When A Filipino got Isekai'd with a Twist ! "only I can summon those!"

When a Filipino got Isekai'd with a twist!

"Only I can summon those!" (Pinoy Isekai)

Volume 3

Side story 2: call me Mephistopheles!

Two years had passed.

The scars of war had long faded from the walls of the capital, but some memories refused to dull. The kingdom was in a slow, steady spring of recovery. Peace was no longer just a dream.

Mina stood under the shade of the academy courtyard, her fingers gently tracing the spines of a few old books she just borrowed from the library. Her demon tail swayed absentmindedly behind her as she walked through the hall, a mixture of curiosity and caution in her eyes. The whispers never fully disappeared—some still eyed her warily. She was, after all, a demon. But she was also something more.

The daughter of a hero.

No one questioned her place when the king himself, Antares, had declared it. "Kieth took her in as his own. So shall we," he said during that council two years ago. "If you have a problem with her, then you have a problem with the man who died saving this kingdom."

That was the end of it.

Now, Mina was a full-fledged student of the Royal Magic Academy—top of her class, in fact. Her affinity with dark and fire magic made her naturally gifted, and with Cique now back to teaching at the academy, she had one of the best mentors around. He'd finally regrown his arm with his mana now fully restored. Gruff and eccentric as ever, Cique taught like a man who'd seen the world burn and still decided to teach kids how to keep a match safe.

In the afternoons, Mina often found herself at the hill behind the academy—the place where Kieth once stood during the battle's final moments. She didn't remember him well. Just flashes of warmth. His coat draped over her when she was cold. His laugh. His bad jokes. His hand ruffling her hair like a real dad would.

She sat there now, hugging her knees, when footsteps approached.

"Figures I'd find you here," Antares said.

Mina looked up. He was in a plain brown shirt and muddy boots. No cape, no armor, no guards. Just Antares, the farmer. And somehow, it suited him better than the crown ever did.

"You're supposed to be out planting tomatoes," Mina teased.

He smirked and sat beside her, pulling out a flask and taking a sip before handing it to her. She took a small sip—water this time, not wine.

"I already did. Got up at dawn. I'm retired, not lazy," he said. "Besides… tomatoes can wait."

They both stared at the view of the capital below—the red rooftops glowing under the afternoon sun.

"Do you still think about him?" Mina asked quietly.

Antares leaned back on his hands, the wind playing with his now longer hair. "Every damn day."

She nodded. "Me too."

They sat in silence for a while, before Mina whispered, "I wish he was here."

Antares chuckled, shaking his head. "He'd probably ruin the moment by yelling, 'C'mon! Worship me, peasants!' while doing that weird T-pose."

Mina burst out laughing. "And you'd kick the chair he was standing on again."

"Damn right I would," he grinned. "Face-planted so hard, the ground still remembers."

They both laughed harder than they should have. The memory was a dumb one, but it felt so alive. Like he was still around, just waiting to show up and make things chaotic again.

"Thank you," Mina said after a while.

"For what?"

"For keeping me safe. For keeping his promise."

Antares looked at her, then placed a hand on her head and gently messed up her hair. "You're Kieth's kid. I don't need any other reason."

She smiled.

The breeze blew through the tall grass. Somewhere, the bell tower rang from the academy, and Cique's voice could be faintly heard from a classroom window yelling, "No, you blithering fool, that's not how you cast Accelerate!"

Mina sighed. "Back to class."

Antares stood up and offered her a hand. "Go ace that test. I'll go back to being a tomato whisperer."

As she walked down the hill, Mina glanced back one more time. "Hey, Antares."

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're still here."

He smiled. "Me too, kid. Me too."

Fifty Years Later

The world had known peace for decades.

Saint Lycana—once radiant, now a silver-haired woman wrapped in layers of white and gold—sat quietly in her garden, the same one she and Kieth once strolled through in their youth. Her steps were slower now, her breathing faint, but her eyes still carried that same fierce warmth. She still served, though her miracles had become fewer, her prayers gentler.

Dern Riona sat beside her under the shade of a wide, blooming cherry tree, flipping through an old book with cracked leather binding. Her once-sharp voice had softened over the years, but she could still scold a misfiled book back into order. Though time weighed heavy on her frame, her eyes never lost the edge of someone who once stared death in the face and laughed.

Antares was no longer the young powerhouse he used to be. His body, once carved from war, had softened under the sun and soil. He'd traded his sword for a plow, and the battlefield for rice fields. Yet, even now, his calloused hands could still crush a man's skull if needed. He never remarried. Never settled anywhere far. Always close enough to Kieth's grave to visit, to talk.

And Mina—no longer the wide-eyed demon girl clinging to Kieth's leg—now stood tall, graceful, and powerful. Her long black hair flowed freely behind her crimson robes. A master of elemental and spatial magic, a rising star at the academy, and perhaps the only demon ever to walk the capital freely without fear or judgment. Because she wasn't just a demon—she was Kieth's daughter. The fallen hero's legacy. And no one dared touch that.

Cique, now completely restored, stood tall as ever in his academy robes, teaching advanced magic theory and dimensional alchemy. His lost limbs had long since been regenerated, but the phantom memory of that battle never left him. He often lectured students on the value of restraint—and the price of hubris.

The group reunited that day, like they did every few years, standing around Kieth's grave beneath the marble statue of him, frozen in his final pose: arms wide, smiling like a jackass, one foot raised heroically on a stone, and the other shoe hilariously missing—because Antares insisted that part of him should never be forgotten.

They shared jokes. Stories. Mina chuckled at Antares's impersonation of her father.

"Come on, worship me, peasants!" Antares mimicked Kieth's infamous T-pose, standing on the same bench he once used. Mina shook her head, and the others laughed when Cique mumbled, "Still an idiot, even in stone."

But then it happened.

The ground shook.

A tremor, deep and unnatural. Birds scattered. The air snapped cold.

The sky turned grey as something massive broke through the clouds—something that did not belong in this era of peace.

It landed at the center of the capital. The explosion of stone, metal, and mana was deafening. Buildings collapsed. The barrier mages barely raised the shields in time to stop the shockwave from wiping out half the city.

Antares's eyes widened in disbelief. Mina's heart dropped. Even Cique stumbled back, his old instincts screaming.

Rising from the smoke…

It stood at least fifty meters tall. Its black and red scales glistened with mana corruption. Its arms—thick like tree trunks—were armored with grotesque, bone-like plating, sharp as blades. Its face was a warped fusion of titan-like features: exposed jaws lined with hundreds of human teeth, eyes that blinked sideways, and smoke that hissed from its gills like poison steam.

It was like someone took Godzilla, the Armored Titan, and the Jaw Titan, and glued them together with malice and rot.

And then, it roared.

The sky cracked.

The seal on peace… shattered.

The roar hit them like a wave of sound and fear. Windows shattered. The sky itself seemed to ripple.

Then came the screams.

From the rooftops of the capital, a wave of terrified citizens began to scatter like ants. Children clutched parents, mages shouted orders, and knights scrambled into defensive formations. The palace bells clanged out a desperate warning—Capital under siege. Unknown class. All units mobilize.

Mina's heart thumped.

She stared down at the chaos below from the hilltop. And without hesitation—without looking back—she ran.

Her feet barely touched the ground as she shot down the winding hill path, a blur of red robes and black hair. She passed guards, past street vendors already packing up their lives, past mages still fumbling to cast barriers.

A lieutenant tried to grab her arm. "Miss Mina! Protocol says the commanders—"

"I am the commander now!" she barked, voice sharp, cracking through the panic like a whip. "Form up on the east wall. Any Tier 4 or higher mages, with me! We're cutting it off before it hits the inner ring!"

Behind her, Antares stood still, eyes locked on the smoke column downtown. He slowly exhaled.

"She's really his kid," he muttered.

Then he turned to the others. "Get your gear, old friends."

Cique snapped his fingers. His robe shimmered and shifted into plated mage-armor—old design, layered with runes that hadn't seen battle in decades.

Saint Lycana tightened the laces of her holy robes, grabbing her aged staff. Her hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but memory.

Dern Riona didn't speak. She just reached into her satchel and pulled out her twin daggers—polished, balanced, still deadly.

Antares tightened the old warplate over his shoulders, breath shallow. He grimaced. "Bones feel like glass... but screw it."

He looked at them. His family. His last war buddies.

"Let's go, old friends," he said, pulling the blade from its sheath. "Let's save the world… one more time."

---

The Capital - Eastern Wall

Groteus lumbered through the outer ring like a monster born of pure nightmare. Its tail, plated with black bone, crashed through towers and turned streets into trenches. Every step sent a quake through the ground. Every roar melted courage.

Mina stood on top of the eastern wall with thirty mages behind her—students, scholars, combat-trained prodigies. All of them pale. All of them terrified.

She didn't give them time to think.

"Focus fire on the knees!" she shouted. "If we slow it down, the knights will have time to fall back! Earth mages—raise the ground! Buy us elevation!"

Arrows flew.

Spells ignited the air.

Fireballs and lightning bolts rained down on Groteus's back, each strike rippling off like flicks of dust. Its mana shield was dense. Old. Ancient. Probably not even from this world.

Mina floated upward, her demonic wings unfolding as she charged her strongest spell. Her veins burned—elemental energy surging in from five directions.

She held her hands together. A vortex of flame and water spiraled, growing larger by the second. The sky above her began to swirl.

"I am the daughter of the hero who saved this world," she whispered to herself. "You think I'm afraid of a big lizard?"

She fired.

The spell struck Groteus in the jaw—finally drawing blood. It hissed, flinched… then snapped its head up, eyes locking on her.

"Oh no," Mina muttered.

A sonic bellow burst from Groteus's chest-mouth, ripping the air like a shockwave. The entire eastern wall exploded in dust and rubble. Dozens of mages were flung like leaves in a storm. Mina was sent crashing into a stone spire—blood spraying from her lip.

Before she hit the ground, a hand caught her.

Antares.

Worn armor. Trembling hand. Eyes still full of fire.

"I got you, kid."

She gasped, barely conscious. "You… made it?"

Antares grinned, helping her stand. "What, you think I'd miss the end of the world?"

Behind him, Lycana chanted a resurrection ward, golden runes blooming beneath the wounded. Cique was already drawing runes mid-air, his fingers moving too fast for most to follow. Dern Riona darted through the smoke, slicing tendons on Groteus's exposed feet—not to hurt it, just to slow it.

But nothing was working.

Nothing stopped it.

And Groteus… wasn't even trying yet.

Its body began to shift. Plates peeled back. More jaws opened across its sides. Its arms lengthened into scythe-like blades dripping with black fire.

Antares's hand trembled on his sword hilt. "We're not gonna win this."

Mina, barely able to stand, looked up with blood in her mouth. "Then what do we do?"

Cique floated beside them, face grim. "We stall. We hold it here. Because if it gets to the palace…"

Saint Lycana nodded, her old hands raised. "Then we make sure it never does."

The ground trembled again. Smoke and blood choked the air.

Groteus, the grotesque behemoth, roared—a mix of thunder, steel, and sheer fury. Despite everything thrown at it, it stood like an ancient god of war, almost amused by the futile resistance.

Its horn—the left one—had been broken, snapped off and embedded in the rubble of what used to be the royal watchtower. A small victory bought by blood and will.

But everyone knew. They were spent. Their greatest efforts had only chipped at the surface.

Saint Lycana, her hair now fully silver, stood behind a half-collapsed wall. Her staff trembled in her grasp—not from fear, but exhaustion. Her breathing was shallow, and sweat rolled down her wrinkled face.

Then, a voice. Cold. Otherworldly. Like wind whispering through glass.

"Saint Lycana..."

"Send it… across the veil. To a realm where it may be slain. Not here… not by you."the voice continue.

She froze. The air around her suddenly felt heavier, like the weight of centuries pressed down on her.

"You cannot win here. Not against that one. It does not belong in this realm."

Her eyes widened. "Who... who are you?"

No answer. Only silence... then words in a language not heard in this world.

She understood every syllable.

"You must send it away. Another realm waits—one with champions strong enough to finish what you cannot."

Lycana clenched her teeth. "No... I won't curse another world with this abomination."

"You misunderstand," the voice replied, gentler now. "There, it will meet the one fated to end it. Here, it will only burn and consume until your sky bleeds ash."

A long pause. Her eyes drifted to the battlefield—Antares limping but still swinging his burning halberd, Dern Riona shielding a group of wounded knights, Mina shouting orders while deflecting the monster's molten breath with her barrier. And Cique... back on his feet, regrown limbs already scorched anew as he helped evac the last civilians.

They had nothing left.

"I... I understand." Her grip on the staff tightened. "But the spell... it'll consume everything. All my mana. My life's flame..."

"Then make it count."

She nodded.

"Antares! Dern! Mina! Cique!" Lycana's voice rang through the crystal-imbued comm stones on their ears. "Buy me some time. I need that thing distracted. Just for a moment!"

Mina turned mid-dash, her eyes wide.

"You're doing it?" she asked.

"I have no choice."

A beat passed. Then Antares, bruised and bleeding, gave a short, raspy chuckle.

"Well then…" he rotated his shoulders, fire burning behind old eyes. "Let's go, old friends. One last time—"

He raised his halberd toward the sky.

"Let's save the damn world."

They charged.

Then she looked toward the others—Mina, Antares, Cique, Dern, Riona—all exhausted, bruised, yet still charging the monster with whatever they had left.

Her eyes hardened.

She raised her staff and chanted. A deep, ancient tongue spilled from her mouth as runes circled her, sparking and weaving into a massive spiral of light above her head.

Antares noticed it first. "She's doing it…" he muttered, gritting his teeth. "She's going to send it away."

"Buy her time!" Mina shouted. "Everyone! Draw its eyes off her—NOW!"

The final push began.

Mages threw their last fireballs, ice lances, and stone spears. Knights rushed in, slashing at the beast's ankles and legs. Antares, breathing heavily, launched himself upward and slammed his sword into Groteus's side, using the recoil to land back on his knees. Riona screamed out a spell that cracked her staff in half just to send an arc of lightning into its chest.

And still—it wasn't enough.

But it was distracting.

Lycana stood like a statue in the chaos, her hands glowing brighter and brighter as the spell reached its final stages. Her lips bled from how hard she bit down to keep focus. Sweat ran down her cheeks like tears.

Then—

Groteus stopped.

Its massive head slowly turned.

And its eyes locked on her.

"No…" Lycana whispered.

The monster's chest began to glow.

A low hum filled the air. Mana pulled violently from everything nearby.

Groteus was charging its atomic breath.

Antares screamed, "LYCANA! MOVE!"

But she was locked in the spell.

Then a blur of robes and wind—

Cique.

His body broken, his wings flickering, his mouth gasping for breath as he flew.

And he crashed into her.

"GET DOWN!" he roared, pushing her off the summoning circle.

The blast fired.

A blinding torrent of death roared out, engulfing Cique from the waist down.

The smell of burning flesh and mana filled the air.

When the smoke cleared—

Cique was still alive. Barely.

But his lower half… it was gone.

What remained was a charred mess of exposed bones, burned organs, and melting armor. His hands clutched at the ground as he screamed through gritted teeth.

Lycana lay beside him, dazed, her summoning spell broken—its magic bleeding into the air, unraveled.

"…No…" she whispered, her eyes glassy. "I… I was almost done."

The battlefield fell silent for a moment.

Everyone was frozen.

And Groteus… was still standing.

Unstoppable.

Victorious.

And now… angrier than ever.

Antares' breath came in short, ragged bursts. His muscles screamed with every movement, and his sword arm hung limp, dislocated. But he didn't care.

He saw Lycana crawling to Cique, who was coughing blood, his teeth clenched so hard they were cracking. The light in his eyes flickered, but it hadn't gone out.

Groteus let out a guttural bellow. It had taken their best. And it was still there. Breathing. Seething. Alive.

Riona rushed to Lycana's side, ignoring the monster for a moment. Her hands were shaking as she pulled the saint to her knees.

"You can't cast again," she said through her tears. "You'll die!"

"I'll die anyway," Lycana rasped, blinking slowly. "But if I don't finish it… we all will."

Lycana began to stand. Her body swayed.

Riona stepped in front of her.

And then she grabbed Lycana's hand.

And poured her mana into her.

"Then you won't do it alone," Riona whispered, smiling faintly through her tears.

Lycana looked at her with wide eyes. "Riona—no—"

But before she could protest, Cique groaned and raised his charred arm.

Blood dripped from his fingers as he reached out.

And placed it over both of theirs.

Mana surged again.

Sickly. Wild. But full of intent.

"If you're risking your all with this…" Cique muttered, his voice dry and hollow, "then so do we…"

The light of the spell reignited.

This time—unstable, raw, and burning through the last sparks of their lives.

Groteus snarled, its head lowering again.

A second beam was charging.

At the front, Antares stood, swaying.

He turned to the others behind him—Mina, the remaining mages, wounded knights too stubborn to run.

He pointed his sword at the beast.

And without a word—charged.

Mina followed, eyes burning, fangs clenched.

They sprinted headlong toward the titan, fire and magic lighting their path. The others followed.

The second beam fired—brighter than the last.

This was it.

Antares roared, slamming his shield down, a radiant wall of light flaring into existence.

Mina raised both hands, conjuring a barrier of pure force.

The others added their power—layer upon layer of elemental shields, runes, and raw magic forming a bulwark.

The beam struck.

The battlefield became a sea of white fire.

Mages screamed. Shields cracked. Bones snapped under the pressure.

Antares dug his feet into the ground. Blood burst from his nose and ears. "HOLD!" he roared. "JUST A LITTLE MORE!"

They weren't going to stop it completely.

But maybe they didn't have to.

Behind them, Lycana's body trembled violently. Her veins glowed, her skin growing translucent from the overload. Riona's hands had gone limp, her face pale. Cique's eyes rolled back, his breath shallow.

But the spell was almost done.

One glyph remained.

Lycana raised her hand, blood spilling from her fingertips.

Her lips cracked open.

Then—

The shield gave.

The beam pierced through.

Mina's body seized. The remaining mages collapsed.

Antares knew.

He turned, just for a second, toward her.

And smiled.

Then he turned back to the oncoming beam.

And kicked Mina with all the strength he had left.

She screamed as she tumbled backward, rolling down a broken slope of rubble, hitting the ground hard.

"No—UNCLE!!"

Antares stood alone now, directly in the path of the beam.

He didn't run.

He looked toward the collapsing Lycana and said, with a tired but peaceful smile:

"…Please, kid… live."

Then the blast swallowed him.

And Antares was gone.

Mina clawed at the ground, struggling to rise, tears streaming down her face.

And then—the beam turned, drifting toward the spell circle where Lycana still stood.

She looked up. One final glyph spun above her hand.

She screamed the last word of the ancient incantation:

"BEGONE!!"

A colossal portal ripped open behind Groteus—a swirling void of gold and black.

Chains of light burst from the sky and wrapped around the monster's limbs.

Groteus roared, thrashing madly, but the pull was too strong.

It was dragged backward into the portal, screeching as its claws carved trenches in the earth—

And then—

It vanished.

The portal snapped shut.

Silence fell.

Smoke curled from the ruins. Fires crackled.

Saint Lycana collapsed to her knees, her staff falling beside her. Riona was already gone, eyes closed, body still.

Cique let out one last breath, looking at the stars as if they were the only beautiful thing left.

And then he too went still.

Mina crawled over broken stone and ash, screaming names, clutching Antares' sword as if it would bring him back.

But all that remained… was the sword and the silence.

The air was thick with ash and silence.

What remained of the battlefield was a wasteland—charred, cracked, and hollow. The scent of burning flesh and smoldering earth lingered like an omen. Mina knelt beside the spot where Antares once stood. Only scorched ground remained. No body. No trace. Just silence... and the faint echo of his last words still haunting her ears.

> "Please, kid... live."

She pressed her forehead to the blackened dirt, fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms. Tears fell freely now—ugly, shaking sobs that tore from her chest. She'd never seen him smile like that before the end. Calm. Proud. Final.

"Uncle..." she whispered. "Why…"

The crowd that had once cheered for their heroes had begun to gather behind her, but their expressions weren't of gratitude. They were twisted with fear… with hatred.

"She's a demonkin!" one man shouted. "This happened because of her!"

"That monster… Groteus, it came because of them! Her kind!"

"She's the reason Antares is dead!"

Mina looked up, stunned. Her lips trembled, unable to form a word.

"You have demon blood, don't you?! You think we don't see that?!"

"Don't play innocent! Your kind draws monsters like flies to a corpse!"

"No… No, that's not—" she tried, but her voice cracked under the weight.

Someone threw a rock. It hit her shoulder. She flinched.

"Get out of here!"

"Go back to whatever pit you crawled from!"

"You killed our heroes!"

Her throat closed up. She turned, face streaked with tears, and ran.

Ran from the fire. From the cries. From the memory of her uncle's final stand.

From the world that chose to spit on his sacrifice.

Years had passed since that hellish battle.

Mina lived alone, wandering from forest to wasteland, from the crumbling remains of her old town to the edges of the demon continent. No one welcomed her. No one called her a hero. She was a name cursed in whispers, blamed for the monster that nearly destroyed everything.

Each step she took, her heart grew heavier.

The memory of Cique's sacrifice haunted her. His lower half… charred, burned to the bone—because he saved her. And her spell failed. All of them ended up battered, broken, and barely alive. They couldn't even stop Groteus. All they did was buy time… and then suffer.

And when the smoke cleared…

"You… it's your fault!" a man from the crowd had shouted, pointing at her with rage in his eyes.

"Yeah! She's a demon kin, isn't she? She must've been in on this!"

"You brought this thing here!"

Dozens followed. Then hundreds. Their words turned to stones. And the only thing she could do was run, her face soaked in tears.

"If… if Dad was still here…" she whispered that day.

Now she kept her voice silent.

One day, while scavenging for herbs near the edge of a collapsed temple, she bumped into a man cloaked in black. His aura… it was terrifying, like pressure crushing her lungs with every breath. She staggered back, ready to flee.

But the man smiled.

"I've been looking for you, Mephistopheles."

Mina blinked, confused. "Huh…?"

"That's your real name, isn't it? Back then you couldn't even speak properly. So that human boy… Keith, was it? He just called you Mina."

Her blood ran cold.

The man took a step closer. "Do you want to bring your father back from the dead?"

She didn't answer, but the tears welling in her eyes said enough.

He smiled wider. "Then come with me. Let's punish the ones who trampled his legacy. Those humans who summoned Groteus to eliminate your father's party… Antares, Lycana, Cique, and Dern Riona. And now they dare point the blame at you?"

Her hands trembled.

"I can give you power—no, I can return your place in this world. All I ask is… become my king."

"W-Who are you?" she asked.

The man grinned, revealing fangs like obsidian daggers.

"I am Xandros… Demon Lord of Destruction. And I want you to rise as my Demon King of Incarceration."

She stood frozen, her heart torn.

But then… she looked up. Her tears were gone. And her eyes—no longer blue—glowed crimson with hatred.

"…Let's begin," she said.

And Mephistopheles was born.

Somewhere far from the demon continent…

The sky, clear just moments ago, suddenly split open with a rumbling shriek.

A jagged shadow tore through the clouds. Wings of corrupted bone spread wide. Groteus—ancient, massive, wrong—descended like a falling god, its grotesque form eclipsing the sun. Flesh twisted like armor. Eyes scattered across its body, blinking in different directions. Its mouth unhinged, and with a metallic roar, it fired a blinding beam down at the distant hills.

The impact bloomed like a miniature sun.

A scout on horseback galloped past the meadows near Greybrook Dukedom. "To the walls! A monster's approaching!" he shouted, voice hoarse.

Sir Garrin, a knight captain, shouted orders to the guards as the tremors hit the town gates. Bells rang. Smoke rose from the woods. The townsfolk screamed and scattered.

But in the middle of the commotion, one boy stood still. His cloak whipped around him as the wind howled.

Rolien narrowed his eyes at the growing silhouette.

"…What the hell is that thing?" he muttered, jaw tightening.

Cut to the demon continent.

A vast chamber bathed in crimson light. The ground was black stone, polished to reflect the flickering flames from above. At its center sat a throne—crude, jagged, and shaped like the ribs of a beast.

There, Mephistopheles—once called Mina—rested her cheek against her fist, bored but coldly satisfied as she stared at the vision below. The world burned, just as planned. Human kingdoms fell like dominos. Their armies were in disarray, their faith shaken.

"Their screams… they sound like music now," she muttered, almost to herself.

Behind her, the towering figure of Xandros, Demon Lord of Destruction, grinned as he approached. "We're nearly there," he said. "Just a little more and we can resurrect your father. And mine. The final seal will break soon. You've done well, Mina—"

She snapped her gaze toward him, eyes glowing a deep, dangerous red.

"Don't call me that."

Xandros blinked. "What—?"

"You're not my father," she spat. "Don't try to play pretend. Don't think I'll ever forget who led the humans to summon Groteus. Or how you stood there smiling while my world burned."

Her voice dropped, cold enough to freeze stone.

"You try anything, Xandros, and I swear—I'll rip your head off and feed it to your beast."

Then she stood and turned her back on him, her long cloak trailing behind like smoke.

Below her throne, the war raged on.

End of Chapter.