The fortress gates exploded at midnight.
Not breached.
Obliterated.
Nathaniel stalked through the firestorm, guns blazing at both hands, killing without hesitation.
Alfreda was at his back, blade dripping red, a savage smile carved across her face.
Ezra and Celeste led the second wave—black-ops mercenaries and Widowmaker defectors breaking through like a plague.
Lorena Black's men screamed and fell.
Some ran.
Most died.
The boy watched from the tower window, silent.
Cold.
Ready.
—
Inside the ruined throne room, Lorena stood before the boy, her face serene, even as the doors buckled under the assault.
"They'll come for you," she said softly.
He nodded.
"And you will do what you must."
The boy drew a knife from his belt.
"Kill them all," he whispered.
Lorena smiled.
"My good, good son."
Then the doors shattered.
Nathaniel burst through first—bloody, wild, beautiful in his rage.
His eyes locked on Lorena.
And then… the boy.
The room froze.
Nathaniel felt it—the punch to the gut, the sick twist in his soul.
The boy had his hair.
His mouth.
His eyes.
He was Nathaniel's mirror.
And he was holding a knife pointed at his father's heart.
"Hello, Father," the boy said, voice a ghost.
Nathaniel didn't blink.
"Put the knife down."
The boy smiled.
"Make me."
Alfreda and Celeste slipped in behind Nathaniel, guns raised.
Ezra covered the exits.
Lorena raised her hands mockingly.
"Well? Kill him. Kill your own blood."
Nathaniel took a step forward.
The boy tensed, blade flashing.
Nathaniel stopped.
"You think she loves you," Nathaniel said softly. "You think she raised you to be king."
The boy sneered. "I am a king."
Nathaniel smiled cold.
"No. You're a pawn."
The boy faltered—just a flicker.
But it was enough.
Alfreda moved like a whip—kicking the knife from the boy's hand, dragging him back.
Nathaniel crossed the room in two strides, slamming Lorena against the cracked throne.
"You lied," he snarled.
Lorena only laughed, a sound like shattering glass.
"Of course I did. I lied about everything. Your son. Your crown. Your bloody destiny."
She leaned closer, breath hot against his face.
"You were never meant to rule," she whispered. "You were meant to die."
Nathaniel squeezed tighter.
Lorena gasped, choking.
"I changed the script," he said. "I'm writing the ending."
And then he snapped her neck.
—
The boy screamed.
A raw, broken sound.
Nathaniel turned, expecting hatred, expecting attack.
But the boy crumpled to the floor, hands clutching his head.
"She lied," he sobbed.
Nathaniel knelt slowly, blood dripping from his fingers.
"I know," he said.
The boy lifted tear-soaked eyes.
"I don't know who I am."
Nathaniel's voice was hoarse.
"You're mine."
The boy flung himself into Nathaniel's arms, shaking.
And for the first time in a lifetime, Nathaniel Black—
the Butcher King, the Widowmaker heir—
wept.
—
Outside, the fortress was collapsing.
Flames devoured the stone.
Smoke blotted out the stars.
Alfreda pulled Nathaniel and the boy through the crumbling halls, Celeste and Ezra guarding the rear.
"We have to move!" Ezra barked.
A shell exploded behind them, flinging rubble and body parts into the air.
Nathaniel shielded the boy with his own body.
He would not lose him now.
Not after everything.
—
At dawn, they stood on the cliffs overlooking the sea.
Bruised.
Burning.
Bloody.
Alive.
The boy leaned against Nathaniel's side, silent, still processing the death of the only mother he'd ever known—and the brutal love of the father who had destroyed her.
Alfreda stood close enough to touch Nathaniel but didn't.
Celeste watched the sunrise, arms folded.
Ezra lit a cigarette with shaking hands.
They were broken.
But they were free.
And freedom, Nathaniel thought grimly, was bought with blood.
He looked down at the boy.
"My name's Nathaniel," he said quietly. "But you can call me whatever you want."
The boy looked up at him.
"I'll call you Father," he said simply.
Nathaniel swallowed hard.
And then the boy smiled—a fierce, wild, Widowmaker smile.
Nathaniel laughed—low and ragged.
"Welcome to the family, kid," Ezra said dryly.
Celeste just smirked.
Alfreda touched Nathaniel's shoulder—and for once, he didn't flinch.
They were killers.
They were liars.
They were monsters.
But for the first time…
They weren't alone.
And in the ashes of the Widowmakers, a new dynasty was rising.
Not built on lies.
Not built on blood contracts.
But on a darker, wilder truth:
That nothing could break them now.
Not even themselves.