The hike into Lunareth Wood was deceptively gentle. The land beneath their boots rose and dipped in modest rolls, a landscape shaped more by time than turmoil. Gnarled roots twisted across the ground like the bones of the forest, but none snagged their feet. The path—if it could be called that—wound loosely through the trees, as if nature had once opened a door here, then thought better of it.
By day, the burning trees of Lunareth lost their majesty. The ghostly blue fire that danced along their branches flickered weakly under the harsh light of the sun, no longer mysterious—only weary. Where once their glow had whispered ancient magic, now they stood faded, as if ashamed of their own brilliance. The forest had shed its wonder in exchange for silence.
And that silence was unnatural.
No wind stirred the branches. No Pegasus grazed. No insects hummed. Even the air itself felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to pass through. Elais and in turn, Riley could sense the unease tightening in the soldiers' steps, in the way fingers hovered near hilts, how eyes glanced more frequently to the treetops.
They were not alone.
They knew of the Juggernaut. Every man here had heard stories—most had survived a brush with lesser terrors, some had faced monsters and lived to tell of it. But this was no campfire myth. This was a Titan-Class, a mass of fang and ruin. And though their commander led with unwavering stride, none of them marched without imagining who the beast would take first.
There was always one.
And every soldier hoped it wouldn't be them.
Elias moved ahead of the group, silent and deliberate. His gaze swept the canopy, scanning the spaces between branches, his posture taut but composed. He wasn't afraid—but he was alert. His steps betrayed long experience, not bravado. Whatever beast waited ahead, Elias had faced its kind before. That certainty lived in his bones.
Riley, tethered invisibly to Elias's senses, felt it: focus like a blade's edge. Cool adrenaline. No hesitation. No doubt.
The forest grew denser.
Blue flames dimmed as the trees pressed closer, thick trunks curving together like ribs forming a great beast's chest. Shadows pooled beneath them. Shafts of sunlight filtered in at slanted angles, sharp and sparse. The soldiers slowed instinctively, spacing out to navigate the increasingly claustrophobic terrain.
Then it happened.
A sound—subtle, deliberate—clicked through the still air above.
Click. Click. Click.
Predatory. Rhythmic. Too measured for an accident.
Every soldier crouched low in a ripple of motion. Hands gripped hilts. Backs flattened to bark. Eyes turned skyward.
Elias tilted his head up—and in turn, so did Riley, carried with him—and they saw it.
A head emerged above the canopy, enormous and wrong. It was shaped like a dragon's, yes—but where the last Juggernaut Riley had seen had moved with terrifying elegance, this one twitched. Its wings flared, then faltered, as if uncertain how to operate under their own weight. The leathery membranes stretched, trembling, as though stitched back together from ruin.
Its body was torn. Jagged wounds split across its hide, still seeping, crusted with what might've been ash or rotted blood. Some wounds weren't healing. Others had festered.
It drooled thick strands of saliva that hissed against the forest floor.
And then—it smiled.
Not with hunger. Not with fury. But with mockery.
Its lips peeled back in a twisted curve, revealing rows of uneven teeth slick with bile. The expression was grotesque, far too human. Unnatural.
Something was deeply, profoundly wrong with it.
Elias's eyes narrowed. Riley felt the shift in his stomach—the instinctive recoil. This wasn't just a monster. It was something far more sinister.
Elias raised a hand.
One sharp signal.
The soldiers immediately broke formation and began to fan out through the trees. Damien and his support unit remained behind, waiting to intercept interference from the flanks. The others moved to surround the beast, stepping between gnarled trunks and patches of long-cooled ash, blades drawn low, breath held.
But the Juggernaut did not react.
Its body shuddered as if trying to recall how to function. Wings twitched again—sharper now, more erratic. They flexed outward, sending gouts of dry leaves into the air. Trees bent, their blue fire trailing behind them like torn silk.
The creature tilted its head. Not toward the soldiers, but back. Toward the path they had come.
Riley, caught inside Elias's perspective, felt a cold jolt run through his spine.
It was looking for something.
Or listening.
The Juggernaut's movements turned puppet-like—legs stuttered against the ground in uneven cadence. Its tail dragged, then snapped upright like it had remembered it was meant to be menacing. Every motion seemed dictated by something external, as if unseen fingers danced just above the surface of its skin.
And worst of all—there was no presence in its eyes.
No fire.
Only the hollow gleam of something worn too long by something that shouldn't be wearing it at all.
Elias swallowed. Riley could feel it.
This wasn't the same kind of creature he'd seen before. It shared the shape, the frame, the designation—but its grace and domineering aura had been replaced with something... less.
Something that mimicked life.
The unease coiled in his gut had already turned to resolve. Elias gave one final hand signal, catching the eyes of the soldiers stationed opposite him through the shadows. When they returned the motion, he pressed his hands together and let out a sharp whistle that cut the silence clean.
The signal.
In an instant, thirty-nine blades hissed from sheaths. Soldiers broke from their cover and surged forward from every angle, aiming to cripple the beast before it could rise.
But the dragon was already moving.
Its wings, gnarled and tattered, flared with explosive force. The burning trees around it snapped like twigs, blue fire streaming in ghostly ribbons through the air. The Juggernaut launched itself upward just as the soldiers closed in, a wave of wind knocking several from their feet.
The thing hovered—just high enough to stay out of reach—its massive wings blotting out the sunlight. And then its chest began to swell.
Riley felt the heat gather before he even saw it. Beneath the beast's stone-like scales, an orange glow flickered to life, growing steadily brighter.
It was preparing to burn them all.
But Elias was already gone.
To Riley, the world tilted. One moment, they stood still; the next, the ground blurred. Elias moved with impossible speed—no, more than speed. Precision. Every step a calculation, every breath controlled. His muscles didn't burn. They surged.
He sprinted past stunned soldiers, leapt onto the gnarled trunk of a nearby tree, and ran straight up its side.
Riley could feel the impossible angles beneath their feet. The flex of bark. The shift in weight. He wasn't watching this. He was living it.
At the top of the tree, Elias didn't pause. He launched off the thickest branch like a missile, sword drawn.
The dragon saw him too late.
Elias slammed into its side with brutal force, his blade piercing hide and flesh. The weapon didn't bounce or catch—it sank, clean and deep, driven by momentum no normal man could muster.
The dragon screamed.
A deep, guttural bellow—part agony, part fury, a bellow that shook bone.
The glow in its chest faltered, sputtering like a dying flame.
Elias clung to the embedded blade as the beast thrashed midair. Its body twisted and tried to roll, and its wings beat wildly.
Riley's breath caught.
They were going down.
With a roar and a seismic crash, the dragon slammed back to earth, flattening a grove of burning trees. It rolled to crush its attacker, but Elias was faster. He ripped the blade free and dashed to safety just before the beast's massive body crushed the space he'd occupied.
The soldiers didn't wait.
Steel flashed. They poured into the clearing, targeting joints and wings. Blades hacked at limbs, slashing at tendons and scales. The Juggernaut shrieked again, but this time there was desperation behind it.
Riley felt Elias tense, not from fear, but from recognition.
This wasn't a fight. It was a culling.
Still, the danger hadn't passed.
A soldier rushed in from the flank, blade raised to strike the dragon's arm. He didn't see the tail.
It's barbed end whipped around like a spear.
Riley saw it coming. So did Elias.
Before the soldier could react, Elias blurred into motion again. He was there in a heartbeat, a streak of speed no human should possess. He slammed into the soldier, shoving him aside with bone-breaking force. Riley heard the crack of ribs—not Elias's—but the man he'd saved.
The barb struck.
It clipped Elias across the side of his mask, snapping wood and drawing blood. The impact rang in his skull. His vision shuddered.
But Elias didn't fall.
He caught the tail mid-strike. Muscles burned. Veins surged. With a grunt of effort, Elias held it firm—and then, with a clean motion, brought his sword down.
The barb was sliced cleanly from its source.
The dragon screamed again, but its strength was waning. It reared once, then staggered.
The soldiers moved in, coordinated and relentless. Swords pierced soft points, crushed wing joints, and hacked into the exposed base of its skull.
At last, the Juggernaut collapsed.
Still twitching. Still breathing.
One of the soldiers stepped forward, climbed the beast's head, and drove his blade deep into its skull. Then, using both hands, he reached inside and pulled free the prize: a small pearl no larger than a human eye.
It shimmered like moonlight in his bloodstained fingers.
The men began to cheer.
The beast was dead, and somehow their most injured only had a few broken ribs. And they knew it wasn't a miracle. It was a testament of strength.
Riley reeled. The speed, the force, the absolute command Elias held over his body. Riley could feel the power coursing through borrowed limbs. This wasn't just skill. It wasn't training. It was something else. Something more. He'd never seen anything like it.
After a small celebration of victory, everyone began the trek home satisfactorily.
They marched under a sky ignited with fire.
The sunset bled crimson and orange across the heavens. As night fell, the burning trees reclaimed their glow, and the forest—so lifeless earlier—came alive with flickering stars and starlit creatures.
Herds of pegasus soared through the air, silent and luminous. Frogs with glowing blue spots emerged from hidden burrows. Fireflies rose from the underbrush like sparks lifted toward the moon.
It was beautiful. Strange. Alive.
And through it all, Elias didn't bat an eye.
He kept mumbling to himself, "My wife's gonna kill me. I told her I'd make it."
He walked briskly ahead of his soldiers. His words and hurried steps made Riley wonder what on earth could change his demeanour.
When they arrived at the outpost, Elias didn't stop to take off his armour. He marched straight through the gates, past the darkened market stalls, past the curious glances, and turned down the path toward his home.
Riley could feel the weight inside him shift.
It was the first time he'd felt it from Elias.
Fear.
They turned the final corner. A woman with her, dark hair tied in a bun was waiting on the porch. Her son sat beside her, eyes fixed on the wooden bird in his hands.
She looked up as Elias approached.
"You're lucky," she said calmly. Riley thought he saw a gleam of menace in her eye. "The service is about to start."
Elias let out a long breath.
Riley blinked.
He just killed a dragon.
And this was what stressed him out?
Was this a joke?