Chapter 52 - Nadragar

Alfons, without a moment's hesitation, thrust his hands behind him and ignited blue fire in both palms. He launched himself forward like a rocket toward Lazrael, the sheer pressure of his propulsion obliterating every building and carriage nearby.

Lazrael responded by conjuring dozens of rifles gilded in gold, engraved with inscriptions in the dragon tongue. They unleashed a storm of bullets, an innumerable barrage that defied all logic.

Alfons extinguished the fire in his hands and, just before the bullets reached him, conjured another wave of flame before his face. From it materialized a shield, dark blue like his armor. The shield deflected the entire onslaught, sending bullets ricocheting wildly in every direction, shredding the ruins, monasteries, and taverns of that forsaken city. Then, with a swift kick, Alfons hurled the shield toward Lazrael as a sudden counterattack.

"Tch!" Lazrael clicked his tongue and soared upward to evade the projectile, but at that very instant, Alfons had already manifested demonic wings with dark feathers of blue fire and was closing in fast from behind.

Lazrael formed a massive ballista from his left arm and fired a devastating, dizzying bolt at Alfons. Yet Alfons darted past the spear of energy unharmed. He summoned more blue flames in his right hand, materializing a sword, black and blue like his armor.

"I see. You're using fire enriched with Lagus to forge weapons and constructs used by the very guardians of Hell. How fascinating," said Lazrael, transforming his right arm into a blade and soaring toward Alfons.

They clashed blades, and the impact alone sent the surrounding buildings flying into the air. The two soared through the sky, exchanging strike after strike, maneuvering with breathtaking speed. Bursts of multicolored lightning crackled from each collision, painting the heavens with chaos. The helpless townspeople below could do nothing but run in terror from this battle that defied all reason. Mothers clutched their children close, while men shielded their families from the falling debris crashing down upon their shoulders.

"What in the name of Saint Simonaela is happening in this city?" muttered King Patrick Silva XV, an aging man with long, unkempt hair, as he gazed in horror at the battle raging between Lazrael and Alfons above his kingdom.

"Draken Ragna — Jirigin Jahana..."

"Oh, dear God... what is unfolding beyond the grasp of humankind?" the king whispered, trembling.

"What is that?"

"We're doomed!"

"Run! Run!" cried the terrified citizens as a colossal shadow swallowed the city. The sunlight vanished once more, blotted out by a massive warship gliding across the sky like a Nauthvelli, a being unseen by those beneath it, who could never tell if it was a blessing or a judgment.

Armed with devastating weaponry on every side, the vessel prepared to obliterate Alfons, along with the pitiful city that lay helpless beneath the power of these two beings. The weapons locked onto Alfons, and without a moment's hesitation, unleashed an apocalyptic barrage: hundreds of spears, bullets, and gigantic death-cannons streaked toward him at unimaginable speed.

Alfons surged forward to meet the onslaught, flying even faster than the projectiles themselves. He conjured another sword in his left hand and began slicing through the spears and shells from every direction, each destroyed weapon erupting in an explosion so vast it was as if entire mountains were detonating above the city of Sixtrina.

"Your Majesty, we must leave this city before something terrible happens to us!" urged the king's advisor, as both of them watched the sky burn with shades of red and orange from the explosions. It was as though Betelgeuse itself had descended to consume the children of the sun.

"Very well, then. Don't forget—"

Before the king could finish, a fragment of a cannonball struck the royal balcony, engulfing everything it touched in flames. Shattered remnants of spears, bullets, and shells rained across the city, destroying and burning all in their path, without a shred of mercy for the lives that struggled beneath the three moons of Ladnoria. People tried desperately to flee from the horror, but it was useless. They were crushed alive, slaughtered like ants, their cries of pain and terror echoing through the chaos. The streets ran red with blood after every explosion that erupted in the skies above.

"I see you have no sympathy for these worthless creatures," said Lazrael coldly, watching Alfons cleave through the endless wave of attacks pursuing him. "How ironic, considering you're one of them yourself."

Alfons released a burst of pressure through his wings and darted toward the warship, hoping to draw the attacks toward himself just as the next barrage struck the vessel instead.

"That's what I was waiting for," said Lazrael with a smirk, as the entire underside of the warship began to glow, signaling that it was about to unleash a blast capable of erasing the city, along with the surrounding forests and villages, from the face of the earth.

Alfons raised both hands and summoned a monstrous mass of blue fire above the warship, vast enough to engulf it completely. From the inferno, hundreds of clones of himself emerged, descending upon the warship like avenging spirits.

"What the hell!?" exclaimed Lazrael in shock.

Alfons's clones tore through every fragment of the warship in their path. In mere seconds, the entire vessel was shredded into thousands of pieces before it could fire upon the real Alfons—or the land below. Cannonballs, spears, and bullets were cleaved cleanly in half by the clones the instant they approached. The remnants of the warship rained down upon the city like a metallic storm. Lazrael watched Alfons with unimaginable hatred as the wreckage fell around him, his right hand clenched tightly in rage.

"Draken Ragna — Mutëa na Katai."

From the heavens descended dozens of colossal machines, over 120 meters tall, slamming into the earth with quaking force. Their humanoid forms were built from the relics of a forgotten age, their bodies a dark, rusted bronze-black. In place of heads, they bore black antelope skulls with massive, copper-hued horns that radiated an unsettling majesty. Each one landed in a different quarter of the city, ready to annihilate Alfons's clones still hovering in the skies.

"Draken Ragna — Jahan Nama Na Krashe!"

The titanic machines unleashed torrents of fire from their gaping maws like dragons, incinerating Alfons's clones in an instant. The sky once again became a scene from hell itself, an infernal panorama for the unlucky souls still alive to witness it. Through the raging blaze, the original Alfons remained suspended in the air, completely unharmed. Then, in a sudden motion, he descended and landed powerfully upon the ground.

"Hippotaragus! Attack!" commanded Lazrael.

In response, the colossal machines forged massive swords from their right arms, their edges glowing with molten fury as they prepared to strike.

With thunderous, galloping strides, the colossal machines charged toward Alfons, their fury annihilating every building that dared stand in their path. The ground quaked beneath their advance, tremors so powerful they rippled through the entire desolate city. People of every age, children, elders, men, and women, could only accept their fate, powerless to escape the apocalypse unfolding before them.

Alfons summoned torrents of blue fire from both sides, the immense energy coalescing into two enormous twin blades. He soared toward the first giant and cleaved it in half before it could even raise its weapon. He was far too fast for them to react.

With unimaginable speed, Alfons darted through the air, severing skulls, torsos, arms, and legs in a fluid dance of destruction. He moved from one machine to the next, from one target to another, maneuvering with terrifying precision, fury, and grace. The giants could do nothing but accept their doom as they were sliced apart into dozens of pieces.

The remains of the titans crashed down upon the city, each impact unleashing new waves of explosions and devastation. Eventually, Alfons reached the final machine and split it horizontally in two. Its massive halves toppled onto the city, crushing what little remained beneath their weight.

Dispelling his twin blades, Alfons gazed upon the ruin before him, a graveyard of twisted metal and shattered machinery. Corpses of the fallen lay scattered among the wreckage: children, women, the elderly, men. Flames devoured what was left, while smoke coiled into the sky, giving the city an unbearable stench of death.

Behind the visor of his helmet, Alfons watched in silence. He felt a faint disappointment, an emotion he could no longer afford to show in the presence of evil's emissary.

"Impressive, Alfons," Lazrael said, his voice calm yet venomous. "The way you sliced the Hippotaragus in half... truly magnificent. But in doing so, you've helped me."

"Hm?!" Alfons reacted sharply.

All around the city, the fallen mechanical fragments began to rise, drawn toward Lazrael as though pulled by a planetary magnet, gathering into a swirling storm of metal and fury.

"Draken Ragna — Duniya ni Zukunda."

All the scattered robotic and mechanical fragments began merging with Lazrael's body, fusing together into a titanic structure born of lost technology, something so vast, so divine in scale, that Alfons could do nothing to halt its formation. Massive legs took shape first, at least 180 meters tall. Then came the torso, an enormous core 170 meters in height, at the center of which Lazrael stood within a sealed chamber of uranium. The arms extended outward, each 65 meters long, followed by a black antelope skull forming the head, its size dwarfing even the previous constructs.

Before Alfons now stood a colossal mech, nearly 400 meters tall, its shadow swallowing the ruined city whole. Against such immensity, Alfons looked like a mere speck, insignificant before this mechanical god.

"Ye ken well the bigger the body, the slower the swing, aye?" Alfons said with a faint, cutting smirk. "Makes ye an easier target this time. I'd expect a scientist tae ken better than that."

"I've accounted for that as well," Lazrael replied, smiling within his uranium sphere deep in the giant's abdomen.

The massive construct began to move, its titanic left hand sweeping toward Alfons. The pressure alone from the motion shattered the air, unleashing a storm that tore through the city, flinging the remaining buildings, debris, and fleeing survivors into the sky like leaves in a tempest. Screams filled the air, terror, despair, utter helplessness.

Alfons spread his dark, flaming wings once more and launched himself toward the giant's hand. From the massive limb, hundreds of copper warplanes were born, roaring through the air as they surged toward him.

"Ach, so that's yer wee trick, eh?" Alfons muttered, spreading his wings wide. A swirling vortex of blue flame erupted from behind him, flaring like the wings of a phoenix. From that inferno, countless more copies of Alfons emerged, far greater in number than before.

The copper aircraft unleashed volleys of blistering spears, each moving with terrifying speed toward the new army of Alfons clones. The clones weaved through the air, cleaving the projectiles mid-flight, each slice detonating into fiery bursts. Others retaliated by hurling fireballs from their palms or summoning all manner of weapons, arrows, spears, swords, hammers, axes, scythes, and maces, to shatter the incoming assault.

Some were struck down by the rain of bullets swarming toward them like locusts, devouring everything in their path. Yet amidst the chaos, the true Alfons soared undeterred, his eyes fixed, his flames blazing, as he flew straight toward the giant's colossal hand.

"There you are," said Lazrael as soon as he caught sight of Alfons.

He pulled two levers back and pressed three green buttons on his left. In response, from the jaws of the black antelope skull atop the mech, hundreds of pyramid-shaped warplanes emerged and shot toward the real Alfons at staggering speed. Mid-flight, each pyramid split open across its center, revealing glowing laser cannons primed to fire upon their prey.

The clones managed to destroy the first wave of warplanes, but soon they fell victim to the barrage from the pyramids, which unleashed deadly laser strikes. One by one, Alfons's clones were obliterated, unable to keep pace with the storm of light that scorched both the sky and the ground beneath their wings. Soon, only the true Alfons remained, standing defiant in the midst of the laser rain.

The pyramids turned their full power toward him, firing in a blinding flood of energy. Alfons swept his left arm outward, conjuring a surge of blue flame from which materialized a horizontal shield, dark and textured like his armor, strong enough to deflect the ceaseless barrage. Calm and unshaken, he flew straight toward the pyramids through the storm of light.

"Interesting, Alfons. But what will you do against this?" murmured Lazrael, pressing two yellow buttons to his right.

Instantly, the pyramids ceased their laser fire. Their upper halves folded open vertically, exposing rows of massive rotating saws, spinning so fast they shrieked through the air like helicopter blades lined with shark teeth. The swarm of deadly constructs lunged toward Alfons, intent on tearing him apart in the most brutal fashion imaginable.

Alfons' wings ignited once more, their flames spreading and expanding until they were three times their original size. He burst forward, faster than before, a streak of blue fire tearing through the air toward the incoming saw pyramids.

"D'ye think I look like some kinda bloody joke tae ye?" Alfons shouted, dissolving his shield entirely. In his grasp now was a colossal blade, blazing with the same eerie fire that coated his armor. He struck with fury unmatched, slicing through pyramid after pyramid as though they were paper.

With a sweeping motion of his sword, he cleaved seven of them at once. Three dove at him from behind, but he twisted mid-air, slamming his fist backward and smashing them apart in a single blow. He was far too fast for them, too strong, too relentless.

Watching from his control sphere, Lazrael gritted his teeth and slammed his hand onto a green button beside the lever. At once, every surviving pyramid began merging together, plates and fragments locking into place until a single massive structure loomed before Alfons and the titan's colossal hand, a gigantic pyramid, vast and radiant, standing before the unflinching warrior.

"Draken Ragna — Firauna Drukna."

At those words, the massive pyramid split open horizontally like the smaller ones before it, charging an enormous laser, its core glowing with cataclysmic power, ready to slice through thousands of square kilometers beneath Alfons' wings. But before it could fire, Alfons moved, so fast that the eye could not follow. In a single sweeping motion, he swung his colossal blade to the left, cleaving the great pyramid apart as if it were nothing more than paper.

The shattered structure spiraled toward the ground, crashing and tearing through everything in its path. Without hesitation, Alfons soared toward the giant's immense hand, which loomed over the horizon like a wall of sky. He struck it with his bare left hand, his fist colliding with an impact that split the heavens.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the enormous arm of the mech began to collapse, its mechanical framework detonating piece by piece from the force of the blow. One explosion followed another in a chain reaction until the entire arm disintegrated, raining molten metal and fire across the barren earth below, once home to a thriving trade city, now nothing but ruin.

"Hmph! Your power truly is impressive... for a mortal," Lazrael said coldly. "But the battle has only just begun. Draken Ragna — Jahan Nama Na Krashe!"

The mech's skull-like head opened its jaws wide, and, like a dragon, unleashed an inferno of unimaginable scale. A colossal ocean of flame surged toward Alfons, consuming and melting everything in its wake. The attack was dozens of times stronger than the one Lazrael had unleashed in the forest before.

"Tch!" Alfons hissed, surrounding himself in his own blue fire. It expanded outward, forming an egg-shaped barrier of searing flame.

The torrent engulfed him. Fire roared across the land, a sea of annihilation that scorched all it touched. In seconds, the neighboring forest became nothing but ash. Every living creature within miles was burned alive. The blaze stretched for miles upon miles, an unending wave of destruction.

By sheer luck, there were no nearby cities, but the devastation was beyond measure. The entire population of Sixtrina, seventeen thousand souls, was declared lost, victims of a duel that defied reason and mercy.

What remained was desolation. No trace of civilization, only the smoldering testament of catastrophe. Fire still raged across the earth, standing as a monument to death and hopelessness.

Alfons shattered his fiery barrier and emerged, staring in silence at the apocalyptic landscape spread before him. He turned his gaze upward, fixing his eyes on Lazrael's towering mech, the architect of this hell, floating above his own masterpiece of ruin.

"I don't understand it now," Alfons said, his tone sharp yet calm. "Are ye tryin' tae defeat me... or just destroy every city ye lay eyes on? Ye ken fine well that if ye keep tearin' this world apart, the grand wee plan ye're spinnin' wi' yer dear mother'll lose all meanin'. Ye're so blinded by yer own madness that ye dinnae even see the risk, what if the egg ye seek gets destroyed because o' yer reckless tantrums, eh?"

"The Egg," Lazrael replied, his voice echoing through the chamber of uranium, "was woven by the very hand of my mother's servant. There is no chance, none, that it could be destroyed by such pitiful attacks, even if it lay at your feet. As for mortals... do you truly think I care about such insignificant creatures? Their existence is nothing more than a persistence without purpose. They are slaves to the gods, tools of fate, shackled by their own weakness. And you, Alfons... deep down you know you are no different. You've never cared for your own kind. You never loved your family. Why pretend you've changed? Perhaps we differ in form, but in essence, we are the same."

Alfons tilted his head, a cold grin creeping onto his face. "The same, ye say? Tch! Don't make me laugh, lad. I'm nothin' like ye. I'm not the coward who hides behind grand titles and mother's shadow. Not the slave that mistakes servitude for purpose. Ye swagger about like a dragon, aye but ye've forgotten the weight o' what that means. Ye dinnae ken why ye're even alive anymore, do ye?"

His wings flickered with blue fire as he spoke, each word burning sharper than the next.

"The people close tae me, they never saw my worth. But you... Ye never had any. Ye're just a lonely bairn, screamin' into the void, desperate tae justify the nothin' that ye are. Aye, maybe both o' us came into this world unwanted, spat out by the same cruel chaos, but the difference, Lazrael, is that I learned what I am. I made my worth wi' my own two hands."

He narrowed his glowing eyes. "You cannae. And that's why ye'll always lose."

Lazrael watched Alfons through the reflection on the control room's mirror, though even he couldn't explain how he was looking at him. There was something in his gaze, a flicker between rage and fear, confusion and awe. His hands hovered above the console, trembling, uncertain which button to press, or whether it would matter at all.

"Tch! The words of a mortal... mean nothi—"

Before he could finish, Alfons appeared before him, faster than Lazrael's eyes could follow.

"Wh–When did yo—!?"

With a flash of steel, Alfons drew his massive blade and drove it straight through the uranium chamber, piercing Lazrael's chest clean through.

"Gahhh—!" Lazrael spat blood, his body jerking violently.

Alfons ripped the sword free, then swung it again and again, tearing through Lazrael's abdomen, shredding his arms, severing his legs. The strikes came so fast they blurred into one endless line of motion, too quick for Lazrael to even scream between them. The giant mech shuddered and began to lose power, collapsing backward, metal shrieking as its parts disintegrated and scattered across the land like meteors.

Alfons caught Lazrael's mangled body by the hair before the fall was complete and hurled him out of the dying machine. The colossal frame crashed into the ground behind them, bursting apart in a thunderous explosion of flame and steel.

Alfons floated down beside Lazrael's broken form, his fiery wings folding inward as he landed softly upon the ash.

"Aye," he said, his voice cold, cutting through the silence, "I reckon I ken why ye're not regeneratin'. Too much o' that bloody Draken burned through yer veins, eh? Irony's a cruel bastard, even gods have their limits."

He stepped closer. The once-proud being before him was now a ruin of flesh, limbs severed, chest caved in, blood pooling beneath him. His once-vibrant green hair had begun to fade to a dull grey, and the light in his eyes dimmed with every passing heartbeat.

"Ye look pathetic, Lazarus," Alfons murmured, kneeling beside him. "Ye wore the name Lazrael for thousands o' years, pretendin' ye belonged wi' angels and demons alike. Bet yer dear mother would find that a bit strange, eh?" He gave a faint, humorless smile.

"But me? I dinnae forget. It's written in the old books, the son of Kindu's twelfth, born o' her servant... though the poor sod didn't live long, did he? Makes me wonder..."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Was he killed... or did you do it yerself? I'm sure it's written somewhere."

Lazrael struggled to move his lips, as if some ancient force restrained him. His throat quivered, releasing faint sounds too faint to grasp.

Alfons narrowed his eyes. "Hm?" He took a cautious step closer, trying to catch the whispers that slipped between Lazrael's teeth.

Inuëa Inuëar, cikina na duka, mulkirara ke fuduëainda, dareakshin abbar komkamuntu, halitta tanaran ëatta akri, dondo dabbar, ëu sigra.
(In kingdoms of shadow where dawn never gleams,
Beneath the dark mantle that swallows all dreams,
There roams a creature all mortals despise,
A dragon of flame, where the mountains demise.)

"No!" Alfons swung his sword to strike Lazrael down, but a barrier of brown energy exploded between them, hurling him several meters back. The force rippled through the air, humming with something ancient.

Kaguna zurufi cikina strat, babutaka inda haske, tara yana jinin akedahashi, mugrunta tsoro da sraini, tashina cikina krava, ta bazu sko krigi.
(In caverns so deep where no light can tread,
He hoards his treasures with blood of the dead.
His heart is as frozen as ice in despair,
And ruin and terror are all that dwell there.)

Alfons clenched his jaw. "Impossible. I thought only the Kindu could recite that poem." His heart thudded like a drum as Lazrael's voice rose in pitch, each word shaking the air with primal resonance.

Hattara zraza dodon nukfa hyaka zran, kafa ku taka cikina kumatarsa, kankra dromin atashe zu, ëahla lukikri rankasha duhu da.
(Beware the dragon whose breath is fire,
Step not in his realm of death and ire,
For naught remains once his wrath is unfurled,
But darkness and sorrow consuming the world.)

Behind Lazrael's head, a black tree began to sprout, its bark rough and brown, its branches twisting upward in ghostly motion. Red buds bloomed from the tips, swelling until they became dark eggs streaked with glowing red and orange veins.

Alfons gritted his teeth. "Tch!" He attacked again, slashing at the barrier with furious precision, but it didn't so much as tremble. The eggs cracked open, and from within burst flocks of dark butterflies. They circled Lazrael, then dove onto his flesh in a horrific frenzy, devouring him alive. The air filled with the sound of gnawing and tearing. His skin vanished beneath their hunger, his bones gleaming white beneath the chaos. Blood pooled beneath him, spreading slowly like a living shadow.

Alfons stopped attacking. He could only stare as Lazrael's skeleton sank into the crimson pool. "Damn this blasted barrier," he muttered in frustration. "Srokhra, the unbreakable wall o' dragons. I dinnae ken it could be this strong."

The butterflies rose and began spewing a thick, black substance over the skeleton, coating it completely. The body sank deeper, disappearing beneath the sludge like a ship swallowed by a blood-soaked sea. The tree behind him withered, collapsing into dust. The butterflies fell to the ground, lifeless.

Then, silence...

From the center of the dark pool, a clawed hand burst through the surface, its skin covered in scaled brown plates. It gripped the earth, followed by another. A head emerged, pale hair dripping with darkness, a face veiled in scales. Lazrael rose slowly, the black liquid crawling up his body, hardening into armor-like skin. His hair flared upward, trailing sparks of fire. His wings unfurled, vast, dreadful, as if death itself had found form.

His eyes opened. The irises blazed white, the sclera burning crimson.

Across distant lands, others felt the awakening.

Kaliga gasped. "Haahh!"

King Kasama and his queen froze where they stood, trembling from the pressure of Lazrael's presence.

The marshal gripped his desk, whispering to himself, "What... what is this?"

Far away, Igorus staggered, clutching his chest as though something within had been torn open. "N–Naahkk!"

Kasama turned toward Kaliga. "Could it be...?"

Kaliga's eyes widened in terror. "I cannae believe it! It's impossible... IMPOSSIBLE!"

"A Kindu?" Kasama asked, disbelief breaking his voice.

"It's worse," Kaliga breathed.

Alfons stood amidst the storm of power, staring at the reborn Lazrael. His voice trembled, his words carrying that thick Highland rasp. "Aye... worse indeed. 'Tis nae just a Kindu. It's a Nadragar, the half-man, half-dragon form o' the Kindu themselves."

And as he spoke, the world around them quaked under the unbearable presence of Lazrael, who had finally revealed his true power...