The cave walls pulsed with old magic. Symbols flickered with eerie light etched into the rock, glowing faintly red beneath the layer of ash and blood. Mike's claws scraped the ground as he pushed deeper into the darkness, the charred remains of undead still crumbling beneath his steps.
He was tired. More than he would admit.
The fight outside had scorched his scales. The battle with Ares Chosen had torn deep into his muscle. And the undead in these cursed caves just kept coming.
He reached a fork in the tunnels and paused. The air trembled with necrotic essence. His breath came in slow, heavy draws, flame still curling from his nostrils. There was no rest. Only the next horror.
Something screeched in the dark.
Mike's eyes narrowed.
"Come on then," he muttered, voice rough, worn, and low.
A mass of corpses surged from the tunnel to his right, humanoid shapes, mangled and unnatural. Some had multiple heads fused by spellcraft. Others crawled with limbs bent the wrong way, skin peeled back to expose glowing runes carved directly into muscle and bone.
He charged into them with a snarl.
Claws flashed. Bones shattered. Limbs scattered across the stone. But even as he ripped them apart and bit chunks of deceased flesh, he didn't heal.
That was the curse of this fight.
Undead gave nothing.
No strength. No essence. No healing.
He could tear through legions of them but with every slash, every wound they inflicted, his body accumulated damage he couldn't undo.
Still, he kept going.
After the fifth wave, his breathing had turned shallow, his ribs cracked again from repeated strikes. Blood leaked from cuts in his side, staining the walls as he pushed forward.
And then he saw another rune.
Glowing bright orange on the stone floor, surrounded by bones arranged in ritual pattern. Chains of glyphs floated in the air like spectral chains. It hissed with a creepy power echoing in the cavern.
Mike stepped forward and raised one massive claw.
SLASH.
The rune shattered, and the light died instantly. A pulse of force slammed into the tunnel walls. Dust and rock fell from the ceiling.
The flow of undead faltered.
That was the third.
"Fuck," he muttered. "How many more?"
He turned down the next tunnel. The air grew colder. The undead came again, this time, wielding ancient weapons, bound by armor crusted with blood and metal fused by dark sorcery. One had no head, just a screaming hole in its chest.
They overwhelmed him at the next corner.
Swords pierced his leg. Claws shredded at his wings. One buried a rusted axe in his side.
Mike roared and drove his tail through three of them. He grabbed another, crushing its ribcage with his jaws, but the damage had already been done.
These battles led to nothing but more pain.
The fourth rune sat on the wall above a mound of corpses, stitched together into a throne for some necromancer that was no longer there. The rune was carved in dark obsidian and glowed sickly green.
Mike didn't hesitate.
He leapt, claws-first, and slammed through the wall. The rune shattered. The throne crumbled. The corpses exploded into black dust. The tunnel began to cave.
Mike scrambled away just before the collapse.
The pressure in the cave shifted. Like the earth itself exhaled. He stumbled deeper into the tunnels. His body was weakening. His vision pulsed with heat and pain. His dragon form flickered at the edges, struggling to hold shape.
And then he saw another rune, the largest one yet.
Carved into the floor of a cathedral-like cavern at the heart of the cave system, glowing white and gold and ringed with the bones of hundreds.
Mike staggered to the edge of the circle.
Undead began rising again.
Dozens. Hundreds. Piling out of cracks in the stone, pulling themselves from the walls. One bore the skull of a minotaur. Another dragged four severed arms, all still clawing at the ground.
Mike didn't speak.
He dropped to all fours and charged.
The rune was at the center. The swarm surrounded it like guardians.
Claws tore at him. Teeth pierced his scales. One embedded a dagger in his shoulder and twisted.
Mike let it happen.
He reached the center and slammed his claw down.
BOOM.
The rune cracked. Then shattered.
A wave of golden energy exploded from the floor. The undead convulsed, shrieked, and burned in divine fire. The ground beneath the rune glowed for a moment and then went dark.
Mike collapsed forward, panting.
His vision spun.
But then…
The essence returned.
He could feel it. Slowly, power flowing back into him.
And behind him, from the cave entrance above, he heard the sound of war horns.
A rumble echoed through the caves.
Then came Hamza's voice, clear and sharp:
"Djinn! CHARGE!"
A storm of blue and gold light surged down the tunnels. Djinn in elemental forms blasted through the narrow corridors, fire, wind, water, and stone cutting down the stragglers Mike hadn't reached. Their weapons burned with Maymun's sigils. Their war cries filled the halls.
Hamza appeared at Mike's side, two scimitars in hand, armor scorched from battle.
He knelt briefly.
"Rest. You did well."
Mike grunted, forcing himself back up.
"Rest later. Hecate's still deeper."
Hamza's face darkened.
"And we are with you. Maymun's orders were clear. This cave becomes her tomb."
The two warriors, djinn and dragon turned toward the descending staircase at the back of the chamber. The air was cold. Ancient.
Council Chambers
Lisa stood at the edge of the council floor, arms crossed, voice clipped. Her face was pale, her eyes unfocused.
"The report came through Olympus's channels an hour ago," she said flatly. "Mike killed three of their Chosen. Ares. Enyo and Eris."
A silence fell over the room.
One of the elven delegates shook her head slowly.
"This is catastrophic. We were promised a truce."
"Ares declared that war," Lisa replied.
Leo growled low. "So Olympus wants war with the dragon. After they failed to stop Tartarus."
Pete muttered, "He's unstable. Too powerful. We should've stopped him when we had the chance."
"Stopped him?" Nicolas's voice cut through the room like ice.
The table turned toward him.
He rose, slowly, eyes unreadable.
"Let me ask you something," Nicolas said, voice quiet. "Which side do you really wish to be on?"
He looked around the room. No one spoke.
"Because you're not just choosing between Mike and Olympus. You're choosing between inaction and action. Between watching the world burn and standing up to the gods who let it happen."
"Ares Chosen attacked Mike," he continued. "Ares threw him like a dog at someone who just saved his wife from damnation. And Mike survived."
He stepped closer to the table.
"No one on this council survived Tartarus opening. No one here stopped Hecate. But he's fighting right now, carving his way to her. And you're debating politics?"
The room stayed quiet.
Jennifer finally spoke.
"If Mike falls, we lose the only weapon strong enough to fight the gods' mess."
Lisa exhaled.
"Olympus will retaliate. They'll want blood for blood."
Nicolas nodded.
"Then they'll get it. But it won't be Mike's."
He turned away from the table.
"I'm done asking where you stand. The war has already begun."