Chapter 9 - The Fall of the Tyrant
Valen spat blood onto the white stones, his broadsword skittering away across the pavement. He looked up, panting heavily, surrounded by the unified fury of the entire kingdom—the common folk, the royal guards who had abandoned him, and the queen he had tried to destroy.
Julian walked slowly toward the fallen king, the golden light from his shoulder illuminating the terrified face of the usurper.
"You took my childhood," Julian said, his voice echoing clearly across the dead-silent plaza. "You took my mother's peace. And you bled this kingdom dry."
Valen reached desperately for a hidden dagger at his belt, his eyes wild with desperation. "I am the king—!"
Before he could pull the blade, the massive beast slammed its colossal foot down mere inches from Valen's face, kicking up a cloud of dust and pinning the king's sleeve to the ground. The sheer air pressure of the blow knocked the breath entirely out of Valen’s lungs.
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From the balcony above, the remaining royal loyalists dropped their weapons one by one. The resistance cheered, a thunderous roar that shook the very clouds above the capital.
Eleanor stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on her son's shoulder. The nightmare was finally over.
