I was a prisoner in my own skull, screaming without a voice.
The world was painted in shades of crimson, the pre-dawn light filtered through a haze of pure, predatory rage. The pain in my side was a distant, irrelevant thrum, a minor inconvenience, like a fly buzzing at a window. The only thing that mattered was the cold, supreme arrogance that flooded my veins, a feeling of absolute, undeniable superiority.
This was the Dragon's Will, and it was in complete control.
I felt my body, now its instrument, stalk toward the second Expert, the 'Viper' I had defeated. He was pushing himself up on his one good arm, his face a mask of abject terror, his remaining dagger held uselessly. He was an insect, twitching in its death throes.
'Weak,' the ancient, cold thought echoed, using my own mind as its chamber. 'Messy. Finish it.'
"Lancelot! NO!" Garrick's voice was a distant, meaningless roar. He was still locked in his desperate, high-stakes duel with the Iron Mask Leader, a clash of Master against Master, steel ringing on steel. He couldn't intervene.
The Viper, seeing me approach, let out a choked, terrified sound and tried to scramble backward, his broken leg dragging uselessly.
I... the dragon... raised my clawed hand, the black, shimmering talons dripping with the vaporized Lancer's remains. I felt the power gather again, the familiar surge of the Lance, but amplified, raw, and eager to destroy.
It was in this moment that Leo acted.
He had finished his own opponents, a blur of silver and shadow, and now stood observing, his face a mask of grim, calculating shock. He saw what was happening. He saw the shift, the loss of control, the mindless, predatory focus.
He didn't attack me. He was a High Master, but he clearly recognized the overwhelming, primal power I was now radiating. He knew a direct confrontation was suicide, or at the very least, unpredictable.
Instead, he moved with the speed of a striking snake. He plucked a small, crystalline sphere from his belt—an alchemical tool, one I recognized from his cache—and hurled it, not at me, but at the ground directly between me and the terrified Viper.
"Wake up, kid," he snarled.
The sphere shattered on the rocks. It wasn't an explosion. It was an implosion of senses.
A blinding, actinic flash of pure, white-hot magnesium light erupted, turning the world into a searing, painful white. Simultaneously, a high-pitched, piercing shriek tore through the air, a sound so high it felt like needles being driven into my eardrums.
My enhanced Draconic Senses, my greatest asset, became my ultimate weakness. The light was a physical blow, a sun detonating behind my eyes. The sound was an ice pick in my brain.
I roared, an agonized, inhuman sound, all predatory focus gone, replaced by pure, blinding pain. I dropped to my knees, clawed hands flying to my helmeted, scaled head, trying to block out the overwhelming sensory assault. The crimson haze in my vision shattered, replaced by a universe of throbbing, white agony.
The dragon's will recoiled, its supreme arrogance momentarily broken, confused, and hurt by this unexpected, debilitating attack.
"Now, Garrick!" Leo's voice bellowed, cutting through the ringing.
I was blind, my senses screaming. But I could feel what happened next through the Aether.
Garrick, his own senses momentarily seared but his Master-level discipline holding, seized the opening. The Iron Mask Leader, also blinded and disoriented by Leo's perfectly timed diversion, faltered.
There was a sound of a massive impact, a CRUNCH of steel on stone, as Garrick's greatsword slammed down, not on the Leader, but on the ground where he had been, shattering the rock, creating a wall of debris.
Then, silence.
The flash-bomb's agonizing whine began to fade, the blinding light receding, leaving glowing, swimming spots in my vision. I was still on my knees, my body trembling, the berserk state's power still humming, but its focus was gone. The dragon was disoriented, trapped in a cage of sensory pain, its rage unfocused.
"He's gone," Garrick's voice rumbled, tight with frustration.
I forced my streaming eyes open. The grey dawn light was a mercy. The Iron Mask Leader had vanished. He was gone. The Viper I had been about to kill was also gone, likely dragged away by his leader in that single moment of absolute chaos.
The only one left was the Lancer I had first blasted, the one with the broken leg, who was now mercifully unconscious, and the other bodies Leo had left in his wake.
"He... he used us," I gasped, the words tearing at my raw throat. The cold, logical part of my mind, the human part, was fighting its way back to the surface as the dragon's rage receded, leaving only the pain of my wound and the throbbing agony in my head.
Leo was already checking the Lancer, securing his bonds. "Of course he did," he rasped, his voice tight. "The flash-bomb. It wasn't just a diversion. It was a signal."
My blood ran cold. "A signal?"
"A retreat signal. For any other assets in the area. But also, a contingency." He gestured to the spot where the Viper had been. "He sacrificed his wounded man to keep you busy. He used my flash-bomb as cover. He didn't just escape. He retreated. Professionally."
Leo looked at me, his pale eyes unreadable. "He's a Master, kid. And a professional. He saw Garrick, a Master. He saw me, another Master. And then... he saw you."
He crouched down, his gaze sharp. "He saw a Low Expert tank a poisoned dagger, not die, and then vaporize one of his men with a blast that would have given me pause. He didn't know what you were, but he knew the mission was FUBAR. The cost-benefit analysis no longer worked. So he cut his losses, silenced his wounded man to prevent capture, and vanished."
Garrick joined us, his greatsword resting on his shoulder, his face grim. "He was good. Fast. I almost had him, but that light..."
"It saved your life," Leo said bluntly. "And ours. If he'd decided to go down fighting, he would have taken at least one of us with him. This... this was the clean option. He failed the mission, but he survives to report back. Vane—or whoever paid for this—now knows that House Ashworth has a monster in its kennels."
The word 'monster' landed like a physical blow. I looked down at my hands, the claws and scales now slowly, painfully receding, leaving raw, trembling human flesh behind. The dragon's will was retreating, leaving my human consciousness to deal with the horrifying aftermath, the searing pain in my side, and the cold, terrifying reality of what I had become.
We had won, I supposed. The sabotage was stopped. The Iron Mask cell was broken. But the Leader, the true threat, had escaped, and he was taking a report back to his masters. A report about me. This wasn't just a victory. It was an escalation.