The captain of the Thesian guard drifted aimlessly, powerless as he drew nearer to the gaping rift of despair. His eyes were locked onto the scene unfolding below. They were unwilling spectators to a fierce struggle, forced to watch as an orc in a frenzied rage, battled against the serpentine dragon, pushing it back—for how long he wondered. A shiver ran through his heart as the weight of his misjudgment sank in, spurred by the dragon's mocking taunts. The creature swelled to monstrous proportions, its teeth gleaming dangerously sharp, and its scales as dark as the depths of midnight. It seemed to have gotten stronger and it was his fault and miscalculation. The situation felt utterly foreign, and the formidable archmage Nickolas Granfry was nowhere to be seen.

  “Captain... uh, what... are your orders, sir?” one soldier ventured, struggling to draw closer. He was a lieutenant, one of the city's few remaining officers, standing out in his formal attire, which bore little armor. The captain, in contrast, was a different breed—his garb was meant to shine with badges of honor and elegance, yet his heart belonged to the battlefield, a place that never truly left his spirit.

  “Captain, are you alright?” the lieutenant pressed again, as he managed to reach the captain’s shoulder and gripped with urgency. The firm squeeze jolted the captain from his reverie. “I’m fine, Triggs. We’ve fought side by side through many struggles; you know how I get during difficult battles,” he replied, meeting his lieutenant’s concerned gaze.

  “Have you come up with a strategy yet, Krol?” Lieutenant Triggs inquired while scanning the faces of their remaining soldiers. Panic was etched across most of them, and the earlier blast from the dragon didn't help. Some of their comrades were blasted into the rift, their screams echoing in the air like a haunting memory.

  Captain Krol gritted his teeth in frustration and found it hard to meet Triggs' gaze.

  “For the first time in a long time, I don't have a plan.” Captain Krol said with hesitation. He felt ashamed, his soldiers relied on him to end this chaos around them and in the end he was useless. Suddenly a voice spoke up beside both soldiers spooking them.

  “Perhaps I can… be of assistance.” an older withered voice chimed in. Both soldiers Immediately went into a battle stance causing the troops to as well. Suddenly the air shifted in front of the two commanding officers. Nickolas Granfry appeared out of nowhere clutching his staff and breathing heavily.

  "There's no need for alarm," Nickolas said with a weary wave of his hand. Captain Krol blinked in disbelief, unable to trust his own vision.

  “Nick... Nickolas Granfry... you're alive!” Lieutenant Triggs exclaimed, his voice brimming with joy. A wave of exhilaration washed over the squad of soldiers behind him, their arms and swords raised in jubilant celebration at their Lieutenant's words. A flicker of hope ignited in the hearts of all who listened. Captain Krol extended his arm, palm open and flat, signaling for silence among his troops. Instantly, the cheers subsided, and the crowd stood ready, attentive to their commander's voice.

  “I can’t fathom how you made it through, but I’m grateful you did. A scout observing the earlier aerial battle reported seeing you get struck down by the dragon.”

  “I was indeed hit. That’s partly why I’m in this state now, but that’s not the pressing matter at hand. I need your assistance to expel this dragon from our world.” Nickolas turned to face the rest of the soldiers. “I require everyone’s strength to save our fellow citizens and protect our realm.” The soldiers exchanged glances with one another, each half-expecting to anticipate Nickolas’s next words, but no one dared to interrupt his heartfelt plea.

  “How are we going to help in this condition?” Captain Krol asked, pointing to his floating squad of soldiers drifting in different directions.

  “ No need to fret about that. Bucrok must have disrupted the dragon's focus causing the spell to wear off. As we speak it's getting weaker by the second. The landing part might be an issue but at the rate the spell is fading worse case might be a broken bone.” As Nickolas said that, everyone around could see they started falling at a slow rate. The soldiers' faces lit up with delight.

  “ So, how are we to help someone as powerful as you? ” Lieutenant Triggs asked as he looked at his sword. “ We barely feel like we did anything to the dragon with our barrage of arrows and spells.”

  “ This dragon is unlike anything we have ever encountered or fought before.” Nickolas said as he began floating closer to the soldiers. “ Traditional means wont do in this battle.

  “ Captain Krol, I'm sure you already noticed what your little attack did to the dragon. ” Krol grimaced as he thought to himself. Nickolas turned to the rest of the soldiers and raised his voice.“ We have one chance to expel the dragon before it fully anchors itself to this world."

  Krol nodded gravely, his expression a storm of concern as he took a moment to absorb the varied reactions from his soldiers. As he scanned the faces before him, he was struck by the contrast of feeling present: many stood tall, shoulders back, radiating a fierce resolve and determination, while others seemed almost blank, their eyes wide and uncomprehending, as if caught in the midst of a daunting nightmare they could hardly fathom. It was a moment heavy with the weight of their shared fate. “Then tell us… what is it that you require from us?” he asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil of emotion brewing within.

  Nickolas surveyed the remaining fragments of their small army. "Half of the mages will concentrate their powers on reversing the mana flowing from that rift," he announced decisively, a spark of conviction igniting in his chest. "We need to trigger a pulling reaction. Even now, I can feel our world’s mana becoming dangerously saturated with wild energy, a chaotic force that could spell doom for us all. Meanwhile, the other half of our mages will be tasked with maintaining distractions for the beast, launching random magical assaults to keep it momentarily confused.”

  Krol’s eyes widened in disbelief as the ominous implications of Nicholas’ plan settled in. “And what do you propose for my soldiers? Do you expect us to charge out and meet our doom? That creature grows stronger with every ounce of mana it consumes!” His fierce gaze bore into Nicholas, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword as if drawing strength from it.

  Nickolas met his gaze, his voice tinged with the weight of grim acceptance. "It is a grim sacrifice, I won’t pretend otherwise. I need your men to engage the dragon on the ground, to keep its attention fixed on them. It can’t know of our plan till the trap is set.” His heart felt leaden as he continued, “I won't sugarcoat it: this is less an offense and more a desperate, suicidal charge. The time they can buy us will be our lifeline, the key to pulling off something of this magnitude. The mages need all the time they can muster to make this work.”

  Captain Krol held Nicholas’ gaze, searching for any flicker of deceit, but he found only hard, unyielding truth reflected back at him. He felt a sickening churn in his stomach but also an undeniable pull of loyalty to the men who had stood beside him through countless trials. Just then, Lieutenant Triggs broke the heavy silence. "So, essentially, you’re expecting us to serve as cannon fodder for this mission?” His voice carried an edge of bitter disbelief.

  Nickolas paused for a moment, letting the heavy silence settle like a shroud over the gathering. Murmurs began to ripple through the ranks of soldiers, a range of tones and questions mingling in the charged atmosphere. Yet a singular, haunting truth emerged from the chaotic murmurs, a notion shared among all living beings: no one desires to willingly trespass into the jaws of death.

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  Turning back to his men, Captain Krol raised his voice, cutting through the rising tide of uncertainty. “Take a moment to reflect on the creature we face,” he commanded, his tone imbued with a seriousness that drew the attention of every soldier. “This is an apex predator, superior in its magic, a being with no equal in our world. We stand at a precipice—the opportunity to become the heroes of our country, our families, and one we ourselves believe we truly are. You are the defensive wall against a force that could usher in the apocalypse. Hold your heads high, take pride in knowing you are standing against a ravenous beast that seeks to devour our world.”

  With a fierce emphasis, Krol raised his sword high above his head, the glint of metal reflecting the dim light around them as a symbol of defiance. His soldiers mirrored his resolve, lifting their weapons as one, a chorus of clashing steel ringing through the air. In that galvanizing moment, Nickolas felt a surge of hope, a glimmer of possibility that they might just have a fighting chance.

  Just then, the spell they were under began to fade at long last, and one by one, the soldiers began to drop towards the ground. A wave of relief washed over them as they realized, somewhat fortuitously, that they were only about ten feet away from solid ground. Every one of the soldiers knew in their hearts it was now time to take back the city.

  In the distance, Bucrok resembled a ferocious creature on a rampage. Positioned on the dragon’s head, he swung his battle hammer down with relentless fury, each strike reverberating through the massive beast’s body. Yet, the dragon, clearly annoyed, retaliated with a powerful swipe of its gigantic claw, sending Bucrok hurtling through several buildings and unleashing a cloud of dust and debris in his wake. The minor wounds on the dragon's hide quickly faded, but the previously damaged eye now bore down on Bucrok with an ominous glare. As the dragon prepared to unleash another devastating breath attack, it was abruptly interrupted by a hail of arrows.

  Jaquawe swooped in, launching a flurry of arrows aimed at the dragon’s eyes, nostrils, and gaping mouth. The beast roared with rage, momentarily blinded once again. Just then Jaquawe felt an amassing weight pressing heavy in the area he was flying in near the dragon. It was unbearable in pressure he felt his body slam into the ground and the area around the dragon turned into a giant crater. Just then, Nickolas and his unit of soldiers finally reached the area where Bucrok had landed. He lay several buildings away, bleeding heavily, his labored breaths punctuated by the sounds of choking—most likely on his own blood.

  "Bucrok!" Nickolas shouted, panic etched across his face. The orc kept his gaze firmly fixed on the dragon, unwavering despite the odds against him. Nickolas was hardly surprised by Bucrok's fighting spirit; the orc likely intended to fight until the dragon was defeated first. Approaching with purpose, Nickolas raised his staff toward Bucrok.

  "Melentradala," he intoned, and a swirling green aura enveloped Bucrok, easing his labored breath. Before Nickolas had a chance to speak, Bucrok sprang to his feet, a fierce growl escaping his lips.

  "Cast it again," Bucrok commanded with unyielding determination.

  “Cast a healing spell? You’re already—” Nickolas started, only to be cut off.

  “NO! Not that. I want the strength spell.” Bucrok growled, his eyes still fixed on the enemy.

  "I've already cast that spell before. It takes a tremendous toll on your body—your muscles are being pushed to their breaking point," Nickolas warned.

  "I don’t care! I’m already broken! CAST IT AGAIN!" Bucrok bellowed, his fury evident as he moved closer to Nickolas, foam gathering at his mouth.

  “Tarnokis,” Nickolas relented. No sooner had he spoken than Bucrok was barreling toward the dragon once more. The spell amplified his strength fivefold, and now, combined with the previous enchantment, he was operating at ten times his normal capacity. Nickolas couldn’t help but wonder just how much more powerful Bucrok had become.

  With a resigned sigh, Nickolas turned to Captain Krol. “It’s time. Krol, lead your men and support them. Good luck.” Without hesitation, Krol acknowledged with a nod and drew his weapon. "Follow me!" he shouted, his soldiers rallying together like a swarm of furious bees. Hundreds surged forward, blades raised high, spirits soaring.

  The dragon, recovering from the last onslaught, turned to face the approaching horde. Leading the charge were Bucrok, Captain Krol, and Lieutenant Triggs. The dragon snorted and, in a moment of fury, swung its massive tail, demolishing nearby buildings and sending debris crashing into the advancing soldiers. Many fell, some instantly cut down or trapped beneath the wreckage, but still, the relentless tide pressed on.

  As the soldiers marched further, the weight of the dragon's gravity magic bore down upon them with increasing intensity. Once Bucrok was within striking distance, he leaped into the air, practically soaring. The dragon, Yourntihnac, noticed him and swung a colossal claw. In a surprising twist, Bucrok countered with his hammer, generating a shockwave that momentarily stunned both Yourntihnac and the soldiers. This unexpected move allowed Bucrok to leap away from the dragon's grasp and dart around to aim for its maw once more. His newfound speed took Yourntihnac by surprise, and Bucrok unleashed a devastating horizontal strike, knocking the dragon off balance. The soldiers' morale soared, igniting a frantic race among them to be the first to land a blow. The effects of the gravity magic wore off immediately after the strike and the soldiers quickened their pace.

  Nickolas observed as Bucrok charged headlong into the fray, delivering a powerful strike while the determined soldiers surged forward like a stampede, undaunted by the peril that loomed ahead. Turning to the mages accompanying him, Nickolas met their hopeful eyes. Despite their eagerness, their lack of experience compared to Nickolas cast a shadow of uncertainty over them.

  “Alright, those of you with excess mana, go assist the soldiers. The rest, who are drained, stay with me,” Nickolas ordered. He tapped his staff on the ground to draw their attention. Half of the mages quickly summoned flying spells and took to the skies, joining the soldiers.

  “Um… sir, many of us have used up nearly all our stored mana. How are we going to assist with the rift without it?” one mage inquired, he didn’t bother trying to hide exhaustion.

  “Relax. It’s actually an advantage that many of you are low on mana right now. An empty plate at a buffet is far more useful than one that’s already full,” Nickolas remarked, a knowing smile creeping across his face.

  With a deep inhale, he drew in the air and paused, momentarily suspending the moment. The other mages exchanged bewildered glances, their expressions a blend of curiosity and uncertainty. Just as one was about to voice a question, Nickolas released a torrent of warm breath. As the air flowed past his lips, a single word slipped out softly.

  “Yinro.”

  In an instant, a flawless replica of Nickolas materialized before him, emerging as the steam fully took shape. The mages exchanged excited whispers, captivated by the awe-inspiring spell that had just unfolded before their eyes. While Nickolas would usually relish the chance to boast and impart his knowledge of this spell to the younger mages, urgency was pressing upon him, and his foremost priority was ensuring their survival through this crisis. He gestured towards his own doppelg?nger and instructed, “Follow his lead. I’ll support the soldiers on the field against the dragon. The fate of our world depends on you all.” With those words, Nickolas began to chant, “Alerie.” Just as he was preparing to take flight, he felt the bitter taste of blood rise in his throat. He swiftly wiped his mouth, intending to ascend into the sky, but then froze for a moment looking at his hand. A concerned voice broke the tension: "Sir Nickolas, are you alright?” The young mage's eyes reflected his concern, but Nickolas waved him off nonchalantly as he pulled a handkerchief from his inner pocket to wipe his hand.

  “I’m perfectly fine… Just a bit fatigued,” he replied. Before any further inquiries could arise, he soared into the air, leaving the ground behind. The clone looked at the mages and gestured to the rift in the sky.

  “We have a task ahead of us, but our time is limited. Is there anyone among you who knows any absorption spells?” Nickolas’ clone inquired, his voice filled with curiosity and a hint of urgency. The atmosphere around him felt tense as the other mages exchanged glances, uncertainty etched on their faces. The city offered only the most basic of magic classes, and many of the more seasoned practitioners had either vanished or met gruesome ends in the ongoing chaos.

  “Alright, no need to panic. We’ll just have to take a bit more time to get it right,” the clone stated, although a weary expression creased his features, hinting at the strain of the situation.

  Meanwhile, amidst the clamor of battle, Bucrok fought like a wild creature. With raw energy and primal ferocity, he was hitting, throwing, punching, and kicking with such relentless determination that it was as if he were channeling the fierce spirit of the storm itself. The dragon looming above was having no easy task keeping Bucrok at bay, all the while maintaining vigilance against the stealthy assaults of Jaquawe, who, despite his severe injuries, pressed on undeterred. Every time he spotted an opening, he released a precisely aimed arrow that struck the dragon with calculated timing, providing Bucrok with necessary support. The beast's wounds, though serious, would heal even if struck in vital areas, yet each injury presented an opportunity for Bucrok and their fellow fighters.

  The dragon unleashed gravity magic once again, and it caused everyone in the vicinity to lift into the air, defying the ground below them. Amidst the pandemonium, Yourntihnac turned and, with a swift motion of one massive claw, scooped up an entire building as if it were little more than a handful of mud. He hurled this makeshift projectile at Bucrok and the soldiers flanking him. In response, Bucrok instinctively positioned his hammer defensively, but the soldiers nearby whimpered in panic, fear straining their features. Just moments before the debris would have crushed them, a colossal wall of mud, five feet thick and soaring up to thirty feet high, sprang forth from the ground, rising as a barrier in front of Bucrok.

  Yourntihnac began to scan for a magic user. His gaze abruptly locked onto the sky, where Nickolas was hovering. A deep, menacing growl erupted from the dragon's throat, reverberating ominously as it sneered in recognition. “You again?” it spat. “ I thought you died already. ”

  “Not yet dragon.” Nickolas said with a scoff. “ I'm a little harder to kill than I might seem.” As the great beast stared intently at Nickolas, it paused, sniffing the air as if it sensed something beyond the immediate conflict. The dragon turned its enormous body slowly until its attention was fixed upon the northern forest, towards the royal capital.

  “Ah... I can smell it,” the dragon mused, a twisted grin forming on its savage visage. “You have descendants. They’re nearby, aren’t they? Perhaps a visit is in order.” A chill shot through Nickolas’s heart, but he quickly pushed aside the creeping fear that threatened to overwhelm him. He had no time to engage with the beast’s taunts. Instead, he focused intently, raising a hand to draw the dragon’s attention for a different purpose. In a flash, an arrow from Jaquawe surged through the air, aimed directly at the dragon's face.