The target across from them was already down to roughly a third of its health. One glance at the level floating above its head told Ethan everything he needed to know, Level 120, elite rank. There was no point wasting his analysis skill on it, it would return nothing useful.

He knew exactly who this was.

The fortress's Grand Commander.

Only after killing it would the capture flag appear in the central square. Plant the flag, claim the fortress. That was the rule.

'So that was why something had felt off earlier.'

He had been moving on instinct, diving straight in without stopping to think. The silver lining, at least, was that the commander had no mount. If the system had given it one, this fight would already be spiraling out of control.

Ethan began gaining altitude, angling upward with long, steady wingbeats, planning to use Lyla's ranged advantage to kite the enemy from the air. That plan immediately ran into trouble.

The commander hurled its axe.

The weapon tore through the air with brutal force, then curved unnaturally and flew straight back into its owner's hand, as if yanked by an invisible chain.

Annoying, but manageable.

"Fleeing so soon?" the burly commander boomed, actual words coming from its mouth rather than a system prompt.

As Ethan continued to climb, the commander reached behind its back and pulled out something that made his blood run cold. At first glance it looked like a turtle shell, dull and unremarkable, small enough to fit in one hand.

Ethan's momentum died instantly.

Instead of climbing higher, he snapped his wings shut and dove straight down, nose-first toward the ground.

At the exact same moment, the commander hurled the shell-like object after him.

"Son of a bitch, where did he get that?" Ethan swore as the wind screamed past his ears.

"Ethan, what is that?" Lyla twisted in place to look behind them.

The shell, which had been palm-sized when it left the commander's hand, swelled rapidly as it cut through the air. In seconds, it grew to the size of a small shed, its surface gleaming dully as it locked onto them. Ethan adjusted his trajectory again and again, banking hard, diving steeper, but it stayed glued to their tail, closing the distance no matter what he did.

"It's a Hardening Shell!" Ethan shouted over the rushing wind. "If it hits, you get forcibly dismounted. It's a PVP field essential!"

His Travel Form technically counted as a mount, even though it was his own transformation. Most players needed an actual flying or ground mount to move like this. The Hardening Shell did not care. Despite being only a Bronze-tier item, it was infamous across the game for a single reason, throw it, it auto-tracks, and on hit it forces a dismount. No exceptions.

That was why it was every ganker's favorite tool in the open world.

Ethan knew his Swift Flight Form could not outrun it. There was no trick, no maneuver that would shake it off. His only option was to dive, straight down, and commit.

If the shell hit them at their current altitude, he would be knocked out of Travel Form mid-air. Falling from that height in Human Form meant instant death. Even if he somehow managed to shift into Panther Form during the fall and activate Panther's Grace to reduce fall damage by eighty percent, it would not be enough. And even if he miraculously survived, Lyla would not.

Better to take the hit on the ground.

At least the shell itself dealt no damage. That part did not worry him. What worried him was what came after, standing face to face with a Grand Commander that still had a third of its health bar intact.

The commander must have been inside the command center when the earlier spell went off. They had never seen how much health it lost at the start. Many NPCs inside structures had probably died instantly, but this one had survived, which meant its health pool was enormous.

Still, something about it was wrong.

Its skin had taken on a sickly purplish-black hue, and damage numbers continued to rise above its head in steady ticks.

-3200!

-2455!

More followed, one after another.

"Lyla," Ethan said as his feet hit the ground hard but clean, "is that from your skill's poison?"

The massive shell struck the earth behind them and vanished like a bursting soap bubble, dealing no damage at all, but locking Ethan firmly in combat. Shifting back into Eagle Form was no longer possible.

"Yes," Lyla replied, nodding. "It's the toxin Myrga Nair infused."

They both looked up.

The commander, axe clenched in one massive hand, launched itself off the spire above and came down toward them in a powerful leap. The move looked bold, almost theatrical, like it expected to crush them outright.

"How long does the poison last?" Ethan asked.

"Indefinitely," she said.

THOOM.

The axe-wielding commander hit the ground the instant Lyla finished speaking. It did not bend its knees or roll with the impact, it simply slammed into the stone like a dropped statue. The sheer force cracked the pavement beneath it.

The sight stirred an unexpected memory in Ethan's mind, Mr. Kane, Rowan's father, making his dramatic entrance at the foot of the Ironvale Mountains years ago. Impressive, sure. But reckless. That kind of landing was murder on the joints.

Sure enough, a noticeable chunk vanished from the commander's health bar, pure impact damage.

"Bear Form!" Ethan shifted the moment it landed, his body swelling with muscle as he shoved Lyla backward to put distance between them. "This guy's not too bright! Let's see if we can take him!" he shouted, then charged head-on.

The commander ignored him completely.

Its gaze locked onto Lyla's airborne figure, tracking her movements with cold precision.

"Hey! Ugly!" Ethan roared, throwing out a Taunt as he closed the distance.

Lyla's Forbidden Spell had already torn away nearly two-thirds of the commander's health, and the toxin was still ticking relentlessly. Aggro was firmly glued to her. Ethan needed to pull it off her, let her keep pouring on the damage.

The Taunt landed.

Then two words appeared above the commander's head.

[IMMUNE]

"Goddammit!" Ethan spat.

He had forgotten.

Battlefield commanders, fortress commanders, any high-ranking system NPC like this could not be taunted. They would only target the player who had dealt the most damage and pursue them without deviation. The only way to redirect them was to physically block their path with multiple tanks until they had no choice but to strike the nearest target.

That was why commander fights were designed for full groups.

Right now, it was just him.

He had no way to hold it.

Lyla realized the problem at the same time. She began retreating quickly, firing shot after shot as she moved.

"Ethan… my slows aren't working on him!" she cried.

The commander advanced with frightening speed, hurling its axe again and again. Each throw tore through the air like a cannon blast before snapping back into its hand. The force of it churned the air itself, whipping up violent gusts that spiraled outward.

WHOOM. WHOOM. WHOOM.

The fortress had fallen eerily silent. No NPCs, no players, nothing but the thunderous crashes of the massive axe slamming into walls and towers.

"Damn it… all or nothing," Ethan muttered.

He shifted into Panther Form and lunged in, chaining several skills together. Each strike landed cleanly, damage numbers spiking around ten thousand per hit.

It barely mattered.

The commander's health bar hardly budged. Its pool was simply too deep.

Ethan clenched his teeth.

There was only one option left.

"Forbidden: Frenzied Onslaught…"

The moment the incantation began, his fiery red panther form blurred, edges smearing into afterimages. In the blink of an eye, he vanished from where he stood and reappeared directly in front of the commander.

His body flickered violently, half-solid, half-spectral.

HUMmmmm…

It was as though he had triggered a fundamental law of the world.

The sky above the fortress, moments ago clear and cloudless, darkened abruptly, as if black ink had been spilled across a blank canvas.

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