The Shadow Queen Is Too Alluring—I Can't Handle This Anymore!
Chapter 85 – "The Throne That Devours"

Chapter 85: Chapter 85 – "The Throne That Devours"

Lyra’s lips were pale, bitten raw. Her knees buckled as the dark wings unfurled behind her, casting shadows that flickered like torn sails in a storm. Her fingers trembled, not from fear—but from the sheer magnitude of what pulsed beneath her skin.

She looked down at Kael, who was still on the ground, coughing out black smoke. The shadowfire dagger had melted in his hand, its curse rebounding as if the throne had rejected him outright.

"I trusted you," she rasped, voice cracked from power and grief.

Kael raised his bloodshot eyes. "You weren’t supposed to survive the second death..."

The words pierced deeper than any blade. She wasn’t supposed to survive.That was always the plan.

Lyra felt it now—the throne was not hers alone. It was alive. It hungered.And she had opened its gates.

There was something inside her that didn’t belong to her. A presence.Ancient. Cold. Watching.

She tried to steady her breath, but every inhale came laced with memory—not hers, but her mother’s. Screams. Fire. A child torn from blood. Betrayal. Over and over, the loop of inherited pain.

I am not just her daughter, Lyra realized. I am her cage.

And the Shadow Throne was growing restless.

It felt like the stars were screaming.Each rune on her skin glowed like galaxies in rebellion—trying to map a sky that had long since burned down.The crown she now wore was invisible, yet it weighed more than kingdoms.She was no longer walking—she was being pulled, as if the ground itself bent to the gravity of her blood.

Above her, the woman in the obsidian mask began to descend, her platform of fire flickering as if uncertain now.

Shadow Phoenix spoke, softly but firmly, "If you continue, Lyra, there is no return."

The voice echoed like prophecy, yet there was a tremor behind it—a mother fearing her creation had grown teeth.

Lyra looked up slowly. "Then why did you give me the key?"

"You were supposed to die before it fit."

A scream rang out—not Aelira’s, not Kael’s.

It was Lyra’s.But her mouth had not moved.

She spun—and standing in the center of the torn courtyard, framed by flickering columns and ashfall, was herself.Another Lyra.Younger.Drenched in blood.

The clone blinked slowly. "You thought the throne only needed one?"

The sky above tore again.

And this time, from the rift fell an empty crown—shattered in three pieces.

Lyra staggered backward, the wind tearing through her hair as if even the elements couldn’t decide which version of her they served.The other Lyra stood calmly in the ash-covered ruins, her eyes the same haunting violet, but colder.Older.Like she’d already lived a thousand wars Lyra hadn’t yet fought.

"Who are you?" Lyra whispered, voice barely audible above the shuddering castle walls.

The doppelgänger tilted her head. "I’m what you would have become—if you’d died the third time."

Kael gasped from behind. Aelira, bleeding but conscious, reached for Lyra’s hand. "It’s... it’s the Third Soul."

Everything clicked—too fast, too loud.

Three deaths. Three versions. One curse.

She had believed her awakening meant the prophecy was complete. But she’d misunderstood.The throne didn’t awaken to one life.It awakened to three.Three possible Lyra’s—each born of a death.

The one who had died as a child in exile.The one who had just died on the balcony, consumed by betrayal.And now, this third version—born of the throne itself.

Was she even real anymore? Or just a stitched-together destiny?

She glanced at her hands. Her skin was glowing again—but this time, the runes formed not stars... but chains.

The throne didn’t free me, she realized. It cloned me.

The Third Lyra stepped forward, each movement fluid as silk and sharp as a guillotine. Her feet didn’t leave tracks. The shadows moved around her like attendants bowing to royalty.She wasn’t walking—she was being carried by the will of something ancient and unforgiving.

Above them, the shattered crown spun slowly in midair, each of its three pieces orbiting like dying moons.The Shadow Phoenix watched in silence now—her mask removed, her face solemn.For the first time, her eyes held no answers. Only dread.

"This throne," the Third Lyra said, voice like bells forged from bone, "was never meant to be ruled by one soul."

She turned to the original Lyra. "It needs a war within. That’s how it stays alive."

The shadows behind her twisted—and formed a throne of obsidian and blood.One seat.Three shadows.

Suddenly, the Third Lyra’s expression twisted. She looked past Lyra—straight at Kael.

"You were never loyal to either of us," she said coldly. "You were just stalling."

Before Kael could flee, dozens of crimson chains erupted from the ground, wrapping around his limbs.

He screamed, but Lyra couldn’t move. The chains weren’t hers this time.

They obeyed her.

The Third Lyra smiled.

"Let’s see what happens when one throne... has to choose."

The sky cracked again.

And this time, the Shadow Throne began to descend.

Kael writhed on the ground, crimson chains slithering over his limbs like vipers with burning eyes. He thrashed, screamed—but every movement only tightened the binds.His face, once beautiful and proud, contorted in agony. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. The betrayal he had embraced now turned to judgment.

Lyra stared, motionless. Her hair whipped across her face as the wind around the throne intensified, circling the three of them in a rising storm of shadow.

The Third Lyra walked toward the descending Shadow Throne, her steps soundless on the fractured marble floor. Her eyes remained fixed on Kael, not with hatred—but disinterest. As if he were no longer relevant.

"We don’t need him," she said flatly. "The throne feeds on the strongest will. On clarity. He was always noise."

Lyra’s heart pulsed painfully.This other self—this... Third Lyra—wasn’t evil. She wasn’t cruel.She was pure function.Unburdened by memory, love, or loss. She didn’t question the throne’s power; she was the throne’s will. A version of Lyra sculpted not by fate, but by force.

And the most terrifying part?Lyra understood her.A piece of her yearned for that simplicity—no emotion, no ties. Just dominion.No pain.

But if I give in... am I still me?

She looked down at her glowing hands. The runes were no longer constellations. They were daggers. And each one pulsed with a heartbeat not her own.

Aelira staggered forward, clutching her side. "Lyra... don’t listen to her."

The Third Lyra tilted her head. "She’s not your ally. She’s your tether."

Aelira’s face paled.

"She’s what holds you back," the doppelgänger continued, her voice soft but serrated. "And the throne will never accept a queen who hesitates."

The Shadow Throne hovered inches from the ground now—a mountain of black flame and ancient bone, dripping with power so old it warped the air. Its spires curved like the horns of forgotten beasts. Voices whispered from its surface, calling out in languages that predated light.

And at its heart: a seat split in three.Not a symbol of rule—but of rupture.Of a soul divided.

The Third Lyra reached out her hand. Shadows rose toward her like a choir in reverence.

But the original Lyra stepped forward.

"No."

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried. The wind paused. The chains froze mid-air. Even Kael’s scream cut short as if the world were holding its breath.

The Third Lyra turned. "You would challenge me?"

Lyra’s shoulders squared. "I would remind you—we are one."

The doppelgänger blinked. Something flickered behind her eyes—doubt, or perhaps... memory?

"We are not the same," she whispered.

"Then prove it," Lyra said. And stepped into the throne’s circle.

The moment her foot touched the ring of fire around the Shadow Throne, the world shifted.The sky vanished.The city melted away.Aelira’s scream became silence.

Lyra blinked—and found herself standing alone in an endless void, surrounded by mirrors.Each mirror reflected a different her.

One crying.

One burning.

One with eyes as black as the void.

One that bled every time she breathed.

The Shadow Throne hovered in the center—still whole, still waiting.

And then a voice echoed from within it:

"You must kill the other to rule."

Lyra turned.

The Third Lyra stepped into the void across from her.

Only now, there was a fourth.

One with glowing white hair... and no face.