Previously~
Caelum stepped forward, his hand still gripping his spellblade, his expression a mask of calm but with eyes that burned with unspoken resolve. "This doesn't have to escalate."
But Alexander's heart beat like a war drum in his chest. "I'm done talking." He pulled his claymore from its sheath with a thunderous motion.
The room erupted.
*********************************
The grand throne room of Emperor Thaddeus seemed to shrink as the tension rose. A cold draft swept through the stone arches, echoing like a foreboding whisper of what was to come. Alexander stood at the center, the weight of his challenge hanging over him. Fafnir, in his human form, stood tall with a smirk curling his lips, eyes gleaming with the ancient knowledge of dragons.
Behind Fafnir, Arnold hefted his great axe, the weapon's weight seeming to bend the air around him. Richard, swift as a shadow, circled, the curved saber at his side gleaming in the candlelight, ready for a strike that would cut clean and true.
Emperor Thaddeus sat uneasily on his throne, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests. He had called this trial, hoping Alexander would be humbled by the power of the Fafnir family, yet a whisper of doubt lingered in his chest. Beside him, Caelum's eyes flickered from Alexander to the other combatants, his body tense as though holding back a storm of his own.
"Remember your place, Alexander," Fafnir's voice was a low growl, tinged with amusement. "You are outmatched, outclassed... and soon to be broken."
Alexander's eyes narrowed, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. "I stand for the honor of my house. You're no different from any other beast—just another predator who doesn't understand restraint."
Fafnir laughed, a sound that reverberated through the chamber like thunder.
With a sudden move, Richard darted forward, his curved saber flashing through the air. Alexander parried the strike just in time, his sword ringing against the steel. The force of the blow sent a tremor through his arm, but he stood firm, his feet planted in the cold stone of the floor.
Arnold charged in with his massive axe, swinging it in a wide arc meant to cleave through Alexander's defenses. The weapon was so large, the air itself seemed to hiss with its approach. Alexander sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the deadly edge, but the swing left a jagged scar in the stone behind him.
"You can't dodge forever," Fafnir taunted, his smile widening as his dragonborn blood surged through his veins. The air around him seemed to distort as his power grew, his eyes glowing with an ancient fire.
Caelum gripped the hilt of his sword, his fingers tightening with the urge to intervene, but he stayed rooted to the spot. "Alexander, you can't—"
But it was already too late. Richard came again, faster this time, attempting to catch Alexander off guard with a feint, his saber aimed at the ribs. Alexander twisted his body, the blade grazing his side, but not deep enough to wound him. The sting of the cut was momentary, but it fueled his focus.
Alexander was breathing harder now, his eyes darting between his opponents. Fafnir had not moved, yet the very space around him seemed to pulse with the promise of destruction. Arnold was relentless, each swing of his axe like a thunderclap, and Richard's movements were swift, graceful, and merciless.
Arnold swung once more, and this time, the blow landed true. Alexander's sword clashed against the axe's haft with a reverberating force, knocking him to his knees. The throne room seemed to hold its breath as the onlookers watched the scene unfold.
"Enough!" The voice came from Emperor Thaddeus, a desperate command for Alexander's defeat, but there was no real conviction behind it. It was a hope that Alexander would fall, a hope that the young warrior would be humbled by the might of the Fafnir legacy.
But Alexander's will was unyielding.
With a roar, he surged to his feet, his sword arcing through the air with deadly precision. Fafnir's smirk faltered as the blade cut through the air, forcing him to step back for the first time in the fight.
Richard was upon him again, his saber thrusting toward Alexander's throat, but Alexander twisted just in time, locking the saber with his own blade and driving Richard back with a quick, sharp thrust. He could feel the weight of the battle pressing down on him, but his mind burned with a single, unwavering goal: to survive, to protect his name and honor.
Fafnir let out a low, amused chuckle as he took a step forward. "Impressive. You have spirit. But it won't be enough."
Then, just as Arnold raised his axe once more, a sudden shift occurred. The air in the throne room crackled with energy as Fafnir's form began to blur. Alexander's eyes widened.
"No," he muttered, realizing too late. Fafnir wasn't just a man. He was a dragon in disguise.
The human form of Fafnir shimmered, scales gleaming beneath his skin, eyes burning with a fiery glow. His voice deepened into a growl that seemed to shake the room itself.
"Let's end this," Fafnir purred, his claws extending as his true form began to emerge.
Alexander was no longer fighting a man. He was fighting a god.
The air grew thick with tension as Fafnir's human form melted away, the transformation an almost ethereal spectacle. His skin split like molten stone, revealing the ancient, primal scales beneath. His eyes glowed like twin suns, burning with an inner fury, as the very foundation of the throne room seemed to tremble under the power of his awakening.
"Is this what you wanted, Alexander?" Fafnir's voice was no longer human—deeper, more resonant, like the rumble of distant thunder. His claws scraped against the stone floor as his form fully shifted, now towering over the combatants, a dragon clothed in the skin of a man.
Emperor Thaddeus froze on his throne, mouth agape, unable to comprehend the horror unfolding before him. Caelum, his hands gripping his sword, took a cautious step forward, his internal struggle evident on his face. "This isn't what was meant to happen…"
But Alexander, standing alone at the center of the chaos, felt his heart pound in his chest. The weight of the world seemed to settle upon him. This was no longer a fight for pride—it was a fight for survival.
With a bellow that shook the room, Fafnir surged forward, his claws swiping through the air with terrifying speed. Arnold, now emboldened by Fafnir's transformation, swung his great axe with brutal force. The blade arced toward Alexander with a violent momentum, its edge gleaming.
Alexander's instincts kicked in, and he sidestepped, feeling the gust of air as the axe barely missed him. His feet moved in perfect rhythm, his body a blur of grace and precision as he spun to face Arnold, his sword raised.
But Richard was there, his curved saber flashing like a streak of light, cutting at Alexander's side. The blade grazed his ribs, sending a searing pain through his body. He grunted, forcing himself to focus, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. The pain was a reminder that he was human—that he bled, just like anyone else.
Fafnir's laugh echoed through the room, low and dangerous. "You think you can defeat us, boy? You are nothing more than a fleeting shadow before the might of a dragon!"
With a roar, Fafnir lunged again, his massive form pushing past Arnold and Richard. His claws aimed directly at Alexander's throat, his eyes narrowing with malicious delight.
Alexander's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't dodge this one.
Time seemed to slow.
In that heartbeat, the world narrowed down to only the dragon's claws, shimmering with dangerous intent. Alexander's heart raced, but his mind was clear. His only chance was to use the very ground beneath his feet.
He dropped low, using the momentum of the dragon's strike against him. As Fafnir's claws sliced through the air, Alexander slid to the side, bringing his sword up in a wild arc to deflect the blow. The impact reverberated through his arms, and for a moment, he thought he might lose his grip.
But just as the dragon's claws passed by, a flash of silver caught his eye.
Arnold, enraged by Fafnir's transformation, raised his axe high, aiming to finish the fight with a single, crushing blow. But his strike was wild, not calculating, desperate. He swung downward with all his might.
Alexander saw his opening.
With a fluid motion, he threw himself backward, his sword catching Arnold's axe with the force of a thunderclap. The two weapons clashed with a violent spray of sparks, the shockwave reverberating in Alexander's bones. The force pushed him to the ground, but his mind was sharp, his body reacting faster than his thoughts could keep up.
Before Arnold could recover, Alexander rolled to his feet, pressing his advantage. He moved like a phantom, his blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. Richard lunged forward, aiming to intercept, but Alexander anticipated the move. He twisted his body just enough to let Richard's saber slide harmlessly past him, then drove his sword into Richard's exposed side.
The curved blade met flesh with a sickening thud, and Richard gasped, his eyes widening in disbelief. The saber fell from his grasp as he crumpled to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.
Fafnir was no longer laughing. His eyes burned with fury as he watched Richard fall. Arnold, seeing his comrade go down, swung his axe once more with rage-filled strength, aiming directly for Alexander's head.
This time, there was no room to evade.
In a split second, Alexander made a decision. He met Arnold's swing head-on.
The two weapons collided with a deafening crash, and for a moment, time seemed to hold its breath. The sheer force of the strike sent a shockwave through Alexander's body, his legs trembling beneath him. He felt the weight of the axe pressing against his sword, felt the ground beneath his feet begin to crack.
He was running out of time.
But then, he saw it. The faintest glimmer of light reflecting off the stone wall—a sharp, jagged edge in the corner of the room. The throne.
In the moment of the clash, as Arnold's strength began to overpower him, Alexander's instincts took over. He drove his sword upward, pushing with every last ounce of his remaining strength.
The blade found its mark.
With a guttural cry, Arnold's axe fell from his hands as his body was thrown backward, his eyes wide in shock and pain. He crumpled to the ground in a heap.
Alexander stood there, panting, his sword shaking in his hands. The throne room was deathly silent.
Fafnir was still there, towering over him, fury and disbelief written across his draconic features. "You... You cannot defeat me!" Fafnir roared, his voice reverberating like thunder.
Alexander, bloodied but resolute, faced the dragon-born beast. His heart thundered in his chest as he held his ground. He was battered, his limbs heavy, but he could feel the surge of adrenaline coursing through him. Fafnir might have the power of a dragon, but Alexander had something greater—his unyielding spirit.
He lunged.
Fafnir swung his massive claws in an attempt to crush him, but Alexander ducked beneath the strike, rolling past him, his blade flashing in the dim light. The sword met its target with a sickening crunch, slicing through the unprotected side of the dragon's scaled hide. Fafnir howled in pain, stumbling back, his blood hot and dark.
With a final, desperate move, Alexander thrust his blade upward, aiming for the heart.
Fafnir's eyes widened in horror, but it was too late.
The throne room fell into a tense silence as Fafnir's form shuddered, his body collapsing like a falling mountain. Alexander stood over him, breath ragged, his sword still embedded in the dragon's chest.
He had done it.
But barely.
He barely had the strength to stand, and as he looked around, the blood on his sword seemed to blur with the sweat and tears that had streaked his face. He had won—by a hair's breadth. And yet, as he looked toward the Emperor and Caelum, all he could feel was the weight of the battle that had nearly consumed him.
The throne room was silent.
Emperor Thaddeus's gaze was cold, his expression unreadable, but inside, he could feel a shift. He had hoped for Alexander's failure, yet he stood victorious—no, alive. And that was more than the Emperor had ever expected.
Caelum's hand remained on his sword, but his gaze softened as he looked at his comrade. Alexander had survived, against all odds.
But the true battle… was just beginning.