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******
What the hell is this thing?!
Harry's pupils narrowed slightly. He wasn't surprised by the full 180-degree turn of its head—what confused him was the face revealed afterward, grotesquely lacking its facial features.
Demonic faces weren't exactly like human ones, but they usually had eyes and mouths—some anatomical similarities, at least.
But before he could think further, Harry tried to pull his lance free—only to feel it halt mid-motion. The weapon, which had pierced the magical core in the demon commander's chest, was now completely encased in rapidly forming rock.
With a grunt, he channeled force into his grip. "Haaah!"
A cracking sound echoed through the air as the rock shattered—but that brief delay was all the demon needed. In the next moment, the seemingly bulky commander lashed out with a thunderous punch!
Its fist, larger than Harry's entire body, sliced through the air with a deafening howl. The force it carried exploded the instant it made contact.
The rock holding the lance disintegrated instantly. Harry's body was sent flying, becoming a blurred shadow streaking across the sky. In the wake of the impact, a shockwave strong enough to flip a car swept outward. Only after it passed did a series of sharp, thunderous booms ripple through the battlefield.
Nearby squad members, still clearing lesser demons, watched in horror. Their commander—whom they'd always relied upon—was now nothing more than a speeding projectile, skipping across the coarse, red-gray ground of the Abyss battlefield like a stone skimming over water. In just a few blinks, he was already over a kilometer away.
To strike a fully armored warrior—one weighing over two and a half tons—and send him flying at supersonic speed in an instant... that wasn't something a normal demon commander should be capable of.
"Retreat!"
In that moment of stunned silence, Wood's voice rang out—tight with tension, but steady. "Marcus and I will cover the rear. Everyone else, find the commander. Get Uncle Tian. Request backup. This thing isn't right. Don't engage it directly."
Without hesitation, the squad members sprang into action. Streams of glowing particles surged around them as Cedric and Phoenix, breaking free from combat, withdrew to the back of the formation.
"D-damn it... cough cough..."
A fragmented voice crackled across the comms. The news that Harry was still alive hit the team like an adrenaline shot straight to the heart. He was their foundation—without him, everything would fall apart.
"Commander, you're alive!" Cedric shouted in relief.
"You could throw me in a sewer and I'd still crawl out," Harry rasped. "Just a dozen... maybe seventeen... broken bones. Little scratches. Nothing serious."
A sharp crack cut through the comms like static as Harry drew a hissing breath.
"Full retreat. Maintain a safe distance. That thing's got some freakish tricks. Spread the minions out. Let Uncle Tian know what we're dealing with…" A pause. The sound of him swallowing down a potion followed, along with a dry heave. Then Harry's voice returned, cold as steel: "I swear I'm gonna kill that miserable bastard today—even if hell spits me back out for it."
After downing a disgustingly bitter ultimate-grade life potion, the fractures in Harry's ribs and sternum began to rapidly mend. His dented alchemical breastplate—now pulsing with dark iron-gray magic—slowly repaired itself, re-forming over his chest. The armor, designed for Phase Two Animagus transformation, wasn't even meant to be worn over clothing. It was essentially magical 'innerwear', though in its top-tier form, its defensive capability rivaled any external plate armor.
He chugged down a full bottle of concentrated, high-calorie nutrient fluid—so bitter it made his tongue go numb—then gritted his teeth and forced down a strength-unlocking elixir. Next came a hypersensory potion, followed by a single drop of shimmering golden Felix Elixir.
What he just swallowed wasn't just magic—it was practically an entire storefront from Diagon Alley... or a couple dozen tournament-grade Firebolt arrows.
His muscles swelled underneath the armor, stretching the reinforced suit to its limits. In the very next instant, Harry's sitting figure shimmered—and then vanished. When he reappeared, his silver-blue scales gleamed against the battlefield's red-stone dust. He had become a towering figure, a peak-form hybrid—the half-dragon beast, rippling with brutal strength and feral magic. His slit pupils, sharp as blades, gleamed with cold, predatory light.
Animagus Transformation: Phase One.
Having given up conventional spellcasting, Harry now embodied the purest, most extreme form of physical might.
'Mul-Qua-Diiv.'
Strength—Armor—Dragon!
The awakened Dragon Soul Runes blazed to life with a thunderous roar, bestowing upon this half-dragon form the overwhelming might to ascend to its peak! Iron-gray magic surged upward like a pillar of flame, burning with ferocity. Though the immense magical pressure was confined within a limited radius, it still drew countless eyes for a fleeting glance.
Within a 500-meter radius of Harry, scattered demon creatures went berserk, charging at him with frenzied madness. The intoxicating, saturated scent of raw magic had driven them into an uncontrollable bloodlust. Yet beyond this perimeter, the rest of the battlefield remained unaware of the eruption unfolding at its heart.
The dragon's tail arched high, its scales rising like blades on a mountain of swords. Each casual sweep cleaved the approaching demons into scattered, ragged pieces.
From a thousand meters away, Harry's silver-blue dragon eyes locked with the strange, disfigured rock-faced demon. Between the two colossal beings—each towering over ten meters tall—the storm raged.
In the blink of an eye, a sonic boom shattered the silence. Fists of blood and flesh collided with arms of stone and iron, unleashing thunderous shockwaves. Sinewy muscle stretched taut beneath layered scales, forming an unbreakable fortress as solid and immovable as a mountain. Shattered rocks crackled and fell away, revealing inner layers of bluish-gray mountain striations.
It was the clash of two mountains—one of flesh and blood, the other of rock and iron.
Below the rank of Warlord, demon-kind relied solely on brute strength to crush all before them. Their bodies were their greatest shields—and their deadliest weapons.
As the bluish-gray iron fist withdrew, fine threads of iron-colored magic trailed from its knuckles, pulled like strands of silk. The demon commander's natural instinct to devour magic triggered the moment it made contact. But this magic—infused with immense will and purpose—clung like glue, resisting all attempts to be absorbed or digested.
The commander, who had expected to feast upon a lavish offering, was suddenly at a loss. The perfect prey was right in front of him—yet he couldn't swallow it down.
Dragon fangs clenched with a mocking smile. A flicker of fire ignited along the threads of gray magic. Then a cold, searing word fell from Harry's lips:
"Toor." (Hellfire)
A surge of black-red flame erupted—then exploded with blinding force.
The searing black fire rained down, instantly transforming the red-gray battlefield into flowing magma. Temperatures soared to thousands of degrees, incinerating the twin-faced demon's body. The magic sealed within its enchanted mineral flesh ignited in violent resonance.
A hoarse, enraged scream rose from the back of its head. Its front face had no mouth—only a pair of cold, lidless, bluish-gray eyes burning with fury, locked onto Harry's silver-blue dragon gaze.
But Harry's answer came not with words—only with blades and fists.
A silvered claw drove deep into a glowing red mark on the demon's stony hide.
"You've got six lives left."
(End of Chapter)