Thorne’s face turned from a mottled red to a ghostly, sallow pale as the High Shaman’s words stripped away the last delusion of his self-righteousness.

For decades, he had believed himself a master puppeteer operating in secret, pulling strings and controlling the whole tribe, waiting for the day to strike and get it all.

To realize that his survival had not been the result of his cunning, but rather a deliberate, pitying mercy from the very woman he had always thought was playing right in his palms, hurt his pride more than any pain he had ever experienced.

He staggered back half a pace, his lips quivering in a silent rage.

For a fraction of a second, his confidence wavered, his eyes darting frantically to the men around him to see if her speech had broken their resolve.

But the shock quickly curdled into a manic, unhinged sneer.

"Mercy?! Silence! Shut your filthy mouth!" Thorne screamed, his voice cracking into a desperate, shrill pitch as he drew a curved flint blade from his belt. "I don’t need her pitiful mercy! Look around you! Look at where her ’mercy’ and your ’wisdom’ have brought us! You both are bleeding in the dirt, and the Coalition is coming to tear the meat from your bones!

So, It doesn’t matter anymore! Her mercy was her weakness! And this weakness has doomed your reign!"

He pointed the trembling tip of his dagger towards Veylara’s direction.

"Her reign ends today! Kill them! Kill the Warchief and clear the path for Chief Vane!" Thorne bellowed to his twenty elite lineage guards, his eyes wild and bloodshot.

"Draw your weapons! Strike down anyone who tries to resist! We present the heads of the Warchief and the High Shaman to Chief Vane, and our bloodline will finally rule the Veynar!"

For a harrowing, heartbeat-long silence, the twenty elite guards hesitated. They were Veynar veterans, men who had marched behind Veylara’s blazing spear in a dozen bloody skirmishes.

But the dark, suffocating fear of the Coalition warriors.... paired with the undeniable sight of their two strongest leaders broken in the dirt... overcame their remaining honor.

Survival lay with Thorne.

With grim, hollow expressions, the traitorous guards lowered their weapons and stepped toward the kneeling Warchief.

"To touch the Warchief... you must first cross us!"

A sudden, fierce battle cry erupted from the left flank, cutting through the chaos like a war horn.

A Veynar Captain, his face streaked with blood and sweat, led a dozen loyal, battle-hardened veterans who had been desperately holding the center line.

A dozen battle-hardened veterans followed close behind, their weapons raised and eyes blazing with determination.

Seeing the traitors closing in on the exhausted Warchief, they disengaged from the massive enemy wave with reckless abandon. Ignoring the Coalition forces at their backs, they turned and charged straight into the gap.

"Protect the Warchief!" the Captain roared.

They threw themselves into the gap with suicidal courage, forming a tight, blood-soaked wall of shields and spears directly in front of Veylara.

Their bodies formed a living barricade, ready to die before letting any traitor lay a hand on her.

More loyal warriors desperately tried to break away and join them, their hearts burning with rage at the betrayal.

But the Coalition horde pressed them relentlessly from behind, hacking and stabbing without mercy.

They could only watch helplessly, screaming in frustration, as their brothers-in-arms stood alone against the traitors.

But just as another group of loyal warriors somehow disengaged from the raging Coalition forces... their comrades sacrificing themselves in a bloody, desperate rearguard to buy them precious seconds

Then, the true horror unfolded.

From within their own ranks, more Veynar soldiers, fighting frantically, suddenly stopped, their faces turned cold as they turned on their own tribesmen.

Blades that had once fought side by side now slashed into the backs of loyal warriors. Spears thrust into comrades who had shared meals, battles, and campfires for years.

CLANG! SCREECH!

Blade slammed against blade as brother fought brother in the heart of the Veynar formation.

Spears thrust forward, axes chopped down, and blades clashed in a storm of sparks and blood.

Veynar blood spilled upon Veynar blood as a savage, chaotic civil war exploded.

The loyalists fought with the frantic, desperate rage of cornered beasts protecting their leader.

Their roars were raw and primal, eyes blazing with betrayal and loyalty. Every strike carried the weight of years spent fighting side by side with the very men they now had to kill.

They swung with broken voices, screaming the names of fallen comrades and the honor of the tribe.

Thorne’s traitors, on the other hand, struck with the cold, frantic desperation of men who knew there was no turning back.

Their faces were twisted with fear and ambition.

They had crossed the line... there would be no forgiveness, no redemption. They fought like cornered rats, vicious and unrelenting, knowing that only victory or death awaited them.

A loyal veteran impaled a traitor through the gut, roaring in grief as he recognized the man’s face... a childhood friend.

Another loyalist had his arm severed by an axe from a man he had once shared meals with around the same campfire. Screams of pain and betrayal filled the air as brother turned against brother, cousin against cousin.

The narrow gap became a meat grinder of betrayals and spraying blood. Bodies fell on both sides, piling up in a gruesome barricade. The loyal wall held, but it was shrinking... shrinking fast... as Thorne’s men pressed forward with fanatical determination.

Through the chaos, Veylara’s eyes burned with a mixture of pain and heartbreaking sorrow as she watched Veynar warriors... her people, her family... cutting each other down.

The betrayal cut deeper than any blade ever could. For a brief moment, even the unstoppable Warchief faltered, her grip tightening painfully on her spear.

But seeing the warriors protecting her, she regained her determination.

"... NOOOO!..." Veylara choked out, her vision swimming with dark purple spots.

She tried to force her fingers to close around her spear, but the poison was running rampant through her veins, sealing off her sun core like a block of solid ice.