Starting out as a Dragon Slave-Chapter 100: Deadly Ballet

The human circle a fragile constellation of flesh and fading hope collapsed like a house of cards under the gust of a divine breath.

The Vhulks of R’daz advanced, nightmare creatures with undulating silhouettes, their translucent bodies pulsing with a sickly bluish light. Each of their movements traced a trail of ethereal acid through the foul air of the arena. Death itself seemed to ripple in their wake, patient and predatory.

One by one, the gladiators faded into oblivion.

A burst of blinding light like a dying star giving its final breath. A strangled scream — quickly turning into a wet gurgle. The acrid stench of melting flesh mingled with the metallic tang of blood and the sulfurous reek of the Vhulks.

On the blackened sand, now speckled with smoking footprints and unidentifiable organic remnants, only three figures remained three flickering flames in the storm:

Kael, his broad chest heaving in ragged spasms, his wheezing breath tearing through his throat. His shield, once a proud emblem of his house, now hung from his arm like a gangrenous limb refusing amputation.

Mordred, standing unnaturally still, like a predator ready to strike. His eyes, two molten amber embers, burned with icy determination that contrasted with the inferno inside his gaze. In his posture, there was no fear only cold, methodical, implacable calculation.

And the old man, a living enigma amidst the carnage. His emaciated frame, lined with white scars on tanned skin, seemed misplaced in this theater of death. Yet, a disturbing serenity emanated from him, as if death were an old acquaintance with whom he had long since struck a pact.

The very air seemed to double in pressure. Saturated with acid particles and the collective breath of the bloodthirsty spectators, it weighed on their lungs like molten lead.

The Vhulks, creatures of primitive but ruthless intelligence, deployed into an encircling formation. Their movements, once chaotic, became synchronized a macabre dance perfectly orchestrated. They swayed to an inaudible music, tightening their deadly noose, their tentacles quivering with anticipation.

Kael stumbled back one step, two until his back slammed against the rough wall of the arena. The ancient stone, soaked with centuries of blood and despair, greeted his flesh with cold indifference.

A collective rumble rose from the Vhulks a sound that was neither animal nor even alive. It was the screeching of the void against reality, the promise of total dissolution. Within their translucent forms, iridescent veils shimmered like ominous reflections of impending suffering.

Kael, eyes bulging, red veins spiderwebbing across the whites, turned a face twisted by terror toward his companions.

— "What do we do?!" he screamed, his voice breaking on the last syllable like a wave shattering against jagged rocks.

Mordred did not answer immediately. His analytical gaze studied the deadly choreography unfolding before them. Each Vhulk oscillated according to a precise pattern, their tentacles vibrating in hypnotic harmony like the strings of infernal instruments tuned for their requiem.

The situation had transcended despair.It now existed beyond hope, where only cold lucidity remained before the inevitable.

No more space to maneuver.No more allies to share the burden.No more hope to illuminate the darkness.

In that crystalline moment between two heartbeats, Mordred made his decision.

With a fluidity that defied the natural laws of motion, he dropped his weapon — a deliberate act that made the crowd shudder. His arm, like a living whip, shot out and grabbed Kael’s breastplate, his fingers sinking into the metal as if it were soft clay.

— "Wha...?!"

Kael’s protest died in his throat.

Drawing upon a strength that was anything but human, Mordred anchored his feet into the sand and pivoted a perfect movement, both brutal and graceful. Kael’s body, torn free from the earth, arced majestically across the arena.

The scream that escaped Kael’s lungs was almost comical a high-pitched, absurd cry contrasting sharply with his massive frame. He sliced through the air like a human projectile, his blue plume snapping behind him like a tattered banner caught in a storm.

— "AAAAAHHHH !"

His landing was anything but elegant. He crashed heavily onto the sand, his armor clattering in a cacophony of metallic shrieks, rolling over himself in a series of awkward but ultimately effective tumbles.

The crowd a shifting sea of iridescent scales and reptilian faces erupted into thunderous laughter.Thousands of dragons, crammed into the ascending stands, reveled in this unexpected comedy amidst the carnage.

On the floating platform above the arena’s center, the announcer — a dragon robed in shimmering azure with spiraling horns roared with laughter. His magically amplified voice cascaded over the audience:

— "Behold! Even the humans take flight tonight! What a marvelous aerial performance... without wings!"

But Mordred paid no attention to the mockery.Every fiber of his being was tuned to a single, lethal purpose.The imminent attack was already manifesting in the subtle shifts of ambient energy.

The tentacles lashed out in perfect synchrony an explosive eruption of bluish filaments that carved through the air like liquid lightning. Each one, finer than a razor’s edge and deadlier than ancient poison, aimed with terrifying precision at vital points.

Mordred closed his eyes. Just for a fraction of a second.A heartbeat.

His lips moved in the faintest whisper:

— "[Intangibility]."

The transformation was subtle yet profound. His very essence seemed to hesitate between two states of being. His figure shimmered, becoming translucent, as if his materiality was no longer a certainty but merely a suggestion.

The tentacles passed through him without resistance, like ghosts passing through a dream.A whisper of corrosive energy brushed his cheek close enough for him to feel its deadly potential yet left no mark, no wound, no trace.

Mordred, now spectral, moved through the deadly weave of attacks like a dream through a sleeper’s mind. Around him, the tentacles wove furious arabesques, creating a cocoon of death made futile by his intangibility.

His molten amber eyes remained fixed on his goal:to reach Kael, regroup, survive a few heartbeats more.

Nearby, the old man offered a different kind of spectacle, no less astonishing.

No magic.No supernatural powers.No tricks.

Armed only with a body forged by decades of experience and an instinct honed to perfection, he danced with death.

A sidestep so precisely timed that a deadly tentacle brushed his tunic but never touched his skin.A twist at the waist his body arcing at an impossible angle to dodge simultaneous strikes.A dip and rise flowing into each other like liquid, with seamless grace.

Each motion led into the next with otherworldly beauty a ballet where even the smallest error meant instant obliteration.

A strike aimed at his face he pivoted on a bare foot, spinning like a living top, slipping over the sand as lightly as an autumn leaf carried by the wind.

An attack to his left he sprang, lean muscles tensing like steel cables, briefly clinging to a crag in the wall before launching himself back into the fray with perfect precision.

He was water slipping through fingers.He was the wind mocking obstacles.He was the essence of the untouchable.

And like Mordred, he advanced inexorably, meticulously, every move bringing him closer to his objective with the precision of clockwork.

At last, the two men converged at a single point, standing shoulder to shoulder without exchanging a word.A simple nod sufficed the silent recognition of two souls who had stared into the abyss and refused to fall.

Together, they reached Kael, who struggled to rise, dragging his heavy sword through the sand.His face was that of a man torn from one nightmare only to be plunged into another disoriented but still burning with life.

The trio reformed, their backs to the wall, surrounded by a macabre landscape of charred flesh and unrecognizable remains. Before them, the Vhulks were already reforming their attack line, their gelatinous bodies pulsing with renewed vigor, fed by the life essence they had consumed.

The reprieve was fleeting a mere breath between movements of the symphony of destruction.

Mordred, his fists cracking almost imperceptibly, murmured in a low, steady voice:

— "We have to find a way to hurt them. Really hurt them."

Kael, his breathing still ragged, cast a look full of lucid terror at the creatures realigning themselves.

— "Our weapons do nothing!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Our spells slide off them like water off oil!"

The old man, his pale eyes seeing truths hidden to ordinary mortals, replied in a strangely melodious voice despite his frailty:

— "Their attacks... leave a temporal void. A quantum gap."

Mordred nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his sharp features.

— "Yes. In the split second after they strike, their mass destabilizes. Their energy matrix wavers."

Kael shook his head vigorously, blood and sweat flicking from his battered hair.

— "But how do you hit something you can’t even hurt?!" His voice trembled on the edge of rage. "It’s like trying to stab smoke!"

Mordred inhaled deeply, the poisoned air burning his lungs.In the crucible of his analytical mind, every detail of the battle distilled, revealing hidden patterns.

He remembered:The attacks absorbed.The spells slipping through.Their spongy, ever-shifting bodies.

Unstable... Malleable... But not invulnerable...

A theory crystallized fragile yet promising, like the first dawn after endless night.

— "We have to strike their core," Mordred whispered, his eyes narrowing with focus.

Kael frowned, confusion carving deep lines into his bloodied face.

— "Their what?"

The old man answered for him, his voice calm with the certainty of those who had solved the universe’s riddles:

— "The center. The quantum convergence point. The singular spot where their existence anchors to our reality."

A thin smile of understanding crossed Mordred’s lips.

He locked eyes with Kael, forging a near-physical connection between their minds.

— "We have to aim for their heart... not their body. And only in the fleeting instant after they strike."

Kael swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a piston.

— "And if we miss?" His voice was a ragged whisper.

Mordred answered plainly, the naked truth burning in his amber gaze:

— "Then we join the others in the void. It’s not like we have any other choice."

A heavy silence fell on the trio, charged with the electricity of imminent death.

Around them, the Vhulks had completed their realignment.Their translucent forms undulated in hypnotic choreography, their tentacles trembling with anticipation, eager to taste the sweet dissolution of their prey.