The Three Princes and A Mage

The Fire Prince's Wrath

Prince Boss stood at the forefront of the elite battalion, his piercing gaze a mix of unwavering determination and seething rage. His body was tense, radiating a fierce energy that seemed to command the very air around him. Just behind him, Prince Bas watched with barely concealed worry, his eyes betraying the fear he couldn't suppress. He knew, however, that in this state, nothing could stop his brother—not even his own concern.

The air crackled with a sense of impending destruction as Prince Boss stood still, his fiery powers swirling around him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His eyes narrowed, focused on the distant castle walls, every muscle poised for action. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he charged forward, flames erupting from his hands and sword. The ground beneath him seemed to tremble as he blazed toward the fortress, a living inferno ready to bring it down.

The battalion raced behind him, struggling to keep pace, but Prince Boss was a force of nature, his flames burned through every obstacle. His movements were swift and unrelenting, each step fueled by a power that surged beyond control. Barriers crumbled before him, incinerated in an instant as he tore through the outer walls with ease. The enemy's defenses fell apart under the weight of his fiery onslaught, leaving a trail of burning red flames in his wake. By the time his companions caught up, he was already minutes ahead, his path carved in fire.

Prince Bas and half the battalion stayed behind, shadows flickering in the dim light as they moved through the village to clear it of pirates. Even as his brother, the Fire Prince, pressed on toward the castle's core, Prince Bas couldn't shake his concern. Yet deep down, he knew Prince Boss would be fine—unstoppable in his fiery wrath. His priority now was the safety of the villagers, ensuring they were out of harm's way before he could rejoin the battle in the castle.

Inside the dark and eerily silent castle, Prince Boss moved with purpose, his fiery sword casting flickering light in the gloom, illuminating his path. The heat radiated from him in waves, making the air shimmer and the stone walls groan under the pressure of his presence. Every step left behind a trail of devastation, doors and barricades turning to ash as he tore through the fortress with ease. The trembling castle seemed to shrink before his raw power, the very structure quaking as he carved his way deeper inside. Despite the ominous atmosphere, he encountered little resistance, the few guards present retreating in terror or already dispatched by his blade. Most of the enemy forces were occupied elsewhere, desperately trying to fend off Prince Bas and the soldiers still battling outside. With nothing standing in his way, Prince Boss pressed forward, his flames growing fiercer as he neared the castle's core.

His heart hammered in his chest, its rhythm quickening with each step as he approached the northern tower where Noeul was held captive. His focus narrowed to a single, driving purpose: to save the Mage Prince. The world around him faded, leaving only the image of Noeul and the threat hanging over him. Memories began to flicker through his mind—brief encounters that revealed so much yet left too much unsaid. Though their meetings had been few, each left a mark, connecting him to Noeul in a way that words could never fully capture. It was a bond born of shared understanding, a silent kinship deeper than anyone around them could guess.

As he reached the winding staircase that spiraled up to Noeul's prison, his thoughts grew darker, his resolve hardening into something fierce, even ruthless. The need to protect Noeul surged within him, eclipsing everything else. His mind sharpened, accepting what he might need to sacrifice to reach him. The rising heat in his veins reflected the desperation within—a raw, burning promise that no force in this world would keep him from the Mage Prince. And as he ascended, the weight of his determination pressed down on the castle itself, each step reverberating through the stone, a warning to anyone who would dare stand in his way.

Just before reaching the chamber where Noeul was held, Prince Boss stepped into a grand audience room. The air was thick with tension, heavy shadows clinging to the arched ceiling, giving the space an ominous, foreboding presence. The faint glow of his fiery sword cast wavering light across the walls, exposing the stone's cracks and jagged lines, as though the castle itself recoiled from his presence. The vast hall stretched out before him, but its emptiness felt like a trap, as though the darkness itself was watching and waiting. He could feel the malicious energy of dark magic stirring in the air, prickling along his skin like an unwelcome touch.

In the center of the room stood a figure, unmoving yet radiating a quiet menace. Tor, one of the Weera brothers, stood with a wicked grin stretched across his face, his eyes alight with malicious amusement. His posture was relaxed, almost mocking, as he blocked the way forward with calculated ease, his stance leaving no question of his intent. It was as if he had been waiting here for this moment, ready to intercept any attempt to save Noeul. The flickering light from Boss's sword glinted off Tor's weapon, revealing a blade that pulsed with dark energy, its edge shimmering with a sinister, cursed magic. The blade seemed alive, throbbing with an ominous beat like a heart twisted and corrupted.

Prince Boss halted, sizing up his opponent with a cold, penetrating gaze. Fire danced around him, swirling and flaring as his power surged in response to the threat before him. The flames cast his features in sharp relief, a mask of fierce determination and raw strength. Every muscle in his body tensed, coiling like a predator prepared to strike, yet he held his ground, studying Tor's every movement. Tor, in contrast, looked unperturbed, even smug, his smirk widening as he lifted his cursed sword with casual confidence. The blade's dark aura seemed to seep into the very air around it, a sinister contrast to the fiery energy that radiated from Prince Boss.

The room was silent, a tense standoff crackling between them. Neither moved, each warrior measuring the other, their powers clashing even before a blow was struck. Boss's flames intensified, casting a fierce glow that reached the edges of the hall, while Tor's shadowed weapon absorbed the light, as if hungrily drinking in its warmth. Tor's confidence was palpable, a dark amusement dancing in his eyes as he met Boss's glare. He seemed to revel in the power of his cursed blade, assured that it would withstand any flame that dared to challenge it. The stillness deepened, charged with deadly intent, as the two warriors stood poised on the edge of battle, ready to unleash their fury in the heart of the darkened hall.

"We finally meet, oh, the famous fire prince," Tor said, with a confidence that slowly gets under Prince Boss' skin.

"I've always been curious about your firepower; shall we test it out?"