Dragon

Jarathia | Jarathia City | Mersa’s Mansion | Courtyard

The central courtyard of the mansion thrums with voices.

“People of Jarathia! Now or never—fight for a better future!” Mersa shouts.

A roar answers him. Lines form fast: Hanla and Nine in the center column, the weakest sheltered in the rear, Beatrix and Mersa anchoring the front. Coordinated, they march.

Jarathia | City Outskirts

They reach the Outskirts. Mersa scans the horizon—over a thousand wyverns writhe beyond the gate.

“Hold them at the gate.” Mersa orders. “Formation set—and cycle properly.”

Beatrix raises her axe. “Listen up! Civilians, throw water stones on call! Anyone with a blade, fight! We’ll win this together!”

Hanla grins. Nine does too.

They step out from the center toward the fore.

“Only the gate, right?” Nine asks.

“We make it quick,” Hanla says, “everything in front of us gets demolished. The rest can be handled head-on. When we open the gate, there’ll be another thousand.”

“Hey, you—” Mersa starts.

Beatrix throws an arm out, stopping him. “Let them. If anything slips past, we’ll defend against it.”

Hanla and Nine walk straight to it. Stares follow them. Wyverns and shades lock on—more than five hundred leap at once.

Hanla copies a water stone from her pocket and lifts her arm.

I know how to charge it now. Let’s try to scale it up…

Her hand glows blue, energy bundling tight from the stone.

Nine faces the onrush. They keep walking. The monsters attack.

Hanla’s fist detonates—one thunderous water-charged punch that rips through the air. At the same time, crystal spikes erupt in a sweeping arc from Nine, lancing through cores. A shockwave tears across the battlefield.

Mersa’s mouth hangs open.

Beatrix bites back a smile, losing the battle for a second before schooling her face.
Behind her, whispers break into awe.

“Did you see that?” Mersa says.

Maxwell edges close to Mersa. “Mersa… what was that?”

“Adventurers.” Beatrix says, dry. “That’s why no Dominion—I’m kidding.” A quick laugh escapes her, then she lifts her voice. “PEOPLE OF JARATHIA! IF WE LIVE THROUGH THIS, THANK NINE THE CRYSTAL GRAVE AND HANLA THE DRAGONFIST!”

Under her breath, she whispers, awed herself. “Dragon Fist… she’s really earned that today.”

The troops are amazed and jubilant, their will to fight greater than ever, after they just witnessed the overwhelming strength of the pair.

Jarathia | Near The Volcano

Hanla smashes the gate open with a charged punch. Wyverns and shade-born things flood the outskirts like a black tide. They ignore the swarm and walk straight through. A few wyverns dart for Hanla—she drives a fist through each core. Nine crystallizes the rest mid-lunge, shattering them to dust.

They reach the center—a mansion perched over magma, Jerome’s sword planted like a silver stake in the middle. Above, a creature hangs in chains. Corpses are burned into stone. The dragon has two spiked hind legs, two massive arms, and wings that almost scrape the sky.

“He’s chained.” Hanla says.

“Thanks to their sacrifice.” Nine answers, eyes narrowing at the beast—then the dragon opens its eyes, gaze locking onto Hanla.

Chains snap.

The dragon spreads its wings and screams.

“ROAAAAAAR!”

The volcano heaves.

“A legendary beast…” Hanla breathes.

“A legendary Calamity.” Nine says.

They square up.

Hanla palms a chunk of obsidian. “Water and obsidian. If the pattern holds, we go for the core.”

Nine points at the sternum. “It’ll take work.”

The dragon breathes fire. Hanla meets it, flooding water into the blaze; steam howls. Nine snaps his fingers and a hail of crystal spikes fall toward the chest.

“A… WA… JA… RA… TH… IA,” the dragon grinds out.

Nine launches a staircase of crystal under Hanla and fires the spikes at its heart—but a wing shields it. The return swing tears up the volcano’s rim.

Hanla sprints up crystal steps and leaps for the chest—catching a glimpse near the heart: bone struts, fire-wet flesh, the stink of char. She pivots for a driving punch.

The wing flashes—too fast—catching her fist.

“So fast—how—”

Water ripples under the scales. The dragon glows light blue for a blink, water surging from within. In that countercurrent she sees it—a fleshy exoskeleton. The next wingbeat hammers her out of the sky.

Nine catches her just before she hits the ground, but the dragon dives, merciless. Walls of crystal blossom—the beast plows through them, slowed but never stopped.

Hanla coughs blood, grabs a fire stone, and cauterizes the slashed ribs. The dragon recoils for a heartbeat.

“I have a plan,” she says, breath thin, “I think I know how to reach the core.”

“That shell—” Nine’s jaw clenches. “I’ll drive more spikes through it.”

“I’ll counter its element every time. I need time to charge my punches though.”

“Understood. I’ve got you.”

Hanla grins up at the sky. “Did you hear, Calamity? Silver Sky will kill you! So you better give us a challenge!”

The dragon climbs higher. The heavens fill with red-white comets—fire braided with water. Nine raises a grid and impacts sound all over—the grid cracks.

His left eye bleeds.

Hanla races up fresh crystal steps. On her left hand she stacks water until her skin glows deep blue; on her right she gathers fire until it burns blood-red.

First time I’ve charged past capacity… But my only limit is my body. So—ignore the pain. Push on!

The dragon roars again—a blood-red blast rips through the air, hitting Hanla’s belly. Hanla takes the scorch and dives for the mouth, while needles of crystal pierce the dragon’s wings. Jaws snap shut—but too late. A wedge of crystal jammed the teeth open for a beat, enough for Hanla to blast inside, forearm braced in blue, even as the heat claws at her face.

Then—an organic core, pulsing.

She hammers against it—twin bursts of water and fire, both fists.

The volcano’s crown erupts. The shockwave boots her out and she tumbles—crystal wings flare from her back, stopping her fall.

Midair, the dragon splits its nature—left side water-blue, right side fire-red. Twin breaths scour the sky; the blue freezes, the red burns so hot Nine’s crystals begin to melt.

Hanla lands and looks back at the scene.

Nine spits blood and roars. “I won’t let you hurt anyone!”

His crystals densify, crushing the dragon’s comets into slag. Blood flows from his left eye.

“Nine!”

Hanla staggers over to him.

“Did you do damage?” He rasps.

She nods. “Yes. It cracked open. If I punch it more, I’ll break it.”

He grins through the red. “Let’s hope it only takes one more punch.”

The dragon pivots toward Nine, furious at the walls of crystal. A thousand beams spear toward him, knowing he’s the one who launched Hanla skyward before.

As the beast dives, chains of crystal erupt—snaring its wings, trying to web them down onto the rock. The dragon shreds through, charging onward.

Hanla overcharges. One hand deep blue, the other blood-red. Her nose starts to bleed.

My head… it hurts. C’mon, keep pushing!

The dragon rips through the last of the crystal. Hanla meets it head-on and smashes a fist across its skull—snapping the head aside. The core flashes into view.

The dragon’s charged attack explodes, raging through the cave.

A blaze of fire roars out from it. Water scythes through the flames like a living chainsaw, carving trenches through the volcano.

Nine throws up a dome—crystal layered on crystal—already softening, already melting. He stacks another layer, and another, refusing to yield.

“I’ll live!” he grits, when he catches Hanla’s eyes. “Go! Through the core—finish it!”

Hanla nods once. She sprints up the dragon’s neck. An open tunnel of heat.

She dives in.

She charges her legs this time. Water blades shriek past her—crystal panes bloom and ricochet them aside before they disappear into steam. The heat rises, the water cuts come faster, meteors bloom anew from above.

Nine’s left eye bursts—blood streaks his cheek—but he stays focused and blocks, and blocks, and blocks.

Hanla reaches the core and becomes a whirlwind—kicking again and again, a tornado of strikes. The Core splits—hairline fractures racing across it.

“Break already, you—!”

The dragon regenerates in a violent lurch. A new firestorm detonates from within, a tidal wave that blasts her out. Searing beams punch through her belly and thigh—the last crystals protecting her flicker and melt away.

She twists in the blast, lands hard and slowly staggers upright. Everything is ruined—shafts and machinery melted into slag. Only the thick walls remain, glowing and cracked.

At the center, one sword still stands.

I need to charge more. I need one more chance. It looks bad, sure—but just one more chance—

She looks at Nine. His left eye has burst, blood slicks his face. Staggering himself, he heads for Jerome’s sword.

The dragon fires another burst. Crystals shatter and don’t reappear.

“Nine? NINE!” Hanla shouts, unable to see through the blaze.

Nine reaches the sword. “I hope you’ve got an ass-pull ready for us, Jerome. Otherwise none of this makes sense—sending us in to die?”

Firey comets fall.

Jarathia | City Outskirts

Outside, Beatrix and Mersa watch the sky.

“No way… People, evacuate!” Beatrix yells.

“It doesn’t matter.” Mersa says. “If they fall, we’re dead.”

Adventurers, guards, and bandits stare up at the fading crystal canopy in raw fear.