2025-11-28 00:06:44Evans had never imagined that the first morning after awakening the Primordius Dragon Force would begin in a quiet hotel bathroom, staring into a cracked mirror, struggling with a mustache.
The disguise felt ridiculous. The thick brown thing sat awkwardly over his upper lip, too large for his face, too heavy for someone who once carried a noble Drakarion crest as heir to the Drakarion throne. He pressed the edges firmly, testing the adhesive, then leaned back to examine himself. The wig—short, dark, nothing like his usual sharp royal cut—completed the stranger looking back at him. He exhaled slowly. “So this is my life now,” he murmured. “An exile dressing up like a fugitive.” His reflection did not answer, but the faint scales along his jaw glimmered beneath the artificial hotel lights, reminding him he was no longer the man he used to be. He tugged on the collar of the rough street clothes Patrick Johnson had bought him. The fabric felt cheap, unfamiliar, almost insulting compared to the noble fabrics he once wore. But comfort was not an option anymore. Survival required wearing whatever kept him hidden. He stepped out into the cramped hotel room and reached for the remote. The TV flickered to life, filling the silence with a reporter’s sharp voice. And then Evans froze. Grand Lord Adrian—his father—stood behind a podium draped with the emblem of Drakarion. His white suit glimmered under studio lights as he addressed a swarm of microphones. “I myself together with the Drakarion council has successfully prosecuted my son Evans Drakar,” Grand Lord Adrian declared with stone-hard confidence. “He has been stripped of his title and banished for crimes against our realm and our alliances. The throne will not tolerate treason.” Evans tightened his grip on the remote until the plastic creaked. His father’s voice carried on, booming through the tiny room. “We will reclaim the gold mines lost to the Aureldrake soldiers. Drakarion will rise stronger. My son's treachrous actions will not stain our future.” Evans felt heat flare under his skin. He remembered the heat core project that took a lot out of him. “Now I am the traitor. When I tried to save this city,” he whispered out of anger. The broadcast cut to another scene—this time it showed Ronan, his older brother. Ronan looked polished, groomed, every strand of hair in place. But Evans noticed the tremble in his hand as he adjusted his suit. The flicker of panic was in his eyes. “He knows,” Evans muttered. “He knows the men he sent after me are dead.” And if Ronan suspected Evans was still alive… the entire Drakarion would soon know too. A sharp knock broke through the noise. Evans turned off the TV and crossed the room in two long strides. He opened the door to find Patrick Johnson standing there, dressed in a crisp gray suit, leaning lightly on his polished cane. “Good morning, Lord Evans,” Patrick said with a warm smile. “I guess you are ready.” Evans only nodded. Words felt unnecessary. He followed Patrick out of the room, down the narrow hotel hallway, and into the morning air. Patrick opened the door of his sleek luxury car. “After you.” Evans slid in, adjusting his disguise once more. Patrick climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. As they rolled out onto the street, Evans watched the city blur past—the tall towers, the bustling markets, the banners carrying the Drakarion crest. He had once belonged to this world. Now he was only a ghost passing through it. After several minutes of silence, Evans finally asked, “Why am I moving with you to this… business meeting?” Patrick kept his eyes on the road. “Well, I don’t wish to discuss that now. We’ll talk when we reach our destination.” Evans shifted his stare to him. Something about the way Patrick dodged the question scraped against his nerves. He tried to read Patrick’s thoughts again. Tried to pierce into the old man’s mind the same way he had done hours earlier. But this time… the vision he saw was blurred. Faint. Like trying to look through fogged glass. Evans frowned. “Strange,” he said quietly. Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?” “I can barely sense your thoughts,” Evans said. “Even with my Primordius dragon force… I should be able to see them clearly.” Patrick chuckled faintly. “Perhaps your power is still settling.” But Evans wasn’t convinced. Even with his Celestro force he could see through clear thought patterns—bright, sharp, readable. Patrick’s mind was masked, obscured, intentionally clouded. Why? Evans leaned back, keeping his expression neutral. He wasn’t afraid of Patrick. The old man couldn’t harm him. No one could—not anymore. With the Primordius Dragon Force within him, he was the most dangerous man in the realm. Still… suspicion rooted itself deeper. The car turned toward the lower districts. The shining towers of Drakarion gave way to rusted bridges, broken neon lights, and abandoned factories. Evans glanced out the window, taking in the shadows that stretched across the streets like scars. “I never knew business meetings took place in Drakarion’s lower districts,” he said. Patrick’s hand tightened around the steering wheel. “Some meetings require… privacy.” Evans noticed the tension in his shoulders. The slight hitch in his breath. The subtle flicker of unease. “You’re hiding something,” Evans said. Patrick didn’t answer. The road narrowed. Ahead, a set of cracked concrete steps led underground, half-hidden behind a collapsed metro sign. Evans inhaled sharply. He could feel something below—faint dragon auras buried deep under the city. Oraco. Branth. Others weaker but numerous. Possibly gathering of dangerous men in a place no law dared enter. Patrick finally spoke. “Evans… there are things I must explain once we get inside. But you must trust that I brought you here for a good reason.” “That depends,” Evans said quietly, “on whether you’ve been honest with me.” Patrick flinched. Evans caught a strange scent—something chemical, artificial—coming from Patrick’s clothes. His eyes narrowed. “You used something to suppress your aura.” Patrick stayed silent, lips pressed tightly. Evans reached a decision. He whispered a Primordius chant beneath his breath. His eyes shifted, turning gold with black iris. His aura rose like heat shimmering off desert sand. Before Patrick could react, Evans reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. The effect was instantaneous. Patrick gasped, jerking so violently he halted the vehicle, and slammed into the car door. A sharp cry escaped him as a wave of suppressed energy tore through his body. His cane rattled on the floor. He clutched the seat, struggling to breathe. “Stop—Evans—stop—!” he choked. Evans held him firmly, expression unreadable. “Show me what you’re hiding.” Patrick’s eyes flashed— A deep, unmistakable blue. The color of a Celestro. Evans’s brows lifted. Not in shock—rather in confirmation. “So,” Evans said, his voice was cold and calm, “you possess the Celestro Dragon Force.” Patrick’s breath trembled. His mask was shattered. His secret was exposed.
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
WARNING REACHES THE GATE
Serren opened his mouth and coughed first. Blood touched his lip.His chest tightened again as the cough passed, but the fear did not. It stayed lodged inside him, heavier than the pain, heavier than the exhaustion, like something that refused to let him rest.The guard’s tone hardened. “Identify yourself!”“Serren Vale,” he gasped. “Aureldrake BioCore… senior researcher.”Another guard came closer from the side. “State your division.”The words felt distant even as he spoke them, like he was repeating a life that no longer belonged to him. Titles, ranks, clearance levels—none of it seemed to matter anymore after what he had seen.“Pathogen synthesis and serum stabilization.”The first guard looked him over. Burned sleeves. Dust-covered face. Bloodshot eyes. There was something else there too. Something harder to name. Not just injury. Not just exhaustion. It was the look of a man who had crossed through something and come back wrong.He did not lower his weapon. “Why are you arrivin
THE MESSENGER OF FEAR
The man on the floor opened his eyes to fear.Not the clean kind. Not the kind that comes before pain and passes once the pain arrives. This fear stayed. It clung to him like heat after fire. Even before he fully remembered where he was, he remembered the eyes. The scales. The pressure in the room that had made trained scientists kneel like frightened children.He pushed himself up with shaking arms and nearly slipped in spilled coolant beside line four.Around him, the production floor was still moving. Crates were being sealed. Officers were shouting routes. Researchers who had not collapsed were still dragging themselves through the last stages of distribution prep. Nobody noticed him immediately. Or if they did, they were too tired to care.His name was Serren Vale, he was the senior process researcher, Aureldrake-class technical clearance.And he knew one thing with absolute certainty.He had to get out of Rovek.It was no longer about loyalty or rank.Whatever he had witnessed
THE COST OF FIVE MILLION LIVES
The officer said nothing more. By the twentieth hour, bodies were beginning to fold. It showed in their movements, slower reactions, sloppier hands. But still, they did not stop. It was no longer a question of endurance. It was a question of how much a human body could give before it stopped responding. A scientist slumped onto a stool and had to be dragged upright by two others. Another fell asleep for three full seconds standing against a wall and woke only when a tray crashed beside him. The air smelled of chemicals, hot machinery, sweat, and sterile alcohol. A place built for control had become a furnace of forced redemption. Control had not disappeared, it had changed form. Now it came from above, silent and absolute. Then came another shout. “Three million more doses complete!” A weak cheer rose from somewhere on the floor and died almost instantly under fatigue. No one had the strength to celebrate properly. Even hope felt exhausting like something their bodies no l
PRODUCTION UNDER FEAR
The laboratory woke like a machine dragged out of sleep by fear.Alarms had been silenced, but urgency still lived in every corner of the facility. White lights blazed over stainless steel tables, sealed mixing chambers, injector lines, and conveyor belts were now running at a speed they had never been built to sustain for long. Researchers moved from station to station with stiff shoulders and pale faces. No one complained loudly anymore. Not after what they had seen in the boardroom.No one needed to remind them.Fear had replaced supervision.And it was far more effective.Evans stood on the upper observation platform with two Rovek officers behind him, looking down through reinforced glass at the production floor below.Doctor Vessa stood a short distance away, tablet in hand, her voice was unsteady despite all her effort to control it. “Line one is active. Line two is active. The secondary cold chambers are being repurposed for overflow storage.”Evans did not look at her. He di
THE DRAGON IN THE ROOM
At first it was subtle. A rise in temperature no one could explain. It was not gradual enough to ignore.It felt deliberate.Like the room itself had chosen a new center.The glass nearest the table gave a faint tick. One of the overhead lights flickered once, then steadied. Mara looked toward the ceiling. One scientist tugged at his collar.The air no longer moved naturally.It pressed against skin instead of flowing past it.Dorn noticed first that Evans had gone too still.Not calm. Still.The kind of stillness that belonged to something deciding whether restraint still had value.And in that stillness, something unseen seemed to gather behind him.Not visible.But undeniably present.“My lord,” Dorn said carefully, “there is no need for this to become—”He stopped.Heat rolled off Evans in a slow, invisible wave.Not like fire.It was not wild.But it was Controlled.It was Directed.Doctor Vessa took half a step back. “What is happening?”No one answered her.The polished edge
THIS IS NOT A DISCUSSION
Their thoughts were loud to him now.Not in words alone, but in intention.This was fear pretending to be logic, this was defiance hiding behind science.And beneath it all, the same realization started forming—they were no longer in control of anything.And they could feel it.Not as an idea. Not as a threat. But as something closing in around them with no clear escape.The refusal came apart all at once.It was no longer coordinated resistance. It was panic trying to sound intelligent.“Production requires weeks,” one of the younger scientists snapped. “Not days. Weeks.”Another pointed toward the wall display with shaking fingers. “You cannot force biology to obey politics.”Doctor Vessa recovered enough of her voice to step back into authority. “The stabilization process alone has fixed limits,” she said. “Even if every line runs without pause, the serum cannot be expanded at that scale in forty-eight hours.”She spoke like a professional.But beneath her control, her pulse had a
You may also like
Hidden Billionaire Son-in-law
Deliaha Shine126.1K viewsThe Miracle Doctor: Return Of The Convict
JOHNSON76.2K viewsAn Understated Dominance
Marina Vittori11.7M viewsThe Rise of the Son-in-law After Divorce
Enigma Stone293.0K viewsINVISIBLE NO MORE: Her Kept Man
Jackie Roux89 viewsSUPREME STYLIST: RETURN OF THE HUMILIATED GENIUS
Clevee378 viewsBLACK LEDGER
Wednesday Adaire206 viewsTHE RETURN OF KYLE
Oluyemz 601 views