he slowly turned his head over his shoulder and revealed a vicious smile. "We meet."

The Dralan growled lowly, eyeing out the poisonous male who had festered his kingdom for too long. The pure terror and horror that was reeked upon his realm, all stemming from this one male.

Phlague.

Sickly black, greasy hair hung in strands from his head. His skin was pale as death and his eyes... red with corruption. A male of more years than himself, yet a male with lesser wisdom. Built as a warrior, yet bore the mind of a coward.

Who went after females in this world, the loveliest creatures to ever tread it? Who preyed on the beautiful and innocent, who defiled upon the gentler sex? The Blithesome Miss have mercy on his soul.

"I have long awaited this moment," The sick male spoke, a sense of glee in his voice as he held his knife to his Dralaq's throat. "Yet it is more than I could have ever hoped for. Arriving just in time... to watch his female's demise."

The Dralan growled out and lifted his sword, pointing it at the abominable male before him. "Killing her wont give you the throne. It is me you need to defeat to earn this kingdom."

Phlague's grin broadened. His yellowing, sharpened teeth revealed themselves, his fangs growing at the thought of sitting on the throne; His mind was as perverse as his actions.

"And defeat you I shall..." He calmly declared, his glowing red eyes meeting his.

And in a single movement, the male pounced.

His speed and strength was more than the Dralan had anticipated for his years, but he had awaited his assault. The male grabbed his sword and swung so fast, the sound of metal meeting metal echoed like a cannon blast in the small bedchamber. No sooner had Phlague moved than the Dralan himself had parried his blade with his own; their swords clashed and their bodies collided.

Hell broke loose. The two males were at each other's throats, swords gritting and sliding against each other, fists meeting, teeth biting. The Dralan saw red as Phlague's eyes filled with need to kill, to defeat, to win. He fought for a blood-driven regime ruled in fear, the Dralan for all else; for life, for females, for peace and for love. Above all, he fought for love.

– The love of his kingdom, his people, and his Dralaq.

Behind them, he could hear his female cry out in fear as she witnessed their brawl. As metal cut flesh, as teeth bit, and roars of pain and passion expelled from both of them. Both males were at an impasse, neither yielding, neither backing down.

"Your time is over," Phlague provoked as his blade struck against his once more, pushing with all his might to corner him against the wall, but without luck. The Dralan easily matched his strength and pushed back, coming face to face with the sick male. "Your ancient ways and flaccid reign will live beyond no further! The time of Phlague is now."

"Not while there's breath in my chest and blood in my veins," The Dralan growled back, pushing away as they both struck another sword dance. "The Blithesome Miss be my witness."

"She can witness your death alongside your female," He laughed back coldly. "But the Dralaq need not wait long. She will soon join you in your cold embrace."

Their swords clashed again, but at that very moment, the walls caved in. An explosion erupted and the outer wall of the Dralan's tower was blown to pieces as one of the war machine's rocks crashed through it. Everyone screamed and jumped aside as rubble came down from above and heavy pillars of brick and stone caved in over them.

And amidst it all, the Dralan got caught beneath a heavy piece of stone.

The crushing weight of the stone knocked the air from his lungs and the sword from his hands. A few feet over lay Phlague, covered in dust and rubble, coughing as the air settled. He brushed off the dust and slowly got to his feet, only to see the Dralan stuck beneath the stone.

With half his body weighed down by the heavy wall, the Dralan heaved and pushed, but the stone refused to move. The stone was crushing him with every moment he laid there, but there was nothing he could do to remove it.

– He was trapped.

A maniacal laughter filled the room. Across the floor, Phlague had risen unharmed and freed from the rubble. He watched the Dralan struggle to move, and laughed with glee at his unsuccessful attempt. Realizing the situation, he slowly picked up his sword and sighed blissfully.

Sweet Miss, no. This could not be it.

"A pitiful end," He spoke, watching the Dralan growl and continue his efforts to move the wall on top of him. He only managed to shift it a few inches. Without help, he would never get it off. Looking to his left, he saw Callath and Phlague's males knocked unconscious by the explosion. His only hope was to pray that Callath came to before the other males.

Until then, all he could do was stall.

"It seems your Blithesome Miss has failed you," Phlague goaded, smiling coldheartedly. "Once again, females falls short of expectations. When will you see that my way is the only way?"

The Dralan bared his fangs and kept trying to stir the stone on top of him. It crushed his chest, but never his fervor. "Your way leads only to death and destruction. To corruption and filth," He snarled. "To feed upon those weaker than yourself—"

"It is our right to feed!" Phlague boomed, lifting his sword. "Our right to be dominant and superior! Females provide only two things; blood and pleasure, and if lucky, male heirs," He hissed. "Beyond that, they are good for little but utter submission. The sooner you learn, the sooner you will see just how much you're missing."

"I will never fall prey to your logic," The Dralan replied solemnly. "You speak of dominance as if males would be anything without the grace of a female. Without their blood, their virtue—our bodies are only made stronger by the strength of theirs."

"Ha!" Phlague scoffed loudly, now walking closer towards him. "You speak of female strength, yet you are trapped beneath stone. Where is your female's strength now? Does not her blood fuel you at this moment, does not her power run through your veins?" He yelled.

The Dralan gritted his teeth, for the male had spoken the damning words. Had his Leyla's blood been flowing through his veins, he would've easily lifted the stone atop of him and defeated the male before him in a split second. Had he fed on her veins, strength would not be failing him, but fueling him.

But it had never been about what was inside him. It was what lay inside his female's womb.

And that was his sole fuel.

Roaring, the Dralan once more tried to lift the stone, and it shifted naught but a few more inches, yet it was more than before. His armed ached and his body burgeoned, every fiber of his being fighting to get free. But the heavy stone cemented him down, as if part of the rock itself.

"You are weak," Phlague spoke, yet the words were not spoken with mockery, but with intrigue. There laid a question in his tone, and as his red eyes gazed upon the Dralan, they slowly widened with realization.

The truth dawned on him, and with a slow turn of his head, his gaze shifted towards the Dralaq, who remained in the furthest corner of the room, unharmed by the explosion. She watched with tears falling from her eyes as truth filled Phlague's eyes.

"Her blood doesn't run through your veins," He whispered slowly, now taking a step towards his female. "But why? Why would the Dralan not feed from his female before a war, why would he not..."

Sweet Miss, no! The Dralan thought, roaring as Phlague's words died out with realization. The truth dawned on him in the shape of a deafening silence.

His slow, ominous laughter then built in the silence. The grip on his sword tightened, and with a steady pace, he moved towards the Dralaq, who despite her tears showed no signs of fear. Even as the tip of the blade moved from her throat... down to the pit of her belly.

"Get away from her!" The Dralan roared furiously, growing out of his mind as his female stood at the tip of a sword, their young caught between it. His pulse rose, his heart hammered in his chest as Phlague ignored him with a sick twist of his lip.

"You've been keeping secrets, sweet female," He purred out icily, his sword moving dangerously close to the silk of her dress. "How very... disappointing. But fret not. You will soon spill them," He hissed maliciously.

"You will not touch her!" The Dralan roared again, using all his strength to try and lift the stone. His arms crumbled under the weight and gave out, the stone as stubborn as ever. "It is my blood which holds the power to rule. It is my blood which need be spilled."

"And spill it I will," Phlague promised, before stepping all the way up to his Dralaq and gripping her chin. "But first... you shall witness the birth of your dead seed."

The Dralan roared and watched as Phlague's sword lifted, cutting through the air. His sweet female, bless her strong heart, didn't even flinch. She stood silent, accepting, her eyes never leaving Phlague's as his blade swung through the air.

She had accepted death, and would carry it worthily like a Queen as she walked into the arms of The Blithesome Miss.