29. Ragon
RAGON
I taste blood before I realize it’s mine.
Stone dust hangs in the air like fog, catching in my throat. The field hum inside this chamber has changed pitch—higher now, agitated, like it’s reacting to the violence beneath it.
Jax hits the pillar again.
Not because he’s thrown.
Because Dzu drives him there.
The impact cracks through the chamber. I hear something in Jax’s shoulder give—an ugly, wet pop that makes my stomach turn.
Jax grunts, tries to reset his stance.
His arm doesn’t come up.
Dzu notices.
Of course he does.
He steps in without hesitation and slams a knee into Jax’s ribs. Once. Twice. The third strike caves Jax sideways. His defensive posture collapses completely.
“Get up,” I snap.
Jax snarls through blood. “Working on it.”
Dzu’s fist rises.
Not rushed.
Measured.
A killing blow.
I don’t think.
I move.
I intercept it with my forearm.
The impact is catastrophic.
Pain detonates from wrist to shoulder. I feel bone fracture before I hear it. My arm goes numb instantly, useless.
Dzu doesn’t even look surprised.
He just shifts his weight and drives his other fist into my ribs.
Something cracks.
I stagger back, breath leaving me in a thin wheeze.
“You adapt well,” Dzu says, almost conversationally.
“Shut up,” I hiss.
Jax pushes off the pillar, one arm hanging wrong at his side.
“You good?” he growls at me.
“Define good.”
We circle without speaking further.
We don’t need to.
He compensates left, forcing Dzu to pivot toward his damaged shoulder so I can strike at the seam in Dzu’s back plating.
I drive my blade in hard.
It skids off reinforced alloy.
Dzu rotates, catches my wrist, and twists until my fingers spasm and the blade drops.
“Your coordination is impressive,” he says calmly. “But predictable.”
Jax lunges at the exact moment I fall back.
Dzu anticipates it.
He sidesteps, hooks Jax’s good arm, and throws him across the chamber like a broken weapon.
Jax crashes into the throne platform and doesn’t move for a heartbeat too long.
I charge again anyway.
I don’t have finesse left.
Just fury.
Dzu blocks my strike and counters with a palm strike to my sternum that knocks the air out of me completely. I hit the floor on my knees, gasping.
He stands over me.
“You believe resistance itself is virtue,” he says quietly.
I glare up at him, vision blurring.
“You believe inevitability is,” I rasp.
He tilts his head slightly.
“This,” he says, gesturing between us, “is the flaw in your ideology. You mistake noise for momentum.”
Jax drags himself upright again.
“Still talking,” Jax coughs. “Means you’re not done.”
Dzu doesn’t even turn.
He drives a heel backward into Jax’s injured ribs without looking.
Jax collapses to one knee.
I force myself up again, broken arm hanging useless, ribs screaming.
We don’t coordinate now.
We improvise.
I feint high to draw Dzu’s guard.
Jax comes in low, tackling his legs.
For one glorious second, Dzu stumbles.
We almost have him.
Then he adapts.
He brings his elbow down on Jax’s spine with brutal precision. Jax’s body seizes.
Dzu twists out of the hold and slams me into the throne platform hard enough that my vision whites out.
He steps back.
Breathing steady.
Measured.
We are not.
“You fight with attachment,” he says. “That is your weakness.”
I laugh through blood.
“No,” I say. “That’s why we’re still standing.”
He studies us.
Not angry.
Evaluating.
He’s not just fighting us.
He’s dissecting us.
Testing whether what we believe holds up under pressure.
Jax spits blood on the floor. “You going to monologue, or finish it?”
Dzu steps toward him.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
He grips Jax by the collar and hauls him upright with one hand like he weighs nothing.
Jax’s injured arm dangles grotesquely.
“This ends now,” Dzu says.
He draws back his fist.
Not rushed.
Final.
I try to move.
My body doesn’t cooperate fast enough.
Then—
The throne doors explode inward.
Not blown.
Forced.
They slam against the chamber walls with a metallic crack that reverberates through the field.
All three of us turn.
Sophie stands in the doorway.
Barefoot.
Dust-covered.
Breathing hard.
Very much alive.
For the first time since this began?—
Dzu hesitates.
It’s subtle.
Barely a flicker.
But I see it.
His grip on Jax loosens by a fraction.
“Sophie,” he says.
Not angry.
Not triumphant.
Uncertain.
She steps fully into the chamber.
“No,” she says calmly. “You don’t get to end this without me.”
The battlefield changes in that instant.
Not because she’s armed.
She isn’t.
Not because she’s stronger.
She isn’t.
Because the axis shifts.
This isn’t about force anymore.
It’s about belief.
Jax drops from Dzu’s grip, coughing, barely conscious.
I drag myself to my feet beside him.
Dzu’s eyes stay on her.
“You should not be here,” he says.
She tilts her head slightly.
“That’s funny,” she replies. “I was thinking the same about you.”
For the first time?—
Dzu does not strike immediately.
And that hesitation?—
That hairline fracture?—
Is louder than any explosion we’ve set tonight.