Chapter Forty-five

Crimson Throne

The heart of the Shadowlands pulsed like a living wound.

Crimson light spilled from cracks in the black stone, glowing veins that throbbed with unnatural rhythm. The air was thick with whispers — the sound of lost souls weeping and prayiny, their voices drawn to the new queen who had claimed dominion here.

Mona stood in the center of it all, bathed in bloodlight.

The power she had drunk now lived inside her like a second heart. It pulsed with every breath, whispering promises in an ancient tongue. The sigil at her throat burned brighter than ever, its lines etched deep into her skin. Her hair flowed like liquid gold, but her eyes — once warm amber — were pools of crimson flame.

She had never felt so alive.

Around her, the shadows bent in worship. Once Lucien’s domain, now they bowed to her will. She had torn his balance apart strand by strand, feeding her magic through the fractures until his world became hers.

And she wasn’t finished.

Mona lifted her hands, fingers spread wide. The red light around her deepened, swirling into a vortex that formed above the cracked ground. From its depths, shapes began to crawl — her new creation.

They were half-shadow, half-flesh — wolves with skeletal faces, their bodies trailing tendrils of crimson smoke. Their howls echoed through the hollow realm like the cries of dying stars.

“Beautiful,” she whispered. “Born of pain. Fed by vengeance.”

The first of the creatures bowed low before her, its molten eyes glowing faintly.

Mona smiled, stepping closer to stroke its twisted head. “You are mine now. My crimson army. When the moon bleeds again, you’ll march on the mortal world — and every wolf that ever called me unworthy will kneel in ash.”

The creature shuddered, growling softly. The sound thrilled her.

Behind her, a faint ripple of energy spread across the room — a tremor that made the red light flicker. She turned sharply, her power rising instinctively.

The shadows had shifted.

Lucien’s presence brushed against the edge of her mind like cold steel. And with him — her.

Kimberly.

Mona’s lips curled into a smile. “So, you finally come.”

She lifted her hand, and the red mist gathered at her fingertips, swirling faster. The bond between her and Kimberly pulsed faintly, alive and vibrant. Mona closed her eyes, tracing it mentally. She could feel Kimberly’s heart beating on the other end — strong, defiant, and irritatingly pure.

“She’s growing,” Mona murmured, opening her eyes again. “Learning. Lucien’s little prodigy.”

The whispering voices of the realm hissed softly in her ears. Kill her… break her… make her yours…

Mona’s smile widened. “Oh, I will. But first, she’ll see what she could have been.”

She turned toward the blood-cracked altar behind her. Atop it lay the remains of a mirror — shards of silver floating midair, each piece glowing faintly with light. It was the same mirror she had shattered when she drank the elixir.

Now it was something new.

A conduit.

With a wave of her hand, the shards assembled, spinning in a slow circle. The fragments of glass began to glow brighter, revealing fleeting reflections of Kimberly and Lucien moving through the dark corridors of the Shadowlands.

“There you are,” Mona whispered, watching them. “Always a step behind. Always chasing what you can’t understand.”

Lucien’s dark figure cut across the light, and her smile faltered slightly. There was something about him — the cold composure, the quiet danger — that stirred an unfamiliar unease in her.

“Even the King bends for her,” she murmured bitterly. “How quaint.”

The whispering voices laughed softly in her mind, cruel and knowing. You envy her still.

Her jaw tightened. “No. I pity her.”

But the lie tasted bitter on her tongue.

Mona raised her hands again, power crackling at her fingertips. “Enough watching. Let’s see if she bleeds.”

The mirror flared, and the shadows obeyed.

She sent a wave of crimson energy rippling through the realm, tearing through the layers of darkness like wildfire. The very air screamed as her will spread outward — searching, hunting.

Far away, she felt resistance — Lucien’s power rising, cold and furious, to block her. Their forces collided, the impact rattling the walls around her. The Shadowlands groaned, trembling beneath the weight of two gods in conflict.

Mona laughed, breathless. “Fight harder, old king. Let’s see which of us the shadows truly serve.”

The red mist around her thickened, her creatures howling in chorus. The vortex above the ground swirled faster, expanding into a spiraling rift that reached up into the dark sky.

Through it, faint glimpses of the mortal world began to flicker — forests, mountains, the blood moon glowing dimly above.

Mona’s smile returned. “Soon,” she whispered. “Soon the worlds will merge, and the moon will rise in my image.”

The crimson wolves howled louder, their sound vibrating through the broken realm.

And deep within her chest, the voice of the elixir — the ancient entity she had bound herself to — whispered one final truth.

Every queen needs a throne of bones.

Mona’s crimson eyes gleamed. “Then let it be built from theirs.”

The vortex pulsed once more, roaring like a storm.

And far beyond the veil, she felt it — Kimberly’s power stirring, Lucien’s fury rising.

They were coming.

Good.

Let them come.

Because when the moon turned red again, the Shadowlands would become a battlefield… and she would be waiting on her throne, drenched in the power of gods.

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