THE ALMIGHTY WAR DRAGON

THE MERCENARIES’ LAST MISTAKE

Fear crept across the burning garage as the last sparks from the extractor machine faded into smoke.

The mercenaries stood frozen, unable to process what they were seeing. Evans rose slowly from the slab, golden light swirling around his body like a living storm. The scales on his cheek glimmered beneath the firelight, casting reflections across the rusted walls.

One of the mercenaries backed away, nearly tripping over a toolbox. “How… how is he still standing?”

Another’s voice cracked. “We drained him. I watched him turn pale after all the dragon force left his chest.”

Evans’s voice was steady and cold. “I told you all. You wasted your time trying to extract the Celestro Dragon Force from me.”

The men shuddered, glancing at each other, trying to decide whether to run or fight. The leader pushed forward before anyone panicked. His face was pale, but he forced a sneer.

“Don’t be fooled,” he said loudly, pointing toward the glowing crystal inside the extraction machine. “His Celestro force is right there. He’s only using some survival trick.”

A mercenary nearby let out a shaky laugh. “Right. Since he can read our thoughts, he probably thinks this illusion he has created will scare us.”

Another added, “He’s half dead. All of this is just party tricks. He’s bluffing. There is no way the great Primordius Dragon force will exist in our day and age. That power is too great to be contained in on man.”

They spoke with confidence, but Evans could read their minds clearly. Every one of them was terrified. They weren’t brave. They were cornered, trapped between the wrath of Ronan Drakar if they failed to kill him and the nightmare standing in front of them.

Evans stepped toward them. His aura flared, causing the nearest mercenary to raise his arms in fear. “You fools,” Evans said. “You still don’t understand what’s standing in front of you. Today, I will teach you a bitter lesson.”

The leader glared, but Evans sensed the panic spreading through him. The man looked from Evans to the humming crystal containing the sky-blue Celestro dragon force and seemed to reach a desperate decision. He moved toward the extraction device, touching the cracked control panel despite the sparks snapping from it.

“No,” the leader said, his voice attempting strength. “You’re the one who will receive the bitter lesson. You can’t frighten us with this show.”

Evans narrowed his eyes. “Coward.”

The man slammed his hand on the controls. The extractor whirred back to life with a harsh metallic growl.

A thin, blinding white laser formed at the tip of the machine and aligned directly with the center of Evans’s chest—aimed for the heart of his dragon core.

Evans stood perfectly still.

The laser fired.

For a second, the beam pushed forward as intended. Then it bent inward, sucked toward Evans as though pulled by invisible gravity.

The light vanished into his chest, then flared back outward with explosive force. A column of golden fire burst free, consuming the machine in seconds.

Metal twisted into molten scraps. Sparks detonated across the room like fireworks gone wrong.

The mercenaries screamed and ducked behind crates as the device exploded.

One of them shouted, “What is that? What is he?!”

Another cried, “It’s not Celestro! That isn’t the Celestro force!”

The leader stumbled back, his eyes wide with horror. “No… it’s impossible. That’s a Primordius Dragon.”

The truth was very much impossible to deny.

Evans felt the golden fire swirl inside him, powerful but controlled, responding to his will.

He stepped down from the slab, and the burning remains of the machine hissed beneath his feet. Flames rose along the walls, lighting the room in orange and gold.

The leader recovered enough to shout, “Shoot him! All of you, shoot him now!”

Gunfire erupted through the garage. Sparks flew from metal beams as bullets ricocheted everywhere.

Evans didn’t flinch. The bullets struck his skin, bouncing off the golden scales without leaving a mark. His body reacted instinctively, the Primordius force forming a shield beneath his skin.

The mercenaries kept firing, screaming over the noise, trying to convince themselves they stood a chance. Evans moved through the rain of bullets with calm precision, reading their fear, feeling their panic rise with every useless shot.

“You really thought this would work?” Evans said.

He waved his arm, and a ripple of golden force shot forward. The nearest mercenary flew backward, slamming into a wall with such force that the concrete cracked.

Another tried to flee behind crates. Evans struck the ground with his foot, sending a shockwave that tore through the floor and knocked the man into the fire.

One by one, they fell—some consumed by flame, some crushed by force, some collapsing in terror.

The leader was the last. He tried to crawl toward the exit, begging under his breath. Evans reached him in three steps. The man turned, trembling, unable to lift his weapon.

"Please, please, spare my life Lord Evans, I don't want to die!" He begged.

Evans put up a smug grin. "Oh, you are begging now huh."

Evans didn’t need a flame or a blast. He just placed his hand on the leader’s chest. The golden aura surged, and the man collapsed instantly, the light fading from his eyes.

Silence filled the garage, broken only by the crackling of fire and the slow collapse of burnt metal.

Evans stood among the bodies, breathing deeply as the gold around him dimmed. His scales faded back into skin, though faint traces still shimmered along his jaw.

He surveyed the wreckage. “You fools brought this on yourselves.”

Evans wasn’t shocked by the Primordius awakening—not fully. He had suspected its presence within him since he turned eighteen.

Small signs, strange instincts, unexplained surges of strength. But he kept it hidden. A power like this demanded attention, and Evans never wanted to overshadow his family or attract political danger.

To awaken it fully, his Celestro force had to be purged. Ironically, Ronan's mercenaries had done the one thing that made the awakening possible.

Evans picked up a water bottle from a fallen mercenary’s pack and drank, trying to steady his breath.

His thoughts drifted to Ronan, and the weight in his chest tightened. He had been so consumed with developing the Dragon Heat Core project that he never noticed the hatred growing behind his brother’s eyes.

He never saw the betrayal being shaped under his nose.

He shook his head, wiping sweat and soot from his face. “Ronan… what have you turned into?”

A sudden sound echoed through the garage. Slow, rhythmic clapping.

Evans lifted his head.

An old man stepped through the smoke, dressed in a clean suit and tie that looked impossibly out of place in the burning wreckage.

He leaned on a polished walking stick, his eyes gleaming with the kind of wisdom that suggested he’d seen centuries pass.

“At last,” the old man said, still clapping, “the Primordius Dragon has awoken.”

Evans turned toward him, muscles tensing. “Who are you?” He asked.