Just as Nyxarion was about to go after them, he heard it.
A sound unlike anything before—deep, ancient, and suffocating. It wasn't a roar. It was a presence. Something that made the air itself tremble.
His mind began to shake, instinct screaming at him to flee.
Yet his body did not move.
There was no fear—not because he was brave, but because the armor allowed none. The Aegis of the Bound stood absolute, smothering every trace of hesitation.
Nyxarion turned slowly.
Before him stood a terrifying beast—a colossal red dragon, scales glowing like molten steel, eyes burning with intelligence older than kingdoms. It was the kind of monster that would send grown men into madness before death ever reached them.
Still, Nyxarion stood unmoving.
The dragon's gaze narrowed.
"Tell me your name," the creature rumbled, its voice echoing through the lair like thunder rolling through a mountain.
"Nyx," he replied.
"And your purpose?" the dragon asked.
Nyxarion opened his mouth—but the dragon interrupted, a low chuckle vibrating through the cavern.
"No need," it said. "You have entered my lair. That alone is purpose enough."
The heat surged.
"Today," the dragon continued, "you challenge me to a death battle."
Flames spiraled upward as the massive form began to shrink, scales folding inward, fire compressing rather than fading. In moments, the beast stood transformed.
A tall, lean figure, no older than sixteen or seventeen, floated above the ground. His physique was muscular yet refined, eyes glowing crimson. Behind him, several fireballs formed a perfect circle, rotating slowly, radiating overwhelming pressure.
He levitated effortlessly, arms crossed, looking down at Nyxarion with mild curiosity.
"You look quite bold," the dragon said, voice now calm—almost amused."If you manage to even scratch me, I may let you leave this place alive."
The fireballs pulsed brighter.
"But if you fail…""Then today shall be concluded as your last day."
Nyxarion clenched his fists.
The dragon hovered before him.And the armor… tightened.
For the first time since wearing it, Nyxarion did not feel controlled.
He felt ready.
The dragon started with a small spell, flames curling like serpents toward Nyxarion. But to its surprise, the attack never landed. Nyx moved instinctively, each dodge guided not by thought, but by the armor itself. The Aegis of the Bound whispered in his limbs, predicting the dragon's moves, making him faster, sharper, untouchable.
The dragon's amusement shifted to irritation, then to a dark hunger. Its attacks grew more ambitious, larger, more destructive, as if testing this strange, bold human who dared enter its lair.
Finally, it abandoned magic, its claws igniting in searing fire as it lunged for hand-to-hand combat. Nyx met the strike, armor against flame, steel ringing against scale. Sparks flew, the cavern walls trembling with each collision. The fight dragged on, longer than either seemed willing, as the dragon's boredom mingled with frustration, each blow more vicious than the last.
Then, in a single crushing strike, the dragon hit him hard—hard enough to send him into unconsciousness. Yet even as his body collapsed, his mind slipped into the armor. Inside the black steel, a figure loomed, voice calm but urgent:
"One chance… don't die yet."
Nyx's consciousness surged back. His body felt stronger, his muscles burning with newfound energy. He looked up just in time to see the dragon preparing a massive spell, one capable of leveling the entire county.
In the sliver of a second, Nyx unleashed everything he had stored, moving with speed and precision beyond thought. He struck the dragon in the mouth with a devastating blow. The beast reeled, enduring a hit like it had never known—but it was far from defeated.
Nyx realized then that this fight demanded everything. He pressed on, trading blow for blow with the dragon, each strike echoing in the molten cavern. Pain, fatigue, fire, and instinct merged into one unyielding force.
Moments stretched like eternity. Finally, the dragon faltered, dropping to its knee, exhausted and wounded. Nyxarion raised his sword, poised at its neck. He hesitated, a flicker of mercy in his eyes.
Then, without warning, the sword flew from his hands, soaring up toward the cliff where the traitors had laughed at him. The steel struck true, sending them sprawling and screaming, a clear message of retribution.
Nyxarion's eyes widened in shock. He had not moved.
It wasn't him.
It was the armor.
For the first time, he fully understood: the Aegis of the Bound was not just a suit of protection. It was a will of its own, capable of acting in ways he could only begin to comprehend.
The dragon, still kneeling but alive, looked at him differently now—no longer a mere beast, but a force of nature standing before something beyond reckoning.
Nyxarion sheathed his sword slowly, breathing in the molten air. The battle was over—for now.
But both he and the armor knew: this was only the beginning.