Ryle soared through the sky, the cold wind biting at his face as he left Dragon Mountain. Below him, the world stretched endlessly—forests, rivers, and ruins lost to time. His mind was sharp, focused on his next objective: the Astoria family's home.
Vaelthia's words echoed in his head. A low-class vampire bloodline that once rebelled… Ignilth saved them…
"Damn it," Ryle muttered. "That old dragon was too kind for his own good."
If the Astoria family had revered Ignilth as a god, then it made sense why Emily was so obsessed with his resurrection. He needed to find their hideout and end this madness before it escalated further.
But just as he was about to descend—
A massive fireball shot toward him at terrifying speed!
Ryle's eyes widened. He raised his right hand, catching the flames in his palm. The heat should have been enough to reduce an army to ashes, but Ryle crushed the fireball with his bare hand, the embers flickering out like dying stars.
Two figures blurred into existence before him, moving at impossible speeds.
Two women—Cassandra and Natalie.
Dressed in sleek, black assassin attire, their glowing crimson eyes fixated on Ryle with obsessive hunger.
Cassandra smirked. "Ryle… If we kill you, we can turn your body into a trophy."
Natalie giggled. "Would you accept my confession first?"
Ryle exhaled. "Yeah, no thanks."
Both assassins rushed at him simultaneously. Their daggers shimmered with a strange, dark glow—cursed weapons. Ryle barely dodged Cassandra's swipe before Natalie came from the other side, aiming straight for his throat.
Clang!
Ryle blocked both of them with his dragon-clad forearm, the impact sending shockwaves through the sky.
Their movements were erratic but precise. They weren't just warriors; they were killers, trained to assassinate without hesitation.
They slashed, stabbed, twisted through the air like wraiths—but Ryle was faster.
His left fist connected with Cassandra's stomach, sending her flying into a distant cliff. Before Natalie could react, he grabbed her wrist, twisted it, and snapped it like a twig.
"Aaaghh!" Natalie screamed, but her pain lasted only a second.
She regenerated instantly.
Ryle's eyes narrowed. Damn vampires.
Cassandra returned at full speed, launching ten consecutive slashes in under a second. Ryle countered every single one. His movements were sharp—merciless.
Then—
Schlick!
Ryle's clawed hand ripped through Cassandra's chest, tearing her heart out in one fluid motion.
Natalie screamed in horror. "C-Cassandra!"
But Cassandra's mouth twisted into a bloody smile. "Heh… You think this will kill me?"
Her wounds started closing.
Ryle clicked his tongue. "Regeneration, huh?"
Then he engulfed his entire body in dragon fire.
The golden inferno roared like an unholy beast, consuming both assassins in its merciless blaze.
Their screams echoed into the night—agonizing, inhuman shrieks. They tried to regenerate, but dragon fire burned them from the soul outward.
Within seconds, they were reduced to ash.
Ryle exhaled, letting his flames die down. "Annoying pests."
But before he could recover, laughter echoed through the ruined landscape.
A new presence emerged from the shadows.
A man dressed in flowing dark robes, an eerie smile on his lips. His eyes glowed an unnatural red, and his body pulsed with sinister energy.
"Great job, Ryle," the man chuckled. "You really don't hold back, do you?"
Ryle's eyes darkened. "And you are?"
The man gave an exaggerated bow. "Damien. Archmage of the Astoria bloodline."
Before Ryle could react, Damien flicked his wrist—and his severed assassins regenerated back to life.
"What the—?"
Damien smirked. "Did you think killing them was that easy? Undead cannot die from simple wounds."
Ryle's fists clenched. This might be a problem.
The fight dragged on for hours. Ryle slashed, burned, shattered bones, but Damien kept regenerating.
No matter how much damage Ryle dealt, the Archmage's body healed instantly.
Then—
A silver blur shot through the battlefield.
Dravenith arrived.
He landed with a deafening impact, his dragon form towering over the battlefield.
And beside him—Sylvaris, his assistant.
Dravenith roared. "Ryle! What's the situation?"
"Undead bastard that won't stay down," Ryle grunted.
Sylvaris assessed Damien's wounds, then his eyes widened.
"Their bodies regenerate—but the process takes a few seconds," Sylvaris said. "If we stop their healing mid-process…"
Thea suddenly leaped into the fight.
She stabbed Damien with an ancient, rusted iron sword.
Damien screamed.
His body twitched violently, his regeneration failing for the first time.
Dravenith's eyes widened. "It worked!"
Sylvaris shouted, "Metal wires! We need to trap him before he heals!"
Dravenith rushed forward, his claws grabbing bundles of metal wires from his satchel.
Damien panicked. "No! NO!"
Thea used her magic to paralyze him.
Ryle and Dravenith moved together, slicing Damien's arms and legs clean off.
Then—they wrapped his body in metal wires, ensuring he could never heal again.
Damien twisted and screamed, but he couldn't regenerate anymore.
The battle was over.
They buried Damien alive in a stone, deep beneath the earth.
Ryle wiped the blood off his face. "Finally."
Dravenith grinned. "That's one problem down."
Thea exhaled. "But Emily is still out there."
Ryle's golden eyes blazed with determination.
"Then we take the fight to her."