After his dramatic, bone-shifting transformation, the Scarlet Raven—Uriel Commes in flesh—stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately. Each movement radiated confidence that bordered on madness, fire whispering off his skin like silk aflame. Around them, the air thickened with heat, and the ground cracked beneath his bare feet, leaving scorched impressions in his wake.
Josh Aratat stood still, unmoved, cloaked in a serenity that mocked the very theatrics of his enemy.
His kingly staff rested in his right hand, angled casually like a shepherd's crook rather than a weapon of war, yet held with the authority of a man who had never once needed to raise his voice to command obedience.
"You really are not afraid of me?" Uriel's voice rumbled, laced with both curiosity and amusement. "It must be because you haven't heard of me. Or seen me in action. But rest assured… if you're fortunate enough to still breathe when this exchange of ours is done, your entire disposition will change."
He drew nearer.
Josh said nothing at first. His silence was not due to hesitation, but rather an innate sense that the one who speaks less is often the one most heard when the time comes.
Then, with cool disdain, he spoke.
"You're just an overgrown chicken with fire tricks. Why should I fear poultry?"
That insult cracked like thunder.
Uriel froze, the smugness draining from his face. For a long breath, nothing moved—until his lips curled into something unholy.
"I change my mind," he growled. "How do you want to die?"
Rage erupted.
In one sweeping motion, both his arms surged upward, and the very clouds above seemed to ignite, swirling into a burning vortex. His body became a furnace, crowned in a blaze that howled like a thousand infernos. Then—he brought his hands down.
A surge of fire, hot as the sun's fury, tore through the sky and hurtled toward Josh Aratat.
Every soldier watching from behind the city gates screamed and covered their faces, expecting the arrogant "Black Dragon" to be reduced to ashes and forgotten dust.
But Josh… raised his voice.
"I… am… KING!"
And the world changed.
The ground quaked with recognition.
A pulse of pure, ancient energy erupted from his core as the I Am King Protocol activated.
It was no mere defense mechanism. It was the embodiment of something far older than magic—sacrifice. An honor-bound force tethered to the deepest instincts of a protector. A protocol not granted, but earned—through blood, will, sweat, tears, pain, defiance of injustice and relentless devotion to others.
An ethereal aura erupted around Josh, forming a shield that shimmered like the surface of a divine mirror—reflecting not just power, but legacy. The flames reached him.
And died down.
The hellfire struck the shield in a monstrous wave, devouring everything in sight—but not Josh. When the blaze faded, there he stood, untouched. Not a thread of his cloak was singed. Not a single strand of hair displaced. The same calm, indifferent gaze looked forward, like nothing had happened.
The world seemed to stop breathing.
Uriel's face twisted—not just in disbelief, but in something far more damning.
Fear.
"You're still alive?" he whispered.
It wasn't rhetorical. It was genuine. For the first time in centuries, the predator found himself measuring his prey.
No wonder he's not afraid of me… he thought. Could he actually be stronger?
He dismissed the thought. Pride refused to let it linger.
"I am the Scarlet Raven," Uriel hissed aloud, as though reminding himself. "I hold within me the heart of the ancient Scarlet flame of the Scarlet Raven spirit. I have laid waste to civilizations. I've slaughtered mages who turned warlords into puddles. I've shattered kings, broken champions, and made monsters weep."
His flames roared again, swirling around his fists like hungry serpents.
"This one... this Black Dragon... is nothing but a toothpick. One I'll chew... with relish."
And with that, he surged forward—preparing to unleash something far more devastating.
He turned his hands into claws and allowed the heat energy of the Scarlet Raven spirit to flow to an excessive amount.
With a guttural cry, the Scarlet Raven surged forward, fury bursting from every pore. His arms elongated unnaturally, transforming into talon-like claws, glowing with unbearable heat—heat drawn from the very core of the Scarlet Raven Spirit itself. The ground beneath him scorched with each footfall, molten cracks spreading like spiderwebs in his wake.
He roared as he swung down with murderous intent, his claws slicing through the air like blades forged from the sun.
But Josh Aratat didn't flinch.
The I Am King Protocol remained active, but more than that—his Kingly Awareness skill triggered with crystalline clarity. Time seemed to slow for him. Every flicker of movement from the Scarlet Raven, every twitch of muscle, every minute shift in balance—it all bloomed in Josh's mind before it even occurred.
And so he moved.
Gracefully. Casually.
Like water weaving around fire.
He sidestepped the first strike with elegant fluidity, his cloak fluttering like royal banners in a spring breeze. He dipped beneath the second, turning his body with the ease of a dancer. To onlookers, it appeared less like a battle and more like a synchronized dance—one where Josh led, and Uriel unknowingly followed.
"Shua!"
"Finggg!"
"Shraaak!"
The air trembled with the sounds of missed attacks. Claws struck nothing but air. The Scarlet Raven's strikes became more savage, more reckless, frustration etched deeper into every motion.
Josh Aratat remained calm. Serene. A monarch at a masquerade ball, letting a madman exhaust himself with theatrics.
Uriel's rage boiled over. This was supposed to be a massacre. A message. A warning. He came to make the earth tremble at the mere echo of his name.
But now… he looked like a fool.
A spectacle.
And this mortal—this bastard, this so-called "Black Dragon"—was the cause.
Behind them, the tension shifted.
Josh's generals, who had stood at a cautious distance, began to draw nearer, emboldened by what they were witnessing. The sight of their king standing unshaken, dancing through the firestorm of a mythical killer, ignited something ferocious within them.
Naze, one of the battle-hardened elite, stared with wide eyes. "Isn't that… the Scarlet Raven?" he whispered, awe painting every syllable. "My grandmother used to tell me stories. Said he once burned down an entire city of four thousand without breaking a sweat. People feared his name like a curse."
He turned to Conrad Stan, who was just as stunned. "And yet… our leader makes him look like a street performer throwing tantrums."
Ralia Amia stepped forward, her voice filled with unshaken devotion. "Our leader is amazing," she breathed, stars in her eyes. "The Black Dragon... he's more than a legend."
The tide of morale surged.
Meanwhile, Uriel Commes—the one who scorched kingdoms, who silenced armies with a single cry—was now panting. Sweat mingled with ash on his brow. His pride had taken its first blow, and it cut deeper than any sword.