Chapter 7: The Shattered Throne

​The air inside the grand banquet hall was thick with smoke, heavy and suffocating, yet my lungs drank it in like cool mountain springwater.

Every step I took forward was measured, slow, and deliberate. The chaotic scramble of the fleeing nobility echoed against the soaring vaulted ceilings, but their panic felt distant, muffled by the steady, powerful thrum of the dragon vitality surging through my veins.

​A squad of elite personal guards, clad in heavy steel armor bearing the crest of House Thorn, charged directly through the lingering haze. They had recovered from the initial shock of the blast, their faces twisted into snarls of aggressive determination as they drew their long broadswords. ​"Intruder! Cut him down where he stands!"

The commander roared, leading the charge straight toward me.

​I didn't break my stride. I didn't even draw a weapon.

​As the commander brought his broadsword down in a ferocious overhead vertical slash aimed straight at my skull, I simply raised my bare hand. My fingers clamped down directly over the razor-sharp steel blade.

The kinetic force of the heavy strike smashed against my palm, but my skin didn't tear, and my bones didn't fracture. The dense physical condensation within my frame absorbed the blow effortlessly. ​The commander's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, his face losing all color as he tried and failed to pull his weapon back.

​"You call this a defense?"

I murmured softly. ​I flicked my wrist with a sharp twist of muscle power, snapping the thick steel blade in half like a dry twig. Before he could react, I channeled a concentrated surge of internal dragon fire down the jagged metal remnant.

The searing heat traveled upward in a flash of crimson light, scorching his gauntlet and blasting him backward through the air. He crashed heavily into a mahogany dining table, shattering it into splinters before lying completely motionless.

​The remaining three guards froze mid-stride, their swords trembling violently in their grips.

They looked at their fallen commander, then at my bare hands, and collective horror washed over their features. Without a word, they dropped their weapons and scrambled backward into the crowd, completely broken of their will to fight. ​I stepped past the wreckage, my eyes fixed firmly on the elevated dais at the far end of the hall.

​Seated in the center of the grand mahogany chairs was Lord Vane, the patriarch of the family and the man whose blood ran through my veins—a man who had watched without a single flicker of emotion when I was cast into the abyss.

Standing right beside him, trembling so hard he could barely keep his footing, was Dorian Thorn. ​Lord Vane slammed his heavy fist onto the armrest of his chair, his face flushed with furious crimson as he stood up to project whatever shreds of authority he had left.

​"Ronan!" Lord Vane bellowed, his voice trembling slightly beneath its forced layer of aristocratic arrogance.

"Have you lost your absolute mind, you ungrateful wretch?!

You dare bring violence and fire into the sacred halls of House Vane?

We gave you a roof, we gave you a name, and because of your own useless, crippled nature, you throw a tantrum like a feral beast?

Kneel before your lord and father this instant, or—"

​"Father?"

I interrupted, cutting him off with a single word that carried a bone-chilling, dead silence across the entire room. ​I stopped walking, standing just a dozen paces from the base of the dais. My gaze locked onto his eyes—eyes that suddenly flickered with a quiet, creeping unease.

​"You forfeited that title the moment you signed my death warrant and had me thrown into the dark," I whispered, the low hum of my voice echoing clearly through the massive hall. "There is no father here. There is only an executioner."

​Lord Vane choked on his own breath, his mouth opening and closing as the terrifying weight of my aura pressed down upon his chest like a falling boulder. He took an involuntary step backward, the supreme confidence of a noble lord completely evaporating.

​Beside him, Dorian Thorn looked like a man staring into the jaws of a starving beast. His fine white tunic was damp with cold sweat, his fingers gripping the edge of the carved wooden table so tightly his knuckles turned stark white.

​"N-No..." Dorian stammered, his voice cracking into a pathetic, high-pitched squeak. "That's impossible... You fell into the abyss! Nothing comes back from the Abyss of Beasts alive! You're a ghost... a dead, useless cripple!"

​"If I am a ghost," I stepped closer, the temperature in the room dropping sharply despite the lingering flames, "then I have come straight from hell to drag you down with me."

​Dorian shrieked in absolute terror, stumbling backward over his own feet and crashing hard onto the carpeted floor of the platform, completely stripped of his arrogant bravado.

​The remaining nobles in the hall watched in horrified awe, paralyzed by the sheer dominance radiating from my frame. No one dared to speak. No one dared to move.

​I raised my right fist, gathering every ounce of the condensed internal dragon energy into my knuckles until the air around my hand began to shimmer and distort from the blistering heat. ​With a sudden, explosive motion, I punched my fist straight down into the polished marble floor at the base of the dais.

​CRACK-BOOM!

​The impact sounded like a direct bolt of thunder striking stone. A shockwave of pure physical force and crimson fire erupted outward in a violent circle, shattering the thick marble slabs into millions of jagged pieces.

Cobwebs of deep fissures raced across the floorboards in every direction, sending statues tumbling, pillars cracking, and a thick cloud of stone dust billowing into the air. ​The entire foundation of the grand hall shuddered violently under the weight of my power.

​When the dust began to clear, a deep crater marked the center of the platform's approach, and absolute, terrified silence fell over the entire estate. I slowly withdrew my hand, the residual embers flickering harmlessly across my skin.

I looked up at the trembling nobles cowering before me, my voice cutting through the ruin like a blade. ​"This is just the first stone of your empire to fall," I said quietly. "Prepare yourselves. Because the fire has only just begun."