Misery’s Betrayal
Eryon, still in his wolf form, froze mid-charge. His massive frame trembled as his glowing amber eyes locked onto Misery. His growl rumbled low and deep, filled with confusion and barely contained fury.
“Misery,” he snarled, his distorted voice filled with disbelief. “What are you doing?”
Misery strode forward with a deliberate, unhurried grace, her blade held loosely at her side. Her smirk was faint, but it carried a sharpness that sent a chill through Eryon.
“Surprised, wolf?” she asked, her tone light, almost playful.
Eryon’s claws dug into the ground as he growled again, louder this time. “Answer me. What are you doing?”
The King’s voice cut through the tense silence like a knife. “She’s made her choice,” he said, his smirk widening as his crimson eyes flicked between Eryon and Misery. “And it wasn’t you.”
Misery tilted her head, her gaze flicking toward Lyra and the artifact for the briefest moment. “I told you, didn’t I?” she said, her smirk sharpening. “I’d survive. But not for you.”
Eryon let out a roar of fury, his massive wolf form trembling with the effort to contain his rage. “You lied to me!”
Misery’s expression didn’t change. If anything, her smile softened, taking on a mocking edge. “Oh, darling,” she said, her tone dripping with derision, “you always knew I would.”
The King’s forces surged forward, emboldened by Misery’s betrayal. Knights closed in on Eryon and Lyra, their blades gleaming as they pressed the advantage.
Lyra clutched the artifact tighter, her heart pounding as her wolf stirred to life. The whispers returned, urging her to strike. But her gaze was fixed on Misery, her silver eyes blazing with anger.
“Stay away from him!” Lyra shouted, her voice raw with emotion.
Misery’s crimson eyes flicked toward Lyra, her smirk turning colder, sharper. “And what exactly are you going to do to stop me?” she asked, her tone dripping with challenge.
Eryon’s wolf crouched low, ready to strike, but the doubt and betrayal in his gaze were unmistakable. “Misery,” he growled, his voice rough and strained. “You don’t have to do this.”
Misery’s laugh was quiet, almost cruel. “Oh, but I do,” she said, raising her blade. “This is where I belong.”
The King watched the scene unfold, his smirk widening as he gestured for his forces to move in. Misery stepped forward, her movements deliberate as she prepared to strike.
Eryon’s growl grew louder, his body coiled like a spring ready to unleash. But the weight of her betrayal lingered, making him hesitate for just a moment too long.
Lyra raised the artifact, her silver eyes narrowing. “You’ll have to go through me first,” she said, her voice filled with defiance.
Misery’s smirk widened as she twirled her blade. “Oh, Lyra,” she said softly. “That’s the idea.”
