I Only Tame Dragons

David looked over the battlefield, his heart heavy as he took in the fallen bodies of his comrades.

The clearing was littered with the remains of his Roaring Beast team, each a testament to their courage and the price they'd paid to get this far.

One by one, they had been cut down, but not without leaving their mark; they had whittled Iron Fang's numbers down to three and Nightshade's to four.

Still, what should have felt like a small victory weighed on David as a bitter defeat. This was the end of the line for Roaring Beast.

The first to fall was Becky, their nimble scout. She had always been the first to charge, darting between foes like a flicker of lightning, her daggers flashing as she struck and disappeared into the fray.

But today, an arrow from Nightshade's leader found its mark, piercing her side and leaving her vulnerable. Her absence left a hole in their formation, one that Iron Fang wasted no time exploiting.

Next was Gerald, their shield-bearer, a tower of resilience who had been a wall between his team and the onslaught of Iron Fang's attacks.

Gerald's armor was thick, his shield even thicker, and he had held the front line valiantly. But Iron Fang's relentless assault had taken its toll, wearing him down bit by bit.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

When one of Iron Fang's warriors finally landed a blow that shattered his shield arm, he fought on using only his sword.

In a final act of defiance, Gerald impaled one of his attackers before he fell, buying Roaring Beast precious seconds to regroup.

His sacrifice had been instrumental, but it left the remaining members exposed and vulnerable.

Borge, their second in command and a skilled strategist, had fought without stopping, his every move designed to create openings for the others. He had been at David's side since the beginning, and his loss was perhaps the hardest.

Borge had taken a poisoned blade from Nightshade, a trap he hadn't seen coming. Even as the poison worked its way through his veins, he'd managed to take down one of Nightshade's assassins with him, his final words a rallying cry that David could still hear ringing in his ears. But his absence was a blow they couldn't recover from.

Lastly was Rosalia, their healer. The team's lifeline, she had stayed hidden within the circle, weaving her spells and healing her comrades as best she could. But when Nightshade realized she was their healer, they targeted her relentlessly.

Rosalia managed to cast a final protection spell over David before one of Iron Fang's elite fighters struck her down. Her loss was the final toll, the breaking point for Roaring Beast.

David clenched his fists, feeling a wave of guilt and fury. His team had given everything they had; they'd fought with every ounce of strength, determination, and loyalty.

He took a shuddering breath, the weight of their sacrifice pressing on him. Now, he was alone, with Roaring Beast reduced to a memory on the blood-soaked battlefield.

He glanced up, eyes blazing as he surveyed the remnants of Iron Fang and Nightshade, who eyed him with wary confidence.

"It's the end, mutt," sneered Ford, the leader of Iron Fang, towering over David, his eyes cold and merciless. "So tell us what we need to know. You can live if you cooperate . . . or join the rest of your crew and die."

David clenched his fists, a dark resolve settling over him as he met Ford's gaze. "Kill me then. I'll never tell you a thing. To betray my friends now would dishonor their sacrifices. I'd rather die with them than hand the information over to you."

Ford's expression twisted with frustration, his fists clenching at his sides. "Then you'll join them in the dirt!" he hissed, raising his weapon with the intent to kill David.

Before Ford could take another step, Damon, the leader of Nightshade, moved between them with an air of composed authority. "Wait."

Ford's jaw clenched. "What now, Damon? He's not going to talk willingly. Let's just kill them."

Damon's cold, assessing gaze flickered over David, a predatory glint in his eye. "Killing him outright would be foolish. He may not break easily, but everyone has their limits. If we push him enough, he'll talk."

Ford scoffed, his impatience evident. "Torture? That's a waste of time. He'd rather die than talk, you heard him."

Damon's lip curled slightly as he looked back at Ford, eyes sharp as blades. "And do you want to waste days decoding whatever scraps of information we can salvage here? Or would you rather let me break him? We only have ten days . . . no nine days and 12 hours left to reach the exit. Give me less than an hour, and I'll get what we need. Then he'll be as good as dead, and we can move on."

Ford hesitated, his face twisted with reluctant agreement as he weighed Damon's proposal. Torture wasn't Iron Fang's usual method—he preferred swift, clean kills.

But time was running out, and the lure of valuable information was impossible to ignore. With a growl, he stepped back, his expression cold.

"Fine. But you have half an hour. We don't have the luxury of staying here forever."

Damon smirked, stepping forward and eyeing David like a predator circling wounded prey. He crouched down, leveling his piercing gaze at David, who glared back despite the wounds and fatigue weighing down his body.

"You can make this easy," Damon murmured, his voice low and almost taunting. "Or you can hold out, suffer, and watch as we dismantle everything you and your friends fought for."

David's jaw tightened, his resolve unshaken. "You'll get nothing from me."

Damon chuckled, the sound cold and dismissive. "We'll see." He glanced over at his subordinates, who already looked eager to begin. He signaled with a nod, and they closed in on David, ready to carry out their leader's grim command.

As Damon's men advanced, David steeled himself, preparing for whatever agony they intended to inflict. He knew the odds were slim that he'd escape this alive. But he had no intentions of breaking.

Even if his body failed, his spirit wouldn't falter. His friends' sacrifices wouldn't be in vain, and he would rather die than betray their memory to these ruthless players.

Watching David's unflinching resolve, Damon's smirk faded slightly. There was something unnerving in the way David held onto hope, even in the face of near-certain death.

It unsettled him in a way he didn't want to admit. But he pushed the thought aside, determined to extract what he needed.

"Make sure he's still breathing," Damon said quietly to his men as they closed in, "but just barely."