In the heart of the maelstrom, Emir and the newly emerged Demon-Type were executing a textbook restraint maneuver. The Giant Killer had both colossal arms locked around Dravhark's upper body, holding him in an iron-hard deadlock. The Giant Killer's tremendous strength was barely enough, its armor groaning under the dragon's frantic, struggling might. At the same time, the Demon-Type had wrapped its massive, smoky arms around the dragon's chest, the ethereal grip somehow translating into a physically immovable constraint.

Kazue, utilizing the body of Dora with an absurdly comical but effective technique, was the final pin. She had conjured a black flaming lasso, a rope of dark, burning flame, using Dora's ephemeral form like a whipping chain, and had managed to secure it around the thrashing dragon's tail. She held the other end, her entire body rigid, digging her heels into an air platform, leaning back with all her might to keep the colossal appendage immobile.

"Hold him! Don't let go!"

Kazue screamed, her muscles screaming with the strain… Quite literally, it was as if little Kazues were formed in her arms and were comically crying in pain.

Dravhark was a caged storm, roaring, thrashing, but pinned, and Adam, with his mind now clear and focused, moved. Falk directed him to the perfect position—directly in front of the dragon, at the height of the agonizing chest wound.

Adam knew he had few chances, since the dragon had a healing factor, taking too much time was counterproductive, and a detriment to their plan... He took his left hand and, with the jagged edge of his spear, he sliced a deep gash across his palm. His own cursed, corrupted blood, a thick, tar-like substance, welled up instantly and coated the tip of the spear.

He watched as his own cursed blood intermingled with the dragon's spilled blood already on the weapon. The expected reaction, a sizzling, black, bubbling foam, confirmed his theory.

"You are a being of near-divine status, Dravhark."

Adam muttered, his voice a low, chilling rasp.

"So this should prove far more effective."

He activated his most potent corruption skill aimed at entities of divine lineage: [God's Plague]. The spear's tip now pulsed with a terrifying, malevolent energy that was not just cursed, but fundamentally anti-divine.

Then, with a furious, final surge of all his remaining strength, Adam hurled the spear.

It was not just a throw; it was a black, screaming bullet. The weapon sank into Dravhark's open wound, finding its mark perfectly, piercing the flesh that the Giant Killer and the Demon-Type were desperately holding together.

Dravhark roared, a sound of absolute, soul-shattering pain that was different from the simple agony of being stabbed. It was the howl of a creature whose very nature was being violated.

But the worst had just begun. Adam, galvanized by the Empress's words to utilize his varied arsenal, did not wait for the slow, insidious work of his [Soulcrusher Virus]... Why wait?

The moment the spear was lodged, the skills [Vampiric Infection] and [Parasitic Undead Plague] surged forward, boosted and supercharged by the anti-divine corruption of [God's Plague]. The sheer, amplified power was instantaneous. The flesh around the spear wound didn't just necrotize; it came alive.

The wound began to move on its own, a sickening, crawling mass of black flesh. Tendrils of corrupted, parasitic tissue erupted from the wound, followed by chitinous spikes and insectoid, skeletal legs that began to ruthlessly cannibalize the surrounding dragon hide. The parasitic plague spread rapidly, chewing away at the dragon's own body, ripping the opening wider and wider.

Dravhark screamed a sound of unimaginable, blistering horror.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!?"

He shrieked, his voice losing its regal quality, becoming a raw, terrified bellow.

"TO A SON OF VHARZUN!? THIS IS THE GREATEST BLASPHEMY! THE CURSE OF MY RACE WILL FALL UPON YOU FOR THIS OFFENSE!"

But his threats were useless. The living, feeding wound continued to grow, a monstrous, hungry entity within his own chest. And then, before the horrified eyes of the dragon, the parasitic corruption completed its sickening work.

In the center of the newly widened, pulsating, and self-cannibalizing wound, a large, brilliant orb of pure white light was revealed… The Core.

"There it is!"

Falk's scream was a triumphant, desperate sound, a pure affirmation of his desperate gamble.

"I was right! The Core is exposed!"

Adam's spear returned to his hand. He stabilized his position, preparing for the final, ultimate throw—the blow that would end a son of the Dragon God… But the final attack never came.

Deep within the mind of the corrupted dragon, a colossal, fiery entity was suffering the most profound torment it had ever known. Dravhark was a whirlwind of agonizing pain, humiliation, and terror, his essence being consumed by a foe he couldn't even see. He was weak. He was broken. He was on the verge of defeat.

No. NO.

A core of defiance, a molten-hot ember of unyielding will, exploded within his mind. He was the progeny of the Dragon God Vharzun. He was not a Dracling, not a servant, but a Son.

"I am Dravhark, the Dread Fang! The Second Son! I will not accept this humiliating end!"

His spirit, indomitable and primal, unleashed a torrent of renewed, absolute power that defied his physical state. If he was going to die, he would ensure that every single creature here would share his fate.

With a final, gargantuan surge of pure, agonizing strength, Dravhark moved.

He tore free from the Demon-Type's grip, the phantom's smoky arms ripping away as if they were made of paper. The Giant Killer, unable to withstand the sudden, explosive movement, was thrown back with a violent shake that slammed its massive body against the nearest obsidian wall. Kazue screamed as the black fire lasso around the tail snapped back. The speed of the recoiling chain yanked her with such force that she was sent spiraling into the sky like a helpless, tumbling figure.

Adam, with his spear wound up, was ready, but he was too late.

"Adam, cover! Now!"

Falk's voice was a pure, panicked shriek. The boy reacted instinctively, throwing his arm up. His 'Az'Karul's Versebreaker' snapped into a defensive position vertically across his chest just as Dravhark's colossal, fanged maw lunged… The dragon's entire body was focused on crushing the boy, a desperate, final act of vengeful destruction.

The impact was earth-shattering. The spear, held firmly by Adam's superhuman strength, acted as a desperate lever, jamming between the dragon's upper and lower jaws, preventing them from closing completely. Adam was crushed between the spear and the dragon's titanic teeth, his feet skidding along as he was pushed back by a force that could level an entire building.

The second stretched into an eternity. Dravhark was willing to break his own teeth and shatter his muzzle if it meant crushing the pest.

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Adam, enveloped in the stinking, hot breath of the dragon, knew his options were minimal. [Spectral Mist Step] was the only way to escape, but Dravhark's essence had a similar cursed power, and one of the few cons of that skill was that he could be hit by attacks imbued with cursed or similar energies. The risk of being damaged even in mist form was too high. Yet, he couldn't hold out much longer, since the real problem was… Falk.

He still felt the presence of the scientist on his shoulder. Even if he escaped as mist, Falk would be left behind and crushed instantly. Adam braced himself, the sheer physical force of the dragon grinding against his spear more and more. He would resist for another second or two, just enough time for Falk to escape, even if it meant his own body would be destroyed.

It was in that infinitesimal moment of ultimate, final desperation that something happened.

On the ground, Charles and Chloe had charged in, a tiny, human-sized wave against a cosmic storm. They had reached Dravhark's feet just as the dragon unleashed his final, explosive surge, so unfortunately, they were caught in the resulting tidal wave of debris and shockwave, hurled forward like dust motes.

When the chaos settled, the result was a bizarre, improbable miracle.

Charles was semi-buried, a pile of obsidian rocks trapping the lower half of his body. He was battered, winded, and clearly in pain, but his upper body was free.

Chloe, on the other hand, was disoriented but miraculously whole; she opened her eyes and found herself face-to-face with an enormous, brilliant white sphere, pulsing softly in the oppressive darkness... It was as big as her own body, and it was nestled right in the center of a hideously open, pulsing wound. Dravhark's final, desperate lunge had positioned him just so, tipping his torso forward, exposing his deepest vulnerability right at the feet of the two smallest, most insignificant players on the field.

Chloe froze, her mind seizing up for a critical, terrifying moment. She was not crushed, and by some miracle, she was staring directly at the dragon's core.

Then, her eyes registered something else. Conveniently, improbably, right next to her hand, glinting dully in the light of the core, was Charles's long sword.

The hurt blond lifted his head, his face a grim mask of pain, his eyes wide with desperate urgency.

"Do it!"

He yelled, his voice ragged but absolute.

The command, the sheer adrenaline, and the overwhelming desire to finally, finally be useful, erased all doubt. Chloe didn't think; she only obeyed. Her hand shot out, grasping the weird hilt, and with a wild, desperate cry, she drove the sword forward, slamming it with all her strength into the soft, exposed flesh of the Core. The blade pierced the sphere cleanly.

The entire battlefield fell silent.

For two agonizing seconds, nothing happened, but suddenly, the light of the sphere, so intense and brilliant, simply dimmed… And then, the great white orb of power in the dragon's chest began to crack, until it finally happened.

The immense sphere, Dravhark's core, fractured and instantly erupted in a silent, beautiful explosion. To Chloe's terrified, overwhelmed eyes, the phenomenon was a sublime spectacle: the millions of tiny fragments of the shattered core illuminated the air, each fragment a fleeting screen that displayed the dragon's millennia of memories, experiences, and life. The immense history of the dragon—his battles, his fealty to Vharzun, his ancient rage—passed before her in a chaotic, overwhelming flash, unedited, and horrifying cosmic film.

The beautiful but terrible radiance of the core's destruction lasted no longer than a single heartbeat. Before Chloe could process the sheer majesty or horror of the sight, every single illuminated fragment vanished, dissolving instantly into wisps of dark smoke, as if the pure, blinding energy of the core had been consumed and extinguished by its own cursed nature. The pink-haired girl was left standing, the blade of the sword still clutched in her trembling hand, facing the gaping, pulsing wound—a wound now much larger than her own body—in the chest of a silent, defeated dragon.

The massive, colossal body of Dravhark had ceased all movement. His life, his rage, his divine essence—all had been extinguished in a single moment, yet his immense form did not collapse. The Dread Fang remained perfectly upright, a towering, terrifying statue of obsidian-like scales.

Chloe was about to lower her arms, her entire body shaking uncontrollably from the terrifying rush of adrenaline and shock, when a single System screen flickered into existence before her. It was barely visible in the lingering darkness, but she could read the urgent, alarming text.

[You have defeated an enemy far exceeding your level! C■■alculati■on of■■ rew■■■■■■ Error ■■■ Error.] [The System does not recognize user Chloe Vanderlyle. Please wait while an anti-cheat protocol is executed.]

Chloe did not understand the garbled message; she had never seen the System glitch so violently before. However, the true horror was yet to come. More System windows materialized, their text now alarming and urgent.

[The entity 'Darkness Dragon God: Vharzun' has sensed the death of his Second Son 'Dravhark, the Dread Fang', and has located the responsible.] [Invalid user Chloe Vanderlyle has been selected as the target for the curse [Mark Of the Corrupted Dragonkin - Lv17] by the entity 'Darkness Dragon God: Vharzun']

Horror seized Chloe as a massive, fiery-red tattoo, shaped like the massive, roaring head of a dragon, began to instantly burn itself onto her right arm. The process was agonizing; the divine curse was literally scorching her skin. Chloe screamed, the sound a raw, piercing shriek of indescribable agony.

Tears of pain and despair instantly filled her eyes as the tattoo completed its burning inscription. The pain was beyond anything she had ever experienced, a searing torment that felt as if the mark were physically burning her very soul and mind, to the point that she was seconds from losing consciousness.

[Invalid user Chloe Vanderlyle is incompatible with the [Mark Of the Corrupted Dragonkin - Lv17]. Mortal damage is imminent.]

It was over. Chloe had no physical means of surviving a direct curse from the Dragon God. Charles, still trapped beneath the debris, looked at her, his face a grim mask of silent despair, while the girl was on the absolute brink of unconsciousness, her body shaking from the unbearable agony, when she suddenly heard a familiar voice screaming her name.

"Chloe!"

It was only an instant, but it felt as if it were several minutes in her mind... Adam's voice reached her, a raw, desperate shout that cut through the darkness and the pain. The boy had been trapped just an instant ago, but the sudden cessation of the crushing force on his spear told him immediately that the dragon was defeated for some reason.

However, when he heard Chloe's scream of pain, he instantly recognized the unique sound of her terror, and he immediately magnified his spectral wings, launching himself out of the dragon's mouth and plunging toward the sound.

Adam's voice, though just a desperate cry of her name, resonated within her, cutting through the agony with such force that, for a single, fleeting fraction of a second, it restored her sanity in the terrifying sea of pain. That instant felt like an entire minute in her mind. In that moment of crystal clarity, Chloe remembered Adam—the one who always did the unthinkable to achieve the impossible, the one she admired, the one she liked. A fierce, raw determination, a final, brilliant spark of pure willpower, surged through her, translating into the immediate activation of her [Skill Rental] ability as a desperate attempt to fight back.

The skill instantly activated, taking Adam himself as the target. The boy, still flying blindly toward the source of the danger, felt the enormous energy surge near him but could not see the accompanying System messages.

[The skill [Skill Rental Lv3] has taken a selected skill from the user Adam Scholar.] [The invalid user Chloe Vanderlyle can now temporarily use the passive trait [Enhanced Malediction Reversal (Innate)] for 10 minutes.]

The effect was instantaneous and absolute. The insufferable agony that had been consuming Chloe's body vanished completely, though the intense, residual burning sensation remained. She ceased her screaming, bit down hard on her lower lip, and collapsed to her knees, clutching her right arm, the colossal, glowing red dragon tattoo still searing her flesh.

The curse of the Dragon God, a definitive mark of death for any living being, had been neutralized, at least momentarily, because Chloe had copied the only passive trait that could possibly save her: the trait that converted curses into powerful buffs.

Adam finally landed beside the girl. He still could not see very well, but he felt the profound, malign energy that still clung to the air and the immense, terrifying heat emanating from her arm.

"Chloe! Are you alright?! What in the hells did you do?!"

Adam screamed, his voice strained and frantic. Chloe managed to look up at him, her eyes wide with pain and effort.

"I'm fine… I just…"

But before she could say anything else, she coughed violently, a torrent of thick, black blood erupting from her mouth and splattering onto the stone floor.

The urgency was absolute; the beneficial trait she had copied, though life-saving, was designed for an undead body, not a human one. Using it in this manner had saved her from the immediate curse, but it had done nothing more than delay the inevitable, slowly poisoning her body with energy it could not process. They needed a solution, and they needed it now.

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