Win? By what ans?
Should the frontline falter, a tempestuous tide of dragons would ravage the Western Lands in an inconceivably brief span. Unless Ansel could vanquish that monster erging from the rift with a single, instantaneous strike, then swiftly reconstitute the defensive line; or, in the blink of an eye, annihilate the oncoming draconic horde before confronting that enigmatic monster...
The rift materialized at the epicenter of the realm previously consud by devouring flas, bereft of not only civilians but any living entity. No justification of safeguarding Western Lands's populace could prioritize addressing that front.
It coldly surveyed the chessboard as the situation crystallized, compelling Ansel to make his move.
Yet why should I dance to your tune and make such a choice?
As Seraphina and Ravenna attempted to interject, Ansel had already ascended skyward. The nine-headed serpent demon's true form lood, blotting out the heavens. Rather than exuding solitary valor, it emanated an aura of unparalleled ferocity and dominance.
The extraordinary beings, long embattled on this front, had initially resolved to flee this dood land upon witnessing the resurgent dragon tide. However, upon sensing the shadow overhead and that undisguised, spine-chilling abyssal presence, they breathed a collective sigh of relief.
— One last windfall, mused the vast majority of extraordinary beings who chose to remain.
Barring a scant few genuinely invested in sparing the Western Lands from draconic calamity, the rest were audacious rogues of insatiable appetite. Unless truly cornered, they would not readily depart, for the timing of their exit remained their prerogative. After all, Lord Hydral had never compelled their presence.
Indeed, such compulsion was unfeasible. Disregarding the extraordinary beings' self-preservation tactics, the re notion of forcing them to sacrifice their lives for civilians was laughable.
Had Lord Hydral taken leave of his senses?
Ansel, aloft, gazed upon the distant dragon horde, seemingly more frenzied than in days past. The four lively serpent heads languidly flicked their tongues, their enormous obsidian pupils gleaming with an otherworldly light.
In this mont, he remained oblivious to the cause of the dragons' sudden frenzy, but that was immaterial. What mattered was preventing this line of defense from crumbling.
A black sun ascended above the nine-headed serpent demon.
This ebony orb, condensing boundless, surging aether and amalgamating unfathomably terrifying elents, seed to extinguish all radiance. The sky, already somber from the dragons' onslaught, now saw darkness spreading in all directions from this black sun as its focal point, as if an inky quagmire were devouring the entire firmant.
"Ansel... Wait, you—"
The typically composed Ravenna's countenance transford dramatically, for she sensed Ansel's aether, which sustained Nidhoggur, rapidly waning... His current state resembled that of one resolved to perish, nearly exhausting his aether to unleash this singular, devastating strike!
The consecutive days of wielding the God from the Machine, manifesting his true form to battle over a dozen apex fifth-stage dragon species, had already placed an escalating burden upon Ansel. Even Seraphina, specialized in combat and slaughter, had nearly depleted her reserves within a single day.
Despite his precise control over power and ticulous aether managent, Ansel now stood far removed from his pri after so many grueling days.
Under such circumstances, for Ansel to still exert himself thus, suppressing the dragon tide... Could it be... Had he abandoned his quest to reclaim Evora and ceased his struggle against fate?
As Ravenna stood aghast, the black sun above Hydra's head reached its zenith of condensation.
The true sun hanging in the firmant paled in comparison, its radiance that once illuminated the earth now devoured by this voracious, ferocious abyssal entity. The serpent demon, seemingly consud by madness, unleashed without reserve that abyssal essence most extraordinary beings desperately sought to avoid.
It appeared to have beco the very embodint of the abyss walking upon the mortal plane, as if poised to cast all existence into an eternally blazing furnace, reducing everything to chaos and nothingness!
The extraordinary beings' initial relief had transford into terror. Should that monster in the heavens miscalculate this strike, might they too be obliterated along with everything else?
Despite such thoughts, they found themselves… unable to flee. That imnse dread had nearly materialized, ensnaring their bodies. No matter how desperately they yearned to escape, their physical forms remained beyond their control.
Yet within the four pairs of obsidian pupils of Hydral, the harbinger of this ultimate annihilation, there resided no trace of frenzy.
It had not employed self-sermon. This pinnacle of destruction, seemingly capable of reducing all to primordial nothingness, derived its potency from nearly depleting all of Ansel's aether, yet it incorporated few additional elents, thus becoming the purest, most absolute form of obliteration.
Had Ansel been in a state of sermoning, he could have expended a fraction of this aether to unleash an equally devastating finale and annihilation. So... Why did Hydral, perched upon the firmant, choose to confront the dragon calamity in this manner?
As all extraordinary beings watched in horror and bewildernt, that black sun ascended ever higher into the sky, climbing ceaselessly until it rged with the now utterly lightless firmant, seeming to vanish without a trace.
In the next instant, a earth-shattering roar reverberated through the endless dragon horde, traversing hundreds of kiloters!
Ancient dragons, their thousand-ter-long bodies covered in iron-hued scales; the mightiest of the magma dragon species, their forms flowing with molten lava; and pure white colossi reminiscent of holy spirits from minstrels' ballads... They all bore wounds inflicted by Ansel and the God from the Machine. So had tattered wings, others nearly decapitated, and many were covered in bloody gashes.
The most grievously injured seed but a breath away from death.
What compelled these behemoths to erge en masse was not Ansel's imdiate concern. Led by the kiloter-long titans, these apex fifth-stage dragons roared defiantly at the obsidian sky above. Their draconic voices, imbued with primal power, echoed ceaselessly through the heavens.
Even the distant extraordinary beings felt the soul-shattering force of their cries. They watched as these dragons, each capable of wreaking catastrophic havoc upon the empire, coalesced. A surge of varied hues of energy gathered among these apex predators of the continent, shooting skyward, as they battled against an unseen adversary.
In the next mont, all would witness what they battled.
The black sun, having rged with the firmant, descended.
No, not descended—it transford into an all-annihilating dark radiance, as if divine retribution pierced through from beyond the celestial sphere, from outside the world itself!
Even from tens or hundreds of kiloters away, all beheld an imnse pillar of obsidian light crashing down in utter silence.
Silence, for this strike, drawing upon nearly all the aether of the abyssal entity, had obliterated even the concept of sound. All could only watch as the light column smote the earth.
Everyone stared, transfixed, at the distant horizon as the black radiance, potentially a kiloter in diater, raged for a full half-minute before finally dissipating.
As the dark light faded, a visible gap appeared in the sky-blotting dragon horde. Of the dozen or so colossal dragons that could have shattered the empire had they united, only four or five remained—barely clinging to life, their bodies hardly more than tattered remnants of flesh, teetering on the brink of collapse in mid-air.
Seconds later, the extraordinary beings on the defensive line erupted in deafening cheers. Experience new stories on My Virtual Library Empire
-->
Reviews
All reviews (0)