The Dragon King did not roar this time.
He spoke.
And yet the sound that left his throat carried more weight than any roar that had ever shaken the skies before.
"How long do you intend to keep running?"
His voice rolled across the upper atmosphere like distant thunder, deep and resonant, vibrating through the cold, thinning air as though the sky itself were forced to listen. The clouds beneath them shuddered, torn apart by the pressure of his presence, spiraling outward in slow, helpless currents.
"Turn around," he continued, his tone shifting slightly—not louder, but sharper, edged with something unmistakably dangerous. "Let me show you what a true dragon can do."
Far ahead, the Red Dragon did not respond.
It continued its ascent, wings beating heavily against the thinning air, each movement slower than the last. Its massive body cut through the clouds like a wounded beast fleeing a hunter it knew it could not escape.
The Dragon King watched in silence for a moment.
Then, slowly, a faint smile touched the edge of his maw.
"No pride at all?" he murmured. "How disappointing."
His golden eyes narrowed slightly as he adjusted his wings, not to accelerate, but to maintain distance. There was no urgency in his movements. No wasted energy.
"Being the largest creature in the sky must have felt wonderful," he continued, his voice calm, almost conversational now. "I imagine the world looked very small from your perspective."
The Red Dragon still did not answer.
Its breathing had grown heavier.
Each exhale came as a visible burst of vapor, quickly snatched away by the freezing winds that dominated this altitude. Frost had already begun to creep along the edges of its wings, thin at first, then thickening gradually as the temperature continued to drop.
The Dragon King tilted his head slightly as he observed.
"Tell me," he said softly, "how does it feel now… to become the prey?"
Still nothing.
For a brief moment, the only sound that existed between them was the beating of wings and the distant howl of wind tearing through the open sky.
Then the Dragon King's gaze shifted.
He looked around—not at his opponent, but at the world itself.
Far below, the capital had shrunk into a distant blur of fire and ruin. The plaza where the battle had begun was no longer visible in detail, only a fractured scar in the landscape. The air currents swirling beneath them formed a massive, circular flow—an invisible structure shaped entirely by his presence.
A slow, thoughtful expression crossed his features.
We are still above the plaza.
This one is not flying freely…
His eyes sharpened.
It is riding the currents I created.
The realization did not anger him.
If anything, it amused him.
"We are climbing steadily," he said, almost to himself. "Close to ten thousand meters now… perhaps a little more."
The Red Dragon's wings faltered for just a fraction of a second.
That was enough.
The frost spread faster now, creeping inward from the edges of its wings, thickening along the joints, stiffening the membrane with every passing moment.
The Dragon King chuckled.
"I see," he said. "The atmosphere does not agree with you."
He adjusted his trajectory slightly, closing the distance—not quickly, but inevitably, like a tide that could not be stopped.
"Why not stop?" he continued, his tone almost kind. "One bite… and I will end this pain for you."
This time—
The Red Dragon answered.
Its voice tore through the sky like a crack in reality itself, deep, distorted, and filled with a pressure that did not belong to any natural creature.
"Why… do you continue to pursue me?"
The tone was wrong.
Too… human.
The Dragon King's smile widened.
"Well now," he said, his eyes lighting with interest. "Look who has finally decided to speak."
He angled his head slightly, studying the creature ahead of him more carefully now.
"It has been a very long time since I last stretched my wings," he continued. "You should consider yourself fortunate. Few are granted the honor of being hunted by me."
He paused briefly, then added in a quieter tone:
"I could accelerate now."
The air around him shifted subtly, pressure building.
"I could close the distance in an instant… and tear you apart."
For a moment, it felt as though the sky itself held its breath.
Then the pressure eased.
"But that would be unnecessary," he said simply.
His gaze drifted briefly downward.
"After all… you will not last much longer."
The Red Dragon's breathing grew harsher.
The frost now covered nearly a third of its wings.
"Then you will not attack?" it asked, its voice strained but steady.
The Dragon King let out a soft, amused exhale.
"I did not say that."
His wings shifted once.
The space around him seemed to distort slightly.
"I simply said… I do not need to touch you."
He opened his jaws.
The speed at which they were moving shattered the air itself, a violent sonic boom erupting outward as the pressure around them collapsed. The shockwave struck the Red Dragon like a physical force, its entire body jolting violently as the sound tore through it.
Light.
A white glow began to gather deep within the Dragon King's throat.
At first it was faint.
Then it grew.
Brighter.
Denser.
Hotter.
The air around his mouth began to warp, colors distorting as heat radiated outward in waves that defied comprehension. The very structure of the atmosphere seemed to break apart under the intensity, molecules tearing free from one another as if reality itself could not withstand the energy being condensed.
The Red Dragon let out a low, pained sound.
Its scales began to blacken.
Even before the attack had been released.
The Dragon King's voice echoed one final time.
"It was pleasant… having company."
The light reached its peak.
"But the sky…"
His eyes narrowed.
"…belongs to me."
He fired.
The beam did not travel like fire.
It did not behave like energy.
It erased.
A single line of absolute destruction tore through the space between them, faster than thought, hotter than anything the world had ever known. The air along its path disintegrated instantly, leaving behind a vacuum that screamed as it collapsed inward.
The beam struck the Red Dragon.
There was no resistance.
No struggle.
No time to react.
For a single, frozen moment, the creature existed—and then it didn't.
Its body shattered.
Exploded into dozens of fragments that scattered violently across the sky, each piece trailing fire as it was thrown outward by the force of the impact.
The Dragon King closed his jaws slowly.
The light faded.
Silence returned.
For a brief moment, he simply hovered there, watching as the remains of his opponent began their long descent toward the earth.
"…Pathetic," he murmured.
Far below, the fragments pierced the clouds.
Then they fell.
Like meteors.
Chunks of burning flesh and shattered bone tore through the air before crashing into the battlefield beneath. The impact shook the ground, stone cracking under the force as several cultists were crushed instantly, their bodies obliterated before they even understood what was happening.
The battle paused.
Only for a second.
Utsuki looked up first.
Her silver hair moved gently in the wind as her eyes followed the falling debris, her expression calm—but focused.
Bernard drove his blade through the throat of a cultist before pulling it free in one smooth motion, blood spraying across the ground as the body collapsed at his feet. He exhaled once, then glanced toward the sky, narrowing his eyes slightly.
"…Looks like the sky is clear now," he said.
Smith, standing a short distance away with a borrowed blade in hand, adjusted his grip and glanced upward as well. His expression darkened slightly as he observed the aftermath.
"…It would appear," he said dryly, "that the cultists will be needing reinforcements."
For a brief moment, the battlefield hesitated.
The soldiers, the cultists, even the wind itself seemed to pause—as if the world needed time to understand what had just occurred above them.
Then something moved.
From one of the larger chunks of flesh, still steaming from the Dragon King's attack, a shape began to stir.
At first, it was subtle—a twitch, barely noticeable beneath the thick, blackened surface of burnt scales and torn muscle.
Then it dragged itself forward.
Rosalin.
What remained of her body no longer resembled anything that could be called whole. Half of her torso was gone, replaced by exposed tissue that pulsed unnaturally, as though refusing to accept destruction. Her limbs were uneven, broken, reforming in grotesque angles as she pulled herself across the cracked stone.
Behind her, something else followed.
Reginald.
Or what was left of him.
His body was barely intact, dragged along like dead weight, his form distorted and incomplete. Whether he was alive or not was impossible to tell.
Rosalin let out a strained, furious breath.
"You are all… useless…"
Her voice was unstable, shifting between tones as if multiple layers spoke at once.
Her fingers dug into the ground, leaving streaks of dark blood behind her.
"Do I truly have to do everything myself?"
Her eyes burned with something beyond anger.
Without hesitation, she raised one of her ruined arms and sank her teeth into it.
The sound was wet.
Bone cracked between her jaws as she tore into her own flesh, ripping through muscle without the slightest sign of hesitation. Blood poured from the wound, thick and dark, spilling across the broken stone beneath her.
"I will not allow this to end without my permission…"
Her voice rose, trembling with fury.
"None of you… will have a happy ending without me."
The blood spread.
At first, it pooled around her.
Then it began to move.
Thin streams of it crawled outward like living veins, slipping between cracks in the stone, reaching toward the cultists scattered across the battlefield.
Harold was the first to notice.
"…What the hell is that?"
The blood touched one of the cultists.
He twitched.
Once.
Then violently.
The body began to convulse as the blood climbed over it, seeping into its skin, forcing its way inside. Flesh began to soften, then melt entirely as if its structure had been erased.
More bodies followed.
One after another, the cultists began to dissolve, their forms collapsing into grotesque masses of shifting meat and bone.
The air filled with wet, tearing sounds.
The smell—thick, unbearable—spread instantly.
Utsuki's grip tightened around her sword.
"…That's not good."
The masses of flesh did not remain formless.
They grew.
Expanding rapidly, pulling together, compressing into larger shapes as bone reformed within them, snapping into place with sickening cracks. Muscles thickened unnaturally, stretching across frames that were far too large to be human.
Within seconds, the transformation was complete.
Giants.
Three meters tall.
Their bodies were malformed but powerful, built from layers of fused flesh and distorted muscle. Their limbs were uneven, their faces barely recognizable, yet their presence alone radiated overwhelming physical strength.
One of them took a step forward.
The ground cracked beneath its weight.
Then another.
Then all of them.
"Form up!" Bernard shouted immediately, raising his sword. "Shields together!"
The knights reacted on instinct, reforming their defensive line as best as they could. Steel rose, shields locking together as they braced for impact.
The first giant didn't slow down.
It swung.
A single, massive arm crashed into the formation.
The sound was deafening.
The entire line broke instantly.
Men were thrown aside like scraps of cloth, their bodies lifted off the ground and hurled across the plaza as if they weighed nothing at all. The formation that had held against countless cultists collapsed in a single blow.
Utsuki stepped forward.
"UTSUKI, BACK!"
Smith's voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
"It won't work!"
She didn't move.
The giant's shadow fell over her as it raised its arm again, the sheer size of its body blotting out the light above.
Utsuki closed her eyes.
Not out of fear.
Out of focus.
Her grip tightened around the hilt of her sword as she prepared to meet the strike head-on, knowing full well the difference in strength, yet refusing to step back.
The air shifted.
The strike came.
And then—
It didn't land.
Instead, something else reached her first.
A sound.
Wet.
Drops of blood.
They fell slowly, one by one, striking the ground with a weight that seemed far heavier than they should have carried.
Utsuki's eyes opened.
Toki stood in front of her.
For a moment, her mind refused to process what she was seeing.
His body was barely holding together.
Both of his arms were destroyed. They were torn, crushed, bent at unnatural angles as if they had absorbed the full force of the giant's strike.
His clothes were soaked in blood.
Deep wounds covered his torso, some still bleeding freely, others already dark and drying. His legs trembled beneath him, struggling to support a body that had clearly been pushed far beyond its limits.
It was obvious.
He had already fought.
And whatever that battle had been—
It had not been easy.
"Toki…?"
Her voice barely left her lips.
He didn't look at her.
His head was lowered slightly, his breathing uneven.
Then he spoke.
Softly.
"…Utsuki…"
The word came out almost like a whisper.
"Go back…"
"I… don't feel very well…"
His body swayed slightly.
"…I'm hungry…"
The word lingered in the air.
"…Very hungry."
Smith moved instantly.
He grabbed Utsuki by the arm and pulled her backward with force, dragging her out of the immediate danger zone.
"Stay back!" he snapped. "Now!"
"But—!"
"I saw his eyes."
Smith's voice dropped.
"…Something bad is about to happen."
The giant moved again.
Its massive arm lifted once more, casting a shadow over Toki's broken figure.
Toki slowly raised his head.
His gaze locked onto it.
Empty.
His pupils expanded unnaturally, dilating again and again as though unable to stabilize.
He tilted his head slightly.
"…You're hungry too… aren't you?"
The giant didn't answer.
It struck.
The impact was immediate.
Its fist drove Toki straight into the ground, the force of the blow slamming his body into the cracked stone with enough power to fracture it further. The sound echoed across the plaza like a thunderclap.
Dust erupted.
Fragments of stone scattered outward.
"TOKI!"
Utsuki's voice broke through the chaos.
She tried to move.
Smith held her in place.
"Don't."
His grip tightened.
"This is not Toki...