I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 194: You stabbed her in the back

It didn’t register at first.

The blade.

The blood.

The silence.

Malvoria turned just in time to see the light leave Elysia’s eyes.

One breath sharp, shallow and then her body sagged forward. She collapsed like a marionette with cut strings, her knees folding beneath her, hair catching firelight as she hit the floor with a wet thud.

Malvoria moved instantly, catching her before she fell completely. Her arms wrapped around Elysia’s waist, pulling her close, lowering her to the blackened stone.

Her hands came away warm.

Sticky.

Red.

"Elysia?" Her voice cracked, raw in her throat. "Elysia, look at me."

Elysia blinked slowly. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her chest rose in shallow jerks, breath rattling as if each one might be the last.

Malvoria pressed her palm over the wound, fire magic sparking under her fingers in a desperate attempt to cauterize it but the damage was deep.

The blade had punctured too far, nicked something vital. She could feel the magic recoiling, uncertain, useless against this kind of tear.

"No, no, no—don’t do this," she whispered, pressing harder. "Don’t you dare."

Elysia coughed.

A small, soft sound.

Blood touched her lips.

Her eyes fluttered. She looked up—at Malvoria.

And smiled.

It was so faint. So small.

And then...

She went still.

The breath she was about to take never came.

The flame-formed sword at her side shattered with a soft hiss, vanishing in a trail of ember dust.

Malvoria froze.

She couldn’t hear the battle anymore.

Couldn’t hear Seraphina’s shouts, or Zera’s breathless curses.

Only silence.

Elysia didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

"No," Malvoria whispered.

But it wasn’t a denial.

It was a fracture.

Something inside her snapped—not like the sharp break of a bone, but like the groaning, inevitable collapse of a continent. A thing ancient and sacred being torn in two.

She bowed her head, her forehead resting against Elysia’s still chest.

Her shoulders shook.

Not with sobs.

With something deeper. Older.

Rage.

Magic.

Her magic, once so refined, so elegant, so controlled, surged up her spine like a tidal wave with nowhere to go.

The heat hit the air first.

It rose like the breath of a volcano.

Then the light—red, gold, blistering white—blazed from her skin in jagged arcs.

The throne room trembled.

Flames erupted from every crack in the floor. From the broken walls. From the air itself.

The banners caught fire without being touched. The shattered glass melted to slag. The obsidian floor cracked, scorched, screamed beneath her.

And still—it grew.

Seraphina shielded her eyes. Zera stumbled backward.

Even the flames looked afraid.

Malvoria stood slowly.

Her body glowed like molten iron, the whites of her eyes eclipsed by fire. Her voice was low, hoarse, feral when she finally spoke.

"You hurt her."

Zera opened her mouth to speak—to justify, to plead, to lie.

She didn’t get the chance.

Malvoria raised her hand and the entire left wall of the throne room exploded outward in a firestorm.

The heat was suffocating, the sheer weight of magic dragging the very air down to its knees.

Zera screamed, dodging to the side as a whip of flame lashed toward her, carving a burning trench through the floor.

Seraphina charged but Malvoria didn’t even face her. She flicked her fingers and a column of fire slammed into the celestial warrior, hurling her across the hall like a rag doll.

She crashed into a pillar, which cracked and collapsed on top of her with a thunderous roar.

Zera turned to run.

But Malvoria was already there.

A burst of fire under her feet catapulted her forward. She crossed the room in a blink, caught Zera by the back of her collar, and slammed her into the throne—the throne she dared to sit on.

The stone cracked.

Zera gasped as Malvoria’s hand closed around her throat.

Flames curled from her fingertips, black-edged now. Ancient. Hungry.

Zera struggled, kicking, clawing, magic lashing out—but none of it touched Malvoria.

"You killed her," Malvoria said, her voice shaking with rage. "You killed her."

Zera’s eyes widened in panic.

"She—she chose—!"

"You stabbed her in the back while she was protecting me!"

Malvoria’s grip tightened.

Zera’s breath caught.

Flames coiled tighter around them, the entire room trembling with power.

And then, Malvoria’s voice dropped to a whisper—deadly calm.

"I kill you."

Her fingers flexed.

"And then I kill your fucking mother."

Zera’s scream was cut short.

Malvoria slammed her into the throne again, the stone splitting behind her head with a sickening crack.

Flames licked at Zera’s skin, her armor glowing red-hot where it touched Malvoria’s magic. She writhed in Malvoria’s grasp, eyes wild with terror now, not arrogance.

"Beg," Malvoria snarled.

Zera gasped, clawing at the fingers around her throat, but no sound came.

"Beg for the mercy you didn’t give her."

She hurled Zera across the room like discarded debris.

The rebel hit the floor and rolled, coughing, choking, clawing at the scorched marble as she tried to crawl away. But Malvoria wasn’t done.

Not even close.

She stalked forward slowly, the air trembling around her with heat distortion. Every step left scorched footprints, flames bursting with each impact.

A sword of fire formed in her hand no longer a clean, golden flame, but something darker now. Black tendrils coiled in the heart of it. Rage incarnate.

"Please—" Zera croaked.

Malvoria raised the sword.

A blur of silver interrupted.

Seraphina.

She lunged, her celestial blade aimed at Malvoria’s heart.

But Malvoria didn’t flinch.

She caught the blade with her bare hand.

Metal sizzled, light clashed against flame and cracked.

Seraphina’s eyes widened.

"You’re not strong enough," Malvoria said, voice flat. "Not anymore."

And then she turned the blade aside and punched Seraphina in the stomach so hard the sound echoed like thunder.

The woman folded instantly, gasping as all the breath left her lungs.

Malvoria followed with a brutal kick that sent her sprawling across the floor, blood trailing from her mouth.

There was no elegance in what followed.

It wasn’t a duel.

It was a reckoning.

She dragged Seraphina up by her collar and drove her fist into her ribs—once, twice, a third time. Bones cracked. Her blade fell from limp fingers.

"You raised her to fight," Malvoria spat, flame curling down her arm. "But you didn’t protect her."

She threw Seraphina to the ground beside Zera, both of them broken, burnt, bleeding.

Both of them still breathing.

Malvoria raised her hand.

The fire pulsed, ready to end it.

And then—

A wave of purple flame surged through the air, cool and powerful, wrapping around her like a stormcloud breaking open.

Her flames sputtered.

Snuffed out. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

Malvoria staggered back, blinking.

Not because of pain.

But because of recognition.

That magic....

She turned slowly.

Behind her, on one knee, glowing faintly—was Elysia.

Alive.

Purple flames danced in her palm, spiraling around her like a shield. Her eyes were half-lidded, her lips pale, her chest rising in shallow breaths.

But she was breathing.

She was alive.

And she had stopped her.