Rayliar pushed his way through the castle until he reached the vast central courtyard.
A series of repeating arches lined a corridor, spanning a couple of meters, identical on all sides.
In the center, hundreds of weapons were embedded in the ground, encircling a bronze statue now tarnished with age.
His eyes locked onto the sculpture. A proud man wielding a long spear stood tall, while a second figure seemed to crawl at his feet.
Slowly, Rayliar approached.
Hidden behind the artwork, a shadowy figure lay basking in the morning sun.
Tack.
Tack.
Tack.
The steady sound of the young man's steps reached the creature's ears.
With a groan, the beast rose from the ground, planting one clawed hand firmly into the dirt.
This time, it'll be different…
Rayliar thought, gazing up at the monster towering over the sculpture, its form massive enough to dwarf the bronze sentinel.
Instinctively, the young warrior adjusted his stance, lowering his body slightly, ready to spring at a moment's notice.
"What is your name?"
The beast spoke.
W-What the hell...
I-It can talk?!
It was a first. Never before had he encountered a monster capable of human speech.
"Does it surprise you so much that I know your language?"
The creature yawned, its sharp teeth glinting in the light, as it lazily gestured around with a clawed finger.
"Human… You are neither the first nor the last to challenge me. After years of this nonsense, one picks up a language or two, don't you think?"
"That… makes sense, I suppose," Rayliar muttered, caught off guard.
"So then, human," the beast pressed, "what is your name?"
"Rayliar. And you?"
"I have no name."
The Lizardmen King's fist shot forward, straight at the boy.
___________
Hey don't we have names? Why do they treat us like cattle for slaughter?
These questions had haunted the creature since its earliest days.
As a hatchling, he had watched his father and brothers face down countless humans.
Why do they want us dead? What have we done wrong?
He grew up searching for answers that never came, even as he watched his family fall one by one.
He had united the clans under his leadership, shielding them from harm. But no matter how much time passed, those questions lingered in a dark corner of his mind.
Eventually, they condensed into a singular, haunting doubt:
Who am I?
And after years of searching, the beast still had no answer.
_____________
Heavy.
If Rayliar had to describe the force of the beast's blows in one word, it would be heavy.
Each time his axe met the creature's claws, he felt the bones in his arms groan under the pressure.
Its strength far surpasses mine, but… I might just have the edge in speed.
Shoom!
The ground cracked beneath his feet as he pushed off, disappearing in a blur and reappearing behind the beast.
"Chop."
At his command, the mana surrounding him surged, condensing rapidly.
_______
To the King, it was unmistakable: the image of a monster loomed in his mind, pure instinct warning him of one undeniable truth—today, he would die.
Like the executioner's blade, Rayliar's axe descended.
Crack.
Or at least, that was what should have happened.
Like a porcelain vase smashing to pieces, the axe shattered mid-swing, fragments scattering into the air. Only the handle remained in Rayliar's hand.
"Damn it."
That was all he had time to mutter before the beast whirled around, its piercing yellow eyes locking onto his.
Its muscles coiled, its claws lashed out like spears—
Splat.
They hit their mark.
__________
Splat.
Splat.
Splat.
Drops of blood fell, one after another, pooling at Rayliar's feet.
Damn.
A fleeting mistake had nearly cost him his life. He felt the searing pain where the creature's claws had torn into his side, the pulse of blood from the wound.
I'm going to need stitches… he thought, grimacing as he steadied himself.
Sweat trickled down his pale face.
I have to finish this quickly.
Before him, the Lizardmen King regarded him with an unblinking, predatory gaze.
"If you stand still, I'll kill you swiftly. You won't feel a thing," the beast hissed.
"Thanks for the offer, but I'd rather stay alive!"
Rayliar shot back, his voice sharp with defiance.
With a surge of effort, he launched himself forward, his fist drawn back.
The mana coursing through his body gathered within him, moving at lightning speed through his veins.
The monstrous king followed suit, muscles tensing as it prepared its own strike. Their fists collided in a brilliant flash of light.
Bang!
As the glow faded, the two stood frozen, facing each other.
Anyone witnessing the scene would have described it with a single word:
Incredible.
The sheer force of their clash sent smoke rising from their bodies. Had they been ordinary beings, they would have been reduced to dust.
But there was one clear difference in their expressions.
Rayliar's face was calm, almost serene. The King's, on the other hand, twisted in pain.
It seems I have a slight edge when it comes to mana, Rayliar thought, staring directly into the beast's reptilian eyes.
If it's war you want, it's war you'll get.
As if by mutual agreement, the two moved at once, their fists colliding again in a flurry of strikes.
Shoom!
The King charged, claws extended, but Rayliar was no longer there. Leaping into the air, he used the monster's arm as a springboard, propelling himself higher.
His hands mimicked the grip of an axe, though there was nothing in them.
He's insane—there's no way he can—
Skriiiik-Clang!
The King's eyes widened in disbelief.
Where there should have been nothing, an enormous axe of pure mana took shape, glowing with deadly intent.
Rayliar's arms tensed, swinging the weapon back over his head.
And then, as if it weighed nothing, he brought it crashing down.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The last thing the King saw was the boy's lips moving in a soundless farewell:
Goodbye.
And then, nothing.
___________
The earth wept.
Soon, the courtyard trembled violently, as if it too mourned the fallen.
Kugung. Kugugugung. Kugung.
The ground splintered apart. Walls and floors crumbled like brittle crackers, collapsing into a massive crater.
Still airborne, Rayliar surveyed the devastation as exhaustion overtook him.
Oops, he thought, letting himself fall into the abyss below.
This was his doing.
This was the work of his Chop.