Chapter 137: They Wanted You To See It

"Resonance sigils," Kane breathed, recognition hitting him like ice water.

Faint lines pulsed beneath the creature’s scales, glowing green-blue like underwater circuitry.

His mind jolted back to that night outside the convenience store, Rina’s voice cutting through his memory:

A synthetic binding agent. Not natural spirit magic, Kane. Someone’s manufacturing this stuff.

The same binding agent found at his apartment. The same synthetic compound traced to the rogue rat spirits at Hoshino’s.

Kane’s hypothesis formed with terrifying clarity.

This wasn’t a real dragon—it was a manufactured spirit, cobbled together from archived dragon DNA or essence fragments, then animated with the same synthetic binding technology that had nearly killed Rina.

Someone had created a weapon designed specifically to look and move like a dragon, and to fight Cyrus on equal terms.

The resonance sigils carved into its scales weren’t decorative—they were control mechanisms, puppet strings made of magic and science.

Kane gripped the crane beam tighter, his fox ears flattening as the implications crashed over him.

Someone knew exactly what Cyrus was. And they’d built this thing to kill him.

Kane moved fast, his mind racing through tactical possibilities while his body scrambled across the marina’s wreckage.

His waterlogged pistol was useless now, but Cyrus needed support—and Kane refused to stand helpless while watching the dragon he loved get torn apart.

The docks stretched before him like a maritime junkyard: abandoned fishing boats, emergency supply lockers, and maintenance sheds filled with marine equipment.

Kane’s fox instincts guided him through the chaos, darting between moored vessels as the battle raged overhead.

A small charter boat caught his attention—Lucky Strike painted in faded letters across its stern.

Kane vaulted the gunwale, landing hard on the deck as another tremendous crash sent waves sloshing over the pier.

The boat’s emergency kit hung in a waterproof case near the wheelhouse.

Kane’s fingers flew over the latches, popping them open to reveal standard maritime safety gear: life jackets, first aid supplies, and emergency rations.

And there—nestled in foam padding like salvation itself—three marine flare guns with a full case of signal cartridges.

Kane grabbed two flare guns, stuffing extra cartridges into his jacket pockets.

The resonance sigils pulsing beneath the water dragon’s scales weren’t just control mechanisms—they were also potential weak points.

If those synthetic binding agents worked like any other magical construct, they’d be vulnerable to disruption.

And flares burned hot enough to overload most spirit-tech systems.

Kane looked up at the aerial battle, tracking the water dragon’s serpentine movements.

Time to even the odds.

Kane raised the first flare gun, tracking the water dragon’s erratic flight pattern through the salt spray and mist.

The creature wove around Cyrus in tight spirals, exploiting its fluid agility against the black dragon’s raw power.

Kane held his breath, waiting for the perfect moment when distance separated the two.

The water dragon banked hard left, putting fifty feet between itself and Cyrus.

Kane fired.

The flare screamed through the night sky, a brilliant red comet that exploded directly beneath the water dragon’s belly in a burst of white radiance.

The resonance sigils beneath the creature’s scales flickered wildly, their steady pulse disrupted by the burning flare.

The water dragon’s movements immediately turned jerky and unnatural, its serpentine movement replaced by mechanical stuttering.

Kane loaded the second flare gun without hesitation.

The creature’s flight pattern broke completely, its head swiveling in confused circles.

"Cyrus!" Kane’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

"The sigils! Target the glowing lines!"

The black dragon’s massive head snapped toward Kane’s position, golden-flecked eyes blazing with understanding.

Blood streamed from gashes along Cyrus’s obsidian scales where the water dragon’s attacks had found their mark, but his fury burned hotter than his injuries.

Cyrus banked sharply, positioning himself above the stuttering construct as it struggled to maintain altitude.

The water dragon’s head jerked upward too late.

Crimson fire erupted from Cyrus’s maw in a concentrated torrent, not the sweeping flames of dragon rage but a precise strike that painted the night scarlet.

The inferno scorched directly across the creature’s exposed flank, each resonance sigil flaring brilliant white before burning out like dying stars.

Sparks of disrupted energy cascaded from the water dragon’s disintegrating form as its carefully woven essence unraveled.

With a final, ear-splitting bellow that echoed across the harbor, the water dragon collapsed.

Its serpentine body hit the dark water with tremendous force, sending waves crashing against the pier.

The water dragon’s body didn’t sink like flesh and bone—it dissolved.

Corrupted mist rose from the harbor’s surface in sickly green tendrils, carrying the acrid stench of burned chemicals and failed alchemy.

The residue clung to the air like smoke from a laboratory fire, confirming Kane’s worst suspicions.

This had never been a true spirit.

Kane nodded grimly, scanning the water’s edge where debris from the construct still bobbed among the waves.

There—caught between two dock pilings—several translucent scales no larger than his palm floated like discarded glass.

Kane waded into the shallows, ignoring the harbor’s cold bite against his legs.

Three intact pieces. Enough for analysis.

He slipped them into his jacket pocket, the faint glow visible even through the fabric.

Cyrus landed heavily on the pier, his massive form collapsing to human height as his wings folded against his back.

A torn membrane leaked crimson between obsidian feathers, and his eyes still blazed with draconic fury.

The protective ward that had bent reality around his transformation dissolved, leaving only twisted metal, flooded docks, and the acrid stench of synthetic magic.

Steam rose from his shoulders where seawater met superheated scales.

"Who would dare mock dragonkind this way?" His voice carried the rumble of distant thunder, rage vibrating through every syllable.

"To craft such an abomination, to parade it as one of my kin..."

Kane waded through the shallow water pooling on the pier, soaked and shivering but resolute.

He reached Cyrus’s side, one hand hovering near the dragon’s injured wing before settling on his forearm instead.

"Whoever built this," Kane whispered, amber eyes scanning the dark harbor where traces of green mist lingered.

"They wanted you to see it."