Meanwhile, as his three sons searched for their mother and sister, Thomas stood in his study, surveying the bodies littering the floor. His gaze shifted to the scattered papers on his desk, his mind replaying the conversation he had with his wife about disposing of their family toy, Laverna.
The chaos unfolding around him solidified one fact, his plan to replace her had been scrapped. For some, this was a catastrophe, but for the Lichtensteins, it was a blessing in disguise.
They had prepared for moments like these, drilled countless times on how to respond when fate turned against them. This was nothing more than a test of survival.
A twisted grin stretched across his face as he chuckled under his breath. "Ahh… Laverna… Good thing we didn't kill her yet. My baby girl is going to have so much fun with this… Or we just torch the house. One of the two. We can always rebuild."
He moved to his desk, settling onto the chair with a sigh, and unsheathed his sword, lazily dragging a whetstone across its edge. His ears remained sharp, listening for any approaching footsteps.
The faint clinking of armor reached him moments before the door burst open. A group of rebels stormed into the study, weapons drawn, grins plastered across their faces as they took in the scene before them.
The muffled sounds of struggling prisoners echoed from the hallway beyond. The rebels knew exactly where the head of the Lichtenstein family would retreat in the event of a worst-case scenario. They wasted no time surrounding him, their blades pointed at his throat.
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," one of them said, his voice filled with amusement. "We have orders to bring you in alive." He shrugged. "But that's up to you, Thomas."
Thomas shook his head, standing slowly. "Oh boy, I think you have me—"
Before he could finish, something slithered around his wrists. A sudden force yanked his arms back as another set of bindings coiled around his legs, rendering him immobile. A sharp, crazed scream tore from his lips as his sword clattered to the ground. The more he struggled, the tighter the restraints grew, digging into his skin with merciless precision.
"I was really hoping you'd choose the hard way," a woman's voice purred from the doorway. Salene stepped into view, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. In her grasp was one of the Lichtensteins' own artifacts, its magic thrumming through the air as it tightened its grip on him.
She waved her hand dismissively. "Boys, take him away."
Her small band of men moved forward, roughly hauling their struggling captive from the room. The restraints continued to tighten with every movement, ensuring his escape was impossible.
"I would stop struggling if I were you. You had to know this was coming," she mused, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "I wanted to do it now, but not yet, beggars can't be choosers."
They dragged him into the main hall, where the women of the branch family were already strung up like livestock. Their faces contorted with fury as they spat curses at their captors, spewing venomous threats about the rebels being nothing more than scum.
Their screams and insults did little to change their predicament. The men were bound the same way, their struggles just as futile.
The once beautiful hall was now in ruins. Furniture had been overturned and dismantled, and priceless artwork and statues had been looted or destroyed. What had once been a symbol of aristocratic pride now stood as a monument to their downfall.
Salene crossed her arms, a pleased grin spreading across her face as she watched the proud family squirm. Yet, even amid their victory, a gnawing unease crept into her thoughts.
What would this mean for the rebels? The Lichtensteins were deeply embedded in high society.
They had built powerful connections, placing themselves in positions of influence among the upper-class elite. Their wealth and status had made them invaluable to the noble families they served, whether through entertainment, politics, or blood money.
Had she condemned her people to suffer the same fate? Would she feel the very rope she had placed around the Lichtensteins wrapped around her own neck one day? Would her comrades be hunted down as retribution for this night?
Her stomach twisted as she ran a gloved hand over the worn leather of her armor, wishing for a moment that it was skin, something real to ground her. She turned toward her men, watching them revel in their victory. How many of them would die for this act of retribution? How many of them had unknowingly signed their own death warrants?
Rumors would spread. That much was inevitable. But who would be at the heart of them?
The sound of approaching footsteps shattered her thoughts. A new group of men entered the room, their weapons drawn and their bloodied armor gleaming in the dim light. Their leader, a towering man standing over six feet, stepped forward, leveling his blade at her.
"By order of the—well, me—" he smirked, "you are all under arrest for the betrayal and treason of the Lichtenstein family. And, more importantly, for treason against the king."
Guard Captain Valerius had arrived, and with him, the Crown's elite forces. These were the very soldiers the Crown had lent to the Lichtensteins, utterly unaware of the horrors the family had wrought behind closed doors.
Over time, these men had been twisted by their masters, corrupted by the cruelty they had witnessed and embraced as their own. Though they carried the king's banner, their true allegiance lay elsewhere, their hands stained with the same sins as those they now sought to protect.
Salene's group tensed, gripping their weapons as the room filled with the weight of unspoken violence. The two factions stared at each other down, waiting for the first move. It came in an instant.
The two forces clashed, filling the room with the deafening symphony of steel meeting steel. Blood splattered against the floor, seeping into the cracks of the wood as bodies fell one after another. The battle raged until only a few figures remained standing.
Salene and Valerius circled each other, their eyes locked in a deadly game of patience and precision. But while she remained focused on her opponent, he had other plans.
A wicked grin spread across his face as he suddenly dashed to the side, throwing one of his axes, and slashing through the ropes that held the other nobles captive, including Thomas.
The tables turned in an instant.
Thomas and the others were free. As if fate itself had orchestrated this moment, the rest of the Lichtenstein family arrived, led by Abigail at the front of their own battle-hardened force. The air grew thick with malice as the rebels quickly found themselves on the losing side.
"Retreat!" Salene screamed, barely deflecting a strike from Thomas as he lunged at her, frothing at the mouth with unrestrained fury. The moment his bindings were cut, he had wasted no time, seizing the nearest sword from a fallen rebel and launching himself at her with murderous intent.
"You think you can take me? Humiliate me? String my family up like cattle?" Thomas snarled, his voice filled with pure venom. "You insignificant wretch, I will carve you into pieces and feed you to the dogs!"
His swings were wild yet powerful, each strike fueled by sheer rage. The sheer force behind his blows sent shockwaves up Salene's arms with every parry, her muscles burning as she struggled to hold her ground.
Thomas's eyes gleamed with madness, his lips curled into a snarl. "Beg, Salene! Beg like the scum you are! Maybe I'll make it quick!" he spat, slashing again, nearly catching her across the chest.
Salene gritted her teeth, sweat beading on her forehead. She had underestimated his fury, his strength. Every strike was meant to kill, meant to make her suffer. She needed to get away, needed to regroup, but Thomas gave her no chance, pressing his assault with relentless brutality.
The freed nobles shared a look before turning on their captors. Their grins were wicked, their hunger for vengeance insatiable.
The screams of the rebels filled the halls, their desperate escape cut off at every turn. The Lichtensteins did not just fight back, they butchered their enemies with the same ruthless efficiency they were known for.
Through the carnage, another scream tore through the manor, a sound so unearthly and wretched it felt as if the very walls trembled in fear. It was not a cry of pain, nor a plea for mercy, but a wail of despair so profound it carried the weight of the dying and the damned.
The echoes of slaughter followed, blending into a twisted symphony that resonated through the blood-soaked halls, a chorus of agony that the Lichtensteins and their ilk reveled in. To them, this was not horror. This was art.
Meanwhile, Shin stood frozen, witnessing something far more terrifying unfold. Laverna's body trembled, raw power crackling through her limbs.
Her tail lashed wildly, her fingers twitching as razor-sharp claws extended from them. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, low growls reverberating deep in her chest.
She was changing.
This was no longer just a battle.
This was the beginning of something far worse.