Kael was locked in a bloody struggle with Thorne.

They were no longer boys. Twin nightmares of reptilian fury. Bodies twisted by the dragon flesh they'd eaten.

A whirlwind of claws and fangs. Two monsters in a battle to the death.

But they were not equals.

Thorne was a natural. Born for this savagery. Movements fluid. Attacks driven by pure, brutal instinct.

A predator in his element. His laughed as his claws tore through Kael's scaly hide.

Black blood sprayed across stone.

SLASH! ROAR!

Kael was a pretender. A boy wearing a monster's skin.

Strong. Fast. But fighting Thorne's fight. And losing badly.

He was clumsy. Movements lacking fluid grace. A scholar forced into a gladiator's pit.

His borrowed strength was no match for Thorne's innate savagery.

A clawed hand raked across Kael's chest. Sending him stumbling back. A raw, gaping wound weeping blood.

Thorne laughed. Pure, victorious glee. And charged. Fangs aimed at Kael's throat for the killing blow.

It was in that moment of impending death that the boy within the beast reawakened.

Kael's panicked mind, overwhelmed by primal instincts, was suddenly pierced by a single thought.

Logic.

'I can't out-fight the beast. But I can out-think it.'

As Thorne lunged, Kael didn't try to meet the attack.

He dropped. Rolling beneath the charge. His claws digging into stone for purchase.

He came up behind Thorne. Not to attack. To run.

He sprinted. A desperate, tactical retreat.

"Tired already?" Thorne roared. Giving chase. Movements confident. Victory assured.

Kael ignored the taunt.

No longer just a beast. A hunter. Leading his prey into a trap.

He scrambled up the side of a colossal fossilized rib bone. The one Eric had collapsed against. He reached the top. Then turned to face his pursuer.

Thorne, blinded by bloodlust, charged up the bone after him.

A narrow, treacherous path. Forcing him to abandon his fluid, four-limbed assault for a clumsy, bipedal climb.

That was the mistake Kael had been waiting for.

Just as Thorne neared the top, Kael did something the beast could never predict.

He used Warpstep.

He vanished.

FWOOSH.

Thorne skidded to a halt at the top. His monstrous face confused. Looked around wildly.

His prey had simply disappeared.

Kael reappeared directly behind him.

No longer defensive. The predator.

Before Thorne could turn, Kael wrapped his arms around the beast's thick neck. Dug his claws deep into scaly hide.

And used his last desperate strength to hurl them both from the top.

They fell. A tangled, roaring mass of claws and fangs.

Thorne thrashed wildly. But Kael held on. A grim, suicidal anchor.

They crashed into the hard stone below.

CRUNCH!

A sickening, wet sound of breaking bone and rupturing flesh.

Silence.

Then, slowly, painfully, a single figure pushed itself up.

Kael.

His monstrous form was broken. Arm twisted at an unnatural angle. Body covered in deep, bleeding wounds.

But alive.

Thorne lay beneath him. Neck snapped. His bestial form already receding. Leaving the corpse of a boy with a look of final surprise.

Kael stood over the body. His borrowed form wavering. Beast-like traits fading. Scales receding. Claws shrinking.

The cost of the battle, the trauma of the fall, the alien strain of transformation had pushed him beyond his limits.

He stood there for a single, triumphant second.

A boy who had slain a monster by becoming one.

Then his eyes rolled back. And he collapsed. Unconscious. Onto the cold stone.

THUD.

'One enemy down. Five to go. But Kael is out of the fight. We're down to five against five. And we're all exhausted.'

---

A few hundred feet away, a different kind of war was being waged.

Pure, unstoppable force against an utterly immovable object.

Jin was locked in a brutal stalemate with Garron.

Jin was no longer a man. An avatar of pure fury.

The deaths of Eric and Rina had shattered his stoic composure. Leaving only burning rage.

Every strike of his sword was a roar of grief. Every parry a scream of vengeance.

CLANG! BOOM! CLANG!

"Is that all you have?" Garron grunted. Voice muffled behind thick bone helmet.

Jin's sword had just slammed into it. Enough force to send cracks across the bone.

But it held.

Garron was a master of defense. His Ironbone Mantle was not a single suit of armor. A fluid, reactive shield.

A moment before Jin's blade would strike his shoulder, a thick pauldron of bone would erupt from his skin to meet it.

A low sweep aimed at his legs was met by greaves that materialized instantly.

He was not just wearing armor. He was the armor.

The battle was deafening. The clang of sword against bone. The thud of fist striking breastplate. The shriek of steel scraping against shield.

A brutal, ugly dance of attrition.

Jin was a whirlwind of relentless offense. Movements a blur. Energy seemingly limitless. Fueled by bottomless grief.

But for every piece of bone armor he shattered, a new one would form.

He was trying to break down a mountain with a pickaxe.

Garron, for his part, could not win. He was a fortress without a cannon.

His skill was purely defensive. And Jin's speed made him impossible to counterattack effectively.

Garron could do nothing but endure. His stamina chipped away by Jin's relentless assault.

They were two sides of the same coin. Locked in a battle neither could win. And neither could afford to lose.

---

But the most tragic duel was the one fought in the shadows.

A battle of assassins. A dance of ghosts.

And Talia was losing.

She was a master. Movements fluid. Viper's Kiss daggers an extension of her will.

Her Kinetic Eye allowed her to see the flow of battle. The trajectory of an attack before it was launched.

Against any other opponent, she would have been unstoppable.

But Draven was not any other opponent.

His skill, Predator's Eye, was a cruel, perfect counter.

While she could see the path of his attack, he could perceive her intent to dodge.

While she could predict his lunge, he possessed the supernatural reflexes to change its course mid-air.

He was always one step ahead. Not of her body. Of her mind.

"You're fast," he said. Voice a low whisper. Sidestepping a thrust that should have taken his heart.

At the same instant, he twisted his blade. Its edge opening a shallow cut on her arm.

SLASH.

"But you're predictable."

She danced back. Face a pale mask of concentration.

The venom on her daggers was useless. She couldn't land a clean hit.

He was a ghost. Always just outside her reach.

He wasn't trying to kill her. Not yet.

He was dissecting her. Taking her apart piece by piece. Enjoying the slow dismantling of her confidence.

'No. Talia. Don't let him get in your head. He's reading your movements because you're being reactive. You need to be unpredictable.'

Another cut. This one on her leg. Making her stumble.

Another on her shoulder. Forcing her to drop one of her daggers.

CLINK.

She was wounded. Exhausted. And her greatest weapon was being used against her.

She saw it in his eyes. He wasn't just a killer. He was a sadist.

He was enjoying her fear. Her pain. Her desperation.

With a final, defiant cry, she poured the last of her strength into a single gambit.

She feinted a high strike. Then dropped low. Her remaining dagger a silver streak aimed at his stomach.

Her Kinetic Eye showed her the path was clear.

For a fraction of a second, she thought she had him.

But his Predator's Eye saw not the feint. But the desperation behind it.

He didn't dodge. He simply took a single, deliberate step back.

Her dagger, pushed to its limit, fell an inch short.

Her eyes widened in horror. She was overextended. Off-balance. Utterly defenseless.

"Predictable," he whispered again.

His foot shot out. Kicking her remaining dagger from her hand.

CLATTER.

His other hand lashed out. Grabbing her by the throat. Slamming her back against a fossilized bone.

THUD.

He stood over her. Face inches from hers. Eyes glowing with cold, victorious light.

She struggled. Hands clawing at his iron grip. But too weak.

The world began to dissolve into a dark tunnel.

"Such a beautiful, deadly little bird," Draven purred. A cruel smile spreading across his face.

He raised his blade. Its edge gleaming.

"It's a shame I have to break your wings."

He pressed the tip against her throat. Cold steel a final promise.

Dante tried to move. His body screaming in protest. His remaining arm gripping Soul-Drinker.

'I can't reach her in time. She's too far. And I'm too weak. I can't save her. I can't save any of them.'

'They're all going to die. One by one. While I watch. Helpless.'

The blade pressed deeper into Talia's throat. A bead of blood forming.

She looked at Dante. Eyes wide. Afraid. But not for herself.

Apologizing with her eyes. For failing him.

'No. NO. I won't let this happen. I WON'T!'

But his body wouldn't move fast enough.

And Draven's blade was already cutting.

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