"To all units," Lukas's voice came through. "This is your first formal operation. The task is simple. Objective one: kill as many as you can. Objective two: stay alive. GO!"

Ishaam took a deep breath, the searing hot air stinging his lungs, as his gaze shifted forward to the battlefield.

The captains had already broken through the initial line of Screechers, heading directly for the boss. But for Ishaam and his team, the task was clear: hold the line and thin the horde of over a hundred Screechers ahead of them.

"Let's go!" Ishaam ordered, his voice steady and firm.

They moved forward in tight formation, Min and Diego already channeling the shot. The bullet began to spin between them, gathering momentum, though they were still well out of range.

The Screechers remained eerily still, their glowing eyes tracking the group but not engaging.

'Seems they underestimate the range of our new weapon,' Ishaam thought.

"40 more meters, and we take this one," Ishaam transmitted, projecting a clear mental image of the target—a Screecher positioned slightly ahead of the rest.

The group advanced steadily, the heat growing more oppressive with each step. Ishaam's senses were sharp, monitoring the Screechers for even the slightest hint of movement.

"Stop," Ishaam transmitted.

He positioned himself closer to his unit, his eyes locking onto the target. He channeled his waves to the bullet, syncing with its rotation.

He steadied his breathing, his focus narrowing. The bullet spun faster, its cycles becoming a blur in his mind.

One.

Two.

Three.

Ishaam sent a quick adjustment order, and Diego and Min responded instantly, their coordination seamless from the days of practice. The angle was perfect.

"NOW!" Ishaam transmitted.

The magnetic field deactivated, and the bullet shot forward with blinding speed. It struck true, smashing into the Screecher's skull.

Molten blood bursts from the impact as the creature convulsed briefly before collapsing motionless onto the ground.

"Good, let's—" Ishaam's words were cut short as he noticed two Screechers from either side of the fallen one moving toward them.

Dammit.

"Min, fall back now! Diego, cover me with the sling and push back in sync with me. I'll buy Min time to get out of range before we regroup for another," Ishaam transmitted.

He unsheathed his dagger, lowering his stance.

He stepped forward.

He rushed forward and slid between the front limbs of the first Screecher, dragging his dagger along one of its legs, leaving a thin but deliberate cut.

He rolled sideways, narrowly evading the second Screecher's incoming swipe.

He felt Diego's sling shot hit the first one—it connected, but it wasn't enough to stop it. Worse, Diego had inadvertently stolen the aggro.

Shit. Ishaam cursed under his breath, realizing he hadn't accounted for that possibility. Scrambling quickly, he launched one of his own sling shots, hitting the creature square in the back of its head.

The first Screecher froze for a moment, its focus snapping back to him.

"Diego, be careful with the attacks! I need to keep its attention on me."

He repositioned himself, readying for the next attack. "Min, confirm once you're near the Molten Crest's border."

He received confirmation from both.

He steadied his breathing, calming his mind as he analyzed their movements.

They were big—he could use that to his advantage.

Alright.

He moved closer to one, keeping low and maneuvering around its stomps. Using its large frame, he positioned himself to block the other Screecher's attacks.

He kept the first one close, slashing at its limbs to destabilize it, making it stumble.

He slowly began retreating, but he was still far from the border. Rushing now would only make him an open target for the other one.

"I've reached the safe point," Min suddenly sent him.

Good.

"Diego, fall back to Min and start charging a shot," he transmitted.

"Roger."

Ishaam slashed again at the same limb, over and over. But then the Screecher started emitting continuous waves, a burst of energy that sent a sharp headache through his skull.

Dammit.

He steadied his mind, blocking out the external waves, forcing himself to focus.

If I push forward now, this one will stumble, and the other's line of attack will be blocked. But at my current speed…

One second.

That was all the time he had to aim and fire after he reached Min and Diego.

He sidestepped another heavy stomp and positioned himself. Another swipe came his way.

NOW!

Ishaam lunged out of the Screecher's reach, narrowly avoiding the strike, and sprinted straight for Min and Diego.

The injured Screecher stumbled, its weakened limb buying him just enough time as it blocked the other. But not for long—the uninjured one soon maneuvered around its companion.

It was coming.

But I'll make it first.

"Focus, keep channeling. We've got this," Ishaam transmitted, his breath steadying.

The ground vibrated beneath him with each pounding step of the Screecher closing in. He didn't look back; there wasn't time.

As he reached Min and Diego, he immediately began channeling his waves, casting out a scouting pulse to map the Screecher's exact position.

He closed his eyes, held his breath, and visualized the bullet.

"NOW!"

The bullet released.

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It screamed through the air, hitting the Screecher near its head but not perfectly centered. Lava-like blood spurted from the wound as the beast faltered and lost its balance, crashing to the ground. But it wasn't dead.

"Diego, your sword!" Ishaam shouted, already moving.

Diego reacted instantly, flinging his sword toward him. Ishaam leapt into the air, catching it mid-jump.

With all his momentum, he brought the blade down into the gaping wound on the Screecher's head.

The molten blood burned his hands as it spurted out, but he didn't care. He grit his teeth, driving the blade deeper, twisting it with all his strength.

And then… the beast stilled.

It was dead.

Ishaam pulled the sword free, his chest heaving, but there was no time to celebrate.

The injured Screecher was charging toward them.

"A dragon, huh," Lukas's voice echoes in my head. "This could be tricky. Wings for offense, defense, and flight. Even an indirect hit could push enough wind to toss you into a lava pool. The tail's long enough to one-shot kill you. And those limbs? They pack enough weight to crush you flat. Let's not even start on the fangs. Anyway, let's get started, shall we?"

"Alonso, Ayu, Arjun—can you guys start the battle?"

Arjun? Hmm. For Lukas to send him in, it's got to be tied to his innate ability.

Interesting.

"This should be fun," Ayu answers, her tone laced with excitement.

"Alright," I reply.

Arjun's response follows, calm and steady. "Okay."

I glance at Ayu, but she's already moving. Typical.

I shake my head and turn my focus to the dragon. Majestic doesn't even begin to cover it. It's smaller than the previous bosses—about 14 meters tall and a bit over 20 meters long, maybe 25 if you count the tail. But the wings...

Can it fly?

Well, I guess I'll find out soon enough.

I push into full-state Overdrive and dash forward, weaving past the Screechers like they're barely even there.

As I close the distance, I notice something strange—the calm, calculated way it's watching us. Confidence? A sign of intelligent thought?

"Do not use the bullets yet. Let's keep them as a trump card for now. Focus on dodging and learning its patterns. Attack only if you're confident," Lukas transmits.

Makes sense.

As I get closer, the heat intensifies, creeping up my skin in relentless waves.

It's dry and oppressive, clinging to me like an unwelcome second layer of armor. The air is sharp, a harsh blend of sulfur, scorched earth, and a metallic tang that burns faintly in the back of my throat.

The magma around it brings back… unpleasant memories, but I shake them off and focus.

My eyes stay locked on the creature.

It stands on a relatively small island of jagged rock, surrounded by bubbling, glowing rivers of lava. It's not a far leap to reach it, but being airborne, even for a moment, would leave us entirely at its mercy.

I get closer and circle around it at a safe distance.

Still not attacking?

I pull out a sling and aim for one of the magma veins on its front leg. No point trying the obsidian plates—they won't even scratch, even with full force.

I whirl the sling and release. The rock flies fast and true, but the dragon shifts its limb slightly as soon as it's in motion. The obsidian plate deflects the shot, sparing the thinner magma veins.

My eyes narrow.

That subtle movement. The precision. The efficiency.

He's good.

I sheathe the sling and draw my sword.

The bullets should work, but Lukas has a point—they're a trump card. They need to be saved for when it truly matters.

That only means one thing: I have to leap over the lava.

I check on Ayu, but my eyes widen when I see she's already under the dragon, effortlessly dodging its stomps.

This girl…

Well, with her ability, she knows when to leap and when not to.

Well… here I go, then.

I focus on its attack patterns, watching the way it moves against Ayu, waiting for an opening on my side…

There!

I push beyond full-state Overdrive, running and leaping with all the speed I can muster, my waves propelling me forward.

But… the dragon doesn't seem to care.

I land, lowering Overdrive back to full-state, my grip tightening on my sword.

A sudden swipe from its claw comes my way. I step back, narrowly avoiding it, the rush of hot wind brushing past me.

But these movements… the way it's fighting Ayu, and now me…

Something doesn't add up.

The way it defended against my earlier shot—subtle, precise, efficient—tells me it's faster and smarter than the attacks it's throwing now.

Is it testing us? Intentionally holding back? Could it have stages, like the King Jellyfish?

I shake off the thoughts. It doesn't matter. As long as it bleeds, it can die.

I push forward, closing the gap. But instead of striking with its limbs, the dragon sweeps its massive wing toward me.

I sidestep and anchor myself with pulses, my tendrils digging into the ground. The blast of wind from its wing is powerful enough to send me flying, but I hold steady.

The heat is intense, almost oppressive, and for some reason, it reminds me of Australia's summer. A fleeting grin crosses my face.

But the thought vanishes as quickly as it came.

It's battle time.

As soon as the wind subsides, I surge forward, aiming a diagonal slash at one of its exposed magma veins near its front claw.

The dragon shifts again, just slightly, and my blade glances off the obsidian plate instead. The impact reverberates up my arm, and I clench my teeth against the shock.

Dammit.

I leap back, avoiding a casual swipe of its claws, and immediately counter with a thrust. But again, it adjusts mid-movement, and my strike misses its mark entirely.

What the hell?

I extend my waves toward Ayu and Arjun, now also on the platform, scanning their battles. It's the same—every strike is dodged or deflected with calculated ease.

The winged bastard is toying with us.

Alright then.

I steady my breathing and focus on the dragon's movements—its size, its attacks, the precision of its defenses, the subtlety of its shifts. The image forming in my mind is hazy. Much remains hidden, and what little is revealed feels fake.

Fine. If that's how it wants to play, I'll raise the stakes.

I dash forward, slashing diagonally toward a gap below its knee. Predictably, it shifts mid-attack. But my slash was only a feint, and I follow up with tendrils aimed directly at the magma vein.

This time, it's too late to adjust. My tendrils pierce through, leaving a small wound that begins to ooze molten lava.

The dragon's demeanor shifts instantly, its focus locking onto me.

I grin. Did that sting?

A claw swipes toward me, and I duck low, using my gauntlets to propel myself out of its range.

My waves track every subtle movement as it follows with a stomp—no, a feint for the wing coming at me from the right.

I move with it, feigning vulnerability.

I barely avoid the stomp, making it look like a close call, drawing the wing in closer. As it sweeps toward me, I use my gauntlets again, propelling myself forward in a low slide beneath its wing.

My sword cleaves into one of the magma veins running through the wing's membrane, striking true. Lava drips down, scorching hot, but I don't give a fuck.

The dragon jerks its wing, preparing to fling me off. I brace myself, gripping tightly and ready for the move.

I close my eyes, replaying every attack it's made so far, analyzing its anatomy and the pride in its every motion.

If I were this beast, massive and confident, how would I rid myself of a small annoyance like me?

I smile as the answer clicks into place.

The wing pushes back, and I lean diagonally, planting my feet firmly on it.

Push and—

The wing abruptly shifts direction. The acceleration threatens to tear my arms apart, but I hold steady, using the momentum and my waves to launch myself forward and slightly upward.

I shoot through the air, fast and true.

My target: its head.

"Lukas, I'm shooting," I send, not waiting for a response.

I prepare two bullets, spinning them faster and faster. The margin for error is minuscule, but in this moment, it feels like eternity.

I calculate everything—trajectory, timing, momentum—and aim for both of its eyes.

The dragon shifts its head slightly, but I'm already there.

There's nothing it can do.

My smile widens.

The bullets streak forward, blindingly fast, straight toward their targets.

Didn't see that coming, did you?

Both bullets hit their mark, piercing its fiery eyes.

Molten lava spills out. The dragon's sight is gone.

It lets out a deafening roar.

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