The Lycan King and his Dark Temptation novel Chapter 162

NARRATOR

As long as she remained his hostage, Zarek wouldn’t attack.

After all, all these tricks to control the castle were the only thing he could actually do—he was still imprisoned in the most hidden and dangerous dungeon.

Out of nowhere, Dante's sensitive ears picked up the whistle of air and the murderous magic heading straight for him.

Every instinct screamed at him to drop to the ground, and he obeyed.

He threw himself onto the cold iron floor of the bridge, holding Celine tightly in his arms as she trembled, her teeth chattering, her eyes shut tight and brimming with moisture.

“If you keep pushing her like this, you'll turn her into an idiot before you can even use her to blackmail Zarek,” he said, standing up and leaving Celine leaning against a corner of the bridge, away from the dark shadows and close to him.

“I’d rather fry her brain than let you be the one to benefit from her,” Merkall spat blood to the side, the scent of it thick in the air.

A lot of his people had to sacrifice themselves to create an opening for his escape. That damn vampire! He had to end him here and now.

“I think we both know that only one of us can rule, right? So, our rivalry ends here—the survivor will be the next to control the Dark Realm,” Dante declared with a sinister smile.

He was done with this old fool.

Baring his fangs and extending his claws, he was ready to go all out.

In a blur of movement, Dante was on top of Merkall. But the sorcerer was no amateur—he was an experienced spellcaster.

Summoning a shield, Merkall deflected the vampire's claws, sparks flying in the air as they clashed, and so the deadly battle began.

Each attack was aimed to kill; Dante moved like the wind, striking with such precision that the warlock was left sweating, struggling to maintain his energy shield, which drained his magic rapidly.

A sudden roar erupted from Merkall, releasing a blast of fire from deep within his throat, forcing Dante to retreat, the hem of his coat catching fire.

The bridge trembled with the sharp clatter of chains swinging violently. The walls echoed with hissing breaths, curses, and the pungent scent of blood filled the air.

Then, Merkall let his guard down for just a moment—an opportunity Dante wouldn’t waste.

Dante clutched his chest, feeling life slipping away. It couldn’t end like this—so quickly, so easily. He had only let his guard down for a second.

But in war, a second was all it took to die.

“That’s why… you lowered your guard…” Dante realized too late.

“Did you think you were the only one who could lie and deceive? That’s always been your biggest mistake—believing yourself to be the best, the superior being. Tsk, tsk, you're nothing but an arrogant fool.”

“I’ll kill you, you and that bitch… damn…”

Dante staggered toward Merkall with his last ounce of strength, his bloodied hands reaching for the warlock’s wounded neck, but Merkall only sneered.

“You can try in the afterlife; in this one, I’ve already screwed you over,” Merkall laughed mercilessly, using his power to lift Dante into the air with a gust of wind and flinging him off the edge of the bridge like worthless trash.

A guttural scream echoed through the abyss before silence took over.

“Come on, my dear little puppet. It’s time to finish this…”