The battlefield was set. The corrupted were gone, their broken bodies littering the ground, smoke curling from the controlled fire that still smouldered in the distance. Now, only one enemy remained.

  The Dragle.

  It stood before the Veil Gate, its long, sinuous body shifting like a coiled spring, wings twitching in anticipation. Its hooked talons scraped against the dirt, carving deep grooves into the earth. Its beak, once proud and regal, now dripped with dark ichor, its corrupted feathers tattered and torn.

  And worst of all, it could fly.

  “That thing gets off the ground, we’re done,” Roland muttered, watching its every movement. His Soul Gaze was wide open, studying the flickering remnants of its soul. Even twisted by corruption, the beast’s instincts remained sharp—it was waiting for them to act first.

  Celeste rolled her shoulders, testing the weight of the javelin she had plucked from the camp’s scattered arsenal. “Then we make sure it doesn’t,” she said.

  Roland gave her a side glance. “You sure you can use that?”

  Celeste smirked. “I’ve had experience with most weapons.”

  He snorted. “Of course you have. That doesn’t mean you can use it”

  She ignored him, her gaze locked onto the Dragle’s massive wings. "The first exchange is everything," she murmured. "If I can land this at the joint, we cripple its flight. After that, I can layer my poisons and bring it down properly.”

  Roland exhaled, adjusting his grip on his sword. “I’ll keep it busy.”

  That was the plan. Roland would engage, draw its attention, force it to react. Celeste would wait for the perfect moment and strike. One clean throw to the joint, grounding the beast before it could take off.

  It should have worked.

  It didn’t.

  The moment Roland dashed forward, the Dragle moved faster than either of them expected. It lunged—not with its beak, but with a wing, sweeping it like a massive club. Roland barely had time to roll beneath the strike before it crushed the earth where he had stood.

  Celeste didn’t hesitate. She adjusted her stance, narrowed her aim, and threw.

  The javelin cut through the air, spinning perfectly toward the target.

  And bounced harmlessly off the Dragle’s thick, scaled hide.

  Celeste’s stomach dropped.

  Roland’s sword barely caught the beast’s talon as it slashed toward him, sparks flying on impact. He kicked off the ground, putting distance between himself and the creature, his eyes narrowing. “Didn’t expect that,” he muttered.

  “Neither did I.” Celeste bit her lip, already calculating her next move. "That hide is tougher than I thought."

  The Dragle shrieked, its corrupted, glowing eyes locking onto them. Then, with a powerful whoomph of its wings, it launched into the sky.

  Roland cursed under his breath, watching as it gained altitude.

  Celeste grimaced. “Alright. Plan B.”

  “You had a Plan B?”

  “Poison it until it stops flying.”

  Roland exhaled through his nose, watching the Dragle circle above them. “Good plan.”

  Celeste wasted no time. She whispered incantation after incantation under her breath, a faint green shimmer coating her hands as she worked.

  "Bite of root, sting of vine, wither wings and twist the spine."

  The air around her hands pulsed as she layered different poisons together—paralytics, muscle weakeners, toxins meant to slow its movements. If one didn’t work, another would.

  Roland, meanwhile, focused on its soul.

  His Soul Gaze burned as he locked onto the beast’s presence. It was different from fighting a humanoid enemy—larger, more instinct-driven, but still readable. He could see the moment it tensed for a dive, could predict its angle of attack before it even moved.

  Celeste corked her last vial. “Now would be a great time for you to use that soul touch of yours,” she said. “If you can lock its body up for even a second, I can finish this.”

  Roland’s jaw tightened. “No.”

  Celeste shot him a look. “No?”

  “I’m not using it.”

  Celeste scowled, tossing the poison-coated darts between her fingers. “This is exactly the time to use it, Roland! If you can just—”

  “I said no.” His voice was sharp, final.

  Celeste stared at him, frustration flashing in her eyes. But before she could argue, the Dragle dived.

  Roland moved before it hit the ground.

  Their window was closing fast. One way or another, they had to bring this beast down.

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  The Dragle hit the earth with a force that sent a tremor through the battlefield, its massive form skidding across the dirt as it struggled to recover from its own reckless dive. That was all the time Celeste needed.

  She moved like liquid shadow, twin daggers flashing in her hands as she lunged—not to kill, but to inflict. Every slice, every cut delivered a prayer-laced toxin, the layers of her preparation finally unleashed.

  "Sap of root, venom’s sting, weaken flesh and wither wing!"

  The poison took effect almost instantly. The Dragle let out a guttural screech, its body convulsing as the toxins spread through its veins. Its muscles twitched violently, its once-powerful legs buckling as it thrashed in confusion.

  But a thrashing Dragle was still deadly.

  Its long tail whipped out, carving a deep trench into the ground where Celeste had been standing just seconds before. She barely managed to twist away, rolling into the dirt as the beast continued to lash out.

  “The poison won’t be enough to kill something this big,” she shouted, eyes darting toward Roland. “We need to cripple it before it recovers!”

  Roland didn’t hesitate. He charged, sword raised, aiming for the same weak point they had targeted before—its wings.

  If the joint was too strong to pierce, the membrane would have to do.

  Celeste had the same idea. She darted toward the beast’s left wing, slashing at the thin, leathery skin stretched between its bone-like supports. Her daggers tore through, leaving deep gashes that oozed dark ichor.

  Roland struck the right wing, his sword carving wide, brutal arcs through the fragile membrane. Each strike sent the Dragle into another frenzy, its roars shaking the air, but neither of them stopped.

  Slash. Cut. Rip.

  The beast flailed, stumbling as the poison continued to wreak havoc on its body. The moment the toxins wore off, it would try to take flight again. But now, with its wings ruined, it wouldn’t be able to.

  “We’ve got it grounded!” Celeste called, backing away.

  But the Dragle wasn’t done.

  Its violet-glowing eyes locked onto her, its fury now focused entirely on the one who had poisoned it. Its long, taloned foot rose, the shadow of its massive weight looming over Celeste like a falling boulder.

  She tried to dodge, but the uneven ground slowed her.

  Roland moved.

  His sword swung, aimed at the Dragle’s leg, but before the strike could land, the beast’s tail whipped around—a sudden, violent counter.

  The force of the blow ripped the weapon from Roland’s hands, sending it spinning into the dirt.

  He barely had time to react before the Dragle’s foot came down.

  Celeste rolled at the last second, narrowly avoiding being crushed beneath its massive weight. She could feel the ground tremble beneath her as the Dragle’s foot slammed into the earth just inches from where she had been.

  But now Roland was disarmed.

  And the Dragle was still very, very alive.

  The Dragle's head snapped toward Roland, its massive, corrupted form shifting as it fixed its glowing violet eyes on him.

  It knew.

  He was unarmed. Vulnerable.

  With a piercing screech, it lunged, its enormous beak aiming to crush him with a single devastating strike.

  Roland didn’t hesitate. He dove to the side, his hands grasping desperately at the dirt until they found something solid—the javelin.

  No time to think. No time to plan.

  The Dragle adjusted mid-lunge, its corrupted mind sharper than expected. Its beak changed course, snapping toward him again.

  Roland barely had time to react. He slammed his shield into the ground, bracing the javelin over the top of it, the weapon angled like a spike.

  And then he poured divine energy into his mark.

  His vision flickered silver as Mortana’s power surged through him, flowing into the shield, reinforcing it with an unyielding force. Every muscle in his body tensed as he held.

  The Dragle hit.

  The impact was like a mountain collapsing onto him. The sheer force of it sent a deafening crack through the battlefield as Roland was driven into the dirt. His breath exploded from his lungs, his bones screaming under the pressure.

  But the trap worked.

  The javelin, braced against the ground, had nowhere to go—except through the Dragle’s eye.

  The javelin pierced deep, sinking past the thick bone of its skull. For a moment, the beast froze, its massive body shuddering, the corrupted light in its eye flickering.

  Then the javelin exploded.

  The divine power surged into the non-enchanted Javalin, shattering it from within. A shockwave of force tore through the Dragle’s skull, ripping its ruined eye apart in a burst of black ichor. The force ripped through its side, fracturing scales, tearing muscle, sending it staggering backward in a violent, shrieking frenzy.

  Roland barely heard anything past the ringing in his ears. His shield arm felt numb, his body aching from the impact. He could taste blood in his mouth.

  But he was alive.

  And the Dragle was dying.

  The Dragle reared back, its massive form teetering as black ichor poured from its ruined eye. Its movements were sluggish now, unsteady—the divine explosion had torn deep into its side, leaving exposed muscle and fractured bone beneath the tattered remnants of its corrupted scales. It was fading.

  Celeste didn’t hesitate.

  She sprinted forward, twin daggers in hand, the edges wreathed in a faint black haze—the culmination of her strongest poisons.

  "Bite deep, venom’s breath, bring the beast to final rest."

  The whispered prayer sent a pulse of sickly energy through her weapons, sharpening the poison’s potency just as she leapt onto the creature’s wounded side. The Dragle screeched, trying to shake her off, but its strength was failing. She drove one dagger deep into the exposed flesh, twisting cruelly as the poison rushed through its broken body.

  The Dragle convulsed, its limbs locking as the toxin invaded its nerves. Celeste didn’t stop. She vaulted up toward its neck, gripping onto a ridge of jagged scales, and slammed her second dagger into the base of its skull.

  A violent shudder rippled through the beast. Its head twitched once—twice—before its whole body collapsed, crashing into the dirt with a dull, heavy finality.

  It did not rise again.

  Celeste stood atop the corpse for a moment, chest heaving, watching as the last flickers of corrupted light faded from its remaining eye. Only when she was sure did she let out a breath and turn toward Roland.

  He was still on the ground, half-crushed into the dirt, his shield arm limp at his side, his breath ragged.

  “Idiot!” she hissed, already running to his side.

  Roland barely lifted his head as she knelt beside him, pressing her hands against his bruised chest. A soft green glow spread from her fingertips as she began the healing process, muttering under her breath.

  “I swear,” she grumbled, “if you ever pull something that reckless again—”

  Roland winced as warmth spread through his body, his aching ribs beginning to knit back together. “It worked, didn’t it?”

  Celeste smacked his shoulder, not hard enough to hurt—just enough to remind him that she could.

  “We are having a conversation about this,” she snapped. “As soon as we close that gate, you and I are sitting down and you’re going to explain why you refuse to use your Soul Touch when it could literally save your life.”

  Roland groaned, tilting his head back. “You’re really not letting this go, are you?”

  Celeste’s eyes burned. “No.”

  He sighed. “Great.”

  She forced more healing energy into his body, scowling. “Good. Because if I have to keep fixing you every time you refuse to use your own damn gift, I’m going to poison you myself.”

  Roland let out a weak chuckle. “Sounds fair.”

  Celeste shook her head, muttering something about reckless knights and their stupid sense of honour. But for now, she focused on getting him back on his feet.

  Because they still had a gate to close.