The air was thick with tension, the room barely holding together under the weight of the chaos. Splintered wood and debris littered the floor, and the muffled groans of exertion filled the space.

  Kaldor pushed himself up from the rubble, his broad form towering even as he staggered. Grabbing a broken decorative column, he swung it like a makeshift club at the tall drakonian who loomed above him.

  “You think I’ll go down that easily?” he growled, his voice a deep rumble that resonated through the room.

  The drakonian sneered, its scaled features twisting into a mocking grin. With a blur of motion, it slammed its fist into the column, shattering it into shards. The force sent Kaldor stumbling, but he caught himself and glared defiantly.

  “Kaldor, hold him off!” I shouted, barely dodging as Daryn’s heavy fist crashed down where I had stood a moment ago.

  “That’s the plan!” Kaldor called back, his voice strained as he clashed again with the drakonian.

  Sylas was darting around the edges of the room, her agility keeping her just ahead of Daryn’s relentless pursuit. “Duke, I need time to cast!” she yelled, her voice tinged with desperation.

  “Time’s not exactly on our side!” I replied, gritting my teeth as I sidestepped a wild swing from my clone.

  Daryn’s laughter boomed, a mocking sound that grated on my nerves. “Pathetic. Is this the best you can do? Your little group is falling apart.”

  I couldn’t respond, I was too focused on the clone in front of me. Its movements were sharp but erratic, almost as if it weren’t entirely in control of its body.

  My knife was gripped tightly in my hand, and I couldn’t help but smirk. “Not your body, is it? You move like a drunk.”

  The clone’s expression darkened, and its voice dripped with venom. “Amusing. But you won’t live long enough to gloat.”

  Before I could blink, the clone hurled a knife. The blade sliced past my cheek, leaving a stinging cut. Blood trickled down, and I clenched my jaw against the pain.

  Sylas wasn’t faring much better. Daryn’s brute strength and speed kept her pinned against the walls, each dodge leaving her with less room to maneuver.

  Kaldor’s fight had taken him to the second floor, where the drakonian relentlessly hammered him. Each clash sent tremors through the building, dust and splinters falling like rain.

  I turned my attention back to the clone. Its movements were aggressive but unrefined, and I saw an opportunity.

  I moved in a zigzag pattern, my steps erratic to throw off its aim. Each feint brought me closer until I lunged, driving my knife into its hand and pinning it to the wooden floor.

  Without hesitation, I rained down punches, each one fueled by desperation. “How does it feel, huh? Not so invincible now!”

  The clone’s mocking grin finally faltered, replaced by a snarl. It kicked me off with enough force to send me skidding across the floor. Slowly, it stood, pulling the knife from its hand as if the wound didn’t matter.

  “Well played,” it said, its tone dripping with condescension. “But I’m done playing.”

  Its form shimmered, and I watched in horror as its features twisted. Scales rippled across its body, claws extended, and its eyes burned with an eerie golden glow. It had transformed into a full drakonian, its towering frame radiating raw power.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath.

  The drakonian clone lunged with blinding speed, forcing me into a frantic retreat. Each swipe of its claws was a near miss, the sound of tearing air deafening.

  Sylas rejoined me, her breathing ragged. “Duke, I don’t know how much longer I can keep dodging like this.”

  “We just need to hold out a little longer,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

  The two of us regrouped in the center of the room, facing the drakonian and Daryn. Upstairs, Kaldor and the tall man crashed through the weakened floor, landing heavily amidst the wreckage.

  Kaldor was bloodied, his fur matted and his breaths labored. Yet he stood tall, his eyes blazing with determination. “Still standing,” he spat, wiping his mouth. “You’ll need to try harder.”

  The tall man laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that. Too bad it won’t matter.”

  Daryn crossed his arms, smirking. “Why do you even bother? You’re clearly outmatched.”

  “We don’t quit,” I said, stepping protectively in front of Mira and Kyla, whom I had managed to move behind us during the fight.

  “You heard that, Rantte? These brats will not stop even when they are on the verge of death.” The tall drakonian gestures toward us and looks at the cloner.

  The clone drakonian, whom I suppose to be Rantte, raised his guttural and mocking voice. “Come on, Serakk, let’s have some fun trying to be noble. But nobility won’t save you.”

  With a roar, Rantte and Daryn charged. Their combined attack sent shockwaves through the room as they struck. Sylas and I dove to one side, Kaldor to the other.

  Rantte leapt toward me, claws extended. Desperation surged as I grabbed a heavy decorative axe and swung with all my strength. The weight was too much, and the axe slipped from my grip, spinning through the air, but it was enough to stop him.

  Serakk twisted midair, dodging the projectile with infuriating ease. The axe embedded itself in the far wall, separating Kaldor and Serak, who were fighting face to face.

  “Nice try,” Serakk said, laughing.

  “Who said it was?” I muttered.

  Behind me, Sylas had been preparing her spell. She unleashed a massive wind orb, the swirling energy ripping through the ceiling and tearing through two floors above us.

  With a huge chunk of the roof destroyed, the moonlight slowly illuminate the room. Good, I can now see them properly.

  After the shot, the room fell into deep silence

  Until their waves of laughter echoed through the warehouse, a cruel symphony of mockery that cut deeper than any blade.

  “That was your big plan?” Daryn jeered, leaning casually against a broken pillar. “What are you aiming at, little elf? The bird?”

  Even Serakk, his body filled with blood and scratches, chuckled, his guttural laugh a mix of disdain and amusement. “Pathetic,” he spat, his golden eyes gleaming. “You should’ve stayed home, kid.”

  Wait,… if Serakk was here then where is Kaldor? I took my glance to my right side as I see Kaldor laying on a surface. Blood on his fur dropping down bits by bits.

  Sylas’s face turned crimson, her hands trembling as she tried to ready another spell. But before she could act, the clone blurred forward, closing the distance with terrifying speed.

  “Too slow,” he hissed, grabbing a handful of her blonde hair and yanking her to her knees. “You’re not even worth the effort.”

  “Let her go!” I roared, surging forward, but I wasn’t fast enough.

  Daryn appeared in front of me like a shadow, his grin wide and menacing. “Not so fast, kid.” With a single, brutal kick to my chest, he sent me flying to where Kyla and Mira laying.

  The impact knocked the air from my lungs, and I crashed into a pile of crates. The world spun, my vision blurring as pain lanced through my ribs.

  I struggled to rise, my body trembling with the effort. Through the haze, I saw Rantte crouched in front of Sylas, his cruel smile twisting as he leaned closer.

  “What’s the matter, elf?” he sneered, tugging on her hair. “No more tricks? No more spells? You’re nothing without your magic.”

  Sylas clenched her fists, her voice trembling. “Let me go!”

  Her defiance only made them laugh harder. Daryn leaned back, his booming laughter filling the room. “Look at you two! A couple of weaklings pretending to be heroes.”

  Despite the pain, she chuckled, “ Who said we were trying to be the heroes? We are just guests here who stumbled upon you weirdos…”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Hearing that, Rantte grips and pulls her hair tighter, and Sylas' screams grow louder. However, she doesn’t give up, trying to fight back and pinching and pulling his hand out

  “Hey Rantte, finish her already. And then Duke as well. The sooner we do it, the better. And that bear over there, he’s probably extremely hurt and would bleed to death.”

  “Come o,n Daryn, the fun just begins.” Despite the smile, Rantte pulls his fingers together, wanting to pierce through her

  Damn it,…, this is bad. I can’t let her die. I can’t let anyone die. I gotta do something, anything. I have to do something to kill more time…

  I gritted my teeth, fury and helplessness boiling inside me. I wanted to move, to fight, to stop them—but my body refused to obey.

  And then he finally came.

  A deafening crash split the air, and a loud thud could be heard all over the warehouse. Dust and debris rained down, and a figure landed in the center of the chaos, the impact shaking the entire warehouse.

  The laughter stopped instantly,y and Serakk released his arm from Sylas’s hair and threw her to the other side.

  The man stood tall, his frame exuding raw power and rage. His silver hair glinted in the dim light, and his golden eyes burned with a fury so intense it seemed to scorch the air around him.

  Vaelrik.

  In his arms was another figure—Kael. Vaelrik set him down gently, his movements controlled but radiating barely contained anger.

  They froze, their bravado faltering under the weight of Vaelrik’s presence. His gaze swept the room, lingering on Sylas and me.

  When his eyes met Serakk, they narrowed into slits. “You’re going to regret that,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

  Kael sprinted toward me, his expression one of relief and determination. “Duke! Are you okay?”

  I coughed, wincing as pain shot through my chest, but managed a weak grin. “You... took your time.”

  Kael helped me to my feet, his voice steady. “We’re here now. Thanks to Sylas’s signal.”

  I looked past him, to Vaelrik, who was already advancing toward the villains with deliberate, measured steps. His fury was palpable, a storm that promised to devour everything in its path.

  The warehouse was filled with an uneasy quiet, the kind that comes before a storm. Kael knelt beside me, pulling a scroll from his bag and quickly unfurling it.

  “This should help,” he said, his tone steady despite the tension. He activated the scroll, and a faint golden light enveloped me. My body began to feel lighter, the pain in my ribs receding. It wasn’t a complete recovery, but it was enough to get me back on my feet.

  “Thanks,” I said, testing my balance. My voice was still strained, but I managed to stand. I pointed toward Kaldor and Sylas, who lay slumped in the corner. “They need it more than I do. Get a higher-level scroll and help them.”

  Kael nodded, his eyes sharp as he moved. Meanwhile, Vaelrik stood in the center of the room, his presence like a burning beacon of fury.

  The silence was broken by his voice, low but commanding, reverberating through the space. “Daryn. Rantte. Serak.” He spat their names with venom. “You three are a disgrace to our kind. You’ve violated the sacred oaths of our ancestors, betrayed the honor of the Drakonians. For that, you will face the Council’s judgment. There will be no mercy.”

  Daryn smirked, crossing his arms casually. “Big words, Commander Vaelrik. You think the Council’s rules still matter? They’ve made us weak, soft. The new policies are a joke, pandering to the lesser races.”

  Rantte chuckled darkly. “We’re doing this for the true potential of the Drakonians. Power is what we need—power to dominate, not cower behind alliances and treaties.”

  Vaelrik’s eyes burned brighter, his grip on his spear tightening. “Power at the cost of our integrity? You speak of potential, but all I see are cowards grasping at false strength. The legacy of our ancestors wasn’t built on tyranny—it was built on unity and honor!”

  “You don’t understand,” Serak sneered. “The world is changing. Strength is survival, Vaelrik. Those who cling to old ideals will be left behind.”

  I sat there but I can still see the scaredness and hesitation in Serak’s eyes. Maybe Kaldor has worn him down pretty much. Thanks pal.

  Vaelrik took a step forward, his voice growing louder, each word cutting through their smugness like a blade. “You’ve deluded yourselves into thinking betrayal and cruelty are strength. But let me tell you what true power is—it’s protecting those who cannot protect themselves. It’s standing for justice, even when it’s difficult. And you… You’ve lost your way.”

  Daryn chuckled, but his grin faltered as he pointed toward the unconscious forms of Kyla and Mira, lying crumpled in the corner. “Tell me, commander Vaelrik. Where was your justice when these weaklings fell? You should’ve been faster, stronger. You failed them.”

  Vaelrik’s eyes darkened, his teeth gritting audibly. Without a word, he vanished—a blur of motion too fast to follow. The next moment, Rantte was sent flying across the room, crashing into a wall with a thunderous impact. The other two stared in stunned silence.

  Rantte staggered to his feet, coughing, his face contorted with rage. “You’ll pay for that!” he snarled, summoning fire magic into his claws.

  Vaelrik spun his spear with precision, engaging Rantte in a furious exchange. Sparks flew as the clone’s claws clashed against Vaelrik’s weapon. The fight was a whirlwind of movement, too fast for me to follow, but it was clear who held the upper hand. Vaelrik’s strikes were relentless, each blow pushing Rantte further back.

  With a final, decisive strike, Vaelrik slammed the butt of his spear into Rantte chest, sending him crumpling to the ground.

  As the dust settled from Rantte’s defeat, Serak stepped forward, his long, dark claws gleaming in the flickering firelight of the warehouse. His reptilian eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a sneer.

  “You may have taken down Rantte, Commander Vaelrik, but I’m not so easy to deal with,” Serak hissed. “You think you’re strong because of that shiny spear of yours? Let’s see how you fare against me.”

  Vaelrik turned to him, his expression unchanging, his grip on his spear steady. “You’ve already sealed your fate, Serak. Don’t waste my time.”

  Serak’s wings unfurled in a dramatic display, the edges of his scaled body glowing faintly with dark energy. He crouched low before launching himself at Vaelrik with a burst of speed, aiming to rake his claws across Vaelrik’s chest.

  In a single fluid motion, Vaelrik sidestepped, spinning his spear with deadly precision. His movements were so fast, so efficient, that Serak didn’t even have time to react. The blunt end of the spear smashed into Serak’s midsection with a thunderous crack, the force lifting him off his feet.

  Serak’s body hit the ground with a sickening thud, sliding several feet before coming to a halt. He groaned in pain, clutching his ribs as he struggled to rise.

  Vaelrik walked toward him with deliberate, unhurried steps. His voice was cold and unrelenting. “You thought brute strength and arrogance would make you invincible. But you lack the discipline, the heart, and the resolve to wield true power. You’ve disgraced yourself and our ancestors.”

  Serak managed to push himself onto one knee, glaring up at Vaelrik. “You… think this is over…?”

  “It already was.”

  Vaelrik raised his spear and slammed the butt of it into Serak’s shoulder, sending him sprawling back to the ground. The force of the strike was enough to leave Serak unconscious, his body limp and motionless.

  Without sparing another glance at Serak, Vaelrik turned his attention to Daryn, the only one left standing.

  “That’s two,” Vaelrik said, his voice sharp and venomous. “It’s just you now, Daryn.”

  Daryn’s smirk returned, but this time it was tinged with malice. “You think you’re something special, Commander Vaelrik? You’re nothing compared to me.” He spread his arms wide, flames igniting along his limbs like living serpents of fire. “I’ll show you what true power looks like.”

  Vaelrik rolled his shoulders and pointed his spear forward. “I don’t care if you’re a self-proclaimed god or the judge of the damned. You crossed the line when you hurt my people—my family. For that, there’s no mercy.”

  With a roar, the two charged.

  The ground cracked under Vaelrik’s sprint as he closed the distance, spear aimed for Daryn’s chest. But Daryn raised his hand, a wall of flame erupting from the ground, forcing Vaelrik to leap back. Daryn didn’t stop there—he followed up with a flurry of fireballs, each one homing in like a predator.

  Vaelrik spun, weaving through the inferno with precision, the edges of his cloak catching fire but burning out in moments. His spear whipped forward, slicing through the fireballs and scattering the magic apart.

  Daryn grunted as Vaelrik closed in again, this time slashing low. Daryn blocked it with a molten shield that formed in his palm, then retaliated with a sweeping flame kick. Vaelrik ducked under it, countering with a jab to Daryn’s ribs—his spear connected, sending sparks flying—but Daryn twisted, absorbing the blow and blasting Vaelrik back with a fiery pulse from his core.

  “You’re fast,” Daryn admitted, brushing ash from his shoulder, “but you’ll never match my fire.”

  “I don’t need to match it,” Vaelrik growled, his spear glowing faintly with a silvery aura. “I just need to break through it.”

  The warehouse shuddered again as Daryn unleashed a surge of fire from his fists, the blaze forming twin dragons that spiraled toward Vaelrik. Without hesitation, Vaelrik planted his spear into the ground and channeled mana into it—his body became a blur of motion as he shot upward, flipping over the dragons before landing behind Daryn.

  But Vaelrik wasn’t finished. He released the spear mid-swing and instead used his momentum to slam his gauntleted fist into Daryn’s gut. The impact sent the fire judge staggering, coughing as the air was knocked from his lungs.

  For a brief second, silence fell.

  Then Daryn roared in fury, flames bursting from every pore in his body. His eyes glowed like twin furnaces as he slammed both palms into the ground.

  The floor beneath them cracked and split as magma erupted in a wide arc.

  I shielded my eyes from the searing heat. The sheer scale of the magic was terrifying.

  Daryn rose slowly, now hovering above the lava, his body wreathed in spiraling flame. His breathing was heavy, but his eyes still burned with arrogance.

  “You’re all weaklings!” he bellowed, voice echoing off the scorched walls. “I am the one destined for greatness—the true Fire God! Not that brat! Not Leif!”

  He spread his arms wide as flames swirled around him, forming a vortex of intense heat. Then, with a crazed smile, he began chanting:

  “From the ashes of eternity, rise, glorious phoenix! Let your flames bring destruction and rebirth! Phoenix Wrath!”

  Above him, the swirling fire twisted into a colossal shape—wings outstretched, a beak blazing like a blade of light, eyes glowing like molten gold.

  A massive phoenix made entirely of fire let out a piercing screech, the air vibrating with power as it soared toward Vaelrik.

  The heat from it was overwhelming—I had to cover my eyes, even from where I stood. Embers rained down like meteorites, igniting the floorboards and sending sparks flying in every direction.

  But then, a voice cut through the chaos, gentle yet commanding.

  “That’s enough.”

  My heart stopped. I knew that voice. I’d heard it before.

  The room’s temperature shifted, and a massive presence filled the space. Above us, in the moonlit sky, a fiery aura coalesced into the shape of a dragon, its shimmering form illuminating the warehouse.

  Descending gracefully was Veyra, her small figure radiating power that dwarfed everyone present. Behind her, a battalion of Drakonian soldiers in pristine, gilded armor landed, their weapons drawn and their eyes fixed on the traitors.

  Daryn’s smug expression twisted into disbelief, and for the first time, he faltered.

  Veyra’s voice was calm, but her words carried the weight of an unrelenting storm. “You’ve gone too far, Daryn. This ends now.”

  The place was silent except for the crackling of Daryn’s fire orb. All eyes were on Veyra, and the tension was palpable.