Alpha's Cruel Addiction

It was pure chaos.

Ophelia stood at the center of the battle. War raged on either side of her. Monsters rushed forward, their loud footsteps trembling the ground. Soldiers swung their swords, their lives on the line. Werewolves shifted mid-air and vampires dashed forward, eager to claim a single woman.

This war was an ambush on all sides.

Monsters swung with overwhelming strength, fueled by a silver liquid that their lips. They clawed and killed left and right, leaving no room for mercy. This onslaught was something they'd never forget.

Ophelia felt a lone tear slide down her face. Left and right there was death. Fathers abandoned their children to partake in this battle. Mothers left behind their future for the sake of greedy empires.

"Luna!"

"Is that—"

"Someone stop her! Someone grab her right now!"

Voices roared in the distance. Gerald urged his horse forward. Killorn turned his head in horror at the thought of the impossible happening. And it was. Admist the fiery battlefield filled with fallen bodies and spilled guts was a lone woman. Her eyes were glazed over, a trail of pure silver on her face, and her hands twitching. Violet light flickered from the tip of her head to her fingers, crackling like thunder. The full moon was at its peak in the dark sky. Skys littered the clear night, the clouds invisible, and every figment in the universe parted for the moon.

"One spell to end it all…" Ophelia spoke in a voice unlike her own.

"Ophelia!" Killorn roared, shoving the monster off of him. He kicked off on his feet, sprinting towards her like he had never done in his entire life. He ran until his heart was in his lungs and his muscles were on fire. He was beyond exhausted from this two-day battle, but he ran like this life depended on it.

"Stop!" His voice was a thunderous roar that shook the entire world. People on the other side of the kingdom could hear him. He let out a fierce cry and broke out into his wolf form immediately. "You will die, Ophelia!"

Ophelia could feel it. She could hear the calling of the moon. In the shining reflection that resembled a bright pearl in the sky, she saw it. Her mother's face, her elegant hands guiding her back into her arms. She could envision the brilliant dazzling light of the universe. The moon guided a path of light for her—their dear Princess. Ophelia could taste the end of this war, it was so close, she could feel it. Slowly and softly, she felt her hair begin to burn.

The monsters wailed and roared in horror, but it was impossible. Everything was falling by the second. Their life force was being sucked up and flowing directly towards Ophelia who seemingly converted it into pure mana. All at once, an animalistic screaming filled the air. She released brilliant and blinding light all upon the wall, raining down on the earth beneath her feet. No one could stop her.

The light rays shattered bones, bent the spine, and made everyone flinch. The people tried to cover their ears, but the agonizing suffering was far too much for anyone to bear.

Death was a terrible sound.

"Let it be undone." Ophelia regained control of her body, but it was far too late. She let out a cry so loud, that everyone fell to their knees and winced in fear. The power overwhelmed her.

Ophelia burned. The fire consumed her from within. She was the power spiraling in the sky. She was the stars circling this world. She was the moon and it's Princess. She was a new moon in the making, created for the mending of the world, the ruination of all evil—she was light itself.

The grounds rumbled, shaking, and cracking. Trees fell in the distance. Barriers created by magic came crumbling to the ground. When the light ceased, monsters collapsed to the ground, limp and darkened. Magicians fell to their knees, feeling an immense loss. Vampires slowed down, their thirst dying. Werewolves were forced back into human form. Not a single person had the strength to even stand.

For a split second, everyone fell into a deep tranquility that morphed into horror. The monsters were dead. "I can't summon a spell!" a magician cried out, staring down at their hands in horror.

"My magic! My mana!" another shrieked in horror.

All attention snapped to the lone woman floating in the air, her hair glistening gold, a single trickle of red blood sliding down her gown. They'd recognize her from a thousand miles away. Ophelia Eves Mavez. Their target, all along, but no more. She fell to the floor roughly, releasing a powerful cough of blood. Crimson red, like the rest of them. She slid her eyes shut, almost in exhaustion, and remained limp on the ground.

Ophelia knew what she had done. She had channeled the power from the stars. She had practically become the moon, her entire figure glowing with mystic as she summoned the strongest of all spells to wipe all magic from this earth. The task could only be accomplished by her ability to draw from the lifeforce within and around her.

The entire world stilled for Ophelia.

A single spell. The strongest of its kind. This moment would go down in history. The Final Wail.

'Atlas, you've succeeded.' And overnight, born from the ashes of the world she ruined and saved, a goddess was made.

She, who altered the universe, time, and life in itself—the last of the new gods, acknowledged by none in this moment, but all in the distant future.

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