Jack was halfway down the grand staircase when a sudden ripple of energy swept through the air—faint, but familiar. Then—
"Ack, my damn sister always calling for some stupid reason," came a bored, annoyed voice from behind the throne.
Heads turned just as Athena Wintermere reappeared, casually brushing her shimmering sleeves like she hadn't just vanished mid-banquet. The royal family barely flinched. The nobles whispered, but most didn't look surprised—her teleportation antics were infamous.
She glanced around lazily, violet eyes scanning the silent hall. "Now what have I missed?" Her voice rang clear and playful. "Where's that Dracirr guy?"
The Five Heroes looked at her in tense silence. Natalya clenched her jaw. Austin and Andre exchanged looks. Enrico and Sophia avoided her gaze.
Then Athena saw Jack—his back turned, walking away.
"Where are you going, Craneson?" she called out.
Jack stopped, but didn't turn right away. His hands were clenched.
Jack paused, casting a sharp glance over his shoulder. "Oh, right. You disappeared. I'm resigning as one of your Heroes."
Athena raised an eyebrow. "And why the hell would you do that?"
"I'm going to do what the hell I wanna do—"
But before he could finish, she blinked. Literally blinked.
In an instant, she was right in front of him.
Gasps rang out from the noble crowd—Athena was standing so close, their noses nearly touched.
"You cannot leave without my permission," she whispered coldly.
Jack's eyes didn't flinch. "I'm not your weapon. I'm not your pawn. And I sure as hell am not yours to keep."
Her lips parted slightly. For the first time, her smirk faded. Something flickered in her expression—surprise, maybe even pain—but it was gone just as fast.
"Bold words, Craneson," she murmured, eyes scanning his face. "Careful. That kind of fire burns bridges."
He leaned in slightly, voice low but steady. "Then let it burn."
He stepped past her.
She didn't stop him this time.
Beatrice ran up beside him, then Arabella, both silent but firm, walking with him.
The nobles whispered.
And Athena Wintermere?
She stood perfectly still.
But her eyes never left Jack's back—intense, unreadable. A storm held behind violet calm.
She didn't say another word.
Athena stood still near the center of the banquet hall, watching the three figures disappear into the dim corridor. Her arms were crossed, but her expression had softened.
"…Why are you so damn interesting?" she muttered to herself under her breath, more irritated at her own curiosity than at him.
The murmur of nobles began to rise behind her.
One of the noble lords approached the king with a worried expression, voice low but urgent.
"My King… are you just going to let him leave?"
Another chimed in, voice shaking slightly.
"You felt it too, didn't you? That boy's mana is monstrous. If he decides to turn his back on the kingdom—"
"He may be a slacker now," another said grimly, but letting him walk freely might be planting a seed of war."
The King simply swirled the wine in his goblet, face calm.
"Let him go," he said, unbothered. "I have five Heroes. That's more than enough."
Harold and Howard were leaning against the stone pillars when the large wooden doors creaked open. Jack stepped out first, followed closely by Arabella and Beatrice. Their faces were serious, their steps deliberate.
Howard blinked, pushing off the wall.
"Oh? Leaving already?"
Arabella gave him a brief smile.
"Yeah. Jack resigned as one of the Heroes."
Harold raised his brows, clearly surprised.
"He did?" He turned to Beatrice. "Then… my lady, where are we heading next?"
Beatrice glanced at Jack briefly—his face unreadable—then looked back at Harold.
"We're going to Redharth."
A shuffle of footsteps echoed behind them. Lord Greysen, Lord Arthur, and Liam Aurumnhart had followed, catching the tail end of the conversation.
Greysen's voice was stern.
"Jack Craneson. Do you ever stop and think before leaping into fire? What exactly are you planning now?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Are you returning to Porthaven with my daughter?"
Jack scratched the back of his neck, trying not to meet Arabella's eyes.
"Ahh… I don't really know, honestly. Maybe…"
Before he could finish, Beatrice stepped forward.
"He's going to Redharth. With us."
Lord Arthur blinked, then grinned, his mustache twitching with excitement.
"To my city? Excellent!" He stepped closer to Jack.
I've been itching to teach you swordsmanship, boy. With that absurd amount of mana inside you, you'll be swinging steel like a war god in no time."
Jack let out a faint, tired smile.
"Well… as long as you don't expect me to do push-ups at sunrise."
Arthur clapped him on the back.
"Oh, we're starting at midnight."
Everyone laughed a little, tension fading as the stars overhead twinkled above the courtyard.
As the mood relaxed, Lord Greysen crossed his arms and gave Lord Arthur a sideways glance.
"Still dragging people into sword lessons, Arthur? Some things never change."
Arthur scoffed, rolling his shoulders.
"Says the man who once broke my nose with a wooden blade because he tripped."
Greysen smirked.
"You should've dodged better. I remember carrying that entire mission on my back while you were busy wooing the innkeeper's daughter."
Arthur chuckled, shaking his head.
"And yet you still followed me into the goblin nest the next morning. Don't pretend you weren't clinging to my cloak when that troll popped out."
"That was one time!" Greysen barked a laugh, then looked at Jack with a mock sigh.
"Jack, be careful. Train under him and you'll end up with more bruises than brain cells."
Arthur grinned.
"Bruises build character."
Harold leaned over to Howard, not-so-subtly whispering,
"So… Jack's not a Hero anymore, huh?"
Howard smirked, nudging Jack with his elbow.
"What do we call him now? 'Sir Quit-a-lot'? 'The Once and Future Hero'?"
Harold joined in, pretending to think hard.
"Maybe just 'The Ex-Golden Boy'? Sounds dramatic."
"How about 'Mana-man with no plan'?" Howard quipped.
Jack groaned, rubbing his temples.
"Gods, I regret everything."
Arabella covered her mouth, trying not to laugh, while Beatrice rolled her eyes but smiled softly.
Howard continued,
"Look, I'm just saying—resigning from being a Hero right in the middle of a royal banquet? That's peak dramatic. I almost applauded."
"Honestly," Harold added, "if you'd torn your tunic open and declared, 'I am free!' it would've been perfect."
Jack gave them both a deadpan look.
"You two are the worst."
"And you still hang out with us," Howard said proudly.
Jack sighed but smiled.
"Unfortunately."
Arthur turned to Greysen again, voice low but fond.
"Still, seeing your daughter choosing her path like that… you've raised her well."
Greysen nodded slowly, watching Arabella from a distance.
"She has her mother's strength. And just a bit too much of mine."
He looked at Jack, then back at Arthur.
"Let's see what this boy does with Redharth. Maybe there's hope for him yet."
Arthur chuckled.
"If not, at least we'll have a lot of fun yelling at him."
BOOOOOM!
The ground trembled beneath their feet. A massive explosion erupted from within the castle, sending a plume of dust and debris into the night sky. The joyful chatter vanished in an instant.
"What the hell—" Howard flinched, stepping back as the shockwave rippled outward.
The castle gates, thick and ancient, groaned ominously—then slammed open with a violent crash.
Screams followed.
"It's a monster!"
"Get out of the way!"
"Protect the king!"
Nobles, servants, and guards came flooding out in chaos, their finely adorned outfits torn and singed, fear painting their faces. One stumbled past Arthur, blood running down his temple.
"It's inside—it's asking for someone!"
The air grew colder. The laughter was gone.
Lord Greysen's smile vanished. His expression hardened as he unsheathed his sword with a steely rasp.
"Enough games."
Arthur's eyes sharpened as he mirrored the motion, blades in hand.
"Stay behind us."
Howard drew his bow in one smooth motion, knocking an arrow with practiced ease.
Harold spun his longsword to his side, stance dropping into combat-ready form.
Beatrice slid Elara's rapier free with a breath, her fingers tightening on the hilt.
Jack instinctively moved in front of Arabella.
"Stay close to me."
"Jack—" Arabella began, but he gently pushed her behind him, his voice low.
"If it's here for me, I'm not letting it get to you."
Suddenly, the air split with a bone-chilling screech—not one voice, but several, layered and distorted, like echoes in a metal chamber.
"Jaaaaack Craaaaneson..."
Everyone froze.
Jack's eyes widened.
"That… that sounded like Dracirr…" he whispered.
The voice came again, deeper now, more distorted, unnatural:
"Give me Jack Craneson!"
A silence followed. Heavy. Foreboding. Even the wind held its breath.
Greysen stepped forward, sword raised.
"Over my dead body."
Arthur glanced at Jack.
"You've made some enemies, boy."
Howard muttered,
"You sure you don't wanna go back to being a Hero?"
Jack's hand tightened.
"Nah. Heroes don't get targeted by monsters, right?"
"You're such an idiot," Harold said, grinning despite the tension.
From within the darkened entrance, something stirred.
Beatrice whispered, eyes fixed ahead,
"Whatever's coming… it knows you. Personally."
Jack nodded grimly.
"Then let it come."
Jack clenched his fists, stepping forward as the voice echoed again.
"Then let it come."
Suddenly, Beatrice smacked the back of his head.
"What are you gonna do? Bite him?!" she snapped, her eyes sharp with frustration.
"You dumbass, you don't even know how to fight with a weapon yet! And you're just gonna stand there all dramatic like 'let him come'? Sit your dramatic ass down!"
The whole group froze.
No one said anything for a second. Even the wind seemed to pause.
Howard choked on a laugh, turning away. Harold snorted. Arabella covered her mouth. Greysen and Arthur blinked at the shift in mood.
Jack blinked, slightly red in the face.
"…I don't care." He crossed his arms stubbornly.
"I have knowledge—stuff no one else here does."
Howard leaned closer, smirking.
"Ahh, so he's doing the science thing again."
Liam, Arthur, and Greysen looked at each other, confused.
Arthur: "Science thing?"
Greysen: "Is that some sort of magic in his world?"
Liam: "Sounds fake."
Before Jack could defend himself, the castle trembled again. The sound of clashing steel, roaring magic, and inhuman growls echoed through the courtyard.
Screams. Explosions. Another crash.
A guard suddenly sprinted from the entrance, bruised and panicking. Greysen grabbed him by the arm.
"What's happening inside?"
The guard, panting heavily, gasped out:
"It's… it's Lord Dracirr! He transformed—into something monstrous! The generals… the five heroes… they're all inside fighting him!"
Everyone's expression turned grim.
Jack blinked.
"Wait, all of them? The generals and the heroes?"
He squinted at the castle, then tilted his head.
"Is this guy dumb or something? Who starts a rampage when literally all the strongest people in the kingdom are right there?"
Beatrice stared at him.
Then smacked him again, harder.
"Can you be serious for once in your life?! There's a demon-monster version of Dracirr in there and you're out here trying to do stand-up comedy!"
Jack winced, rubbing his head.
"It's a coping mechanism!"
Howard nodded.
"Respect."
Jack suddenly dropped to the ground.
Cross-legged, eyes closed, hands resting on his knees—like some kind of monk in a tech hoodie. He began muttering to himself, voice low and quick.
"Big monster… big mana… too risky to go head-on… think, Jack, think…"
His brows furrowed.
"I did it before—with the goblins. Amplified frequency through a mana pulse using a steel rod and copper shards… but this… this thing's on another level."
A deep breath.
"There's no tech here. No circuits, no high-frequency generators, no EMPs. But maybe… maybe I can use the mana again. Mana harmonics? Or a pressure-triggered resonance? If I can find something conductive, or a hollow object that can echo—wait…"
His voice dropped further as ideas raced.
Behind him, Duke Greysen blinked.
Lord Arthur tilted his head.
Liam looked almost offended.
"What the hell is he doing?" Greysen asked.
"Is he… meditating?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"Now!?"
Beatrice, still catching her breath from the chaos, looked over.
"Let him be."
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"He's thinking. When he starts mumbling like that, it usually means something dangerous—or clever—is about to happen."
Howard nodded solemnly beside her.
"Let him cook."
The three nobles exchanged a glance.
"Cook?"
"With what?"
"Is that slang for alchemy?"
But before they could say more, another explosion rocked the ground. A wave of heat and magic burst from the castle entrance. Screams followed.
Arthur's eyes widened.
"Bianca and Sophia is inside."
Without a word, the three dashed forward, weapons ready.
Beatrice's face hardened. She drew Elara's rapier again and sprinted after them.
"Come on!" she barked to her guards.
Howard and Harold exchanged a nod before following.
Harold: "You better not die again."
Howard: "Try not to cry if I do."
Their voices faded as they ran into the burning chaos.
Now only Jack and Arabella remained.
She looked at him—still cross-legged, still mumbling theories and possible outcomes to himself. Then, with quiet resolve, she sat beside him.
"You're doing that thing again," she said softly, hands folded in her lap.
"The one where you sound like a lunatic and a genius at the same time."
Jack cracked one eye open and gave her a tired smile.
"Yeah… it's kinda my thing."
"Well," she whispered, "then I'll sit here with you. Until you're ready to save the world again, Jack."
Jack's eyes stayed closed as the sounds of battle raged on in the distance—roars, crashing stone, and spells lighting the sky through the cracks of the castle walls.
Arabella glanced at him quietly.
He muttered again.
"Code. Logic. Input, output. Cause and effect. Every problem has a pattern... a system waiting to be broken."
A pause.
"Back home, I was nothing special. But with a keyboard, with wires and circuits—I made magic. I created things."
His hands slightly twitched.
"This world's not the same. No tech. No machines. But... mana is just another form of energy. It's all science, dressed in fantasy."
His voice grew steadier.
"There has to be a way to manipulate it like data. Control it like code. Resonate it like soundwaves."
He opened his eyes slowly, a calm fire behind them.
"I know what to do."
He stood up.
Arabella looked at him as he dusted himself off and stretched his arms, cracking his neck. Then he looked down at his hands, clenching them tightly.
He whispered, barely audible—
"Help me, Elara. I'll avenge you. I promise."
Then, with a small, dry grin, he added:
"...Oh god. Am I an Avenger now? Iron Man would be proud."
Arabella blinked.
"What?"
"Nothing," he said, flashing her a tired smile.
Then, he looked her dead in the eye.
"Stay here. Don't follow me in, okay?"
"But—"
"No. You've already given enough. This one's on me."
And with that, Jack Craneson turned and ran toward the chaos, toward the castle, toward the monster that screamed his name.
Arabella remained still, eyes wide, watching him go—something stirring in her chest. Fear. Hope. Love. All at once.
And as Jack's figure disappeared through the smoke-filled doorway—
She whispered:
"Be careful, Jack…"
As Jack burst through the grand doorway, the sight that met him felt like a dream—or a nightmare pulled straight from the depths of some forgotten realm.
What had once been a grand, radiant banquet hall—gilded with chandeliers, silver pillars, velvet banners, and polished marble—was now a ruin of smoke, fire, and shattered stone. The twin thrones of the King and Queen were cracked and toppled, one lying crooked on its side as if bowing to the chaos.
And in the center of it all, a monster towered.
It was massive—hulking and grotesque, as if someone had fused a wingless dragon with a rabid werewolf. Patches of scale and fur overlapped across its bulging frame. Its claws scraped deep into the stone floor as it growled, a twisted mockery of Dracirr's voice echoing from somewhere inside the beast:
"GIVE ME JACK CRANESON!"
Jack's breath caught in his throat.
Then he saw her—Athena Wintermere, alone, facing the abomination head-on. Her body blinked in and out of space, teleporting at split-second intervals as she weaved around the beast's claws, striking with a blazing spear of violet mana.
Slash. Step. Vanish. Reappear. Slash again.
Despite her finesse, even she seemed strained—blood at her lip, mana flickering around her like unstable lightning.
All around them, other monsters surged in waves—werewolves, goblins, even armored orcs wielding crude axes. The nobles were gone. The elite remained.
The generals of Eldoria were locked in vicious combat.
High General Roderic cut down three werewolves with a single flaming arc of his blade. Grand Mage Thalia levitated with calm fury, raining down pillars of blue fire. General Ser Vaylen spun a twin-bladed halberd in sweeping, elegant death.
And further back—
The Five Heroes.
Jack turned—his heart jumped.
Austin, the knight, clashed blades with a brute orc, sweat streaming from his brow as his glowing greatsword lit up with crimson energy.
Andre grunted as he punched a goblin clean through a pillar, lightning crackling from his gauntlets.
Enrico danced through the battlefield with dual daggers, slashing throats and vanishing like a phantom.
Sophia, poised behind cover, released arrow after arrow, every shot true, each bolt imbued with wind magic.
And Natalya—her hands glowing—whirled in an arcane storm, launching spells at groups of monsters trying to flank them.
"JACK! BEHIND YOU—DUCK!" Natalya screamed.
He didn't hesitate—he dropped to the floor, and a beam of fiery light soared above his head, exploding a goblin into ash.
He looked back, heart pounding.
"Thanks!" he called out.
But something gnawed at his mind. He looked again.
The Five Heroes were fighting well—but…
There was a gap.
Their movements were skilled. Efficient. Trained. But lacking… edge. The brutality and instinct of the generals. The relentless fire of Athena. Even the grace and force he saw in Beatrice and Arabella.
"They're strong… but they're still just kids like me," Jack murmured.
A shockwave hit the hall as Dracirr roared, flinging Athena across the room. She tumbled midair, barely warping out before slamming into a broken pillar.
"ATHENA!" Jack shouted.
She coughed, rising to one knee, glaring at the beast with a defiant grin.
The monster howled again.
"JACK CRANESON. COME. OUT."
Jack clenched his fists, mind racing, heart beating fast. All around him, power surged—raw, ancient, terrifying. He wasn't like them. He didn't have a weapon. He didn't have training.
But he had something else.
A plan.
And maybe… it was enough.
The clash of steel roared louder as more creatures burst through the ruined corridors—goblins, werewolves, twisted orcs infused with shadow mana. Amidst the chaos, two figures emerged from the smoke like dancers from a dream.
Harold and Howard.
Like twin shadows, they moved through the battlefield—not apart, but as one. Harold's long sword gleamed with divine light, slicing through incoming beasts with surgical precision. Every swing was deliberate—measured—fatal.
Slice. Parry. Step. Thrust.
Beside him, Howard loosed arrows so quickly it was like his bowstring never stopped humming. He was never still—his body weaving between pillars, leaping onto debris, eyes scanning. He didn't aim. He knew.
Twang. Twang. Twang.
Each arrow curved past allies, struck between armor joints, or pinned enemies mid-lunge. When Harold ducked to finish one beast, Howard's arrow was already flying past his ear, taking down another sneaking from behind.
Their movement was a rhythm.
Their steps—a pattern.
It was more than training.
It was instinct.
General Ser Vaylen turned, panting from battle, as a goblin lunged at him from behind—
"Tch—!"
Thunk.
The goblin's eyes rolled back as an arrow embedded deep into its temple. Ser Vaylen blinked. Where—
"Incoming left!" Harold's voice rang out.
Ser Vaylen spun just in time to parry an axe from a shadowed orc.
"Who are they?" he muttered.
Other generals looked on too—those two, moving through the battlefield like they'd rehearsed this a thousand times. Every movement from one was anticipated by the other. Every blind spot covered. Every risk accounted for.
They were more than guards now. They were a spectacle.
And then—
Liam Aurumnhart appeared behind them, clad in his shimmering silver plate armor, the Lion of the South in all his glory. A brutal ogre charged toward the trio, slamming through rubble like a juggernaut.
Harold shifted his stance.
Howard reached for an arrow.
But Liam—he moved.
CLANG!
His shield met the ogre's hammer with a sound that shook the entire hall. He didn't budge. His eyes locked forward—calm, analytical.
In a single breath, Liam watched the duo—read their footwork, their rhythm, the timing of Harold's strikes, the heartbeat pace of Howard's arrows.
"...I see," he murmured.
He stepped in.
And suddenly, it was a trio.
Liam took the front, a silver wall of defense—shield up, sword held low. Every time he bashed an enemy back, Harold was already mid-swing. Every time Harold dodged, Howard fired into the exposed neck of the enemy Liam knocked off balance.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
One tanked.
One slashed.
One struck from afar.
Flawless harmony.
Even the Five Heroes paused to stare.
Natalya's lips parted. "Are those... Beatrice's guards?"
Austin, still fighting, glanced over. "And Liam's joined them. That's unfair..."
From the second-floor balcony, a wounded general gasped as the trio took down a wave of enemies in mere seconds.
"They move... like a unit of one."
And just beyond the fire and screams, Jack turned his head, eyes wide as he caught sight of the trio blazing through the battlefield.
His lips parted.
"Holy crap…"
The castle halls fell eerily silent.
The last screeches of goblins faded. The final crash of rubble settled. Blood smeared the walls, smoke curled in the air. Soldiers leaned on broken spears, generals caught their breath, and nobles huddled in corners, staring in disbelief.
They had cleared every floor.
They had won the battle.
But not the war.
BOOM!
A massive claw crushed what remained of the throne room entrance, and from within the cracked shadows of the inner court came the grotesque, corrupted figure of Dracirr McMahon.
His twisted body loomed like a nightmare—a blend of dragon, werewolf, and void spawn. His scales pulsed with raw mana, black and red. His body throbbed with cursed energy. And his eyes burned like twin crimson stars.
He raised his head—and let out a shriek.
"JAAAACK! Come out and PLAYYY!!"
Everyone froze.
Even the strongest general—
Athena Wintermere—was still locked in combat with the creature. Her white battle cloak was torn, her body bruised, yet she moved with fluid grace, each strike calculated.
"Shut the hell up," she growled, slicing upward with a magic-imbued glaive that crackled with lightning.
CRACK!
The glaive struck Dracirr's side—and bounced off like a twig.
Athena narrowed her eyes. "That's... not normal."
She darted forward again—faster than sound—her feet launching her through the air. Her blade glowed red now, fire spiraling along the steel. She struck with divine fury, landing hit after hit, each one enough to kill a lesser demon.
Dracirr laughed.
He wasn't even fazed.
"You're strong, little Wintermere," he sneered in multiple voices at once, "But I don't want you..."
"I WANT JACK!!"
Then—
"I'm here."
All heads turned.
From the end of the ruined hall, stepping through clouds of dust and broken marble, stood Jack Craneson.
Still in his banquet clothes.
Still looking like a civilian.
But his eyes were calm. Focused.
Resolved.
"Let's end this shit, Dracirr."
Dracirr twisted his neck in delight.
"Finally. My toy is here. Hehehehe... Get ready to meet your sweet little Elara in heaven."
Jack's fists clenched—but his steps didn't falter.
Athena blinked, surprised. "Jack, get back! You're—"
He stepped forward again.
"No. I'm not running this time."
Dracirr charged.
A blur of black and red.
The floor cracked under the weight of his speed, his claw aiming straight at Jack's skull—
Jack rolled. Sloppily, but just enough.
"Tch."
The monster growled and swiped again.
Jack jumped back, tripping slightly—but still dodging.
Athena's eyes narrowed. He's... baiting him?
Jack ducked another blow. He couldn't parry. He couldn't strike back. But what he could do—
Was think.
Murmur. Murmur.
As he dodged, Jack whispered.
"He's too big—too unstable. If I can mess with the energy inside him... force it to overload... I can knock him down. I just need time."
He slid under a claw, flipped over a chunk of rubble, and kept murmuring.
"I need a trigger... something unstable. This place is full of raw mana. If I can use the stone floor to hold the charge, pull energy into one place... I can trap him."
Athena leapt in to cover Jack from a tail swipe. "What are you doing?!"
Jack grinned, sweat dripping. "Cooking."
Athena blinked. "What?"
He rolled again.
"LET HIM COOK!!" Howard's voice echoed from a distance.
Beatrice, watching from the upper balcony, clenched Elara's rapier tightly.
"Come on, Jack... whatever you're planning—do it fast."
"Damn it!" Beatrice hissed, watching Jack duck another claw, his dodging sloppy but determined.
"He won't last just dodging like that!"
Without thinking, she leapt from the upper balcony.
CRASH!
Superhero landing. Right between Jack and Dracirr.
Dust blasted outward. Her white coat fluttered, Elara's rapier gleaming in her hand.
Jack looked up, surprised. "Bea?"
She didn't look back. Her voice was sharp. "Keep thinking, dumbass. I'll buy you time."
"You'll what—"
"Let. Him. Cook!" Howard shouted from above again, cheering like it was a stadium.
Athena stepped beside Beatrice, spinning her glaive and giving a rare smile. "About time someone else joined the front line."
Dracirr snarled. "More toys? Fine. I'll crush you all."
Beatrice pointed her rapier at him, her stance firm. "Try it."
Jack stayed low, his fingers moving in the dirt like chalk on a circuit board, drawing symbols, lines, tracing patterns. His murmuring never stopped.
"I'm pulling the magic together... compressing it... when he steps into this, it's going to hit like a shockwave. Just thirty more seconds..."
Behind them—
Silence.
Every corridor, every level of the castle—cleared.
Now, everyone was watching.
The throne room had become a coliseum.
On the shattered balconies above, the Royal Family stood, their expressions grim and tense.
Behind them, High Mages watched closely, eyes glowing with runes as they tried to understand Jack's madness.
Elite Guards and Generals flanked them—Duke Greysen, Lord Arthur, and Liam all standing shoulder to shoulder, weapons drawn just in case.
Howard and Harold leaned on a broken pillar like they were in a tavern, grinning ear to ear.
"Look at our boy go," Harold said.
"He's like a rabbit running from a bear."
"Yeah, but a smart rabbit," Howard added. "One that's setting the bear's fur on fire while pretending to trip."
Even the Five Heroes—Austin, Andre, Enrico, Sophia, and Natalya—had stopped fighting.
They stood side by side in awe.
Weapons lowered.
Hearts racing.
Watching.
Like it was match day.
Like Jack Craneson had just walked into the championship ring with a beast from hell.
And he wasn't backing down.
Sophia looked down at her bow, then back at Jack. "Is he seriously planning something again?"
Natalya smirked. "He always is."
Enrico leaned on a dagger. "He's gonna die."
Austin grinned. "Not before making it the coolest mess ever."
Down below, the pressure was rising.
Dracirr charged again, but Athena met him head-on, her blade glowing white-hot. Sparks flew.
Beatrice ducked under his tail swipe, slashing upward, drawing green blood. "Jack! How much longer?!"
"Twenty seconds!"
Beatrice gritted her teeth. "Make it ten!"
The ground trembled.
And Jack kept drawing.
"Come on... almost there..."
He wasn't just building a plan.
He was building a weapon.
A spark of science in a world of magic.
"Come on... Come on..."
His hands shook as he slid the last metal piece into place. The glowing patterns on the floor flickered—still unstable, but alive.
It looked like magic.
But it was just physics... rewritten in this world's language.
"Just a little more voltage... channel it... anchor the charge to—"
BOOM!
Dracirr lunged, swiping at Athena and Beatrice. Athena blocked, sent skidding. Beatrice rolled out, blood on her cheek.
"Jack!!" Beatrice yelled.
Jack didn't flinch.
He stood up slowly. Breathing hard. Fingers burned. His palms glowed faintly from the makeshift magical-tech circuit he just created using nothing but castle scrap, crystal dust from a broken sconce, and some wiring from a shattered chandelier.
He did it.
He'd made a trap. Crude. Dangerous. But powerful.
A field of sound and light, ready to tear unstable magic apart.
Something this world had never seen before.
Something no one in this world had ever seen.
He whispered.
"Elara... I hope you're watching."
Then louder—"Hey UGLY!"
Dracirr turned his head, growling, smoke pouring from his mutated fanged mouth.
Jack stood tall, arms open like a conductor before the final note.
"Let's end this sh*t."
BOOM—Dracirr charged.
"NOW!"
Jack slammed his hand on the circuit.
A shockwave blasted out in a perfect circle.
Jack slammed his hand down.
The floor pulsed—then exploded with light.
Lines of energy shot up, wrapping around Dracirr like a glowing cage. It wasn't just magic. It was vibration. Frequency. Pressure.
It messed with the monster's body—forcing his unstable power to shake apart.
He roared in pain.
"W-What is this?!"
"Science, bitch." Jack muttered.
Every spectator leaned in.
The Royal Family stood frozen. Mages' eyes widened in disbelief.
Athena blinked. "What... what kind of magic is that?"
Liam's mouth parted. "That's not magic."
Beatrice looked back at Jack.
And Jack whispered again:
"Magnetic mana interference. Shatters unstable transformations. I hope this works."
Dracirr screamed.
But Jack wasn't done.
Jack pulled out a tiny spike—handmade from broken crystal and metal scraps. A tool. A key. The final blow.
He looked to Beatrice and Athena.
"Hold him still!"
Beatrice dove in. Athena brought her sword down on Dracirr's spine. He buckled.
Jack ran. Feet skidding on marble.
With all the force he could summon—
Jack ran straight at the monster. No hesitation.
He leapt—and drove the spike right into Dracirr's chest.
BOOOOOOOM!
A blinding light. The resonance trap shattered. Everyone shielded their eyes.
Dracirr let out a guttural, pained scream.
His monstrous form began collapsing, convulsing as the magic destabilized.
Bones cracking. Flesh boiling.
Jack stood there, breathing hard, eyes locked on his enemy.
"This is for Elara."
Then everything went quiet.
Smoke. Ash. A coughing sound.
Dracirr lay on the ground, still alive—barely. His monstrous form now weak, smaller, like the parasite had retreated.
Jack stood above him, shaking, one leg giving out.
Everyone watched.
Not a sound.
Then—
Howard: "SOMEONE GET THAT MAN A COAT!"
Harold: "He just made a bomb out of trash! That's our Jack!"
Liam, still recovering: "What in the gods' names was that...?"
Natalya: "A plan... made by a madman."
The King himself, slowly standing: "No... by a hero."
Jack turned, panting, wiping sweat and blood from his face.
Looked around.
All eyes on him.
He raised a shaky fist.
"I told you all I could cook."
Smoke still rising. Silence held the throne room.
Until—
Dracirr's voice, raspy, broken but laced with malice:
"You think… that's all?"
Jack's eyes widened.
"No—no way…"
Dracirr, trembling, reached into his tattered robe… and pulled out a small black marble, pulsing like a heart. The air around it distorted, mana vibrating violently.
"What is that?" Athena muttered.
"STOP HIM—!" Beatrice shouted.
But too late.
Dracirr swallowed it whole.
His body twisted. Cracked. Exploded with shadow.
His form grew larger—muscles warping, skin turning black as coal, eyes glowing crimson.
His previous monstrous form looked tame compared to this.
Now he was taller than the castle pillars. A dragon-werewolf hybrid cloaked in pure malevolence. The ground shook. Cracks spidered through the marble floor.
Dark Dracirr had returned—bigger. Stronger. Cursed.
Jack stumbled backward, one leg buckling.
He looked around.
The Royal Family. The High Generals. His friends. Beatrice. Arabella. Everyone.
"EVERYONE—LEAVE NOW!!!"
Nobody moved.
Eyes wide. Faces frozen. Even Athena took half a step back.
Jack's voice broke—
"I SAID EVERYONE LE—"
SLASH.
A black claw pierced through his stomach.
Blood burst from Jack's mouth.
The room went still.
Time froze.
Arabella gasped—couldn't even scream.
Beatrice: "JACK!!"
Dracirr leaned in behind Jack, lifting him off the floor with one claw.
"You're not the only one who cooking, Craneson."
Jack, lips shaking, forced himself to whisper—
"…Leave."
The claw yanked out, and Jack's body crashed into the ground.
Blood pooled beneath him.
Beatrice screamed.
She leapt forward, no hesitation, rapier flashing. Athena roared in fury beside her.
Howard and Harold screamed and charged.
Arabella dropped to her knees, screaming Jack's name.
And still—Jack, gasping, one hand clutching the wound, looked up at Dracirr.
Bleeding out. But alive.
Murmuring something.
Still… thinking.
Still… planning.