NOVEL NEXT Chapter 106: The Monarch Falls
The city of glass never slept.
Its crystalline spires pierced the heavens, refracting the ghostly light of the false moons into prismatic cascades that shimmered across the silver rivers snaking through the districts. The capital of the Ethereal Empire pulsed with a restless energy, its streets alive with merchants peddling star-forged trinkets, mages weaving spells into the air, and soldiers patrolling with blades that hummed with enchantments. But tonight, the city's radiant glow felt like a funeral pyre, heavy with the weight of impending ruin.
On the highest balcony of the Gilded Citadel, Monarch Therion feasted, oblivious—or willfully ignorant—of the shadow creeping ever closer to his throne. The air was thick with the scent of roasted wyvern, spiced wine, and the faint tang of fear from his trembling servants. Laughter and clinking goblets echoed through the chamber, a hollow celebration of power in a city teetering on the edge of chaos.
Selka Vale, the Assassin Queen, crouched on the balcony's edge, her silhouette blending seamlessly with the night. Her black leather armor clung to her like a second skin, runes etched into the fabric glowing faintly as they suppressed her presence. Her emerald eyes, sharp as the poisoned dagger in her hand, studied her target with predatory precision. Therion's arrogance was a gift—a chink in the armor of a man who believed himself untouchable.
"Three guards… predictable formation," she whispered into the rune-band encircling her wrist, her voice barely a breath. The device hummed softly, its magic channeling her words to her allies across the city.
Valerian's voice crackled in her ear, low and edged with urgency. "Make it quick, Selka. We have bigger problems."
She smirked, her fingers brushing the dagger's venom-coated edge, its surface slick with a toxin that could kill a dragon in seconds. "Oh, I'll make it *beautiful*."
With the grace of a shadow, she slipped through the balcony window, moving like smoke over water.
---
**Inside the Gilded Citadel**
Monarch Therion was a mountain of a man, his broad frame scarred from battles won and enemies crushed. Draped in silks of sapphire and gold, he lounged at the head of a banquet table laden with delicacies from across the Ethereal Empire. His laughter boomed, shaking the crystal chandeliers above as he tossed a concubine aside with a careless flick of his wrist. She stumbled, her eyes wide with fear, but Therion didn't notice. He tore into a roasted wyvern leg, grease dripping down his bearded chin.
"More wine!" he roared, his voice rattling the goblets on the table.
The servants flinched, scurrying to obey. Their movements were mechanical, their faces pale with the knowledge that a single misstep could mean death. Therion ruled through fear, and his court was a gilded cage where loyalty was bought with dread.
Selka watched from the shadows, her breath steady, her pulse a quiet drumbeat. *Arrogant. Slow. Perfect.* Her eyes glinted as she mapped the room—three guards in polished plate armor, their stances rigid but inattentive; a dozen courtiers too drunk or too scared to notice her; and Therion, the heart of it all, oblivious to the noose tightening around his neck.
She moved.
The first guard turned, his hand halfway to his sword, but he didn't have time to shout. Selka's dagger flashed, slicing through his throat with surgical precision. Blood sprayed, a crimson arc that stained the marble floor. The second guard opened his mouth to scream, but a second blade—thrown with impossible accuracy—buried itself in his eye. The third reached for a rune-etched horn to sound the alarm, but Selka was already there, her body a blur as she drove her dagger into his heart. He crumpled without a sound.
The courtiers froze, their drunken laughter dying in their throats. Therion turned, his massive frame shifting with surprising speed for a man of his size, just in time to see Selka standing atop his banquet table. Her boots crushed a platter of fruit, juice pooling like blood beneath her feet. Her dagger gleamed, its poison catching the candlelight.
"Who *dares*—" Therion began, his voice a thunderclap.
The dagger flew.
It struck his throat with a wet *thunk*, the poison spreading faster than his rage could rise. Therion's hand clawed at the blade, his eyes wide with shock, but the venom was merciless. His massive body swayed, then crashed to the floor, wine and blood mingling in a dark, viscous pool that spread across the marble.
The room was silent, save for the faint drip of liquid and the ragged breathing of the courtiers. Selka pressed her rune-band. "Target neutralized."
Valerian's voice came through, calm and cold. "Clean exit. No traces."
Selka's lips curved into a smirk. "Already gone."
She vanished into the night, leaving only silence and a dead king in her wake.
---
**Conclave Core Chamber**
Deep beneath the city, in a chamber carved from obsidian and pulsing with arcane energy, the Core thrummed violently. The massive crystal at the room's center glowed with a sickly light, its surface cracked from recent battles. Fragments of Umbra's shadow—a malevolent entity defeated but not destroyed—still lingered in the air, flickering like embers of a dying fire, their residual magic stinging the senses like ozone after a storm.
Valerian Nightshade leaned against a cracked column, his breathing heavy, his dark cloak tattered from the fight that had nearly claimed him. His new power—a shard of Umbra's essence absorbed during their last confrontation—thrummed beneath his skin, alien yet intoxicating. It coiled in his veins, a restless serpent that both empowered and threatened to consume him. His silver eyes, once sharp and calculating, now glowed faintly with an unnatural sheen.
Lira, his closest ally, approached cautiously, her steps light on the obsidian floor. Her silver wings, folded against her back, shimmered faintly in the Core's light. "Valerian… your aura. It's… *different*."
"Stronger," he corrected, his tone sharp as a blade. "And unstable. But it will do."
Selene, the Conclave's strategist, crossed her arms, her piercing blue eyes narrowing. "You absorbed part of Umbra. Do you even understand the risk? That thing was a god-killer."
Valerian met her gaze, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "I understand power. Risk comes second."
Seraphine, her wings still faintly glowing from channeling divine energy, stepped closer. Her voice was soft but laced with warning. "And the System? It hasn't stopped trying to purge you. You're playing with forces even the Conclave doesn't fully comprehend."
As if on cue, a translucent window flickered in Valerian's vision, its edges crackling with static:
> **[System Alert: Rogue Integration Detected]**
> **[Stability: 74% | Risk: Catastrophic]**
> **[You are walking the path of irreversible corruption.]**
Valerian dismissed it with a mental flick, his expression unreadable. "Let it watch," he muttered, his voice low and defiant. The System had been his guide, his jailer, and now his adversary. He would bend it to his will—or break it.
---
**Northern Watchtower – Black Fang Outpost**
In a crumbling fortress on the city's outskirts, Kael Ironfang and the surviving Black Fang operatives huddled around a communication crystal. The air was thick with the scent of oil and steel, the room lit only by the crystal's faint blue glow. Kael, a grizzled warrior with scars crisscrossing his face, leaned forward as Selka's voice came through.
"It's done," she said, her tone clipped but triumphant. "Monarch Therion won't be seeing the sunrise."
Kael's lips split into a wolfish grin, revealing a missing tooth. "Ha! The old warlord finally croaked? The capital will panic by morning."
"It'll do more than panic," Selka replied, her voice crackling through the crystal. "The Empire will *bleed*."
Kael laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the stone walls. "Good. Let's see how their precious Emperor handles a city tearing itself apart."
---
**Imperial Palace – Throne Room**
The messenger fell to his knees before the obsidian throne, his voice trembling as he delivered the news. "Y-your Majesty… Monarch Therion is… dead."
The Emperor, a figure of divine menace, sat motionless. His golden eyes, glowing like twin suns, opened slowly, glinting with the sharpness of a predator sizing up its prey. He didn't speak at first. He didn't need to. The air in the throne room grew heavy, the temperature plummeting as divine energy coiled around him like an invisible storm.
Behind him, Archmage Veridan slammed his staff against the floor, the impact sending a shockwave of arcane energy through the chamber. "This is open war!" he roared, his voice trembling with rage. "Valerian Nightshade dares to strike at the heart of the Empire!"
The Emperor rose from his throne, his movements slow and deliberate, each step resonating with the weight of divine authority. His voice, when he spoke, was soft but carried the promise of annihilation. "Valerian Nightshade has crossed the line."
A ripple of golden energy spread through the chamber, shaking the chandeliers and making the air hum with power. The courtiers shrank back, their faces pale with awe and fear.
"Send word to the surviving monarchs," the Emperor commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "We enter Ascension Protocol. Let the villain see what happens when he touches divinity."
---
**Midnight – Rooftop of the Conclave**
Valerian stood alone on the rooftop, the wind tugging at his tattered cloak. Below, the city burned—fires flickered in the merchant district, screams echoed from the slums, and soldiers clashed with rioters in a futile attempt to restore order. The scent of ash and blood hung heavy in the air, a grim reminder of the chaos he had unleashed.
Lira landed beside him, her wings folding silently. "You started a storm," she said, her voice soft but laced with concern.
Valerian didn't answer. His gaze was fixed on the Imperial Palace, where a golden light pulsed in the night sky, growing brighter with each passing moment. It was no ordinary magic—it was the heartbeat of something ancient, something unstoppable.
"That light…" Lira whispered, her eyes wide. "I've only read about it in the ancient records. The Ascension Protocol. They're turning the Emperor into something more than human."
Valerian's lips curved into a smirk, a low chuckle escaping his throat. "Good. I was getting bored."
Seraphine joined them, her silver hair catching the moonlight like a halo. "If they succeed, he won't just be stronger than you. He'll be untouchable—a god in mortal flesh."
Valerian's eyes glinted with lethal amusement, his voice low and dangerous. "Then I'll just have to stop him before he ascends."
---
**Deep Below the Capital – Forbidden Sanctum**
In a cavern sealed from the world, the Keymaster knelt before a massive black gate, its surface etched with runes that pulsed with malevolent energy. The old man's eyes burned with purple fire, his robes tattered from years of guarding this forbidden place. Chains rattled around him, their links glowing with the same runes that bound the gate.
"The Monarch is dead. The city bleeds. Soon, the final seal will weaken," he whispered, his voice a reverent hiss.
He reached into his robe and drew a crystal vial. Inside, blood swirled, shimmering with celestial gold—blood that carried the essence of a divine being. "Lady Selene's blood," he murmured, his fingers trembling with anticipation. "The key to the gate of endings."
Behind him, the shadows stirred, coalescing into a form that was neither human nor beast. A voice, cold and ancient, whispered from the darkness. "The gate hungers. Feed it."
The Keymaster's smile widened, his eyes blazing with fanaticism. "Soon."
---
**System Notification**
A translucent window flickered in Valerian's vision, its edges crackling with ominous static:
> **[Main Quest Updated: The Villain's War]**
> **Objectives:**
> 1. Survive the Emperor's Ascension.
> 2. Prevent Umbra from fully reforming.
> 3. Discover the True Gate.
> **Warning: Alignment drifting toward Villain Sovereign.**
> **Next Milestone: World-Split Event in 30 Days.**
Valerian exhaled, his breath visible in the cold night air. His eyes remained locked on the Imperial Palace, where the golden light now pulsed with a rhythm that matched his own heartbeat. The System's warning lingered in his mind, but he pushed it aside. The game had changed, and the stakes were higher than ever.
But something else gnawed at him—a whisper in the back of his mind, not from the System but from the shard of Umbra within him. It spoke of power, of destruction, of a gate that could unmake the world. And it was growing louder.
Lira's hand brushed his arm, her voice urgent. "Valerian, we're running out of time. The Emperor's ascension is only the beginning. If the Keymaster reaches the True Gate—"
"Then we'll tear it down," Valerian interrupted, his voice cold and resolute. But even as he spoke, the shard of Umbra pulsed within him, its voice a seductive murmur: *Why stop them? Open the gate. Claim it all.*
The golden light in the palace flared, a beacon of divine wrath that promised annihilation. Below, the city screamed, its streets awash in blood and fire. And deep beneath the earth, the black gate trembled, its seals cracking as the Keymaster's ritual began.
Valerian's smirk faded, replaced by a steely resolve. The board was set, the pieces moving faster than he could control. The Emperor, the Keymaster, Umbra's shadow, the System itself—each a thread in a tapestry of chaos that threatened to unravel everything.
He turned to Lira and Seraphine, his voice a low growl. "Ready the Conclave. We're not just stopping an ascension. We're going to war."
As he spoke, the ground beneath the city shivered, a faint tremor that sent cracks spiderwebbing through the streets. The golden light pulsed once more, and from the depths of the Forbidden Sanctum, a low, guttural roar echoed—a sound that was not of this world.
The gate was waking.
And Valerian knew: the true war was only beginning.