Battle Against the Dragon: Part 2 End

Vany lunged forward, her enchanted blade gleaming with a violet hue. The dragon roared—a guttural, ancient sound that shook the sky itself. Its eyes burned like twin suns, and its wings sliced through the air with terrifying force.

The battle had begun.

Vany dodged a sweeping claw, then countered with a swift slash across the dragon’s flank. Her sword met its scales with a burst of light, carving a glowing wound that hissed with arcane energy.

The dragon shrieked in fury. It reared back and unleashed a torrent of flame. Vany rolled aside, barely escaping the inferno, her breath ragged but her stance unbroken.

Meanwhile, Maros crouched behind the shattered remains of a stone pillar. Shadow emerged beside him, a flickering silhouette born from the cracks in reality.

Maros (whispering): “We need to get Alice back. But I can’t go full force—not yet. Too many eyes.”

Shadow: “We can distract the dragon. Just for a moment. After that, it’s all on you.”

Maros nodded, his gaze locked on Alice—still clutched in the dragon’s talons, dangling like a marionette caught mid-performance.

Maros: “Vany’s keeping it busy. That’s our opening.”

Shadow: “If we fail, we lose everything.”

Maros inhaled slowly. One wrong move, and Alice would vanish into oblivion. And Vany… might not survive.

Back on the battlefield, Vany leapt onto a pile of rubble and struck the dragon’s wing with full force. The beast howled, its grip on Alice faltering.

Maros and Shadow moved. They had seconds—no more.

Vany kept fighting with relentless fury, her blade dancing through the air. But the dragon, cunning and brutal, found its moment. With a sudden lunge, it slashed across Vany’s face—leaving a deep, burning wound that shimmered with dark energy.

She staggered back, blood dripping, her vision blurred. But her grip on the sword never loosened.

Seeing the chaos unfold, Maros seized the chance. He dashed toward Alice, hoping to snatch her from the dragon’s weakening grasp. But he was too late.

The dragon turned its head sharply, eyes locking onto Maros. It roared—a deafening, primal sound that shattered the air—and lunged toward him with claws outstretched.

Maros barely dodged the attack, rolling to the side as stone shattered where he’d just stood. He had no choice now.

Maros (thinking): “If I keep chasing Alice, I’ll die. But if I run… she’s gone.”

He made his decision. Maros began to bait the dragon, drawing its attention away from Alice. He darted between ruins, forcing the beast to follow, each attack narrowly avoided.

In the midst of the chaos, Maros broke away from Shadow.

Shadow (calmly): “I’ll retrieve Alice. You survive.”

Maros nodded once, then sprinted in the opposite direction, leading the dragon away. Meanwhile, Shadow melted into the darkness, slipping between cracks and shadows, inching closer to Alice with silent precision.

The battlefield had shifted. It was no longer just a fight—it was a game of sacrifice, deception, and timing.

Shadow moved swiftly, his presence barely more than a whisper in the chaos. With one sharp motion, he pulled Alice from the dragon’s claws and vanished into the shadows before the beast could react.

Alice coughed, her body trembling, eyes wide with disorientation. She looked up at the figure cloaked in darkness who had just saved her.

Alice (softly): “Who… are you?”

Shadow didn’t turn. His voice was low, clipped, and focused.

Shadow: “Be quiet. We’re in the middle of this chaos. Just stay silent and let me concentrate.”

Without waiting for a response, he guided Alice through the ruins, slipping between broken walls and collapsed towers. Eventually, he found a narrow crevice—hidden, shielded from the dragon’s gaze and far from the battlefield.

He placed Alice there, her back against the stone, then looked at her with a cold, calculating gaze.

Shadow: “Don’t move. Don’t speak. If you want to live, follow my instructions.”

Alice nodded slowly, still shaken, but something in her eyes began to shift—trust, or perhaps curiosity.

In the distance, the dragon roared again. The battle raged on. But for now, one life had been pulled from the jaws of destruction.

Vany could no longer hold herself together. Her body was battered, her face still bleeding, and her strength was fading fast. She stood there, barely able to lift her sword, as the dragon loomed closer—ready to strike.

But just as the beast lunged, Maros appeared.

He threw himself between Vany and the dragon, deflecting the blow with a burst of energy. Dust and flame exploded around them, but Maros stood firm.

Vany (weakly, confused): “Where’s Alice? Why isn’t she in the dragon’s claws?”

Maros (firm, commanding): “Enough talking. Go find a safe place. I’ll handle the dragon.”

Vany hesitated, her pride wounded more than her body. But she knew Maros was right. She turned and limped away, searching for shelter among the ruins.

After a few tense minutes, she stumbled upon a narrow crevice behind a collapsed wall. And there—hidden in the shadows—she saw her.

Vany (softly, in disbelief): “Alice… you’re alive?”

Alice looked up, her eyes wide, still shaken but safe. Shadow stood nearby, silent and watchful.

The battlefield roared in the distance. But in that quiet corner, two souls reunited—while another prepared to face the storm alone.

As Maros fought the dragon, his eyes sharpened—not just with battle instinct, but with curiosity. Every roar, every strike, every furious movement… it wasn’t random. It was pain.

He scanned the creature’s body mid-combat, and then he saw it—beneath its left wing, a deep, blackened wound. Not fresh. Not caused by Vany. It pulsed with corrupted energy, old and unresolved.

Maros (thinking): That wound… someone else did this. Someone long before today.

Suddenly, it all made sense. The dragon wasn’t attacking cities out of malice. It was lashing out, driven by agony and rage born from betrayal.

Maros lowered his blade slightly. He understood now—this wasn’t just a monster. It was a wounded soul.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The time for restraint was over.

The air around him shifted. Wind spiraled. The ground trembled. A surge of energy erupted from within him—dark and luminous, ancient and divine. His true power, long hidden, now awakened.

The dragon paused. Its eyes locked onto Maros—not with fury, but with recognition.

Maros (softly): “You’re not evil. You’re just… broken.”

He raised his hand, and a wave of violet-blue light surged toward the dragon. It didn’t burn. It soothed. The energy wrapped around the creature’s wound, pulsing gently, like a lullaby for pain.

The dragon roared once more—but this time, it wasn’t rage. It was sorrow. A cry released from centuries of torment.

Its wings lowered. Its breath slowed. And its eyes, once blazing red, softened into a calm, glowing blue.

Maros stood before it—not as a warrior, but as a healer of forgotten wounds.