The throne room of the Minister's stronghold was silent… almost too silent. Shadows clung to every corner, curling around stone pillars like living things. Candles flickered, casting the walls in a wavering, ominous light.
Draven, Lucian, Merlik, and Melken stood at the edge of the hall, weapons ready, hearts hammering—not from fear, but anticipation. Each step forward was measured, every breath taken with deadly care.
Merlik's voice cut the silence, low and precise:
"He knows we are here. He always knows. But he does not know everything."
Lucian's eyes narrowed. "Then we give him something he can't predict."
A faint, sickly violet glow pulsed from deep within the hall—the same hue Merlik had stolen from the Minister years ago. It reminded them of the horrors the Minister had inflicted: soldiers twisted into monsters, minds erased, bodies reshaped, all under his control.
A slow, mocking clap echoed through the chamber. The Minister emerged from the shadows, his robe flowing like smoke, eyes gleaming with cruel intelligence.
"Well, well… the prodigal sons return," he said, voice silk over steel. "And you've brought your little army. How… touching."
Draven gritted his teeth, stepping forward. "No more games. No more experiments. This ends tonight."
The Minister laughed, a sound that chilled the very air. "You still think this is about steel and blood. No… it is about control, about power over life itself. And I have more than you can possibly imagine."
From hidden alcoves, faint movements stirred—the Minister's "creations." Bodies once human, now twisted into living weapons, eyes glowing with the same violet light as the source Merlik had taken. They advanced, silent, unstoppable… except the faint shimmer along the edges of the brothers' blades.
Merlik stepped forward, spear in hand. "Remember the Core. Strike their spines. The rest is irrelevant."
Melken circled to the flank, twin daggers glinting. "And remember… chaos is our ally. Make him react."
The first clash was sudden. The twisted soldiers lunged, a blur of unnatural speed. Draven met the first with a brutal strike, steel singing as it cleaved the creature's chest—but it didn't fall. Its body convulsed, energy coursing from the dark Core implanted in its spine.
Lucian countered, precision movements flowing like water, targeting joints, crippling limbs—but still, they came. The Minister's laughter echoed, omnipresent, knowing.
And then, the Minister stepped forward. Not a soldier, not a shadow—he moved like a predator, every step deliberate, every strike carrying decades of knowledge and cruelty. His blade struck faster than the eye could follow, cutting air and stone alike. Sparks flew, shadows twisting with each parry.
Merlik's voice cut through the chaos: "Use the oil. Distract, destabilize, and hit the Core. Only then do we hurt them!"
Draven felt the tip of his sword bite through the oil, the alchemical poison sizzling against the first of the Minister's creations. Melken followed, precise strikes destabilizing more soldiers, while Lucian danced through the melee, anticipating every strike of the Minister.
And then… a moment of silence.
The Minister stood alone, eyes burning, a faint smirk on his lips. "Impressive… but do you truly understand the game yet?"
Merlik's jaw tightened. "We're not playing your game. We're rewriting it."
Lightning cracked outside, illuminating the hall in stark white. And for a heartbeat, everything froze: four siblings, their ally, the Minister—and the promise that the war was only beginning.