The monsters growled, leaping forward one after another. Bullets rained across the perimeter, muzzle flashes cutting through the darkness in rhythmic bursts. Thunderous booms echoed in the stormy night, each flare of gunfire capturing grotesque silhouettes of inhuman forms as they barreled over cratered, rain-slicked ground.

  Jonathan surged into the fray, attacking the drakonians head-on. He wove between their sweeping claws and erupting fireballs, darting from one enemy to the next with balletic precision. His cloak snapped like a banner behind him, flaring with each evasive leap. Embers danced across his path when flame licked too close, and the air thickened with the bitter sting of sulfur and scorched metal. Debris—splintered concrete, rusted girders, and shattered glass—lay strewn across the battlefield, but Jonathan moved like water over rocks, using each obstacle as a springboard for further devastation.

  Vince peeled off to the flank, laying out a deadly lattice of razor-thin wire, invisible until it sliced clean through muscle and sinew. The wires glinted only briefly in the dim light, each strand strung between ruins with surgical precision. Drakonians who lunged too far were caught mid-motion, had their legs severed in one smooth flick of metal. Vince’s eyes remained cool and sharp, flicking between points of tension as he anchored line after line to bent railings and twisted steel beams. Rain soaked his suit, and still he moved with eerie calm, steps calculated and ears alert to any unnatural rhythm in the storm.

  Michael stood apart, a quiet sentinel amidst the pandemonium. From his vantage at the rear, he orchestrated squads like a composer commanding instruments in a symphony of destruction. He raised a hand, signaling formations and flanking maneuvers. A communications device buzzed beside him, relaying frantic calls and urgent data, but his demeanor remained unchanged. Raindrops streaked down his face, their path illuminated in the intermittent bursts of gunfire and lightning. He gave a simple nod as orders rippled outward with immediate effect.

  At his command, one squad surged toward a crumbling structure. Moments later, the building erupted in a cascade of dust and flame. The detonation sealed a key side route, corralling the drakonians into a single narrow kill zone. The creatures howled as the trap closed—fire and debris funneling them into a corridor lined with soldiers. There, bullets and incendiaries poured like rain, ripping through scale and sinew with surgical finality.

  Shrieks rose from the bottle-necked horde. Some monsters tried to scale the rubble, only to be caught in Vince’s gleaming wires or dropped by Michael’s rooftop sharpshooters. Shell casings rained onto the pavement, chittering like metallic hail. Any drakonian that clawed its way to high ground was met by Jonathan’s blade—a flash of black steel that cleaved through hide and bone, each strike trailing arcs of ghostly light.

  Smoke and the stench of burning meat filled the air, mingling with the chemical tang of powder and ash. Roars twisted into gurgles. Nearby, a half-collapsed building groaned and gave way, caving in under the weight of fleeing drakonians. Dust plumed into the air, the wreckage becoming another barrier behind the trapped beasts. Their exit blocked, the creatures writhed within the funnel—a cage of fire and death.

  At the outer line, Vince secured one final strand of wire, anchoring it to a fractured streetlamp. The blood-slick pavement steamed under the ichor of fallen beasts. He turned to Michael, who met his gaze with a nod, their silent exchange reinforcing a bond honed by countless operations. Each movement reflected absolute synchronicity.

  Above, Jonathan vaulted onto a crumbling ledge, scanning the battleground with hawklike intensity. He could see the dwindling horde below, sparks and firelight casting their frantic movements in surreal hues. With one breath, he launched himself downward into the melee. The air around him screamed as he descended like judgment itself. Blades sang through the rain, carving arcs of oblivion. Every swing tore through scales, his landing punctuated by a thunderous shockwave of impact.

  Despite the storm’s fury and the night’s chaos, the tide of battle turned. The funnel choked the drakonians with their own numbers, their momentum stilled by bullets and steel. Where once a legion surged, only fractured clusters now remained—scattered survivors scraping for purchase, their roars dulled by fear.

  A final bellow reverberated through the corridor of debris—a dying creature’s protest—swiftly silenced by a hail of bullets. Then the gunfire trickled to a halt, muzzle flashes fading like exhausted stars. Smoke curled along the edges of burning wreckage, and stillness settled over the war-torn street. Panting soldiers and battered vehicles marked the aftermath. Yet the methodical precision in funneling the drakonians ensured minimal friendly casualties, testifying to Michael’s planning and Jonathan’s and Vince’s lethal efficiency.

  In the hush, Michael moved to the front lines, stepping gingerly over fallen drakonians, scanning for any sign of movement. Amid the swirling embers and drifting ash, he motioned for the men to form a defensive perimeter. The hiss of dying flames crackled across what once might have been a courtyard—now a battlefield littered with twisted rubble and scorched ground. Every footstep felt heavier than the last, the stench of charred flesh and ozone clinging to the rain-soaked air.

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  He surged forward, scaling the wall of a nearby building. He leaped from rooftop to rooftop until he got closer to the ship. Each jump left behind a cascade of broken tiles clattering down, and the sheets of rain stung his exposed cheeks like needles. From his vantage high above, Michael surveyed the scene below: squads of soldiers in slick black armor, hurrying over flooded pathways, while the ship loomed ominously at the heart of the estate’s outer perimeter. Lanterns and floodlights flickered around it, reflecting on the flooded ground like scattered stars.

  Suddenly, from the distance, a loud roar echoed across the area. A beast much larger than the others emerged, crawling out of a nearby subway station, knocking down buildings in its wake. Michael froze mid-jump, boots planted on a jutting section of rooftop. The thunder of collapsing concrete rattled the foundations of the structure he stood upon. Through the driving rain, he could make out the monstrous drakonian’s silhouette, dwarfing the lesser creatures that had preceded it.

  The drakonian was massive, its body cloaked in shifting shades of electric blue, with thousands of independently moving scales tipped in glinting obsidian. Each movement released a sound like metal scraping stone—a hiss that grew into a roar. Rain glided off its armored hide, cascading in streams that caught the light like molten glass. It surged forward, limbs like battering rams, leveling entire structures in its path.

  The storm bent around it. Thunder raged louder, and wind howled as though the skies themselves recoiled in fear. Lightning streaked above, illuminating the beast in violent flashes—an avatar of chaos incarnate. Its roar boomed once more, so loud it cracked windows across the port, rippling through the night like a war cry from another world.

  Even the bravest soldiers faltered, their guns trembling in their grips as the behemoth advanced through fire, storm, and ash.

  “Shit, an alpha,” Michael muttered, eyes narrowing as he reached for the radio. The device crackled in his grasp, damp from the rain. He brought it to his lips, never once looking away from the massive creature tearing through the ruins below.

  “Attention, all units,” he called out, his voice low but resolute. “The alpha has emerged. Ground teams, concentrate on thinning the small ones. Vince—head for the ship, restrict its path. Jonathan, same to you—secure the ship and check for survivors.”

  “Understood,” came the synchronized replies of Vince and Jonathan, their voices laced with the static of tension and urgency.

  The wind howled louder, ripping at Michael’s coat as he peered down from his perch. With practiced calm, he raised his hand, framing the beast between two fingers. Rain coursed down his face like tears from the sky, but his vision remained locked. Below, the drakonian surged forward—bounding off shattered buildings, thunder in motion.

  “Curse of binding,” he intoned.

  A pulse of energy shimmered in the air. The creature staggered mid-leap, its limbs seizing as invisible chains coiled tight around its frame. It crashed into the earth with a guttural bellow, clawing through debris as if wading through quicksand. But the spell faltered—the beast pressed on, slowed yet unbroken.

  Michael clicked his tongue. “Too strong to hold, huh?” he muttered. A flicker of excitement crossed his face. “Guess it’s my turn.”

  He took a breath and extended his arm to the storm, eyes fluttering shut. The world roared around him—rain slapping skin, thunder cracking bone—but within, there was only silence. A stillness. A shift.

  Then the golden vision returned.

  He stood once more inside the dreamlike opulence of a gilded casino—its walls bleeding crimson and gold, its chandeliers pulsing with phantom light. Slot machines clicked in rhythm with no players to pull them. Poker tables waited, empty. And there, across the cage that encased him, stood the woman again.

  Black dress. Crimson eyes. Her hair like a river of shadows.

  “So, you’ve come again,” she said, voice velvet-wrapped in inevitability.

  “Soul,” Michael answered, the word cutting through illusion like a blade.

  Golden particles spiraled up his right arm, carving glowing runes into flesh and steel. A gauntlet materialized, radiant and solemn. From it, a shield unfolded—ornate, heavy with significance. A relic born from willpower and sealed fate.

  Back on the rooftop, the sky split with lightning as Michael vaulted into the air. He landed on the ship’s slick deck with a bone-rattling thud. Rain greeted him with fury. The vessel groaned beneath his boots. Every step forward was a challenge—slippery metal and rolling thunder conspiring to bring him down. He nearly lost his footing, slipping into a crash against the railing. Pain surged through his shoulder, but he grit his teeth and pushed himself upright.

  Across the deck, the alpha drakonian emerged—an obsidian leviathan framed in fire and storm.

  Michael raised his arm, eyes burning as the gem embedded in his gauntlet flared to life. Crimson light spilled across his face, painting him in hues of blood and defiance.

  “Curse of bleeding!” he roared.

  A blast of power surged outward, defiant and powerful, cruel and lonely.

  Far across the battlefield, the drakonian shrieked in agony. Blood burst from its eyes, its jaws, pouring like blackened wine. The beast staggered, its wail joining the wind—a sound so full of pain it split the air.

  Michael doubled over, a line of blood escaping his mouth. Crimson tears welled in his eyes, trailing down his cheeks as the cost of his power made itself known.

  “Take this, you bastard!” he screamed, his voice cracked and defiant—his soul igniting beneath the storm’s judgment.