Talent Awakening: Draconic Overlord Of The Apocalypse-Chapter 412: Blood on the Asphalt

The battle had raged on for a while.

The night air was thick with the smell of burning rubber and scorched asphalt, laced with the metallic scent of blood from Anya's split lip.

The echoes of their previous clashes still rang through the streets—shattered concrete, twisted street signs, and deep gashes carved into the road from the sheer force of their attacks.

Anya weaved through the storm of slashes, her muscles coiled like steel cables as she narrowly avoided the gleaming horizontal arc of Mar'Garet's spear.

The spearhead sliced the air with a haunting whistle, sharp enough that even the mere force of it passing by sent tingling jolts down her skin.

Fast. Too fast.

A single graze could be deadly. Anya had already learned that the hard way when a shallow cut from an earlier exchange left her forearm stinging, the smell of burnt flesh mingling with the night air.

But even knowing that, she grinned, blood trickling down her chin as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Close, but not close enough, horn-head."

Mar'Garet's crimson eyes gleamed through her visor as she gritted her teeth, her grip on her spear tightening as her tail slammed on the ground in frustration.

"You are making this drag on longer than expected. Roll over and die already!"

The moment the last syllable left her lips, she vanished.

Anya's instincts screamed.

Right side—!

She twisted just in time to see the spear already driving toward her ribs, the rush of displaced air hitting her skin like a whip.

She twisted her torso mid-dodge, her muscles flexing as she narrowly evaded the deathblow.

The spear's edge sliced through the fabric of her jacket, the faintest sensation of cold steel brushing against her skin, like the kiss of an executioner's blade.

But even as she dodged, Mar'Garet was already moving again.

A brutal kick slammed into Anya's abdomen—an impact like being struck by a wrecking ball.

A sickening crunch rang out as Anya's body shot backward, the wind forced from her lungs. The moment of weightlessness before impact was just enough time for her to process the taste of blood on her tongue—coppery and thick, like chewing on a coin.

BOOM!

Her body smashed through a building's front wall, bricks and glass exploding outward as dust choked the air. The rubble shifted as she pushed herself out, her knuckles scraping against jagged concrete, leaving behind deep, stinging cuts.

Shit, she's strong.

Mar'Garet walked forward through the smoke, her spear resting lightly against her shoulder, the streetlights casting a hellish glow against the blood-red etchings on her armor.

Anya barely had time to roll away before the spear came down like a guillotine, splitting the pavement where she had just been.

The shockwave that followed sent cars flipping through the air, glass shattering in every direction.

Anya lunged.

The moment her foot connected with the ground, the asphalt cratered beneath her, chunks of road blasting outward as she closed the gap in an instant. Her fist blurred, the sheer force of her punch parting the smoke as it drove toward Mar'Garet's skull.

But—she missed.

Mar'Garet leaned back, the attack whistling past her cheek by a hair's breadth.

The air pressure alone from Anya's punch was enough to make the dragon general's long silver hair billow violently behind her, a faint static charge tingling against her skin.

Then, before Anya could react—

Mar'Garet twisted her grip, the shaft of the weapon slamming against Anya's gut with crushing force.

A shockwave tore through the air, sending Anya skidding back dozens of feet, the ground beneath her boots splitting apart as she fought for balance.

She finally stopped—only for Mar'Garet to appear in front of her again.

Another slash.

Anya ducked—barely.

The spear grazed her shoulder, leaving a deep, searing gash. The scent of her own burning flesh invaded her nostrils, her nerves screaming in agony.

But she had no time to register the pain.

Mar'Garet followed up instantly, driving her knee into Anya's chest.

Anya gagged as the force lifted her off the ground, a brutal spike of pain jolting through her ribs as her vision momentarily blurred.

Then—she was airborne.

The world spun, sky and earth flipping wildly as she crashed through an abandoned truck, metal shrieking and bending around her.

A few seconds of silence passed, except for the crackling of burning wreckage.

Then—movement.

The twisted remains of the truck shifted, groaning as Anya pushed her way out.

Anya staggered to her feet, spitting blood onto the asphalt.

Her body ached, her muscles burning from the repeated impacts—but the fire in her eyes remained.

She rolled her shoulders, the lingering sensation of Mar'Garet's brutal strikes still humming through her bones.

Then—she grinned.

"Okay. I felt that one." She wiped the blood from her chin, her fingers tingling with leftover adrenaline. "I'll give you credit. You hit harder than most."

Mar'Garet's expression was unreadable, her grip tightening on her spear.

Anya exhaled sharply, shaking off the lingering stiffness in her limbs. The air tasted like smoke and dust, but beneath it all, she could feel her blood boiling with excitement.

"Good."

Then—she charged.

....

....

Outer Rings – Sector I

It was nighttime.

Victor and Cilia continued their patrol along with the members of Alister's team.

Blitz chewed on a piece of gum, the pop of a bubble echoing in the quiet street. "Well, this place is depressing," she muttered, kicking a stray can down the road.

The streets were empty, lined with darkened windows and crumbling buildings that hadn't seen life in weeks.

Trash littered the sidewalks, carried by a sluggish breeze that did little to stir the eerie stillness. Streetlights flickered weakly, casting sickly yellow halos onto the cracked pavement.

There were no sounds of laughter, no distant sound of conversation—only silence, thick and suffocating, pressing in from all sides.

It wasn't just abandoned. It felt forgotten.

Axel walked beside her, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Yeah, we're beginning to see fewer and fewer people. Where the hell is everyone? Feels like a ghost town."

Beatrice sighed. "I don't like this… the place is giving me the creeps," she murmured, her soft voice barely above a whisper. The lack of people, the unsettling quiet—it all put her on edge.

Ahead of them, Victor was speaking with a hunched old man, trying to get information on the reduction in the number of residents in this area. Cilia stood a short distance away, idly twirling a throwing knife between her fingers.

"So, this has been happening for weeks?" Victor asked, his voice serious.

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