—
The world was too quiet.
The girl knelt in the mud, rain soaking her hair, hands digging into the earth. She stared upward, unblinking.
Gold and white dust swirled in the air, spinning together like two fragile souls trying to escape the world.
Her parents' forms had vanished into the storm, leaving only drifting light.
Her fingers trembled, clawing at the cold, wet ground.
Her chest ached like stone had been pressed there, heavy and unyielding.
Then, slowly, painfully, she moved.
She rose, body stiff, hair plastered to her face. Her little hand wiped rain and blood from her cheek.
"Mommy… daddy…" Her voice cracked, raw and tiny, like a broken bell in the storm.
The sound cracked the air, and the men's gazes snapped to her.
—
Mù Qiāntáng's lips curved into a cruel, thin smile.
His chest rose and fell with anticipation.
His eyes were sharp, hungry.
Mad.
"Kill her," he hissed. His words cut through the air like knives. "Don't just stand there. Kill her."
His face gleams with sweat and satisfaction, eyes wild with a feverish light.
He growled as he noticed how the men were hesitating.
"What are you waiting for? To be the beast's meal — kill her!"
—
The soldiers hesitated only for a heartbeat.
Then steel scrapes.
Bows lift.
The sound of arrows stretching fills the air.
In his head, he's already calculating —
If she dies, the dragon will answer to me. I'll be the last blood of the Guardian alive.
The power, the glory—it'll all be mine…
He almost laughs.
That bastard didn't deserve all that.
Only me.
It'll only be me.
—
Suddenly —
The earth shuddered.
The ground quaked as a deep rumble crawls through the ground.
The men stumbles, shaken. As others drop their arrows.
The horses begin to neigh running around.
Mù Qiāntáng's boots skidded in the mud.
The sky seemed to split open.
Some soldiers screamed; arrows clattered uselessly.
They knew it was here.
The beast had arrived.
The legendary last dragon.
They all looked up slowly shaking in their boots.
They knew they were finished.
Done.
Completely.
Although they'd never seen it, they could imagine it from the stories they always heard.
They knew their superpowers were useless against this divine creator that even their King, who was the strongest and most powerful in their realm couldn't dare to confront it.
And they finally saw it.
Finally.
—
The last dragon.
Legendary, almost myth.
White as freshly fallen snow, its scales glinting like shards of frost, reflecting the storm's last dying flashes of lightning.
Its massive wings arched like clouds themselves frozen mid-flight.
And its eyes—oh, its eyes.
Gold, molten, radiant, like twin suns trapped in the depth of eternity.
They shone with warmth and fury, brilliance and sorrow entwined, as if the weight of the world's grief was carried solely in those burning orbs.
The men froze, powerless, caught between awe and terror.
—
But there was no time to admire it.
The dragon roared.
"GRRRRRAAAHHHH!!"
The sound ripped through the sky like a thunderclap on fire.
The ground shook.
Stones bounced.
Mud splashed.
Arrows clattered uselessly to the wet earth.
Soldiers stumbled, screaming, clutching their heads.
Horses reared, hooves tearing up the soaked ground.
Rain pelted their faces, driven by the storm the roar seemed to summon.
Lightning flashed—blinding and sharp—reflecting off the dragon's white scales.
The air itself vibrated, heavy and hot, like it could burn if you touched it.
The dragon's massive wings stretched wide, whipping the rain into a chaotic storm around it.
Its eyes blazed gold, alive with fury and grief.
—
Then the dragon's eyes flicked toward the swirling gold and white dust approaching it.
Its gaze lingered, molten and sharp, absorbing every fleck, every spark of life within it.
Its Masters.
A low rumble built in its chest, vibrating the earth beneath.
Then—
"GRRRRAAAHHHH!!"
Louder this time.
Louder than before.
Like the sky itself was splitting.
The soldiers barely had time to blink.
The dragon reared back and unleashed its fire.
White-hot.
Pure energy, brighter than lightning, scorching the stormy sky.
It barreled toward the soldiers like a tidal wave of flame.
Screams cut the air.
Horses bucked, hooves kicking wildly. Riders were thrown into mud and fire.
Armor melted.
Skin burned.
Weapons melted in hands.
—
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
One soldier screamed as his sword warped into molten steel.
Another dove into a puddle—but even the water hissed and evaporated instantly.
Bodies fell, writhing.
The air burned.
Smoke mixed with rain, creating a choking haze.
—
And then… movement.
Mù Qiāntáng.
The general's legendary speed was known across the realm.
His shadow blurred.
He sprinted, zigzagged, leaped—barely avoiding the white blaze that incinerated his men.
But his clothes weren't so lucky.
Sparks caught the edges of his armor, then flames licked up his sleeves.
He yelped and slapped at them, as he vaulted aside.
The dragon's eyes, gold and molten, narrowed on him.
A second blast of fire shot forth.
Mù Qiāntáng twisted in the air, flipping over a scorched tree stump.
He landed panting, barely a millisecond ahead of the inferno.
He tried to sprint again.
But the dragon's fury was growing.
To the dragon, he was like an annoying fly—
no matter how hard you tried to swat it, it just wouldn't die.
The white blaze roared toward him again, cutting the ground where he had just been.
Rocks melted into glass.
The air itself burned his lungs.
He dodged by a hair, twisting, flipping.
Smoke clung to his hair, singed his skin.
He panted heavily. Heart hammering.
He cursed under his breath.
"This… this beast… it's beyond control," he muttered, teeth gritted.
The dragon exhaled, low and rumbling this time, wings beating, stirring the storm into a whirlwind.
Mù Qiāntáng sprinted, weaving through fire and debris.
His boots sank in mud, scorched by stray embers.
Every leap, every dodge, he felt the heat sear closer.
Every step, he smelled the smoke, felt the ash sting his eyes.
And still, he survived—just barely.
Mù Qiantang coughed through the smoke, eyes blazing.
He clenched his fists, teeth gritted.
"I won't die like this…" he spat, voice rough but defiant.
"Not to a beast!"
—
The fourth time, he barely made it out alive.
The dragon's breath scorched past his back, flames licking his clothes, searing through fabric and skin.
The pain was blinding, but he didn't stop—he dove, rolled, and vanished.
The air shimmered where he'd been, and then nothing.
Gone.
The dragon froze, confused for half a second, before its massive pupils contracted.
It roared—
"GRAAAHHHHHHH!!!"
—the sound rattling the heavens, shaking ash loose from the burning trees.
Its fury erupted.
Fire sprayed in every direction—white, blinding, pure destruction.
Forests turned to cinders, rocks melted, the air itself burned.
Hidden behind a half-collapsed wall of the slope, Mù Qiantang knelt, gasping for breath.
His invisibility flickered like dying embers.
He gripped his charred arm, teeth grinding from the pain.
Through the smoke and the fire, his eyes caught something strange.
The dragon was destroying everything—but not her.
Its flames bent, curved, avoided the girl still kneeling motionless amid the ruin.
—
He stared, disbelief washing through the pain.
Then a bitter smile tugged at his cracked lips.
"Heh… even now… you won't hurt her, will you?"
His voice was hoarse, almost a whisper.
He spat out blood, still smiling.
"So that's your weakness, beast."
He knew.
He knew he wouldn't leave this place alive.
—
So he did the unthinkable —