Borchi's lightning-infused claws had, on several occasions during the battle, briefly pierced the upper threshold of Karl El's Bio-Force Field. Each time they did, they left behind unmistakable wounds upon his body.
Under ordinary circumstances, the Bio-Force Field's omnipresent protection would have ensured that not even a thread of his clothing was harmed. It was an invisible, perfectly regulated shield that responded instinctively to danger. But in clashes of such overwhelming magnitude, the field had been forced to compress and concentrate entirely upon safeguarding vital flesh and bone. There had been no surplus energy left to protect something as trivial and fragile as fabric.
Karl El's garments now hung in tatters, torn and scorched in several places.
Yet when he spoke, there was no trace of self-praise in his voice. Instead, he regarded Borchi with clear admiration.
"You pushed me further than anyone has in a long time."
Borchi inclined its massive golden head slightly, accepting the acknowledgement with calm dignity. Its voice, when it responded, was deep and hoarse from both exertion and injury.
"Your strength… and your recovery… are equally unimaginable."
The Golden Dragon recalled the precise moment it had succeeded in breaking through the invisible barrier. Its claws had torn across Karl El's chest and arms, carving several deep wounds that exposed bone beneath shredded flesh. For a fleeting instant, Borchi had believed victory was possible.
But the blood had scarcely flowed before the wounds began to contract.
Before Borchi's next strike could land, the torn flesh had already begun knitting itself back together. Muscles reconnected. Skin sealed. By the time the battle approached its end, only faint, pale traces remained where devastating injuries had once been.
Borchi had encountered high-level vampires before—creatures famed for their unnatural vitality and regenerative power. Even they could not compare.
Karl El's healing was not merely rapid. It was overwhelming. Terrifying.
For a brief moment after the battle ceased, a strange atmosphere settled between them—one not of hostility, but of mutual respect between two beings who had glimpsed the limits of each other's power.
Then the stillness shattered.
From deep within the Dragon's lair came the heavy sound of footsteps—slow, uneven, and labored. Each step dragged across stone, accompanied by the harsh scrape of claws against rock.
The being Borchi had fought so desperately to protect finally emerged from the cave's shadowed depths.
It was a Green Dragon.
Smaller than Borchi, its scales were the deep, mossy shade of ancient forest canopies, gleaming faintly with a natural and mysterious luster. Even in poor health, there was an innate elegance to its form.
But that elegance was now marred by exhaustion.
Its massive body was hunched. Every movement appeared painfully deliberate. With each step, it paused, drawing in ragged breaths. Its vertical pupils—normally sharp as polished emeralds—were dim and clouded with pain.
Still, when it fully stepped into the sunlight and felt the weight of countless gazes upon it, the Dragon forced itself to straighten.
Its slender neck rose. Its chest expanded.
It struggled to preserve the pride and dignity inherent to the Dragon Clan—even though the effort made its breathing tremble and its entire body shake.
Then its gaze swept across the battlefield.
The earth was soaked in blood. Limbs lay scattered. Dismembered corpses stained the ground in brutal testimony to the violence that had unfolded.
And at the bottom of the pit, Borchi lay wounded—its golden scales shattered across its chest.
"ROAR!!!"
The cry that erupted from the Green Dragon's throat was filled with sorrow, helplessness, and fury pushed to its breaking point.
Gone was the awe-inspiring resonance of a dragon in its prime. This roar was hoarse, edged with despair—more lament than threat.
Without hesitation, the Dragon opened its jaws wide.
Deep within its throat, a dim orange glow ignited. Fire gathered slowly, unsteadily, but with deadly intent.
Dragon Breath.
Even in its weakened state, it was prepared to make a final stand—to protect its kin, to defend the dignity of the Dragon Clan, even if it meant burning itself to ash in the process.
"Magic Shield! Now!"
Natasha's expression hardened instantly. She moved in perfect coordination with Doregare, raising her hands as arcane energy surged outward. Together, they erected a shimmering Magic Shield before Geralt and the Tia sisters.
The translucent barrier flickered to life just as the heat in the air intensified.
At the same time, they retreated cautiously, creating distance from the wounded but still dangerous Green Dragon.
At the bottom of the pit, Borchi reacted immediately.
Ignoring the agony in its chest, it forced its battered body upright and let out a series of deep, rhythmic roars—urgent and deliberate.
It was speaking.
The roars carried meaning.
The humans were not enemies.
The battle was over.
There was no need to fight.
The Green Dragon faltered.
The fire in its throat flickered uncertainly, then slowly dissipated into wisps of smoke. Confusion replaced fury in its dimming eyes.
It looked at Borchi.
Then at Karl El, standing calm and battered but unthreatening.
Then at Natasha and the others—alert, prepared, but no longer advancing.
The tension in its body weakened.
The final thread of strength it had been clutching unraveled.
"Thud!!"
With a heavy, echoing crash, the Green Dragon collapsed sideways onto the ground. Dust rose around its fallen form.
Its head struck the earth, neck bending awkwardly.
Still, it refused to close its eyes.
Even as the light in its pupils grew diffuse and its breathing shallow, it clung stubbornly to consciousness.
Then another sound echoed from within the cave.
Scraping.
Flapping.
Small, frantic claws against stone.
A young Dragon—no larger than a calf—tumbled from the shadows. Its emerald scales were lighter, brighter. Its wings were underdeveloped, too small to carry its weight in flight.
It stumbled repeatedly as it ran.
Desperation gave it speed.
The little Dragon rushed to the fallen Green Dragon's side, emitting high, trembling cries—sorrowful, anxious, painfully innocent.
With its tiny head, it nudged its mother's great jaw.
Again.
And again.
As if believing that persistence alone could make her rise.
The sight caused even the wind to still.
Borchi endured the burning agony in its chest and climbed from the pit. Each movement tore at damaged muscle and exposed flesh, but the Golden Dragon made no sound.
When it reached level ground, it shook its massive body violently, casting off clinging debris—mud, blood, fragments of dwarves and mercenaries.
A faint golden glow then rippled across its scales like flowing liquid sunlight. The radiance washed carefully over each plate of armor, cleansing dirt from every crevice.
Soon, Borchi shone once more in regal brilliance.
Yet its shattered chest scales remained a brutal reminder of the battle's cost.
As the golden light flowed, broken scales loosened and fell one by one to the blood-soaked earth, clinking softly as they struck stone.
Beneath them, the wound was already healing.
Bleeding ceased. New flesh grew visibly, covering exposed muscle. The regeneration was swift, though not as overwhelming as Karl El's.
Borchi took a step toward the fallen Green Dragon.
Pain flashed across its features. The muscles along its face twitched, but it did not falter.
It continued forward.
When Borchi drew near, the young Dragon reacted instantly.
Despite the enormous difference in size, the hatchling planted itself in front of its mother.
Its small body trembled, but it did not retreat.
It let out a low, defiant hiss toward the Golden Dragon—tiny fangs bared in fearless warning.
Borchi stopped.
For a long moment, it simply looked at the hatchling.
Then its mouth curved slightly—a smile touched with helplessness and quiet affection.
There was no hostility in its eyes.
Only understanding.
The battlefield, once filled with thunder and fire, now held only the fragile sound of a child Dragon trying desperately to protect what little remained of its world.
And for the first time since the battle began, no one moved to attack.
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