BOOM!

A sharp blue wave of lightning burst out of Simma like a furious heartbeat of the heavens, spiraling in a wide circle and devouring the air around him.

The dazzling wave expanded with a thunderous roar, shredding through the missiles flying toward Goody, snapping arrows mid-flight, and scattering their broken tips like rain. The air crackled, humming with residual static as the light slowly dimmed.

Goody, with the serpentine grace of a born predator, twisted mid-air, his long scaled body rippling like water as he steadied Simma upon his back.

The dragon's wings fluttered once, then twice, each beat echoing like the toll of a bell before he hovered once again, balancing his master.

Simma's breaths were shallow, trembling. His body felt hollowed out, every inch of his skin burning with fatigue.

"Goody," he muttered hoarsely, "we need to free the slaves." His voice faltered, drained of strength, but the dragon understood.

Goody lowered his great neck slightly, ensuring Simma could lie more comfortably on his back so he wouldn't fall.

"Okay, Master. Master is strong," Goody said in his deep, loyal tone. "Master is good."

But neither of them knew what came next.

Because this... this little pause in battle, was merely the phase before the storm.

Down below, the rocket launchers were already being reloaded. Arrows clattered into fresh quivers. Miniguns clicked into readiness. The humans, no, the compelled outcasts, were working tirelessly, their faces blank, eyes soulless.

"FIRE!" came the order again.

And the world exploded.

Dozens of rockets screamed toward them, the sky breaking apart in trails of smoke and fire. Arrows shot upward like angry hornets, bullets glittering like steel rain.

The commander giving the orders remained hidden in the shadows, but Sarah and Lucy, watching from afar, knew the truth.

Those firing weren't Singriths. No, they were compelled Azrens, slaves bound by dark influence. The sun was already high, spilling its burning light upon the rooftops. The Singriths couldn't stand under its gaze. That was why Simma had planned this attack for daylight. Clever. Ruthless. The sun itself was their silent ally.

"Now," Sarah whispered to Lucy, gripping her weapon.

Meanwhile, above the chaos, Goody hovered in defiance, wrapping his massive body protectively around Simma. He could sense the end drawing near. Rockets shrieked closer, five inches, four, three…

Simma raised his arm weakly, ready for one last defense...

And then… nothing.

Nothing happened.

The roaring sky froze. The smoke twisted into stillness. The arrows, the rockets, the beams, everything stopped midair like time itself had gasped. Goody blinked, confused, his great eyes flickering in disbelief.

Around them, the air shimmered purple. Energy spun in wide circles, glowing brighter and brighter until it solidified into a ring of swirling light.

"Portals…" Simma whispered.

There was only one person who could do that.

Lucy.

From across the burning rooftops, Lucy stood with her hands spread wide. Her eyes glowed a deep red, and veins of crimson light pulsed beneath her skin. Her face was pale from exhaustion, yet fierce with focus. The portals multiplied, swirling gateways opening in midair, devouring every incoming projectile.

The rockets vanished into them, swallowed whole. The red beams from the miniguns disappeared like sparks into smoke. The arrows, too, vanished one by one, slipping into the violet whirlpools of magic.

And then Lucy smiled, just faintly, before redirecting the storm.

Above the towers and rooftops, new portals shimmered open. Without warning, they unleashed the chaos back at its source. The very missiles and bullets that were meant to destroy Simma now came roaring down upon their senders.

It was as if the heavens had said, *"Return to sender."*

The next moments were madness.

The towers burst like fireworks, flames erupting into the bright day. Rocket launchers exploded from the inside, spraying molten shards in all directions. Compelled soldiers screamed as the very weapons they had fired turned upon them. The rooftops shattered, the miniguns bursting into fire, their barrels twisting under the heat. Smoke rose thick and black, blotting out the sky.

Lucy staggered, panting heavily, her portals flickering. Sarah caught her arm, steadying her.

"Nice one," Sarah said, half-grinning despite the devastation.

Lucy only nodded faintly. "I… learned from the best."

Simma, seeing the opportunity, pointed toward the main building, the grand castle of the Haydes. Its roof was already ablaze, its banners burning to ash.

"Goody," he ordered weakly, "to the castle."

The dragon obeyed. With a mighty beat of his wings, Goody dived through the smoke, spiraling downward. They landed hard at the castle entrance, stone cracking under the dragon's claws.

Bodies littered the ground, compelled outcasts, fallen slaves, twisted limbs and charred armor. Some were burned beyond recognition; others had fallen from the rooftops, lifeless. The acrid smell of gunpowder and flesh filled the air.

Goody's massive head turned toward Simma. "Master, we should leave," he said. His voice trembled slightly, like a deep drum fading.

"You are drained of energy. I can't help you much longer."

Simma steadied his breath, his chest rising and falling heavily. "Don't worry, Goody. Just… go free the slaves." His voice was soft but resolute.

Before Goody could respond, a portal shimmered open behind them. From it stepped Lucy and Sarah, panting and coated in dust.

"Simma!" Sarah called out, her voice filled with concern.

Goody's golden eyes flicked toward them, then back to his master. That look; silent, loyal, knowing, said everything.

Simma gave him a weak smile. "Don't worry, Goody."

With a low rumble and a heavy growl, Goody spread his wings and took off toward the slave cells, his massive shadow cutting across the flames.

Simma turned back to the castle doors.

"Simma," Sarah called again, stepping closer.

"Stop," Simma said coldly, not turning around. "If you're here, then you're here to fight."

His tone carried no anger, just exhaustion, the kind that sank into bones. Sarah lowered her gaze, guilt written all over her face.

Simma tilted his head slightly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. Then he inhaled deeply, his pupils glowing faint blue.

Scaled patterns began to crawl across his arm, shimmering like living armor up to his elbow. But when he reached for his sword, it didn't respond.

He frowned. Tried again. Nothing.

The sword didn't come.

"I used too much energy…" he muttered, staring at his hand. The connection to his weapon was gone, severed by his own exhaustion. And since Goody was still out there, acting under his command, the bond between them continued to drain his essence.

Lucy and Sarah exchanged glances but said nothing.

"Well," Simma finally said, forcing a smirk. "Grab a gun. As many as you can. It's going to be war in there."

The two women obeyed, stepping over fallen bodies and collecting weapons. Simma did the same, gripping a heavy gun in his tired hands.

He wasn't ready to give up. Not now. Not until he: the one who killed Sonja, was dead by his own hands.

He gave a low countdown under his breath. "Three… two… one…"

He exhaled sharply, then kicked.

The massive doors of the castle burst open with a thunderous crack.

Inside, the Singriths screamed, startled by the sudden sunlight pouring in. They were hiding from the chaos outside, crouched in the dark corners of the grand hall.

Simma didn't hesitate.

He and the others unleashed a storm of bullets.

Gunfire rattled through the chamber, echoing like thunder. The Singriths hissed and screeched, some bursting into flames as sunlight touched their skin, others collapsing as bullets ripped through them. Smoke and dust filled the hall, mixing with the stench of burnt flesh and gunpowder.

It was brutal. Fast. Over in seconds.

When silence finally returned, the castle seemed to breathe again, an eerie, smoking calm.

Simma could feel it. Deep down, he knew, the one who killed Sonja was here.

The trio moved deeper into the castle. The interior was vast, larger than any of them imagined. Tall marble pillars stretched toward the ceiling, where faint light filtered through shattered stained glass. Golden drapes hung torn and burned.

They entered what was clearly the main hall, a place of power, where the Singrith leader, the so-called Honcho, once held judgment. The center space stretched high and wide, with balconies curling like silver arches along the walls.

Their footsteps echoed. The silence felt alive, crawling.

Simma was about to speak when something sharp flickered across his chest.

A red dot.

Then another.

And another.

"What the…" he muttered.

Red beams danced across all three of them. Dozens of them. The faint hum of charged rifles filled the air.

From the balconies, shadows shifted. Singriths, armed, grim, and ready, emerged from the darkness, lining the curved upper walkways. Their guns were aimed directly at Simma, Sarah, and Lucy.

And below them, something worse stirred.

The bodies of the Singriths they had just shot began to twitch. Fingers moved. Eyes flickered open, glowing faintly blue.

They were rising again.

The bullets hadn't hit their hearts, or their heads, the only places that truly killed them. Well, it got some though.

Now, half-dead Singriths surrounded the trio. Above them, rifles glinted.

For a moment, the tension was suffocating.

Then...

"Hold!" a voice commanded.

It came from the far end of the hall, deep and dark. From the opposite doorway stepped a figure, tall, calm, and wrapped in black armor stained with red. His eyes burned with cruel satisfaction.

And Simma knew instantly who he was.

The one who killed Sonja.

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