The hall of the 100th floor was vast and silent, made of living black stone, as if the walls themselves breathed. At its center stood a throne forged from spirals of bone and blades, emanating a cold violet glow. Reclined upon it, as if she had been waiting for centuries, was Morgana, the Dark Witch.

  She did not smile. Her violet eyes stared into the void, as if still hearing the echoes of the battle on the 90th floor.

  Behind her, heavy footsteps echoed. Anatoly emerged, dragging a broken axe, his claws still stained with fresh blood.

  — They escaped, — he said, his voice cutting through the air. — They used some relic… a shining orb. Teleported upward. From the trace I sensed, they should have landed on the 95th floor.

  His gaze narrowed, his tone a sentence: — I will kill them.

  Morgana raised her eyes without haste.

  — I bet you’ll die if you underestimate them.

  Anatoly laughed, stepping closer.

  — You forget who you’re talking to. I brought down the Monarch of the South, the Lion of the Desert. Or as many called him… the Thunder Phantom.

  The witch arched an eyebrow.

  — The same one the King of Disasters warned us to beware of?

  — Yes. And I killed him. — Anatoly puffed his chest. — I ripped out his heart with these hands and destroyed Sorriso. The massacre was a success. Soon, the two worlds will merge and the prison of the Black Tower will vanish. I fulfilled my part.

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  Morgana leaned forward, her gaze sharp as a blade.

  — You forget he was rusty. He hadn’t fought at that level in years. And he was already wounded… deep wounds from that dragon. You just showed up at the end.

  Anatoly narrowed his eyes, trying to assert control.

  — Watch your tone. You may be number two, but you don’t command—

  The dry sound cut his words short. Without rising from her throne, Morgana struck a blow that hurled him against the wall, cracking stone. Her black-violet aura exploded like a silent thunderclap.

  — Know your place, bottom-feeder of the last rank, — she growled. — You are only the Eleventh. I am not one of your northern dogs, you pathetic chick. You don’t get to speak to me so casually, disastrous fledgling.

  Anatoly steadied himself, hatred burning in his eyes.

  — Fine… but I won’t roll in bed with the enemy like some sentimental failure.

  Morgana vanished in a blur. When she reappeared, a black blade had already pierced his neck, severing his head. She let it drop to the ground like trash.

  — Get out of my sight, chick… before my hand finds your heart instead.

  Her aura swelled, terrifying, black and violet.

  Anatoly’s body crawled across the floor, picked up its own head, and twisted it back in place with a grotesque snap.

  — Hate me all you want, Morgana… but I’ll rip that boy’s heart out and shove it in your face before you ever get to touch him.

  Without waiting for her answer, he turned and vanished into the corridor shadows.

  ---

  The Waiting Queen

  Morgana remained alone in the hall. Silence grew heavier.

  The violet glow bathed her snow-white hair, flowing loose to her waist, strands shifting on their own like lazy serpents. Her pale skin stood in stark contrast to the living darkness of the throne, and her gown of ethereal fabric clung to her frame as if woven from her very magic. Long, torn sleeves revealed arms etched with black lines that pulsed like veins of shadow.

  Her deep violet eyes no longer carried the coldness of a monster… but the weight of someone who had borne a burden for centuries. Seated there, she looked like a fallen goddess — beautiful, dangerous, and broken within.

  Her fingers traced slowly along the throne’s edge, as if searching for something absent. Her legs crossed, her body reclined against the seat, but her shoulders remained tense, betraying that the regal posture was only a mask.

  And then, in a whisper no one else could hear:

  — Lukas… one day… I will be free. Free of this Tower. Free of being a toy. I want… someone to want me for who I am. Not for my power. Not for my body.

  The words dissolved into the air. The throne swallowed her once more, and the queen remained… waiting.

  End of Chapter 15