The clash between man and dragon raged on like a storm, unrelenting in its nature. Lukas could feel the world itself tremble under the weight of their battle, the sea answering to his every command as if it always had while it should have only belonged to another.

Before Lukas stood a man who should have been untouchable—the Hero From Another World, golden ichor burning bright within his veins, the strength of a Titan flowing through his blood like liquid magic. So many times before the Hero had called upon his patron as a last resort, wielding a power that no mortal should be able to and putting an end to the life of his enemies without needing to lift a finger. But now, the Hero fought with everything he had against the Dragon Lord he had faced off against so many years ago.

The measured arrogance that had once colored the man's every motion was gone, stripped away in the face of necessity. The man was no longer holding back. Every strike carried with it a weight meant to end. Every surge of power threatened to drown the battlefield in the authority of the god who had chosen him as his champion.

But Lukas stood against it, unyielding even in the face of Oceanus' might.

Where the Hero's strength was wild, untamed and simply overwhelming, Lukas' power was refined.

Precision guided his every motion, discipline forged from countless battles and years spent honing himself within the Crest. The seas bent to his will, not out of obligation but out of recognition. The ocean did not obey him because of borrowed blood or divine inheritance. It obeyed because he commanded it, because he had made it his own.

It soon became clear to Lukas that the Hero had never faced an equal.

The man had never stood before someone who could take on his power and answer it in kind.

While this revelation would have struck fear in the hearts of lesser men, it only fueled the Hero further. Lukas could see it in the man's eyes, a feverish light, the twisted joy of a man who had found in death a worthy companion. The Hero welcomed the Underworld as eagerly as the living did life. The man craved it, drew strength from it, as though the prospect of losing all gave him purpose.

That hunger made him all the more dangerous.

Every blow and every movement, became faster, sharper and more vicious than the last. Golden light cracked the air, ichor burning as the seas themselves twisted in defiance of their own master. Lukas felt the pull of Oceanus in every current as if trying to wrestle back control of which the Dragon Lord had stolen from the Titan.

But Lukas would not allow it.

His will was iron, his control absolute. He did not need madness. His strength was the quiet, unshakable truth of one who had bled and suffered and endured not for himself but for everyone who now depended on him as their shield.

There would no second chances here, there was no escape; the only way for Lukas was through.

Should he fall here, there would be no mercy for him or the Kingdom of Dragons.

The Hero would not simply take his life—he would bring ruin upon the very people Lukas had sworn to protect. The very thought of Linemall's destruction forced Lukas to drive the Hero back.

The dragon was putting everything on the line now because this was it.

If not, what would it all be for?

All those years spent overcoming the Trials of Kairos Castle, the worlds within the Crest pushing his sanity to its very limits—everything had been for this moment. For this fight. For the people Lukas loved. And so, with the seas rising behind him like a wall of judgment, Lukas met the Hero's frenzied grin with his own quiet resolve.

He would not lose this fight. He could not.

The Crest surged within him and through the Legacy came a current of power that roared louder than the tide. The magical energy filled his Pool of Mana until it felt as though his very veins might tear under the weight of it, more power than his body should have ever been able to contain.

Now, that same boundless power was his to command. But it was not only power but mastery which gave Lukas the edge.

All those lessons etched into him over centuries, skill carved through battles that had once seemed endless.

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Lukas fought not as a single Lord but as the sum of every Drakos before him.

He moved with the versatility of his brother, Rodan Drakos, the Leviathan of the Deep, his imagination conjuring constructs vast and terrible, sculpted from endless seas. Blades of water, serpents born of the tide, towering barriers that split the sky—there was no shape he could not forge, no reach beyond his grasp.

From his father in this life, Jaren Drakos, Lukas had inherited speed. It was not simply swiftness of movement, but a precision born from discipline, the kind of grace that made all the difference in this fight. It was this agility that allowed Lukas to answer the Hero's every strike, to weave between attacks that should have broken him and to land blows with the same deadly accuracy Lord Jaren had been known for.

But even that was not enough.

When the Hero closed the distance that Lukas strove to keep between them, the dragon's body betrayed no weakness. For Lukas became the seas itself, transforming into liquid water, using the very spell that had defined the Monarch's reign. His form bent and shifted, flowing away from every strike, reforming with fluidity that surpassed even the Draconic Arts.

He was untouchable, not because the Hero lacked strength, but because no blade could pierce the sea.

The same should have been true of the Hero From Another World. His body had been remade to house the power of a god, strong enough to bear the ichor of Oceanus without breaking. And yet, for all its might, the cracks had began to form within this vessel the Hero called his own. With each passing exchange, they grew more pronounced.

Lukas' constructs wrapped around the Hero like chains, it was not only force that threatened to drown him.

It was Valerion Drakos' teachings that gave the Divinity of the Seas the most destructive potential. The water that bound the Hero's flesh ignited with searing heat, the air bending around them as if reality itself threatened to melt. Flowing water colder than ice struck at the Hero, frost beginning to form upon his skin.

In this fight, Lukas proved that even the gods could bleed.

The world saw it in the spray that colored the battlefield, staining the waves not crimson but in gold.

It was proof that even Oceanus' chosen champion could be wounded, proof that the Hero was not untouchable.

The question was no longer whether Lukas Drakos could stand against the Hero.

That had already been answered in the blood and ichor that stained the sea. Blow after blow had proven it—he was no mere obstacle to the Hero's path, no faceless defender destined to fall in the face of the power that Oceanus had granted him.

Lukas was more than the Hero's equal.

He was the immovable object that the Hero's unstoppable force was not able to pass.

The real question was how much longer could Lukas endure?

The Crest of the Lords had lifted him higher than he had ever dared to imagine, restoring him to the heights he had only once reached in the timeless halls of Kairos Castle. It burned through him, a roaring current of magic that kept his body moving and his soul set ablaze.

But borrowed strengths had its limits.

The Crest was not infinite, and already its power strained against the limits of his mortal vessel. And when that tide finally ebbed, there would be nothing left for Lukas to do except admit defeat. He would fall, as he had before against the Hero. He would die fighting, alone in battle, just like he had in his past life.

But this time, he would not die fighting in vain.

He would die for the Kingdom of Dragons. He would die for them.

Then, Lukas felt it.

A surge of magic, so vast and overwhelming it stole the breath from his lungs. It crashed into him like a wave without end, filling him until he thought his chest might split open from the weight of it. And within that tide, Lukas felt the presences of those he knew well. Lukas felt the presence of Erandyl Telaryon, of Rysenth Ishtar; his fellow Lords of Linemall. And there were others too, voices he had never heard, spirits he had never known. They rose within him all the same, not as distant echoes from the Crown, but as a living chorus from within the Crest itself.

The Hero's eyes widened in recognition, a flicker of unease breaking through the madness of his battle-lust.

The man felt it too.

Then the world broke.

An explosion of force erupted from Lukas' body, hurling the Hero back as though the hand of creation itself had struck him. Waves roared outward in all directions, hammering coastlines and splitting the sea. The land itself trembled, not just here in this place, but across all of Hiraeth and beyond. The sky shuddered, as if the stars themselves bent to watch.

Lukas Drakos rose into the air. He had been wrong. He would not die here. And he would never fight alone again because it was the Kingdom of Dragons stood with him and would stand with him till the end of his days. Dragon Lords, long passed into memory, stood with him now. They had entrusted him with their strength, their mastery and their very lives into his hands. All of it was his to wield against the greatest enemy Linemall had ever known.

Lukas stared down at his foe as the man dragged himself back to his feet, golden ichor glistening against the tide.

For a moment, the air was still.

The Hero's lips curved into something between madness and awe.

Lukas felt his own mouth twist into a grin he could not restrain.

And so the Dragon Lord descended once more, the ocean surging to his call, the voices of the Lords crying out in unison, the fury of Linemall burning in his blood.

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