Kovo scrambled up the tree, claws digging into bark, until he settled on the highest sturdy branch. The wind hissed through the leaves. From his perch he gazed down at the village: thick gray smoke coiled into the sky, carrying the acrid stench of burning huts.
Below, Tarl cleaved through goblins with single, brutal swings. Each strike split flesh and sprayed crimson across the dirt; the wet, tearing sound of steel meeting meat rang out: shlck, shlck! Bren advanced toward the village center, eyes sweeping for the enemy leader. Off to the side, Mira unleashed relentless fireballs without wasting a single spark. Every explosion shook the earth; searing gusts roared past with a deafening foooosh!
Kovo raised his bow, drew the string to his cheek, and held it steady. His fingers trembled—not from fear, but from the razor-sharp focus required. He loosed. The arrow sliced the air with a thin fweee! and buried itself in a goblin's skull just as the creature lunged at Bren. Blood jetted from the neck in a hot fountain as the body crumpled.
Bren sucked in a lungful of smoke-laced, sweat-heavy air, then glanced up. Far above, Kovo lifted his bow in salute, a silent predator acknowledging his pack. Bren answered with a curt nod and pressed on.
Inside the central hut, Rion rose slowly. For a single heartbeat the screams, explosions, and tremors outside fell silent in his ears. All he heard was the thunder of his own pulse.
"We didn't make it in time…" he whispered, clenching his fist until veins bulged. He stepped outside. Heat slapped his face; the stench of charred wood and scorched flesh flooded his lungs.
As he scanned the chaos, a blood-drenched swordsman charged straight at him—Bren.
Rion's hands began to tremble. Skin flushed crimson, no longer human. Nails elongated into black talons with sickening crack-crack-crack sounds as bones reshaped and widened. Muscles swelled visibly, rippling beneath the transforming flesh. In an instant, his right arm became a dragon's claw.
He raised the massive claw, flexing fingers that ended in curved obsidian blades. Joints ground with a low grrrr! Then he clenched it into a fist and punched the air. A visible pressure wave rippled outward.
Bren's mind flashed like lightning:
What the hell… why does he have a dragon's claw?!
He slashed sideways in alarm. The longsword flashed toward Rion's neck with a cold, whistling bite.
Rion slid his left foot back, torso twisting just enough for the blade to miss by a finger's breadth. The wind of the strike kissed his throat: shhhhing!
Rion's left claw snapped into a fist. Teeth bared, eyes glowing crimson, he drove a crushing blow into Bren's ribs. The impact landed with a deep, bone-rattling THUMP!
Bren whipped his sword across, parrying with the flat of the blade. Sparks exploded where claw met steel.
Rion was unnaturally calm—deathly calm.
Bren's breath came ragged; nerves frayed.
Rion raised his right claw high, shadow stretching across the ground like a monster's silhouette. He brought it down toward Bren's skull.
Bren ducked low and swept his sword upward in a vicious arc, aiming to sever the arm instead of block.
Rion's eyes flicked downward. Instead of defending, he anticipated the counter and sprang backward. His feet carved twin furrows in the dirt as the force of landing sent up a cloud of dust.
Bren dropped into a crouch and exploded forward. His boots hammered the ground: thud-thud! Soil sprayed behind him.
Rion landed lightly, sliding four paces back, legs absorbing the shock. His eyes flared again—black-red embers pulsing beneath the surface. Veins throbbed across his neck and face.
Bren charged without pause, blade trembling—not from fear, but from battle-rage. The rest of the world vanished. He heard only Rion's breathing, the grinding of claws, and the distant BOOM! of Mira's magic.
Rion's claw tore through the air toward Bren's shoulder.
SHLAK!
Bren dropped beneath the strike; the wind of it ruffled his hair. He pivoted on his heel, sliding sideways into a low, angled stance.
Bren roared, "What the hell are you?!"
Rion offered no answer. His eyes blazed brighter. Dragon rage boiled inside him. Each breath left his mouth as scalding vapor. The air itself seemed to chill—or perhaps it was only Bren's blood turning to ice.
Bren stepped back slowly, shifting into a two-handed guard, sword angled upward.
Rion lunged.
SHHHHK!
His claw smashed into the earth where Bren had stood, blasting dirt in every direction and leaving a crater. Bren had already rolled aside, spun mid-air, and brought his sword down across Rion's shoulder. The blade bit—yet met not flesh but hardened dragon-scale. It carved only a shallow line. A single drop of blood hit the ground.
Rion's savagery doubled. He raised the claw again, aiming to crush Bren's skull.
This time Bren refused to yield. He surged forward and drove a low, vicious thrust at Rion's right knee.
CLANG!
Steel struck something harder than steel. The impact jolted Bren's arms, but it forced Rion backward. Dust billowed anew.
Bren steadied his breathing and flashed a feral grin.
"Not ready for this, are you?"
Rion slowly lifted his head. Crimson eyes burned with awakening fury.
"You…" His voice was low, resonant, almost inhuman. "…are not my equal."
He inhaled deeply—and exhaled a short, searing jet of flame.
Bren twisted desperately to evade, stumbled, and staggered back several steps. In that split second, Rion launched himself skyward and dove like a predator.
Their collision was cataclysmic.
GRAAAR! — HAAA!
Sword met claw in a shower of sparks.
For one frozen moment, the burning village, the dying goblins, the roaring flames—all of it faded into the background. At the heart of the inferno, two forces—human and something ancient and monstrous—clashed without mercy.
A narrow forest path, not far from the village, carried eight wary goblins. Their breaths were heavy, steps cautious, as though danger lurked behind every tree. At their center walked Noa—barely five years old—his footfalls softer yet far more certain than the others.
A deafening explosion rocked the air.
BOOOOM!
Every goblin froze. Some dropped to their knees, staring wide-eyed toward the sound. The stench of smoke rolled over them on the wind.
Noa lifted his face, peering through the darkening haze. A faint metallic scent—blood—tickled his senses.
"What kind of explosions are those?" he asked quietly, tension threading his young voice.
He paused, listening. The blasts were irregular but growing closer. A cold knot formed in his stomach.
"They're coming from the village," he said, voice dropping to a grave whisper. "We're under attack."
The goblins exchanged panicked glances.
Noa's command cracked like a whip:
"Kargal!"
Bushes rustled. A small skeletal figure emerged silently and bowed.
"Yes, Master?"
The goblins snarled, baring teeth and raising spears. Kargal ignored them completely, eyes fixed only on Noa.
Noa turned to his escort, tone absolute:
"He is mine."
The goblins fell silent, uncertainty replacing hostility.
Noa faced Kargal again.
"What is happening?"
Kargal gazed at the blackened sky.
"Heavy smoke. Signs of battle magic. There is fighting ahead, Master—large-scale."
Noa drew a slow, deep breath. His tiny chest rose and fell. Something dark stirred within him.
"We return to the village. Now," he ordered, voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Full speed. Everyone."
The goblins roared in ragged unison and fell into frantic formation.
At that instant, power ignited inside Noa. Mana surged through his veins; his eyes flashed with inner light, breath deepening. His unique sensory ability awakened.
The world expanded.
Everything within a thirty-meter radius became crystal clear: the tremor of a mouse behind a rock, the heartbeat of each goblin, the rustle of leaves, the distant clash of steel—all mapped perfectly inside his mind.
Noa broke into a run. Wind whipped his face; hair streamed behind him.
His heart hammered with a single thought:
I have to reach the village. Now.
With every step, the sounds of war grew louder—screams, explosions, the roar of fire, and beneath it all, the unmistakable song of two titans locked in mortal combat.