As Nickolas approached the outskirts of the city, an overwhelming dread gripped his heart. The once vibrant city of Thesian, known for its melting pot of culture and lively streets, now stood as a haunting shadow of its former self. A sense of despair wrapped around him like a thick fog, as he took in the harrowing spectacle before his eyes.
Buildings that had once welcomed weary travelers and were now reduced to smoldering ruins, their charred remains standing like weary sentinels against the backdrop of an apocalyptic nightmare. Flames licked hungrily at the remnants of civilization, casting ghostly shadows that danced wildly on the ground. Thick, acrid smoke billowed upward, creating a shroud that obscured the sun and painted the sky in ominous shades of orange and gray.
The air was suffocating, heavy with the scent of burning wood, despair, and flesh. The crackling of fire seemed to harmonize unsettlingly with distant screams, sounds of anguish that pierced through the ominous silence. Nickolas’s heart raced as he saw figures suspended in the air, weightless and disorientated, as if they were caught in the grip of some invisible force. They floated toward a colossal rift that had torn open the very fabric of the sky, a swirling vortex that shimmered ominously like a beckoning abyss.
But it was the dragon that truly captured Nicholas' attention. It swooped gracefully through the maelstrom of chaos. It reveled in the pandemonium, weaving effortlessly among the disorganized crowd. The beast ensnared unfortunate souls as they screamed in terror. If it wasn’t devouring them, it tossed them casually into the gaping maw of the rift as if they were nothing more than mere playthings.
As Nickolas hovered mid-air, his keen eyes scanning the chaotic landscape in front of him, a familiar figure suddenly caught his attention. It was Bucrok. He drifted through the air, filled with a chilling intent, his body trembling with unsettling energy. His gaze was locked onto the enormous rift. Nickolas couldn't comprehend why Bucrok seemed so engrossed by the ominous tear above when there was a threatening dragon looming directly in front of him, its presence powerful and intimidating.
The dragon came over to Bucrok and hovered effortlessly in the air with a satisfied smirk that danced across its lips. Nickolas continued his advance, but he felt the weight of fatigue pulling him down. His mana reserves were dwindling, forcing him to glide at a sluggish pace. He could harness the staff's energy solely for crafting spells, but it couldn’t sustain him physically. Each spell Nickolas conjured demanded he invest a portion of his own mana to blend with the staff's power. The immense mana he had to expend just to survive the dragon's devastating attack nearly left him completely drained.
As Nickolas drew closer, a palpable surge of mana surged in the atmosphere. The dragon's sharp instincts kicked in; it pivoted its massive head, its gaze narrowing on those who dared to challenge its sovereign presence. Directly behind it, an older man clad in weathered grey and yellow armor that could be seen through the grey sky. His steely demeanor contrasted sharply with the palpable panic rippling through the ranks of soldiers and civilians clad in blue and gold cloaks around him.
With a voice that resonated like thunder, the man rallied his troops, "We have a sacred duty to our country and our lord. Mages, unleash everything you have on that overgrown lizard!" His words ignited a fire in the hearts of those around him, and the wave of magic began to gather faster in response.
However, the dragon’s response was one of blatant irritation—a growl, low and rumbling, emanated from deep within its throat, sending shivers down Nickolas’s spine. The cloaked figures burst into action, their movements pulsating with vibrant colors as they summoned arcane energies that crackled and sparked menacingly in the air. The dragon watched them with an air of apathy, as if dismissing them as mere insects at its feet.
"Fire!" the captain roared, voice rising above the clamor of chanting, as he directed his soldiers like a conductor leading an orchestra into a climactic battle. In tandem, the mages behind him unleashed a blinding torrent of magical projectiles: beams of energy and swirling orbs hurled forth like a tsunami. The air was thick with tension, a maelstrom of colors illuminating the dark sky, each pulse a declaration of defiance against a creature that seemed to defy the very laws of nature.
He stood as a silent observer, searching for a chink in the dragon’s impenetrable armor, hoping to reveal a hidden vulnerability. Perhaps this overwhelming barrage was their one chance to break through the creature's defenses. An array of magical strikes rained down upon the beast, each attack relentless and precise—blinding bursts of energy rained like shooting stars, pummeling into the dragon's scales without mercy. To the uninformed onlookers, the spectacle was nothing short of mesmerizing; the dazzling display of power filled the hearts of even the most steadfast warriors with awe. But for Nickolas, what began as wonder quickly twisted into a spiraling confusion, his eyes widening in horror as a more sinister truth unfolded before him.
At first glance, the magical onslaught appeared devastating, each potent blast seemingly slamming into the dragon with unyielding strength. Yet, as Nickolas continued to observe, an unfathomable realization dawned on him, chilling him to the core. The creature was not floundering beneath the barrage; instead, it acted as a colossal vortex, methodically siphoning the torrents of magic into itself with an insatiable appetite. Each fiery blast and crackling bolt of energy vanished into the dragon’s depths as if the creature were not just withstanding the attack but feasting off it, drawing strength from the very essence of the mages united against it. The horrifying truth settled into the marrow of Nickolas’s bones with icy clarity: this dragon was feeding on their mana, its scales—once translucent and barely tinted —now deepening into a foreboding black, an ominous harbinger of growing power. With every desperate strike launched at it, the creature grew mightier and more invincible, its form swelling with the energy it consumed. A being composed of pure mana—an unholy fusion of magic and malice.
Yet, amid the despair that threatened to consume him, a flicker of hope ignited within Nickolas’s heart. He saw the path forward now laid out before him, the intricate puzzle that was waiting to be deciphered. Now with this new phone information and the moment of clarity, he understood how to defeat this monstrous foe. It was a revelation that surged through him, intertwining with the very magic that danced around—if they could not overpower it with brute force, perhaps they could turn its insatiable hunger against it, weaving their magic like a net around this beast of boundless gluttony.
Just then, as he wrestled with his thoughts, a birdfolk demi-human swooped toward him, bow in hand. Initially startled, Nickolas calmed as he noted the creature's gentle approach. “I mean no harm. You're Nickolas Granfry, right?” the demi-human called out, halting in mid-air.
“That would be correct,” Nickolas replied, rifling through his memory to place this newcomer. “You were the one who assisted Bucrok, correct?” A spark of recognition briefly illuminated the demi-human's face, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment.
“I am Jaquawe Bloom. It’s a relief to see you safe and sound. Please tell me you have a plan to end this madness.”
Nickolas's demeanor faded as he pondered their predicament. “I do, but I need a bit of time to gather more mana.” Jaquawe’s face lit up with excitement at this news, and he eagerly began digging through his backpack. However, his enthusiasm quickly turned to despair as he opened it; shattered glasses and a murky gray liquid pooled at the bag's bottom.
“These were potions and vials, all damaged by the dragon. I didn’t realize it until just now,” Jaquawe lamented, his tone heavy with regret. Nickolas glanced at the dismal liquid with sheer revulsion. Reluctantly, he extended his hand and nodded to Jaquawe.
“Thanks. This could really shift the balance of battle.” Jaquawe hesitated to hand over the bag, uncertain about Nickolas’s intentions, which he feared might not bode well. Taking the bag, Nickolas held it aloft and took a cautious sniff, almost gagging at the odor. He pointed to the arrows strapped to Jaquawe’s back, and understanding dawned on him. Jaquawe reached for one arrow, then another, quickly discovering a handful was broken.
“More unfortunate news, it seems,” Jaquawe sighed, disappointment crossing his features. Nickolas, unfazed by the setback, plucked an arrow from Jaquawe’s grip. He jabbed the bottom of the bag, drinking from it despite the awful taste, gagging a couple of times before emptying the contents. Blood trickled from his nose as his eyes turned bloodshot. Concerned, Jaquawe placed a hand on Nickolas's back. “Are you okay, Nickolas? What’s wrong?”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“I’m fine,” Nickolas insisted, though it was a blatant lie. His head spun, his blood felt like fire coursing through his veins, and mana surged uncontrollably. “It was necessary.”
“What’s happening to you?” Jaquawe questioned, worry etched on his face.
“Mana poisoning. Don’t dwell on that. I need you to help Bucrok keep that dragon occupied for a moment. I’ll assist as soon as I can. Think you can manage that?” Jaquawe looked at the dragon still being bombarded with spells, a nagging concern in his mind, but he felt it was beyond his grasp. Turning back to Nickolas, he nodded. A gentle smile crossed Nickolas's face, which was quickly ruined by a cough that brought up blood. Jaquawe instinctively reached out to help, only for Nickolas to wave him off.
“GO!” Nickolas urged, still coughing up blood. Jaquawe hesitated but ultimately took off flying. Nickolas redirected his focus to the mages, who were tirelessly casting spells.
Nickolas looked up and saw more and more people being sucked into the rift.
“I need to hurry,” he whispered to himself.
“Silivialla,” Nickolas chanted. As he cast the spell, his body shimmered and became invisible.
Thick, swirling tendrils of smoke began to envelop the mighty dragon as the spells continued to smash against one another. With a powerful, fluid motion, the dragon swept its enormous wings through the haze, dispersing the smoke as easily as one would brush away a pesky fly. At that moment, the beast seemed to swell, increasing in size—its massive frame towering an extra five to ten feet, casting an even more imposing shadow over the gathered mages. The dragon’s teeth, previously sharp and imposing, now appeared grotesquely jagged, glinting like shards of obsidian against the dim light. It now had a fearsome grin that could send chills down even the bravest of spines.
The very air crackled with an energy that was suffocating, a tangible powerful aura of absorbed mana radiating off the dragon’s scales. The mages, once fierce and resolute, exchanged glances filled with dread, their eyes wide and filled with a sudden realization of their own mortality. Even The captain, usually exuding an air of confidence and power, found himself enveloped by a shroud of despair, pressing down on him like a burdensome mantle. As anxiety consumed him, beads of sweat formed, causing his armor to cling tightly and uncomfortably against his skin.
“Is that everything you’ve got?” the dragon taunted, its voice a deep rumble filled with mocking amusement. Leaning its colossal head closer, it fixed its fierce, penetrating gaze on the group below, eyes burning with a mixture of curiosity and condescension. “Don’t you want to show this overgrown lizard something? Perhaps something interesting, something truly worthy of my time?”
The dragon’s massive jaws parted slightly, allowing the words to tumble forth, each syllable heavy with laughter and disdain, as if it was savoring the fear it instilled. A ripple of uncertainty coursed through the ranks of the mages and soldiers.
“ARRRGGGHHHH!” A piercing scream shattered the silence, startling even the dragon. In the sky behind it stood a forgotten orc, his presence having slipped Nickolas's mind until that very moment. Yet, as he observed Bucrok ascending higher into the sky, an unsettling feeling crept in. Nickolas was accustomed to the orc's fierce battles, often fueled by a primal rage. But now, the sheer intensity of Bucrok’s hatred and bloodlust felt overwhelming. The thought gnawed at Nickolas, nearly choking him with dread. “No. Nita… nieesha. Could the dragon…” He hesitated, unwilling to let the terrible idea fully form in his mind.
“YOURNTIHNAC! YOU BASTARD!” Bucrok growled, his grey skin sparking with crimson energy. Runic markings adorned his body, and a faint red aura enveloped him. The dragon turned its head, an expression of amusement dancing across its features, as it swished its tail with a hint of mockery.
“You miss your family, huh? Don’t fret; I’m equally clueless about their fate,” Yourntihnac taunted cruelly, extending a claw toward Bucrok, whose anger flared even more in reaction. “Let me lend you my strength,” whispered a familiar voice in Bucrok’s mind. Though his thoughts were chaotic, a sudden clarity washed over him.
He could hear a gentle voice within him utter a powerful word: “Tarnokis.” As this enigmatic energy enveloped him, he embraced it wholeheartedly, greedily absorbing the force that flooded his body. This wasn’t the first encounter with this sensation, and he instantly recognized the voice. Bucrok felt a surge of strength unlike any he had experienced before. Just as the dragon’s claw was about to pierce his chest, he swung his battle hammer with swiftness. The dragon initially brushed off the attack, but then was startled as his hand was deflected. Yourntihnac found himself dumbfounded; he had never been pushed aside by an attack before, grappling with the shock of such an audacious counter.
“Irritating pest!” it hissed in outrage, the words tinged with anger as it prepared for retaliation. This time, however, Bucrok had learned from their previous encounter; just moments before the dragon’s claw would have smacked him down again, he used his battle hammer to pivot over its massive appendage, flipping effortlessly through the air. Using the dragon's arm as a platform, Bucrok unleashed a devastating counterattack, igniting the spark of hope in the hearts of those who witnessed this bizarre event.
The fierce gaze of the dragon bore down on Bucrok, who was filled with an unmistakable, raging fury that sent shivers down the spine of every onlooker. The beast's glittering scales shimmered ominously in the dim light, and as it prepared to unleash its devastating power, a low, rumbling growl emanated from deep within its chest. With a swift, menacing tilt of its enormous head, the dragon opened its mouth wide, brilliant purple lights swirling within. The intensity of that ethereal glow ramped up, illuminating the darkening skies. Suddenly, it thrust its head skyward and released a searing beam of energy that split the air with a blinding flash. It exploded against the heavens with a cataclysmic force, sending shockwaves rippling through the air. Those close to the rift were tossed in, their presence disappearing without a trace. Those who were further away managed to be blasted further back.
The deafening roar that followed shook the very air around Bucrok, reverberating with a mixture of anguish and outrage that resonated in his bones. The mighty dragon shook its massive head violently, as though grappling with an unseen agony. Bucrok managed to regain his balance in midair, his keen eyes quickly assessing the scene as a whole. He caught sight of a number of arrows embedded deeply into the dragon’s eye. Searching for the source of the sudden assault, Bucrok's gaze landed on Jaquawe, who stood resolutely, bow drawn tight.
Realizing that the dragon was momentarily distracted, Bucrok seized the opportunity. He propelled himself upwards through the, deftly using the floating bodies—both lifeless and struggling—for leverage. He somersaulted mid-air, repositioning himself for a downward strike aimed straight at the dragon’s vulnerable underbelly. The impact was solid, causing the mighty creature to double over and emit a guttural growl that echoed like thunder. It was a sound laced with both fury and pain.
With astonishing might and a primal roar of his own, Bucrok raised his formidable hammer high, delivering a powerful upward strike that caught the dragon off guard. Its colossal head was sent reeling backward. The creature wailed in sheer disbelief, taken aback by this audacious display of defiance. It was a sensation that had never crossed its ancient, mind—this mere orc daring to challenge its dominance. The dragon glared down at Bucrok and hissed in a voice that dripped with venom, “What the hell kind of creature are you?”
“What am I?” Bucrok snarled back, his teeth clenched so tightly that the sound echoed like cracking stone against stone. The rage in his voice swelled as he declared,
“ I AM A FATHER!” With that fervent proclamation, he hurled his hammer straight at the dragon’s face, a fierce projectile fueled by the weight of his emotional resolve. The beast recoiled, its massive frame swaying as Bucrok launched himself after the hammer, grasping it mid-air, spinning like a whirlwind as he propelled it once more towards the dragon's wing.
As the hammer connected, the dragon began to plummet, its fury turning into alarm. It clawed at the air and snatched Bucrok in its gargantuan grasp. The orc strained against the weight of the monster's grip, and his primal rage intensified. With all strength summoned, he raised both his arms and smashed his fists down onto the dragon's claw, a fierce strike that freed him from captivity. In one fluid motion, he propelled himself towards the dragon's face once more, snatching his hammer as it fell alongside him, instinctively preparing for the next confrontation.
But the dragon was not finished. It snapped its fearsome maw at Bucrok, frothing at the mouth with rage and desperation. The orc acted swiftly, kicking the dragon's chin upward with a surge of raw power before launching his hammer again, aiming directly for the dragon’s neck. The impact landed solidly, causing the creature's face.
“I AM A HUSBAND!” Bucrok screamed as the dragon choked being caught off guard by Bucrok's relentless assault. Defiance still glinted fiercely in its eyes despite the pain, mixed now with a deep-seated rage that thundered through its mighty form. In a swift motion, it spun its huge body around, aiming to smack Bucrok away with its powerful tail. Sensing the impending danger, Bucrok’s battle instincts flared to life. He spread his arms wide, reducing his falling speed, trying to gain some much-needed distance before the strike could send him sprawling to the ground. Using his hammer to pivot over the attack, he vaulted away with surprising agility.
The dragon, momentarily believing it had succeeded in dispelling the small threat, attempted to level itself into a flying pose. But Bucrok had other plans. With relentless tenacity, he hurled his hammer once again, this time targeting the dragon’s other wing, causing the beast to stagger once more. It crashed to the ground with an earth-shaking force. Bucrok cried out as he fell after the dragon, “...AND I AM ANGRY!” His words echoed like a war cry—half lament, half a promising threat. He descended upon the dragon, delivering a mighty blow to its snout that reverberated through the city.
