Ex rank talent Awakening: 100% Dodge rate

Rebecca's eyes turned bluish as the Law of Sight activated, her gaze slicing through the veil of darkness that surrounded the territory. She focused on the source of the disturbance, her vision piercing through layers of shadows—until she saw the attacker.

A flicker of hesitation crossed her face. The one trying to break through the barrier... was Drakonix.

An old friend.

She hovered in silence, undecided. But after a moment's deliberation, she relented, choosing to let him in. Her curiosity outweighed her caution—she wanted to hear what he had to say.

Outside the veil, Drakonix's entire body tensed as he hurled his attacks relentlessly at the barrier. He had expected resistance, but not this. The wall stood unyielding, untouched. His most powerful blows didn't leave so much as a scratch.

Breathing heavily, Drakonix prepared to launch another strike—only to pause as he noticed something strange.

A sliver of space had appeared in the wall. A narrow opening, just wide enough for him to slip through.

His eyes narrowed. Someone had allowed him access. And he knew exactly who.

Without wasting another second, Drakonix entered. The gap sealed shut behind him.

What met his eyes within the dragon territory shook him to his core.

Carnage. Destruction. Horror.

The once-proud dragons—the majestic beings he remembered—now scrambled across scorched earth, fleeing not foreign invaders but their own kin. No… not their kin anymore. These dragons were cloaked in darkness, their forms twisted and corrupted. Their movements were sinister, and every breath they exhaled was laced with corrupted elements, their fire and frost drenched in shadows.

Drakonix's heart pounded in his chest. He gritted his teeth, fighting back the wave of nausea at the sheer devastation. He forced himself to move, pushing forward—until he saw her.

Rebecca.

She hovered mid-air, calm, unmoved. Her eyes coldly observed the chaos below, not a shred of remorse on her face. It was as if she were watching someone else's war, not the one she had orchestrated.

"Rebecca… please, stop. This has gone too far," Drakonix pleaded, finally reaching her.

She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze. For a fleeting moment, there was something—disappointment?—in her eyes. Then, as if he weren't even there, she returned her attention to the battlefield.

His heart sank.

"Rebecca, please. I'm begging you," he said again, desperation thick in his voice.

Still, she ignored him. Blood-curdling screams echoed from below. The smell of burning flesh reached them in the air.

"Why are you doing this?" Drakonix asked, almost whispering now, searching her face for any flicker of humanity—of the girl he once knew.

Rebecca tilted her head slightly. "Why am I doing this?" she echoed with a soft smile, her tone laced with irony. Slowly, she turned to face him fully, their eyes locking. "You know the answer already."

Drakonix clenched his jaw. "I do. But this… this is too far. Not all of them are guilty. You're killing innocents too."

"Innocents?" she scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "Were my people 'guilty' when your clan joined the others to wipe us out? When they burned our homes and hunted us like animals?"

Drakonix faltered. The words died in his throat.

"Then don't talk to me about mercy," Rebecca said coldly. "I swore to annihilate them. All of them. Until none remain."

"Rebecca, please," he said, voice cracking. "Some humans were spared. Not everyone was killed."

Rebecca laughed—a scornful, bitter sound.

"Spared? The same 'spared' humans who now call my father a devil? Who worship the enemy? Who kneel to the very clans that butchered their kin, all while pretending the past never happened?" Her eyes burned with rage. "Those aren't my people. They're cowards. Weaklings. And if I were truly cruel, I'd finish what your kind started and erase them too."

The ancient inscriptions spun around her iris her like a halo of power, reacting to her fury.

Drakonix's fists clenched. He realized words would not be enough. There was only one path left.

Battle.

Rebecca immediately sensed his intent. Her heart sank as she watched his posture shift into one of aggression. So that's it… Even you... A silent, invisible line had been crossed.

She felt something cold tighten in her chest. She had just lost the last person she still considered dear.

Drakonix raised his hand—then stopped.

The resolve in his eyes faltered. His stance crumbled.

"I… I can't, Rebecca," he said quietly. "I can't fight you. I know it's disappointing. I've let my kin down. But I still can't raise a hand against you."

He looked directly into her eyes, unwavering.

Rebecca's breath caught slightly. Her stern expression wavered just a little. His words—his refusal to fight—planted a seed of warmth in her chest. She had been uncertain too. Had he chosen to fight, she wasn't sure she could have gone through with it either.

She gave him a small nod.

Drakonix exhaled shakily. Then, his voice dropped.

"Rebecca… I have one last request. Please. Spare the young ones. Spare the children. Let them live."

His voice cracked, a quiet, broken plea. He looked utterly defeated—torn between love and duty, loyalty and guilt.

Rebecca stared at him silently. Then, slowly, she nodded again.

She turned away, eyes dimming. For his sake—because she knew watching this would destroy him—she raised her hand. Darkness surged.

And just like that, a swirling void enveloped Drakonix. Before he could react, it swallowed him whole and flung him outside the veil—swiftly, dominantly, without a chance to resist.

He stumbled out into the light, disoriented, barely registering the transition.

Staring back at the sealed veil, Drakonix's expression twisted with a storm of emotions—shock, sorrow, guilt, and resignation.

He let his wings fold and landed heavily on the ground. His limbs trembled from exhaustion, but it was his mind that truly faltered. With a deep breath, he collapsed where he stood.

Before sleep claimed him, he murmured to himself: "That was only a taste of her power... If I had fought… I wouldn't have survived. And neither will my father."