Landon Kirby's life at the Salvatore School had settled into a precarious rhythm after the gargoyle incident.
But curiosity gnawed at him. The dragon's defeat site called like a siren's song. What if traces remained? Mud from Malivore, scales, anything to poke at with his growing arsenal.
That afternoon, he slipped out during free period, borrowing a bike from the shed and pedaling toward the woods. The path wound familiar now: gravel giving way to dirt, trees thickening into a green labyrinth. Sunlight slanted through leaves, casting dappled patterns on the ground.
The clearing emerged: scorched earth in a wide circle, grass charred black, logs reduced to ash piles. The air still smelled faintly of ozone and brimstone, a reminder of the inferno.
James dismounted, kicking the stand down, and paced the perimeter. No mud lingered; Malivore had claimed its own. But something felt off—residual energy, perhaps, or just his imagination.
Then, the air shimmered. The screen materialized, blue text glowing against the forest backdrop.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO TURN BACK TIME TO THE POINT WHEN THE DRAGON WAS ALIVE IN THIS AREA BEFORE HOPE KILLED HER? NOTE: YOU WILL GET TO FIGHT AGAINST THIS DRAGON ALONE.
James froze, pulse quickening. Time travel? A solo rematch? The dragon's fire breath, its scales, wings—against his fire and water. No team, no interruptions. A chance to push limits, to dominate without witnesses.
"Yes," he said, voice steady.
The world lurched. Colors inverted, sounds reversed in a dizzying rewind: leaves rustling backward, birdsong unraveling. Time peeled away like onion layers, the clearing shifting—scorch marks fading, grass regrowing in reverse. Then, snap. Reality resettled.
He stood alone in the untouched clearing, the bus wreckage nearby but unburned. A rustle in the underbrush. The woman—the dragon in human guise—staggered out, eyes amber-flecked, backpack slung over her shoulder, stuffed with stolen trinkets.
She spotted him, head tilting. "The key… where is it?"
No knife here. No Hope. Just him.
She transformed in a blur: skin splitting into scales, body expanding with cracks and pops, wings unfurling to blot the sun. Fully formed, she towered—thirty feet of reptilian fury, tail lashing, horns glinting. A roar shook the trees, flames flickering in her maw.
James grinned, adrenaline surging. Fire first. He thrust his palms forward, channeling his pyrokinesis: twin streams of blue-hot flame erupted, coiling like serpents toward her chest.
The dragon recoiled, countering with her own breath—a wall of orange inferno clashing mid-air. Explosions of steam and sparks lit the clearing, heat warping the air.
She charged, claws gouging earth.
James dodged left, rolling across grass, and countered with water: pulling moisture from the humid air, he formed a massive wave, slamming it into her side like a tidal hammer.
Scales sizzled as the cold doused her internal fires, steam rising in clouds. She staggered, wing dipping, but swung her tail—a whip of armored muscle.
He leaped, enhancing the jump with a water jet from his feet, propelling him over the swipe. Landing, he imagined fireballs: a barrage of molten orbs, each the size of basketballs, hurling toward her eyes.
One struck home, searing an eyelid; she bellowed, blinded on one side, flames spewing wildly.
The dragon took flight, wings beating gusts that flattened grass. She circled overhead, diving like a bomber, breath weapon charging.
James anticipated: water shield, but bigger, a dome encompassing the clearing, rippling liquid barrier. Her flames hit it, hissing into vapor, the impact vibrating through his bones.
He held it, sweat beading, then collapsed the dome inward—a crushing flood that slammed her mid-dive, grounding her with a thunderous crash.
Scales cracked under the pressure; she thrashed, tail sweeping arcs. James closed in, fire whipping from his hands like chains, wrapping her legs, searing through joints.
She snapped at him, jaws wide—rows of dagger teeth. He blasted water down her throat, flooding lungs, quenching her fire from within. Gurgles replaced roars, smoke curling from nostrils.
Weakened, she lunged one last time, claw raking air. James sidestepped, combining powers: fire-infused water—scalding steam jets lancing her underbelly, soft scales bubbling and peeling. She howled, collapsing, body heaving.
As she lay, breaths ragged, the screen appeared again.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO STORE THE DRAGON IN THE INVENTORY?
"Yes," he panted.
No hands this time—just a flash. The dragon vanished in a teleport shimmer, air rushing to fill the void. Inventory expanded in his mind: gargoyle and now dragon, both frozen in stasis, healed instantly.
Time snapped forward. The clearing scorched anew, but empty. James stood alone, chest heaving, powers humming with satisfaction. He'd smacked the shit out of it—solo dominance. The dragon, his now. A weapon, a pet, a trophy.
He biked back, mind racing with possibilities.