Chapter 24: Duties and responsibilities

"Wind Dragon's descent: Falling skies"

BOOM.

Lucien barely dodged in time. The ground where he had stood just moments ago exploded beneath Hector's spear, craters forming as raw force shattered the earth.

Lucien's vision blurred, his body still rattled from the last impact. Too fast. He had fought Hector before, but this? This wasn't Hector anymore.

"Wind Dragon's movement: aching howl"

A gust of wind howled.

Lucien snapped his head up, just in time to see a blackened clawed foot descending.

Tch.

He twisted his torso, but not fast enough.

CRACK.

The kick slammed into his shoulder, folding him sideways. The air ripped from his lungs as he was sent skidding back, boots gouging trenches into the dirt.

But before he could regain balance,

Hector was already there.

"Wind Dragon's movement: Trail"

Lucien barely raised his sword before,

CLANG!

Spear met blade. A storm of sparks ignited between them. The impact rattled his bones, his fingers going numb from the sheer force.

Then—

Hector laughed.

A crazed, distorted sound. His dragon eye glowed with an unnatural hunger.

Lucien didn't waste time on words.

He struck. A rapid thrust aimed at Hector's chest, but Hector didn't even flinch.

He leaned into it. The blade pierced his shoulder, deep, but the moment it connected, Hector's clawed hand shot forward. Wind Dragon's descent: Gale palm"

Lucien's instincts screamed. He let go of his sword instantly, snapping his head back just in time to avoid getting his skull crushed.

WHOOSH.

A clawed swipe missed his throat by a hair's breadth.

Lucien landed, immediately sliding back to create distance. But before he could exhale

CRACK!

Hector ripped the sword out of his own flesh and threw it. Like a spear. Lucien barely twisted his body. The blade sliced past his ribs, a thin line of red blooming on his side. Too fast. Too aggressive.

Hector wasn't dodging. He wasn't even blocking. He was fighting like a beast.

Lucien clenched his fists. Fine. He charged. Hector lunged.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

Their fists met midair, shockwaves tearing through the battlefield. Lucien followed up, a savage elbow to Hector's ribs. The crunch of breaking bones echoed.

Hector didn't care.

He retaliated, headbutt. Lucien's vision shook, the world tilting for a split second, but that was all Hector needed.

A clawed uppercut. Lucien barely managed to weave away, but then Hector's wing shot out.

WHAM!

The impact sent Lucien flying, his body crashing through trees before he finally dug his hands into the dirt, slowing himself down. Damn it. He wiped blood from his lip, rising. Hector was already there. Lucien shifted his stance. Aikido. More refined, quicker, and more aggressive than Valeri's. He wouldn't fight force with force. Hector lunged, spear whistling through the air. Lucien waited. Watched. Then, He moved. His fingers snapped forward, catching Hector's wrist mid-thrust. Momentum shifted, Lucien's hips turned, and suddenly, Hector's own force was being used against him.

A perfect throw.

But— Hector didn't land.

His wing flared, twisting his body midair.

Lucien barely had time to react before—

BOOM!

A downward spear slam, point-blank.

The ground exploded. Lucien was buried under the impact.Then—Hector descended, claws flashing. Lucien burst out of the rubble, dodging by a fraction, his hands latching onto Hector's arm. A shift. A pivot. A sudden, brutal arm-breaker.

CRACK. Hector's left arm bent the wrong way.

But—

No reaction. No pain. No hesitation.

He ripped his own arm back into place and swung his spear like a club. Lucien barely crossed his arms to block when,

WHAM. The impact sent him soaring.

The moment he landed, Hector was on him.

Lucien's body moved on instinct, dodging, weaving, redirecting force, but Hector wasn't stopping. Each attack was wilder. Faster. Stronger. Lucien couldn't block them all. A clawed slash ripped across his chest. A spear thrust punched through his side. A tail swipe sent him spinning.

Damn it. Lucien gritted his teeth. His vision swam, his body screaming.

But he refused to fall. Hector loomed over him, wings flaring. His dragon eye burned.

Lucien exhaled. Calm.

Then, He charged.

One final clash.

"You're going to die, Hector."

Lucien's voice was steady, but his hands trembled. His sword, still slick with blood, felt heavier than ever. His breath came slow, measured, yet his chest tightened with something far worse than exhaustion.

Fear.Not for himself. For Hector.

Lucien had seen countless battles, faced monstrous foes without hesitation. He had slaughtered without regret when necessary. He too had felt indescribable rage, And Yet now, for the first time in what felt like forever, he hesitated. Not because he couldn't kill Hector, but because he didn't know how to handle something this... delicate. Hector wasn't just another enemy. He was something else. The transformation wasn't just physical, it was fundamental. The merging of souls had always been a forbidden art. A twisted alchemical process where two essence melded into one, requiring extreme amounts of mana, magical catalysts, and external stabilizers just to ensure the ritualist didn't become an abomination. And yet, Hector had done it alone. No external stabilizers. No alchemical formulas. No protection. He had forced a fusion between himself and Faust, a dragonkin, beings known to possess some of the strongest, most indomitable souls in existence. By all logic, it should have been impossible. A king submitting to a peasant in terms of soul definitive. A predator willingly lowering its head to its prey? And yet, somehow, Hector had suppressed it. Not just controlled it, Subjugated it. Lucien clenched his jaw. What kind of madness, what kind of hatred, could drive a man to do this? He had seen countless warriors abandon their humanity for power, but this... this was different, afterall what man would abandon their life to die. The unstable, chaotic merging of their souls had done more than twist Hector's body. It had shattered his mind. Lucien could see it in his opponent's eyes, one still burning with human rage, the other now a slit-pupil, reptilian gaze filled with primal bloodlust, each losing their spark eith every passing second. Hector wasn't just fighting as himself anymore.He was fighting as both. A man consumed by his own hate, and a dragonkin whose soul had been ripped apart and forced into submission. And now, all of that fury, all of that rage, was directed at Lucien. Lucien's grip on his sword loosened, his breath unsteady as a wave of nausea curled in his gut. His mind, usually sharp, ruthless, calculated, was spiraling, dragging him down into a chasm of self-loathing so deep he thought he might suffocate in it. He had wanted to kill Hector. No hesitation, no second thoughts, just the cold, instinctual response of a man too used to cutting down obstacles before they became threats. Wasn't that the same thing he had done to the others? He had slaughtered them without blinking, without mercy, because they were possessed. Because it was necessary. "Because they were beyond saving". Because the alternative was too complicated. Because he didn't want to deal with it. His mind clawed for justification, but every argument he made collapsed under the sheer weight of his guilt. Why had he done it? Was it truly because he knew the severity of the possession? Or had that just been a convenient excuse? Had he chosen the easy way out? Was that all it took for him to decide someone's life was no longer worth fighting for? He had convinced himself that there had been no other choice, but was that the truth? Or was it just what he had wanted to believe to keep his hands from shaking?

Lucien inhaled sharply, his heartbeat hammering in his skull. He had killed them. They were people, fighters, comrades, maybe even friends, and he had snuffed them out like they were inconveniences. Yet here he was, standing in front of Hector, hesitating. Why? Because he had to watch it unfold? Because Hector's suffering was tangible, visible? Did he only feel guilt now because the consequences were standing before him in flesh and blood? His head ached. His body was frozen. The guilt curled around his throat like barbed wire, dragging him into a spiral of doubt and regret. He wanted to escape it. He wanted to run. But how could he? Running wasn't an option. Not now. Not ever. So he defaulted to what he always did.

Kill.

End the problem.

Make it disappear.

If he cut Hector down, he wouldn't have to think. He wouldn't have to feel. He wouldn't have to acknowledge that he was the one who had made this monster in front of him. That Hector had been broken not by fate, not by Faust, but by him.

Lucien clenched his jaw. His mind was a storm, his chest a pit of self-inflicted wounds. And as his hesitation grew, his sloppiness in battle became undeniable. Hector tore through his defenses like a beast sensing weakness, and for the first time in a long time, Lucien wasn't sure if he even wanted to fight back.

The battlefield was a storm of steel, blood, and fury. Lucien's movements were sluggish, his mind still trapped in the suffocating haze of guilt, but his body moved on instinct, narrowly evading the onslaught of Hector's brutal attacks. The half-dragonkin came at him like a force of nature, reckless, unrelenting, his spear a blur of destruction that tore through the air with every vicious strike. Lucien parried a thrust aimed at his ribs, but the sheer force of Hector's attack sent him skidding backward, boots digging trenches into the ruined ground. Before he could regain his footing, Hector was already on him, closing the distance in a frenzied charge. Too fast. The spear shot forward, its serrated edge glinting like the fangs of a beast, and Lucien barely twisted his torso in time. The blade ripped through the side of his coat, carving a shallow gash into his ribs. He sucked in a breath, pushing through the pain. Focus. But Hector's aggression was overwhelming. He fought like a man who didn't care if he lived or died, as long as he tore Lucien apart first. The dragonkin instincts had fused too deeply into his mind. He was moving not like a warrior but like a predator, all brute strength and sheer instinct, adapting with every exchange. Lucien's hesitation was costing him. Another strike Lucien barely ducked. The wind pressure alone sent cracks splintering through the stone wall behind him.

The air crackled with raw energy as the two warriors fought on, a brutal dance of swords clashing and Anger flaring amongst shattered stone and splintered debris. Lucien's face was streaked with sweat and blood, but, he had slowly begun to regain his composure. Each parry, every measured step, was his Desperate attempt at reclaiming his mind from the sickening storm of guilt and regret. In contrast, Hector's rage-fueled assaults, once a torrent of raw power, now faltered. His blows, wild and desperate, began to slow; fatigue crept into his limbs. The gap between them widened with every heartbeat. Lucien's blade danced in his hand, an extension of his will, while Hector's spear, once an instrument of unbridled aggression, wavered as the dragonkin strength that had driven him now faltered under the strain of endless combat. Lucien's mind, battered by guilt and the memories of his past, steadied as he began to reclaim his focus. Each movement became a calculated counter, each step a deliberate echo of his regained resolve. For a long, breathless moment, neither man spoke; the clamor of clashing steel, the hiss of dissipating mana, and the distant rumble of collapsing walls were their only dialogue. To everyone else, fhis battle felt like a battle between two gods. Each movement too fast for the naked eye, each strike between them loud and unbridled as the sound if metal clanking made their skin crawl. Their skills were unmatchable as even Valeri found it uncomfortable to see Lucien fighting so hard. His conflict between Wqnting Hector or Lucien to win made his mind ache. Logan Gale and Armand stood feeling the same thing. Armand knew of luciens prowess but seeing him reflect it even in reality made him uncomfortable. Logan felt fear he wished to shut down as he watched Luciens movements, each movement calculated to counter Hectors madness. And Gale couldnt help but focus on Hector, when she first met him in this new world he seemed different, calm, collected, and more at peace. But now The Hector she witnessed was the same one whose life was bent on avenging his sister, the fire in his eyes the same, the fear in his approach and the aching loneliness.

In the midst of everyone's thoughts of the battle, something strange occurred. Then, as if in response to the silent rhythm of fate, Lucien's eyes narrowed and his lips parted in a quiet declaration, a single phrase that cut through the tension like a commanding call. "Enough." In that moment, Lucien surged forward. With a fluid motion borne of years of training and a newfound clarity, he drew on the latent power in his sword, His weapon shimmered as if made of liquid shadow, shifting and morphing in his grasp. Lucien's focus narrowed to a singular purpose: to end this war of attrition before it claimed another innocent soul. Hector's furious gaze met Lucien's. His own body trembled from exhaustion and the bitter taste of rage, but his eyes burned with the desire to crush his enemy. He launched himself forward with a guttural cry, a wild, desperate assault aimed to overwhelm Lucien. For a moment, the battlefield exploded in a frenzy of motion: Hector's spear thrusting like a vengeful lance; Lucien's sword slicing, parrying, and deflecting with preternatural precision. But as Hector's blows grew slower, his heavy breaths audible, the tide of battle began to turn. Lucien's regained clarity allowed him to exploit the tiniest opening. With each measured strike, his blade began to carve a path through Hector's defenses. The warrior's stamina, once unyielding, now Burned visibly. His movements became erratic, each swing a labor, each thrust a struggle against his failing strength. The bulge in his muscles and arms a cause for concern as if they wished to burst.

In the thick of the fray, Lucien's hand tightened around the hilt. A surge of mana coalesced around the edge of his blade, and in a brilliant flash of shifting light, his shape-shifting sword transformed. With a swift, almost imperceptible motion, it elongated and hardened, taking on the unmistakable form of a spear, a spear that radiated raw, concentrated energy.

Lucien's eyes dulled with quiet fury as he hurled the newly summoned spear with accuracy. The projectile soared through the chaotic air, its path straight and true, a beacon of his reawakened will. Hector, caught in a moment of desperation, tried to parry, but the spear struck him squarely in the chest, a searing bolt of mana force that shattered the remnants of his assault. For an agonizing heartbeat, time seemed to slow. Hector's eyes widened as the impact rippled through his body, and his momentum faltered. The force of Lucien's spear knocked him back, his body convulsing as he struggled to remain upright. The battlefield stilled around them; the furious clang of combat faded into a heavy silence, punctuated only by ragged breaths and the whisper of dissipating energy. In that charged pause, Lucien lowered his weapon slowly. His voice, soft and resolute, broke the silence with barely more than a whisper, words that carried the weight of centuries of pain and regret.

"Forgive me…" At that moment, memories surged within him. He saw, in vivid flashes, his past misdeeds and the endless slaughter he had done, the faces of those he had failed to protect, the guilt that gnawed at his soul day after day. The visage of his fallen comrades, the haunting image of those lost to possession, and the regret for his inability to save the innocent from the relentless tide of demonic power, all melded together into a torrent of grief and introspection. Lucien's mind was a tempest of regret, each memory a blade that cut deeper than the last. In that fleeting moment, his expression softened, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. For a brief, agonizing second, he saw himself not as a ruthless warrior but as a man consumed by the very bloodlust he had once embraced, a man tormented by the souls he had shattered.

The spear hung in his hand, a symbol of his renewed purpose and his inner torment. Hector lay sprawled in the dust, his eyes fluttering as the chaotic energy of his assault ebbed away. The silence of the battlefield was as heavy as the sorrow in Lucien's heart.

But even as the two warriors lingered at this crossroads, one regaining his humanity, the other collapsing under the weight of his rage, a final surge of energy stirred. Lucien's eyes hardened once more, determination replacing the momentary vulnerability. The spear, shimmering with an unreal glow, pulsed in his grasp.

Without a word, Lucien stepped forward, the spear poised to strike again. The battle was far from over. The air around them vibrated with the promise of one final, cataclysmic clash. Yet neither side made a move; they simply stood there, locked in a silent standoff, a balance precariously held between the raging storm of Hector's dwindling fury and Lucien's unyielding resolve. In that heart-stopping moment, the battlefield held its breath. The only sound was the echo of Lucien's quiet, whisper, words that would lead to memories of a time when he fought with a different purpose, when each strike was an effort to protect, not to punish:

"Time... to remember."

And with that, the final spark of energy surged from Lucien's hand, the spear's form blurring into a flash of light as it streaked toward Hector, a culmination of fury, guilt, and the desperate hope that even in destruction, there might be a chance for redemption as it pierced through Hector Pinning him to the Wall.