**WARNING!** Heavy use of language and violence is present. Some scenes may not be suitable for younger readers.
This book, "Regal Rift," is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidenta...
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Eamon reached out with a trembling hand, fingers brushing the bubble. The moment his skin touched it, a surge of power coursed through him.
Triumph filled his chest, but it was fleeting. As his hand closed around the key, the world around him warped and twisted once again.
The blinding white faded, and he found himself standing on solid ground once more, his feet in a cold, unfamiliar place.
The air was thick, charged with an ominous presence. He was no longer in the labyrinth, not in the palace, not even in the kingdom. He was somewhere else.
His breath hitched as he glanced down at his feet. He was standing inside a glowing magical circle, strange runes etched into the ground, burning faintly with a sickly, greenish hue. And then, the reality of his location hit him with crushing weight.
The Mist Valley.
"What am I doing here?" Captain Eamon asked himself silently.
"This was the last place I expected to be my final destination."
His heart pounded in his chest as he turned to look around, the dread seeping into his bones.
The mist, thick and oppressive, coiled around him like a death shroud, and that’s when he saw it.
A shadow loomed from the fog, dark and monstrous. A figure moved toward him, its presence making the air grow colder, heavier.
Eamon’s eyes widened in disbelief as he took in the demon standing before him. Its form was monstrous, towering over him with a presence that demanded fear.
Its skin was a pale, sickly gray, stretched tight over its frame like some grotesque mockery of life.
And there, on its back, was the mark of the upper-class demon, the scorpion tattoo, its tail curling around the number one. It was a demon of high rank, a creature beyond his worst nightmares.
Rhys’ amber eyes locked onto Eamon’s, cold, predatory, and filled with malice. Eamon’s grip tightened around the portal key, but it offered no comfort.
Rhys' voice was low and cruel as it spoke, each word dripping with venom.
"You..." The demon sneered, its gaze piercing.
"You are not the one I was expecting to be here."
Eamon’s stomach twisted with fear, his legs refusing to move.
His pulse thundered in his ears as the demon closed the distance between them, each step slow and deliberate, its eyes never leaving him.
The demon paused, a cruel smile twisting its lips. It reached down with a clawed hand, effortlessly snatching the portal key from Eamon’s grasp.
Eamon stood frozen, his heart sinking as the demon examined the artifact with a chilling amusement.
Eamon’s throat was dry as he managed to force words from his lips.
