Supreme Hunter of Beautiful Souls

The silence that followed the execution of the high elf leader seemed denser than the fog itself. None of the remaining warriors dared to move. The massacre had broken more than bodies—it had destroyed convictions, pride, and the illusion of superiority that the high elves had cultivated for centuries.

Kael stood motionless for a long moment, observing the hesitant glances of the few enemies still alive. His eyes scanned the scene with calculated precision. He was no longer the man who wavered between diplomacy and violence—he was the executor of a new destiny, forged by betrayal, pain, and the brutal need to survive.

One of the high elves, a young woman with a silver symbol on her chest, slowly dropped her sword. Her eyes were wide, her breathing uneven. She fell to her knees, raising her hands in surrender, not daring to raise her voice.

Liora stepped forward and placed her hand on Kael's shoulder, in a gesture that was both pleading and commanding.

"They are incapacitated." Her voice was low but laden with meaning. "They are no longer soldiers. They are witnesses."

Kael looked at the kneeling woman, then at the two others who followed her, dropping their weapons. His eyes narrowed.

"If they speak... if they spread what happened here, the armies will come with twice the fury."

"Then they had better choose their words wisely," said Exelia, approaching, blood still dripping from the blade in her hand. "Or next time, there will be no mercy."

Liora turned to the survivors. "You will return to your golden tower. You will tell that you faced something you do not understand. You will say that you were defeated, but not annihilated, because you chose to live." She said, and Kael added,

"And if you lie... if you try to gather more forces for another ambush... I myself will go to your throne. And I will tear it down stone by stone."

Silence was the only response, but it was enough. Those eyes that had once overflowed with arrogance were now empty, consumed by a fear as deep as the roots of the forest.

Liora nodded, satisfied. Exelia, still watching closely, began to gather supplies from the fallen bodies.

"We need to get out of here," she said seriously. "There's too much mana in this place, soon other beasts and animals may come this way, far worse than Elves."

Kael took a deep breath and finally seemed to give in to exhaustion. His shoulders slumped slightly, but his eyes remained sharp.

"There's an ancient temple not far from here," said Liora. "Abandoned, forgotten even by the druids. We can shelter there for a night. And then..."

She looked at Kael, serious. "Then we'll decide on our next target."

He nodded, saying nothing. He simply began to walk, his footsteps sinking into the carpet of silver leaves stained red.

The shadows of the forest seemed to recede before him, as if nature itself now recognized him as something beyond man—an inevitable force, a storm of judgment.

And behind him, Liora and Exelia followed. The dark elves too.

Kael slowed his pace, the mist enveloping the group in its cold, damp cloak.

The forest seemed to whisper ancient secrets among the twisted leaves and ancient trunks.

He looked at Liora, who was walking just ahead, her profile outlined by the gloom of the mist.

"Tell me something, Liora," Kael broke the silence, his voice low and heavy with curiosity. "Why is a High Elf on the side of the Dark Elves? Why did you choose to be here, among them, and not among your own?"

She stopped, turning slowly to face him. Her light eyes reflected the dim light, deep and sincere. The tension in her expression softened, giving way to an almost painful calm.

"Because I see no reason to ally myself with those who do not fight for true equality," she replied, her voice firm but serene. "The High Elves you know, those who came today to destroy us, do not want peace or balance. They want domination. They want to perpetuate a system where a few rule and the majority bow down."

Kael frowned, surprised by the clarity and conviction in those words.

"And the Elf Queen?" he asked, curiosity mixed with slight skepticism. "Do you trust her? The current ruler of the High Elves?"

Liora smiled, a brief and almost sad smile.

"Yes, I do. The Queen wants something different. She knows that this cycle of hatred and war cannot continue forever. But she is only one among many. Many in her court still harbor the old resentment, the mistrust that taints relations between our peoples."

She looked at the trail ahead, her eyes resting on the fog that seemed to swallow the path.

"I chose to be here because I believe that change will only be possible if we break down these barriers. And because, despite our differences, I believe that together we have a real chance to build something new. Not for glory, nor for power—but for the survival of us all."

Kael remained silent, letting those words echo among the trees. Her sincerity was palpable, almost a silent invitation to believe.

"So," he said, resuming his pace, his voice now softer, "what we have left is to trust in that hope, even if the path is covered in blood."

Liora nodded.

"Exactly. And that's why we can't let hatred consume us. Not yet."

The two walked side by side along the narrow trail, the weight of the past still present, but with a faint light of the future intertwined in each step....

...

[Unknown]

In the center of the hall—vast, resplendent with corrupted magic and ancient promises—stood a throne made of petrified roots and enchanted crystal. Seated upon it, as if she were the very flame at the heart of the ruin, was she.

Her hair, a cascade of gold and bright red, fell like serpents of fire over her shoulders, contrasting with the provocative outfit she wore: a short black skirt, a sharp-cut red jacket, and a tight white blouse with a daring neckline that glowed under the magical light of the place. Her amber eyes, intense as living embers, were fixed on the only elf who dared to raise his head.

After all, they were not facing a simple sorceress. They were facing a demon.

"It's taking too long to kill that bitch, the Queen of the Elves," she said, her voice soft but sharp as broken glass. Each syllable seemed to scratch the air, laden with contempt and impatience. "You promised me her resistance would fall in weeks. Months have passed."

A suffocating silence fell over the elves kneeling on the white marble floor, now tinged with shadows. None of them dared to breathe loudly. Until, finally, a hard-faced advisor with a blue tiara on his forehead rose slightly, his body trembling with contained tension.

"My lady... we have received disturbing news. One of our battalions has been massacred. Only three survivors remain."

The demonic lady's expression did not change immediately, but the aura in the hall became heavier, as if the very air bowed before the fury that was building beneath her skin.

"What a joke," she said at last. Her voice now sounded lower, yet even more threatening. "You think you can hide this from me? From me?"

She leaned forward on her throne, her hands resting on the arms of the structure like claws about to tear through the enchanted wood.

"A deal is a deal. I asked for the Queen's life. Only when her heart stops beating, only when her eyes are empty... will the next part of the contract be fulfilled." She looked at each of those present, her amber eyes shining with a cruel light. "Until then, there will be no extermination of the dark elves. No ritual. No summoning. Nothing."

She rose suddenly, with predatory grace. Her presence was like poison in the air—seductive, powerful, unbearable.

"If you try to deceive me again... you will see what happens to fools who toy with demonic pacts."

No one answered. The silence was now pure fear. And in the shadows of the hall, the sealed pact echoed, hungry for blood and destiny.

With a lazy gesture of her hand, as if brushing dust from a precious fabric, she whispered:

"You may leave."

The order was not spoken with anger, but with an acid sweetness that sent shivers down the spine. None of the elves questioned it. One by one, they rose and left the hall in hurried but silent steps—as if their very lives depended on it. And indeed, they did.

When the huge stone doors closed with a muffled thud, the woman leaned back on her throne with a melodramatic sigh.

"Oh... ungrateful, incompetent, predictable men." She rolled her eyes, crossing her legs with disdain. "A century of planning and they stumble over everything in their path? Pathetic."

Alone, she relaxed. Her previously tense shoulders slumped, and a wry smile curved her red lips. Then she snapped her fingers, and runic circles lit up around her. Magic flowed like enchanted blood across the floor of the hall, converging in a floating sphere before her—a living map of the kingdom, where points of energy pulsed like distant stars.

"Let's see... let's see... where are the rats running toward hope?" she murmured, her catlike eyes dancing across the map.

The sphere spun, and a red aura glowed to the north. It was no ordinary glow. It was an intense, dark presence, with traces of ancient power—but also restrained, refined, as if refusing to be just another brutal force in the world.

The demonic woman stopped. Her amber eyes widened slightly. Her half-open mouth let out an almost childlike "Oh..."

The vision formed before her: a tall man with dark red hair like embers at the end of combustion. His gaze, cold and sharp as the blade of truth, cut through any fool who dared to stare back at him. His expression was serious, his bearing rigid, proud, lethal. A sinister aura surrounded him, not like a curse... but like a natural cloak. As if he had been born to be the end of the weak.

She brought her hands to her mouth, her eyes shining with excitement. And then she laughed. A high-pitched, enchanted laugh, almost adolescent.

"He... is perfect."

She rose in a graceful leap, dancing around the throne with her arms raised as if celebrating a pagan festival.

"Hair of fire, eyes that judge me as if he were better than me... AH, how delightful! A king without a crown! A predator without a cage!" She spun and twirled like a spoiled child who had just seen the most dangerous toy in the store.

She stopped suddenly, turning her eyes back to the map, now with a dreamy expression.

"Darling Darling Darling..." she hummed, though she did not yet know his name. "What are you? Where did you come from? And why, dark heavens, are you not here with me yet?"

She bit her lower lip thoughtfully before approaching the sphere and whispering to his image:

"You will meet me. You will hear my name in your nightmares. Or... perhaps in your desires." She smiled mischievously. "And when we finally come face to face... who knows what will happen? Maybe I'll kill you..." Her smile widened in wicked anticipation. "...or maybe I'll fall in love for good."

The sphere glowed one last time before dissipating, leaving the room enveloped in the soft murmur of disappearing magic. The demonic lady returned to her throne, throwing herself into it like a bored queen in a theater of horrors.

"Ah... finally something interesting in this miserable kingdom."