Draktharion and Atticus continued their cataclysmic clashes, their forms blurring with speed, sparks and energy ripping through the air as claws met katana.

Every strike sounded like thunder, the scorching ground shattering beneath their feet, shockwaves splitting the skies.

The battlefield became a blur of red and blue, the heat of Draktharion's flames searing the very air, while Atticus's azure energy cut through it all like a blade of pure light.

At this point, it was becoming very clear to Draktharion, and to everyone watching, who had the upper hand.

Since the battle began, aside from their constant clashes and parries, Draktharion hadn't been able to land a single hit on Atticus. But the same couldn't be said for Draktharion himself.

A dragon's regenerative abilities were truly remarkable, Draktharion healing almost instantly after every wound. But there were some wounds that couldn't be healed so easily.

His pride had been damaged, no, completely shattered. He had been punched, kicked, and slammed into the ground more times than he cared to remember.

He had entered this competition with absolute confidence, with certainty that he would be the victor, that no matter the circumstances, no matter the challenge, he would still come out on top.

He had always loved challenges; they pushed him to become a better version of himself. But this… this was far from a challenge.

He had anticipated the superior race apexes would be the challenge he sought, but not one that he couldn't overcome.

However, as the fight continued, a feeling of doubt began settling deep within him—something he hadn't experienced in his entire life.

What if he couldn't overcome this challenge? What if he fell here?

As these thoughts streamed into his mind, something in Draktharion's memory began to shift. Sharp and painful memories surged through his consciousness…

A handsome man with two horns protruding from his head stood on a mountaintop, overlooking his vast empire filled with towering buildings.

Beneath him, entire cities of different races bowed in fear and reverence. His face was cold, his eyes molten like lava, as he addressed his subjects, his voice booming across the land.

"Let no one forget," he growled, "This world belongs to dragons. And under my rule, the weak will kneel or perish."

No one dared to raise their head—elves, dwarves, even humans—cowering in utter fear.

The dragon king, Draktharion.

His pride was unmatched. His power, unquestioned. In the entire world, no one dared to defy him.

He ruled with an iron fist, crushing any rebellion, annihilating clans, silencing any whisper of dissent. And yet, in those moments of dominance, he felt alive.

The world feared him—and he thrived on that fear.

But behind the iron, there was a softer side.

Away from the battlefield and throne, Draktharion was completely different.

He was not the ruthless king everyone feared. He was a husband and a father. After a long day, he would always return to his palace where his children—tiny dragonlings—ran to greet him, each one as excited as the last.

The only woman he had ever loved, the only woman who understood him and stood by him, would always greet him in a way no one else ever did.

She was his motivation. The reason he rose to power, the reason he kept pushing forward.

"You're back," she whispered, her hand resting on his chest.

"I am," he smiled, his expression softening completely. "It's your fault; I couldn't stay away too long."

In that moment, the weight of the world would always vanish.

He was just a man, trying to protect the people he loved.

But life was full of the unexpected.

Among his closest aides, his generals—his companions, the people he trusted with his kingdom, his power.

They were the same people who fought beside him in countless battles during his ascent to the top, the ones who shared in his victories. The ones he trusted with his life.

He had always been more relaxed around them, letting his guard down because they were practically family.

Or so he believed.

The betrayal came swift and brutal.

It inflicted a wound that would never heal—not in this life, nor the next.

Draktharion remembered that moment. He had been laughing at the top of his lungs in the throne room, only for his joy to be suddenly cut short.

An intense explosion rocked the entire castle, the whole building trembling. His most trusted general—a man he called brother—appeared before him, wielding a blade glowing with immense power.

"Why?" Draktharion had whispered, an intense wave of sadness bubbling in his chest.

But there was no answer.

Draktharion had fought with everything he had, but they were too many, too prepared.

His entire kingdom fell that day—his legacy. But even worse than that, the last thing he saw was his wife's devastated face before darkness claimed him.

That day, he had died. He had assumed everything was lost. He had given up all hope as his consciousness faded.

But that wasn't his end.

Somehow, in a way even he found hard to comprehend, he had gotten a second chance.

A second chance to see his family again.

A second chance to exact revenge on the bastards who had betrayed him, who had destroyed everything he held dear.

Would everything end just like this? Defeated by a member of a race that had once cowered beneath his feet?

Would he die here and never see his family again?

Draktharion's movements suddenly began to slow, his mind clouded by dark thoughts. Multiple hits and attacks landed on him with force, and he began to feel overwhelmed as the battle continued.

Atticus immediately noticed the change, his eyes flicking to the troubled expression on Draktharion's face as his attacks landed. But he didn't care.

An opportunity was an opportunity.

Atticus's katana suddenly glowed an intense blue. Utilizing Burst, Lightning, Air, and Light in tandem, his speed reached new heights, surpassing anything many thought possible.

His hand flashed, and his razor-sharp blade appeared inches from Draktharion's neck.

Everyone watching knew—if that attack landed, there was no doubt. The Dragon Apex would be finished.

But as Draktharion's mind spiraled, an image flashed before him. A beautiful woman. Two children. His family. And just like that, all the dark thoughts vanished, replaced by a single, burning desire.

His pride be damned. Everything be damned.

Even if he had to crawl through fire and death, he would see them again.

Nothing would stand in his way.

Draktharion's heart roared as the image of his family surged through him, fueling him like an inferno. His body shook, every muscle burning with that singular resolve.

'No matter what,' he thought.

As Atticus's blade descended, Draktharion's eyes flared, a fierce resolve blazing within.

Just before the strike could land, his aura abruptly exploded.

Fire erupted around him—blazing crimson flames that tore through the air, rippling with raw power.

The heat scorched everything, the ground cracking beneath him, the sky igniting with his rage.

With a dragon's roar, Draktharion's body shifted, growing larger, towering over the battlefield in an instant.

His form twisted and stretched, scales hardening like steel, wings bursting from his back. In seconds, he had transformed—a full dragon, massive and terrifying, standing over everything like a living mountain.

The air vibrated with his power, the ground trembling beneath his massive claws. Lava bubbled and erupted at his feet, the very atmosphere bending to his will.

His roar shook the heavens, his molten eyes blazing with a newfound fire. He wasn't done yet. He couldn't be. Not until he saw them again.

The members of the dragon race watching the live stream roared into the skies, their entire domain trembling.

He had done it—he had achieved something only Grandmasters+ could. He had transformed into a full-blown dragon!

Valkarion's initially worried expression transformed into hope, into intense pride at his grandson's achievement. There was hope now!

With a deep, guttural growl, Draktharion's maw suddenly opened wide. A fierce, glowing heat radiated from his mouth as flames churned within, swirling like molten lava.

Then, in an instant, he unleashed it.

A torrent of fire, blindingly bright and searing hot, erupted from Draktharion's maw. It surged forward, consuming everything in its path.

The roar of the flames drowned out all other sounds as they cascaded toward Atticus with terrifying speed.

The very air burned, the ground below melting into molten rock under the sheer force of the dragon's breath.

The flames twisted and coiled, a devastating inferno that immediately swallowed Atticus whole.

The entire battlefield lit up, bathed in a crimson blaze. The heat was unbearable, waves of fire crashing across the land, reducing everything in their wake to ash and molten slag.

The world seemed to crack under the weight of Draktharion's power.

The people of the dragon race cheered loudly, while the people of the human race fell utterly silent.

The fire had enveloped him… He was gone. That thought echoed in everyone's mind.

But Draktharion, who had unleashed the attack, knew better.

The battle was only just beginning.