The jungle mist clung to their boots like a living shroud—thick, humid, coiling lazily beneath the dense green canopy that filtered sunlight into fractured shards. Sylas and Kael stood shoulder to shoulder: one calm, the other curious, braced for the storm about to erupt.
Sylas held his twin daggers sheathed—black steel with a faint blue sheen—fingers twitching on the hilts like coiled springs. Kael gripped his long, **veined** greatsword, its edge biting into the damp earth beside a trembling wildflower, ready to unleash havoc.
A sudden tap on Kael's shoulder.
He blinked, slapping it away with a growl. "Can't you see we're about to fight?"
The hand returned, firmer, insistent. "At least look at the one you're fighting," came a smooth, amused voice from behind, laced with mockery.
They spun like predators, eyes narrowing to slits. There, lounging against a gnarled tree like a bored noble surveying his domain, was Ashrosa—smile sharp as a razor's edge. A glinting needle spun between his fingers, catching stray beams of sunlight and flashing like a warning.
Without preamble, Ashrosa flicked the first needle—lightning-fast, whistling through the air. Sylas blurred into motion, body twisting in a fluid weave; he stepped aside just as it grazed his sleeve, then caught the projectile on a dagger's edge with a sharp *chime*, flicking it harmlessly into the underbrush. Ashrosa chuckled, low and dark, drawing a second and third needle with a flourish.
Sylas exploded forward, footfalls whispering over tangled roots like ghosts. Daggers unsheathed in a blur, flashing in lethal arcs—left slashing high for the throat, right stabbing low for the gut. Ashrosa parried—not with brute force, but effortless grace, needles clashing against blades in a rapid *clink-clink-clink*, sparks flying as he danced backward, leaves crunching underfoot.
Sylas pressed, feinting left and striking right, his breaths coming in controlled bursts. But Ashrosa anticipated, countering with a needle thrust that forced Sylas to leap back, heart pounding.
Then Sylas vaulted—high, arcing overhead like a shadow eagle, a dark silhouette eclipsing the sun. Ashrosa glanced up, yellow eyes narrowing.
"Fatal distraction."
Kael surged from below like a tidal wave, greatsword roaring upward in a brutal vertical strike that cleaved the air with a whoosh, aiming to bisect Ashrosa from groin to crown. Ashrosa twisted at the last heartbeat, dodging by a whisper—the blade's wind ruffling his hair—but the sheer force threw him off balance. He staggered, boots sliding in the mud.
Seizing the moment, Kael and Sylas converged in a deadly X-shaped pincer: Kael's sword sweeping horizontally from the left, Sylas's daggers descending from above in a crisscross of steel. Blades closed in, inches from flesh—
Ashrosa's body flared bright red, heat radiating like a forge.
**BOOM.**
The jungle floor erupted in a cataclysmic crack, dust and debris exploding outward in a choking vortex of splintered wood and scorched earth. Kael and Sylas were hurled backward like ragdolls, crashing into trunks with bone-jarring thuds that shook leaves from branches. Pain lanced through their ribs; the air reeked of mud and burnt foliage.
Kael groaned, spitting dirt and blood, scrambling to his feet. "Did he just… blow himself up?"
Ashrosa emerged from the swirling smoke, unscathed, brushing glowing embers from his sleeves with a smirk. "Omnimatic spell. Flashburst. Nasty little trick, isn't it? Burns everything but me."
Sylas rose, shaking off leaves and ignoring the ache in his limbs. *Time to adapt.* He leaned in, whispering the plan into Kael's ear, their breaths syncing like conspirators.
"Now," Sylas hissed, voice low and electric. "Let's begin—for real."
Kael ducked low, exploding into a slide under tangled roots, mud splattering as he slashed upward from below in a whirlwind of steel—aiming for Ashrosa's legs to cripple and ground him. Sylas vaulted simultaneously from above, flipping mid-air, daggers plunging in gleaming, razor-sharp arcs toward the shoulders.
Ashrosa moved like a phantom wind—dodging Kael's swipe with a backflip that cleared the blade by millimeters, then countering Sylas with a needle barrage that forced him to twist and deflect mid-descent. The pressure mounted, relentless: Kael's sword humming through the air in wide, powerful sweeps; Sylas darting in and out like a viper, daggers nicking fabric and drawing shallow cuts. Sweat flew, breaths ragged, the jungle alive with the clash of metal and grunts of exertion.
Then—a sharp, venomous flick from Ashrosa.
A needle buried deep in Sylas's shoulder, poison burning like fire through his veins.
He winced, skidding back with a hiss, yanking it free as blood welled. "Screw it," Sylas gritted through clenched teeth, vision blurring at the edges. "Kael—throw me. Fast."
"What? You sure?"
"Just do it!"
Kael seized Sylas by the ankles with iron grip, muscles bulging as he spun once, twice—centrifugal force building like a storm—and *hurled* him like a living spear, the air whistling past Sylas's ears.
Sylas flew, a blur of black and blue fury, twisting in mid-air for maximum lethality.
Ashrosa sidestepped with infuriating calm, a smirk curling—but not before Sylas released his dagger mid-flight, the blade spinning end over like a deadly pinwheel.
It sliced across Ashrosa's side, carving a deep red gash. Blood welled dark against his skin, soaking his tunic.
Ashrosa's eyes widened in genuine surprise. His fingers brushed the wound, smearing crimson, pain flashing across his features.
He closed his eyes. Memory crashed over him like a wave.
*A frail boy—younger Ashrosa. Small horns sprouting from his skull like thorns. Yellow eyes burning with unquenched fire, defiant against the world.*
*"Thief!" a guard barked, boot slamming into his ribs with a sickening crack. "Filthy creature." Stars exploded in his vision, but he didn't cry. He stared—unbreaking, unbowed. Just as Sylas and Kael stared now, weapons raised, chests heaving.*
Ashrosa opened his eyes, chuckling low and bitter, the sound echoing through the trees. "Alright… I give up."
He raised his hands in mock surrender, tension hanging thick.
Then—*ripped off his face* in a grotesque tear of flesh and illusion.
Kael screamed, recoiling. "WHAT THE HELL?!"
The facade shattered. Ashrosa stood revealed: black hair flowing like liquid ink, curling horns framing his skull like a crown of shadows, yellow eyes glowing with infernal light. His skin shimmered like twilight—scales glinting beneath, claws extending with a *snick*.
"A dragon?" Sylas muttered, daggers still poised, adrenaline surging.
Ashrosa smirked, fangs flashing white and lethal. "*Ash Rose.* A lesser dragon."
"Lesser?" Kael echoed, greatsword dipping slightly in awe.
"Don't ask what makes me 'inferior,'" Ash Rose said, flexing claws that could rend stone to dust. "Just know I'm stronger than most lesser dragons you'll ever cross—and you two barely scratched me."
Kael blinked, wiping sweat from his brow. "So… you're a big shot?"
Ash Rose grinned, already turning away with a predatory grace. "Damn right."
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Oh, and you boys don't have a way to get there on your own." He snapped his fingers, the sound cracking like thunder.
The world *twisted*—reality folding in on itself like crumpled parchment, colors swirling in a nauseating vortex.
Before they could gasp or steady themselves, they stood before the towering stone gates of Sangralure, ancient runes pulsing faintly along the walls like a heartbeat.
Someone tapped Kael's shoulder—gentle, but firm.
He sighed, rolling his eyes, still buzzing from the fight. "Ashrosa, not agai—"
But it was a city guard in burnished armor, halberd gleaming under the sun. "Who's Ashrosa? You alright, lad? Look like you've seen a ghost."
Sylas stepped forward smoothly, masking his fatigue. "We need to enter the city."
The guard pointed lazily with his weapon. "Gate's that way. Pay the fee, no trouble."
They approached the entrance booth, legs heavy from the battle. A grizzled attendant greeted them with a gap-toothed smile, eyeing their disheveled state. "New faces—and roughed up ones at that. Two coins each."
Kael fished out crescent-shaped coins, hands still trembling faintly, and handed them over.
The man squinted, turning one in the light. "Crescent coins? Where'd you scrape these up? Look like you fought a demon for 'em."
Kael opened his mouth, words tumbling. "You know the head nun, Merc—"
Sylas clapped a hand over it, eyes urgent but steady. "We're in a hurry."
The attendant chuckled, waving them through with a wink. "Maybe next time, lads. Welcome to Sangralure—mind the pickpockets."
They stepped inside, the gates creaking shut behind them.
Sangralure unfolded like a living masterpiece: massive fountains cascaded from high walls in silver sheets, ivy veiling buildings like emerald waterfalls. Vendors hawked glittering jewels and spiced meats from colorful stalls; the air thrummed with roses, burnt cinnamon, and the distant chime of forges. Crowds bustled—merchants haggling, children laughing, guards patrolling with vigilant eyes.
Kael and Sylas stood entranced, the jungle's chaos and the fight's fury already fading like a dream—as a greater adventure beckoned within the city's vibrant, treacherous heart.