Awakening Domination System: But I'm a Slave?-Chapter 340: He’s Here [2]

"ELARA!" Serana started after her.

The guard stepped into her path. "My lady, I can't let you—"

"Get out of my way!" Serana's essence flared. "That's my child—"

"Who is heading into combat zone where you'll both die if you follow!" The guard's voice was firm despite the fear in his eyes. "Lady Elara is trained, she can—"

Serana's hand shot out. Gripped his shoulder. Her black hair began to lift as power surged through her, remnants of House Nightveil bloodline, the last living bearer of Ancient House power.

"Move. Now."

The guard stepped aside.

Serana ran.

Hold on, Elara.

****

Elara had already cleared the main gates.

Her body was coated in shimmering essence.

She moved through fleeing demons and scrambling guards like force of nature. Heading straight toward the sounds of battle.

"ELARA!"

Serana's voice cut through the chaos.

Elara's head turned fractionally.

But she didn't stop.

Just pushed forward faster. Toward the screaming. The explosions.

Serana poured more essence into her pursuit. Shadows erupted around her feet, propelling her forward.

She caught up to Elara just as her daughter reached the outer walls.

Her hand closed around Elara's wrist. "Stop!"

"Let go!" Elara tried to jerk away. "I have to... they're killing demons because of us—"

"And you think throwing yourself into that will help?!" Serana's grip tightened. Not hurting, but immovable. "You think dying achieves anything except giving me another child to mourn?!"

"I'm not going to die!" Elara's crimson eyes blazed. "I'm strong enough now! I've trained! I can—"

BOOM!

The outer wall exploded.

Essence-enhanced stone that should have withstood siege warfare simply disintegrated under concentrated vampire assault.

And through the gap—

Vampires poured in like flood. Hundreds. All moving with coordinated precision, a

The demons met them with equal violence.

General Mordax roared, all four weapons moving in blur of motion, carving through vampire ranks. His elite soldiers formed defensive line, their essence techniques creating barriers, launching counterattacks, desperately trying to hold ground.

But the vampires kept coming.

Elara saw it. Saw demons dying. Saw the invasion succeeding.

She tore free from her mother's grip.

And launched herself into the battle.

She moved like Serana had taught her. Like Brandon had drilled into her

A vampire lunged at her, blade aimed for her throat—

She ducked under it, spun, her fist driving into his solar plexus. He collapsed, gasping, dying.

Another came from her blind side—

She sensed it.

Her hand came up, shadows coiling around the attacker's weapon, yanking it from his grip.

Then her other fist drove through his chest.

She felt powerful. Capable. Like all the training, all the rage, all the determination was finally paid off.

But then... a hand closed around her throat from behind.

Impossible.

She hadn't sensed it. Hadn't felt the approach. Just suddenly—

Lifted off the ground. Choking.

"Well, well." A male voice came, carrying amusement and cruelty in equal measure. "What do we have here?"

Elara's vision was blurring from lack of air. But she could still see him when he stepped around to face her.

Malachai Drakenmoor.

Towering over her. Blood-red eyes gleaming with satisfaction. His presence so vast it made her essence channels want to rupture just from proximity.

"You must be Thaddeus's daughter," he said conversationally, studying her like interesting specimen.

He squeezed slightly. Elara's throat constricted further. Her hands clawed at his grip uselessly.

Elara tried to speak. Couldn't. Just glared at him with all the hatred she could muster.

Malachai laughed.

Then he threw her.

Not far. Just hard enough to send her crashing into rubble from the destroyed wall. Stone tore through her clothing, scraped skin, drew blood.

She tried to rise—

His foot came down on her back. Pinning her. Grinding her into the broken stone.

"You're strong," he acknowledged. "For your age. Maybe in another decade, you'd be threat worth considering." He pressed down harder. Elara felt ribs crack. "But right now? You're just child playing at war."

He lifted his foot. Stepped back.

Elara gasped for air. Tried to push herself up.

Malachai's blade materialized in his hand.

He raised it casually. Positioning it over her exposed back. Over her heart.

"Your father died on this blade," he said quietly. "Fitting that you should join him, don't you think?"

The blade began to descend.

But—

BOOM!

Shadows exploded between them.

Malachai stumbled backward, his blade deflecting off sudden barrier of compressed darkness.

His blood-red eyes tracked to the source, and then he saw her...

Serana, standing twenty feet away, her entire body wreathed in shadow that seemed to devour light. Her crimson eyes blazed with fury.

Her black hair lifted as if in wind that didn't exist. Power radiated from her in waves that made weaker vampires flee just from proximity.

This was House Nightveil's matriarch. Last of primordial bloodline vampire.

"Get away from my daughter," she said quietly.

Every word carried weight that made reality itself tremble.

Malachai's expression shifted.

"Serana Nightveil." He smiled slowly. "I was hoping you'd come. Much more satisfying than killing children."

He moved.

Faster than Elara could track. Faster than most beings could react.

But Serana was ready.

Shadows met him mid-charge. Wrapped around his body. Tried to bind, to crush, to contain.

But he shattered them, burning through her techniques like they were paper.

They clashed in center of the battlefield.

Serana's shadows versus Malachai's overwhelming power.

The impact released shockwave that sent nearby combatants flying.

Elara watched from the rubble, her broken ribs screaming, her vision blurring. Watched her mother fight the monster who'd killed her father.

And for a moment—just a moment—Serana was winning.

Her shadows struck from impossible angles.

Malachai's blade met empty air again and again as Serana simply wasn't there. Appearing and disappearing through shadow-step.

Attacking from blind spots. Using terrain, using darkness, using everything.

But Malachai had time.

Eighteen years of absorbing Ancient House essence. Eighteen years of growing stronger while she'd been in hiding.

And slowly—inevitably—he began to adapt.

His strikes became more precise. His essence began countering her techniques before they fully formed. His blood-red eyes tracked her movements even through shadow-steps.

CRACK!

His fist connected with her stomach. Serana gasped, her shadows faltering for crucial moment.

Malachai's other hand came up, grabbed her throat just like he'd grabbed Elara's.

"Impressive," he acknowledged. "But not enough."

Serana's hands came up. Shadows coiling around his arm, trying to force him to release—

But he didn't even seem to notice. Just squeezed.

Her crimson eyes went wide.

"Thaddeus died too quickly. You won't have that mercy."

His free hand gestured sharply. A vampire soldier broke from formation, moving toward where Elara lay broken in the rubble.

"Bring the girl," Malachai ordered. "We'll end the bloodline tonight."

The vampire reached Elara. Grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back. His blade rose—

CRASH!

General Mordax's massive form slammed into the vampire like battering ram. All four weapons moved in blur, the vampire didn't even have time to scream before he was carved apart.

Then quickly, Mordax scooped Elara up with one arm, cradling her against his armored chest.

"We're not done yet, Malachai!" he roared.

His free hand pulled something from his belt, a small crystalline artifact that pulsed with demonic essence. He pressed it against Elara's chest.

"No—" Elara's weak protest was cut off as the artifact activated.

Light flared. Her body began to shimmer, becoming translucent.

"GENERAL!" she screamed, reaching for him even as she faded.

Mordax's expression was grim. "Live, child. That's an order."

Elara vanished.

The artifact clattered to the ground, cracked and smoking.

Mordax didn't hesitate. He launched himself at Malachai, all four weapons aimed for his throat.

But vampire soldiers swarmed him. Dozens of them, moving in coordinated strikes. Blades pierced his armor, essence techniques battered his defenses. They didn't try to kill him, just pin him, contain him, hold him down.

Malachai watched, Serana still choking in his grip.

He turned toward the breach in the wall. "Retreat! We have what we came for!"

The vampires began pulling back immediately, dragging their prize. Mordax roared, throwing off several attackers, but more replaced them instantly.

By the time he broke free—

The shadow portal was already closing.

Malachai's blood-red eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he stepped through, Serana's limp form in his arms.

---

Alaric watched from his observation point, his expression darkening with each passing second.

Twenty years. He'd watched for twenty years.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw set. And something in his chest burned.

The portal was closing.

And...

Alaric moved.

Not thinking. Just reacting. Lunging toward the closing portal.

"BASTARD!" His voice tore from his throat as he reached for the portal's edge.

His hand was just inches from the darkness.

Then—

Everything froze.

Not just the portal. Everything.

Elara's scream cut off mid-sound. The demons stopped mid-motion. Dust hung suspended in air. Even the wind ceased moving.

Alaric's eyes went wide. "What?"

CRACK!

The sound was sharp.

Like glass breaking.

He looked around frantically and saw—

Reality itself was fracturing. Like the entire memory-space was made of glass and something had just struck it with hammer.

Cracks spread across the frozen battlefield, across the sky, across everything.

"No. No no no—" Alaric's heart began pounding. "Not yet—"

CRACK! CRACK!

The splintering accelerated. Reality shattering faster, pieces beginning to fall away into void beneath.

And before Alaric could move, could think.

The entire world exploded into fragments.

****

Alaric jerked awake.

His entire body convulsing. Gasping for air like drowning man breaking surface. His hands clutched at sheets beneath him.

He was in a bed.

In an actual room. With actual walls and actual light filtering through actual windows.

Where?

*****

The throne room was exactly as it had been before the memories began.

Obsidian walls. Crimson lighting. The massive throne at the far end where Brandon sat.

Except now—

A figure stood before the throne, chuckling lightly.

It was indistinct. Shifting. Like looking at something through distorted glass.

"Oh, you almost got me for a minute! Azra!" The figure's voice was mocking. "Almost broke through the seal. That was impressive!"

Brandon stood.

Or tried to.

As—

SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

Chains erupted from the throne.

Wrapping around his entire form, arms, legs, torso, throat.

His mouth.

Covering it completely. Sealing it shut. Cutting off whatever words he'd been about to speak.

Brandon struggled. Pulled against the chains.

But they didn't even budge.

The figure made a gentle shh gesture with one distorted hand.

"Now, be a good boy and rest," it said pleasantly. Like speaking to misbehaving child. "Let my puppet do his job. You've had your fun trying to influence him through memories. But we both know—"

The pressure intensified.

Brandon's struggles ceased. Pressing him down into the throne with force that couldn't be resisted.

His crimson eyes remained blazing. Furious.

But his body was completely immobile.

The figure leaned closer.

"Never. Ever. Try to break free again," it whispered.

Then it took a step forward—

And vanished.

Leaving Brandon alone on the throne.

Wrapped in chains that didn't just bind his body but his essence, his will, his ability to exist beyond this prison.

His crimson eyes stared at where the figure had been.