Umbra could no longer afford to avoid the fight. For too long, he had believed that a well-timed ambush might be enough, that if he struck first, he could at least wound Roxanne or leave her helpless long enough to buy himself precious minutes.
Minutes he needed to seize the Grand Duchess, the one prize the Emperor of Erengrad desired above all else. The Emperor’s obsession with her was so great that he had poured out wealth and resources beyond measure, all for the sake of capturing her.
Yet something had gone wrong. The plan should have been flawless. Umbra had arranged everything with care, ensuring that none of his assassins could betray him. Each one had sworn an oath bound by sorcery so cruel that treachery meant death, their bodies dissolving from within, flesh and organs melting until nothing remained but agony.
No one had broken that seal. No one had dared. And still, Roxanne was ready. Not merely wary, but perfectly prepared for the ambush, as though she had known every detail before it began. The thought gnawed at him, a riddle he could not solve.
His gaze flickered to the carriage standing just beyond the chaos. Someone inside is very valuable, someone the Emperor wanted much like the Grand Duchess, and also someone Roxanne protected furiously.
If Umbra could seize that hidden figure and deliver them instead, he might still claim the Emperor’s reward. With enough gold to vanish, he could abandon this battlefield, disappear into shadow, and rebuild his guild from the ashes.
But before he could take a step closer, a voice coiled through the air like a serpent. A whisper, soft yet sharp, brushed against his ear, though no one was near. "Oh no," it said, with chilling calm. "You can’t do that." Alexandra’s voice, echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once.
"Fight me... or I’ll come to find you." The voice drifted across the battlefield, echoing without source, every syllable stretched and warped until it seemed to seep from the shadows themselves.
Umbra stiffened. His ears strained, his eyes darted, but there was no one there. "There’s no way she could find me," he muttered, though his words came out thinner, weaker, than he intended.
He knew the truth; he had never planned to confront the Grand Duke himself, never. When the Emperor himself had revealed the identity of his desired target, Umbra almost refused. Only desperation, and the promise of wealth beyond measure, had kept him tethered to this suicidal task.
After all, the Shadow Knights, the Emperor’s deadliest warriors, men who had painted kingdoms red, were unable to do the job. That’s why the emperor is looking for him, because he and his assassins didn’t have the oath against the royal family.
Roxanne de Borgia—he clearly knows about who she is and how powerful she is. He remembered her father, Ashkareth, the former Demon King. Umbra had once stood against him to fight for the throne, a hundred years ago, and he had been crushed like an insect.
The memory of that overwhelming defeat still clung to his soul. He had survived, and survival had come with the bitter knowledge that some bloodlines were untouchable. Even when he tried to make himself more powerful by doing the forbidden magic, Ashkareth was always more powerful than him, as he kept on defeating him every time he challenged him for a fight.
Suddenly, twenty-seven years ago, Ashkareth gave his throne to the strongest alpha in the demon kingdom and disappeared.The next he knows, the strongest alpha he has known in the history of the demon race is having a daughter, a child born from his union with the princess of the werewolves.
A daughter who had grown into something greater than either parent, a perfect convergence of royal demon and royal beast. And now that same daughter is here and is the same as the one who’s currently hunting him.
"Who told you that?" The voice returned, no longer distant, no longer ghostly. It’s sharp, clear, and impossibly close. The rightful source is novel~fire~net
Umbra spun. His breath froze. She is standing there.
Roxanne de Borgia, her presence a storm given form. She’s drenched in crimson, each drop that slid from her blade marking the death of another assassin, smiling at him. Her skin glowed faintly under the moonlight, stretched over sinew that thrummed with a powerful strength.
And her eyes burned crimson with a merciless certainty that turned Umbra’s legs to stone. She had shed the last traces of her humanoid figure. Her body is fully demonoid now: wings that unfurled like torn banners of night, horns gleaming slick with blood, and claws curving as if forged for slaughter. She radiated power so dense it crushed the air, so heavy it made every breath burn in Umbra’s lungs.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came. As an alpha, Umbra can sense if there’s another stronger alpha than him. And this woman in front of him, with her mixed blood, is far stronger than Ashkareth.
"Wait, we can—" Roxanne gave him no chance to finish.
She had none of her father’s patience and none of her mother’s grace. She’s pure instinct and power, moving faster than thought. Her blade carved through the night, a silver arc that ended all bargains before they could begin. One stroke—smooth, merciless, final.
The world tilted. Umbra never even had time to scream before his head fell from his shoulders, his body collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. His last sight was the unblinking eyes of the monster he had sworn never to face.
Umbra, the demon whose name carried terror across the underworld. The one people sought when they wanted the impossible done. The assassin was so feared that even the Emperor’s Shadow Knights could not match his efficiency, let alone kill him. For years, his reputation had been a cloak of invincibility, a legend bought in blood and shadows.
And yet, in an instant, all of that ended. He felt only the sharp sting at his neck, the sudden lurch of weightlessness, and then the cold kiss of the ground before darkness consumed him forever.
Roxanne lowered her blade, her chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. "And you think demons can’t be killed, hah!" Her voice carried the cruel edge of triumph.
On her shoulder, Tempest stirred. The spirit’s eyes gleamed with fierce pride, his presence crackling with satisfaction. To him, this is more than a victory; it’s a vindication. For millennia, spirits and demons had been sworn enemies, locked in endless strife. And now, to see one of the greatest demons cut down so swiftly, with no chance to heal or return, filled her with a savage joy.
Roxanne gripped Umbra’s severed head by the hair and launched herself into the air. Her wings spread wide, blotting out the sunlight as she soared back toward the battlefield. Below, the clash of steel and cries of battle still thundered, though the assassins’ numbers had dwindled to barely twenty.
When Roxanne descended before them, bloody and unshaken, the fight seemed to stop for a heartbeat. Every assassin’s gaze snapped upward, their eyes widening as they saw the grisly trophy she carried. Umbra’s lifeless head swung in her grasp, his once-feared face now pale and empty.
"Borgia!" Roxanne’s voice boomed across the field, shaking the very ground. She raised the head high for all to see, her roar ripping through the chaos. "Finish them all!"
The effect is instant. Her knights—bloodied but unbroken—erupted with renewed fury. The sight of Umbra’s defeat lit fire in their veins, their war cries rising as one. Anton and his two children surged forward, blades flashing with more speed, cutting through the assassins with ruthless precision.
Above the fray, Marvessa stood finally poised atop the carriage, her bow drawn, her eyes cold and steady. Each arrow she loosed sang through the air with deadly purpose, striking assassins before they could regroup. But it wasn’t her accuracy alone that made her terrifying. Her arrows dripped with venom, poison far more insidious than any brewed by mortal hands.
For Marvessa was bound to a spirit. A lesser earth spirit, one that specialized in venom and rot. Their bond infused every arrow she released, turning each strike into a lingering death. Flesh blackened, lungs collapsed, and blood turned to sludge within seconds of her poison’s touch.
Between Roxanne’s command, the Borgia Knights’ strength, and Marvessa’s relentless rain of venom, the assassins’ formation crumbled. Fear began to gnaw at them, replacing their earlier resolve with doubt and hesitation. The tide of battle had turned, and the shadow that had once loomed over the Borgia line is now nothing more than a severed head in Roxanne’s grasp.
Maxim, captain of the Borgia Knights, didn’t wait for mercy. With Umbra’s severed head still swinging from his lord’s fist, he charged into the heart of the assassins alongside Mara, the Crimson Fang of Borgia. Together they fell upon the enemy like a living storm.
The assassins’ formation shattered under the combined weight of ferocity and fear. Where they had hoped to scatter into shadow, they found only steel and pursuit. Those who dared to stand their ground were cut down without hesitation, their screams drowned beneath the thunder of the Borgia war chant.
Those who tried to flee met even swifter ends. Red led another group of Borgia knights, relentless in their hunt, cutting down the fleeing like hounds running prey to ground. One by one the assassins are driven to their knees and finished without any mercy. Meanwhile, the Wyndham knights pressed into the gaps, driving deep into the disordered press, wrenching weapons from trembling hands, and ending lives with cold efficiency.
Above them, Marvessa kept her bow singing. Each arrow found its mark, striking lungs, backs, and spines, every shaft dripping with venom that bloomed black and fatal on contact. Wherever smoke and blood rose, another of her arrows followed, sowing death without pause.
But her rhythm faltered. Her hands shook, her breaths grew ragged, and her face turned pale. "Marvessa, stop moving!" Vivianne’s voice rang from within the carriage, firm and commanding. She had seen the toll it took, and how Marvessa’s condition isn’t good because of their last fight last night.
"Yes, Your Grace." Marvessa obeyed at once, lowering her bow. Vivianne’s word is law, something she will question.
The rest carried the fight to its end. Maxim’s blade fell again and again, Mara carved a crimson path, and Red’s hunters ensured none escaped. One by one, the assassins fell until not a single enemy remained standing.
High above, Roxanne hovered, wings spread wide, her sword still wet with blood. Through Vivianne’s spirit-sight, her senses stretched across the field, into the trees, and over the land, hunting for any sign of survivors. She listened, she searched, and she waited until finally her gaze returned to her knights below.
"Clear," she declared, her voice cutting through the stillness. And with that, Roxanne descended, the battlefield theirs at last.