Chapter 30: A Single Mistake
He landed hard on the cracked floor, rolling through the impact. His daggers vanished mid-movement, shadows pulling them away. He dropped to one knee before the barrier, arms raised instinctively like a shield.
The fire was coming again. Zandagar hadn't stopped.
A second wave.
Even bigger than the first.
He didn't even announce it this time. He had grown bored of taunting. He simply raised his palm again, and fire surged outward.
No incantation. No warning. Just destruction. The man bit down hard. He looked at his hands. Trembling.
Then he looked at the barrier.
"Damn it all…"
His hand rose, fingers splayed. He didn't have time to doubt it anymore.
Even if it meant hurting himself.
Even if it meant risking it.
He whispered low—
"I have to use it."
A pulse of wind fluttered through his coat. His boots scraped against the scorched floor. Mana surged—raw, unrefined, trembling with pressure.
It coiled up his legs.
Across his back.
Up his spine.
Until it reached his chest.
His heartbeat faltered—then raced.
He clenched his jaw. Raised his hand higher. His whole body lit with faint blue light, veins pulsing with glowing threads of power.
"GALE BLAST!"
The sound was less of a word and more of a scream.
Wind erupted from his palm—not a gust, but a cyclone, spiraling outward with a scream of fury. It met the oncoming fire head-on. For a moment, the two elements danced—then clashed like titans.
The dungeon shook.
The very walls cracked.
Stone shattered beneath his boots as the blast pushed him back. Fire and wind twisted together, trying to devour one another.
The chamber turned into a roaring storm.
But slowly—inch by inch—the wind won.
The fire hissed. Flickered. Fought.
Then faded.
Smoke curled in its place, dancing in the air like burned silk.
Silence.
He gasped—staggered. Blood splattered across the stone as he coughed, chest heaving. His knees hit the floor hard, and for a moment, he couldn't move.
His hand gripped his ribs—broken.
"That's why..." he whispered, voice barely audible. "I hate... using attack magic."
His body felt shredded inside. His bones were screaming. His muscles felt like they were being torn apart.
But there was no rest.
No pause.
Because Zandagar—still stood.
Tall.
Unshaken.
That golden glow still pulsing faintly around his claws. Unimpressed.
The man's fingers twitched. He forced himself up again. Slow. Painful. His black coat dragged against the bloodied floor, torn at the edges.
He stood crooked. Right leg slightly forward. One shoulder sagging.
But his eyes—still sharp.
He stepped forward.
And Zandagar—moved again.
His hand lifted for the third Inferno Burst.
"No—!" The man didn't wait this time.
He sprinted. Each step sending jolts of pain up his legs, but he ignored them.
Zandagar's hand ignited.
Too late.
The man was already too close.
He ducked low, sliding across the floor. The fire exploded just behind him, scorching the air. The heat scraped his back, burning through fabric and skin.
But he didn't stop.
He rose mid-slide into a spin—momentum twisting his body fluidly upward. His shoulder pivoted, arm pulled back.
His fingers, trembling yet unrelenting, curled around the empty space in the air—his dagger appeared, as if summoned by sheer will.
With a sharp exhale, he stepped forward and slashed.
Steel screamed against scaled obsidian as his dagger arced toward Zandagar's outstretched wrist.
Clang!
The impact rang out like a bell of war—loud, defiant. Sparks exploded where the weapons met, a burst of orange and white that lit their faces for a blink. Zandagar's thick arm didn't budge, but the vibration traveled through both blades.
His dagger shuddered in his grip—but held.
Zandagar's expression shifted.
Just a flicker.
A slight narrowing of his glowing dull orange eyes.
Recognition.
But then—
A Single Mistake.
So subtle, so small, the man almost missed it—Zandagar's clawed hand twitching mid-swing. A shift. A feint.
Too late.
The air split open.
WHOOSH—
The monster's arm, black and gnarled like petrified wood, swung in a wide, backhanded arc. The force displaced the air, sending robes and torch flames flaring. It was a strike meant to crush, not merely wound.
He moved—reflexes driven by pain, fear, survival.
But not fast enough.
THWACK!
The impact was like being hit by a falling tree. His ribs folded inward with a sickening crack, and he felt the sharp jolt of something breaking. The world spun violently as his body was hurled across the room like a ragdoll. He struck the stone wall with such force the impact echoed through the chamber like thunder.
BOOM!
The wall cracked. Stone split. Dust and debris exploded outward in a choking cloud. His body slumped from the crater he'd left, hitting the floor with a dull, wet thud. Blood trickled from his mouth. His lungs convulsed, each breath shallow and ragged, pain stabbing deep with every inhale—molten knives twisting in his chest.
But he didn't have time.
Zandagar was moving again.
Each step from the beast was like a drumbeat of doom—BOOM… BOOM…—reverberating through the grand throne room. The dungeon dim light flickered wildly, shadows dancing across the towering black walls and fractured stone throne.
The monster advanced slowly, deliberately. His talons dragged across the marble floor, leaving long, screeching scars—metal against stone. The sound crawled into the man's skull and screamed there.
He coughed. Blood filled his throat.
"How… how is he this strong…? What kind of demon is he?" he croaked out, voice broken, as though his lungs were full of gravel.
But still—he moved.
Shaking arms pushed against the floor. Knees buckled. His whole frame trembled, screaming with each shift. Vision blurred—double, triple—but through the haze, the throne room came into focus again.
He clenched his jaw.
And reached.
Fingers found the hilt again—his dagger, half buried in blood-soaked dust. He wrapped his hand around it, and with a growl that was more breath than sound, he stood.
Not back—but forward.
He lunged, body tilting into a forward dive, boots scraping for purchase on blood-slicked stone. The throne room's high ceilings echoed with his effort—a breath, a cry, a step against inevitability.
He jumped.
Not high—but sharp. A short, angled leap, all in the legs. His body twisted mid-air, a broken silhouette outlined by dim light, the ragged edge of his long coat trailed behind him like a torn flag.
His dagger sliced toward Zandagar's face.
CLINK—
Steel glanced against blackened hide. Just deep enough. Just enough to draw a thin, dark line—blood or ichor, it was impossible to tell. The wound shimmered against Zandagar's cheek.
And the monster paused.
Just slightly.
Eyes widened.
Recognition… again.
Then—
Zandagar retaliated.
His clawed hand rose like the fall of a guillotine. A blur of motion. The sound of air being torn apart. The man's instincts screamed.
He raised his dagger—
CLANG!
It caught the strike. Just barely. The shock of the impact jolted his arm numb.
He thought—for a heartbeat—it held.
SNAP!
The dagger shattered. The metal split with a high-pitched ting, and the pieces spun into the air, catching dimlight like falling stars.
His mind barely had time to register the loss before—
WHAM!
A colossal fist crashed into his chest.
No give. No resistance.
Just destruction.
He was lifted off the ground like a puppet with cut strings. His body folded inward, back arching in agony before he slammed into the wall again.
CRACK!
This time, he didn't bounce off.
He buried into the stone. The throne room trembled from the impact, fractures webbing outward. Chunks of the wall tumbled down around him.
He slid down the wall slowly, trailing blood. His breath came in short, broken gasps.
And Zandagar?
He didn't stop.
He moved faster.
Blinding speed—unexpected from something so massive. His form blurred, flickering through the air.
The man saw it—but his body couldn't respond.
"Wake up… you damn body…" he thought, willing himself to move. "Wake up… just move…"
But it was too late.
Zandagar was already there.
Towering. Silent. Unstoppable.
He bent down slowly—like a predator indulging a moment of stillness before the kill.
SLASH!
A talon—long, serrated, sharper than any blade—ripped across his torso. Five streaks of pain exploded at once. Flesh, muscle, even bone parted beneath that claw.
"AGH—!"
The scream tore from his throat, but it didn't even begin to touch the pain.
"What is this feeling?" his thoughts gasped between the pain. "Ah… right. I almost forgot. This is what pain feels like."
Blood sprayed the floor like rain. His vision dimmed.
"Why can't I feel my left side? Is it broken? The thought was slow. Detached. "No—shattered. It's been… years since I felt this kind of pain."
He couldn't feel his legs. Didn't know if they still existed beneath the wreckage of his body.
But one thing was clear.
He had to rise.
Because Zandagar wasn't done.
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(Chapter Ended)