Chapter 88 — it's my friend .
Far from the main hall, in a half-collapsed secondary corridor, Kana stopped dead in her tracks. The explosions echoed like an unceasing thunder. Every impact shook the already cracked walls of the palace, and the sound of Lancelot's last attack forced her to a halt. Clouds of dust fell from the ceiling, and the ground vibrated beneath her feet. With every detonation, she could feel that Damian was fighting for his life.
Her heart clenched violently.
Alma was still unconscious on her back, breathing faintly. Kana looked at the young girl with heartbreaking guilt. She stopped outside a small side room that was relatively intact an old servant's quarters with walls that were still sturdy. With infinite gentleness, she laid Alma down on a dusty bed, carefully adjusting her head.
"I'm sorry, Alma..." Kana whispered in a trembling voice, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm going to have to leave you unattended while you're in this state... But I fear the worst for Damian. I can't let him get killed. Not like this... That big idiot can't win on his own."
She gently caressed the unconscious girl's hair.
"Rest here. I'll be right back. I promise."
Kana stood up, clenching her fists. Her gaze grew hard, determined.
"And also... I hope Seth is okay... Wherever he is right now..."
Meanwhile, in the Main Hall...
Lancelot advanced slowly through the dust and rubble, his lance still glowing with a menacing, pure white light. Every step he took was measured, almost nonchalant, as if he already knew the battle was over and was merely prolonging the pleasure. The dust swirled around him like a spectral mist, illuminated by the cold glow of his weapon. His boots crushed the stone debris with a sharp crunch, and his elongated shadow danced across the cracked walls, giving his silhouette an appearance that was both divine and terrifying.
He breathed calmly, without haste, a faint, cold smile playing on his lips. Blood Damian's blood lightly stained the tip of his lance, and he seemed to savor that detail.
Suddenly, an explosive fireball surged from nowhere, hurtling straight at him at a terrifying speed.
**BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!**
The explosion illuminated the entire hall in an intense orange light. Lancelot dodged just in time, the flame brushing past his shoulder and slightly scorching the fabric of his outfit. A smell of burning filled the air. He raised his head with calculated slowness, his eyes narrowing.
Kana was floating in the air, transformed into a magnificent and terrifying dragon. Her red wings, membranous and veined, were spread wide, beating slowly to keep her levitating. Scintillating scales covered her body, shining like living gems under the light of distant explosions. Her eyes, once soft, now burned with a fierce, protective, almost animalistic rage.
"Leave Damian alone!" she screamed, her voice charged with a protective fury that echoed through the entire room. Her claws were out, ready to lacerate, and an aura of blue-green fire danced around her body.
Lancelot looked at her with a nonchalant, almost amused expression, as if he were observing a pet trying to bite a lion. A cold, superior smirk slowly stretched across his lips.
"A dragon? Here?" He tilted his head slightly, looking intrigued. "Interesting. Truly interesting. A little dragon girl coming to play the hero..."
Without waiting any longer, he attacked.
Kana tried her absolute best, giving it everything she had despite the terror gripping her throat. She spat powerful, concentrated torrents of red flames that cut through the air like lances of fire. She used her claws to deliver powerful diving strikes, attempted swift and violent aerial charges, and beat her wings to create gusts of wind meant to throw him off balance.
But Lancelot was on a completely different level.
His lance danced with deadly precision and an almost arrogant grace. Every movement literally sliced through her magic mid-air, cutting through the torrents of flames like butter. His strikes were so fast and precise that they sliced through her scales with frightening ease, leaving deep, bloody gashes on her arms, shoulders, and flanks. Dragon blood, of a luminescent blue-green, poured abundantly onto the ground, forming glowing puddles that smoked faintly.
Kana screamed in agony at every impact, a raw, heartbreaking cry that resonated through the hall. Her body trembled, her wings beat irregularly, but she refused to back down. Tears streamed down her scaly cheeks a mixture of physical suffering and crushing guilt.
"I'm sorry, Alma..." she whispered between two painful breaths, her voice broken by suffering and sobs. "I left you all alone while you're unconscious... all to come help Damian. I just couldn't bring myself to let a friend get killed... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."
Lancelot was clearly enjoying tormenting her. He played with her like a cat with a wounded mouse, landing precise blows that caused excruciating pain without killing her immediately. He smiled at every cry of pain he extracted, his eyes shining with a perverse, cruel satisfaction.
"Is that all?" he mocked, easily dodging a desperate charge from Kana. "Is this the power of a dragon? Pathetic. You will die here, little dragon, regretting you ever came."
Covered in blood, her wings torn, and her body shaking, Kana continued to fight with desperate courage, thinking of Damian and Alma, refusing to give up.
The battle had become a bloody tragedy.
"Is that all?" he mocked once more, dodging another desperate charge from Kana. "Is this the power of a dragon? Pathetic."
### In the Adjacent Hall...
Meanwhile, in the completely devastated adjacent room, Damian stood up with painful slowness. Every fiber of his body was refusing to obey him.
A raw, guttural groan escaped him as he leaned against a shattered pillar, his fingers slipping on the stone covered in dust and blood. His ribs cracked with every breath, sending waves of sharp pain shooting through his chest like dagger thrusts. His vision was blurry, bordered by dancing black spots. Blood poured heavily from his mouth, his forehead, his nose, and from several open wounds on his torso and arms. Every heartbeat was torture; every movement, an agony.
He spat another mouthful of thick blood onto the cracked floor, leaving a dark red trail on the debris. His legs trembled violently. He had to lean harder against the pillar just to keep from collapsing back down. Sweat mingled with blood on his face, stinging his eyes.
"...Fuck... If only I could be as strong as you... Seth," he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice raw and broken.
He shook his head to try and dispel the dizziness, then finally looked around, trying to clear his mind amidst the chaos.
And there... he was stunned.
He was in the circular hall where he had spoken with Flora earlier, now half-destroyed by the violent impact of his own body. The walls were adorned with ancient runes, carved into a black stone veined with gold that seemed to absorb the light. Broken pillars lay on the ground like fallen giants.
In the middle of this sacred, devastated space floated a legendary sword, suspended in mid-air without any visible support. It glowed with a pure, sacred white light, almost divine, softly illuminating the entire room despite the surrounding gloom.
The Dragon Blade.
The mythical weapon Lancelot had been desperately searching for for so long Damian remembered it now. Its immaculate, perfectly forged blade reflected the faint light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling, giving the impression that it pulsed with a life of its own. A calm, powerful, and ancient aura emanated from it, as if it were waiting for someone worthy to wield it.
Damian remained motionless for a long time, his breath short, his eyes fixed on the sword. An strange sensation washed over him a mix of recognition, respect, and deep pain. His trembling fingers tightened against the pillar.
He whispered, his voice raspy, breathless, and nearly broken:
"All of this... it reminds me of one thing..."
His eyes became lost in the white light of the Dragon Blade, and his mind was swept away, far, far away, into the darkest memories of his childhood.
To be continued...