Uriel landed with a thunderous crash before the forgotten castle, his enormous wings slowly folding with a deep sound of leather and wind. The impact of his body against the ground shook the surrounding snow, lifting a white cloud that dissipated into the icy air like battle smoke. With one of his twisted claws, black as onyx, he brushed aside the thick snow covering the old stone path — a trail forgotten by time, now revealed like an ancient scar beneath winter's mantle.
Without hesitation, he advanced through the shattered doors of the castle, his heavy steps echoing through the empty corridors like a grim warning. The vast main hall opened before him, wrapped in shadows and silence. Torn tapestries swayed with the wind that entered through cracks in the ceiling. The air was thick, filled with dust, cold, and something more… something primal. Uriel could feel it. Like electricity in his bones. The presence. Strong. Ancient. Imposing. Unmistakable.
The path led him to the heart of the ruined castle — and there, waiting, was the titan.
A colossal dragon, with deep green scales like a summer forest in full bloom. Its head was flat, and its vivid yellow eyes gleamed with cruel, silent intelligence. Its presence dominated the space. It was about twenty-five meters long, its body coiling between collapsed columns like a living wall. It was more than twice Uriel's size, and yet it did not move. It was at ease. Confident.
No words were spoken.
For long seconds, the world seemed to hold its breath. The silence between the two creatures was so dense that even the wind stopped. Their eyes met like blades crossing before a duel — sharp, lethal, resolute. There was no room for doubt. No diplomacy between titans. It was kill or dominate.
And then, as if obeying the same instinctual command, both roared.
It was a tremendous sound. An ancestral, savage, and overwhelming bellow that shook the very sky. The air vibrated as if the world itself were about to crack. Their wings opened in a simultaneous, brutal gesture, beating with titanic force. The impact unleashed a hurricane of pure destruction — debris flew through the air, columns collapsed, and snow evaporated under the violence. The ground trembled as if something deep within the earth had awakened.
Uriel did not wait.
He could have retreated, observed, devised a strategy. But something inside him howled — a primal, overwhelming instinct screaming in his mind: prove your strength. Dominate. Subjugate.
With an even fiercer roar, Uriel launched forward like a living arrow, every muscle pulsing with fury. He slammed his head violently against the enemy dragon's. It was as if two worlds collided.
The impact was devastating.
A shockwave exploded from the point of contact, rippling through the entire castle. Walls cracked, the ceiling trembled, and shards of stone rained down upon the hall. Uriel was hurled backward like a shattered puppet. His body twisted in the air before crashing to the ground with force. His dark blue scales, hardened like diamonds, cracked on his forehead; some broke off, falling in glimmering fragments like shattered crystal.
The green dragon, in contrast, barely moved.
On its thick brow, there was only a slight dent — a small mark, as if Uriel's attack had been little more than a bothersome tap.
Then, like a cold blade in his mind, the impersonal voice of the system echoed in Uriel's consciousness:
[You suffered 80 damage]
[You dealt 3 damage]
Uriel didn't care about the numbers flashing incessantly on the system's screen. Nor about the broken scales falling from his body like shards of a fractured mirror. They would return — he knew that. Rest and time would bring regeneration, as they always had. But there was something deeper, something that wounded his soul in a way no physical injury ever could: the raw, unyielding truth before his eyes. He was inferior. And his opponent, immense and powerful, hadn't even tried to defeat him.
Then, like thunder cutting through the silence of the deepest cavern, the dragon spoke.
His voice, deep and drawn-out, reverberated through the walls of the ruined castle, bringing with it the ancient threat of something untouched by time.
"I didn't know there was another dragon like me..." he said, his yellow eyes half-lidded, as if bored by Uriel's mere presence. "Well, except for that damn one who spends his time gnawing on roots."
The word "damn" was almost a whisper, but Uriel felt the weight of those words as if they were a direct blow to his heart. The dragon despised him, challenged him with his casual tone. And that, more than any physical damage, made him burn from within.
Uriel's fury could no longer be contained. His chest expanded, and the arcane energy within him stirred like a hurricane about to explode. He conjured the deep ice that froze his soul, concentrating it until the magic burst from his throat. A freezing beam, as pure and intense as a thousand moons reflecting on snow, shot toward the dragon.
The beam of pure destruction hit the enemy's body.
But... nothing happened.
The dragon didn't move, didn't flinch. He didn't dodge. He merely stared, his eyes like golden blades, cold and calculating, with not a spark of emotion.
Uriel didn't hesitate. His dragon instincts roared within him, commanding him to act. With a primal scream, he charged. His wings opened with the force of a storm, beating so hard that the air around seemed to tear. Like a furious comet, he launched himself at the dragon, his claws shining like sharp blades, ready to tear into his prey's flesh.
The impact was brutal. He sliced through the air with precision, hitting the dragon's face with a blow that should have been fatal. Sparks exploded as they met the scales like hammers striking against forged iron. The sound echoed through the hall, a crash of raw strength.
But the dragon, motionless, didn't flinch.
The green scales, as hard as rocks, didn't chip. There was no blood. There was not even a reaction.
Uriel, stunned, continued his assault. With all his strength, he aimed for the dragon's eye, hoping that a weakness might finally be revealed. His claw dug into the dragon's orbit, but once again... nothing.
Only sparks.
"What..." he thought, disbelief mixing with the growing pain.
And then, as if the battle were a boring game, a low, mocking laugh filled the space.
"Is this how it's done?"
The dry laugh of the dragon echoed, heavy with disdain. He didn't see the dragon's movement, but he felt the ferocity of the claw that came at him like a lightning strike. An indescribable force. The claws sank into his chest with the violence of a storm, breaking his scales like shattered glass. Uriel's scream was more a gasp of disbelief than of pain—a mixture of surprise and fury.
The weight of defeat began to press on his heart, but he was not willing to surrender. With one last breath of power, he channeled all his magic, the absolute ice he mastered, and fired one final breath, aimed directly at the dragon's face.
But the dragon, once again, didn't move.
The ice shattered against his skin as if it were nothing.
Before Uriel could even react, the dragon attacked again. Three claws, sharp as knives, crossed his face, leaving deep marks, opening his face as if it were made of paper. The impact was so devastating that his wings snapped with a horrible crack, and Uriel's body was thrown aside like a broken toy.
He fell. And the ground seemed to tremble under his weight.
Uriel, staggering, tried to rise, his trembling limbs and his whole body groaning in pain. Blood poured from his wounds, mixing with the white snow now stained red. He had no strength left to fight. No strength to fly. But there was one thing he still had: the will to survive.
He ran. He didn't fly. He didn't scream. He simply ran, each step a challenge against death. His limbs wavered, faltered, but he kept fighting, fleeing, desperately seeking a way to escape this nightmare.
And behind him, the voice of the dragon echoed, heavy with threat and disdain.
"Remember how I brought you down, I farfnir. When I get out of here—and one day I will—you will be my slave. For my vengeance."
Uriel didn't answer. He could barely hear. The world around him was falling apart. His senses were dull, clouded by pain and shock. He was no longer in a condition to fight. But he kept running.
He ran until he found a crack between the rocks, a narrow hole, but deep enough to hide in. And there, he shoved his wounded body, his face stained with blood, struggling until he finally curled up, exhausted.
The system screen flickered in his field of vision, the cold and impersonal information displaying his desperate situation:
[HP: 1]
He had almost died. Again.
With his chest heaving, his breath heavy and erratic, Uriel murmured, his voice a venomous whisper, a low cry of vengeance:
"This humiliation... you will pay. And we'll see... who serves who..."
He closed his eyes, the darkness of sleep—or perhaps unconsciousness—enveloping him. The system still made faint beeping noises around him, but Uriel no longer cared.
And then, everything went black.