OLD-WORLD EXTRA

466  Men Of Fire

***

A Short While Earlier Red Dragon stood on cracked, scorched ground, the air around him thick with the scent of brimstone, shimmering with heat.

A type of heat that was unlike Damien's, a kind that warped the air itself, creating shimmering waves of intense, unnatural warmth. It was alive—a concentrated fire—a hell beyond what was realistically possible.

Across from him, his opponent—a Hell Weaver like himself—matched his stance.

Both were cloaked in the flames that defined their specialization, their eyes locked.

The arena seemed split in two: one side bore armageddon while the other was marked with fewer abilities, an area that clearly belonged to the Hellweaver from Templar.

Red Dragon seemed to have conserved his Aether.

It was clear now why this battle had dragged on.

Emir's favorite chinaman had been biding his time, waiting until his leader was finished with his duel.

The prolonged fight wasn't because of any lack of power; it was simply a matter of patience.

That was evident at the ten-minute, twenty-one-second mark.

Once his internal clock reached past that time, Red Dragon noticed a subtle shift in Aquila's movements.

He was moving calmly in a specific direction.

That could only mean one thing—Aquila had ended his duel.

Now, Red Dragon could finally end his own.

And he was sure he could end it quickly.

Unlike the one Aquila, Iron Reich, and Kremlin fought, the man before him wasn't anything noteworthy. A third-rate Seraphim like the rest, manufactured by lazy cultivation instead of real combat. Stable foundations were a foreign concept to them.

They would've been better by many degrees if they had a little mix of both, but they weren't allowed that.

It would've risked their identity being revealed, and that was the last thing Purple wanted. 'Let's just get this over with.'

Red Dragon raised his staff and chanted:

"Grain—"

But before he could attack, multiple fireballs came at him from the front. Swinging his staff upward, he conjured a towering Fire Wall that erupted from the ground between them.

The flames roared, splitting the already split battlefield in two while absorbing the flames that attacked it.

Templar's Hellweaver lowered the metaphorical throttle, pausing his attack to strategize, but Red Dragon did the opposite—he was already on the move.

He sidestepped his own wall, his movements fluid, and launched a Flaming Tornado towards his opponent.

The cyclone of fire spiraled forward, but before it could get close, the enemy countered with a tornado of his own.

The two flaming whirlwinds collided in between them, merging into a massive inferno that reached the ceiling, raining down melting rubble at the both of them.

Unfazed, Red Dragon didn't kill his spell, and pressed forward, using it to his advantage.

He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding as he breathed in all the oxygen he could.

A sharp hiss, like the sound of a kettle releasing steam, echoed through the air as Red Dragon opened his mouth.

In an instant, he unleashed Dragon's Breath—a searing jet of flames that surged forward with terrifying speed, engulfing everything in its path.

His opponent barely had time to react, responding with their own Dragon's Breath at the last possible moment.

But it didn't take more than the very next moment to realize that his attempt at defense was futile.

Red Dragon's flames were far stronger, far hotter.

As the two streams of fire met, Red Dragon's pushed his opponent's back inch by inch with each passing second.

Sensing the tide turning against him, the opposing Hell Weaver tried to regain control by switching the point where his fiery breath originated to his staff, decreasing its power but in turn returning his ability to dodge, in preparation for his next attack.

"Hell's Rain!"

Joining the already falling rubble from the crumbling ceiling, fiery meteors began to fall from the sky, heading into the ground around them with explosive force.

Red Dragon mirrored his opponent's actions, shifting the origin of his Dragon's Breath, but for a completely different reason, almost the opposite. He stopped dodging the rubble and looked up.

Hell was descending upon him.

Yet before anything could strike, he calmly pointed upward, relocating his Firewall far above him.

It melted every falling attack into ashes and absorbed the flames.

He then raised his other hand, which held his staff, and summoned his own Hell's Rain. Though the ability they activated held the same name, Red Dragon's appeared with a major difference.

His meteors and fireballs were not only larger and faster but also far more numerous, closely reflecting the status of their incantation. The entire place was lit up with blazing projectiles, and even as his opponent conjured a Firewall, many of them got through, forcing him to dodge frantically.

But, even when his victory seemed close, Red Dragon didn't let up.

Canceling his Flaming Tornado, he summoned a Lava Whip into existence, clutching it in his right hand.

With a swift motion, he whipped it forward, aiming at the man's upper body.

The molten weapon hissed as it crackled through the air, leaving a trail of steam in its wake. Templar's Hellweaver tried to dodge, but he was too slow, unable to move faster than the speed of sound.

Hiss—CRACK!

The whip's tip tore through a large chunk of the man's left side, ripping away his entire abdominal wall and instantly burning the wound.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Screaming in agony, the pitiful Hellweaver struggled to maintain his grip on his staff, his eyes widening in horror as Red Dragon's Dragon's Breath drew closer.

But then came his Savior.

The augmented suit.

Just as its painkillers kicked in, dulling his senses, he bit back the cries and attempted to do the same, summoning a Lava Whip, even as his strength faltered, arm barely able to lift the staff.

Red Dragon didn't give him the opportunity to use that ability, however.

He lashed out with the whip once more, aiming to tear off the man's arm.

Templar's Hellweaver, still whimpering, tried to parry, but again, he was too slow, and Red Dragon's superior strength was evident.

His whip cracked, piercing through the man's own whip and wrapping itself around the hand that wielded it.

Like what Wit, the fake priest, did to Aria, Red Dragon tore off the man's skin, singing the muscle, and burning his nerves. "Gah—!"

Staggering back, he gritted his teeth, clamping his mouth down to stop himself from screaming. But... none of that mattered.

Before he could recover, Red Dragon moved in for the kill.

He twisted his body, and his whip danced behind him, generating force.

Meanwhile, their still ongoing Dragon Breath clash had neared its end, his own flames almost reaching the man's staff. n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

It was a beautiful clash, a scene performed only by men of fire.

Though unfortunately for any romanticist watching, Red Dragon had no intention of letting this performance continue.

He was going to end then and there. The whip went forth, breaking the staff's burning crystal.

That momentarily killed his spell, as the origin was disrupted, and Red Dragon's Dragon's Breath had reached him, engulfing his entire body.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" His augmented suit melted away, quickly followed by his skin, muscle, and bones, leaving behind nothing but a charred, formless mass, mush no longer recognized as human. When the flames fully subsided, remnants flickering out, Red Dragon showed a victorious smile.

His breath was steady despite the intensity of the battle, making it apparent that he wasn't challenged whatsoever.

He lowered his hand and staff, terminating all his abilities, and the place returned to silence.

Red Dragon then wordlessly turned away, the air around him cooling as he walked in the direction of his leader, Aquila.

Behind him was nothing but scorched earth and the smell of burnt flesh.