The battlefield was eerily quiet as the smoke from the explosion drifted through the ruins of the city. Broken debris and shattered concrete lay scattered everywhere, creating a grim tapestry of destruction.
A soft wind stirred, pushing away the thick clouds of dust. Slowly, the scene began to reveal itself.
Warrier’s armor—once shining with an unnatural, deep-blue glow—had cracked. Thin fractures spread across his exoskeleton, radiating outward like veins. His lifeless body stood frozen for a moment, his clawed pincers hanging limply by his sides. The sharp, determined expression he had worn during the fight had faded, leaving behind only a blank, hollow gaze.
And then, like a brittle statue, his body began to fall apart.
Pieces of Warrier's carapace disintegrated into shimmering dust, carried away by the wind. It started from his arms, spreading to his torso and legs, until only fragments remained. Each part vanished without a sound, leaving behind no trace of the man who had fought so fiercely.
In the span of a few seconds, Warrier was gone.
The only sign that he had ever stood on that battlefield was the faint shimmer of dust swirling in the air. It sparkled briefly under the sun before dispersing into nothingness.
Across the ruined street, Elio lay sprawled on the ground. His massive dragon wings, once stretched wide with power, had lost their dark glow and hung limply against the dirt. Scales peeled from his body, revealing patches of his original human skin beneath. The blackened horns that crowned his head had cracked, some fragments lying scattered beside him.
He was unconscious—his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths—but alive.
The sheer devastation of his transformed state was evident. His body twitched involuntarily, as though the weight of his previous form lingered in his muscles. The overwhelming pressure of the Dark Dragon's presence was gone, leaving behind only the remnants of a boy who had lost control.
A faint breeze stirred Elio’s hair, revealing the pale, tired face beneath.
----------------------------------------
Butter, Cheese, and the Queen watched the live footage from the base, their faces twisted with uncertainty. On the screen, the camera zoomed in on Elio’s unconscious form.
“He’s alive,” Cheese whispered, gripping the edge of his seat. Relief mixed with apprehension in his voice.
“But what happened to Warrier?” Butter asked quietly, her gaze fixed on the spot where Warrier had disintegrated. “He... He just vanished.”
Arata stood silent, arms crossed, staring at the screen with a cold intensity. His eyes weren’t on the disintegrated remains of Warrier—they were fixed on Elio, lying vulnerable in the dirt.
“We need to move,” Arata muttered. His voice was low, but the urgency was unmistakable.
Butter blinked, confused. “Wait... You’re not worried about Warrier? He’s gone!”
Arata’s eyes darkened. “I told you already. Warrier’s not on our side.”
The Queen raised an eyebrow, her voice calm but probing. “You think Warrier did all this on purpose?”
Arata shook his head slowly. “No. He wanted this outcome. I don't know how or why, but Warrier wasn't fighting for us. This whole fight was meant to make him look like a hero—and us, like villains.”
Butter exchanged glances with Cheese. “But... Elio...”
“Is my brother,” Arata finished quietly, his voice heavy with emotion.
Butter opened her mouth to protest but stopped. She could see the determination in Arata’s eyes—this wasn’t just about loyalty or strategy. This was personal.
----------------------------------------
The camera drones continued to circle the battlefield, zooming in on Elio’s face. His body twitched once more, as though trying to shake off the remnants of the dark magic that had consumed him. The transformation was slowly reversing, and with it, the ominous aura that had surrounded him began to fade.
The world believed Elio to be a monster—the Dark Dragon that had laid waste to Newzland. But to Arata, he was still the little brother he had once held close. The boy who had grown up under the same roof, who had carried the same pain in his heart.
“We’re not done here,” Arata whispered under his breath. His hands clenched at his sides, his mind already racing ahead to the next step.
The Queen noticed the shift in his expression. “What are you planning, Arata?”
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed locked on the screen, watching Elio breathe. Watching the boy who had become a monster... and who, somehow, was still alive.
The world watched in real-time as reporters swarmed the ruins. Drones hovered overhead, capturing every angle of the destroyed battlefield, and news anchors spoke in urgent, reverent tones.
“This just in—Warrier, the Ringmaster of the Crab, has sacrificed his life in a heroic effort to stop the monstrous Elio, also known as the Dark Dragon, from causing further destruction,” one reporter announced.
On the screen, footage replayed the final moments of the fight: the colossal blast of energy, Warrier’s pincer striking Elio’s chest, and the explosion that obliterated the battlefield. The disintegration of Warrier’s body was spun as a noble end, a martyr’s exit.
“This act of selflessness will not be forgotten,” another reporter said. “Warrier’s bravery saved countless lives. While his body is gone, his legacy as a protector of humanity will endure.”
The narrative was clear: Warrier had fought to save everyone, while Elio—Arata’s brother and the Dark Dragon—had brought destruction.
----------------------------------------
Arata stood motionless in front of the monitor at their hidden base, his expression unreadable as the news continued. Butter, Cheese, and the Queen gathered around him, all watching in stunned silence.
"They're spinning it," Butter whispered, her disbelief evident. "They're calling Warrier a hero..."
“And they’re calling us villains,” Cheese added bitterly. “They’re painting us as the ones responsible for everything.”
The Queen folded her arms, her eyes narrowing at the broadcast. "Typical Hex propaganda. They control the narrative. In the public’s eyes, Elio, Arata, and the Undergrounders are the enemy."
Cheese kicked the table in frustration. “So it doesn’t matter what really happened. People will believe what they see.”
The drone footage zoomed in on Elio’s unconscious form, and reporters continued their coverage with dramatic flair.
“While Warrier gave his life for peace, the true villains remain at large,” the anchor declared solemnly. “Arata, the infamous Ringmaster, is still unaccounted for, along with several dangerous Undergrounders.”
A montage of past incidents involving the Undergrounders appeared on the screen, reinforcing the public’s fear. Explosions, fights, and chaos—all tied to Arata’s name.
"They’re dragging us through the mud," Butter said, her fists clenched. "It’s like Warrier knew this would happen."
----------------------------------------
Arata remained silent, staring at the screen. The flicker of frustration in his eyes was subtle, but it was there. He had expected something like this. Warrier’s move hadn’t been just about the fight—it was about control. Warrier was now a martyr, a hero in death, leaving Arata and Elio to take the fall.
Cheese glanced nervously at Arata. “Do you think... Warrier planned all this?”
Arata’s gaze darkened. “Absolutely. Warrier was always good at making himself look better than he was.”
Butter looked confused. “But Warrier’s always been a coward. Why would he suddenly throw himself into battle now?”
Arata crossed his arms. “Because that’s exactly what Hex wanted.”
Arata gave a small, grim nod. “Whether he did it knowingly or not, Warrier’s actions fit perfectly into their plan. Make him the hero, make us the villains. Keep the public in line.”
Butter gritted her teeth. “So they get to paint Elio as a monster and use his transformation against us.”
“Exactly,” Arata said quietly. “They know that if the world sees Elio as a threat, it’ll justify whatever comes next.”
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
----------------------------------------
Meanwhile, the news broadcast continued its manipulation.
“While Elio has been neutralized for now, authorities urge the public to remain cautious,” the anchor stated. “These Ringmasters are dangerous, and their goals remain unclear. Hex has promised to restore order and eliminate any remaining threats.”
The screen shifted to live footage of citizens gathered in various cities, protesting the Undergrounders. Banners and signs labeled them as terrorists and criminals.
“This is what Warrier’s sacrifice was for,” the anchor continued. “He fought to protect peace—and we owe him a debt we can never repay.”
The screen flickered back to the scene of the battlefield, zooming in on the empty space where Warrier’s body had vanished. Candles and flowers were already being placed there by onlookers who had arrived on the scene.
Butter’s frustration boiled over. “They’re celebrating him? That bastard! He—”
“Let it go,” Arata interrupted calmly, though his eyes gleamed with cold calculation. “They’ll believe what they want. Arguing won’t change that.”
“But what about Elio?” Cheese asked, his voice filled with concern. “He’s out there... and everyone thinks he’s still the Dark Dragon.”
The Queen looked at Arata, her expression wary. “You care about him, don’t you?”
Arata’s jaw tightened, but he gave a curt nod. “He’s my brother. No matter what he’s done, I won’t let them destroy him.”
Cheese hesitated. “Then what do we do? How do we fix this?”
Arata’s gaze stayed locked on the screen, where the camera lingered on Elio’s unconscious form. “We move fast.”
Arata’s hands clenched as the news feed continued its relentless spin. He knew he had no time to lose. Warrier had done exactly what Hex wanted—left Elio vulnerable and branded them all as monsters in the public eye. The weight of it pressed down on him, but instead of hesitation, it sharpened his focus.
He turned to the Queen, whose pale, calculating eyes were already on him.
“Can you get me to Newzland?” Arata asked without preamble.
The Queen raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the sudden request. “You want me to teleport you... alone?”
“Yes,” Arata confirmed, his voice steady.
Butter stepped forward, her expression twisted with confusion. “Wait, hold on. What are you planning? What about the rest of us?”
“You’re staying here,” Arata said simply, not even glancing her way.
Cheese shifted uncomfortably. “Arata... You can’t just run off on your own! If Hex’s people are out there waiting—”
“I know what I’m doing.” Arata’s gaze remained locked on the Queen, his tone unwavering. “Can you do it?”
The Queen tapped her chin thoughtfully, weighing her options. “Teleportation that far... it’ll take a lot out of me.”
Arata nodded. “I just need one jump—directly to Newzland. After that, you can rest.”
The Queen narrowed her eyes, sensing something beneath his cool demeanor. “Why only you? What are you planning to do there?”
Arata gave her a small, enigmatic smile. “Trust me.”
Her expression tightened slightly. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”
“And every time I say it,” Arata replied, “I mean it.”
The Queen exhaled through her nose, clearly skeptical. She stepped closer, folding her arms. “You know this isn’t just about teleportation. If you make a move on your own, Hex will notice. If you get caught—”
“I won’t get caught,” Arata interrupted, a flicker of fire glinting in his eyes. “This is the only way.”
Butter slammed her fist on the table, frustration bubbling to the surface. “This is reckless, Arata! You’re not even telling us what you’re going to do.”
Arata turned to face her, his expression softening but only slightly. “I can’t explain right now. If I tell you... it won’t work.”
Cheese threw his hands in the air. “That makes zero sense! What are you even—”
“Enough,” the Queen said, silencing the room with a wave of her hand. Her sharp gaze stayed on Arata. “You’re serious about this.”
Arata nodded. “Completely.”
The Queen closed her eyes, thinking. “Teleporting someone across that distance... it's not impossible, but it’ll drain me for a while. I won’t be able to help if things go sideways.”
“They won’t,” Arata said firmly.
The Queen gave him a long, searching look. “You know, you’re starting to sound exactly like Warrier.”
Arata’s lips curled into a bitter smirk. “The difference is, I’m not going to sacrifice anyone to make myself look good.”
Her eyes lingered on him, reading him the way only someone as perceptive as she could. Finally, she nodded.
“All right,” the Queen said. “I’ll do it. But if this backfires...” She didn’t finish the sentence. The threat in her voice was enough.
Arata gave her a curt nod of thanks.
----------------------------------------
Cheese paced anxiously in the background. “This still feels wrong,” he muttered. “We’re a team, right? We’re supposed to stick together.”
Butter crossed her arms, scowling. “He’s going to get himself killed.”
The Queen shot them both a glance that silenced any further complaints. “Arata knows what he’s doing. Whether or not we like it, we have to trust him.”
Arata stepped forward, standing in the center of the room. He pulled on the ring with Angela inside—the Angel Ring that had become his lifeline—and slipped it onto his finger.
Angela’s soft voice echoed in his mind. “Are you sure this is the right move?”
“Not really,” Arata admitted mentally. “But it’s the only move I’ve got.”
The Queen extended her hand toward him, her eyes glowing faintly as she summoned her power. A swirling blue vortex of energy began to form, coalescing into an unstable, shimmering portal.
“This will drop you right into Newzland,” she said, her voice strained from the effort. “Make it count.”
Arata gave her a sharp nod. “I will.”
Just before he stepped into the portal, the Queen’s voice stopped him.
“Arata.”
He turned his head slightly.
“Whatever you’re about to do...” she said softly, “just come back.”
For a moment, the cold mask Arata wore slipped, and a flicker of warmth passed through his gaze. He gave her a rare, genuine smile.
“Don’t worry,” Arata said quietly. “I will.”
And with that, he stepped into the swirling vortex.
----------------------------------------
The portal closed behind him with a crackling hum, leaving the room in silence. The Queen staggered slightly, exhausted by the spell, and Butter reached out to steady her.
“He’s insane,” Butter muttered under her breath.
Cheese sat heavily on the nearest chair, rubbing his face. “And we’re the idiots trusting him.”
The Queen smirked faintly. “It’s not the first time.”
She glanced at the empty space where Arata had stood, her eyes shadowed with concern. “Let’s just hope it isn’t the last.”
The battlefield in Newzland was eerily silent except for the soft hum of hovering drones and the murmuring voices of the news crews. Smoke drifted lazily across the cracked streets, and in the center of the destruction, Elio lay unconscious. His enormous dragon wing was torn, its dark scales cracked and shimmering with fading energy. Slowly, that dark exterior began to flake off like burned paper, revealing pale, human skin beneath.
A circle of Hex agents moved in, clad in sleek black tactical gear, their faces hidden behind masks. Weapons raised, they approached cautiously. The infamous Dark Dragon—now a broken figure—was at their mercy.
----------------------------------------
“Move slowly,” one of the agents whispered through his comms. “He’s reverting. We don't know how stable he is.”
Another agent, bolder than the rest, nudged Elio’s body with his boot. The once-massive dragon form now resembled an exhausted young man, his body twitching slightly as the transformation continued to peel away. His claws shrank back into human fingers, his fanged mouth now slack, lips pale. Even the remnants of the blackened horns atop his head were disintegrating, leaving only strands of damp, messy brown hair behind.
A flicker of electricity crackled across his body—a lingering remnant of the Dark Dragon’s energy—but it fizzled out, leaving nothing but a hollow silence.
“He looks human again,” one of the agents muttered.
“But make no mistake,” said the leader of the squad, “this is the same monster responsible for leveling half of Newzland.”
----------------------------------------
The cameras were already recording everything. Reporters in the distance narrated the moment with a mix of fear and fascination.
“We’re witnessing a miraculous transformation,” a news anchor commented, her voice trembling slightly. “The once-feared Dark Dragon seems to be... reverting into his human form. This could be the first sign of weakness.”
Another reporter added, “Authorities are now closing in on the scene. What remains unclear is how dangerous Elio still is. Hex officials have ordered extreme caution.”
One drone zoomed in close, capturing Elio’s bruised and unconscious face. His transformation was almost complete—the dark scales gone, and the monstrous wings shriveled until they disappeared entirely. All that remained was Elio, a young man slumped against the rubble, barely recognizable as the terrifying creature who had ravaged the city.
----------------------------------------
Despite the fear still lingering in the air, there was an odd shift in the reporters’ tone. The longer they stared at Elio’s human form, the harder it became to reconcile him with the monstrous image of the Dark Dragon.
“He looks... so normal,” one reporter whispered, almost sympathetically.
A drone hovered close enough to pick up Elio’s shallow breaths. His chest rose and fell slowly, like someone struggling against exhaustion rather than rage.
The camera feed cut to a reporter standing on the scene, her microphone trembling slightly in her hand. “It’s hard to believe that this young man was responsible for such devastation. But according to Hex, there is no doubt—this is the Dark Dragon.”
The public broadcast flickered to images of the aftermath—crushed buildings, shattered streets, and a sky that still seemed dimmed by smoke.
“His transformation may be fading, but the destruction he caused will not be forgotten,” the reporter continued. “Hex officials believe that even in his human form, Elio remains dangerous.”
----------------------------------------
The Hex agents formed a tight perimeter around Elio’s unconscious body, weapons aimed and ready.
“Should we neutralize him?” one of the agents asked.
The squad leader shook his head. “No. Orders are to contain, not kill. We need him alive.”
They hoisted Elio's limp body off the ground, shackling his wrists with a specialized restraint that glimmered with Hex’s technology—a device made to suppress any remaining powers.
The camera feed zoomed in on Elio’s face once more. He looked peaceful, almost innocent, as though sleep had erased the terror of his transformation. But the media was relentless.
“Make no mistake,” the reporter repeated, her voice grim. “This is the same monster who brought Newzland to its knees. Hex will ensure that justice is served.”
----------------------------------------
Far from the broadcast's reach, the Queen, Butter, and Cheese remained glued to their screens, watching the unfolding events with growing concern.
“He’s just lying there,” Butter whispered, her voice laced with disbelief. “They’re treating him like a prisoner.”
“Of course they are,” Cheese muttered bitterly. “Hex isn’t going to let the truth get out. They’ll make sure everyone remembers him as the monster—not the brother.”
Butter shot him a worried glance. “If Arata doesn’t make it in time…”
The Queen remained silent, her gaze fixed on the screen, but her hands gripped the edges of the table tightly, betraying the tension she kept hidden.
----------------------------------------
Back on the battlefield, the crowd of reporters grew thicker as more cameras zoomed in to capture every moment. One reporter stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she focused on Elio’s exhausted form.
“It’s strange,” she whispered aloud, barely audible through the broadcast. “He looks... vulnerable.”
The feed shifted to another anchor in the studio, who seamlessly pivoted the narrative back to Hex’s official stance.
“Vulnerable or not, the Dark Dragon cannot be trusted. Hex’s top officials have assured us that they will handle the situation.”
But despite the carefully crafted narrative, unease lingered in the air. Something didn’t quite add up.
----------------------------------------
As the agents carried Elio’s limp body toward an armored transport, a soft rumble echoed in the distance—almost imperceptible. At first, no one noticed, but the sound grew steadily louder, a hum building in the air.
One of the agents turned his head sharply. “Do you hear that?”
Before anyone could react, a brilliant flash of light erupted behind them. A swirling vortex burst into existence, and from its center stepped Arata, his presence cutting through the chaos like a knife.