Chapter 1250: The Hero Who Never Returned
Maelor was still frantically searching for a way out.
He didn’t even bother sparing Marty a glance as Marty inspected those meaningless details. Maelor just kept looking up—again and again—at the energy sphere drawing closer.
It was closing the distance.
And the weight of death pressing down on him kept getting heavier.
The agitation in Maelor’s eyes curdled into madness.
If he couldn’t escape, then he’d drag everyone down with him.
Once that thought surfaced, it swallowed the rest of his mind.
"You want me dead?"
The teal dragon opened its jaws. His voice boomed back and forth inside the barriers, echoing until it felt like the whole space was vibrating.
"Then I’m taking you with me! Are you scared?"
No one answered.
The domain fell into a dead silence.
No gasps. No scrambling backward. No panic. Only the energy sphere overhead, still moving slowly, still feeding on the broken power in the fractured space around it.
A brittle cracking sound rang out—then another, and another.
Space itself being torn open and swallowed.
Maelor waited a few breaths. Still no response.
"Say something!"
His voice cracked with real panic now.
"Don’t just stand there—say something!"
Up in the air, Seraphine slowly folded her wings.
She descended and landed beside Ataneya. Then, with a casual lift of one hand, a pale-gold shield unfurled around everyone.
The light was steady. Soft.
Seraphine stood inside it and looked at Maelor like he was filth still making noise.
Only then did Maelor actually count the people inside the shield.
Once.
Twice.
One was missing.
Maelor’s entire body tensed. His huge dragon head whipped around, red eyes raking every gap between platforms and barriers.
He still hadn’t found Ethan—
—when his body stopped obeying him.
The enormous teal dragon began to turn on its own.
His wings ignored his commands. His claws couldn’t seize the platforms. Something inside him had taken the reins, forcing him forward—straight toward one of those radiant formations.
"No!"
Maelor beat his wings desperately, but his body kept pushing ahead.
"I’m not going in!"
He tried to redirect the wind.
Every thread of wind energy slid away from his will like it didn’t recognize him anymore.
"Don’t—!"
The dragon’s wail rolled through the space.
His massive body slammed into the formation of light.
Maelor had been bracing for tearing agony—for burning, for annihilation. He clamped his eyes shut, every muscle locked tight with fear.
Nothing happened.
No pain.
No death.
The radiant formation simply flowed over his scales like water, leaving him untouched.
Then laughter reached his ears.
Maelor snapped his eyes open and saw everyone inside the shield watching him. The golden formations still hung throughout the space, still radiating the same terrifying pressure that had kept him from even brushing them.
But he had entered one.
And nothing had happened.
It hit him all at once.
He’d been played.
Humiliation surged up, hotter than fear. He tried to swap his body back, to seize control again—
—and his right claw lifted by itself.
His talons traced through the air.
A bright spatial gate slowly formed at the center.
A stable frame of light shaped its outline, and the space within peeled open to either side, revealing an entrance wide enough to pass through.
This wasn’t the gate Maelor wanted.
But his claw—still not his—completed the motion anyway.
Everyone moved like they’d rehearsed it.
They rose from the platforms one after another and flew toward the gate. When they passed Maelor, someone even lifted a hand and gave him a small wave.
No need to see them off.
Maelor finally, truly panicked.
He tried to summon a tornado to smash the gate—no wind answered.
He dug deeper, clawing for the power inside his body.
Nothing came.
He lowered his head, searching for the dragon-horn sword.
Gone.
No wind.
No power.
No sword.
He had nothing left.
Ethan finished the last thread of control and didn’t spare Maelor another thought.
The powerless teal dragon remained trapped in the steadily collapsing space. Overhead, the energy sphere continued to creep along its fixed track. Every time it advanced, it stripped away another layer of the domain, leaving behind dense black cracks like wounds.
Ethan walked to the spatial gate, paused, and looked back. He lifted a hand and waved at Maelor.
"I’m leaving."
His voice was flat—no thrill of victory in it.
"You might be able to keep your soul intact. But I’d still recommend you don’t give up."
Maelor stared at him, blank.
Ethan opened his palm.
A wind core sat there the whole time. Its glow was dim now. The leftover wind inside still struggled, spinning and thrashing, but it couldn’t break the cage of Ethan’s fingers.
Ethan slowly tightened his grip.
Crunch.
The wind core shattered in his hand.
Broken energy leaked between his fingers. It managed to stir a single faint breeze—then vanished into the light spilling from the gate.
Ethan turned and stepped through.
Maelor didn’t chase. He didn’t scream anymore.
He only watched as the spatial gate slowly closed, feeling the last trace of wind inside him die with the core. The gales that used to obey him with a thought gave him nothing back now.
The silence was terrifying.
Only the energy sphere overhead kept approaching.
Inside it, flame, lightning, death power, and Divine Power were crushed together. With every rotation, it tore more fragments off the surrounding space. The moment those fragments touched the sphere’s outer light, they were swallowed and made part of it.
Maelor lifted his massive head.
Without power to sustain it, the teal on his scales dulled. The eight wings sagged at his sides. He stared at the sphere closing in, and the rage in his red eyes finally drained away—leaving only a gray, exhausted calm.
He couldn’t run.
And he had nothing left that could stop it.
Maelor slowly closed his eyes.
"Life really is... that short..."
The low voice carried through the crumbling space. Even to him, it sounded unfamiliar.
"The dragon slayer becomes the evil dragon... and I, too, will be destroyed by the real dragon slayer."
His huge eyes shut completely.
In the instant darkness covered his vision, a name he’d abandoned for far too long finally surfaced from the depths of memory.
He wasn’t called Maelor.
Long ago, he had been Caelric Stormbane.
Back then, he’d been human—a hero the kingdom praised, a hope countless people clung to, a dragon slayer.
That year, the Tempest Dragon had laired in the Vaelstorm Ruins.
Storms smothered the ruins year-round. The surrounding peaks had been shaved down by the wind. The roads were clogged with shattered stone and old bones. No one could get close, and no one ever came back alive from the Tempest Dragon’s territory.
Caelric Stormbane entered the ruins.
And in the end, he slew the Tempest Dragon.
When word reached the kingdom that the dragon had fallen, everyone believed he’d won. The city bells rang for him. People flooded the streets, shouting his name until their throats went raw.
The king raised a statue in his honor.
Poets turned his deeds into epics.
They called him the one who severed the storm. They called him the greatest hero in the kingdom’s history.
But only Caelric knew the battle had never truly ended.
When the Tempest Dragon fell, the storm above the Vaelstorm Ruins didn’t disperse. Teal currents poured from the dragon’s broken body, slipping past shattered scales and splintered bone—
—and all of it surged into Caelric.
The power invaded his flesh first.
Wind blades spun inside him, carving through muscle, shredding organs, then forcing the wounds shut again with draconic power. Every "repair" brought a new change. Human bones grew heavier. Scales that didn’t belong to him began to push up under his skin.
Then the corruption reached his soul.
Again and again, the Tempest Dragon’s leftover power hammered his mind, stuffing it with rage, hunger, and a craving for life energy. Caelric fought it, but every time he regained clarity, he found his body closer to a dragon than it had been before.
He couldn’t leave the Vaelstorm Ruins.
The kingdom’s search parties found only the wreckage left behind by the battle—
—and a dragon slayer who never returned.