[Oliver’s POV]

  “He’s a King,” Six explained, though his voice was meant for Oliver alone.

  But the words carried like a gunshot. The nearby soldiers heard them, and their faces drained of color.

  “King? Impossible!” one of Adrian’s men stammered, his voice cracking with disbelief.

  “There’s only… only ever been one classified as King-level. It’s not possible—” His words faltered, dying in his throat as his eyes fell on the flickering display of his Gauntlet.

  The silence that followed was suffocating. The soldiers’ hands shook against their weapons, their legs trembling beneath them. Fear spread through the group like a wave.

  It was not without reason.

  King-class enemies were not beasts. They were calamities. They were on the same level as Titans. To kill one required the power of many Unique Rangers.

  Himself, with the Green Crystal. Lucius, with the Silver. Stewart, the White. And John, the Golden. They were the only ones in the Empire that might have the power to face one of those beasts alone and live to tell the tale.

  But here, now, Oliver’s Green Crystal sat uselessly in his Gauntlet. Without it, he was only flesh and bone wrapped in skill and flame. Against a King, that wasn’t enough.

  He clenched his fists tighter, golden sparks licking across his knuckles as if in defiance, but his mind was already calculating, already on the next move.

  Across the battlefield, Adrian’s eyes flicked toward him, pride momentarily dimmed by the reality they faced. Uklush’s mouth curled in a sneer, but even he did not move to attack. Their gazes met, three predators who in any other circumstance would be tearing each other apart.

  But this was not any other circumstance.

  Alone, each of them would be annihilated. Together… perhaps, perhaps, there might be a chance.

  [Two have already eliminated their Jailers.]

  [Only two remain.]

  The words reverberated in their skulls. The tone mocking, as if this were nothing but spectacle.

  Oliver’s thoughts flickered. How many soldiers did the others bring to kill their Jailers so quickly? he wondered. Surely they brought more the just Crystals.

  His speculation shattered as the dragon’s pressure surged like a tidal wave through his mind.

  “How dare you!”

  The words rang like thunder, not spoken but implanted directly into their skulls. The dragon’s molten eyes blazed with fury. “How dare you fight for freedom, Chaotic One! My master bound you for a reason, and I will ensure you remain chained, even with the death of my brothers and sisters!”

  Each word dripped with venom, yet each syllable was delivered with an almost poetic cadence. Energy pulsed from its massive body with every phrase, a suffocating weight that pressed against Oliver’s chest, threatening to crush the air from his lungs.

  The dragon’s eyes narrowed. “Such an attack… then you truly are servants of the Chaotic One.”

  It stared down at them, judgment and hatred burning.

  But before the weight of those words could settle, Uklush broke the silence.

  Uklush tightened his grip on his axe, swallowed hard, and then roared. With a stomp that cracked the dune beneath him, he launched himself skyward.

  The Ork’s body soared tens of meters into the air, his silhouette framed against the blinding sun. With a guttural cry, he hurled his axe with all the force of his monstrous arms, the weapon spinning toward the dragon’s gleaming body.

  The attempt was futile.

  The dragon’s tail lashed once, a blur of silver faster than the eye could follow. Like a whip, it struck the axe mid-flight, smashing it down into the desert below. In the same motion, the tail swept back and slammed into Uklush’s chest.

  Gasps echoed across the battlefield. Soldiers, human and Ork alike, flinched, bracing for the inevitable. They waited the sight of Uklush’s body hurled like a ragdoll into the ground.

  But the impact never came.

  With a roar of defiance, Uklush’s hands clamped down on the dragon’s scales. His fingers dug between the metallic plates, hooking into the gaps. The Ork warlord clung to the beast’s tail, his body whipped violently from side to side as the dragon thrashed.

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  Oliver recognized the chance Uklush had created. We can’t fight it in the air. Not like this. We need to force it down.

  “Aim for the wings!” Oliver roared, his voice cutting through the chaos as he sprinted across the dune. His eyes flicked to Adrian. “You going to just stand there and watch?”

  “Go to hell,” Adrian spat back, his pride refusing to let him appear hesitant. He followed, his fists already wrapped in the dense mineral plating of his boon.

  [Prometheus]

  The word seared across Oliver’s mind as his Energy ignited. What had once been faint golden embers now roared outward in blazing torrents. His veins burned with molten power.

  He focused everything into his legs. The sand beneath him cracked as he kicked off with explosive force. Unlike Uklush’s soaring arc, Oliver launched himself like a bullet, a straight line of fire and fury aimed directly at the dragon’s heart.

  “Don’t stop firing! The wings! Keep it grounded!” Six’s voice carried from below, frantic yet commanding.

  Oliver tucked his arms across his face and slammed into the dragon’s stomach.

  The impact was like colliding with a wall of living steel. The scales did not yield; they screamed against his body, the shock rattling through his bones until he felt them splinter, tiny fractures blooming beneath his skin. Pain flared white-hot, but he locked it away.

  He would not fall.

  Clenching his jaw, he dug in with his fingertips, hooking them into the gaps between the dragon’s scales. His body burned, his muscles screamed, but he hung on.

  Then Oliver drew one hand back, wrapped it in a sheath of condensed Energy, and drove his fist into the beast’s abdomen.

  The strike detonated like an explosion. A deep vibration rippled outward, shuddering through the dragon’s massive frame. Its roar split the skies, a sound that made the dunes tremble and the soldiers below clutch their ears in agony.

  The dragon thrashed. Its wings beat harder, its body rising and plunging in violent movements as it tried to get rid of the parasites clinging to it. Oliver’s grip wavered, but he held, his fingers bleeding as the scales tore his skin.

  Wind screamed past him, and then; something else.

  Oliver turned his head just in time to see jagged stone pillars erupting from the dunes below. Adrian stood with his arms raised, his hands clenched into fists, his face twisted in exertion.

  The ground obeyed him.

  Pillars of earth and stone launched skyward like lances, their tips sharpened to deadly points. They struck at the dragon’s wings, slamming against the silver membranes. Each impact forced the beast to falter mid-flight, its wings spasming as it fought to stay aloft.

  The Jailer twisted and rolled through the air with terrifying grace. Its colossal body moving like liquid steel, evading every strike by the width of a breath. Its patience, however, had reached its limit.

  With a roar that split the dunes, it opened its vast maw.

  Silver fire erupted outward in every direction. The flames poured not only upon the humans and Orks below but even across its own body.

  Oliver clung to the scales, hammering fist after fist into the armored flesh. Each blow sent vibrations rippling through the dragon’s body, his knuckles cracking, his arms screaming with strain. He struck again and again, desperate to inflict as much damage as possible before the fires consumed him.

  The heat surged closer. His skin blistered, his vision blurred. At the last moment; as the silver inferno began to approach him, he let go.

  He plummeted.

  The wind howled in his ears as he fell, and then the sand rose up to meet him, swallowing his impact in a violent spray. He rolled, coughing, his body screaming in protest. When his vision cleared, he raised his head and saw the damage they inflicted. There was ragged tears in the dragon’s wings, punctures where stone and fist had struck. Not enough to cripple it, but enough to slow it down.

  Yet there was still one clinging to the beast.

  Uklush still stood, defiant, on the dragon’s back. The Ork commander drove his fists down again and again, each strike cracking against silver scales. Each dodge a narrow escape from the dragon’s flames as it turned its own fire upon itself to burn him off.

  Oliver’s eyes widened. He doesn’t see it.

  The dragon’s tail coiled like a serpent, sliding silently around, weaving into position. Oliver’s instincts screamed, his throat tightened with the urge to shout in Orkish, but he couldn’t. His identity would be exposed.

  So he did the only thing he could.

  “Behind you!” he roared in English.

  But the warning was useless.

  The tail snapped upward with viper speed, coils wrapping around Uklush’s legs. The Ork snarled, swinging his fists, but the grip was too strong. He was yanked from the dragon’s back and lifted high into the air, dangling helplessly.

  Even as commander of the Vanguard, even with his monstrous strength, Uklush was nothing compared to the raw might of a King-class monster. Without his axe, without footing, he was just another prey.

  Oliver’s gaze darted to the sand. The axe, half-buried, glinting in the firelight. He sprinted, snatching up the massive weapon, muscles straining as he hefted its weight. His mind raced. If I can get it to him—

  But when he looked back, it was already too late.

  The dragon’s head had turned, its eyes locked on the helpless Ork. Its maw opened. In a single, merciless bite, it clamped down.

  The sound was like steel snapping.

  Uklush’s body split in two, his torso vanishing into the beast’s jaws while his legs were hurled aside. They tumbled from the sky, crashing into the sand below with a wet thud, spraying blood across the dunes.

  Oliver tightened his grip on the axe, his jaw set.

  From three combatants, they were now two.

  And the King was only just beginning.